Pathway to Japanese Literature

Shuukichi Ishida was a thin, tall man.
At first glance, his body appeared somewhat frail, but there was an impression that he harbored something robust deep within.
He wasn’t perpetually robust, but even so, he seemed capable of steadily enduring any hardship that came his way.
In truth, within him existed something strange and vast.
He dragged all things that should command attention into himself, and thus he remained still.
No one ever saw him utter harsh words.
At times, the muscles of his cheeks would twitch involuntarily, but even that would be concealed beneath his skin in an instant, vanishing from sight.
All things sank into the depths of the heart.
But what had accumulated in the depths of his heart?
No one—not even he himself, perhaps—could have articulated what that was.
A terrifying, deep, and dark hole.
When one happened to glimpse into its depths, they felt an oppressive weight.
Within him seemed to exist a terrifyingly powerful world that he alone commanded—and likely, an empty one at that.

Recently, there seemed to have been some change—or rather, a transition—within him. When walking alone, he would often abruptly quicken his pace. He looked as though something were pursuing him. Then too, the light in his eyes had grown clouded. At times he would stare fixedly through his glasses into empty space with a feeble, listless gaze, his lips pressed tightly together. In his gaze lay an empty melancholy; within his tightly pressed lips dwelled a formidable will. “The power within emptiness” was likely the phrase that best expressed the inner state his recent appearance revealed.

He set up a small house together with a woman named Oshima.
Their life was materially impoverished, but it seemed they continued making various efforts nonetheless.
He confessed the following love story from approximately two years prior—.

I

“You think only of yourself.”
“And you don’t truly love me.”

Eiko spoke those words to me much later.
I acknowledge the first half of her statement as it stands, but even now I cannot accept the latter portion.
I had believed that contemplating oneself and cultivating personal growth constituted the surest path to nurturing love.
Furthermore, I was convinced one must solidly establish love’s foundations until they could withstand the weight of such convictions.

Eiko’s mother and my mother had been close friends in their hometown of Morioka.
After coming to Tokyo, I would occasionally visit her house.
Eiko possessed what might be called a modern beauty.
From her brows to the eye area lingered a faintly haughty air, yet beneath plump cheeks, her peculiarly drawn-tight lips revealed flashes of intellect.
She always wore her hair in a fashionable Roman-style coiffure fastened with a single tortoiseshell comb.
This looked heavy upon her slender neck.
She had a habit of gazing slightly askance rather than looking at things directly.

Shortly after she graduated from girls’ school, I too had finished at a private university and was idling about.
The subsequent half year and more was the joyful period of our love.

But I shall say nothing more about these matters.
It is not because speaking pains me.
Because it is unnecessary.

I had considered my fate and hers as one, and I forced that upon Eiko.
Even if marriage had not yet become an issue for us at all...
And we were happy.

In Eiko’s room stood a single bookcase and, beside it, a desk draped in olive serge. On its surface always sat a pen holder inlaid with various shells, into which four or five ordinary beautiful bird feathers—not a quill—had been inserted. In the tokonoma alcove sat a basket of artificial flowers, and on its sand-textured wall hung a small Mount Fuji scroll painted by the Kano school. I remember that long ago, a koto stood propped in one corner there. However, before I knew it, it had been taken to her mother’s room.

We often spent quiet hours in that room.
Eiko’s father was a naval officer who was always away; thus at home there remained only three people: her mother, the daughter, and the maid.
Eiko’s brother Nobuo had been relegated to Kyoto due to a failed indiscretion and was attending university there under his uncle’s supervision.
Eiko’s mother occupied a designated room for herself and did not interfere in the slightest with her daughter’s freedom.
She seemed both omniscient and utterly unknowing.
She always wore a calm, serene expression.
This made her approachable yet rendered her true intentions elusive.
Yet I still knew nothing for which she could be blamed.
In moments of heartache, I even yearned to rest within her embrace.

In such tranquil surroundings, our love grew.
When I visited Eiko, the maid would relay my arrival, and I could be shown straight to her room.

I can no longer recall exactly when it was, but seeing that begonia flowers were blooming in a corner inside the gate, it must have been around October.
That afternoon, I visited Eiko as usual.
She said she had a slight headache.

“Then shall we go out somewhere?”

“Yes.”

And we smiled at each other.
With that, the matter of going out faded away completely.
We had experienced many times how young love's smile would dissolve everything without resolution.
And our hearts were happy.

“What are you thinking about?” she said.
“Nothing,” I answered.

I had made it my habit to sit on her zabuton cushion in front of her desk.
And she herself sat on the zabuton she had taken out for me.
That had begun from the time of our passionate baisers.

That day too, leaning against Eiko’s desk, I spent a time of happiness that felt unsteady.
And when silence fell between us, I picked up a book that lay among four or five magazines for no particular reason.
There was a small envelope inserted.

“You mustn’t!” Eiko exclaimed.
And then she suddenly snatched it from my hand.

Startled, I gazed at her face.

“Please forgive this, okay… okay?”
“…A friend gave it to me, but it would be troubling if you saw it.”

“If it’s that sort of thing, there’s no harm in showing it.”
“Wasn’t our promise to hide nothing from each other?”

“But…,” said Eiko, hanging her head.

I said I definitely wanted to see it.
I argued that there must be no secrets between us, that we must be solemn before our shared fate.
However, Eiko stubbornly hid the letter.

“Are you angry?” she said after a moment.

“I am not angry.”

“I’ll show you everything from now on.
But please forgive me just this once.
And please don’t doubt me.
As you always say, I hold belief in our love.
A strong, strong belief….
Please forgive me, believe me.
If you don’t… I….”

I listened with a strange feeling as the very words I always used flowed from Eiko’s mouth. Yet how powerfully must those words—"belief" and "to believe"—have reverberated through my chest. They were the solemn vow that undergirded our love’s very existence.

Why I remember these insignificant letters with such clarity remains unknown even to myself. Though it’s true a dark streak later stained my heart through them, at that moment I clung to Eiko’s words with near-blind faith. No—even now I still yearn to believe. Ah, had I not in that very instant glimpsed Eiko’s frost-edged countenance, I might have forgotten it all without a second thought…

We often spoke of romantic love.
I believed that only those who embodied true love could speak of it.
And I declared that speaking of love was the privilege of us two alone—that we had to strive to legitimize that privilege.

“But how often our eyes are deceived.”
“The moment I think I’ve grasped the truth, it slips through my fingers unnoticed.”
“We must move forward with our heads, our hearts... our entire being.”
“If one acts with full responsibility using all of oneself, I believe anything is permitted.”
“And in time, that conviction will be guaranteed.”
“For now I can only say this—I believe in you, I believe in myself, and I believe in our love.”
“I impose nothing upon you.”
“I only wish for you to be moved by your own true heart.”

“I too truly believe with all my heart.”
“But when I dwell on it too deeply, my chest grows tight.”

“Yes, contemplation brings true anguish.”
“Yet surpassing this pain shall become our inaugural stepping stone.”

“Then have we built nothing at all?”

“You mustn’t voice such thoughts.”
“We have secured the most vital conviction.”
“Our task henceforth lies in nurturing this belief and carrying it forward.”

Eiko at that moment said nothing and gave a lonely smile.
I had always feared seeing that.
And so I bowed my head and spoke in a low voice.

