Pathway to Japanese Literature

When Kōno managed with great difficulty to scrape together eight hundred yen and came to return it to Yoshioka, it apparently wasn’t because he believed Yoshioka’s death was imminent and felt he had to settle the debt now before… That hadn’t been his intention at all.
While such feelings may have been at work in Kōno’s wife, in Kōno himself there apparently wasn’t the slightest trace of that.
Later, Kōno said to me:

“To scrape together eight hundred yen, someone as poor as I must have gone through terrible hardships.
But I had not the slightest intention of thinking that Yoshioka wouldn’t live much longer and that if I didn’t repay him now, I would never get another chance to free myself from his goodwill.
I simply wanted to reassure Yoshioka... no—it wasn’t exactly reassurance either... how should I put this... anyway, Yoshioka saved our lives.
So we’ve managed to survive, and now that we’ve become able to make a living on our own, I wanted to convey that gratitude through those eight hundred yen to Yoshioka on his sickbed.
My approach was certainly flawed, but I never dreamed I’d be misunderstood that way.”

As for Kōno, that was indeed the truth.
However, even in Yoshioka's case, there must have been more complex emotions at work that couldn't simply be dismissed as a misunderstanding.

But if I go on explaining and annotating things in this manner, there will be no end to it.
I will confine myself to relating only the events directly.
There may have been various circumstances and emotions entangled behind the scenes, and my account might sometimes miss the mark, but as for me, I have no choice but to relate only what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears, exactly as they were.
When I think about it, it’s a strange story, but…

I

When Kōno visited with a Western-style envelope containing eight hundred yen tucked in the fold of his kimono, Yoshioka was in a comparatively energetic and composed mood.
"Since there's been no bloody phlegm since morning and I don't seem to have a fever today, if you’d care to stay and talk at length," he said, greeting Kōno with an ingratiating smile.
Kōno felt surprised.
Before being led to the ten-mat detached sickroom, he had been cautioned by Toshiko-san.

“It would seem he isn’t doing very well.”
“He may appear healthy from the outside, but in reality, he has entered a concerning phase of his condition, so it’s been advised that he avoid receiving visitors as much as possible.”
“But he had been wanting to see you constantly, and I think a short visit would be acceptable.”

So Kōno, intending only to take care of business, agreed to about fifteen minutes and was shown into the sickroom, where Yoshioka had a more refreshed expression than he had expected. And with fresh interest, he inquired about news of their mutual friends, Kōno’s recent artistic work, and rumors of exhibitions; then, pulling Goya’s artbook from his bedside, he began pointing out that while the painter was undoubtedly great, there seemed to be some distortion in his sketches. Kōno adjusted his tone to avoid contradicting him, then gently suggested that it would be better to remain quiet without overexerting his mind, and that staying calm was the foremost medicine for illness. Then Yoshioka let out a wry smile and began to say such things.

“So you’re thinking the same thing as everyone else after all.”
“In other words, you’ve let yourself be swayed by everyone else after all.”
“Before coming here, someone must have told you something.”
“I know perfectly well… When I lie here like this, I do sometimes get these strange feelings.”
“It’s a feeling of being out of sync with myself and those around me.”
“For instance, from the doctor’s expression, the nurse’s look, or Toshiko’s mannerisms, I get told about how my condition is doing.”
“No matter what empty words people say, one glance at their demeanor tells me exactly what they’re thinking inside.”
“And what’s odd is how all their thoughts and behaviors move in perfect lockstep—like soldiers marching in formation—without a single misstep.”
“Everyone chimes in unison about whether my condition has improved or worsened.”
“The doctor’s opinion probably carries the most weight, but it’s not just that—without anyone starting it, everyone around me uniformly adopts this tone of ‘he seems better today’ or ‘he seems worse today.’”
“Watching them makes me feel like I’m looking at barometers of my own condition.”
“The strange part is how all those rising and falling barometers so often clash with my actual mood.”
“There are times when I feel perfectly fine, yet everyone unanimously believes I’m doing poorly.”
“It’s like the central gear just won’t mesh properly with all the surrounding gears.”
“At such moments, I grow terribly lonely or irritable.”
“Yesterday was exactly like that.”
“Though I felt completely well, everyone insisted my condition had taken a bad turn.”
“Then they started pushing hospitalization again.”
“I flatly refused.”
“Don’t you think that square, sterile white hospital room feels like a prison just imagining it?”

