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. Lately I had been feeling a strange sensation. Somehow I felt that something new and splendid was about to happen. It certainly did not belong solely to my inner life nor my external life, yet it undeniably concerned me. I still did not know what it was. In any case, something seemed about to occur. ...Yet perhaps nothing would happen at all, and these pale days might simply continue as they were.

Pale days—yes, that was a good phrase. Listless—no, that didn't quite fit. I wasn't bored at all—there was no lack of work to be done; if anything, I was rather busy. Pallid—no, that wasn't quite right either. My life wasn't so empty, nor were my days cheap enough to warrant such pretentious words... And yet pale... yes, pale days.

It was a fact that something within my heart had loosened. It would not have been wrong to say that life’s grip had slackened. Since my youth, I had kept a firm hold on my life. Or perhaps I had been clutching something tightly all along. That grasp might have been weakening of late. To put it more plainly: one could say the heat contained within my soul was diminishing. From what I learned through scholarship—the pressure of gripping something tightly constitutes force; force becomes energy; energy manifests as heat. It seemed the heat of my soul was cooling. Thus had the activity of my mind declined. This too could be explained through my academic training. What we perceive as light and heat ultimately reduces to electron movement. That I now sensed less heat within myself meant decreased motion among the electrons constituting my being. In other words—the workings of my inner mind were diminishing. Yet concepts like “inner mind,” “soul,” or “spontaneous life” remained unclear to me; I could only sense them. I perceived this waning activity within my soul.

However, that does not mean my life has become cheap. On the contrary, it may indicate that my life has gained stability and fulfillment—that it has achieved substance. I have now reached a point where, without being driven by foolish passions or ambitions, I can remain steadfast and composed no matter what may occur. But... By the time I obtained the title of engineer, I had fully intended to remain in Tokyo and work there. Yet it was due to my admiration for Father’s noble resolve and this town’s location being not too distant from Tokyo that I had returned here. My family had considerable property and a distinguished lineage. By utilizing these, Father and I were able to found the Electric Light Company, Ltd. and attain positions such as president and managing director. Then, through the initial difficulties of the business, my father’s death from illness, unexpected financial troubles, my mother’s death—I managed to overcome them all in any case. Now everything is going 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 also have four children. One died young, but the three are already grown, and the eldest son has even entered high school. And I have passed the age of forty and am growing ever more vigorous.... But that's all there is.

This phrase “That’s all there is” most aptly expresses my current state of mind. However, that is not at all because I think of my past as 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 to do with this emotion I now feel in my heart? I affirm that the vigor of my heart is slackening and that my days are pale. And I also affirm both the considerable value of my life and the considerable confidence in my own strength. But the phrase “That’s all there is,” which should have been cast into the past, now gazes wide-eyed at my present; and it gazes wide-eyed at my future as well. Because of this, I don’t feel any particular anxiety about myself, yet my heart steadily waits for something. No—inevitably my heart senses something unknown to me. ...At any moment now, I feel something—something splendid—is about to happen. Or perhaps I also feel that nothing may happen at all.

Because today was beautifully clear, I took a slight detour and returned home via the outskirts. The clear sky, the earth dampened just enough to feel pleasant underfoot, and the sun’s brilliant, tender rays shifting from winter to spring—on such a day, following suburban paths for a little while must indeed be a fresh joy. My heart was enraptured. And I was utterly disoriented. While savoring the fresh vitality of this nature, I found myself in a state as though I had forgotten something. I was at peace but not fulfilled.—Lately, this feeling has been assailing me frequently. In the past, I did not much comprehend this "self-forgetting ease." Or at least, I had not known this "unfulfilled awareness" that soaks and flows beneath the "self-forgetting ease." I have experienced similar emotions in my youth, but that was of an entirely different hue.

I wondered if this feeling might stem from nature's impressions. In nature not yet fully emerged into spring—despite its soft light and moist shadows—there still lingered an aching desolation. The surface of nature, scoured by cold winds, still lay exposed. Elements of discord dwelled there. And from the depths of this unsettled discord, new things—new life—were all at once striving to sprout forth. ...Within such nature, a new enigma was brewing. And that might have touched my heart.

I tried to touch the sky and earth with my own heart. The sky was filled with a softly hazy atmosphere pregnant with the sun’s rays. On the ground, blue-green wheat sprouts were spindly emerging from the jet-black earth’s surface. Amidst the withered thicket, there was even a single dandelion flower that had bloomed abruptly. When I stood on the bank of a small stream—oh—the cold water, the sky’s light reflected upon it, the warm sunlight being drawn into the water that flowed with a quiet sound... Something was watching intently; something was quietly dozing.

I felt as if there were holes somewhere in nature—and that there were holes somewhere within myself as well. That sensation drew my heart inward. I could not afford to remain so carefree. I had to hurry homeward. Something may be waiting for me—something new and unexpected. But then again...

Two

“Hey—hasn’t a letter come?”

Whenever Mr. Yajima returned from the company, he would often ask like this—

Whenever Mr. Yajima entered his house gate, he would invariably peek into the mailbox once. Then, being welcomed by his wife Tsuneko and the maid and led inside, it was his custom to sit down in the parlor at least once as he was. He would ask Tsuneko, “Hasn’t any mail come?” When a letter had arrived, he would immediately read it through and usually shake his head as if declaring it bothersome. And when receiving the answer “No, nothing has come,” he would briefly twist his mustache with his right hand. Mr. Yajima possessed a splendid mustache.