"It pains me most to see that smile of yours."
"For it makes me recall a certain sad story."

And I told her a sad foreign love story I had once read in some book, which lingered in a corner of my memory.
There existed a young man and woman who fell in love, but the woman left him without a word to preserve her eternal devotion.
"When I see that smile of yours," I said, "I feel as though I glimpse that woman's raw heart laid bare before me, and it brings me sorrow."

“Didn’t the man go after the woman?”

Eiko watched my face.

“I don’t remember that story well now either, but I think he probably stayed still.”
“I feel as though I can clearly understand those two’s feelings.”

“Would you also act that way in such circumstances?”

“I probably would.”
“Because I have no power to compel a woman.”
“I cannot control another’s fate.”

I had unknowingly filled my eyes with tears. Eiko momentarily tightened her face but remained stiff and unmoving. She stayed still, her hands clasped together. I could clearly sense something cold within her—like a tepid breath that had ceased to exist.

It was that cruel something—the fact that I often felt it awaken within her and trembled. When my heart truly submerged into deep love and grew excited, I knew I was often betrayed by this cruel thing within her. I had not yet learned how to draw forth from the depths of this cruel something within her a heat akin to burning. And I, who knew especially well the intense turbulence of her passion when she was amidst nature...

This was because the two of us sometimes used to walk through suburban nature.

Leaving behind the city air muddied by soot, dust, and humanity, swayed by the gentle rocking of the Yamanote Line train, and eventually finding ourselves two in the open suburbs—how keenly I must have felt love’s blessing then.

We walked along desolate rice field paths.
We walked through groves.
We walked along railway tracks lying under sunlight.
We spent silent moments beneath groves while gazing at Inokashira’s old pond.
That place we particularly favored.

We would walk from Eiko’s house along the outer moat and usually take the train from Yotsuya Mitsuke.
After transferring trains at Nakano and entering the Inokashira forest on foot from Kichijoji Station, we hardly exchanged a word.
Passing by Benten Shrine and throwing myself into the thicket by the pond on the opposite side, I would often spend time there until evening.
Around the time when the leaves were about to fall, the pond water became crystal clear, and the figures of small crucian carp swimming among the waterweed could be distinctly seen even from the shore.

I lacked many words to give voice. My heart, amidst nature, was filled with an awareness of love that had transcended the confines of our two-person world. That love soon expanded to fill the heavens and earth, and I felt like weeping. In my eyes were reflected quiet groves, thickets, and the clear water’s surface cradling a cloudless sky.

“I feel as though I want to stay like this, still, until night falls,” Eiko said.
“Yes… and forever….”

After a moment, Eiko averted her eyes to the distance and uttered these words.

“They say there are times when love is felt immediately from the first meeting, and other times when it gradually comes later.”

“That may be the case.
But even when true love is felt later, there must surely have been some premonition of it from the beginning.”

“And what about us?…” whispered Eiko.

“Ask your own heart.”

And I quietly turned toward her, and she grasped my hand tightly.

After a while, Eiko let out a deep breath and peered into my eyes.

“Why didn’t we love each other sooner?”

I could not answer anything.

In Eiko’s eyes was a fiercely burning glint.
And within the pulse of her hand, and beneath her burning *lèvres*, I could feel the terrible turbulence of *passion*.

It was a terrible temptation.
And that temptation began invading my very flesh.
Yet ah—I possessed the willpower to reject it.
At that moment, my heart was neither cowardly nor Puritanical.
Then why?
I knew no means to express it.
Though I disdained mere *relation sexuelle*, I considered those acts performed in love’s name—in fate’s name—as matters of profound gravity.
Yet I had not brought this clearly into consciousness then.
I stood up trembling.
And spoke.

“Shall we walk a little?”

Eiko silently looked up at me.
In that gaze, I was able to perceive a certain hostility.
But in the next instant, I was thinking of something more terrifying—that within her resided a *bête sauvage*.

My heart was in turmoil, yet my mind was strangely cold and clear.
Was it truly right to provide nourishment to Eiko’s passion?
And would that be the guarantee of our love?
Has our love progressed to the point of being able to affirm that?
…At that moment, in my heart—belief!
I cried out.
Then tears welled up in my eyes.

I gently took Eiko’s hand.
And I said.

“Please believe me.”

Eiko remained silent and lowered her head.

The lonesome shadow of the setting sun lay upon the ground.
We walked mutely into the rice paddies like lost souls, never once hesitating.
Cold air streamed through the endless mulberry fields.

When I found myself back in Kichijoji again without quite knowing why, both my head and body were utterly exhausted.
Eiko, holding a parasol in one hand, kept her tense face turned downward.

When I returned to Eiko’s house, I didn’t know what to do.
And so I simply followed her into the house.

“Where have you been?” Eiko’s mother Haruko immediately called out.

“We went to the exhibition in Ueno,” Eiko answered.
“Oh, how nice.”
Haruko then turned a smile toward me.
“Were there any good paintings?
I haven’t had the chance to go yet myself.”

“There seem to be few interesting ones,” I found myself lying.
“But they appear better than last year’s.”

“Everyone seems to say that.
“It must be terribly crowded.”

“Yes. It was.
“I’m completely exhausted.”

Ms. Haruko served us sweets and poured tea for us.

“Mother, let’s invite Mr. Hashimoto and go together again this time,” Eiko said.

“But you’ve already seen it, haven’t you?”

“I’d like to see that once more.”

“You truly are an exasperating person.”

After that, she made various remarks about trivial matters, but I only gave half-hearted responses and tried as much as possible to divert the conversation toward Eiko.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Ms. Haruko furrowed her brows and looked at me.
“No, it’s not particularly like that.”

I soon declined the meal and left that place. When the two of them escorted me to the entrance, I stole a fleeting glance at Eiko’s face before looking up at her mother’s face as if seeking something, then bowed.

That night I wandered the streets for hours. I deliberately chose the loneliest backstreets. My head naturally drooped as I became absorbed in thoughts of Eiko. Her coldness and passion warred within my mind. Yet sometimes I would look up at the starry sky and fiercely whisper “Believe” to my heart. What exactly to believe—even I didn’t clearly know. It was no longer simply love for Eiko alone. As crushing loneliness overwhelmed me, I clenched my fist tight.

That night, I wrote a long letter to Eiko.
In it, I affirmed my wish for her to believe in our love, to keep steadfast watch over her own heart, to remain resolute—and further, that my very existence was sustained through love, that building a life upon its foundation held immeasurable worth, and all such convictions.
And I placed the letter on the desk, resolving to mail it the following day.

When I lay down on the cold floor and stretched out my limbs, my lonely and agitated head gradually softened.
And at that moment, while I felt like crying, I was conjuring Eiko’s corps nu before my eyes.

II

Eiko and I wrote letters to each other once a week. I expounded on the authority of those who possess love, while Eiko wrote of the anguish endured by those tormented by love. In the harmonized tone of our correspondence, I felt an indescribable force at work, and became convinced our hearts were aligned in direction. I imagined everything would eventually be built with vigor, our fates twisted into a single strand.

When the cold sharpened abruptly and leaves began to fall, we ceased venturing to the suburbs altogether. Instead, I began visiting Eiko’s house with some frequency.

However, from around that time, I began encountering Shizuko Hashimoto frequently at Eiko's house. And I came to sense that Eiko's demeanor had grown somehow different than before.

