Pathway to Japanese Literature

I liked that temple.

Beyond the imposing temple gate lay an expansive garden, and whether it was because the clusters of planted trees blocked out the sunlight, the ground was entirely carpeted in moss.
Within that garden, maple trees stood in two rows, forming a wide straight path from the temple gate.
The center of the path was paved with stone, and where it met an artificial hill and some large monument at the far end, it abruptly turned left and appeared to lead toward the main hall.
From the front, only a part of the main hall’s gently sloping roof was visible.
Gazing through the imposing temple gate at this partial view of the main hall's roof, the serene expanse of garden, moss-kissed earth, flat stone-paved path, supple branches of maple rows, and pristine air—how many times was I struck by that refined, lonesome beauty!
However, because a sign reading "No Unauthorized Entry" had been hung on the temple gate’s pillar, I had never once set foot inside.
Yet I had merely come to look forward to passing by its front on my way to and from school.

Now, tracing back through my memories, it seems that the distinct image of that temple became engraved in my mind from around my third year at girls' school.
And it was also in that year that I began to catch glimpses of that person.

When it was that I first saw him, I do not remember.
Before I knew when it began, I came to notice the figure of a young monk in plain white garments standing motionless in that temple garden beyond the rows of maple trees.
But I merely thought he looked like a young lonely monk and paid it no particular mind.
I had grown so accustomed to seeing him without realizing it that I no longer gave it any thought.

From what I observed, that young monk always wore plain white garments—sometimes standing among maple thickets while at other times walking slowly before the large stone monument directly beyond the temple gate.
That figure added an extra layer of charm to the serene garden within.
Every time I passed before the temple, I would invariably steal a glance inside; failing to find his figure there left me with a faint sense of dissatisfaction.
My heart had somehow come to feel an undefined familiarity toward that monk.

It was a radiant autumn evening of flawless clarity.
Having been on duty that day, I returned home from school later than usual.
The boundless sky arched high in crystalline blue while golden sunlight streamed obliquely across every street.
The air held such strangely penetrating sharpness that it seemed an evening made for endless wandering.
With buoyant spirits, I happened to pass before the temple.
As I stole my customary glance inward while passing, my feet seemed arrested of their own accord.
Some twenty ken beyond the gate—thirty-six meters if measured—that young melancholy monk stood leaning one hand against a maple trunk, motionless as if frozen in that posture for hours, gazing vacantly toward me.
Slanting light filtering through maple branches cast quivering flecks across his snow-white robes.
When he saw me, his face began shifting slowly—oh so slowly—like water rippling on windless lakes, etching faint creases across its surface.
Then before I could register the change, he bloomed into a warm smile.
He smiled without ever having properly seen my face.
...Realizing this, I abruptly regained self-awareness and fled in shame, face still lowered.

That night when I went to bed and thought about what had happened during the day, I felt as though I’d had an extraordinarily tender dream.
"May blessings be upon that young monk." — I had come to feel that way.
Ah, what was this feeling!

From the next day onward, on my way to and from school, I generally encountered the monk about once a day. Oddly, whenever I passed by the temple, he would be out in the garden. As if finding nothing strange in this mutual behavior, we always exchanged smiles.

This continued through October, November, and about two more months. My heart had reached a point where I could no longer tell whether passing by the temple brought me joy because of its pristine garden or because of the monk’s familiar smile.

But it was not something like love.
I was still sixteen and knew nothing of true feelings toward the opposite sex.
Even when my elder brother’s young friends teased me quite openly, I felt nothing beyond embarrassment.
Among my elder brother’s friends, there were indeed those I gazed upon with yearning eyes, but even that feeling paled in comparison to what I felt toward my own beautiful female friends.
And my feelings toward that monk were even fainter than those I held toward my elder brother’s friends.
It was merely something like the affection one feels for a dear uncle.
Otherwise, there’s no way I could have returned his smiles with such ease starting the very next day after that embarrassing incident; no way we could have exchanged smiles every day without a second thought.

Even when the maple leaves turned crimson and began scattering one after another, I continued meeting with the monk nearly every day. Through our exchanged smiles alone, I felt no particular resentment toward the prohibition sign on that imposing temple gate's pillar. Yet on Sundays or rainy days when his figure remained absent, I found myself inexplicably bored.

Then from December's outset, the monk vanished abruptly. Sometimes I would deliberately pass by the temple two or three times on my way home from school. Still he never appeared. A strange melancholy came over me. Later I would clearly recall our final meeting.

That day, the monk stood forlornly beside the stone monument, crossing his sleeves over his chest as if chilled.
When I passed by the temple gate, he merely raised his bowed head slightly but, without smiling as usual, immediately hid his face against his chest again.
He appeared to be keeping his eyes tightly shut.
Looking back later, it seemed to me that this had been to prevent his tears from falling.
But at that time, I merely thought it somewhat strange and did not feel particularly surprised.