“It’s precisely because I’m at home that I can voice some degree of selfishness, exercise freedom, have many things to rely on for various fantasies and recollections, and generally keep my thoughts well-ventilated, so to speak.”
“Why don’t you try entering a hospital once? Not a breath of healthy outdoor air circulates there—it’s practically a prison, you know.”
“If it were certain that staying home would mean my death and entering the hospital would save me, then I might consider hospitalization—but first of all, there’s no such absurd logic, and besides, I believe I’m not in such bad shape myself.”
“And this whole hospitalization issue actually stems from the discrepancy between my own barometer and everyone else’s barometer readings.”
“And I spent all last night considering which one was correct.”
“On their side, there are all sorts of scientific grounds—external and internal symptoms, medical factors, and so forth.”
“But on my side, there exists the certainty of my own lived experience.”
“Lived experience may have its flaws, but science isn’t necessarily free of them either.”
“In the end, both are incomplete.”
“But if both were to synchronize, it would be fine if they aligned toward improvement, but if they were to synchronize toward deterioration, that would truly be terrifying, I think.”
“I wonder if that’s when humans become aware of their own mortality.”
“But I still feel reassured because both are out of sync.”
“Having thought through things in this way, today I’ve come to feel terribly refreshed.”
“I’m sure you can relate.”
“And you—though you too, like everyone else, seem oddly concerned about my condition—couldn’t you at least be on my side?”

Since this was what I later heard from Kōno—there may be some discrepancies—when addressed in that manner, he no longer felt inclined to bring up the financial matter and, finding no chance to rise, ended up keeping Yoshioka company for nearly an hour. A faint flush had risen to Yoshioka’s cheeks, forming a morbid contrast with his sunken eyes and unkempt beard that seized Kōno’s attention. Then, when the nurse administered medicine and discreetly signaled him, Kōno—as if snapping back to himself—hurriedly took his leave from the sickroom.

Now, when it came time to leave, the initial matter dangled before Kōno’s eyes.
He was momentarily at a loss, but hit upon the idea that it would be better to discuss this with Toshiko-san rather than directly with Yoshioka, and feeling this was the best approach, he turned back after having started to step down toward the entrance and called Toshiko-san into the entrance-side room.

“To tell the truth, I had intended to meet Yoshioka-kun briefly and just take care of business, but I ended up getting engrossed in conversation and didn’t bring up the matter after all, so to you…”

In such a tone, he pulled out a Western-style envelope from his pocket and presented it before Toshiko-san.

Toshiko-san widened her eyes in surprise.

“Yoshioka never mentioned such a thing to me...”

Kōno was momentarily startled, but gradually lowered his head.

“That too must have been out of Yoshioka-kun’s goodwill.”
“To keep me from feeling awkward, I think he even kept it hidden from you.”

And he told the full story of how he had borrowed 800 yen from Yoshioka.

――It was four years ago at the end of the year, when Kōno was living in his most destitute circumstances.
Through a friend’s introduction, he had carelessly borrowed high-interest money that had accumulated to over 1,000 yen; when harsh demands came, they finally sent a bailiff.
Not only his meager household belongings but even the works he considered his very life had seizure notices affixed to them.
Among these was one still-life painting—a work he had completed through painstaking effort upon painstaking effort at someone’s request—whose payment he had planned to allocate here and there to barely make it through the year.
If that were seized, they would have to welcome the year-end and New Year completely penniless.
With two or three months’ worth of accumulated rent, various payments, small social obligations here and there, meager New Year preparations, and interest payments to the pawnshop that had sent notice of liquidation—all these things swirling through their minds at once, he and his wife, holding their young child, were at a loss.
Nowhere could they find anyone to turn to for help.
When he fell in love with his wife and began living together, both he and his wife had encountered opposition from their relatives, leaving them effectively disowned.
Moreover, among his circle of friends, those who seemed to have any financial leeway had already exhausted their goodwill, while the rest were either people as poor as he was or single individuals struggling with money.
At his wit’s end after spending two days in a daze, he suddenly thought of Yoshioka.
There was some age difference between him and Yoshioka; their circumstances were vastly different; theirs was merely an association between a painter and an art lover—not the sort of relationship where one could bring up financial matters—yet they shared one peculiar emotional connection.
When he had been on the verge of recklessly deciding to cohabit with his wife, disregarding both the surrounding opposition and future prospects, he happened to be having dinner alone with Yoshioka one evening; aided slightly by alcohol’s intoxication, he had confessed his romantic affair.
At that time, Yoshioka vehemently opposed him: “What do you intend to do about your future living? What do you intend to do with your art?”
The fact that the woman had been dismissed from her hometown girls’ school over something like a teacher expulsion incident—that she had come rushing to Tokyo without permission and was now under the care of a distant relative’s household—was also one of his reasons for opposition.
However, Kōno did not yield.
As he kept insisting, his resolve only grew firmer.
It was just that simple matter, yet it had strangely created a peculiar blend of intimacy and reserve between them.
And so Kōno—though it pained him to rely on Yoshioka—pressed by urgency, took the plunge and went.
Yoshioka listened silently to his dire circumstances but ultimately replied that although they were living separately, he did have a father and had no financial freedom whatsoever; he asked him to wait four or five days as he would think about it…
Kōno concluded it was utterly hopeless and returned home.