One time, Tsuneko—intending to show tact—said this as soon as 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 terrifying tension in Mr. Yajima's face, so Tsuneko offered no reply and simply remained silent. Mr. Yajima then did not speak for some time.

But that too was soon forgotten. And before they knew it, a new habit had formed. “Hasn’t a letter come?” asked Mr. Yajima. “No, nothing has come,” Tsuneko answered.

In reality, since most of Mr. Yajima’s affairs were settled at the company, the number of letters arriving at his residence was exceedingly small. And most of those were nothing more than mere social greetings.

However, one day, the following conversation took place between Mr. Yajima and Tsuneko. Yajima had changed into his everyday clothes and was sipping black tea; Tsuneko had gently placed her hand near the iron kettle resting on the long brazier.

“You’ve been quite leisurely today.”

“Ah. “I had some work that took a bit longer than expected. “But it’s all finished now.” “That was most commendable.” “...In fact, a most unusual visitor came today.” “Who is it? “You mean this ‘unusual person’?”

“Mr. Sasao.” “Sasao?! And what did he come to say?” “In short, he wanted to ask to be employed by the company again.” “He came carrying such an impressive box of sweets…” In the confectionery box that the maid brought, splendid Western-style sweets were packed. Mr. Yajima stared fixedly at it, then picked one up.

"Good sweets... How does Sasao have such extra money? He said his elderly mother was gravely ill and in dire straits."

Tsuneko remained silent. “What did he say?”

“He kept begging over and over to be taken back.” “That act was truly done out of desperation for his elderly mother’s medicine costs; it was never motivated by greed.” “And now he was truly repentant.” “He kept saying things like that over and over.” “Then, with eyes brimming with tears, he confided all sorts of things—his mother’s illness, the difficulties in making ends meet—and after that said if he couldn’t be taken back, he’d have to abandon his sole remaining elderly mother to die, and that if it was truly impossible, he at least wanted to provide her with proper medicine—all while looking like he was about to cry.” “I truly felt so sorry for him.” “Because he’s such a filial person.”

“So you’re saying he wants me to take him back through you?” “No, he said from the very start that he wanted to meet with you directly. He waited for your return, but since you were so late, he said he’d come to the company another time and left just moments ago.”

Mr. Yajima remained silent for some time. “Is it truly impossible to rehire him?” “He is quite skilled and had worked here for so long—he must have contributed significantly to the company.” “That may be so,” he said while twisting his moustache thoughtfully.

A prolonged silence ensued.

And then Mr. Yajima, twisting his beard, said: “What do you really think?” “Should we take Sasao back into the company or not?”

Tsuneko silently watched her husband’s expression.

“The incident is as you know. Sasao rose from errand boy to become an accomplished technician. Through all those years he devoted himself to the company. Then his elderly mother fell ill. He suffered a minor injury. And he stole the company’s electric wires to secretly sell elsewhere. This was discovered. I settled the matter internally without even letting newspapers report it. But everyone at the company knows. So I dismissed Sasao. Yet now he pleads to be rehired—for his mother’s sake and his own—claiming complete reform. ...What do you think we should do now?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to take him back? If you were to fully explain both the circumstances of the incident and his repentance before all the company members, wouldn’t that ultimately benefit the company?” “I see. So you’re certain Sasao won’t repeat such actions hereafter.” “That remains uncertain.” “But setting that aside—if another person were to commit the same act and make identical pleas under similar circumstances, what would you have us do then?”

“There’s no other way but to judge based on the person’s character.”

“That’s right. That’s one perspective. ...But you’re completely indifferent to this incident itself, and your concern lies solely with Sasao. I too am familiar with that manner of directing one’s heart. In other words, you’re looking only at the person without seeing the incident itself. Emotional types and women are all like that. But you must be careful. When one intends to look only at the person without seeing the incident, there are times when they fail to see even the person—and see only their own emotions. From behind that, the devil sticks out his tongue.”

“Then what do you intend to do?” “I will consider both the incident and the person thoroughly before making my judgment.” “Then you mean you don’t intend to employ Mr. Sasao any longer?”

“I don’t know about that—but at any rate, while I may lack your degree of sympathy, neither do I possess your brand of ruthlessness.”

“You call me merciless!” Tsuneko’s eyes flashed with intensity. She elaborated at length about how profoundly she pitied Sasao and how deeply she sympathized with his ailing mother. She described how that very day too, when Sasao had been leaving, she had prepared a small sum wrapped as a token of concern for his mother’s condition and given it to him. “When I apologized for the impropriety of it, Mr. Sasao just said ‘Not at all’ and silently bowed his head.” “I was the one who nearly wept.”

Mr. Yajima listened silently to his wife’s words. And then he said: “If we were in Sasao’s situation, what would you do?”

In Tsuneko's eyes appeared a hint of confusion. Then it gradually transformed into a haughty glint.

“Oh, fine then—you won’t know unless it happens.” "But Sasao has had such an unfortunate time of it." “Did you meet him when he came to the company?” “Oh, I met him alright.” “I had some things I wanted to discuss.” “So you’re taking care of something again, I suppose.” “By all means, go right ahead and do so.” “After all, he’s a terribly honest and good person.” “If he weren’t honest, how could he even come back to me?” "But…."

