Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Shigeo often discussed his father with his mother, Shigeko. For Shigeko, it was rather a matter of indifference, but for Shigeo, it had become a vaguely worrisome issue—one he could not leave unspoken. In truth, Shigeo’s father, Tahara Kōhei, was contemplative in all matters and excessively lenient. However, that might have been a good thing. What troubled Shigeo was that through his father’s lifestyle—bereft of the capacity to confront obstacles—a certain void was settling within him. To direct his gaze there was eerie and terrifying. Yet Shigeo had no choice but to do so.

“Lately, Father has been frequently getting up in the middle of the night to take walks in the garden, hasn’t he?”

Shigeo said this to his mother.

“Well, even if you call it the middle of the night, it’s really around four or five in the morning,” Shigeko replied. “He says rising early is better for your health once summer heat sets in.” “It’s better than sleeping in like you do.”

She was smiling. It was her habit to let slip a calm, gentle smile in all matters. She, always filled with benevolence—or rather, a calmness that could hardly even be called benevolence—was somewhat slender but perpetually youthful and pure. Her long-lashed, narrow eyes showed a reserve of vitality. "But," said Shigeo, "Father doesn’t wake up early because he can—it’s more that he can’t sleep and has no choice but to get up, don’t you think?"

“Well, I don’t know... To me, it seems he’s sleeping quite soundly.” “Has he ever said anything like that?” “He hasn’t said anything specific, but…” “There was a time when I stayed up late reading books and passed through the veranda to go to bed—Father called out from his room, ‘Still awake?’” “Such things happen often.” “Somehow... it feels like Father is always awake...”

“That’s simply because he’s keenly alert and awake.” “He’s always been that way.” “And as one grows older, that tendency becomes all the more pronounced.” “Yet he hasn’t passed many years beyond forty, has he?” “In terms of age, that may be true—but once one passes forty, one can’t help feeling they’ve lived quite a long time.” “But... well, it was just the other day.” “There was a time when I went out with friends to Enoshima early on a Sunday morning, remember?” “It was that morning.” “When I got up around five and stood on the veranda using a toothpick, Father was standing motionless across the garden.” “When I saw him from behind, I suddenly felt as though his hair had thinned terribly, and a strange sensation came over me.” “But Father remained motionless, facing away.” “It gave me this strange feeling, like looking at the hollow trunk of an old tree.” “The morning sun had not yet risen, but the night had fully broken into a crystalline brightness that reached even beneath the shrubbery across the way.” “I found myself overcome with an indescribable feeling as I stared at Father’s retreating figure when suddenly he turned toward me and said, ‘You’re up unusually early.’” He must have known all along that I was watching him. He had even managed to put on a strange, almost ironic smile. “So I became utterly flustered and ended up saying something absurd: ‘The night has already broken completely, hasn’t it?’” Then Father peered intently into my eyes from a distance as if scrutinizing them and said, “That’s right. Around four o’clock these days, it gets a bit brighter.” “Someone like you wouldn’t know such things,” he said, then gave me that same ironic smile again. Then, as if to smother my silence, he said, “You’ll be late if you don’t hurry and get ready,” and turned away again.

At that moment, I felt as though I had done something terribly wrong, and I couldn’t say anything at all. "I really did feel strange." "But isn’t that something trivial?"

“Well, it’s nothing particularly important, but still…”

In Shigeo’s heart lingered something that was “not trivial at all,” but it remained too vague for him to articulate clearly when he tried to put it into words. “But if we’re speaking of strangeness, you’re rather strange yourself.” “Why is that?” “But you do have a peculiar way of thinking, don’t you?”

“But it’s Father’s appearance that makes me think that way.”

“Then both of us are strange, aren’t we?”

Shigeko said this and let slip another smile. But she too fell silent and began to gaze through toward the garden.

In the east-facing garden, the afternoon sun’s rays were blocked by the eaves and did not fall upon it, yet even so, under the reflection of the sweltering sky brimming with harsh sunlight, the air in the shadows of the shrubbery seemed oppressively hot and dry. The tree leaves rustled dryly, the flowerpot soil had completely dried out, and the stepping stones among the highland grass stood starkly white.

“This year looks like it’s going to be hot,” Shigeo suddenly remarked. “Well, since it’s June and already like this.” “Let’s all go to the mountains this year.” “I too have been thinking of going somewhere, but... “But if we’re going anyway, wouldn’t the seaside be better?” “The sea dulls the mind.” “The mind again?” Having said that, Shigeko raised her eyes and looked at Shigeo’s face. “You’re always worrying about your mind, aren’t you?”

“Because for young people like us, the mind is what matters most.” At that moment came the sound of footsteps on the second-floor stairs. Father was descending. Hearing this, the two fell into an odd silence. Yet this wasn’t out of deference to him. Their thoughts had simply been pulled in that direction. Father approached with heavy steps and showed himself before them. “Have you awoken?” Shigeko asked.

“Ah.”

“You’re up unusually early today,” said Shigeo.

“Even so, I ended up falling fast asleep. An afternoon nap should be slept soundly but kept brief.”

However, Mr. Tahara wore a thoroughly gloomy expression. From his thick brows across his broad forehead were faint vertical wrinkles—the kind he always showed when angered—etched. And around his mouth, half-hidden by a long, thick mustache, there hovered an emptiness that spoke of a deficiency of volition.

"Didn't anyone come?" "No one has come."

Mr. Tahara heard that answer and tilted his head slightly to the side. Then he went to the kitchen to wash his face with cold water.

After washing his face with water and then even his head, Mr. Tahara felt that his earlier emotions had somehow vanished, leaving his mind strangely hazy. However, that was still somewhat better.

The "earlier emotion" he referred to was what he had felt upon waking from his afternoon nap.

Something desolate and enveloping settled softly over his heart. It was not mere sentiment. Something lonely, forlorn, and helpless settled over his heart like smoke. And he instinctively tried to escape it by opening his eyes. Yet he had still been half-asleep until that moment. And that desolate something he had tried to escape now drew him back in, closing his eyelids as if pulling them shut. While his entire body dozed, his awakening mind intently concentrated on that something. A desolate feeling welled up within him at that moment—something unbearable about remaining still, yet something that compelled him to remain still nonetheless. It was an empty, soft, tickling kind of anguish. And as he surrendered himself to it, he felt a gentle breeze flowing over him. At that moment, he opened his eyes again. From the open second-floor room, the treetops of the garden grove could be seen. The green leaves flickered and fluttered. Beyond that lay a blue sky. In the sky floated a solitary torn-off fragment of cloud, but it soon vanished into the depths of the blue expanse. It was utterly quiet. It was a quiet yet grandly unfolding transformation. It was a grandly unfolding transformation, yet utterly helpless and forlorn. From the vast sky where clouds had vanished, a lukewarm breeze flowed in…

He kicked the blanket off his feet and half-raised himself on the pillow. It felt like a tremendous effort. As he stretched both hands, he let out a deep yawn. That yawn made him acutely aware of the emptiness in his chest. It was as if something had been snatched away from within him. All the muscles in his body had gone limp. It was utterly quiet and devoid of vitality. At that moment, a listless melancholy began to settle thickly within his heart.

What he saw was not the tranquil transformation flowing through grand Nature. Nor was it the pettiness of life placed beneath the vast sky. However, it was the raw languor and loneliness of existence. It resembled the sentiment, "Today has ended once more, and tomorrow will dawn again." A raw, dissatisfied feeling seeped into the depths of that emotion. He did not think "What should be done?" while immersed in it. Nor did he consider "What must remain undone?" He simply felt Being. It was unbearably desolate.

Mr. Tahara rose, descended from the second floor, exchanged words with his wife and son, then washed his face and head with water. Then the melancholy vanished, but afterward, a strange haziness lingered in his mind.

Mr. Tahara returned once more to where the two were.

There, bananas and chilled milk had been set out. He dipped a banana into the sugar-sweetened milk and ate it.

