Pathway to Japanese Literature

When his first son was born, Tsuda Yōzō struggled quite a bit with naming him; after thinking hard about various options, he ultimately settled on the simplest name: Ichirō.
When his eldest daughter was born, he followed the same approach; since it happened to be springtime, he gave her the equally straightforward name Haruko.
This method ultimately proved convenient.
He continued naming each subsequent boy Jirō, Saburō, Shirō… in numerical order as they were born.
Upon reaching what would have been the ninth son, he planned to prefix one character from his own name next time—Yōichirō, Yōjirō… and so forth.
For the girls, he resolved to use names reflecting their birth seasons or floral motifs.
Now at forty years old, he had become father to eight boys from Ichirō through Hachirō and five girls—Haruko, Fuyuko, Umeko, Akiko, and Momoko—thirteen children in total.

Given that there were thirteen children, of course there wasn’t just one mother.
Altogether, there were five.

One man, five women, and thirteen children—this should be sufficient for a family’s prosperity, not entirely without auspiciousness… so Tsuda Yōzō thought.
And seizing upon his own fortieth year as an occasion, he considered gathering everyone together and broached the idea to his wife Yaeko.

“I’ve already turned forty, so physically speaking, I’ve passed my prime and may gradually decline from here on out. But more than that—first and foremost—since I drink so much, I could drop dead at any moment from something like a cerebral hemorrhage or anemia.”
“So, while I still can—taking the opportunity of turning forty—I’d like to get everyone together once… As you know, there are exactly thirteen children, and some have never even met each other, so I thought we could gather them all. What do you think?”
“We could make it lively—like holding a garden party sort of event—or go out somewhere… but at any rate, I’d like to at least have everyone meet once somehow….”

Yaeko sat before the long hearth like a doll, but her eyebrows twitched.

“And would the mothers be included as well?”

“Well, since there are nursing infants and little ones, we can’t just have only children.”

“In that case, I must ask to be excused.”
“Our child will already be fine even if I don’t attend.”

“That’s out of the question.”
“It isn’t about whether you attend or not.”
“You’re my wife—you’ve got to be at the center of this gathering….”

“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to be humiliated in front of a crowd.”

“But you’ve known that from the start, and all the children are yours anyway.”
“Even if I have other women bear children, wasn’t our agreement that it would be fine as long as I properly uphold you as my wife?”

“Yes, I’m not here to argue about that.”
“However many other women you may have, however many children you may father—since I’ve accepted that from the very beginning, I won’t think anything of it. As your true wife, I won’t let those women lay a finger on me. But even so… shame is still shame.”

“Shame, you say….”
“So you never agreed to it from the start, then.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“You have no idea what I do every day, do you?”

“As for what you do every day….”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Just say it clearly.”

Yaeko lowered her face and fell silent.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Just say everything you’re thinking. I’ve always been like this—haven’t kept a single thing hidden from you, have I?”

Yaeko suddenly raised her face.
Her eyes glared.
"I haven't kept any secrets from you either."

“But right now, even when I ask, you won’t say it clearly.”

“Who could say such a thing right away?”
“You have no understanding at all.”
“If I were to have a child… then I’d tell you everything.”
“Because you’re trampling all over me so much….”

“Hey, you shouldn’t say such outrageous things.”
“The idea that I’m trampling you? That’s absurd!”
“That’s why I’m telling you to just say everything.”
“If there’s anything wrong with me, I’ll correct it all.”
“Huh? What’s this about—what you’re saying?”
“Saying you’ll tell me if a child comes along—don’t put it off like that; why not just tell me right now?”

“That’s why you don’t understand anything.”

She snapped abruptly, her eyebrows twitching.
That was a sign of her foul mood.
If they argued any further, she might fly into hysterics—Yōzō thought—and so he decided not to broach the subject.

“Well then, the family gathering can be postponed until your mood improves,” he said.

Even so, stopping something he had finally resolved to do midway was truly regrettable.
Though his talk of entering old age at forty or potentially dying suddenly from illness were mere rhetorical flourishes directed at his wife—distant from his true feelings—the prospect of gathering all thirteen children under one roof felt supremely gratifying.

That gratifying feeling dated back twenty-five or twenty-six years.

At that time, during his fourth year of university, Tsuda Yōzō remained devoted to a single lover and preserved his reputation as a student of impeccable conduct. However, just as his hope to marry immediately after graduation neared fulfillment, that lover—Michiko—betrayed him. Admittedly, given Michiko’s family circumstances and her situation, this outcome may have been unavoidable. Yet consumed by the anguish of heartbreak, he resolved to commit suicide.

In his house, there was a white-sheathed dagger—uninscribed but traditionally attributed to Nagayoshi. He took it and went to Enoshima, where he and Michiko had once spent a sweet day together. Of course, at that time, he hadn’t clearly decided on the method or location for his death; he had simply brought the dagger as a precaution against any eventuality and visited Enoshima to retrace his lost love one last time. And then, he absentmindedly wandered into the inn where he had once shared lunch with Michiko.