After the monk’s figure disappeared, when I later recalled that matter, I began to feel there was some profound reason behind it.
Perhaps he had fallen ill... Perhaps he had been transferred to another temple... Perhaps he had departed on a distant journey... The more I thought about it, the clearer it became that the only remaining certainty was this: I would never see the monk again.
I even felt resentful that he hadn’t told me the reason.
I tried to convince myself it was because of his status as a monk.
And a deep loneliness, a sadness, seeped into my heart.
I also began to feel as though passing by the temple had become painful.
When passing by, I tried not to look into the temple gate.
But I couldn't help looking.
And I became even sadder.

Before long, my semester exams arrived, followed by winter break, and then the New Year came.
And as for the monk, I found myself forgetting him without meaning to.
Elder Brother had married his long-engaged Sister-in-Law while still a student and began working at a company immediately after graduating from university, but whether because he had managed to retain the exact same mindset from his student days, he still had many university student friends, and during New Year’s with karuta gatherings and such, the house became exceedingly lively.
Being much younger, I indulged in being treated like a child forevermore and ran around making noise as I pleased inside the house.

When the New Year season passed like a dream and school began again, I felt a slight fear at passing by the temple gate once more. I myself didn't know why. I merely glanced through the temple gate and hurried past. However, the monk's figure was never seen. I felt an inexplicable sense of relief. I, who had initially grieved over not being able to meet him, had come to fear meeting him in just one month. This was not because I felt guilty about having nearly forgotten him for a time, nor because I worried that love might be stirring. If we were to start meeting daily again this time, I feared it would take on some new form of anxiety—not love—and that this might bring some disturbance to my heart.

Never once seeing the monk and feeling a certain relief alongside this absence, I truly came to forget him. Moreover, January and February passed until spring approached at last. Ah, that spring when I turned seventeen—how unclouded my heart felt! It was like standing alone in a vast field beneath a sky cleared of all haze. There were no reservations left within me. I wanted to dance; I wanted to run; I wanted to soar high into those heavens. Fantasy and reality became intertwined, weaving together as they began crafting a beautiful world of dreams.

And yet...

Around the time when cherry blossoms scattered and leaves began turning green—shortly after I became a fourth-year student—I remembered that day clearly… April 21st!
That afternoon, I once again found his figure—it now felt more natural for me to call him “he” from then on—his figure within the temple grounds.

With a buoyant heart—as if happiness awaited me ahead—I returned from school and happened to pass by the temple when, without any particular thought, I glanced toward the temple gate on impulse. And then I froze abruptly in place. From the shadow of the large stone monument across the way, his head was staring this way. From the neck down was not visible. Only from the neck up had been thrust out from the stone monument, the entirety of his face and head staring fixedly at me. In that instant, as I doubted whether it was him, I froze rigid with indescribable terror. But in the next moment, as that head detached from the stone monument like a floating skull, his figure in white robes stood rigidly there. While screaming soundlessly within my heart, I desperately fled.

When I returned home and settled into my room, my heart finally calmed, and the terror from earlier began to seem utterly foolish.
But when I thought more carefully, I became unable to understand the meaning of his behavior.
Why couldn’t he have met me as he did in autumn—standing in that pristine garden with beautiful young maple leaves as his backdrop—nothing compares to young maple leaves for beauty—greeting me with a serene smile?
Why did he hide behind the stone monument, sticking out only from the neck up, and stare at me with terrifying intensity?
I simply couldn't recall his face from that time.
All I remember is that he had a gloomy face and was staring at me with his entire face and head.

For those four or five days, I did not see him.
However one day while passing by, I discovered him hiding in a hinoki cypress thicket, gazing at me.
From then on, I too began paying attention.
Then from the shadows of shrubberies, stone monuments, and landscaped hills, I began frequently spotting his figure watching me.
Even when I didn't find him, I felt being intently watched from somewhere.
Passing before the temple had grown intensely unsettling to me.

I think it was the beginning of May. When I passed by on my way to school, he stood vacantly on the stone-paved path just beyond the temple gate, holding a broom but not making any move to sweep the garden. I was startled, but this still felt better than being watched from the shadows. Yet when returning from school that same day, I found him maintaining the exact same posture. At that moment, I noticed his face had grown terribly pale and his white robes were dingy with grime. He kept staring fixedly at me without offering even a faint smile. Forcing an air of nonchalance, I quickened my pace and hurried past.

Looking back now, I was such a fool—I knew nothing at all!

After that, whenever I passed before the temple, his figure holding a broom would appear within the temple gate each time.
He would stare at me without moving a single strand of hair, rigid as stone.
His white everyday robe had grown dingy with grime and crinkled with deep wrinkles.
His face turned deathly pale, its luster gone entirely, cheeks hollowed and gaunt.
His hair had grown out to about five centimeters in disarray, often sporting a sparse, wispy beard.
When he shaved his beard, the hollowness of his cheeks stood out even more starkly, making him appear all the more emaciated.
And within his sunken eyes lay a darkened, sharp glint.