"Hasn't Ryōsuke come back yet?" asked Mr. Tahara. "Not yet, but he should be back soon." Then Mr. Tahara went up to the second-floor study. Taking an afternoon nap every day and then secluding himself in his study until dinner was practically his daily routine.

In the study stood two bookcases filled with numerous Japanese and Western books, with nothing but a single rosewood desk at their center. Mr. Tahara would sit facing that desk, sometimes perusing new works on his specialty of electricity or contemplating ideas about shop management, but more often he immersed himself in reading stories from all ages, resting his cheek on his hand as he gazed outside. The household’s financial ease and the shop’s solid foundation had largely kept him in a position of idleness.

The house was located on the outskirts of a highland in Nishikata-chō, Hongō, so when the windows were opened wide, the elevated area encompassing the botanical garden spread out immediately before one’s eyes. To the right lay Hakusan's forest, and to the left, some distance away, rose the smokestacks of the artillery factory. Mr. Tahara now glanced at the quiet forest, now gazed at the swirling smoke. And above them all, there was always the vast sky spread out high. On windy days, rainy days, and clear days alike, those scenes remained unchanged.

And in Mr. Tahara's heart—steadily watching over all these things from a single vantage point: the undulations of the land, the rows of houses standing upon it, the forests, the smoke, the vast sky—there always remained something similarly tranquil and expansive. If one were to view the city from a bird's-eye perspective—and if one were to view it with a stable mind—it would become a single tranquil scene of nature.

However, Mr. Tahara was somehow bored. Boredom is a bad emotion. Mr. Tahara knew that too.

So he went and stood by the window, fixing his eyes on each of the row of houses. In some places, laundry fluttered on the drying racks. There were also places where potted plants were lined up along second-floor eaves. There were also trees withering and blackened. Beyond them stood two large ginkgo trees, towering imposingly.

At that moment, Ryōsuke returned from his errand. He was immediately called to the second floor.

Mr. Tahara greatly cherished the talent of that boy who occupied the position of live-in student and manservant. Ryōsuke had gone to the shop in Jinbocho for Mr. Tahara’s errand. The shop in Jinbocho was an electrical equipment store that had been operating since Mr. Tahara’s father’s time.

Ryōsuke sat properly with his knees bent at the entrance to the study. Then he presented the written reply from the shop. He remained waiting quietly while Mr. Tahara read it. “Well, you’ve done well,” said Mr. Tahara as he rolled up the written reply. “You may go study downstairs now that there’s nothing more needed here.” “Yes, I’m sorry for being late.” “It’s not that I mind the lateness itself, but somehow today’s task seemed to take longer than usual.” “Did you stop by your home or something?”

“No, it’s because Mr. Hirota wasn’t at the shop.” Having said that, Ryōsuke reported that since Mr. Hirota hadn’t been at the shop, he had gone to visit his home and then returned together with him to the store.

Mr. Hirota was the chief clerk who managed nearly all shop affairs. At the end, Ryōsuke added this: “With Mr. Hirota having many children and all, it seems he has various household matters requiring attention.” “Even so, apart from unavoidable errands, I’m told he normally remains at the shop until evening—it just happened today that I went where he wasn’t present, hence the delay.” Mr. Tahara listened to Ryōsuke’s rehearsed words with a smile lingering at his lips. And what gladdened his heart was Ryōsuke’s “benevolent interpretation.”

Shigeo had always counted his father’s excessive practice of “benevolent interpretation” among his shortcomings. This too existed in the intelligent Ryōsuke, who respected and deeply admired Mr. Tahara. Mr. Tahara now recalled those words of Shigeo. “Benevolence, when taken to excess, becomes malice,” Shigeo had said. Yet for Mr. Tahara, benevolence remained ever benevolence. No—it was something that had transcended distinctions of good and evil intent, something “naturally being so within him.” And thus his heart—past forty years of age and possessed of both wealth and idleness—remained perpetually tranquil.

II

A story from the past.

Part I——

At the end of a certain year, an irregularity was discovered at the shop in Jinbocho. Three induction coils, two rheostats, and one ammeter were missing. In the ledger, those very items had been properly entered as received by the shop and payment had been made, yet the items were neither present in the shop nor recorded as sold. Clearly, someone had either taken them out during transit or embezzled them by removing them from the shop. The amount of over three hundred yen was not a significant loss for the shop, but the incident was not something that could be overlooked.

Mr. Tahara summoned Hirota, the chief clerk, to his room on the second floor of the shop.

“I’m not blaming you at all.” “Do you understand? I’m not blaming you.” “But as chief clerk, you must bear half the responsibility.” “So could you investigate this discreetly?” “I’m asking you because I believe you understand the shop’s inner workings better than I do...”

Hirota remained silent in thought. “What do you say?” Mr. Tahara said again. “However, we can’t indiscriminately suspect the shop’s people either...”

Hirota looked perplexed. “That’s right—suspecting others is wrong. So please investigate this discreetly and in secret.” Then Mr. Tahara called Haraguchi the accountant and requested that they keep the incident secret for the time being. The only ones aware of the missing items were Mr. Tahara, Hirota, and Haraguchi.

And then a week passed. However, there were no leads whatsoever regarding the culprit.

One day, Haraguchi visited Mr. Tahara. And then he said: “You mustn’t trust people too much.” “The culprit might be found where you least expect.” Mr. Tahara gazed intently at Haraguchi, who sat with his head bowed as if pondering something. Then he said: “Ah, very well.” “You must stay vigilant too.” “I’ve been keeping my own discreet watch.”

The honest old man Haraguchi left looking somewhat dissatisfied.

It was several days later.

Hirota came over to Mr. Tahara’s place at the shop.

“Since we still haven’t found any leads afterward but there are some suspicious points as well, would it not be advisable to inspect the items once more?”

Thereupon, Mr. Tahara inspected the shop's items once more together with Hirota and Haraguchi, the three of them. Then, all the previously missing items were all present. The accounts also revealed nothing particularly suspicious.

Mr. Tahara stared fixedly at Hirota, who seemed to want to say something, and spoke as follows.

“This will do. Since nothing remains missing now, I see no further need for investigation. Let me caution you all—exercise greater care hereafter.” It was a cold, gloomy day thick with clouds that seemed ready to shed snow.

Mr. Tahara sat in his chair while staring intently at Hirota's face, illuminated by the gas stove's flames. Around his neatly parted hairline, sweat was oozing. “Alright, that’s enough now. Go and attend to your duties,” said Mr. Tahara.

Haraguchi bowed politely and left promptly. As Hirota was leaving the room, he glanced back once and stole a look at Mr. Tahara. Mr. Tahara did not overlook that.

That evening, Mr. Tahara took a rickshaw and visited Hirota’s residence in Iidamachi. The wife, her hair done up in a comb bun, came out and was flustered by the sudden visit. “There’s an urgent matter I need to discuss,” said Mr. Tahara as he was shown into the sitting room and waited for Hirota’s return.

In a house with four children where the youngest was ill, the wife, with only one maid, could do nothing but bustle about anxiously. That was something Mr. Tahara understood quite well.

From behind the sliding door, two boys peeked at Mr. Tahara alternately while sucking their fingers. Hirota returned home after nine o'clock. He came straight to Mr. Tahara without even changing out of his clothes and bowed so deeply his head nearly scraped the tatami mats. "I heard your child is ill." "Yes," Hirota answered simply and hung his head. His complexion turned pale.

After a prolonged silence, Mr. Tahara began to speak.

“You must understand why I’ve come here so suddenly.” “Yes,” Hirota answered again in a low voice. “I do not intend to dwell on what has passed.” “However, if all the employees were to find out about such things, it would have a bad influence.” And Mr. Tahara fixedly gazed at Hirota. “You must be more careful going forward.” “First of all, aren’t you in a position overseeing the entire shop?” “You yourself... No, I won’t say anything more about that matter.” “Since you must have sufficiently repented, I simply require that you take particular care with this matter alone.” “What’s been done once is easily done again.” “Listen well—once something is done, it leaves a lasting mark.” “You must give that careful thought.” “This incident should serve as valuable self-discipline for you.” “Whether you make use of it or not depends entirely on your own efforts.” “You understand what I’m saying, right?”