Even so, he had waited expectantly, but four or five days passed with no word. Then, about a week later, just as the Kōno couple had steeled themselves in despair, Yoshioka suddenly appeared, bringing even the promissory note from the loan shark. He had gone out of his way to arrange the funds and personally visited the loan shark’s office to negotiate the debt down to 800 yen, it was said. The Kōno couple were overcome with grateful tears.

Kōno felt his eyes grow hot as he told Toshiko-san about that time—of course omitting the old story about Yoshioka opposing his romance with his wife.

Toshiko-san hurriedly cut short his story with repeated "and then"s and, furthermore, stating she had never seen any written agreement from that time, still refused to take the money.

“Yoshioka-kun didn’t make me write any written agreement.”
“It was entirely out of goodwill.”
“If you ask Yoshioka-kun yourself, you’ll understand clearly.”
“Truthfully, I should have repaid this long ago, but though it weighed on me constantly, I kept postponing it.”
“When I finally managed to bring it here after arranging everything, Yoshioka-kun had suddenly taken a turn for the worse—it feels strange somehow—but since this was my intention from the beginning, well... While the debt remains a debt, if you could at least accept the principal amount, I’d be truly grateful.”
“Leaving things as they are would genuinely trouble my conscience.”
“Since Yoshioka-kun hasn’t said a single word to me about it, it makes it all the more...”

As he spoke in a pleading tone, a pained expression suddenly surfaced on Kōno’s face.
Perhaps noticing this, Toshiko-san abruptly gave in.

“Well, whatever Yoshioka might say about this, I’ll keep it until tomorrow for now. So perhaps tomorrow… or the day after… I wonder if you could come by when it’s convenient.”

And Toshiko-san, while taking the thickly bulging Western-style envelope in hand, faintly blushed.
Kōno's face also reddened at the same time.

II

Yoshioka, perhaps mentally exhausted from his exchange with Kōno, had dozed off.
So it was around six-thirty in the evening when Toshiko-san told him about the 800 yen.

“Since I knew nothing about this at all, I thought I should ask you first,” she said, “but Kōno-san was so insistent that I somehow felt sorry for him and temporarily accepted it. What should we do?”
“Is it all right if I accept it?”

Yoshioka glanced at the proffered Western-style envelope, then sank into thought with his brows furrowed. That demeanor didn’t sit right with Toshiko-san. After waiting a considerable while, she inquired in a low voice.

“Is there some other reason?”
“Mr. Kōno only said that he borrowed it from you, but…”

“What on earth did Kōno-kun say to you?”

So Toshiko-san told Yoshioka what she had heard from Kōno—the incident of the 800 yen—.
But Yoshioka, as if such talk were unimportant, interrupted her words and asked.

“What exactly is Kōno-kun thinking—coming to repay that money now of all times? And why didn’t he say a word to me, just slipped it to you quietly? Didn’t he explain anything about any of this?”

“No, nothing in particular…”
“He said that thanks to the help you gave him back then, he’s now able to manage his livelihood somehow, so he wanted you to feel reassured—that’s what he told me.”
“And since he ended up talking so much that he didn’t get to mention it properly, he said he’d leave it with me instead…”

At that, Yoshioka fell silent again and lay on his back staring at the ceiling.
This continued for ten or fifteen minutes.
Toshiko-san, at a loss over what to do, began tidying up the art books and magazines scattered around his bedside.
Then, Yoshioka suddenly reached out with one hand toward the Western-style envelope left lying there, pulled out the bills inside, stared at them for a while, then impatiently flung them down.
The bills burst into disarray.