Mr. Yajima cut himself off mid-sentence. Then he gulped down the cold tea. “With just a box of sweets, you’ve completely become a Sasao supporter.” “How splendid.” “Me!? …Such a vile…”

“Oh, never mind,” Mr. Yajima interrupted Tsuneko. “That was just idle talk. I’m concerned about Sasao too.”

With those words, Mr. Yajima stood up. At that moment, a tense, dark shadow suddenly passed over his face. And he entered the study.

However, Mr. Yajima soon emerged from the study again. And he found Shinkichi doodling in a notebook on the second-floor veranda bathed in the western sun. "What are you drawing?" Mr. Yajima said. "I'm sketching... Teach me, Father." "What are you sketching?"

“All the roofs I can see, and the mountain over there too.”

From there stretched an uninterrupted view of the town's southern wing spreading across the fields. Where the houses ended, cultivated land continued, and beyond them to the right stood a blue mountain meeting the sky's edge. Mr. Yajima took Shinkichi's notebook and began sketching roofs, mountains, hills and such in scattered strokes. Across the western sunlit field, the mountain's shadow appeared to gradually widen. Shinkichi silently watched his father's hands.

III

Mr. Yajima’s company was located at the northern edge of town. In summer, gale winds that came sweeping over the rows of tiled roofs lashed against it. In winter, north winds from snow-covered Yamashitashi swept across the fields.

Mr. Yajima’s office was on the second floor facing northwest. There, Mr. Yajima would often bring a chair to the window edge sheltered from the north wind and warm his back in the sun. How much more pleasant that was than the poor coal fire in the hearth. Mr. Yajima was a man of extraordinary diligence. When there was no work, he would usually be reading books or magazines as his regular practice. However, lately he had increasingly taken to just sitting vacantly in the sun. He would often sit quietly in his chair, leaning back and sinking into aimless thoughts. And, as if suddenly remembering something, he twisted his beard. However, he made no particular move to stand up. Something complacent and heavy existed in his mind. At such times, when other clerks came on some business, he would briefly knit his brows and then say in a loud voice, “Enter.”

One day, Mr. Yajima returned from the company and, while taking off his Western clothes, said to his wife.

“Sasao hasn’t shown his face at all.” “Is that so?”

Hearing Tsuneko's cold reply, Mr. Yajima fell silent. However, Mr. Yajima hadn't exactly been waiting for Sasao to come either. At times thoughts of Sasao would suddenly surface in his mind, but he attached no significance to them. He felt only a strange, inexplicable irritation.

And when Sasao came to visit the company premises one day, Mr. Yajima found it so strange that he had immediately sensed it.

That day, Mr. Yajima stood by the window looking outside. Beyond the rows of houses, the gas company’s building could be seen. His eyes fixed on the large gas holder. Bathed in the afternoon light, it shone with a darkened crimson hue.

Mr. Yajima knew the tank swelled and shrank at fixed hours each day. He also knew the power latent in that giant iron tank’s quiet motion. As he stared fixedly at it, an indescribable excitement tinged with melancholy welled up in his chest. The darkened russet gleam of iron and the smoke swirling from its stack above captured his eyes. He felt the tank’s swelling movement like the earth’s own breathing. The engine’s hum directly below never reached his ears.

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

Mr. Yajima abruptly stepped back from the window. He then circled the room twice. This time he settled into the chair before his desk and twisted his beard. Next he lit a cigarette. Sasao knocked on the door and paused briefly at the threshold. “Come in,” Mr. Yajima called out.

Mr. Yajima stared fixedly at Sasao, who had come all the way in and timidly taken a seat. He wore a faded mosquito-patterned cotton garment and had let his hair grow long. Around his neatly shaved cheeks, a haggard shadow was visible. “The other day you came to my house, but I was away and couldn’t receive you properly. ...How is your mother’s condition?” “It was definitely nephritis, wasn’t it?” “Yes,” said Sasao, raising his face for the first time. Mr. Yajima was startled by those bloodshot, sunken eyes.

“The doctor said the progress hasn’t been favorable.”

“That won’t do. After all, I hear kidney disease treatment is quite demanding, isn’t it?” “Yes, and they say proper nutrition is most crucial, so I’m utterly at my wits’ end. Given that I have absolutely no income at all, I’ve reached a point where I can’t even afford medicine. Though I’m in no position to make another request, since I won’t refuse any job, if you could possibly employ me... that’s why I’ve come to see you today...”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t mind any kind of work.” “Yes—if there’s just enough income to get by on—that would suffice.” “At present I can’t even manage my mother’s medicine costs.” “How wretched my life has become—I’m doing things beyond your imagination.” Sasao recounted his desperate efforts to find work. All had proven futile. No relatives could offer aid. “If this continues,” he said through trembling lips, “my mother and I will starve.” “Her illness traps us here.” “Though unworthy to ask... If you’d show mercy— this alone could save us both.”

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

“Yes,” Sasao said, bowing his head. “Your mother’s prolonged illness has left you struggling with medicine costs. “You borrowed money from me once, but you can’t ask a second time. “Therefore, this time you misappropriated the company’s electric wires and sold them off elsewhere. “That’s all there is to it. “Moreover, that much damage means nothing to the company. “But consider this carefully. “To what extent does that affect other employees and other workers? “Moreover, how do you think it would affect others if we were to employ you again at headquarters?”