Hirota silently raised his face. His cheek muscles were twitching.

“Just ensure you do not act on any reckless notions, I ask of you,” Mr. Tahara continued. “You’re not yet forty. Your life lies ahead of you. And work wholeheartedly for the shop—consider it your own enterprise, do you understand?”

Then Mr. Tahara casually produced 100 yen in banknotes there.

“This is but a token of my concern for your child’s illness.” “Take it and keep it.” “You must properly tend to your child’s sickness.” Hirota’s tears fell in thick drops. Without uttering a word, he kept his head bowed low and remained perfectly still.

“Today I came for a brief visit, but I ended up rambling on about unnecessary things. Please forgive me. Well then, I have business elsewhere, so…”

“I fully understand your kind intentions.” “I will be absolutely careful from now on, so…” Hirota could say nothing more after that. When Mr. Tahara stood up, Hirota’s wife—who had apparently been listening behind the sliding door all along—hurriedly aligned his geta on the genkan step, her eyes brimming with tears.

At the genkan, Mr. Tahara called out to Hirota once more. “You understand what I’ve told you, right?” “You should explain the situation frankly to Haraguchi beforehand.” “He’s an honest old man—if you explain properly, he’ll understand.” “Just make absolutely sure you don’t tell any lies.”

“Yes,” Hirota answered.

Mr. Tahara boarded the waiting rickshaw just as it was.

The next day was snow. Mr. Tahara deliberately did not go to the shop and watched the snow fall from his study. And that evening, he spoke about Hirota to his wife and Shigeo. And then he added:

“Hirota must have genuinely needed the money. He may have overexerted himself in returning the items to the shop, but that might actually be good for him.”

Part Two——

Next to Mr. Tahara’s house stood a residence called Uesaka. The wife of that household and Shigeko had gradually become acquainted, sometimes standing and talking on quiet streets during summer evenings. Later, a person named Uno moved into the house across from Mr. Tahara. The wife there too had gradually grown close with the previous two. This wife would sometimes visit Mr. Tahara’s house and go calling at Uesaka’s house. She was a hysterical woman in her forties without children.

However, as she gradually approached from across the way, Mrs. Uno told Shigeko various things. All of it concerned the private affairs of other people’s households. Eventually, the conversation shifted to matters regarding Uesaka’s household—Uesaka’s household had twice undergone compulsory enforcement due to debts. Uesaka’s wife was originally a woman of lowly origins; Uesaka’s wife had called Shigeko a naive fool, among other things.

In truth, the kind-hearted Shigeko merely responded to such talk with "Is that so?" and let it pass without taking it to heart. And she still exchanged greetings with Uesaka’s wife as usual.

One evening, as Shigeko happened to be standing absentmindedly at the front, Mrs. Uesaka came passing by that spot. Shigeko greeted her as usual. Then Mrs. Uesaka walked past without responding to the greeting, her face turned away.

Shigeko thought something was odd but left it at that. And for some time, interactions with Mrs.Uesaka ceased. Before long, she heard strange rumors from the maid. It was said that she had roundly badmouthed Mrs.Uesaka to Mrs.Uno. —that Mrs.Uesaka was originally a woman of lowly origins, that she was a naive fool, and so on. It was at that moment that everything became clear to Shigeko. And even the gentle Shigeko found herself thoroughly angered at Mrs.Uno. Overwhelmed by indignation, she told her husband everything.

At that moment, Mr. Tahara said: “It’s because you’re a fool.” “Associating with people like that is why things go wrong.” “Try thinking about yourself properly for once.” “You’re angry right now.” “Getting angry at Mrs. Uno drags you down to her level.” “If you want to become like her, by all means keep getting angry.” “But isn’t this going too far?” “She’s the one who badmouthed Mrs. Uesaka endlessly, then went and made it sound like I said all those things!” “Feeling angry about that is only natural.”

“Exactly—if you were on the same level as Mrs. Uno, it would be natural to feel angry. But you must become greater than that. If you were far above Mrs. Uno, there’d be no need to get angry at all. Getting angry at others means lowering yourself to their level. There’s no need to become like Mrs. Uno. You should simply accept that such people exist in the world and look down on them from above.”

Shigeko wore a dissatisfied expression but offered no response to this.

Several months passed.

Before long, Shigeko and Mrs. Uesaka had somehow begun speaking again. And it became clear that Mrs. Uno had been persistently sowing discord between the two. And furthermore, Mrs. Uno found herself in an odd position standing between the two.

After that, the Uno household relocated elsewhere.

Mr. Tahara said.

“There are plenty of people like that in this world.” “There are quite a few among men as well.” “However, the lies of such people are not sins in themselves.” “They’re simply built with a nature that can’t exist without lying.” “Getting angry at such a nature is like getting angry at a warped tree.” “A straight tree getting angry at a warped tree for not being the same as itself is a foolish thing.” “The one who gets angry is at fault.”

Part Three――

One summer, Shigeo contracted a severe case of gastrointestinal catarrh. He suffered from diarrhea over ten times a day and night while running a persistent high fever around thirty-nine degrees. For his intense thirst, only small amounts of liquid were permitted. The doctor conducted daily stool examinations. This occurring during a dysentery outbreak, the physician had to consider that possibility. A nurse was promptly stationed at his bedside. Through it all, Mr. Tahara maintained his daily routine of attending their Jinbocho shop each morning. Afternoons found him sitting by the sickbed, studying his son's face. When evening brought the doctor for examinations, he would wait motionless in the adjacent room. Each day brought nearly identical reports of Shigeo's condition from the physician.

Inside the house, everyone moved about quietly, but beneath the stillness, an anxious air buzzed restlessly. Shigeko was needlessly agitated. She proposed calling another doctor. “Wouldn’t that be better?” she said to her husband. “That’s right. That might be a good idea too.” “Or perhaps we should wait a little longer and see? Since Dr. Sawada did say it should be all right.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Tahara said again.

“What should we do? If we don’t act quickly, we’ll be in trouble. If it does turn out to be dysentery, what will you do?”

“Then go ahead and do as you see fit.” So Shigeko immediately sent for a certain specialist. “It’s quite severe,” said the doctor, tilting his head.

Mr. Tahara remained still amidst the commotion. And he always kept his mouth tightly shut.

Nevertheless, within about a week, Shigeo’s illness gradually improved. Just as the illness had struck so suddenly, so too did it heal quickly. After a week, he was able to get up.

At that moment, Shigeko said to her husband.

“He should be alright now, don’t you think?”

"He'll be fine," Mr. Tahara answered. "But there's no one as unresponsive as you." "Even amidst all that commotion, you stayed perfectly calm, replying to everything with just 'That's right.' That's exactly what makes me more frustrated." "No, one must stay calm when there's a patient." "And truthfully, I was more worried about Shigeo than you were." "But still, if we'd been too late and it had turned out to be dysentery, there would've been no going back, wouldn't there?"

“That’s right. “I might have just been thinking about all sorts of things, though….”

Having said that, Mr. Tahara made an indescribable expression. The slight furrowing of his brows and narrowing of his eyes appeared to Shigeko exactly like the face of someone holding back tears.

And Shigeko also became strangely sad and didn’t say anything more.

Part Four…………

Part Five…………

Three

In the evening, Mr. Tahara went out into the garden and watered the plants. This was one of his daily tasks during the summer. The leaves of plants and trees, washed clean of the day’s scorching heat and dust by the cold water until they shone with revived color, pierced directly into his heart and made it feel vividly alive. The highland grass, stepping stones, and pine trees arranged between them; deep on the right side stood a large rock with ivy leaves coiling around it. In the depths to the left clustered thick groves of oak and chinquapin trees, beyond which smoke rose from the bathhouse chimney. Mr. Tahara simply splashed water recklessly across the garden. Beside the stepping stones bloomed a small moss rose with yellow flowers.

After sprinkling water across the garden and gazing up at the great sky blazing brightly in the gathering dusk, Mr. Tahara stood perfectly still. On his face—with its slightly receding hairline and thick mustache tinged with red—no particular emotion surfaced. He simply breathed the stillness of heaven and earth through a heart that accepted existence as it was.