“Oh my!”

While she stood stunned, an angry voice came bearing down.

“Do as you please.”

Toshiko-san stood dumbfounded, staring vacantly at the scattered banknotes.
Just then, the nurse came in.
Toshiko-san's face flushed crimson as she scrambled to collect the money.

"Oh my, what's happened?"

Flustered by her own careless remark, the nurse went to sit in the corner of the room.

Yoshioka did not utter a single word.
With an expression suggesting he was deeply absorbed in thought, he continued staring fixedly at the ceiling.
Even when Toshiko-san spoke to him some time later, he did not so much as twitch an eyebrow.
Since his illness had worsened, Toshiko-san had grown accustomed to this kind of persistent irritability from him; therefore, she decided not to press the issue and slipped the Western-style envelope containing the money into her obi.

Less than thirty minutes later, a flush suddenly rose to Yoshioka’s pale cheeks, and sweat began beading on his forehead. When the nurse checked, his fever had risen and his pulse had become rapid.

“He seems to be terribly agitated, but…”

When whispered to by the nurse in a low voice and subjected to her probing gaze, Toshiko-san felt an inexplicable fluster. Because a new intestinal complication had developed and they were entering a critical period—having just been warned by his primary physician—Toshiko-san found herself even more unable to remain composed.

“If there’s anything that’s bothering you, please tell me everything. If it’s something I can manage, I could relay that to Mr. Kōno, and I’ll do whatever needs doing.”

Disregarding the nurse’s presence, Toshiko-san tried asking various things to soothe his mind, but he remained stubbornly silent, appearing deeply absorbed in some thought. With the sensitive awareness and persistent mood characteristic of tuberculosis patients, the way he was gradually becoming entangled in some unpleasantness within his mind had become clearly visible even to Toshiko-san. At the same time, the nurse’s oddly distancing demeanor between the two struck Toshiko-san.

Toshiko-san paced restlessly around the house, feeling more unsettled than ever.

It was in such circumstances that I unexpectedly came across her.

Toshiko-san abruptly pulled me into the parlor and recounted the day’s events. Yet even as I listened, I still couldn’t grasp the essence of it all. It seemed even more so for Toshiko-san.

“Yes, I’m utterly perplexed—I simply can’t make sense of it,” she said. “If only I understood why Yoshioka grew so agitated—then perhaps I could do something—but no matter how much I ponder it, nothing adds up. If… if it wouldn’t trouble you… might you discreetly inquire about it for me?”

Having been asked, there was no way I could refuse.
However, I was extremely ill-suited to such matters.
On top of that, it all seemed somehow both absurd and intricately weighty—there was no clear point to grasp.
Kōno had come to repay the 800 yen he borrowed four years ago—a straightforward matter holding nothing strange in itself—so it must have been either that Yoshioka was agitating himself over something trivial, or that some complex circumstance lay hidden beneath the surface.
Either way, given Yoshioka’s critical condition, broaching the subject would be difficult; moreover, viewed from a step removed, it seemed utterly absurd.
Oh well—once I met Yoshioka… With that resolve, I made my way to the sickroom.

At that moment, fortunately, I had found an art book featuring dolls and wooden carvings of toys from places like Russia, Germany, and Switzerland and brought it along to alleviate Yoshioka’s boredom.
Then I nonchalantly entered the sickroom and presented it at his bedside.

“I happened to come across something interesting, so I brought it.”

“Right, thank you.”

Yoshioka glanced at me as he answered and did not so much as touch the art book.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mmm.”

He gave an ambiguous reply and didn’t so much as glance my way.

More than his sullen demeanor, I found myself drawn to the fidgety expression on his face. It had been about ten days since his appetite had waned, and with only scant liquid food passing his lips—his sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks were to be expected—yet pale veins twitched near his temples, trembling so violently that even the slightest impulse seemed to travel to his extremities, threatening to erupt into full-blown nervous convulsions.
This won’t do at all, I thought.
And after remaining silent for a while, I began considering leaving quickly and returning the matter to Toshiko-san.

At that moment, Yoshioka suddenly called out to the nurse.

“I need to discuss something briefly. Could you step over there for a moment?”

I was surprised, but the nurse remained composed.

"But if you discuss something too complicated..."

“It’s fine. It’ll just be a short while.”