It was a relatively warm early winter day, but there were very few guests.
With the faint sound of waves audible throughout, the night deepened solemnly.
He sat alone in the eight-tatami room when suddenly—as if startled by something—he drew the dagger from its sheath and held up the flawless, gleaming blade under the electric light, examining it intently from tip to hilt.
A cold clarity pierced through to his heart's core, creeping steadily closer toward the blade.
And somewhere deep within his chest—as if in a dream—Michiko, Michiko... his lover's name repeated itself....

Because the sound of a maid’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, he snapped back to his senses and put away the dagger.
Then, without any particular thought, he went outside.
It was a cold, piercingly clear moonlit night, imbued with the same feeling as when he had gazed at the dagger’s blade.
He walked toward the bridge, in the opposite direction of the bustling shrine.

He passed by the dozing bridge keeper with his hands tucked into his sleeves, wandered through while listening to the lapping waves, and mechanically trudged forward with his head hung low.

When he neared the midpoint of the bridge, he shuddered and froze in place.
Right there, two women were—leaning against the north-side railing of the bridge, sitting directly on its surface with legs stretched out, their faces starkly illuminated by moonlight from the front.
One was a middle-aged woman with her hair done in a ginkgo-leaf style, dressed like an inn maid; the other was slightly shorter and younger, her small bobbed hair framing a dusky, makeup-free face as she held a child of about two on her lap.

When his initial surprise subsided, he involuntarily took two or three steps closer, but words spilled out unbidden.

“What are you doing?”

The Woman with Ginkgo Hairstyle glanced up at his figure—clad in a padded robe over his yukata—and answered in a composed tone.

“Isn’t it poetic? Moon-viewing from the bridge…”

He forced a smile but found himself reluctant to leave their side; leaning against the bridge railing, he began smoking a cigarette.
The two women seemed entirely unperturbed by his presence and continued their earlier conversation.
They appeared to share an intimate connection—whether as fellow townspeople or former colleagues reunited after long separation—and the woman with bobbed hair now turned toward the Woman with Ginkgo Hairstyle, recounting her circumstances in exhaustive detail.
They seemed to be discussing next steps—she had been abandoned by a man and now struggled alone with her child.
But rather than listening to their exchange, he found himself struck by the very scene of this unexpected encounter on the midnight bridge—a circumstance that amplified its poignancy—and with solemn loneliness, he gazed at the distant vista emerging faintly in the moonlight.
From the ink-black mountain ridges near Koshigoe, the far peaks of Miura Peninsula materialized in gray; to their right stretched the boundless sea, its surface shimmering with moonlight before abruptly darkening into an expanse that sprawled like some monstrous entity.
A piercingly cold wind swept in from the open sea.

As he was smoking his second cigarette, the woman with the ginkgo hairstyle suddenly called out.

“Sir, excuse me, but could I trouble you for a cigarette?”
“I forgot to bring mine and ended up in a fix.”

He took two steps closer and held out the Shikishima pack and matches.
She took a cigarette, lit it with a match, and as she returned them, for the first time stared fixedly at his face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I... I thought you were that guest from our inn earlier today...”

The inn she had named was different from his.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, “we’re all guests on the same island anyway.”

“Still, how terribly rude of me...”

Yet even as she said this, puffing briskly on her cigarette, she kept talking to him as though he already knew everything. About this woman wanting child support from the man who refused to pay, about her hesitation over surrendering the child he kept trying to take, about wanting to settle things without going to court—that sort of talk...

“In any case, whatever happens,” he said, “it’s true that children should be raised by their mothers.”

“Yes, that’s absolutely right,” the woman with bobbed hair promptly replied.
“At this point, that man has no right to demand I give him the child."
“Because he hated me giving birth to the child so much.”

And she began repeating the story again—one she seemed to have told several times already—half directed at the other woman and half at him.
“When I became pregnant, the man suddenly grew sullen, hitting and striking me over trivial matters until finally urging me to do something terrible.—‘I just couldn’t bring myself to do that.’”
“I thought I’d stubbornly give birth just to spite him—endured and endured until I finally did.”—Around that time, the man changed his heart and took up with a waitress from a nearby eatery.
“When I was absent, he even dragged that woman into our house.”
She could no longer endure it. Having spent nearly a year since giving birth in constant anxiety, and with her rising agitation spurring her on, she devised a drastic plan.
She devised a pretext to leave the house for a night, entrusted both the child and a milk bottle to the man, and left home in the evening.
And she wandered around until late into the night.
It was early spring, and she found herself startled several times by white camellias.
Then, timing it right, she sneaked in through the back door and burst into the room brandishing a kitchen knife.
Just as she had expected, the man had dragged the woman inside and they were sleeping together in the same futon.
“—‘I got so furious, my chest swelled up like this, and when I thought *you bastard*, what started as just trying to scare them turned real—I tried to thrust that kitchen knife right into him.’”
“Then, you see, right between them was the child, sleeping soundly.”
“My vision truly went dark, and then everything became a blur.”
“I remember throwing down the kitchen knife, letting out a wail, snatching up the child, and rushing outside—but what happened to those two after that, or how the child fared, none of that remains in my mind at all.”
“I must have wandered all night holding the child, because he caught a cold and started running a terrible fever the next day—I thought he wouldn’t make it.”—Then the man ran off with that woman and we heard nothing more, but out of nowhere someone came from Yokohama demanding we hand over the child.—“That woman must have some awful disease.”
“So because she can’t have children, they’re trying to snatch this one away from me.”