When Ryōsuke arrived there, Mr. Tahara was sitting on the veranda. “Have you finished preparing already?” Mr. Tahara said.

“Yes.” “Then go right away.” “And tell your father exactly as I said.” “I’ll be going then.” Ryōsuke left the house, holding his night school bundle in hand and tucking the envelope containing money from Mr. Tahara into his pocket. When he stepped outside, he paused for a moment and looked around, then suddenly quickened his pace. On his way to night school at Chūō Technical School in Nakasarugakuchō, he had to stop by his father’s house in Yumichō.

Ryōsuke wasn’t particularly happy. But neither was he sad. He simply felt there was something he had to confront under Mr. Tahara’s instructions. That something was his own actual father. A father who had pulled rickshaws and served at the Tahara household for many years. A father working at the artillery arsenal. A father who had been drowning himself in drink since losing his wife last winter. A father who frequently came begging money from Mr. Tahara. A father always drunk, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Ryōsuke quietly peeked inside the house from the doorway. Under the dim glow of a ten-candlepower electric light, his father Tokuzō was eating. His younger sister Miyoko, having already finished her meal, sat still beside him with a pale face. Both of them remained obstinately silent. Something must have happened again. Probably Father had yelled at young Miyoko because there was no alcohol. And he, not being drunk now, had likely become disgusted with himself and his own words before falling silent.

Ryōsuke resolutely entered the house. "Oh, Brother…" So Miyoko let out a loud voice and immediately stood up. "What? Ryōsuke?"

Tokuzō said this and tried to rise, but plopped back down heavily. Then suddenly glaring, he said: “Come up here.” There, after placing his school bundle and neatly folding his knees, Ryōsuke’s figure was stared at intently by Tokuzō. “What’s wrong?” he said again. That Ryōsuke had come appeared entirely unexpected to him.

Ryōsuke silently took out the money envelope from his pocket and placed it before his father.

“Master told me to give this to you, Father, so I stopped by on my way to school.” Tokuzō took the envelope and opened it to look inside. Inside were five one-yen bills. When he saw this, he kept his mouth hanging slackly open and stared fixedly at Ryōsuke’s face. “Well,” Ryōsuke said, “Master gave this to me.” “Because I became a scholarship student at school, he gave this to me as a reward.” “And he said that when you come over, they’ll provide money at home anyway, so I should bring this directly to Father instead. That’s why I brought it here. You can use it however you need.”

Tokuzō said nothing for a while, then suddenly exclaimed in a loud voice. “Impressive!” Then he suddenly threw one of the bills in front of Miyoko. “Miyo, go buy one sho of sake right away. Make sure it’s one sho. And two pieces of ※（魚＋昜）. Got it? Hurry up—go run and get it now!”

Miyoko hurried out to the front exactly as she was told.

After Miyoko left, Tokuzō tilted his head slightly as if pondering something, then opened his mouth as though speaking to himself and his own heart.

“You’re impressive. “So you’re the one who became a scholarship student.” “So Master gave you reward money.” “I see.” “The money will be provided by the house.” “Take this to your old man’s place….” “As expected, Master is truly impressive.” “You’re something too.” "I may be a drunkard now, but I sure worked hard for Master back in the day." “Master often speaks about Father. “And Master treats me very well too.” “Master often tells me I must study hard.”

“That’s right—you gotta study when you’re young. “When I sent you into service, Master declared he’d surely raise Ryōsuke into a fine man. “And then when I was going home, since he said he wouldn’t be keeping any rickshaw pullers anymore and ‘I’ll give this to you,’ I took the rickshaw. “It was a splendid thing! “If I sold it off, it’d be twenty ryō... I wonder... Now Master probably commutes to the shop by train every day.” “Ah, it’s the train.”

“Right…” Tokuzō started to say that but suddenly clamped his mouth shut. And he seemed to be lost in thought about something. When Miyoko returned, struggling under the weight of a sake flask she carried in her arms and a fish dangling at her side, Tokuzō’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Let’s see.” Having said that, he stood up. Then he himself stirred up the fire in the brazier and grilled the ※（魚＋昜）.

“Hurry up and heat the sake on the charcoal stove!” he shouted at Miyoko.

However, Tokuzō immediately stopped heating the sake again. And then placed the still-unheated sake on the dining tray. “You,” he said, turning toward Ryōsuke, “have school, don’t you?” “You can’t be taking your time.” “Enough—just come here quickly.” “This is celebratory sake.” “You became a scholarship student, huh?” “Have a drink.” “You’ve gotta get into the spirit.” “C’mon, go on and have a drink… .”

“I can’t drink alcohol,” Ryōsuke answered.

“What? You can’t drink? … Oh, right…” “Better not drink while you’re still in school.” “It’s bad for the brain, huh.” “Then have some ※（魚＋昜）.” “※（魚＋昜） is a celebratory dish.” “Hey Miyo, you eat too.”

Ryōsuke took a piece of the ※（魚＋昜） with that. Tokuzō greedily drank the cold sake.

Eventually, Ryōsuke began to speak.

“Do you drink sake every night?” “Don’t talk nonsense. I wanna drink every night—I really do—but ain’t nobody lettin’ me.” “But you do drink a lot, right?”

“Of course. If I can’t even drink anymore, the world’s over.” “But Master used to say it too—‘If you drink sake, the world’s over.’”

“If you drink sake, the world ends?”

“Ah,” Ryōsuke answered but paused to consider. Then he spoke again. “Do you want to die?” “What’re you sayin’, idiot? What kinda fool wants t’die?” “But y’know—they say drinkin’ too much’s same as killin’ yerself. They say overdo it an’ liquor’ll sure shorten yer life. An’ even if ya don’t croak right off—keep guzzlin’ an’ end up useless—that’s same as bein’ dead. Master told me t’say that—his own words. I ain’t tellin’ ya t’quit drinkin’, but ya gotta swear not t’die ’fore me ’n Miyo grow up.”

Tokuzō put down his cup and stared fixedly at Ryōsuke’s face. “What’s this about me not being allowed to die….” “Don’t make tasteless jokes.” “I ain’t exactly full of life here.” “That’s why he said not to become a living corpse while you’re alive.” “As long as you understand that much, he said it’s fine to drink however much sake you want.” “I see—Master has a clever way with words.”

After saying that, Tokuzō tilted his head slightly and then took up his cup again.

Ryōsuke stood up immediately with the air of having said what he needed to say.

“What? Leaving already?” “Because I’ll be late for school.”

“I see. Well, make sure you study hard.” Having said that, Tokuzō briefly licked his lower lip with his tongue and fixed his gaze on Ryōsuke. Miyoko saw Ryōsuke off to the gate. “Brother, please come again.” “Yeah, I’ll come again. Is Dad always so noisy?” “Well, not exactly…” And she simply hung her head.

“Since I’ll be late for school, I should get going then. Next time I’ll come by more leisurely, okay?” Miyoko silently nodded. And she kept watching Ryōsuke’s retreating figure until it disappeared from view. Outside, the lingering twilight still faintly illuminated the world, but the outlines of objects were blurring into dusk, and gas lamps glowed with a pallid light. Ryōsuke quickened his pace, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground as though deep in thought. The seven o'clock start of night school had already passed a while ago. His heart was gripped by a lonely unease. The future was far too nebulous. Within the present, there was something far too distressing. As long as Mr. Tahara was there, he had nothing to worry about. Yet that very fact filled him with vague unease, guilt, and dissatisfaction. In the midst of this, he vaguely envisioned something like the vast expanse of society in his mind, and felt a stifling emotion that brought tears to his eyes.

IV

Four or five days after Ryōsuke visited the house in Yumichō, Tokuzō came to Mr. Tahara’s house.

He came around from the back entrance as usual and called out, “Good day.”

Shigeko, who happened to be there at that very moment, immediately spotted Tokuzō.