When the nurse gave me an incomprehensible look and left in apparent displeasure, I had already frozen like a frog before a snake. In that state of mine, after a minute or two of silence, Yoshioka suddenly burst out at me.

“You came here to me because Toshiko asked you to, right?”

I flinched but averted my eyes and answered as calmly as I could manage.

“Well, not really... As I mentioned earlier, I found that unusual art book, so...”

“At first that might have been your intention but...”
“No, never mind.”
“I fully understand your goodwill.”
“I like accepting people’s goodwill unconditionally.”
“Since everyone’s doing this out of concern for me, I’m simply grateful.”
“But why were you all huddled together like that—whispering furtively in the shadows?”
“You think I might drop dead tomorrow, don’t you?”

I silently watched the twitching of his temples, but since escape seemed impossible regardless, I proceeded to confront the matter head-on. First I revealed how deeply worried Toshiko-san was and disclosed her request to me, then calmly began explaining that Kōno coming to repay the money was merely a natural obligation and that finding it peculiar was absurd. Yet Yoshioka refused to let me finish speaking. He assailed me with a tone both morbid and razor-sharp.

“On the surface, you coming to repay that 800 yen was nothing out of the ordinary.”
“But I find that sentiment disagreeable.”
“Thinking that if you didn’t repay it now—if I were to die or something—you hurriedly scraped together the money and brought it here.”
“For you，whether repaying matters or not isn’t the issue.”
“If that were truly all there was to it，wouldn’t it be the same whether you repaid me while I’m alive or repaid Toshiko after my death?”
“As for me—you should know full well that 800 yen means nothing.”
“I，from that time… though I think it’s been four or five years now，don’t recall ever mentioning money or such things to you.”
“Even if my modest goodwill could be of some use in your life，and if through that you were to create a splendid work—that alone would satisfy me.”
“I don’t care about the money.”
“Not only did I tell you back then that I was praying for splendid work to emerge from you，but ever since then，the only thing I’ve cared about has been your art.”
“And yet，despite having even kept the matter of money hidden from Toshiko because it was unpleasant，I feel utterly betrayed by this recent turn of events.”
“If you had extra 800 yen and came to return it without any ulterior motives，I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“But if you’re scraping it together through hardship—if you’re driven by this idea that you must repay me before I die or lose the chance forever—how could I possibly be pleased?”
“I don’t recall ever doing anything that would make you harbor such hostility toward me.”
“When I think about it，there was a time long ago when you and your current wife were in love and tried to live together，and I firmly opposed it.”
“Also，there were times I pointed out aspects I found lacking in your works.”
“However，when I saw you ignoring my words，moving in with your wife to establish a settled life and continuing to create using your own trusted methods，I actually felt heartened.”
“You should know that well.”
“I—half-blessed with property yet cursed by tuberculosis—have been living this hollow existence，unable to produce a single substantial work．That’s precisely why I found such vigor in you steadfastly advancing down your singular path as an artist．To me as a friend，it felt powerfully reassuring．”
“There were even times I felt that if you wanted，you could use all my wealth—I wouldn’t have minded．”

“And yet, I have been splendidly betrayed by that.”

Intimidated by his demeanor and distracted by the trembling of his temples, I feebly voiced my opposition.

“But Kōno-kun didn’t come to return the money with any intention of… betraying you or anticipating your death or such things—I think it was simply from straightforward feelings.”

“Then why didn’t you speak to me directly? Why did you slip it to Toshiko on your way out instead?”
“Is it because my illness is severe? …Does ‘severe illness’ mean you don’t know when I’ll die?”
“It’s not just you, Kōno-kun.”
“Even Toshiko... even you—I know full well that you’re all thinking that way.”
“The doctors and nurses too—they’re all like that.”
“While all of you are sneaking around in the shadows, you’re trying to deliver a death pronouncement to me.”
"But I intend to keep resisting it to the very end."
“Even if I can’t live much longer, I don’t want to die consciously aware that I’m dying.”
"I want to preserve the will to live right up until death's moment."
“I don’t believe a word of those stories about people dying peaceful, enlightened deaths while fully aware of their demise.”
“I don’t believe it—not after what I’ve experienced these past few days.”
“Even if everyone gangs up and tells you I’ve only got two or three days left, I’ll keep clinging to my will to live to the bitter end.”
"At first, I thought Kōno-kun alone was on my side in that regard."
“But now…”

He started to speak but choked up.
I had noticed earlier that after my words had briefly faltered and there was a lull, his tone of voice had completely changed.
Not only had his voice taken on a creaking, tearing quality, but each word now emerged separately, devoid of connective resonance.
I had grown somehow terrified and was about to stop him from speaking when his words abruptly cut off.
When I looked up in surprise, he was glaring with fierce eyes, holding his breath.
The moment I, startled, reached out my hand, a violent coughing fit erupted.
I placed a supporting hand on his upper body as it twisted sideways.
For a while, I was completely absorbed.