“Yes.” “Well, putting that aside for now—are you certain you won’t do such a thing again? Even if you were faced with greater adversity than now.” “Yes—I will absolutely never do it again. I will absolutely… I swear it.” “Then that’s settled. But if you were to work for a meager salary from now on, what would become of your mother?” “Wh—! Mother...” “Is there any prospect of her pulling through?” “That I do not know. But it’s just a single parent and child. I will do everything I can. Moreover, my mother is fully aware of what happened this time. When I was asked, I ended up telling everything. Mother feels very sorry about that and is deeply worried. If she were to see me returning to the company, I cannot begin to say how relieved she would be. As for anything beyond that, I resign myself to divine will. I just don’t want to cause Mother any more worry. And I want to do everything I possibly can by myself. I will definitely, definitely cure my mother’s illness.”

“Ah, go on and cure her. Go on and work. You’re fortunate.” And Mr. Yajima stared fixedly into Sasao’s eyes. “In certain situations, you might as well steal again.”

“Wh—! What are you saying?”

“What are you saying?” “Well even if it weren’t you specifically—I know there’s something irrational in this capitalist-laborer relationship... You stand here now with eyes full of tears speaking of your mother.” "But I still remember that glint in your eyes when you broke your left hand before." “There are two different things inside you.” “Which is real?”

Sasao stared blankly at Mr. Yajima’s face. “Yes—you’re not yet fully conscious of it. But don’t you want to start something? You’ve been with this company since you were a child, starting as an errand boy. And now you’ve become a fine electrician. You probably hold plenty of this company’s weaknesses. So don’t you want to incite the other workers and press me for something? ...Right now, as a filial son, your heart is entirely consumed by your mother. But if your mother were to die of illness, your heart would undoubtedly begin dreaming of new things. How about it? … Look—your eyes are beginning to gleam with a different light, aren’t they?”

Sasao, seized by an inexpressible suspicion, stood up while stepping back a step.

“You’re afraid now,” Mr. Yajima continued. “But the time when you stop being afraid will come before long. "...I too am afraid now, but that time when I stop fearing may never come for me. I am growing older. But ultimately, if you workers don’t start something, we capitalists might be the ones to start something from our side. I know there’s a contradiction somewhere in this way of living. But I still don’t see it clearly.”

Mr. Yajima’s cheek muscles twitched convulsively.

“Yes—I still don’t see it clearly. …Or perhaps there was simply some error in my own life alone. But it’s not just me alone. …That’s right—you’re not guilty either. …Do you understand?”

Sasao stepped back another step before Mr. Yajima’s sharp gaze. Mr. Yajima continued to stare silently into space. “Then I beg your leave,” Sasao said while lowering his eyes.

“You should think it over carefully,” Mr. Yajima said in a suddenly gentle tone, as if regaining his composure. “I simply cannot take you back myself. “But if you go around persuading your fellow workers and get them all to formally petition me, then it would be acceptable to reinstate you as before. “Do you possess that sort of courage?”

“I will give it careful consideration,” Sasao declared resolutely, his lips quivering. “Well then, feel free to come by anytime if you have further need.”

Sasao bowed politely and left. Mr. Yajima stood up and flung the window wide open.

The hazy radiance of early spring filled the atmosphere with mist-laden light. Mr. Yajima cast his gaze to the farthest edge of the distant sky. Yet like a man utterly drained, he immediately collapsed into the armchair with a heavy thud. Something indistinct tightened around his heart. He stared motionless with eyes that brimmed with unshed tears.

IV

The eldest son, Hideo, returned from his spring break travels after April had begun. After entering a Tokyo high school, he initially often came to stay from Saturday to Sunday, but later stopped returning except during holidays unless there was some reason. And during those holidays, he increasingly traveled more frequently.

"Young people should be free to roam about," Mr. Yajima thought. "And they should freely take in all sorts of things."

However, Mr. Yajima felt that each time Hideo returned, he carried something new; and that a new world was being brewed within Hideo.

Mr. Yajima saw the sunburned cheeks of Hideo, who had returned from his travels. Then for a while, he observed the thick eyebrows that had not met a razor. “You’ve become quite robust,” Mr. Yajima said. “Yes, traveling seems best for the body, and for the mind as well. Somehow everything—my world is expanding.”

“That’s right. “Perhaps I should take a trip myself.” “But Father always seems so busy.” “Oh, it’s not that bad though,” Mr. Yajima replied in a feeble tone.

“When you have some free time, shall we try going somewhere together?” “Ah, let’s go.”

Yet he knew the two of them would likely never journey together. The communion that once flowed heart-to-heart between them had long since withered. But this was no one’s fault—

"If one were to recognize some sin there," Hideo thought, "the parent-child relationship is an eternal contradiction."

And Hideo averted his eyes from his father’s gaze. Hideo kept his own world tucked away within himself. That was the child’s subtle deference toward the parent. And when he sensed that deference, Mr.Yajima became aware of a hollow tranquility within himself. That tranquility was reflected in Hideo. ..."Let’s travel together," they said. They are parent and child.

However, Mr. Yajima held a certain vague expectation toward Hideo. What that was, even Mr. Yajima himself did not know.

Mr. Yajima hurried home every day.