“Oh, Tokuzō? Haven’t you been absent for some time lately?” “Heh heh, I must apologize for my long absence.” “Are you off from the arsenal today?… My, what a lively state—red-faced since midday.” “Oh, it’s nothing, Madam. Things were just too gloomy, so I had a little drink to liven myself up. By the way, is Master at home?” “Ah, why don’t you go around that way?”

And so Tokuzō made his unsteady way from the garden around to the veranda of the main room. At that moment, Mr. Tahara was crouching on the veranda, letting the electric fan’s breeze wash over him. "Oh, Tokuzō. How have you been lately?" “Heh heh, same as ever, really…” “I see you’re still in high spirits.” “Oh, just a little pick-me-up. Thanks to you, I finally got to ease my frustration the other day after so long—so today I came to thank you for that, you see.” “You didn’t need to come just for something like thanks. That was to celebrate for Ryōsuke’s sake. You’re fortunate to have such a fine son yourself. Ryōsuke will become someone great before long!”

“Is that true, Master?” “Is Ryōsuke really that great?” “Oh, he’s absolutely great. So you need to get your act together a bit more too. Let me guess—given how you are now, you’ve already drunk that stuff from the other day, haven’t you?” “Heh heh, well, you know how it goes…”

“Well, drinking isn’t entirely bad—but didn’t Ryōsuke say something to you then?” “He did say something—something truly great. “Let me see… ‘It’s fine to drink, just don’t die.’ And… well, my memory’s terrible, so I’ve forgotten the rest—but those words I remember clear as day. Master, you’ve taught Ryōsuke so well—I’m truly impressed…” “And then?”

"I’ve made up my mind to quit drinking for once, but..."

“Not working out?”

“Yeah, it ain’t workin’ out.” “First off, there ain’t no reason it should work out—right?” “If I don’t drink, the fire inside my body’ll go out right away, right?” “I tell you, I heard this from someone once.” “They say the most important thing for humans is the fire inside the body,” I tell you. “If you put out that fire, then you’ll really go and die, I tell ya.”

Mr. Tahara did not answer and stared fixedly at Tokuzō’s face. His sunburned face was flushed and feverish from alcohol. Thick eyebrows, a low sturdy nose, and thick lips—these features seemed to burn with both the summer’s scorching heat and alcoholic warmth. “And you see, Master,” Tokuzō continued, “the outside’s burning up with heat like this—so you gotta keep a fire burning inside your body too to stay balanced, I tell ya.” “And then again when it’s cold—if I don’t keep a fire burning inside at least, I just can’t stand it, I tell ya.” “But you see, I remember it well now.” “‘It’s fine to drink.” “‘You mustn’t die.’ Now if Ryōsuke’d said that himself, it’d sound impertinent—but coming from your mouth, Master, why it’s a fine saying indeed.” “But Master—if I quit drinking, I’ll die even sooner!” “The fire’s gotta keep burning or it’s all over.” “Long as it’s burning—you’re safe alive.” “Dead folks are freezing cold.” “Like stones.” “I tell ya—that’s ’cause there ain’t no fire burning in ’em.” “Hey Master—there was a fire over in Yushima t’other night?” “Mighty grand sight.” “I rushed right up front to get a good look—crimson flames roaring fierce-like up to heaven itself.” “Whole neighborhood turned red.” “Wind whipping those scarlet flames round in whirlpools.” “Ain’t nothin’ as mighty as that!”

And then Tokuzō tilted his head slightly and pondered, but resumed speaking. “Master, have you ever gotten drunk on an evening when the sunset was blazing?” “A fire ain’t nothin’ different from that, I tell ya.” “Everything’s spinning round and round.” “It flares up bright red.” “The sky’s blazing crimson with sunset, I tell you.” “The sky and ground both turn crimson and swirl.” “And everything flares up all at once.” “There ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.” “As long as my strength holds out, I’ll keep charging into whatever comes my way.” “Come to think of it, war might be just like that too.”

When Tokuzō found himself rambling on alone, he suddenly fell silent and gulped down the tea that had been set out earlier. Then he abruptly turned his gaze toward the electric fan.

“Indeed, a proper breeze is coming through.” “But it’s still an unpleasantly tepid breeze, Master.” “Haven’t you devised a way to make this breeze cooler?” “I suppose not.”

Mr. Tahara gave a disinterested reply. He took a cigarette, lit it, then took another one and gave it to Tokuzō.

“Is the artillery factory closed today?” Mr. Tahara said, changing the subject. “Oh, just taking a little breather, you see.” “That work’s quite a backbreaker too, you see.” “Working non-stop—ain’t even got a chance to take a break, you see.”

“That must be exhausting, but if you keep resting like this, won’t Miyoko be troubled?” “Nah, she’ll be just fine, I tell ya.” “I make up for it by spoiling her proper, you see.” “Poor thing’s had it rough too.” “I often take her on my lap and sing lullabies.” “Then instead of dozing off, she starts giggling.” “End up laughing right along with her.” “She’s twelve already, after all.” “Clever little thing though.” “When I come back from the artillery factory dead tired, she rubs my shoulders.”

“But you must often yell at her too, don’t you?” “Well, that’s only when I don’t have any booze, I tell ya.” “But it’s a strange thing, I tell you.” “When I don’t have booze and start yelling, it ends up feeling just like I’ve had a drink.” “It feels like my heart’s seething.” “In those moments, I take her onto my lap and sing a lullaby.” “Then the two of us usually end up laughing.” “Sometimes the kid ends up crying.” “I end up sniffling too... No, better to keep stoking that fire.” “Crying ain’t much of a good feeling.” “Crying ain’t no good at all.” “I’ll tell ya—human beings gotta keep burning that fire inside ’em all the time.”

“However, even if you don’t stoke your fire with alcohol, it would be better to keep it burning with something else.”

“Well, for someone like you, Master, we might say that.” “For us, it just ain’t gonna work out.” “After all, we’re starting with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

Mr. Tahara stared fixedly at Tokuzō’s face.

“The problem was you losing your wife, wasn’t it?”

When Tokuzō heard those words, he suddenly started to rise from his seat but then bent over again as he was. “Master, you shouldn’t dwell too much on the dead.”

Those words struck Mr. Tahara as accusatory. He stared wordlessly at Tokuzō, who sat with an almost insensate expression, his vacant gaze fixed on a distant garden stone. The garden now lay fully shaded, yet from the sky—still holding the slanted sun’s dazzling glare—scorching remnants of daylight cascaded earthward, bathing every crevice in shadowless brightness. Both men fell silent and stared vacantly at the garden. The trees stood motionless in the windless air.

At that moment, the maid came to inform Mr. Tahara that the water had boiled.

Tokuzō suddenly stood up and tried to leave.

“Hey, wait a second.” Mr. Tahara said this as he stood up, wrapped some money in paper, and gave it to Tokuzō. “No, Master, I can’t accept this.”

And Tokuzō placed the bundle on the veranda. “Why?” “Why don’t you just keep it?” “It just won’t do, I tell ya.” “It’s not like it’s a fortune—just keep it.” “And use some of that to buy something for Miyoko.” Tokuzō’s eyes suddenly lit up. “In that case, I’ll take it. “Since Miyo likes manju, I’ll buy a ridiculously big one to make her happy… Well then, Master, I’ve gone and caused quite a disturbance.”

Tokuzō bowed his head politely. Then he went around to the kitchen area, greeted Shigeko, and left. He seemed to have sobered up, walking away with heavy footsteps. Mr. Tahara then sprinkled water in the garden, entered the bath, and moved to the dinner table. However, he felt strangely weary inwardly. It was a weariness akin to lethargy—what he himself had termed "the worst kind of fatigue."

Mr. Tahara frowned slightly, then fell silent and ate little. He had the persistent feeling that Shigeo was staring intently at him.

After dinner, Shigeo addressed his father in a gentle tone like this.

“Did you give money to Tokuzō again today like you always do?”

“Ah, I gave him a little.” Mr. Tahara simply answered. His tone of voice was indeed calm.