Shizuko was a classmate of Eiko's.
The two had been close friends since their school days, but around that time they appeared to have suddenly grown closer again.
Shizuko’s house was in Yaraicho, yet she often appeared to walk all the way to Eiko’s place in Fujimicho.
When I visited Eiko, I would often find myself together with Shizuko there.
Later, I came to immediately recognize them by the Azuma clogs lined up in the entrance.

When Eiko spoke with Shizuko alone and I approached them, I could never miss the fleeting shadow that passed across Eiko’s face.

Their conversations were invariably—at least whenever I was present—gossip about classmates past and present.
Fiddling with a magazine in my hands, I would listen in silence to their talk of where Miss So-and-so had married or how Miss Such-and-such was faring.
When the conversation turned to me, I gave terse replies.
This would invariably leave our exchange strained.
The more I dwelt on this obligation to spout hollow pleasantries before young women, the more deeply melancholic I grew.

“You’re such an egoist, aren’t you?”
“And you have absolutely no interest in anything beyond yourself, do you?”

There had been a time when Eiko had said such a thing.
Though her words were ostensibly directed at Shizuko with a faintly apologetic tone, how they must have pierced through my heart.
That day, after returning to my lodgings, I wrote a long letter about it.
I wrote that I might indeed be an egoist; that my mind now lacked leisure for trivial conversational games; that when strained, the heart inevitably turns exclusive; and concluded that she ought to understand such a heart as mine.

Eiko’s answer to that was brief.
And it simply stated that those words hadn’t been spoken with ill intent and asked for forgiveness.
I did not pursue it any further.

However, from that point a profound desolation welled up within me.
I could do nothing but tell myself I believed in the future—in Eiko’s and my future.

To what degree this heart of mine had truly permeated Eiko’s being, I cannot articulate.
In that moment, contemplating how many efforts yet lay required between us, I felt tears pricking at my eyes.
Yet perhaps all those strivings of mine had been aimed solely at myself.
I was no educator.
I had simply nurtured love within my own breast—that faith—through slow cultivation.
And within that conviction’s embrace, I sought to enfold Eiko.

However, Eiko had been trying to escape from my sphere of influence.
I would not become aware of this until much later.
To properly interpret her demeanor toward me in Shizuko’s presence required a clarity I sorely lacked.

When the three of us—Shizuko, Eiko, and I—were seated together, Eiko would often rise and leave Shizuko and me sitting there for a long time.

Shizuko was a woman who could be described as having a calm demeanor.
She tended to lower her slender face and spoke quietly.
Whereas Eiko always wore airy zori sandals, she frequently wore Azuma clogs.

There were times I thought Shizuko might share more points of connection with me than Eiko did.
Yet I also felt no kinship with Shizuko’s fate.
She likewise appeared to hold no particular interest in me.

Being awkward in conversation, when alone with Shizuko, I often ended up talking about things like the seasons throughout the year. Because remaining silent felt unbearable.

“Of all the seasons, I like autumn best,” I said.
“When autumn comes, everything settles.”
“The mind blurred by summer’s heat gradually clears, letting various thoughts surface.”
“It’s good to breathe deeply under the open sky, and good to reflect on one’s own heart alone.”
“……But they say women’s hearts grow most unsettled in autumn.”

“That isn’t true at all.”
“Yet somehow autumn feels like a frightening time.”

“Isn’t spring the more terrifying season?”

“No, in spring I actually find myself more settled.”
“Though I do become somewhat absentminded, I still find myself feeling relaxed.”
“When autumn comes, things become strangely clear, and I feel frightened.”

“Having one’s heart grow clearer must be a good thing.”

“Yes, but it becomes unbearable when things are too clear, you know.”
“My brother says that too—that it’s better for young people to stay a bit unfocused.”
“It’s not good to poison your mind—since you won’t come up with any decent ideas anyway……”

I couldn’t quite tell whether Shizuko had said that sarcastically or with genuine belief. Altogether, I couldn’t discern any distinction between truth and lies within her.

“That may be so,” I answered.

“Huh?” Shizuko said, raising her face slightly, but then fell silent and said nothing more.

At such times, when Eiko came, she would always smile and say such things.

“Another silence has begun, hasn’t it?”

I could do nothing but give a wry smile.

However, as such occurrences piled up, I felt Eiko’s heart growing distant from me.
The more I struggled alone, the deeper a gloomy shadow sank into my heart.
I would take out old letters from Eiko and read them, or repeatedly go over new letters again and again, trying to trace the marks of her true heart.
However, as the letters became more recent, I noticed that the phrases in her letters strikingly resembled those I used.
Blessings of love, power of love, a life built upon love—such phrases were scattered everywhere.
I wondered at times whether that was her unconscious imitation, and at other times whether her heart had truly come to communicate with mine.
But to think that she was merely parroting my words in a vague manner was unbearable.
Moreover, I had been shown far too many contradictory attitudes to believe in the progression of her heart.
I sank into painful contradictions.
Yet even from those depths, I still gasped out, "I believe!"

But ah, what a wretched figure of myself I was soon to discover!

As the year was drawing to a close, I received a letter from my father back home.
It said that since Mother had been ill for a long time and everyone wanted to welcome the New Year together, I absolutely must return.
I promptly sent a reply and informed them that I could not return due to urgent work.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t have returned home to Morioka for a short while.
But I did not want to leave the land where Eiko was.
In the name of our strong love, I believed that was permissible.

The new year began, and the city became a bustling thoroughfare alive with activity.
New Year’s guests came and went, the clatter of battledore games filled the air, and at night, the calls of karuta players echoed.
Something refreshing spread its wings, and people’s hearts shone brightly.
Yet that external cheerfulness pressed down even more heavily upon my heart.
I shut myself away alone in my rented room.

On the third day, I visited Eiko’s house.
“Oh my, why didn’t you come in?”

The one who welcomed me joyfully with these words was Eiko’s mother.
There, for the first time, I was treated to a quiet household’s New Year feast of toso spiced sake and zoni soup.

Eiko wore an oddly serious expression, yet a bright heart showed through her words.

“Yesterday I went around visiting various friends and got completely exhausted.”

“Why didn’t you come to my place?” I said.

“But it’s you who ought to be coming to me.”
“And I... I simply feel ill at ease visiting the boarding house.”

Then she also said the following.

“Tomorrow night, we’re having karuta at my house.”
“You absolutely must come.”
“I was just about to send you the letter.”

“Please do absolutely come,” Ms. Haruko also said.
“It’s not something like a formal karuta gathering, you see.”
“It’s just Mr. Hashimoto and his sister along with our household.”
“Eiko was making a big fuss just now that we wouldn’t have enough people if you didn’t come.”

I promised to come tomorrow evening regardless and left shortly after.
It was because Eiko had said she was going out again.
And it was because I was filled with sorrow, wondering why my love could not calm Eiko’s restless heart.

On the evening of the fourth, I met Shizuko’s brother Kinichirou for the first time at Eiko’s house.

He had a facial structure that closely resembled Shizuko’s. Slender-faced with thin eyebrows, and a gold tooth that occasionally glinted at the corner of his smile. I did not overlook the habit of carelessly brushing back two or three strands of long hair that hung down over his forehead, nor the habit of blinking his long, narrow eyes.