“Look, I’ll treat you to whatever you want—just name it,” he said to Hideo. Hideo merely released a tranquil smile. “Your offers never work. They always get canceled,” Tsuneko remarked upon hearing this. “Why don’t we all take a leisurely outing to Tokyo instead?” “I marvel you never grow weary of Tokyo.” “No—in truth, one doesn’t tire of Tokyo,” Hideo said.

Mr. Yajima did not respond to that. Mr. Yajima felt something discordant closer around himself. And he thought he would feel lonely without Hideo. “Mr. Sasao has come.”

One day when Tsuneko said this, Mr. Yajima glanced at Hideo’s face. “Hideo had met and talked with him... His mother has passed away, it seems... And Mr. Sasao is going to Tokyo, it seems......”

Mr. Yajima silently listened to Tsuneko’s account. That his elderly mother had suddenly developed uremia and died of heart paralysis, that settling her affairs had been arduous, that Sasao had sold off all their household belongings alone and left for Tokyo to seek work through distant relatives…… “Hmm.” Having said this, Mr. Yajima twisted his beard. And he diverted the conversation and brought up another matter.

However, that evening when the two were alone, Mr. Yajima asked Hideo. “You met Sasao?”

“Yes, at first I was with Mother. But later, the two of us talked alone about various things.” “What was Sasao like?” “He was relatively open and told me various things. He seemed filled with a tragic resolve. He spoke at length while growing increasingly agitated.” “Hmm.” And Mr. Yajima twisted his beard again. Mr. Yajima slipped into his garden clogs and stepped down from the veranda into the garden.

There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. A waning crescent moon hung in the western sky, and sparse stars twinkled faintly. It was a quiet night. And it was a night when dew seemed likely to fall quietly somewhere within the cold air.

Hideo fixedly gazed at his father's figure from behind. A strained emotion welled up in his heart. He descended to his father's side.

“It’s a fine evening.” “Ah.”

At that moment, Hideo read a profound pensive expression on his father's cheek—the troubling shadow beautified and deepened by the crescent moon's light. "When Sasao was leaving, we wrapped a small amount of money as a condolence offering." "In Father’s, Mother’s, and my names—the three of us." "Sasao accepted it with a bow and a sorrowful look, then asked me to give you his regards."

“Ah, that’s good.” However, Hideo realized whether those words had been cruel to his father. And he said: “Sasao seems to have quite a resolute side to him. What a waste that turned out to be.”

“I think so too. ……Didn’t he say anything about me?” “Did you speak to Sasao about various matters?” “Ah, I might have said something to him.” “He said that whenever he comes before you, Father, he feels somewhat oppressed.” “It’s not just because of what he did, I suppose.” “And he said he’d been made to think about various things.” “Then, while saying he wanted to meet you before his departure, he looked like he was about to cry.” “Sasao must have received a great deal of help from you since he was little, Father.” “But somehow, Father’s approach in this incident might have been unusual as well.”

“My approach?” “Yes.”

After that, the two fell silent for some time.

Mr. Yajima's residence occupied a vast tract of land inherited from antiquity. Groves stood here and there, with expansive gardens having been cultivated. At the garden's rear stood a small detached house that Mr. Yajima's father had built in his declining years for diversion. Every door stood tightly sealed. The two threaded through lawns and shrubbery until reaching the structure, then settled upon its narrow outer veranda. Moonlight lay draped like pallid cloth across the grounds, setting leaves ashimmer. "I too agonized over Sasao." Mr. Yajima expelled the words like something bitter-tasting.

Hideo remained silent. And then Mr. Yajima continued speaking. "My feelings toward Sasao might have been too complex." "To say they were too complex might mean they were impure." "Since you've heard various things from Sasao, you must understand well—but governing a single company brings tremendous difficulties... Yet even now, I still think so." "What I did regarding Sasao certainly didn't have any bad influence on him." "If I had employed Sasao again, it would have inevitably led to bad results."

“That may be the case. But what you did, Father—while it may have turned out fine—must have been terribly dangerous.”

“What’s dangerous?” “That is in many senses…” “In any case, it seems to me that Father’s motives weren’t particularly admirable either.” “What do you mean by ‘admirable motives’?” “Father, do you remember Iwata?” “Father, didn’t you take such good care of that elderly janitor couple back then?” “I still haven’t forgotten the impression I had when I peered into that filthy janitor’s room……” “And when the company employees looked up at you from below in admiration, when the newspapers praised you as a model president, I felt tears welling up.” “……But this time, it was utterly unexpected to me.” “It could even be called 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 such a way.” “Then why wasn’t that done?” “Why?! ……Ah, that is….” Having started to say this, Mr. Yajima held his breath and fixed his gaze. “Because I’ve gotten old.”

Hideo was startled by his tone and looked at his father. Mr. Yajima furrowed his brow and let his head hang limply. A tragic emotion came surging into Hideo’s heart. It was a desolate feeling of kneeling in worship, as if standing frozen within the ruins of an old chapel. He stood up and cast a searching gaze between the blue sky and the earth. When he looked back, his father remained with eyes fixed downward, back against the tightly closed shutters, bathed in moonlight.

“Shall we go now?” Hideo’s voice as he said this carried a peculiar tremor. “Ah, let’s go.” Mr. Yajima stood up.

The moon had tilted in the western sky. The shadows of the hedges lay stretched long across the highland grass, appearing to shift quietly away. “Since you’re still young, you should go out and try all sorts of things.” Mr. Yajima suddenly said this and looked toward Hideo. Hideo could not bring himself to look at his father’s face.