"But if you keep quietly giving money to that shiftless man, he’ll only grow more presumptuous." "Oh, it’s fine. Moreover, I feel like I’m gradually coming to understand Tokuzō’s feelings." "You’re always saying things like that, but you can’t distinguish the value of anything at all." "You’re always just interpreting." "And they’re all just excessively benevolent interpretations." "You never make any judgments at all."

For Shigeo, who cultivated an interest in philosophy and attended the law course at his high school, judgment and verdicts were required in all matters. His firm conviction ran thus: Mere interpretation could never elevate society. To elevate society demanded judgment and verdicts. From this principle arose his occasional protests even against his revered father. His eyes perpetually gleamed with youthful intensity. A ruddy vitality coursed through his cheeks. Within him swelled a force that sought to clash against all things.

Mr. Tahara cast a fleeting glance toward Shigeo, then calmly replied. “Judgment is something that comes after understanding. But let’s leave such abstract arguments to young people like you. You don’t truly understand what it means to be human yet……Ah yes, it’s about Tokuzō. You probably can’t comprehend what a blow losing his wife was to Tokuzō. As you know, after leaving this house, Tokuzō had been working at the artillery factory ever since. His wife was doing piecework at home, raising both Ryōsuke and Miyoko in poverty. Then suddenly she died. That’s when Ryōsuke ended up coming to our house as he does now—and when Tokuzō started drinking. Today he said: ‘For humans, it’s crucial to keep a fire burning in their hearts. For people like us, there’s no other way but to keep our fires burning with liquor.’ Think carefully about that. Even if you don’t understand now, the time will come when even you will clearly grasp this.”

Shigeo had been listening intently to his father’s unusual eloquence but eventually spoke. “I do have a general understanding. But if all you do is understand without deciding what to do next, then it’s completely pointless, isn’t it?”

“If you say it’s pointless, then I suppose that’s all there is to it……”

At that moment, Mr. Tahara gathered thin wrinkles under his eyes and let out a bitter smile. It was extremely rare for Mr. Tahara to show that bitter smile to others. And Shigeo, feeling as though he were causing his father pain, remained silent.

Mr. Tahara then suddenly went out for a walk. He returned after nine o'clock. He then spent about an hour upstairs in his study. And then he came back down, and this time he walked around the garden.

It was a perfectly still night without a single leaf stirring, yet a cool breeze drifted through the garden from nowhere in particular. In the sky, stars glimmered incessantly. When he noticed a pallid light spilling along the eaves, it appeared the moon had risen too. The dark hush clinging to the earth and this luminous seepage from above wove an eerily discordant atmosphere that lured at people's hearts.

Mr. Tahara tightened his lips and occasionally stopped walking. He looked up at the sky and shrugged his shoulders, then immediately peered through the thicket at the light visible beyond. Before long, he walked from the sitting room toward the entrance without uttering a word.

Suddenly, he stopped and stared intently. By the four-and-a-half-mat veranda next to the entrance stood a black human figure. When he realized it was Ryōsuke, Mr. Tahara called out to him for the first time.

“Ryōsuke?” “What are you doing?”

“Is that you, Mr. Tahara?” “I’ve just returned from school and finished my review, so…” “Ah, I see. “Won’t you come down? It’s a fine evening.” Ryōsuke put on his garden clogs as told and came down. And then he started walking. He walked clinging like a shadow to Mr. Tahara’s side. Both of them said nothing. Eventually, Ryōsuke was the first to speak.

“I heard my father came to see you today.”

“Ah,” Mr. Tahara said, turning slightly. “Did he say anything? He hadn’t been drinking again, had he?”

“He was drunk. “And he said humans must keep a fire burning in their hearts.” Ryōsuke remained silent, unable to grasp the meaning. “He said he drinks to keep the fire burning in his heart.”

Ryōsuke remained silent.

“What your father says is the truth.” “Humans became stronger than other animals after learning how to use fire.” “And they became wiser than other animals when they first began burning the fire in their hearts.” “You know the myth of Prometheus, don’t you?” “That tale where he was bound to Mount Caucasus and had his liver pecked by vultures for stealing fire from heaven.” “Humans must keep burning fire—but through that very act, they must also feel anguish in their hearts.”

Ryōsuke remained silent.

“There was a fire in Yushima the other night, wasn’t there?” “I hear your father watched that fire from the very beginning.” “And now he was marveling at the fire.”

Ryōsuke remained silent. “Then he said that when he gets drunk on evenings with sunsets, it feels like he’s right in the middle of a fire—that everything around turns crimson and swirls.”

Ryōsuke remained silent. “If your father can’t drink anymore, he might even resort to arson.”

When he heard those words, Ryōsuke suddenly moved closer to Mr. Tahara and silently looked up at his face.

Mr. Tahara stared intently into Ryōsuke’s eyes. Then he said.

“Why, anyone might feel the urge to commit arson in an unguarded moment!” It was spoken in a tone that was nearly hurled, but Ryōsuke showed no surprise and did not retreat. He simply stood motionless by Mr. Tahara’s side.

Mr. Tahara took another step forward. Then Ryōsuke, as if being dragged along by Mr. Tahara, took a step forward. And the two walked silently around the garden. The tall figure of a thick-mustached adult and the short-statured figure of a closely-cropped boy walked side by side like an object and its shadow, circling round and round through the garden's shrubbery.

The thick darkness hung in hushed stillness as the faint bluish reflection of the sky drifted through. Beyond the black pines, garden stones stood out white, and the tips of the lawn grass glittered brightly.

Mr. Tahara suddenly stopped, as if startled by something and coming back to his senses. And he turned back toward Ryōsuke.

“You should go to bed now.” His voice resounded with a hollow echo, drained of strength.

“Yes,” answered Ryōsuke.

Mr. Tahara left Ryōsuke there and strode resolutely into the house.

V

Tokuzō visited Mr. Tahara’s place three or four times a month without fail. And Miyoko came every morning to deliver milk to Mr. Tahara's house.

For a twelve-year-old girl, delivering milk was a job with considerable income. She received over ten bottles of milk from the dairy shop and delivered them early in the morning. Both the dairy shop and the customers held sympathy for this lovely girl. However, during the cold winter months, it was quite a painful task for her. Her earlobes swelled grotesquely from frostbite, her cheeks red and chapped. And her hands and feet turned icy cold. When spring came and turned to summer, her earlobes grew smaller and thinner, revealing red veins beneath, a youthful color rose to her cheeks, and a soft white down could be seen faintly.

She always delivered the milk to the kitchen entrance and received the empty bottles, then would stand there awhile wondering if she might catch a glimpse of her brother. Her eyes glistened sadly, round and wide. And there she sometimes encountered her brother. Miyoko, for her part, had nothing particular to say. No—she likely had various trivial matters she could have spoken of, but in those moments, her heart never turned toward them. Ryōsuke, too, found himself with nothing to say. They often stood together in silence without speaking.

However, it was precisely during such times that Ryōsuke feared Mr. Tahara’s eyes. He had never once been told or asked anything about it, yet still he feared Mr. Tahara’s eyes. It wasn’t simply a matter of mere politeness or restraint. He always felt that Mr. Tahara’s eyes were watching him intently from somewhere. And he felt as though those eyes also existed within his own heart.

Ryōsuke often abruptly left his sister’s side. Miyoko was left behind there, intently watching her brother’s retreating figure, then picked up the milk bottle crate and left Mr. Tahara’s house with her head hung low. However, Miyoko's sorrow was somewhat alleviated by the kindness of Shigeko and Shigeo. Shigeko often offered her kind words. Shigeo sometimes gave her snacks or slipped her pocket money. And at the end-of-month accounting, Miyoko always received the exact change without adjustment. At such times Miyoko stared up at their faces with eyes opened wide and round as if brimming with tears. And she bowed silently.

“Evil must always be resisted, and good must always be protected.” That was Shigeo’s creed. And for him, Tokuzō was evil, and Miyoko was good. Shigeo often spoke to his father about Miyoko.

“Next time, let’s give her some pocket money,” he would often say at the end of their conversations.