She stopped talking and pressed her cheek against the child’s head on her lap, but when the child began squirming restlessly, she suddenly bared her breast and put her nipple into its mouth.
With a large, taut breast so engorged that each vein showed through distinctly, the child cradled it gently in one hand—its creased fingers resembling waxwork with deep grooves—and gulped down the milk without pause, nearly choking in its urgency.
The clear, cold moonlight streamed down diagonally from above, casting a pale sheen upon the breast, the hand, and the area around the child’s red cheeks.

“No matter what happens, children should be raised by their birth mothers,” Yōzō said. “Unless it’s by the birth mother’s hands, children won’t truly thrive and grow. That they want to take the child over there—mightn’t that be the father’s affection finally awakening? While you’re raising that child strong and healthy, that man might come to his senses and return to you wholeheartedly. No matter what, you mustn’t let go of the child. As for child support and such matters, there must be ways to negotiate. The child absolutely must be raised by you. Because it’s the child you gave birth to, and because you’ve raised them until now, it’s only right that you continue raising them properly from here on.”

She nodded lightly at each pause in his words, as if affirming *That’s right, that’s right*.
When he finished speaking, she abruptly raised her face and stared fixedly at his.
In her pale bluish bare face bathed in moonlight, beast-like exposed eyes gleamed in perfect circles.
Along with the wind blowing in from offshore, he felt a shiver of cold throughout his entire body.

“Anyway, you really do care about children, don’t you?”

With those words, he walked off with an air of nonchalance.
When he had slowly walked nearly to the end of the bridge and just as slowly returned, the two women were still in their previous positions, conversing in low voices.
Feeling it would be improper to listen any further to their conversation, he gave the woman with the ginkgo hairstyle the nearly empty pack of Shikishima cigarettes—five or six remaining—along with the matches, and walked past them.

“...Kind guest.”

As words that the woman with bobbed hair had apparently spoken in a rising tone came chasing after him from behind, he glanced back reflexively, but suddenly feeling his face flush, he quickened his pace.
Then he returned to the inn and went straight to bed.

That alone had clung strangely and tepidly to his anguished heart, which had been set on suicide.

He departed the next morning toward Izu.

At the spot where the two women had sat sprawled out the previous night, a cold morning wind whistled briskly through.

After staying at the hot springs in Izu for four or five days, he reversed his decision to commit suicide and hurriedly returned to Tokyo.

For several months after that, Tsuda Yōzō frequented the pleasure quarters, but from the time he married about half a year after graduating from university, he stopped abruptly.
In exchange, he presented the following condition to the matchmaker.

“After marriage, I will never set foot in the pleasure quarters.”
“However, I may keep other women—those unaffiliated with the pleasure quarters—and have them bear children.”
“If you understand this and consent to register any resulting children as my legitimate offspring, let us marry at once.”
“Should you refuse, I shall withdraw my proposal.”

Whether the matchmaker accurately relayed these unreasonable conditions to the prospective bride remained uncertain, but regardless, the marriage arrangement was promptly settled and Yōzō took a wife.

On the third day after their marriage, he and his wife, while on their honeymoon trip, had the following conversation.

“You heard my marriage conditions, didn’t you?”

“Yes… just a little…”

“And what did you think?”

“I actually thought that someone who would state such things openly was more trustworthy.”

“So you came to me after undertaking a lifelong adventure, did you?”

“You mean…?”

“Whether I might actually do such things or perhaps not—I had the feeling of leaving it all to heaven…”

“That might be the case, I suppose.”

“Then, if I were to actually do such a thing…”

“I will accept it.”

“Accept it,’ you say…”

“Rather than having strange things done in secret, I’ve decided it’s better for them to be done openly.”

“You’re quite the adorable optimist, aren’t you.”

“You dislike optimists.”

“No—I love them.”
“There’s nothing I dislike as much as pessimism.”

And Tsuda Yōzō, for the sake of that adorable optimistic adventurer of a wife, nearly reconsidered becoming a good husband—but the wounds of heartbreak and the indelible impression from Enoshima’s bridge proved unexpectedly deep-rooted, not only hindering his affection toward his new bride but also returning him to his original resolve.

“I will create many children.”
“Cast aside hollow things like love and romance—produce as many children of substance as I please.”

And through a friend’s introduction, he began frequenting a certain secret house where he first challenged the women he encountered there to arm wrestling.
Most paid him no mind, but among them was one woman—not particularly beautiful but sturdy-hipped and solidly built—who charged at him with all her strength and defeated him time and again.
He took notice of that woman, made her his own, and finally provided her with a house.

Up until then things had still been manageable, but after two or three subsequent failures when he—suddenly captivated by his own maid Otsune, who always had damp strands of sideburns clinging to her neck—negotiated with her parents and provided her with a house, his wife finally flew into a rage, returned to her parental home, and filed for divorce.
Even so she entrusted her firstborn son Ichirō to a wet nurse and made proper arrangements for the future.