I was always unnerved by that glint in his eyes.
One time when I saw he had come outside the gate, I felt I could no longer pass before it.
Keeping my eyes rigidly downcast as I went by, my feet naturally broke into a trot.
And I lacked the courage to look back.

From around that time, I tried to avoid passing in front of the temple whenever possible.
But doing so required taking a long detour.
On mornings when I ran a little late, I had no choice but to pass in front of the temple.
Whenever I did, he was always standing there.
Also on my way home from school, whenever my timing was either a bit early or late, I would pass in front of the temple.
When his figure wasn't visible, I felt as though I had escaped a disaster.
But that was extremely rare.

I had no friends in the neighborhood who attended the same school.
However, one day when my close friend Ms. K was coming to visit my house, we happened to pass by the temple on our way home from school together.
At that time too, he was standing there holding a broom.
Unconcerned by my hurried passing, Ms. K walked at a leisurely pace while staring intently back at him.
And when she caught up to me, Ms. K said these words.

“What an unpleasant monk!”

I didn’t know how to respond.
But from around that time, I had come to clearly feel that the cause of his changed behavior lay entirely with me.
And the more clearly I felt that, the more utterly at a loss I became.
I was continuously menaced.
In this way, how terribly my young life must have been poisoned.

One July morning, having delayed slightly, I hurried past the temple. Sure enough, he stood there leaning against a pillar of the temple gate, still holding his broom. I caught only a fleeting glimpse before lowering my face and hastening past. Before I had taken ten steps, I distinctly felt him following behind me. With those emaciated bony hands of his, I felt certain my shoulders would be seized at any moment. There was nothing to be done. Summoning all my strength, I broke into a run—but after seven or eight strides, my breath came in gasps and I halted. He seemed already upon me. With forced resolve to resist, I whirled around abruptly. Yet... there stood no one. Only the desolate street lay bathed in morning light, not a soul remaining before the temple. A strange dread—not of him—of something seized me. My heart hammered violently.

That day I went straight home, told sister-in-law I wasn’t feeling well, and ended up skipping school.
All day long, I remained in a daze, as though emerging from a nightmare.

From then on, I decided to avoid passing in front of the temple as much as possible.
Precisely because I passed by less frequently, the occasions when I saw him also became fewer.
And then before I knew it, the busy exam period arrived.
After the exams ended and summer vacation began, before returning to my hometown of Harima, one morning I went to see the temple.
For what purpose I went there, I do not remember.
Even then, I probably had no clear reason why.

The temple interior lay in hushed stillness.
On the moss-covered ground that still seemed damp with dew, the sunlight filtering through the planted trees cast dappled patches of beautiful color.
A refreshing air blanketed everything.
No one was visible.
With a feeling akin to faint melancholy, I returned home.
I, who had been continually threatened by him, found myself feeling a certain nostalgia and sense of incompleteness toward the temple garden from which his figure had been removed.

After that, I returned to my family home without seeing him again.
My eldest brother lived in Tokyo, my second brother had died young, and my sister had married into a family in Osaka, so in our family home there remained only my parents and younger brother, making it rather lonely—but how joyful it must have been for me to be under my parents' care again after a year apart.

But now, this is not what I am writing about.
I shall advance the pen of my story.
While returning to my hometown, his figure naturally receded from my mind.

However, near the end of summer vacation, just when I was about to return to my elder brother’s house in Tokyo in four or five days, something strange happened to me.

My house was located in a field on the outskirts of town, so far out it could almost be called the suburbs.
After Father began overseeing the owned properties as his main role, we moved to that quiet house on the outskirts of town.

One moonlit evening, I went for a walk alone along a country path.
Since coming to live in Tokyo, I had come to feel an even deeper attachment to the moonlit nights of my rural hometown.
This was because childhood memories and longing for moonlit plains were intermingled.
That night, the moon was especially beautiful.
A silvery light hazed over the fields, stretching far into the distance.
A glistening white path emerged between the rice fields, the scent of dew on rice leaves lingering in the air while frog cries echoed lonesomely.
After walking through the countryside for some time, I began heading home while humming a song under my breath.
Then suddenly—utterly suddenly—I felt a shudder run through me as though doused in icy water.
Behind me stood the figure of that monk in white robes.
When I took a step, he took a step; when I stopped, he stopped.
I did not see it with my eyes but felt it clearly in my heart.
Trembling and shrinking in fear, when I cautiously took in my surroundings, it was a night of brilliant moonlight where croaking frogs only deepened the desolate stillness of the fields.
I could not look back, could not stop, and could not walk either.
His figure stood motionless a few steps behind me.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and could do nothing but resign myself to fate... It felt as though a long time had passed.
I felt a sensation as though my mind were growing distant.
And the moment I suddenly opened my eyes, I came back to my senses.
I could no longer sense his presence.
When I looked back across the deserted field where no one stood, moonlight lay spread in all directions.