“That would be good,” answered Mr. Tahara. However, at such times Mr. Tahara would always avert his eyes from Shigeo and show an expression tinged with irritation.

The profile of him with brows slightly furrowed and mouth half-open conveyed a certain unease to Shigeo's heart.

Shigeo thought to himself. "Father always makes it his business to apply nothing but benevolent interpretations toward evil." "Goodness itself doesn't attract any of Father's interest at all." Shigeo's state of mind was clearly understood by Mr. Tahara. And Mr. Tahara grew increasingly bitter. To Mr. Tahara, the problem that Shigeo was pondering was not a problem at all. What, then, was the problem? He could not answer that. Mr. Tahara would sometimes go up to his study, take walks, and then commute every morning to his shop in Jinbocho. And though he felt somehow unable to stay still, both he himself and his days remained utterly quiet and settled.

One day, Mr. Tahara was in a strangely foul mood. It was because he hadn’t woken from his afternoon nap until evening and had been abruptly roused when it was time for dinner. If saying he was angry would be too strong, then perhaps it could be said he was filled with an unpleasant mood. He finished his dinner having hardly uttered a word.

Why was he filled with such an unpleasant mood? That was not even clear to himself. Yet it remained true that on that day, Mr. Tahara had found no opportunity to slowly dwell on the rootless loneliness and melancholy—like one naturally awakening from sleep within stark daylight and quiet reverie.

"You... you... um, dinner is ready, so..." Shigeko said this and shook Mr. Tahara awake. And Mr. Tahara was suddenly roused from his doze. Though he had taken his nap at midday, when he awoke, the shadows of dusk were already approaching. There was a gap somewhere in his psychological processes. After dinner, he crouched on the veranda and gazed at the garden. The garden had been watered just as he always did. From the way water clung to the leaves to how it pooled in the hollows of garden stones, every detail matched exactly how he himself would have done it.

Mr. Tahara said to Ryōsuke, who had come out prepared to attend night school. “Did you water it?” “Yes,” answered Ryōsuke.

“You’ve remembered well how I always do it.” “Yes, I thought I must remember everything Master does, so I’ve been paying close attention all along.”

“So I’ve become your ideal in all matters, then.” “……”

At that moment, Mr. Tahara felt strangely uneasy about the words he himself had spoken. He harbored a vague sensation that he was being persistently shadowed by Ryōsuke. And that feeling was something utterly beyond his control.

However, when he looked back and saw the figure of that boy holding his night school bundle and wearing his hakama shortened, Mr. Tahara suddenly felt utterly absurd. He was a sensitive and intelligent boy, but he was still just a boy. “It must be time—why don’t you get going?”

After a moment, Mr. Tahara said.

“No, sir. Is there anything else you require?” “Ah, there’s nothing.” “Then I’ll take my leave now.” Ryōsuke said that and stood still by Mr. Tahara’s side for about thirty seconds. Then he hurriedly left the house. Mr. Tahara also went out for a walk afterward. After about two hours, he returned. And then he immediately went to Shigeo’s place.

“I ran into Tokuzō earlier,” Mr. Tahara said. “Is that so,” Shigeo replied disinterestedly. “He had a very serious look on his face. “And then he said something like this: ‘I’ve received so much help from you that I can’t bring myself to visit Master’s house with a clear face.’” “He’s actually an honest, good man when he’s not drinking.” “It’s because you’re letting him keep drinking that it’s a problem.”

“No, it’s not just that. Moreover, making him quit drinking suddenly might actually backfire.” “If you keep saying things like that, we’ll never get anywhere.” “No—forming or breaking habits requires a proper period of time.”

“Even so, Father, you’re being far too lenient.”

“I see…”

Mr. Tahara started to say something but abruptly severed his words. At this, Shigeo too fell completely silent.

That night, Mr. Tahara could not sleep until late. Because both the room and the inside of the mosquito net felt strangely stifling, he quietly rose and opened the veranda's rain shutters.

It was a quiet evening of starlight, with the air crystal-clear. Mr. Tahara went down into the garden, expanded his chest, and took a deep breath. Then he suddenly peered into every corner of the garden. He somehow seemed to sense a human presence. But there was no one there. Only the shadows beneath the shrubbery were menacingly pitch-dark.

Mr. Tahara began walking through the garden. After a while, he found himself near the entrance of the four-and-a-half-mat room next to the entryway where Ryōsuke was sleeping. He strained his ears at the doorway. The door remained tightly shut, and not a single sound came from within.

Time passed quietly. Suddenly, Mr. Tahara retreated a step. And suddenly, as if coming to his senses, he looked around. He felt his mind becoming frighteningly clear, like glass. Then, as if bracing against something, he pulled both shoulders back and tightly clenched his fists.

Maintaining that posture, he returned once more toward the garden adjoining the main room. It was a strange posture—only his upper body rigid, as if braced against some unseen force. One of the doors left open earlier stood gaping wide. He went straight in there.

6

On a certain August afternoon when the sun blazed relentlessly, a crowd of onlookers trailed after a policeman and a thoroughly drunken man, straggling their way to the front of Mr. Tahara’s house. Scorching heat, dust, and the smell of sweat all at once disturbed the quiet street. However, everyone remained silent. They silently wiped the sweat from their foreheads and peered again at the drunkard. The drunkard walked along, one hand held by the policeman, shuffling unsteadily. His black eyes were drawn up beneath his upper eyelids as he stared fixedly ahead.

The two entered Mr. Tahara’s gate. The crowd of onlookers was left there and, still silent, peered through the gate. And then, gradually, they drifted away two or three at a time.

The policeman stood at the entrance and said the following to Mr. Tahara, who had come out there. “This man suddenly sat down in the middle of the street. No matter how much we scolded or coaxed him, he wouldn’t stand up. He was heavily drunk and on top of that, probably exposed to the blazing sun. When we asked his address, he only answered, ‘I’m going to Mr. Tahara’s place.’ When we said we’d take him to your house, he silently stood up and started walking. Do you know this man?”

Mr. Tahara fixed his gaze intently on the man—Tokuzō—crouching dazedly at the entrance. The thin-striped yukata was covered in dust. From his parted chest, black chest hair was visible as he breathed laboriously like one gasping for air. “Yes,” Mr. Tahara replied. “He’s a man who used to work for our household. He is by no means a suspicious individual, so I would be most grateful if you would kindly leave this matter in my hands.”

Seeming relieved at this, the policeman took out a notebook from his pocket and wrote down Mr. Tahara’s name along with Tokuzō’s address and full name. And with that, he said, “Apologies for the intrusion,” and left. Mr. Tahara stood motionless for a while, watching Tokuzō, but eventually ordered the maid to have him lie down in Ryōsuke’s room. Tokuzō silently followed the maid around toward the garden but refused to step up from the veranda there.

“This is fine here!” he snarled at the maid. Having no other choice, they laid out a mat for him on the veranda, whereupon he immediately flopped down on it and fell asleep. Then, gulping down the offered cup of water in one go, he began snoring loudly and sank into deep sleep.

When the commotion subsided, the house suddenly felt stiflingly humid again. From somewhere came the shrill, incessant drone of cicadas. Mr. Tahara sat in the tearoom as if listening intently to the heat, but would occasionally rise to peer at Tokuzō. Tokuzō lay with his chest exposed, head slipped from the pillow to bare his Adam's apple, limbs stretched out in deep slumber. The sleeping figure, his entire body limply spread out on the veranda, looked truly oppressive in the heat. In the garden, the leaves glared dazzlingly under the intense sunlight.

Mr. Tahara sat down vacantly in the tearoom again with a listless expression.

“You’re only concerned about Tokuzō, aren’t you?” Shigeko said with a smile.

Mr. Tahara did not answer that. Around four o’clock, about an hour and a half after Tokuzō had been brought by the policeman, Ryōsuke returned from his errand to Shiba. Mr. Tahara suddenly took on a vivid expression.

“You’ve had a hard time.” “It must have been hot.”

Ryōsuke sat there still in his hakama. “Mr. Kawaguchi said he will come over here tomorrow evening and asked me to tell you to please take care of it.” “Ah, I see. So you met Mr. Kawaguchi?”