The nurse hurried in.
Soon Toshiko-san also arrived.
A considerable amount of bloody phlegm was expelled into the spittoon, a liquid medicine was used for gargling, the pillow was raised higher, an ice bag was placed on his forehead, and while Yoshioka lay on his back with closed eyes, I had unconsciously withdrawn to sit formally in the adjoining room.
When I came to my senses, I found myself sinking into an indescribable urge to vanish as I listened to the insects chirping outside.

A long time passed.
The sickroom fell completely silent, with neither human voices nor any other sounds.
Finally, Toshiko-san emerged with hushed footsteps and led me out toward the main house’s entrance.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, if anything, I should be the one.”

And Toshiko-san looked down with a face trembling on the verge of tears.

"I've mostly understood the situation."
"It's nothing serious."
"I'll come again tomorrow."
"Please stay close by his side as much as possible."

I tossed out the words and stepped outside.

It was a moonlit night.
As I walked on, my mind gradually settled.
The thought of having left without a word to Toshiko-san weighed on me—I nearly turned back halfway—but steeling myself, I kept walking.

That night, I walked the streets for a long time, turning over various thoughts in my mind.
However, since that concerns me alone, I will omit all that.
And in the end, I came to realize that Yoshioka's heart had sunk to depths beyond what I had imagined, and feeling that I too bore some responsibility, I conceived a sort of resolution.
The more I poked at various things, the more tangled the problem became; therefore, instead, it was better to go back to the beginning of the problem and solve one piece of it.
In other words, if it could be revealed whether the 800 yen Kōno had brought was something he had scraped together through desperate means or something easily obtained, then all other matters would naturally resolve themselves.
If it had been easily obtained, nothing could be better—but even if it had been scraped together through desperate means, as long as Kōno offered a word of explanation, then Yoshioka’s heart would thaw and find peace.

In the end, I clung to that single matter.
And suddenly I felt as if everything had been settled, as if I had stepped out into a clear, refreshed space.

Three

The next day I visited Kōno’s house in the suburbs.
Because I knew about Kōno’s habit of sleeping in and let my guard down, I couldn’t meet him after he had gone out.
So I left word with my wife that when he returned, he should come immediately due to an urgent matter.
From there, I headed straight to Yoshioka’s house.
Toshiko-san had a face swollen from lack of sleep.
However, upon hearing that there was no change in Yoshioka’s condition, I felt relieved.
I asked that when Kōno came, he would come to my house immediately.

“I’ll come back after meeting with Kōno-kun. A brief talk should make everything clear, and Yoshioka-kun’s worries should ease. But until then, please keep my visit between us. There’s no need to trouble yourself over this.”

And I took my leave right at the entrance.

I thought that simply meeting with Kōno and exchanging a few words would suffice.
And I waited for Kōno at home.
I had been waiting and was growing somewhat impatient when, around four o'clock in the afternoon, Kōno arrived.

Kōno, seeming to have been told something by Toshiko-san, asked with a worried expression while brushing back the hair on his forehead.

“When I went to Yoshioka-kun’s place and heard you were waiting for me, I came right away.”
“I hear it’s something related to Yoshioka-kun as well—what’s this about?”

Seeing him there—his long hair unkempt and tangled, wearing a slightly out-of-season serge kimono, seemingly self-conscious about his freshly shaven beard as he repeatedly stroked his chin with his left fingertips between phrases—I had almost instinctively realized that those 800 yen had been scraped together with considerable effort.
And I broached the subject as indirectly as possible.

“I heard you went to Yoshioka-kun’s house yesterday.”

Kōno answered straightforwardly.

“Ah, I went to return some money I’d borrowed long ago.”
“I handed it over to Toshiko-san, but she said you’d understand once we met.”
“Did I do something wrong?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a mistake, but when you went yesterday, how was Yoshioka-kun?”