“It was good of you to come,” Ms. Haruko said to me.
“I was worried you might not come since you don’t care much for karuta.”

“No—it’s not that I dislike it inherently, but rather that I’m not good at it.”

“Well, someone like me is actually no good at it either,” said Kinichirou.

“That’s a lie—I’ve heard from Ms. Shizuko.”

Eiko said that, her eyes laughing.

“No—I’m truly no good… When it comes to these things, women do seem to improve faster than men.”
“Shizuko couldn’t get a single card at first.”

“No one starts out being good at it.”

“But someone like Ms. Eiko was born skilled, wasn’t she?”

“Oh my, you say such cruel things.”

“Ah, there certainly are people with a natural talent for it.”

I listened silently to such conversation. And seeing that her brother too possessed Shizuko’s manner of speaking—which blurred truth and jest—I felt a strange emotion.

When the karuta was brought out, I insisted that I couldn’t take part and would just watch, but Eiko absolutely would not allow it.

“Since Ms. Shizuko is skilled, Mr. Hashimoto and I will take charge.”
“You should join Ms. Shizuko’s side as reserve.”
“…Mother will read them for us, won’t you?”

“That won’t do,” Shizuko said, but she glanced at me.

Eiko handed about half of the cards to Kinichirou.
“I can’t manage this many,” he protested, but Eiko forced them upon him anyway.

“And so Ms. Eiko’s antics have started again,” he said with a laugh.

The match was evenly matched—or rather, it might be more accurate to say that no one was taking it seriously.

Holding a small number of cards, I found myself enjoying Ms. Haruko’s beautiful voice more than the game itself.
She possessed a voice of such clarity—utterly unlike Eiko’s, which always carried a faint murkiness.
Holding the reading cards up to the electric lamp’s glow, tilting her head slightly, she continued reciting in that crystalline, unfaltering tone.
Then I was surprised anew by how much more skilled Shizuko proved than I had imagined.

When we had grown reasonably tired, we stopped playing karuta.
And we all continued our conversation while picking at sweets and mandarins.
Eiko consistently spoke to Kinichirou in a domineering manner.
And lingering in my ears was a man’s voice saying, “Ms. Eiko’s antics have started again.”

It was nearly eleven o’clock when I left Eiko’s house.
I walked with the Hashimoto siblings along the deserted street to the foot of Kagurazaka.

“We’ll be holding a karuta gathering at our house soon, so please do come,” Kinichirou said to me.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“When you engage in such pastimes carefreely, they become quite enjoyable.”

“Yes.”

“I often think life in the Heian period must have been carefree and enjoyable.”
“When living a life where only the mind is kept in such an excessively tense state as of late, I feel as though humans actually become more foolish.”

“That may be the case,” I said. “But I believe self-awareness remains essential at all times.”

“Yes,” he replied, “such efforts are indeed most necessary.”

We fell silent after that. And I bid farewell and boarded the train from the foot of Kagurazaka. I caught a brief glimpse of Shizuko bowing her head slightly toward me inside the train.

When I returned to my lodgings, I was suddenly struck by an unpleasant fatigue. And from beneath that fatigue, an irritating feeling came welling up. I firmly suppressed it and, keeping my eyes closed, leaned against the desk for a while.

When I was struck by a sudden chill and opened my eyes, the charcoal in the brazier had already turned to white ash. And then, just like that, I stood up and burrowed into the futon as if collapsing. And in the shivering cold, I crossed both arms over my chest.

The next day when I visited Eiko, she was out having gone to the Hashimotos’.

III

The number of Eiko’s letters gradually decreased.
At first, when I sent a letter, she would reply to it, but by the end of January, she would only give me a single brief response for every two letters I sent.
However, such external matters I could have easily forgiven.
Yet what made my heart most desolate was the change in their content.
In the beginning, she had often directly conveyed the echoes of a heart suffering in love, but by that time, only a dry listing of abstract phrases reached me.
I could find no words that truly captured the resonance of her heart.

Even so, I still visited Eiko’s house from time to time.
However, a cold wall had imperceptibly formed between us.
Eiko treated me with an attitude that seemed to shield her inner feelings.
I, too, had no choice but to keep my own heart firmly hidden deep within my chest.

“I am praying for your happiness.”
I uttered those words.
“Please remain faithful to your own true heart forever.
All I ask of you is that alone.”

“You don’t love me?” Eiko said in a trembling voice.

“You’re asking me that?”
“…For what purpose do you think I’ve repeatedly begged you to believe?”
“That this conviction of mine fails to reach you may stem from my own insufficiency.”
“Yet I have faith in my growth.”
“And I wish to validate our love.”

“No, no, it’s not about that. …You’ve been so cold lately.”

“To me, you appear cold.”
“And when I encounter your cold attitude, my own heart grows cold.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Please… do not let me feel that coldness.”
“Please let this burning belief endure.”

“That’s precisely what I wish to convey to you.”

However, our conversation never progressed a single step beyond such exchanges. I could sense there was something we were mutually avoiding. Then why did I not attempt to break through that barrier and move forward? ……Ah, I was merely staring fixedly and solemnly at Eiko’s fate and my own. And in the silence of facing Eiko, I felt as though I were suffocating.

Eiko must have been suffering from it as well. She would often say she needed to serve tea and lead me to her mother’s place.

Ms. Haruko always kindly tended to me.
She would often gently remind me to mind my health.
Whenever I stood before her, I felt as though facing a loving mother.

“How has your mother back home been? Is she in good health? I must apologize for having neglected to write to her for so long.”

“Yes, she remains unwell as always, though not yet bedridden.”

“That won’t do.”
“You should go back home to her from time to time.”

“But with various matters keeping me occupied...”

“I suppose that must be the case.”
“But it’s best to devote yourself to studies while you’re young.”
“If our Shinobu were seen in such a state, we would truly be troubled.”
“Even so, given that your health hasn’t been very good lately, you must take care of yourself.”

“Since my health tends to be neglected.”

“Yes, that’s simply how it is in one’s youth, I suppose.”

When told such things by Ms. Haruko, I felt compelled to prostrate myself before her.
And how sorrowful it was to hide my inner anguish before her.
And so I would habitually take my leave as though fleeing from her maternal embrace.

However, my greatest pain lay in frequently witnessing the Hashimoto siblings come and go at Eiko’s house. I had imperceptibly drifted away from the center of Eiko’s household and found myself skulking about her home like a stray dog. When I appeared, I knew full well how their cheerful conversation would abruptly cease and a gloomy shadow would fall. I particularly dreaded sitting face-to-face with Kinichirou. And whenever I saw men’s high clogs lined up beside women’s wooden sandals at Eiko’s entrance, I simply turned on my heel.

I wandered the night streets alone, aimlessly.
I began avoiding even the few friends I had as much as possible.
And each time I caught sight of my own solitary figure walking with my head hung through dimly lit back alleys, my melancholy grew heavier and heavier.

I did not know what sort of intellectual connection existed between Eiko and Kinichirou. Yet in my mind, their two faces sitting side by side became stubbornly engraved. But I dared not even consider acting upon it.

Even if they were to act out of true love, and even if my love were to be destroyed, I told myself I could permit it. I can wish for their true happiness; I can continue living even in solitude; I can affirm and nurture my fate through tears—but I told myself I lack the power to reach into the current of their destiny. Yet what becomes of all I have believed until now? What of this love I’ve nurtured within my breast—where does it go? When I thought that, I felt the ground beneath my feet darken and grow unsteady, as though I might collapse.