After the divorce, the most troublesome issue for Yōzō was registering the children born to Ochie—the woman who excelled at arm wrestling—and Otsune. His sole moral pride lay in ensuring all his children were recognized as legitimate rather than illegitimate. At that juncture, a remarriage opportunity conveniently presented itself. The woman was the daughter of a subordinate at his company; having once married but been widowed, she was said to have returned to her family home.

He first went to meet her. Though pale and slender, she possessed striking beauty. She resembled a doll—so unresponsive and devoid of vigor that one might have suspected her of being somewhat simpleminded. He freely recounted his past experiences and life philosophy, but she merely listened in silence, not a single tear surfacing even when he described his heartbreak. Of her own history, she showed little desire to speak. Yet in the end, she deftly consented to marry him. This woman became his current wife, Yaeko.

After marrying Yaeko, Yōzō’s life progressed smoothly in all matters.
His father’s inheritance gradually increased.
Ochie and Otsune were fortunately prolific; Ochie gave birth to five children, and Otsune bore four.
Then, as Yōzō frequently traveled to Osaka for work, he also kept a mistress there, and she bore two children.
Yaeko calmly consented to the registration of those children—sometimes even two registrations a year.
However, Yaeko herself had given birth to only Fuyuko in the fourth year after her marriage.

“Anyway, familial prosperity is auspicious,” Tsuda Yōzō thought.

Why Yaeko disliked gatherings of that auspicious family—one father, four mothers, and thirteen children—he could not fathom.
Moreover, from her manner of speaking, she seemed to be embarking on some new course of action or deliberation.
He began intently observing Yaeko’s condition.
And he was startled by her unexpected transformation.

She who had once seemed almost vacant in her unresponsiveness had grown remarkably sensitive.
Though their eldest son Ichirō was already a fifth grader, Yaeko—insisting he must take middle school entrance exams the following year—forced him relentlessly into study sessions, harshly rebuking even minor lapses in diligence.
On such occasions when Yōzō interfered, or when—overwhelmed by work—he snapped things like “You could at least help with my tasks” now that Fuyuko attended kindergarten and required attention, or whenever child-related matters arose, Yaeko increasingly adopted acerbic language bordering on hysteria.
When Otsuta from Osaka recently bore a child, she erupted into full-blown hysterics over trifles and withdrew into stony silence for days.
Though she still sat primly doll-like, her brows now twitched incessantly.

When and how she had become that way, Yōzō—busily rushing about in the business world—couldn't begin to guess.
By the time he noticed, she was no longer a good-natured doll but had become a dangerous one.
And he himself had unwittingly developed a habit of treating that dangerous doll like fragile Seto ware—not laying a hand on her, leaving her undisturbed.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be... he stared wide-eyed.
But why it had come to this—he didn't understand in the slightest.

Around the time peach blossoms began scattering，Ochie’s delivery date drew near．One evening，Yōzō returned home drunk and cheerful，confirmed Yaeko’s eyebrows weren’t twitching，and declared with a laugh：

“Hey—Ochie’s about ready to pop．If it’s a boy，he’ll be Ninth Son．A girl…well，wisteria season’s coming—I’ll name her Fujiko．Fujiko sounds better than Kurō，eh？”

“Either way，that makes fourteen．Thirteen’s bad luck Western-style—crossing that threshold’s auspicious．…With fourteen now，maybe this autumn we’ll finally have that family meetup．”

“If someone—even Otsune—drops another kid by then，fifteen would be perfect．But fourteen…reverse of my age forty…might work better after all．”

Yaeko's eyebrows twitched, but she said nothing. Then, around the time he finished reading that day's correspondence and was stifling a yawn, she abruptly posed a question.

“You—is it true that Ochie is going to have another child?”

“It’s true. What would be the point of lying about something like that?”

“And once there are fourteen children, do you intend to hold a gathering where everyone meets face-to-face?”

Noticing the sternness clouding her pale face, he hesitated slightly before speaking.

“Well, you’re recognized as everyone’s mother, and you alone are my rightful wife—everything depends on your feelings, but…”

“No matter how I consider it, I find it disagreeable.”

“Then we can cancel it.”
“But you’ve been acting strange lately—what’s going on with you?”
“Or if you’ve come to dislike the initial arrangement now, then just say so clearly.”
“I might not be unwilling to change my mind, you know.”

“No, that’s not it.”
“I still think it’s better to have matters clearly settled than to meddle in a merchant’s obstinacy.”

“Then what on earth are you thinking? I have no idea at all what’s on your mind….”

He softened his tone as much as possible and attempted to probe her intentions, but she clamped her heart shut and did not let out a single word. In the end, he too gave up and went to bed first.

In the middle of that night, he abruptly woke with a strange sensation.
Sensing a presence in the next room, he became fully awake and realized Yaeko was not in the futon beside him where she should have been sleeping.
This weighed strangely on his mind; after waiting some time, he rose and peered into the adjacent room.

He was astonished.
Yaeko sat despondently leaning against the brazier, her chin buried in her collar as she sank deep into thought.

“What’s the matter?”