It was an illusion!
But ah, if only it had remained nothing more than an illusion!

At the end of August, I once again found myself at my elder brother’s house in Tokyo and began attending school.
And the illusions had ceased to remain mere illusions.

On the first day I attended school for the new September term, I passed by the temple both going and returning, but his figure was nowhere to be seen.
But from the second or third day onward, I began to find him standing inside the temple gate almost every morning.
The reason I felt some fleeting relief was that his white robes had become newly clean, his complexion appeared far better than before the vacation, his hair had been cut short, and his beard was always properly shaven.
His cheeks remained hollow, but a smooth luster had appeared.
Always holding a broom, whenever he caught sight of me, he would lean lightly against a maple trunk and strike deliberately coy poses.
He did not smile with his face, but smiled with his eyes.
At times, on the hand he had thrown over the maple trunk, he would even be holding a new handkerchief.
I saw how that unrefined monk’s demeanor had changed so abruptly, and even found myself provoked to a faint smile.
After that, he never once showed himself on my way home from school.
He only ever stood inside the gate on clear mornings.
Beneath verdant maple leaves, enveloped in pristine air that seemed still heavy with morning dew, there were even moments when I first thought his face—as he stood upon moss-covered ground with broom in hand—held beauty.

Thus my vigilance toward him gradually relaxed.
As it grew clear he held feelings of love for me, my youthful heart even began sensing a faint pride.
Though a species of dread remained deep in my mind, I found myself tending to forget those twin illusions I had seen before.
Ah, how readily a maiden's heart yields to flattery!
With careless ease, I passed before the temple unhesitating.

Meeting him was limited to sunny mornings, but even so, about once a week or every ten days, I would encounter him on my way home from school.
He would emerge outside the temple gate still wearing his white everyday robes and wander about the street.
Despite there always being very few people passing through that area, I reached a point where I no longer felt any particular fear even when passing by him.
Within me, an arrogant heart had sprouted.

In late October, having received splendid chrysanthemums from a friend, I passed by the temple a little later than usual.
He was standing at the entrance.
I paid it no mind.
As he began walking slightly upon seeing me, I calmly attempted to pass by his side.
Then, something from behind touched the chrysanthemums I held in my right hand, causing a few petals to scatter.

“Oh, excuse me.”

A murmuring voice reached me.
When I glanced back, he was hurriedly entering the temple gate with strangely flustered movements.
I tightly suppressed the urge to laugh aloud.
Then something suddenly occurred to me, and I stopped.
Could it be... could it be he had slipped a letter into my sleeve... I thought.

I checked both sleeves.
There was nothing inside.
I checked my entire body.
There was nothing unusual anywhere…… So was it just a coincidence after all?
I had no choice but to think so, yet there was something in my heart that could not clearly affirm it was so.
My suspicious dread began to swell again.

Around that time, I often found myself unable to sleep.
I would suddenly wake in the dead of night and wander the border between dream and waking until near dawn.
At such times, I often had eerie dreams.
There were times in my dreams when he and I would play chase.
Yet all those things would be utterly swept away as night gave way to dawn, and in the clear autumn sunlight, I would find my refreshed self.

Yet unexpectedly, such a thing suddenly occurred.

November 18th. That day, on my way home from school, I encountered him again before the temple.
He was leaning against one of the temple gate pillars, seemingly engrossed in thought, and even as I passed by, he did not raise his head that hung low against his chest.
I walked briskly past him.
And when I walked twenty or thirty steps, I felt him following from behind.
It was exactly the same as the two illusions I had seen before.
But at that moment, strangely enough, no particular feeling of terror arose in me.
The figure of him following along with his head hanging down—the figure of him reflected in my heart—seemed slightly comical.
I pretended not to notice, while keeping watch on his figure in my mind, and walked home with my usual gait.

My house's gate had double doors opening outward from the center, with a narrow gravel-covered front garden between the gate and entrance.
The gate doors remained open throughout the daytime.

While allowing him to follow behind me, when I reached the front of the house, I suddenly whirled around and slipped through the gate.
Then as I removed my shoes at the entrance to go inside, he too had silently entered through the gate.
The movement made absolutely no sound.
Though standing on gravel, his footsteps produced no crunching.
I shuddered violently.
Standing frozen at the entranceway, I finally turned to look back.
There he stood motionless, right before my eyes outside the entrance.
The shock obliterated my sense of time and space.
I suddenly dashed to where Sister-in-Law stayed.
And began screaming.

“Sister-in-Law! Hurry! Hurry... The monk is chasing me at the entrance!”
“Please go.”
“Hurry and go... He might come up here.”