On a cold, starry night, I returned to my boarding house while vaguely pondering various matters.
The maid then informed me that a woman had come to visit earlier.
She had apparently left without giving her name.
Even when I pressed for details about her clothing and such, I could grasp nothing substantial.

I possessed no female acquaintances who would visit me.
I tried conjuring images of Eiko and Shizuko in my mind, but neither seemed plausible.
It suddenly struck me that it might have been Oshima—but then I reconsidered, for had it been Oshima, she would not have departed without leaving her name, having visited once before.
Yet at that moment, my mind held no capacity to dwell on such speculations.
A leaden melancholy had settled thick within my heart.

Nevertheless, when the next day came, that matter strangely began to bother me.
I pinned faint hopes on Eiko.
But now our fates are in flux; we must not act rashly, I thought.
What it would bring about would soon become clear, I thought.

For two or three days, I remained holed up in my boarding house.
I would pick up books at random only to immediately grow weary, then lay out my own bedding to snatch fitful daytime naps.
At night, I took sleeping pills though remaining unable to sleep.
But throughout that time, there came no word from Eiko.

On the fourth night, I dragged my aching body and walked to Eiko’s house.
Because I disliked having to face many people by taking the train.

The one who came out to the entrance to welcome me was Eiko herself.
Since Ms. Haruko happened to be absent, I kept up a painful face-to-face with Eiko.
She was strangely agitated.

“Did you not come to visit my boarding house three or four days ago?” I said.

“No,” Eiko replied tersely, her eyes fixed on my face.

At that moment, I felt a wave of relief.
For some reason, I myself didn’t know why.

Between us sat a large Seto round brazier filled with glowing charcoal.
I stared fixedly at the red flames.
A tense, helpless feeling welled up in my chest.
However, I could not find appropriate words to speak.

“Why have you been so silent lately?” I said.

Eiko silently stared at my face.
I could discern the shadow of effort to conceal her inner feelings within her expression.

“I lack the strength to intervene in your destiny. Yet I sense some shift within your heart. I won’t speak of it directly. Only—you mustn’t be false to your own heart. If you mean to act, act with your whole being. When I look at you now, I feel... an unbearable precariousness.”

“Won’t you trust me?”

“Ah—how should I trust? What would you have me do with our—no, with my love? What have you ever given to sustain this belief of mine...?”

“Me?… No—you have given me nothing at all.”
“And only to me…”

Having started to say that, Eiko pursed her lips once more.
I could not say anything.
I had been trying to give her my strong belief and love.
But what was her demand?
What had she been seeking from me?

“Please tell me.”
“More... More... I’m in agony,” she said.

“What would you have me say?”
“I possess no words beyond ‘belief’.”
“I still believe fiercely.”
“But what should I believe?”
“I kneel before you like a penitent, praying before your fate.”

“Must you torture me so…?” Eiko burst out.
“There were nights I wept until dawn, thinking.”
“Yet I still don’t know what to do.”
“Let me ponder longer.”
“……Your very existence terrifies me now.”

“You are afraid of your own fate.”
“You must clearly choose your own path.”

“You never tell me anything at all.”
“You don’t understand my heart at all… You only think about yourself, and you don’t truly love me.”

Eiko held her breath as if startled by something.
And in her eyes burned a rebellious glint—like something struggling to escape beneath suffocating weight.

“I have no intention of plundering your heart.”
“Only act as your true heart commands.”

At that moment, Eiko's tears fell in steady drops.
I didn't know what to do.

“Hey, please forgive me!” I said to her in a low voice.
“If I have caused you pain, please forgive me.”

Eiko did not answer. And then, with her head hanging heavily, she took my hand. I held my breath and peered into her eyes.

Ah, how our *baiser* at that time wrung my chest. However, that was our last embrassement.

Eiko, her face pale, was staring fixedly at the brazier’s flames. As I looked at her tense face reflected in the charcoal fire, I thought about how much I was tormenting her. And the act of causing her pain pierced my chest. I mouthed, “I believe you.” And thinking I should leave now, I stood up.

At that moment, I still had not forgotten Ms. Haruko.
And I feared meeting her face-to-face.
My face must have worn a look of anguish at that moment.
I could not bear to expose my pain-filled heart before her.

Eiko gazed up fixedly at my face.

"My mother will likely return soon," she said.

Her quiet words surprised me. And when I saw that face bearing its customary haughty shadow, I felt I had stumbled upon an insoluble enigma. Tormenting myself, I moved toward the entrance.

Eiko wordlessly accompanied me there.

“When your heart turns, please send me a letter,” I said.

“Yes,” Eiko answered.

The sky was gloomily overcast.
Cold air flowed over my heated cheeks.
I walked with my overcoat collar turned up, my gaze fixed on the streetlamp lights.
However, when I boarded the train, I kept my eyes closed almost until I returned home.

I thought that now I had no choice but to live gazing solely at my own heart. What I had trusted, what I had believed I firmly grasped—it was nothing more than the formless expanse of my own feelings. Yet I shouted to myself to be strong. I thought suffering would aid my growth. But in my heart's depths, I still vowed to believe in Eiko. If our fates were meant to become one, then someday Eiko would return to my embrace. Yet I cannot plunder Eiko's heart. To withdraw and be faithful only to my own heart—this was the truest path to being faithful to my fate. Even as I thought this, a sob welled up within me, and my vision swam.

When I returned to my boarding house, the maid handed me a letter.

“When you went out, the rickshaw man brought this shortly after, so I held onto it for you.”

There was no sender indicated on the envelope.
I sliced open the seal.

As I read through it, I was at first briefly startled, but gradually my heart settled into calmness.
I read it through twice.

It was from Oshima.—“I’ve finally left ‘Okinaya’ and am now staying at my aunt’s house in Sendagaya. I stopped by your place recently but you were out. Today I wanted to see you—I told them I was going to the bathhouse and left home—but didn’t want to bump into your friend again like last time I visited. So I borrowed a brush at a nearby rickshaw stand to write this. If you have time, I’d like to meet briefly. I might be going somewhere far away soon.”
Such matters were hastily written.

I felt as though I could see the figure of a woman who had come alone to my place on a cold night only to leave again. And I thought I had done something inexcusable. She was not the kind of woman who possessed enough deliberate intent to tell lies with full awareness.

IV

When I suffered in my love with Eiko, I would sometimes drink alcohol.
However, this was not to dull the suffering.
Rather, drinking would habitually make my heart grow ever more fraught with anguish.
And through that tragic intensity welling up from the depths of tension, I found myself increasingly stirring and agitating my own heart.
At such times, I could sink directly into examining nothing but the workings of my heart.
And I myself affirmed this drinking as sustenance to strengthen my own belief.

Near my boarding house stood a small restaurant called “Okina.” It was an establishment somewhat known among connoisseurs for its refined cuisine. Whenever I went there, Oshima would always be the one to serve me—though I did not visit so frequently myself. By my own count, it was five or six times at most.