Yaeko abruptly raised her face and stared fixedly at his standing figure as if trying to discern something, when suddenly she shuddered once, as though struck by a cold wind.
Then, almost immediately, she burst into tears.

He was momentarily taken aback but quietly approached and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s this? Staying up so late and then suddenly bursting into tears… You’ve got to pull yourself together—this can’t go on!”

She had now fully succumbed to hysteria. After crying vehemently for a while, she brushed away his hand, let out another wail, then suddenly began speaking rapidly.

“I’m finished.”
“Utterly finished.”
“No matter how desperately I wish, I can’t conceive a child.”
“I’ve never once missed my seven-day pilgrimage to Jizō-sama at each month’s start—so why won’t children come?”
“When I dwell on this, it burns—it absolutely burns inside me…”
“Ochie bears them, Otsune bears them, even that Osaka woman Otsuta—their wombs quicken one after another. Yet for me alone, only Fuyuko came…why has nothing followed?”
“What use is being called ‘Madam’ by all if I stay barren? A mere ornament—no better than some alcove trinket—isn’t that so?”
“What must I do?”
“It isn’t that my soil lacks seed—having borne one child proves that! More should have followed…”
“No matter how many shrine steps I climb, no matter how many curative springs I bathe in—not even a shadow of hope appears.”
“I’m ruined—utterly ruined.”
“To age like this without swelling life beneath my ribs…what wretched fate awaits?”
“Everything—everything—lies beyond redemption now.”
“What must I do…?”

Due to the sheer unexpectedness of it all, Yōzō stood there dumbfounded.
And finally managed to utter a single word.

“But isn’t one enough?”

This only agitated her nerves further.
That having even one made it worse—that if there had been none from the start, she might have resigned herself—she pleaded through tears.
As this went on for some time, she suddenly lifted her pallid, bloodless face, lips trembling faintly at the corners as she pressed toward him.

“You keep making other women bear children while neglecting me alone—how dare you talk about us all meeting together!”

The tone of her voice was completely different from before, so Yōzō flinched and stepped back slightly.

“You keep flattering me as your legal wife—your precious legal wife—and because I’m such a fool, I grow complacent. Isn’t your real intention to humiliate me in front of everyone?”
“Even someone like me can’t just stay silent when being trampled on so mercilessly.”

Yōzō stared at her face and spoke in a forced calm tone.

"You shouldn't say such unreasonable things like that."
"I never intended to shame you or trample on you or anything like that—calm down and think it through properly."
"Whether you can have children or not isn't our concern to begin with, and it's not something we can do anything about through our own efforts."
"I simply thought... since the children had grown to fourteen... that the family prospering... would be auspicious..."

As he hesitated to speak, she cut him off sharply.

“What’s so auspicious about that? If I were bearing many children while others couldn’t—fine! But being left with just one while they all keep having them—what’s auspicious in that? The very fact you think this way proves you’re crushing me underfoot.”

Her logic refused to cohere in his mind. The more they quarreled, the more convoluted it grew. Judging it best to wait until her agitation subsided, he fell silent with arms folded. She vacillated between fury and grief a while longer before abruptly clamping her mouth shut. The fierce light in her eyes dimmed; her gaze turned vacant as it fixed on nothingness; her cheek muscles hardened like stone. Only when those cheeks finally slackened did he part his lips.

“If we keep arguing like this, there’ll be no end in sight. Let’s calm down and try talking about what’s in our hearts.”

Since there was no reply, he considered his next words but first added charcoal to the brazier and drank some hot tea.

“You ought to know me well by now.”
“So this time, could you explain your thoughts in a way that makes sense to me?”
“I still can’t quite make sense of your way of thinking, but…”

“It’s just as I’ve been saying.”

She answered in her usual tone.
And in her demeanor, there was no longer any trace of irritation; she had reverted to her usual doll-like self.
A single tear fell from her eye.

“No—I understand your thoughts—but could you tell me why you came to think that way?”

And after being urged repeatedly, she began to speak in a calm tone.

“As I recall having told you before, I came to you resolved to cast myself away.”
“Being already a woman who had been married off once, I thought to discard that existence for my father’s sake—and upon hearing your story, even felt the audacity to imagine saving you—so I arrived here propelled by these jumbled motives.”
“Yet one thing I vowed with absolute certainty—that I would never bear your child.”
“But then… Fuyuko came into being, and over the three or four years that followed, my entire life’s purpose grew indistinct—where it was headed became unfathomable—until everything dissolved into this desolate helplessness that made the world appear utterly black.”
“And though other sentiments lingered beneath this… some chance occurrence stirred memories of long ago…”
“Once… there was someone who might have been called a lover.”
“If one could even name it so—the faintest wisp of affection from my side alone, entirely unknown to him.”
“After he left for England… gradually all tidings ceased.”
“When I too married and came to you… his memory faded into oblivion without my noticing.”
“Then inexplicably… fragments began surfacing in dreams… until I found myself sinking into this strange ephemeral haze.”
“Even now I marvel that I could endure such a state of being.”
“As these sensations swelled beyond comprehension… somehow… my entire disposition transformed.”
“Perhaps… I became intoxicated by you.”
“Seeing those women bear child after child… this thought took root—‘I’m still young—why should I lose? Let me too bear many children and show them all…’”
“Those repeated visits to Tazawa and Kina’s hot springs? Because they say those waters aid conception.”
“Lately… during each month’s first seven days… I make daily pilgrimages to Jizō-sama.”
“Countless other methods have I tried.”
“All for naught.”
“When I dwell on what becomes of me should even this prove futile… shame and frustration leave me unable to keep still.”
“Then you speak of gathering everyone together…”