At that moment, what rose in both their hearts was that distant emotion called "father and child"—from distant and ancient blood within. They walked on in silence, steeped in it. And... when he felt the physical form separating them, Hideo's tears began to fall.

“The evenings are still chilly, aren’t they?”

Mr. Yajima said this in a quiet voice. And he peered toward the main house. There were his beloved wife, father and son, and Shinkichi. He glanced at Hideo beside him but said nothing more after that.

V

Mr. Yajima passed an oppressive night. At dawn he had a dream. Then a heavy mood came surging in.

Mr. Yajima stood alone on the veranda before bed, gazing for a long time at the western sky where the crescent moon had set.—“To think I’m approaching fifty and still gazing at the night sky…,” Mr. Yajima thought bitterly. However, what that was—even he himself did not understand.

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

A dim shadow loomed over the janitor’s room. Since insufficient light entered from the entrance, a single shaft streaming through the high left-hand window stood out distinctly even at midday. That single shaft of brightness made the room appear even more dimly grimy. Beneath that window was a small contraption for handling trivial tasks, and on the shelf beside it sat a rat-proof container crammed haphazardly with teacups and other dishware. There were two rooms with low floors where the tatami edges were worn to tatters—in the back room sat a small faded old chest and other belongings, while in the front room lay Iwata on his back atop a thin cotton futon with an arabesque pattern. His eyes were sunken, and his cheekbones and zygomatic bones protruded sharply. A weak breath seemed to pass at last through the rubber tube that had been inserted into his slit throat. In the body that barely sustained life through scant fluids, it seemed all roots of strength had dried up completely. His lips hung slackly, and only his balding forehead, burned red by the sun, gleamed greasily. Beside him, his wife sat motionless, her sparse hair streaked with white tied back. She occasionally touched her husband’s hand thrown out from the futon—to the thumb with its strange shape, as if a machine had whittled it into a gourd. Her gaze dropped. She occasionally coughed….

Ever since Iwata fell ill with laryngeal cancer, Mr. Yajima spared no expense in providing his treatment. However, Iwata allowed only a small portion of Mr. Yajima’s generous benevolence to be carried out. He tenaciously clung to that lowly station. After a prolonged period of bed rest, 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 employees shed tears more before Mr. Yajima’s benevolence than for the sake of the two who had died.

When Iwata’s illness worsened and he was advised to enter the hospital, he said: “I’m most at ease right here. “The place I’ve lived in for years is where it’s easiest to close my eyes for good.” Indeed, he had been the janitor since the company’s founding. From that time, he had already grown quite old. 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 as well. Mr. Yajima spared no effort in looking after them. At that time, Sasao, who was still a messenger, often ran errands for them....

Mr. Yajima rose with an oppressive sensation.

The sky was beautifully clear, and the morning sun shone splendidly. He went out into the garden and took a deep breath. “Did you just get up now?”

When Mr. Yajima saw Hideo, he said this. "Yes." "You're quite the late riser, aren't you?"

“But by my own measure, I’m quite an early riser. Among my friends there are some truly incorrigible late sleepers… Though perhaps they’ll all gradually become early risers too. Don’t people tend to wake earlier as they age?” “What preposterous nonsense.” Yet Mr. Yajima observed the youthful glow of Hideo’s cheeks—a face brimming with well-rested vitality, eyes shining with no acquaintance of weariness or fatigue, and a robust physique.

“When are you going back to Tokyo?”

Mr. Yajima asked this before leaving for the company.

“I must return within two or three days,” Hideo answered. “You’re always so restless, Sof,” Tsuneko said. “But school hasn’t started yet, has it?” “But there are various matters you need to attend to.” “Why, even this keeps you quite occupied.” “There’s simply an absurd number of things requiring your attention.” “What could possibly demand so much of your time?” Tsuneko gazed at Hideo with gentle eyes. “You should go see the company at least once.” “There might be something useful for you there.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Hideo replied disinterestedly.

Mr. Yajima overheard this conversation as he got ready and went out.

In Mr. Yajima’s mind, the image of his monotonous life repeating the same things every day flashed briefly in his mind. But that quickly vanished, and he felt a vague, formless pressure closing in on him.

Mr. Yajima entered the company with a sense of anticipation for something. While everyone bowed politely, he responded with his usual "Hey." Then he entered his room and smoked one cigarette. Then he twirled his beard. Then he began his office 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 observed maintained its flawless perpetual motion. Mr. Yajima could assess each critical component’s state with a single glance. To his eyes, even these intricate mechanisms appeared as nothing more than elementary devices. After completing his inspection, when he escaped outside from the machinery’s thunderous din, tender April light brushed against his cheek.

Mr. Yajima walked quietly around the large reservoir. His eyes were suddenly drawn to the janitor’s room across the way. Hirata sat alone, engrossed in reading a book of dramatic tales. Mr. Yajima cast a restless gaze about him. Then he quietly moved to Hirata’s side.

“Hehehe. Hello,” Hirata said, closing his book and bowing his head.

“How have things been lately?” Mr. Yajima asked in a somewhat distracted tone. “No, I’ve been no good at all for some time now. “I just count it a blessing to still be alive like this.”