“Yes. “And I was treated to a meal.” “That’s good. “Well, why don’t you go wipe yourself down.” At that moment, a sound came from the front veranda. Upon hearing this, Mr. Tahara suddenly stood up with a darkened expression. Ryōsuke followed Mr. Tahara for no particular reason.

Tokuzō raised his upper body and sat there blankly on the veranda. "How's your condition?" Mr. Tahara asked in an irritated tone.

Tokuzō turned around to look at Mr. Tahara, then suddenly bowed two or three times.

“How’s your condition?” Mr. Tahara asked again. “No, I’m completely fine now. Well, it’s just…”

Tokuzō abruptly stopped speaking and seemed to be pondering something, but it appeared he simply couldn't recall what it was.

“Why don’t you have something cold to drink?” “That’ll help clear your head.”

When he heard this, Tokuzō suddenly blinked his eyes. And he stood up and moved away from the veranda. Everything seemed to have finally returned to his memory.

“No, sir, I must beg your pardon.” “If I keep this up, I'll die.” “No, I had a terrible time of it.” “My whole body ended up blazing all over.” “The crimson-burning ones I can handle, but when it comes to the glaring-burning ones, there’s just no managing them.” “It hit my head with a thud, you know.” “My eyes went all blurry, you know... I'm terribly sorry.” “I’d like to have a glass of water, if I may.”

“Go and fetch some water,” Mr. Tahara said, turning to Ryōsuke. At that moment, Tokuzō seemed to realize for the first time that Mr. Tahara was not alone there; when he lifted his face, he spotted Ryōsuke standing in the shadow of the sliding door in the next room. Then he lowered his eyes and looked at the straw mat spread out on the veranda.

Tokuzō silently folded the straw mat and pushed it into a corner. Before long, he gulped down the water in the cup Ryōsuke had brought. And then he silently held out the cup again. Ryōsuke poured another cup of water and brought it to him, whereupon he drank it down in one gulp. He set down the cup, stared intently at Ryōsuke’s hakama-clad figure, then turned toward Mr. Tahara and bowed. “I’ve caused you such an awful inconvenience. I’m alright now.”

Having said that, he started to leave.

“Well, take your time and rest before you go,” Mr. Tahara called out. “Oh, I’m fine.” “I’m terribly sorry.” “Starting now, I’ll quit drinking for good.” “Absolutely.” “…Hey, Ryōsuke, you too—study hard, you hear?”

Tokuzō left as if fleeing. Ryōsuke stood there in silence, staring at his father’s retreating figure. At that moment, Mr. Tahara made a strangely displeased face. Something loathsome—a vague, objectless loathsomeness—began to coil around his mind. And he remained silent.

At that moment, Ryōsuke turned toward Mr. Tahara and said. “What happened to my father?”

“Oh, he came in drunk, so I let him sleep.”

“Even so, he said something about it glaringly blazing up and hitting his head with a thud, but…”

“It’s probably because he was dead drunk during the day. …He’s the one setting his own body on fire.”

Ryōsuke remained silent.

“There’s nothing to worry about. Didn’t he say he’d quit drinking? …Go take off that hakama and wash up with some water.”

Mr. Tahara ascended to the second floor after saying that. Ryōsuke followed a step behind, but then shook his head and entered his own room.

Mr. Tahara’s displeased face and some inexplicably vexing emotion persisted until that evening.

And that evening, Shigeo said the following.

“If we don’t handle someone like Tokuzō soon, he’ll bring terrible trouble.” “What? He’s an extremely honest man.” “It’s just that his drinking is the problem,” Mr. Tahara replied. “Honest he may be, but his foolishness makes him dangerous. “When driven into a corner, there’s no telling what he might do. “And he has this habit of drinking himself senseless….” Mr. Tahara gave no answer to that. And because of this, his displeasure only grew stronger. The irritation coiled about his nerves, making his brow twitch incessantly.

Such a thing was unusual for Mr. Tahara. For him, who was always calm and composed, such things were actually extremely rare. And so both Shigeo and Shigeko fell strangely silent that evening.

That night, Mr. Tahara went to bed early. When Ryōsuke returned from night school and asked the maid, "Is Mr. Tahara...?", Mr. Tahara was sleeping with an unusual depth of slumber.

In the middle of the night, Mr. Tahara awoke. The house lay in hushed stillness. And his mind was utterly still.

As he lay there dazedly with his eyes open, from somewhere came a plink... plink, a sound like something dripping. It showed no sign of stopping. And finally, it clung persistently to his head. The dull, heavy sound resonated in the core of his head as if smothering it.

Mr. Tahara had been thinking for a long time but suddenly sat up as if he had gradually located the source of the sound. When he went to the kitchen area, it was indeed water from the tap leaking over the sloped surface of the washing area. When he tightened the faucet’s screw, the dripping sound stopped abruptly. And the house fell completely silent.

Mr. Tahara got back into bed, but the five-candlepower electric light visible through the mosquito net flickered irritatingly against his eyes. So he got up again and turned off the light.

All that remained was darkness and silence. When he stared fixedly at that darkness for a while, before he knew it, he had dozed off again.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed—or perhaps it had been only moments later. Outside, the wind was raging with a roaring, dreadful noise—Mr. Tahara thought. The fierce wind ripped through the spaces between eaves and trees as it blew past. And amidst that wind, there was something flickering red at the edge of an object. As he stared fixedly at it, before long it began to burn as a large flame. And then a figure dashed off somewhere. The flame swirled and spread to the house. And before he knew it, he was surrounded by the flames. The moment he thought, "Damn it!" Mr. Tahara awoke.

It had been an illusion that occurred almost instantaneously. However, that consciousness was so vivid that it seamlessly connected to his waking awareness. Only the sound of the wind and the flame had given way to silence and darkness. When he strained his ears, he sensed a presence near the garden. It seemed someone was stealthily creeping closer, muffling their footsteps. Mr. Tahara sat up and tightened his sash. Then, in the darkness, as a precaution, he took out a pistol from the cupboard and loaded a bullet into it.

He quietly approached the storm shutters and carefully slid open one panel without making a sound.

It was a heavy, gloomily overcast night. In the garden, a faintly bluish, hazy light lingered in the air. Peering through, he saw a crouching figure on the whitely emergent garden stone across the way.

Mr. Tahara did not show the slightest surprise. Everything had unfolded exactly as anticipated. And he felt that his mind was clear. He felt it was terrifyingly clear and sharply focused. When he looked at the pistol in his hand, it shone coldly silver. Everything was terrifyingly clear. And in that state, he remained perfectly still. It was quiet.

Mr. Tahara stared fixedly at the figure.

The man had been crouching on the stone for a long time. Then he fumbled in his sleeve for a match and lit the hand-rolled cigarette. The tip of the cigarette flared up but went out immediately. Then the man stood up. He started walking with his head hung down, but after five or six steps jumped up as if he had tripped over something. There was a rustling sound. The man stopped there and stared fixedly at the ground before picking up a withered paulownia leaf. While shaking it off, he took several more steps. Suddenly he made a gesture as though unable to bear something. Then abruptly struck a match and transferred the flame to the withered leaf. The flame flared up.

All these events appeared before Mr. Tahara's eyes with blurred and expanded contours in the darkness that contained a faint glimmer. And when the paulownia leaf burst into flame, Mr. Tahara's mental clarity and concentration of nerves reached their peak intensity.

“Who’s there?!” Mr. Tahara bellowed.

The man whirled around in horror.

In that instant, Mr. Tahara fired the pistol toward the man below. A deafening roar echoed through the darkness, and the man collapsed to the ground with a thud.

Almost simultaneously, Mr. Tahara felt "Damn it!" course through the hand gripping the pistol. Still clenching his lips tightly, he stepped down into the garden quietly, remaining barefoot.

While clutching a smoldering leaf in one hand, Ryōsuke had collapsed with a wound through his left chest.

Mr. Tahara stood frozen there. And he tilted his head as though something didn’t quite add up.