Oshima was a woman of imposing stature. Yet she still retained a guileless and uncalculating heart. Within her dwelled an ineffably romantic quality—one that softened her robust frame and those unblinking eyes set in an expressionless face devoid of charm. Even when I drank in silence, plumbing the depths of my own heart, I felt no trace of awkwardness in her presence. Rather, I sensed an almost tranquil familiarity there. To me, she seemed a creature of fleeting substance.

After losing her father followed by her mother, and with the family property passing into others’ hands, she had left the Niigata girls’ school she had been attending in her third year and come to Tokyo relying on her aunt, leaving her younger brother back in their hometown—she told me such things. However, her aunt was not a good person and persistently urged her into disreputable work; enduring the hardship, she stayed at that house for about a year before finally resolving to enter service at a certain mansion. She had worked there for about two years but, urged by her peers, became a maid at an inn. Shortly after that, she apparently moved to "Okina".

“But I want to leave this place again,” she said to me.

“Where are you going this time?”

“I haven’t decided where yet, you know.”

And Oshima talked about various hardships and recounted the behavior of unpleasant customers, forming a lonely smile.

I would listen to such stories without my mind ever being troubled. And when I fell silent, she too remained quiet, occasionally picking up the sake bottle. I felt no reserve or hesitation toward her.

One time, Oshima said to me, “Please do tell me your name and address.”
So I immediately told her that.

“Oh, you’re quite close,” she said with a look of surprise.

And she gave me a business card printed with “Kawata Shima” in small letters.

When I was leaving, she said, “Is it all right if I come visit you?”

“Ah, if you’d like, come by.”

“You stay silent and uncomplicated, so that’s fine.”
“But you’re such a worrier, aren’t you?”

I smiled bitterly and left there.

Some time later, Oshima came to visit my boarding house one afternoon.
We had no particular topic to discuss.
She mentioned something about thinking of returning to her aunt’s house again for a while.

There, a friend soon arrived.
Oshima remained silent and fidgeted, but left without heeding any offers to treat her.

"She’s such an inscrutable woman," said my friend.

"Ah…"

"And your attitude is odd too—it looks as if you’re treating her like a younger sister."

“Is that so…”
“But with that woman, I find myself strangely at ease in my natural state—though normally I maintain some defenses against any woman... Perhaps it’s because her personality lacks distinct contours, making her utterly impossible to grasp.”

In truth, it was only with her that I could interact in my natural state of calm.
As a result, no deep impression remained in my heart.
Moreover, my heart was filled with love for Eiko.
When I peered into my own heart, I scarcely recognized any shadow of Oshima there.
However, I must confess that her soft atmosphere may have seeped into my heart before I knew it.

However, one evening when I saw Oshima’s letter, the figure reflected in my heart was not Oshima. It was the figure of a single lonely human being. My own figure was lonely. And the figure of a woman who had come to visit me, standing on the street while bracing against the cold wind, was still lonely.

I wanted to comfort her. And I immediately took up the brush. I concisely wrote such things: my apology for being absent despite her visiting twice; that while I now bore my own troubled heart and wished to see no one, I would meet her if she came; that she should visit again if the opportunity arose; but that it would be better if she informed me once beforehand then.

When I finished writing the letter, tears welled up in my eyes. That I could console another human with pure sentiment made me feel almost grateful to my love for Eiko. Had our belief in love not existed, I was certain impurities would have tainted my feelings toward Oshima. Yet at that moment, I believed no defilement whatsoever stained my emotions. Only those who harbor profound love within themselves can truly grace humankind. My sentiments toward Oshima, I thought, resembled divine love. Ah, may I be allowed to use the word “God” here.

Even as I thought this, my heart was trembling.
I was afraid of the future of my fate.
If my belief in Eiko were betrayed, what would become of me?
And I knew all too well that the directions of my heart and Eiko’s had begun to diverge.
I felt a shudder akin to stepping into the depths of a dark night.
Yet I resolved to remain loyal to my fate to the very end.

When I awoke late the next day, the room was suddenly aglow with a pale bluish-white light. Sometime during the night, snow had accumulated. As I sat up, my eyes stung from the sunlight glaring off the snow.

However, with what a sorrowful heart must I have gazed upon the pure white snow that had fallen and accumulated upon the earth! I tried to forget everything, and tried to bury my heart in the cold snow. That afternoon, I walked about on the snow, crunching it underfoot, forgetting the cold. And at night, I wandered in silence through the backstreets where patches of snow remained. Within my heart, I heard the resounding echo of a strong voice: "Affirm everything." "Whatever may come, I will grasp it as it is," I whispered to myself.

But the next day, when I saw the snow lingering in the shadows of things, and when I heard the drops plinking steadily down from the eaves, a murky stagnant-water melancholy cast its shadow over my heart. While immersed in that oppressive mood, I nearly forgot time's passage. There was no word from Eiko, nor any word from Oshima. From that morning onward, I didn’t step outside even once, cradling my empty heart as I spent a hollow day. The fatigue of a war survivor permeated my very being. Yet my heart had settled into an oppressive heaviness.

Around eight in the evening, I leapt up at the letter from Oshima that the rickshaw driver had brought.
I immediately went outside.
However, I had no idea where Oshima was.
Peering into the dimly lit street while turning the corner, there in the shadow of a utility pole stood Oshima, faintly visible.

“What’s wrong?” I exclaimed involuntarily.

“I was waiting for you,” Oshima replied in a calm tone.

“Why would you do such a thing? You should’ve come to the boarding house.”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

I couldn’t understand what she meant by that.

We simply began walking aimlessly.
“Since Aunt wasn’t home, I came out for a bit—I was worried but am glad I could see you,” Oshima said.

However, between us there was no particular topic of conversation. I felt as though I could sense her within my embrace, experiencing a tranquil understanding that required no questions.

The backstreets were thoroughly muddy. We walked with our shoulders nearly aligned.

“What’s this ‘hardship’?” Oshima inquired.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“What you wrote in the letter.”

“It’s nothing.”

“But I can’t stop wondering.”

“It’s really nothing.”
“It’s just… I was abandoned by a woman, that’s all.”

“Oh, *you*?” said Oshima with a look of astonishment, her eyes fixed on me.
“And then what happened?”

“That was the end of it.”

“What kind of woman was she?”

“What kind… It’s nothing.”

“I see,” said Oshima, and she didn’t try to inquire further.

As I said such things to Oshima, I felt my mood strangely lift.
But was this a betrayal of Eiko—of our love?
No—I refused to believe that.
Yet it remained true: the momentary struggle before me had vanished, and my heart settled into gentle calm.
With tranquil eyes, I gazed upon Oshima’s form.
I myself lacked words to name this feeling.

“Shall we get something to eat?” I said.

“I don’t want to eat anything.”
“I’d rather keep talking like this.”

The cold air seeped through the overcoat.
The sky was clear but looked like a black cloth had been spread out, with no starlight visible.
Before us, desolate streetlights dotted sporadically into the distance.

“Are you cold?”

“No. And you?”

I did not answer that and suddenly asked about something else.

“You wrote in your letter that you might go far away—where exactly are you going?”

“I don’t really know.”

“What? You still don’t know?”
“But didn’t you say it would be in the near future?”
“That is the near future.”

“Then you must know where you’re going.”

“Yes, it doesn’t matter… No, there’s nothing wrong with informing you. But somehow…” Oshima began to say, then laughed. “I’ll let you know as soon as I go there. I’ve also come to accept that whatever happens will happen.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You’ll understand later. But you must dislike the idea of remaining acquainted with someone like me forever. I think so too—I feel like I might never see you again.”