“What do you mean how? Well, he was in such high spirits, talking about all sorts of things—what I intended to be a brief visit turned into nearly an hour of conversation.”

After questioning him in detail about that occasion and gradually coming to clearly understand Yoshioka’s feelings, I candidly recounted the subsequent events and ventured to present my own thoughts.

“Given that, Yoshioka-kun’s feelings aren’t entirely unreasonable. But Toshiko-san is terribly worried, and if something were to aggravate his illness, it would be a problem…”

There, recalling Yoshioka’s final words, I found myself enveloped in an intensely gloomy mood.

“I want to find some way to ease Yoshioka-kun’s mind. To do that, I think we must go back to the beginning of this problem and make Yoshioka-kun believe that the 800 yen you brought was something you came by with no trouble at all—that even if the reality were otherwise, you simply returned it casually as surplus funds.”

Kōno knitted his thick eyebrows tightly and, while vigorously kneading his chin with his left hand, fell silent in deep thought.

“I wonder.”
“I wonder if it might not work out that way?”

Kōno answered with his face lowered.

“If you tell me to do it, I’ll do anything and tell any lie necessary.”
“But Yoshioka-kun wouldn’t easily believe such a thing.”
“In truth, that 800 yen was a fortune to me.”
“I borrowed from place to place, and where that wasn’t enough, I even pawned my wife’s kimonos.”
“When I handed that money to Toshiko-san, how utterly ashamed I felt.”
“Toshiko-san seemed to blush as she accepted it, but she must have surely felt sorry for my state.”
I turned bright red all over my face.
Because the money in the envelope—a jumble of twenty-yen, ten-yen, and five-yen bills—flashed vividly in my mind, and the wretchedness of having scraped them together struck me to the core.
“The fact that I couldn’t face Yoshioka-kun directly—now that I think about it—I feel that such things were also a cause.”

“Then you didn’t have to go to such lengths to repay it?”

Kōno once again sharply tugged at his chin with his left hand.

“Well, you could say that… but no—that must be precisely where the layers of Yoshioka-kun’s misunderstanding took root.” “I’m fairly indifferent to money—there are plenty of friends’ loans I’ve left unpaid for ages.” “But somehow, the money I borrowed from Yoshioka-kun alone kept nagging at my mind.” “Perhaps because it came during my hardest time, when I felt most grateful—it must have etched itself deeply into my consciousness.” “But I swear I never once thought, ‘Who knows when Yoshioka-kun might die—better do this now.’” “It’s too cruel a misunderstanding.” “Though my wife might have harbored some such sentiment.” “She kept insisting we had to repay it quickly no matter what.” “But since it’s a woman’s matter, I suppose we can afford some leniency.” “And we both never once imagined that returning the money meant settling the debt of gratitude itself.” “I carried nothing but gratitude in my heart.” “There’s just one thing—it’s true an odd feeling had stirred within me, but…”

“About that strange feeling – if it’s no trouble, why don’t you tell me?”

Kōno twisted his chin with his left hand and thought for a considerable while, then began speaking while staring fixedly at me.

“This may well be my own resentment… No—it must surely be the ungrateful resentment of one who has received kindness.
“Yoshioka-kun—it’s already been four years since then—never once breathed a word about money, always asking solely about my art whenever we met.
“Yet strangely enough, that became excruciating for me.
“When he gave me the money, Yoshioka-kun said this:
‘Don’t concern yourself with the money—whether you repay it or not, that’s entirely up to your circumstances. Just produce splendid works, please, and when you create something you like, give me one.’
At that time, I was truly moved.
But as time passed, that artistic burden began weighing on me painfully.
Whenever Yoshioka-kun tried to inspire my artistic spirit, I actually felt as if being physically whipped.
Had he pressed me for the 800 yen instead, I would have remained perfectly unperturbed.
And likely never considered repaying it at all.
Yet Yoshioka-kun burdened me not with financial obligations, but with burdens upon the art I consider my very life.
I’m not saying this was wrong.
Nor am I dissatisfied.
No—if anything, I’m profoundly grateful as a true friend.
And still—the hardships this caused me defy description.
“I can’t clearly articulate this feeling now, but surely you can understand.”

I wordlessly nodded in response.