“But you always seem so carefree, don’t you?” “Hehehe. At my age, I must resign myself completely.” “The world ain’t exactly overflowing with such interesting things.” “You’ll understand once you’ve lived a little longer.” “Well, I’ve done quite a variety of things in my time, but whatever seemed interesting back then—it’s all just foolishness once some time passes.” “And you get used to it right quick.”

Mr. Yajima gazed at Hirata’s flushed face with its thick eyebrows and slight pockmarks. Then, with anxious eyes, he swept his gaze around the room. The room that had been somewhat maintained after Iwata’s death had, before anyone noticed, grown slightly grimy again. Moreover, since Hirata was a bachelor, the area appeared all the more cluttered and disarrayed. There were stains on the tatami mats, and dirty work clothes were strewn about. And from that high window, a shaft of light shone into the room in the same manner.

“I was just about to start cleaning,” Hirata said, fearing Mr. Yajima’s gaze. “Please forgive me for showing you such a cluttered and filthy place.” “This room isn’t uncomfortable to live in, is it?” “Nah, folks like me are just passing through.” “As long as I can eat and sleep, that’s more than enough.”

Mr. Yajima looked up at the window again. And he recalled the words Iwata had often said during his long convalescence—"That window was such a blessing." "That window is such a blessing," Mr. Yajima found himself repeating unconsciously in his mind. And when he noticed this, he was struck by an indescribable anxiety. “But young’uns ain’t got no business bein’ extravagant. “Whenever my daughter comes ’round, I get scolded for it bein’ dirty.” “So I hear you have a good daughter.”

“Ain’t nothin’ but a hopeless woman, that one… Even when she gets beaten, she just keeps on shameless like nothin’ happened.” “Not that I beat her all that often—just that I’ve gone and got too old to put any strength into it.” “Hehehe, these days she’s the one turnin’ things upside down on me.” “Once you’re old, you can’t hold a candle to the young’uns.” “…Though I will say—she does send over some help now and then.” “Never asked what she’s up to exactly, but since she says she’s workin’ at some eatery, doubt she’s doin’ anythin’ respectable.” “Done turned into a damn old hag already, yet still acts all brazen like that.”

“I’m surprised you don’t find that lonely.” “Hehehe. Once things’ve come to this, a bit o’ loneliness ain’t nothin’ at all.” “Carefreeness is the best medicine there is.”

Mr. Yajima looked around the room once more. Then he suddenly said.

“Oh, I’ve disturbed you, haven’t I?” “Ain’t nothin’ like that at all.” And Hirata gauged Mr. Yajima’s expression. “I’ve been blabberin’ about such trifles—please forgive me.”

Mr. Yajima left that place as if fleeing. When he reached the reservoir, he shook his head two or three times as if trying to cast off some lingering guilt. Then he simply returned to the office.

Six

The day Hideo departed for Tokyo was unseasonably chilly. Though his mother tried to persuade him to postpone his departure by another day, he promptly finished his preparations, saying he had plans. “You should go to the station,” Yajima said to Shinkichi. “Can I take a rickshaw too? Hey, Dad!” Shinkichi shouted joyfully. “Nah, you’ll walk. Come with Fumiko.”

“Sis, are you coming?” Shinkichi asked, making a puzzled face as he looked at his sister. “Fumiko, you go along too,” Mr. Yajima said to Fumiko, who remained silent. “The three of you siblings should just take a leisurely stroll there. You should just send the luggage ahead.”

“I see,” Hideo said, shooting a sharp glance at his father. “Alright then—the three of us will go. “I’ll treat you all at the station!”

Tsuneko and Fumiko showed somewhat odd smiles, but ultimately the three siblings set out together. And Mr. Yajima followed behind Tsuneko and escorted everyone to the entrance. “Well then, I’ll take my leave,” Hideo said, bowing his head before his father.

“Ah,” Mr. Yajima replied.

When they exited the gate, Fumiko drew closer to Hideo's side. "Father's behaving strangely today, don't you think?" "He isn't behaving strangely." "But..." Fumiko started to say, then fell silent and turned her gaze toward Shinkichi.

After the three had left, Mr. Yajima returned to the tea room.

"They’ve all grown up, haven’t they." “Of course they have—after all, we’ve gotten quite old ourselves,” Tsuneko said with a serene smile.

"That's right—I've gotten quite old. But I'm not yet so senile."

“Ohoho, if you were to become senile now, that would be quite unbearable.” “But you’ve started to look quite like an old woman yourself.”

“Is that so?” Tsuneko said, blinking her eyes. Yet she smiled serenely within herself.

A sense of unseasonably chilly loneliness came over Mr. Yajima’s heart. And he stood up as he was and entered the study.

The hazy spring day reflected off the glass-paned doors, filling the room with shadowless brightness. Bookshelves built into walls painted in light hues to Mr. Yajima’s preference were crammed with Western and Japanese volumes. Before them stood 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, photographs of various Western scientists. Mr. Yajima swept his gaze across them before settling into the armchair before the desk.

"I’ve been feeling threatened by something lately. But what that is, I don’t know," thought Mr. Yajima.

"I believe I've done full-fledged work. And now that my enterprise has finally stabilized, what in the world is this feeling? As my life grows settled, my mind becomes unstable…"

Mr. Yajima’s life was settled. Mr. Yajima was conscious of the honor, wealth, and power he possessed. He thought of his own company. He thought of the many people working there and the great machinery. He thought of the immense electric power generated each day through his own will. And then he thought of the numerous factories receiving that electric power, the tens of thousands of households illuminated at night, and the power he had established over them all. Indeed, for Mr. Yajima, his enterprise was not merely a profit-driven endeavor. It was the operation of a living personality woven from will, power, and life.