“In this state of mind, how could I possibly present myself before Ochie and Otsune?”
“That would only layer shame upon shame.”
“When I dwell on it too deeply, I feel ready to burst into fury.”
“Even between husband and wife, such shameful matters can’t be spoken of.”
“You’re forcing me to lay everything bare… Even so, if you still insist on holding this gathering of everyone—fine—but I will absolutely not attend…”
“Now that I’ve confessed everything to you, attending becomes utterly impossible.”
“Since I resolved from the beginning to discard this body of mine, what becomes of me matters not—but when I think why even a single child won’t come… it’s unbearably frustrating—unbearably so…”

Drop by drop, she shed tears while bowing her head before him as if before a god and stiffened completely.

He too bowed his head before her and let out a weary sigh.

“I was wrong. Forgive me.”
“If that’s how you feel, then this gathering doesn’t matter at all.”
“If that’s how it is, you should’ve said so from the start… It wouldn’t have been such a big deal…”

“But for me, this is something I’ve been trying my hardest at.”

“That may be true, but…”
“No—that’s enough.”
“Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

A silence persisted as if they were peering into each other's very souls.
She sat motionless indefinitely, maintaining her usual doll-like posture.
As time passed, deep wrinkles formed between her eyebrows that seemed ready to twitch at any moment.
He jerked upright, unable to stay still.

"You mustn't brood like this," he said.
"You need to be more carefree—more optimistic—and stay strong. Otherwise you'll never survive in this world."
"You're truly the household's anchor. Without you, everything would fall apart. Keep that truth rooted in your heart and stay composed for my sake...for everyone's sake."
"I'm pleading with you—truly pleading."
"Hearing you speak this way makes even me feel strangely unsettled."
"That itself proves it's destructive thinking."
"There must be some fundamental error here."

As he spoke, even he himself found his words ceasing to make sense, and he fell silent once more.

Then, he urged her to go to bed.
She obediently followed his suggestion, but posed a single question in a tone resembling a soliloquy.

“If you hadn’t been able to have even a single child with anyone, what would you have intended to do?”

“Don’t say any more.”
“Because it makes me feel strange.”

And there he remained awake alone, crossing his arms and sinking into thought.
It was an oddly warm, hushed evening.
If he had not been able to have even a single child, what lay beyond that—he did not know.
If children were to keep increasing unchecked like this, what lay beyond that—he did not know.
As he pondered these two unresolved questions one after another, he gradually grew dazed and found himself listening absently to the eerie cries of a cat clamoring outside.

When he became aware of himself, he frantically burrowed under the covers.
A lonely desolation pressed in from all sides.
In the midst of this, he surveyed his own past.
Everything—Michiko, the bridge at Enoshima, the ex-wife—had all faded into a distant haze.
But from one unexpected direction, Ayako’s youthful face peered out.

Ayako was a classmate and close friend of Shizuko, Yōzō’s uncle’s youngest daughter, and had just graduated from girls’ school.
The previous summer, Yōzō received a letter from his uncle staying at Togura Hot Springs inviting him to visit for two or three days since it was a pleasant place. When he went without suspicion, he found his uncle there along with Shizuko and Ayako.
His uncle had found a suitable Go opponent at the same inn and spent most of each day engrossed in matches, so Yōzō naturally ended up entertaining himself with Shizuko and Ayako in youthful high spirits, carelessly letting over ten days slip by.
Shizuko was a shy, frail girl with prematurely mature airs, while Ayako was a lively yet precariously innocent girl whose carelessly tied hairstyle—seemingly on the verge of unraveling—and the intelligent-looking broad forehead beneath it harmonized perfectly with her overall appearance and demeanor.

The riverbank of the Chikuma River was their playground.
They dove into the water to swim and stretched out on pebble-strewn banks.
Downstream in the distance stretched the North Shinano Plain, and beyond that rose the peculiar peaks of Togakushi and Myōkō.

“When you look at all these mountains and rivers and plains—all these wrinkles—the Earth must be quite the old lady,” Ayako said with an absurd expression.

“But they say the Earth is very young compared to other stars,” Shizuko retorted.

“Why?”
“Have you already forgotten? Didn’t they teach you that in geography?”

“Oh right. I’ve forgotten.”
“I’ve forgotten.”
And she tilted her head slightly.
“Then you’re a human… part of humanity… You know what fraction of the Earth’s lifespan humanity’s existence amounts to.”

“I don’t know.”
“I think I’ve heard something like that before…”
“What fraction is it?”

“I don’t know either.”

“Oh!”

In front of Shizuko, who glared fiercely, Ayako ran away laughing. She discarded an unlined kimono with a large peony-scattering pattern on the riverbank’s pebbles and dove into the river wearing only the swimsuit she had on underneath.