“No—I feel as though I’ve grown profoundly close to your heart.”
“And yet I feel certain we’ll meet again.”
“Please send me letters again, will you?”

“Yes, I’ll send them.”
“But until then, please don’t send any from your side.”
“Because I don’t know when I’ll leave my aunt’s house.”
“Besides, my aunt is very strict.”

While we talked of such things, we said nothing conclusive.
However, I felt so intimately close to Oshima’s heart that I did not need to inquire deeply into external matters about her.

We did not know how long we had walked the streets.
And when Oshima said she had to go back now, I was struck by an inexpressible melancholy.

“Because my aunt might have returned,” she said.

Had Oshima not suggested leaving, I might have continued our carefree walk with her indefinitely.
However, I did not know how to detain her.
And though I offered to give her some spending money, Oshima absolutely refused to accept it.

“If I can just meet you, that’s enough for me,” she said.

We parted at Ochanomizu.
She was returning from there via the Kōbu Line train to Sendagaya.
“Take care of yourself,” I said.
After turning around and walking for a while, when I looked back, Oshima was still standing at the station entrance with her ticket in hand, seeing me off.

I quickened my pace straight ahead and returned to my lodgings.
I felt as though a hazy, dreamlike sensation had assailed me.
And I began to feel as though something was waiting for me at my lodgings.
It suddenly occurred to me to wonder if there was a letter from Eiko.

However, upon returning to my lodgings, I felt as though I had collided headlong with some invisible obstruction.
No letters had arrived from anyone.
The room showed no trace of alteration.
The bookcase, the desk, the ornament atop the tiered shelves—even the padded robe cast carelessly over the clothes rack—all preserved their original positions.
And these objects resurrected my inner existence before me with merciless clarity.
An inescapable heaviness began bearing down upon me with relentless force.

When I looked at the clock, it was ten.
I called the maid to have her spread the bedding and immediately burrowed into it.
An uncanny chill seeped from my shoulders through my entire body.
And I thought of Eiko, then of Oshima.
When I thought of Oshima, loneliness enveloped me.
When I thought of Eiko, I felt as though my life force were ebbing away.
With a sensation akin to praying to the vague, contradictory love within my heart, I held my breath for a long time.
Never before had I been struck by such desolate loneliness.
I felt everything had receded far from me.
And a melancholy desolation pressed relentlessly against my chest.
I felt as though I were seeing my soul—left isolated in a dark wilderness.

I got up and took sleeping pills.
And fell into a troubled sleep.

Five

For three days starting the next day, I remained bedridden with what felt like a cold. It wasn’t that I couldn’t get up, but there was a strange lack of strength in my body, making everything feel laborious.

However, during that time, I wrote a long letter to Eiko. A poignant emotion I couldn’t name urged my pen forward relentlessly, yet I forcibly restrained it, writing each line with deliberate force. I began the letter first with a plea for her to accept my belief in love. I set down that I ask nothing of her; that she remain true to her own fate; that she act with her whole being without succumbing to youthful deceit; how powerfully our love had been built up until now; that destroying this love would strike me as deeply as destroying my own will to live; but if our two fates could not be twisted into one, then I would test my strength accordingly; that the thought of this made my soul tremble; that no matter what might come, my belief in love remained unchanged; and that at least she might accept my heart alone—such things I set down. And so, I wrote that I would wait for her forever—though I lacked the strength to reach into her fate—that I would wait eternally for her to return to my heart, and with such words I concluded the letter.

However, no reply came from Eiko.
Only a brief postcard came, stating that she would write a proper letter later because she was slightly unwell.

After about a week, when I resolutely went to visit Eiko, she appeared to be in good health.
When she saw my face, a shadow of gloom drifted across her brow.
Ah, what a cruel heart she must have had!
She led me straight to her mother’s room as if to avoid sitting face-to-face with me.

I swore to myself that I would affirm my fate and endure all things without flinching as I moved forward.
But when I saw Eiko’s figure before my very eyes and her cold heart, I did not know what to do.
I felt like cursing myself.
However, I must make clear that I never once cursed Eiko.

But ruin came surprisingly quickly.

It was a desolate day with a leaden, overcast sky.
When I visited Eiko, Ms. Haruko greeted me at the entrance.
And saying that Eiko was out but would return soon, she led me to the tea room.
I felt as though some great force were dragging me along as I followed after her.

“You’ve grown quite thin lately.”
“Is something the matter with your health?”

“No, not particularly…,” I answered, yet felt as though my wretched heart lay exposed.
At that moment, I heard those words.
But I remained composed.
No—I even felt I had nearly anticipated it.

“What do you think of Mr. Hashimoto?” said Ms. Haruko.

“Which Mr. Hashimoto?”

“The older brother one.”
Having said that, Ms. Haruko studied my face.

“He’s gentle, has social acumen, and possesses an impressive demeanor…”

I didn’t know why those words had come out of my mouth at that moment.
However, at that moment, I was conjuring images of Kinichirou and Eiko as beings utterly disconnected from myself.

“Actually,” Ms. Haruko said, “there’s been a request from Mr. Hashimoto’s friend about having Eiko join the Hashimoto household. I myself have no particular objections regarding that gentleman.”

“And what does Eiko say about this?”

“I tried gently probing her feelings, but she doesn’t appear particularly opposed.”

“But does Ms. Eiko truly love Mr. Hashimoto?”

“Since I’ve been leaving Eiko entirely to her own devices, I’ve no notion of her feelings whatsoever, but it seems she’s been calling on Mr. Hashimoto quite frequently of late.”

At that moment, I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply remained silent. But an indescribable expression must have crossed my face—that was because I felt Ms. Haruko’s startled gaze upon it. Yet I firmly suppressed my feelings and said: “Then you should settle the matter quickly.” However, this time Ms. Haruko instead seemed taken aback by my words. She was a woman with a prominent nose yet narrow eyes, and never before had I seen those eyes open so wide.

“No, there’s no need to rush Eiko’s side yet.”
And then she said something like this:
“What if you were to take Ms. Shizuko as your wife?”
“I’ve thought so for quite some time.”
“However, if you do not wish to proceed, then there is nothing to be done.”

At that moment, my mind grew clear to an extent that surprised even myself.
I forcefully insisted that I was not yet mentally prepared to take a wife and that I wished to study more freely awhile longer.
Yet those very words of mine rang out like phrases my own mind was hurling back at me.
“You consider matters too extravagantly—that’s where you err.”
“…Someone like me lives quite untroubled, you see.”
“After all, there’s no use in pondering it.”

I found it painful to face Ms. Haruko.
I didn't want to disturb her peace with my melancholy.
No—more than that—I wanted to sever myself from all others and exist alone.

I said something I didn’t mean about having made plans with a friend and rose.

“I am thinking of taking Eiko back to our hometown once in the near future.”
“Please give my regards to your mother when you have the opportunity.”
Then she called after him.
“Please do give careful thought to Ms. Shizuko’s matter.”

I could not look at Ms. Haruko’s face.

When I found myself alone, I was startled by my own mind. There was no turbulence within me. With my chest tightly constricted and my thoughts utterly still, I observed my own form as if gazing at a stranger. Yet I mechanically boarded the train from Yotsuya Mitsuke to Inokashira. Within me lay almost no will to go there, nor any semblance of choice. It was merely that some heavy, stone-like force dragged me onward with relentless persistence.