"I am a pillar of society," he declared to himself.

"Yet lately I find myself wanting something. Where does this desire come from? Or perhaps I feel weariness with my current life…"

When he had thought that far, Mr. Yajima was seized by a great contradiction. He became almost simultaneously aware that while he felt no weariness in his own heart, the hues of weariness had grown darker around his life. At that moment, images of various people floated before his eyes. "They have no more use for me... But I—I feel as though I have some use for them." Mr. Yajima steadily lowered his eyes. Hideo is no longer mine. Sasao too has no more use for me. Hirata as well. Iwata died without ever asking anything of me either. And likely, neither the many I currently employ nor those in this town who live under my influence have any demands to make of me. And yet... I—my heart—have some purpose toward them. I don’t clearly understand what purpose that is, but at any rate, I have a purpose toward them. I am not unrelated to them.

"I have some desire toward them. … But have they ever asked anything of me…?"

When Mr. Yajima uttered these words to himself, his heart grew heavy. He felt as though he were seeing his own soul, left solitary amidst desolation. At that moment, he gazed fixedly up at the portrait of his deceased father. His cheek muscles spasmodically contorted into a face on the verge of tears. But eventually he once again heavily drooped his head.

“What do you think would have happened if Father were still alive?” When he saw Tsuneko’s face, Mr. Yajima posed this question. Tsuneko couldn’t fully grasp his meaning and simply watched her husband’s expression. “Have you never contemplated such a thing?” “I do think of that often.” “But since Father was able to pass away happily, I too am content.”

“Yes, he was able to pass away happily. But well...” Mr. Yajima began, then tilted his head as if trying to gather his thoughts. “He was a good father, wasn’t he?” “Oh, you... How can anyone speak that way about the dead?” “How can there be any rule against speaking of the dead?” “But the way you speak sounds like you’re mocking people.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. You don’t understand what I’m saying.” Tsuneko steadily lowered her eyes. And she said: “You’ve been acting rather strange lately. Isn’t there something troubling you? You’re always sitting there alone, lost in thought, and you don’t say a word about it. I’m truly worried, you know.” “Well—as long as I’m alive, there are things I think about.” “But isn’t there something troubling you?”

“There’s nothing I need to worry about. …I just don’t seem to be in the best of spirits.” “Then perhaps you should try to get some rest. Sleeping would be most advisable for your mind.”

Mr. Yajima gazed intently at his wife’s face as she spoke these words, but soon turned the conversation to external matters.

“Everyone is terribly late.” “But the train’s departure time hasn’t come yet, has it? Moreover, since it’s just Fumiko and Shinkichi alone, there’s no telling what places they might wander through 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 these thoughts aside as he drifted into sleep. He felt a sensation of utter exhaustion within his body.

Feeling a senseless, uncanny nightmare, Mr. Yajima awoke in the middle of the night.

He lay half-caught in a dreamlike state when his eyes snapped open. The room stood utterly silent, not a single sound breaking the stillness. A dim two-candlepower bulb cast its faint glow about the chamber. Suddenly he sensed a foreboding dread permeating the air and convulsed violently. But it vanished in an instant. The depth of night and silence came washing over him again. His gaze fixed on Tsuneko lying in the futon beside him. Her mouth hung slightly open, neck pressed firmly into the pillow as she sank into deep, oblivious slumber. Eyes with lids swollen from sleep remained tightly shut. Shadows pooled in the wrinkles of her cheeks like liquid darkness. The skin that had spent decades beneath white powder now showed bloodless and waxen, its pallor clinging to her face's surface like candle drippings on a corpse.

Mr. Yajima stared fixedly at that face. And in his heart appeared the figure of a woman who had aged peacefully. A quietude indifferent to all things enveloped her. She had given birth to four children and raised three of them. She had observed life as it came. Probably she had desired nothing. Probably she had gained nothing. And probably she had already outlived her purpose—yet within her something had settled: the weight of a life lived through years, borne by the flesh of this woman who harbored it.

A vague fear welled up in Mr. Yajima’s heart. He stared as if devouring his wife’s sleeping face. He thought he heard a gurgling, ominous sound near his solar plexus. Mr. Yajima involuntarily said, “Hey.” And again he said, “Hey.” At that moment, Tsuneko’s brow twitched faintly and she shifted slightly. Mr. Yajima started and abruptly pulled the futon over himself. Just like that, he remained still for a long time, as if frightened by something. And feeling a distant pain in the depths of his head, he remained just like that until he sank into a fitful sleep devoid of any awareness of reality...

The next day, Mr. Yajima became acutely aware that his mind was in a state of utter bewilderment. He tried to recall the night’s events as if they belonged to a distant past, but under the bright daylight, they immediately blurred into haze. Then he left for the company at the usual time.

At that moment, Mr. Yajima, walking bathed in April’s light, casually thought that he might try keeping a diary from now on. How long he would be able to maintain it was something even he himself didn’t know. “But anyway, I’ll try keeping a diary starting today.” And Mr. Yajima raised his right hand and twirled his mustache. But finding the gesture oddly comical even to himself, he glanced all around. The spring sun was shining across the entire land.