Sister-in-Law became astonished by my state and hurried out to the entrance without asking anything.
I turned rigid like stone and strained my ears.
I heard nothing.
Soon Sister-in-Law returned alone.

“What’s the matter?”
“No one’s here,” said Sister-in-Law.

“No, he’s here.
The monk is chasing me,” I insisted.

The maid and the old woman also came there.
The four of us went together to the entrance.
There was no one.
We went out to check beyond the gate.
On the street, we could see no figure resembling a monk.

However, I had indeed seen his figure at the entrance!

When questioned by Sister-in-Law, I fully confessed everything from the beginning, from last year.
In the middle of my account, Elder Brother returned.
Sister-in-Law concisely recounted the events of that day.
I repeated everything from the beginning once more.
Elder Brother remained silent and listened, but once I had finished speaking, he declared as follows.

“That seems plausible… If you’d just confided sooner instead of hiding it, this wouldn’t have happened.”

In the end, Elder Brother concluded that either I had developed neurasthenia or he had become half-mad with infatuation—no, likely both.

Sister-in-Law and I looked at each other and trembled with an eerie premonition.

As a result of our discussion that evening, I was to follow Elder Brother’s instructions in all matters.
First: that I avoid passing before the temple whenever possible; that on mornings when running late left no time for detours, a maid would accompany me past it; and that I always take a detour on my return.
Next: should anything strange occur upon encountering the monk, I was to confide in Elder Brother immediately—whereupon he would go there without fail this time and have a stern talk with him.
――I agreed to all of it.

However, I did not keep that promise—no, I could not keep it.
Though I felt intense terror toward him, in the intervals between that terror, I also felt a certain kind of pity.
And when he intimidated me, no matter what happened, I did not pass before the temple.
But when I pitied him, thinking it would be cruel if he failed to appear suddenly, I still passed before the temple.
Those two impulses arose within me intermittently.
Ah, the facile trembling of a young woman, and her arrogance!
Yet looking back now, it seems something beyond those reasons—some great bewitchment—had taken hold of me.
It was the enticement of a spider’s thread luring flies.
I must have feared him or pitied him while being enchanted by him in my heart’s depths.

Moreover, nothing particularly unusual happened.

I would sometimes pass by the temple on my way there and meet him standing inside the temple gate.
On my way back as well, there were times when I encountered him in front of the temple.

Before long came the semester examinations, then winter vacation.
Yet that New Year remained gloomy for me.
My head stayed perpetually shrouded in hazy fog.
As if mourning the dead, I found myself recalling things about him.
Elder Brother definitively pronounced me a neurasthenia case.
Sister-in-Law showed profound concern.
Then the three of us went on a brief excursion—departing on the 4th, staying two nights in Hakone through the 6th.
Yet even as I wrote postcard messages to friends, my brow kept clouding over.
Perhaps I truly had neurasthenia—or maybe from that time onward…

After school resumed, nothing happened for a time—but on a certain cold day in February, I again felt him following me.
But at that time, he—or perhaps a phantom of my mind—vanished midway.
Such a thing happened once at the beginning of March.

I hid it from Elder Brother.
I didn't know why, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell him.
And finally, the final day arrived.

March 12th—that day was overcast from morning, with not a breath of wind, a day that felt strangely uncertain.
In the morning, I took a detour to school.
I had thought to take a detour on my way back, but remembering Elder Brother was home idling with a slight cold, I found myself wanting to return quickly and came straight back without another thought.

He stood leaning against the temple gate's pillar.
I tried to pass by while feigning composure.
At that moment—for reasons unknown—he gave me a slight bow.
Compelled by some force, I returned the bow.
Then suddenly, a shudder ran through my entire body.
Unlike before, I sensed a strange earnestness in him.
I tried to break into a run but found myself unable.
My legs felt leaden.
I kept walking with teeth clenched.
He followed behind me, maintaining seven or eight steps' distance.
When I finally reached home and passed through our gate, he too entered inside.
As I stood at the entranceway—no, this part wasn't strange at all—the crunch of his footsteps approaching across the gravel within the gate rang clearly.
I couldn't endure it any longer.
There was no time to look back or remove my shoes.
Still shod, I leapt onto the floorboards and dashed into the inner room.
There lay Elder Brother in his padded robe beside Sister-in-Law, who was occupied with her work.

“The monk!” I cried out once before collapsing where I stood.

Elder Brother seemed to understand immediately.
He threw off his padded robe and went out to the entrance.
I pushed myself upright and strained my ears toward the front door.
After some time... Ah—it really was true!
I could hear Elder Brother speaking to someone.
At his voice, Sister-in-Law started up in surprise but quickly sat back down and removed my shoes.
I let her handle me without resistance.
My fingers shook with cold.
She helped me remove my hakama too.
Sister-in-Law then led me to the inner room.