I saw the desolate suburban earth’s skin bared to the chill. I saw the oppressive winter sunset. I saw Inokashira’s icy pond surface, the darkened cedar grove, and leafless woods within evening haze. When night’s hue swept across the fields, my heart was gripped by an unspeakable shudder. As though hunted by demons, I fled back to my boarding house.

I had the maid fetch two or three dishes from a nearby restaurant and ate them. Then I fell into bed as though collapsing.

Everything took on the form of nightmares and appeared before me.
I dazedly opened my eyes wide and gazed at them.
And I sank into a realm indistinguishable between dream and reality.

In the middle of the night, I opened my eyes as if startled by something.
The electric light lay stagnant in the room.
While staring at that light, I tried to think about Eiko and Kinichirou.
I wondered whether it might be proper to inform Kinichirou about Eiko and me.
But at that moment, I acknowledged nothing of consequence between Eiko and myself.
What I had clutched so tightly in my own hands now seemed nothing but an empty conviction of love.
And I felt certain Kinichirou must already know this much.

I felt as though there was nothing left for me to do.
I felt as though no one had any more need of me.
And I resolved never to visit Eiko’s house again.
As I thought this, the snare of a cunning scheme within my heart came into view.
I thought that everything might have been a snare set for me.
However, what appeared in my mind was Eiko, Kinichirou, Shizuko, Ms. Haruko, and even myself—each standing apart outside that snare.
The form of that snare—its origin unknowable—clung tenaciously to my melancholic mood.

After that, gloomy days dawned only to fade into dusk once more.
A dazed mood, as if I had forgotten everything, persisted within me.
There was no word from Eiko or anyone else.
While in the midst of the city, I felt as though I was surviving pointlessly, far removed from society.
And then the form of a heavy, oppressive snare of unknown origin enveloped me.

It was during such a time of melancholy that I received a letter from Oshima.

The letter came from Shimousa Sawara.
It bore the name Hamaya Chiyo—also known as Kawata Shima.
It opened with an extended expression of gratitude regarding that night.
Then followed brief mentions—that she had gone to Sawara at her aunt’s urging, that she had become a lowly geisha there, that she endured difficult days.—“If you ever have time, won’t you visit? I wanted to see you. I’m living through painful days now. You needn’t reply—truly, it’s fine. Should you change lodgings, do let me know. Please take care of your health. But if it suits you... please come once.”

I rolled up that letter again and put it back into the envelope.

My head suddenly cleared as if awakening from a trance.
Everything became apparent to me.
Yet why that letter could exert such influence upon me—this I did not know.

I stood and went outside.
A cold, gloomy day hung heavy with snow-thickened clouds.
With every muscle tensed, I strode forcefully across the frozen ground.
Before me loomed a newly tragic fate of my own making.
Through the pallid light beneath that leaden sky, I heard a voice calling—from what source I could not tell.
Had there been no witnesses, I might have prostrated myself and pressed my lips to the earth.

How this newfound sense of affirmation toward my own fate, welling up within my breast, must have given me strength and moved my heart to tears! Even if my firm belief in love had been shattered, it granted me power and profoundly nurtured my destiny. While boldly affirming everything, I resolved to follow my own fate with vigor. Before me lay no choices. There existed only the resolve to affirm all things. I came to believe that rejecting nothing—that nurturing both myself and my fate—was life’s true path. And I, unknowing of choice, held no concern whatsoever for what lay ahead.

I resolved to first go visit Oshima.
As I thought this, my heart held not a shred of ulterior motive.
Within my heart lay reflected only the soul of an ill-fated woman and my own fate intertwined with hers.

I visited Eiko’s house one final time.
My heart stayed utterly still even as it strained at its limits.

The one who came out to the entrance was Eiko.
When she saw my face, she pursed her lips tightly.
And I felt her eyes glaring down at me.

Eiko led me to her mother’s room.

“Has something happened?”
“You look dreadfully pale,” said Ms. Haruko.

“I’ve been feeling slightly unwell,” I replied.

“That won’t do.”
“You’ve never been particularly sturdy.”
“When early spring comes again, you must take much greater care.”

I unhesitatingly helped myself to the sweets and coffee.
While perfunctorily humoring Ms. Haruko’s words, I scarcely glanced toward Eiko.

“Why don’t you show him the picture postcards your father sent,” said Ms. Haruko to Eiko.

“Yes,” said Eiko as she stood up and brought a beautiful album from her room.
In it were several picture postcards depicting South Seas landscapes and inhabitants.
I saw luxuriant tropical vegetation, humans beneath blazing suns, and packs of savage beasts.
Then I imagined Eiko’s father navigating a warship across vast oceans.
Ms. Haruko posed me various questions about the postcards.

Looking at Ms. Haruko’s face—unchanging as ever, seemingly without a care and softened—I felt a peculiar emotion.

“I intend to go on a brief trip,” I said.

“Are you going to a hot spring or something?”

“Yes, I haven’t yet clearly decided.”
“…I may be out of touch for some time.”

I felt Eiko—who had remained silent until then—staring fixedly at me.

“Will you be going alone?” asked Ms. Haruko.

“Yes.”

“In that case, you’ll surely grow tired of it before long.”

“If I grow tired of it, I’ll simply return.”

“That is certainly true,” said Ms. Haruko in a tone of something like admiration.

When I appeared before Ms. Haruko, I felt as though all strength drained away.
And at that time, having to tell lies I didn’t mean was painful.

As I was about to leave, Ms. Haruko spoke again.

“When will you be departing?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“In that case, you must come again before then.”

When I stepped out to the entranceway, I stared fixedly at Eiko’s face for the first time. At that moment, my eyes must have held the look of a slave timidly gazing up at their master’s countenance. When I stepped outside, I felt as though I had shaken off some oppressive burden. There was nothing left for me to do. Before me lay nothing but my own fate... Yet I felt the desolation of my own self—this self that even in fear still longed to sit alone with Eiko. At the corner, I once looked back toward Eiko’s house.

When evening came, my heart was seized by unbearable desolation. A shivering chill trembled through my chest. I pressed my eyes shut against it. And I vowed to myself—I would believe in fate. There remained nothing but to close my eyes and charge headlong into destiny’s current; only then might some path unfold before me, I thought.

I departed from Ryogoku to Sawara on the five o'clock train that day.
I must now bring this confession to a close here.

I spent three days at Oshima's place. And what I found there was a heart that, though oppressed, remained unbound by anything; the tranquil stability of one’s own fate; and then, the lonely tears of oblivion. And yet, though I was no longer a virgin, I had been splendidly betrayed by the very sexual relations I had disdained. I brought those feelings back to Tokyo unchanged. And then I realized I had received a severe maladid.

Yet I had always boldly and head-on affirmed everything in the name of fate.
And I entered into this life as it was now.
A little over a year passed after that.
That was, for me, a powerful time when I remained faithful to my own fate.

However... Lately, a feeling that the form of fate I had been steadfastly observing was vanishing came over me.
And I grew anxious.
Yet I still felt strength in having remained faithful to my own fate.
And I do not want to doubt my belief in my own fate... That’s right—now I can only use the word “think.”