“Hey, come take a look! There are lots of sweetfish here.”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s true!”

She thrashed about violently in the water.

Shizuko sluggishly stood up, went to the water’s edge, and peered in.
From behind her, Yōzō dove into the water wearing only the swimsuit he had borrowed from his uncle.
Young dace were swimming about.

“If Ayako-san catches even one of these, I’ll grant any wish of yours.”

“Anything at all.”

“Yes.”

They quietly stalked closer without disturbing the water or suddenly dashed out in pursuit, but the young dace nimbly dodged away with an unperturbed air.
Yōzō and Shizuko joined in chasing them around too, but they didn’t catch a single one.
Soaking their hats up to the brim and completely exhausted, the three of them rested on the sun-scorched riverbank.

The clear, murmuring stream and the riverbank of small round stones—all the way downstream—had children’s and adults’ straw hats scattered here and there.

On moonlit nights, they took calm strolls across that riverbank, having utterly forgotten their daytime frolic.
Shizuko and Ayako often sang songs.
Shizuko’s voice carried a fine tremble, while Ayako’s voice held a resonant brightness.

“Under the moonlight, Mr. Tsuda, you somehow look melancholic,” said Ayako.

Yōzō walked silently alongside the two women with a wry smile.

“Ayako-san, you…”

As Shizuko began to speak, Ayako tried to stop her by flailing her head and hands like a spoiled child.
Finding the sight amusing, Shizuko giggled softly.

“What about me?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Ayako said, now perfectly composed.

“Are you talking about that? The so-called lion of hypochondria…”

“Oh!”

The two women stopped in unison.

"My ears can hear anything from miles away, you know."
"But this lion is grateful."
"As thanks, shall I bestow poetically wonderful names upon you two?"

"Yes, please do."

“Hmm… How about ‘Shizuko-san as a dream in water, Ayako-san as a dream in the air…’ How does that sound?”

“A dream in water and a dream in the air….”

Shizuko repeated that with a smile, but Ayako looked up at his face with eyes full of surprise.

From the low, small temporary bridge spanning the stream, they looked at the sparkling moonlight reflected in the water and headed back toward the inn.

Having been advised by someone at the inn that if they wanted to see the moon they must absolutely climb Mount Kyōdai on the opposite riverbank, Yōzō and Ayako went out one evening.
Saying the mountain at night was perilous and frightening, Shizuko remained behind alone.

Rounding Shishigahana and reaching Taisho Bridge, a chill wind swept up from downstream.
It was an evening when the air felt strangely thin, the moonlight starkly pale, the mountains on both banks looming oppressively near.
Just above the railway tracks where lights flickered, all of Mount Kyōdai squatted ink-black like some demonic creature.

“Shall we stop here?”
“Yes.”

After crossing the long Taisho Bridge, they went upstream along the opposite bank, came to the usual riverbank, and rested.
Dimly white riverbank pebbles, the shallow stream's murmur, the moonlight, and here and there the figures of strolling people could be seen.

“Shizuko-san is clever.”
“Actually, city people like us are no good for night mountain climbing.”

“Even so, Shizuko-san does like moonlit nights.”
“When I look at the moon, I somehow begin to feel lonely and sad…”
“People who truly love the moon might be those who don’t feel lonely even when gazing at it.”
“But it’s strange—you’re so much more cheerful than Shizuko-san yet…”
“Instead, there are times when everything becomes so detestable that I don’t want to speak.”
“Though Shizuko-san often laughs at me for it…”

“Now that you mention it, there’s no one as consistently unchanging as Shizuko-san.”

Then the conversation drifted to Shizuko, but Ayako suddenly blurted out.

“I discussed you with Shizuko-san.”

“Huh? About me…”

When asked, she suddenly fell silent, but finally opened her mouth.

“Is it good or bad to marry someone else soon after a heartbreak….”

She turned bright red.
He too found himself blushing for some reason.

“Ah, are you talking about my past?”

It was surprising how Shizuko and Ayako knew about that. Probably, Shizuko had managed to get the information from his aunt, who knew his circumstances well from that time.

“Shizuko-san asserts that there’s nothing strange about marrying someone after a heartbreak, but I said that if you truly loved that person, you shouldn’t be able to marry someone else.”

“That is true.”

“But you….”

“Mine… is different.”

She leaned her pale forehead forward, staring intently at him... That gaze left him feeling strangely unsettled, and he stood up to start pacing around the area.
The river wind felt cold against his skin.

“It’s absurd that a hypochondriac lion suffered heartbreak, don’t you think?”

“Oh my, I didn’t mean it that way about you….”

When she made a sullen face that looked ready to burst into tears at any moment, he quickly denied it in surprise.

“I understand. That was a joke.”

While he wandered aimlessly in silence, Ayako crouched in the same spot, incessantly stirring the riverbank stones.

“What are you doing?”

“I intend to take these pretty stones as a souvenir for Ms. Yumeko in the water.”

He suddenly felt tearful and picked up stones together.
Then they crossed the temporary bridge and returned to the inn.