“Please stay right here quietly—I’ll be back soon.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.”

When Sister-in-Law said that to me, hot tears came streaming down.
Sister-in-Law rose and left, but after a while returned again.
We did not speak a single word about him.
Because I was feeling cold, Sister-in-Law lit the kotatsu.
I remained still with face buried in the kotatsu.
Tears I couldn’t understand kept streaming out.
I couldn’t think of anything.
Sister-in-Law would periodically rise and leave.
Elder Brother never returned.

When the lamps were lit and dusk began settling outside, my mind finally grew calm.
At dinner, I saw Elder Brother's face for the first time.
He appeared deeply agitated.
The dining table held more dishes than usual.

"I'd meant to treat him to lunch, but since he left..." Elder Brother said.

Upon hearing that, my heart suddenly felt clear.
I thought about asking Elder Brother about him, but the words wouldn't come out.

That evening, Elder Brother, Sister-in-Law, and I—the three of us—gathered around the kotatsu and were told the full details by Elder Brother.

When Elder Brother went out to the entrance, he was standing there.
Elder Brother was taken aback but stated that if he had business, he should say so.
Even so, he remained standing in silence.
As there was no other choice, he showed him to the guest room.
He followed the guidance and was shown to the guest room.
And there, he confessed everything.
He had been in love with me since the autumn of the year before last.
However, being a monk, it is said he was greatly tormented in his heart.
At times, he even resolved to commit suicide, it is said.
Even so, being unable to abandon his feelings, he had finally followed me today with the intention of confiding his heart to my father.
He had not even known my address or name until today, it is said—(If that’s the case, then everything before must have been my hallucinations after all!)
(But I couldn’t believe that was all there was to it.) After hearing his story, Elder Brother earnestly admonished him.
When told, “Should you complete your training and become an eminent monk, I might not be entirely opposed to offering you my sister...,” he burst into loud sobs.
He cried on and on without stopping.
“Well, even I was at a loss,” said Elder Brother.
After lying prostrate in tears for a long time, he suddenly raised his face and pleaded, “I will go abroad now to study, so please do not let your sister marry for another two years.”
Elder Brother admonished his reckless resolve and persuaded him that one could study even in Japan.
However, he absolutely would not listen.
“If there is no word from me by next year’s end, your sister may marry whomever she wishes, but please wait until next year’s end.”

“By then, I will have made something of myself abroad,” he pleaded tearfully.
So Elder Brother relented and said, “If your resolve is truly that firm, I shall discuss matters with your temple’s head priest and do what I can to assist you.”
Then he began to cry loudly again, and no matter how they tried to stop him, he would not cease and departed.
Elder Brother followed him to the gate and repeatedly urged, “Until I consult with the Head Priest about all matters, you must absolutely refrain from any rash or reckless actions…,” but he merely bowed silently and departed, it is said.

“If one becomes that single-minded, it’s remarkable—even I was truly moved.”

Having said that, Elder Brother brought his story to a close.

As I listened to Elder Brother’s account, I found myself tearing up without realizing it.

"But it's such a strange story, isn't it?" Sister-in-Law remarked.
"You haven’t been deceived by him too, have you?"
“After making such a promise…”

“No—it’s perfectly alright.
"Anyway, if we meet with the temple’s head priest and talk to him, we’ll understand," Elder Brother replied.

I went to bed early that evening.
Yet I could not sleep long.
I felt as though some tremendous happiness awaited me in the future, yet also as though I had fallen into a pitch-black pit.
My mind would flare into brilliance, then suddenly plunge into utter darkness.
I would drift into a doze only to be tormented by incomprehensible dreams.

The next day I took a day off from school.
Elder Brother postponed going to the temple because his fever from the cold hadn't subsided.

The following day, I again took a day off from school.
Elder Brother went to the temple around ten in the morning.
And he returned with an unexpected story.

He was from Suruga, the Head Priest’s hometown.
Born into a poor family, having lost both parents young with no close relatives, he had been taken in by a local temple.
However, being remarkably bright, the Head Priest had taken him from that temple to Tokyo, teaching general studies during spare moments before having him study Buddhism.
His mind possessed terrifying sharpness yet lacked something—or rather, showed traces of madness.
Thus the Head Priest grew deeply concerned and constantly admonished him to train his character.
But from autumn two years prior when he turned twenty-two, he seemed gripped by profound anguish.
(The Head Priest had known nothing of me.) Amidst this, since last summer he had begun drinking occasionally.
He was said to sometimes spend nights elsewhere.
The Head Priest issued a stern reprimand.
At that time he resolutely vowed to reform.
He declared he would henceforth handle even garden cleaning himself without temple servants’ help.
The Head Priest was greatly pleased.
His conduct improved astonishingly.
This continued without interruption.
Yet on the evening before last, returning late, he was heard weeping alone in his room.
The Head Priest kept distant watch.
Then from that night onward, he vanished without trace.

He had discarded his white everyday robes, put on ordinary clothes, and left.
Upon further investigation, it was found that over seventy yen in cash kept at the temple had disappeared.
As there were no other changes whatsoever and no written notes left, the Head Priest concluded he must have stolen the money and fled.
Even after waiting all day yesterday, he did not return.
And so the Head Priest considered whether to file a search request with the police.
It was just then, apparently, that my elder brother went there.

“After discussing various matters with the Head Priest,”
Elder Brother said, “we’ve largely grasped that man’s character and can infer the circumstances surrounding this.”
“But somehow…”

Elder Brother cut off his words midway and tilted his head slightly.

I felt as though struck by a sledgehammer. I didn't know what to think. It felt like my future had been painted pitch-black—no, not just my future, but my very heart had been coated in darkness. I lost interest in everything. With near-desperate resignation, I began facing those around me. Everything felt burdensome; I grew listless. Worse still, as the initial shock receded, a faint attachment toward him began stirring within me. When two or three months had passed and I reflected on those days, I felt I could finally grasp his single-minded devotion. I couldn't bring myself to think ill of him—if anything, I tried consciously to think well. Nostalgic memories of him lingered constantly in my mind. Though I knew full well I'd tremble and flee should he appear before me now, a desire to meet him still lurked deep within my heart. Even when pushing my thoughts to their limits—feeling as though peering into a bottomless black well—my tender feelings for him refused to fade. This contradiction—this irresolvable paradox—tormented me endlessly. Even summer vacation brought no relief to my troubled heart.

No trace of him thereafter reached either Elder Brother or the Head Priest.
Even the search that had been privately requested of the police yielded no results.
Still, I made it a rule to avoid passing before the temple as much as possible after that.
To walk by was terrifying.
Though I felt nostalgic for him, an inexplicable dread haunted me.

And before me loomed the promised date like an iron gate.

At the end of March, I graduated from girls' school.
And so I temporarily settled back in my hometown.
Before departure, I was taken by Elder Brother and went to bid farewell to the Head Priest.

At that time, I passed through the temple gate bearing the sign "No Unauthorized Entry" together with Elder Brother for the first time.
The temple garden was narrower than I had imagined.
When I entered inside, it wasn't such a beautiful, tranquil garden.
The large stone monument was a memorial to the first Head Priest of this temple.
When we turned left after reaching that monument, there was the main hall immediately.

We were guided to the priests' quarters.
The Head Priest had been visiting Elder Brother about once a month since that incident, so I was well acquainted with him, but that day I felt an odd sense of distance.
The Head Priest remarked while fiddling with his prayer beads amid various topics of conversation.

“It would be best for you to seek a fortunate match and marry now.”
“If you linger alone too long, another peculiar suitor might take notice of you, hahaha.”

Yet in my heart I shook my head no.
“By year’s end!”
Such thoughts sealed my heart shut.
It had already assumed the shape of fate itself, barricading my future.
I held not the slightest belief that he would reappear before us.
Still, “the end of this year” loomed like some doom ordained by destiny.

“That’s an auspicious sign—having a monk take a liking to you. You’ll live long.” Even when Elder Brother mocked me like this, I stayed silent and bit my lip.

In mid-May, I returned to my hometown.

I was not entirely without feeling the joy of being released from school into a world of freedom along with a certain melancholy, nor without savoring the pleasure of lingering long under my parents' care—yet whenever left to myself, my heart would grow chained by a black shadow.

Even so… Ah, O deceiver of time!
Attending ikebana and koto lessons while spending tranquil days in my hometown filled with childhood memories, I found my heart naturally growing distant from "him."
I even began frequently forgetting the looming threat of "the end of this year."

When November came, I contracted pneumonia.
A fever nearing forty degrees came and went, and I spent three or four days in a dreamlike state.
In that dreamlike state, I saw his figure vividly.
Wearing his usual white kimono, he stood vacantly.
It seemed at once as though it were somewhere very far away and yet right before my eyes.
Eyes closed, it was a face as though peacefully sleeping.
I remember it as something I saw many times.
But perhaps it might have been only once.
I was not particularly surprised.
It felt like something I had anticipated all along.
I clearly felt that he was dead!

Death cleanses everything.
Lying in my sickbed, I thought of him with the feeling of recalling someone from the distant past.
And the iron door called "the end of this year" had also been removed from before me.
With a peaceful heart, I thought about my past and my future.
The future was hazy and shrouded in mist.

My illness had completely healed in less than a month.
While idling about for recuperation during my convalescence, on a fine mid-December day, I found myself going with Mother to visit our family's temple.
After returning to my hometown, I had been meant to visit during Obon, but my heart recoiled at the thought because of him.
Thus when Mother proposed making a year-end visit instead—seizing this opportune moment—and since I too wished to pray for the repose of him who I had convinced myself was dead, I resolved at once to go.