That night, he found himself unconsciously summoning Ayako's image in his heart.
He seemed to see her even in his dreams.

Two days later, Yōzō returned to Tokyo.
From the train window, he watched the direction of the hot springs until they disappeared from view.

I don’t want to have my heart stolen by Ayako. It’s too unnatural an affair.

After that, Ayako came to visit his house once with Shizuko.

That was all there was to it.
But it was strangely unforgettable.
Yōzō stored it away deep in his heart as his final pure illusion.
He stored it away too deep and eventually forgot it.

It was after having that conversation with his wife that it suddenly resurfaced.

“That sort of thing is common enough in the world.”
Is my life so gloomy that I would cling to that as my final pure illusion forever?
"Have I cut off all that is splendid from my life, recklessly producing children left and right—what does that achieve?"

The next morning, once again the cat from the previous night came to a corner of the garden, where one female cat was set upon by four or five male cats—all of them soot-blackened and caked in mud—screeching and yowling.
In the light spring breeze skimming the ground mingled the faint, foul stench of urine.

Driven by disgust, Yōzō took a bamboo pole himself and went down.
He poked out the frenzied, swollen creatures—unflinching even when struck—from under the hinoki cypress and azalea thickets with the tip of his pole and drove them off toward the neighboring house.
His forehead and back were beaded with oily sweat.

Fuyuko, dressed in a sky-blue dress, watched the scene from the veranda with a face on the verge of tears.

“Go over there now.”

Having scolded her, he returned with a furrowed brow.

“But, Father, it’s so pitiful.”

“They’re just stray cats.”

In her perfectly round, wide-open eyes, at the bluish edge of the whites, a single glistening teardrop welled up, and as if determined to hold it firmly in place, Fuyuko kept her eyes stubbornly wide open.
But… when she blinked hard once, the glistening teardrop spilled down, and her face scrunched into a sullen pout.
At the same time, Yōzō gathered her up into his arms.

“Don’t cry. Silly you.”

Wiping the sweat from his forehead with his palm, he began walking through the garden with a shambling gait.
Fuyuko clung to his shoulder with bewildered, damp eyes.
The taut, rounded flesh, along with a vaguely sweet-and-sour scent of skin, seeped through into his chest.
A pale, hazy, lukewarm morning sun poured down in a blanket over the fresh greenery of the plantings.

"I had unwittingly lost things like love and romance. Now there was no undoing it. I could no longer even savor marital love. My life was leaden. However…."

He bounced Fuyuko in his arms and measured her round, solid heft.

The maid came looking for Fuyuko.
It was time to leave for kindergarten.

“Take her carefully so she doesn’t fall.”

And then he went over to his wife.

Yaeko’s pallid face grew even paler, her expression one of utter exhaustion and despondency, yet she maintained perfect seated posture.
When she saw him, she averted her eyes.
He affected a casual tone.

“Is there something wrong with you physically?”
“If there is, why not let a doctor examine you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Then perhaps you should try visiting a hot spring.”
“I’d like to take a week or two for recuperation myself—once I settle urgent matters, we could go together.”
“If you’d like...”
Then, twisting his lips slightly, he added, “Shall we try Tokura?”

“Yes,” she replied absently.

He suddenly lost his composure, then hurriedly went out.

"What a state we're in—every last one of us just wanting children. If Yaeko gets pregnant now, that'd be hallelujah indeed."

A strangely ticklish sensation welled up from the pit of his stomach, and he shook his body in the middle of the street.

That day, he drove a car and suddenly went to Otsune’s house to have lunch.
All four children were healthy.
He went to Ochie’s house for dinner.
Ochie was struggling with her large belly in the final month of pregnancy, heaving breaths with her shoulders.

“When’s it due?”

“They say it’ll be soon, but…”
“The midwife says this one’s developing really well, but somehow my belly’s bigger than usual and it’s so uncomfortable.”
“It’s not twins, is it?”
“Oh, no matter how big it is…”

She laughed, her gold tooth glinting near her canine, but in that instant, the faint dark circles around her eyes turned red.

Around the dining table, the children waited like swallow chicks with their mouths lined up, anticipating him to serve them slices of sashimi.
When he began playing mischievously, they all perked up, grabbing his hair and clambering onto his shoulders.
He lined them up one by one, called their names, and made them respond.

“Haruko.”
“Yes,” came the awkward reply.
“Jirō.”
“Yes,” came the reply in a loud, energetic voice.
“Gorō.”
“Yes.”
“Momoko.”

“Yes.”

“Shichirō.”

There was no reply.
He stuffed his mouth with food from the plate, his eyes darting around.

“This one’s sly.”
“He’ll be a great man someday.”

As he picked up his cup and took a big drink, he suddenly remembered the phrase "hypochondriac lion."
Following that, he tried murmuring "underwater dream, aerial dream" under his breath.
But none of them brought anything but absurdly meaningless sounds.

"When these brats grow up, they'll do all sorts of foolish things."
"But anyway, having so many brothers and sisters makes for an auspicious household."

Suddenly he felt heat pooling in his eyes and sniffled, then began refilling his cup over and over.
As he fixed his gaze on Ochie's swollen belly, he drank himself into genuine drunkenness.