As the temple wasn’t particularly far, we decided to walk there. After walking about a kilometer along an open rice field path and ascending slightly up the gentle slope of a hill, the temple came into view. The scent of the fields was pleasant to me in my convalescence. The sky was unusually clear and beautiful. The soft winter daylight was pleasant.

Upon arriving at the temple, we first visited the back cemetery, then paid respects at the main hall.
I prayed earnestly for his repose.

After that, we were persistently invited to the priests' quarters and received hospitality including tea and sweets.
The Head Priest gazed intently at me while discussing matters from my childhood with Mother.
I sat silently nearby.

At that moment, a young monk wearing plain white garments came out to greet us.
When I unthinkingly looked at his face, my body froze with a shudder and my vision went dark.
I nearly let out a scream.
He’s here, he’s here!
That monk was him!
I could no longer remember anything.
I only remember returning a low bow.
After the monk had gone inside, I finally collapsed forward there.

When I finally came to my senses, Mother was peering into my face with a worried expression. The Head Priest remained seated there. I answered only that I had suddenly felt unwell.

After some time passed and my mind settled slightly, a reckless courage began seething within me. I felt compelled to confront my own fate. I abruptly sat up and declared I was fully recovered. Then I started speaking with forced cheerfulness. I disregarded Mother and the Head Priest's startled reactions. My own vigor surprised even me. All while maintaining this facade, I cautiously broached questions about the monk from earlier. Then... I realized I must have been truly deranged! That monk had apparently been adopted into this temple four or five years prior and was groomed to succeed the Head Priest. They said he was an exemplary person.

I was left utterly bewildered.
But my doubts had not yet completely dissolved.
I said I wanted to apologize for my earlier rudeness and had them call the monk again.
And when I looked at the face of the monk who entered, he bore no resemblance whatsoever to him.
I returned home feeling as if I were not myself.
And that was the beginning—the beginning of my being terribly tormented by his phantom!

That night, I awoke with a strangely suffocating feeling.
The room was filled with a gloomy mist.
Beyond the sliding door, he was standing.
He was staring fixedly at me.
I understood it with absolute clarity.
I tried to pull the futon over my head.
But my limbs felt as if bound by iron chains—I couldn’t move at all.
……Eventually, he silently slid open the sliding door and entered the room.
And while staring at me with sharp eyes, he began walking in circles around where I lay, rhythmically nodding his head.
Even when I closed my eyes, that figure remained clearly visible.
My breath caught.
Clenching my teeth and writhing, I managed to leap up... Yet it was still a dream.
His phantom vanished, and in the room, a five-candlepower electric light burned dimly.
I shuddered uncontrollably.
I suddenly cried out for Mother.
Father had also come with Mother.
I let out a deep sigh and collapsed onto the futon.
Such incidents occurred about every three days.
Moreover, come daytime, I would grow strangely dazed and enter a trance-like state where I seemed to forget everything.

After all, that was my fate.
I could no longer do anything.
Day and night became separate worlds.
During the day, I passed the time in a stupor-like state.
When night came, I couldn’t sleep alone.
I had my parents, younger brother, and everyone sleep together in one room.
Even so, there were times when I would see his phantom and jolt upright.

How worried my parents must have been!
I could only say that I was having nightmares at night; I couldn’t reveal the true cause.
Because I thought that if I were to confess, my parents’ worry would only increase.

I wasted away day after day.
And wanting to see my Elder Brother in Tokyo, I briefly informed him of the circumstances.
Elder Brother came immediately.
That was December 27th.
I had resolved that I would die within two or three days.

Elder Brother heard the details from me and appeared deeply shaken.
Yet he deliberately feigned composure and insisted it was merely my imagination.
In any case, he instructed me to remain as still and quiet as possible.
Come evening, they forced me to swallow a hypnotic.
The doctor’s examination revealed I suffered from acute neurasthenia, compounded by a dangerously weakened heart.

Having resolved myself to die, I passed through the year’s end and welcomed my nineteenth New Year.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Perhaps because of that, I was less frequently tormented by his phantom.
I gradually regained my strength.

But my fate could never be released from him for all eternity!
So I believed.
And I resigned myself to it alone.

However, on the eighth day of New Year... Ah, I don’t know the words of gratitude!
Elder Brother apparently told the head priest and that young monk at the temple all the details from the beginning and consulted them about whether the monk would take me as his wife.
Then, the monk apparently vowed from his heart to love me.
On the eighth day, I was told this by Elder Brother.

I cried.
I cried all day.
Tears kept streaming forth.
Elder Brother scolded me, asking why I was crying—but how could I possibly not cry?

I immediately began writing this memoir addressed to that monk—to the one I loved.
But I could no longer write...