“To escape that anguish, I resolved to gather the 800 yen together with my wife.”
“Of course, even repaying the money wouldn’t discharge the debt of gratitude—I never imagined my artistic burden would lessen.”
“Yet somehow, I felt compelled to return at least the monetary sum.”
“Since I never dreamed Yoshioka-kun would react so severely, I brought the 800 yen as soon as it was ready—though personally, I’d hoped for a simpler acceptance.”
“Whenever I listen to Yoshioka-kun’s sentiments or examine my own, my head grows strangely leaden.”

As I watched him—eyes fixed beneath thick brows, teeth clenched slightly askew, fallen into complete silence—I too began to feel a strange heaviness weighing down my head. We continued talking sporadically about various things, then went out for a light meal together, and talked while drinking sake, but in the end, it was all inconclusive talk, and we could do nothing but fall silent, overwhelmed by our irrepressible emotions toward our revered friend Yoshioka. And during that time, I clearly felt that making Kōno tell Yoshioka a lie about the 800 yen being easily procured was not only practically impossible but would end in futility even if achieved.

“What am I supposed to do…?”

Coming to a halt at the edge of the street, Kōno addressed my mind directly.

“In any case, please wait another day or two. I’ll manage something and take care of it.”

“Are you going to Yoshioka-kun’s place now?”

“Well, I also made a promise to Toshiko-san.”

Kōno stared intently at my face but seemed to reconsider saying something; he turned abruptly and walked away.

Alone, I wandered the streets again like the previous night, turning everything over in my mind.
If I could just adjust my mindset slightly and grasp some thread of a solution, it felt like the problem might resolve itself effortlessly—yet that thread remained stubbornly elusive, and I soon sank back into a deep tangle of knots.
In the end, I tried to deny everything outright.
Though leaving Yoshioka as he was weighed on my mind, I steeled myself that as a last resort, there was nothing to do but avoid meddling and wait for time to pass.

The night was clear and crisp under a moonlit sky—a cool evening through and through.
Gazing up at that lunar glow while trying to cast off my gloomy thoughts, I walked to Yoshioka’s house.
It was nearly ten o’clock.

“How did things go?”

Toshiko-san received me with eyes that asked every question at once.
Without answering her implicit plea, I first asked about Yoshioka’s condition.

Yoshioka's medical condition was not good.
The doctor who came for the afternoon examination reportedly tilted his head and asked if he had overexerted himself in some way.
His nerves were extremely frayed, and this was aggravating each affected area in turn, so he had to be kept as calm as possible—the doctor reportedly instructed with a furrowed brow.
Yoshioka showed no particular signs of irritation; his fever had subsided and he wasn't coughing much, but only his pulse remained alarmingly abnormal.

“If that’s the case, then all the more reason we shouldn’t bring up that matter anymore—it would be best to leave it be.”

So I first stated my conclusion, then gave Toshiko-san a summarized account of my conversation with Yoshioka the previous day and my talk with Kōno that day.

“Since their feelings are so strangely at odds like that, the more we touch on it, the more tangled things become."
“I think there’s nothing to do but remain silent and leave it be...”

“That does seem to be the case.”

Toshiko-san gave an ambiguous response as to whether my clumsy explanation had made sense to her, but then suddenly, as if startled, she pulled out a large Western-style envelope from her obi.

“But what should we do with this money?”

Toshiko-san had apparently been carrying that Western-style envelope tucked into her obi since the previous day, and from that morning as well.
There was something oddly compelling about it.

“You should just put an end to that matter somewhere and be done with it.
It’ll sort itself out in time.”

At that moment, Toshiko-san’s eyes widened slightly, and a faint shadow of a smile surfaced, so I felt an immense lightness in my heart.
And I was briefly shown into the sickroom.

In my mind, I had intended to go in with a cheerful face, appearing to have utterly forgotten yesterday’s events, exchange innocuous pleasantries, and settle everything—at least superficially—through silent dismissal.
Rather than trying to probe the other’s feelings awkwardly, this performance of feigned nonchalance seemed something I could manage well.
Yet when I reached the sickroom door, I felt oppressed by an inexplicable heaviness and became aware of my cheek muscles stiffening on their own.

Yoshioka started to turn his head—which had been lying on his back—slightly toward me, but immediately reverted to his original position.
I sat a little distance away and said in a tone that sounded like I was making an excuse.

“I decided to go out for a stroll on a whim…”
At that moment, the beautiful moon I had just seen emerge from the eastern sky flashed through my mind.
“The moon was so beautiful that I ended up wandering aimlessly and found myself nearby, so I thought I’d stop by for a moment.”
“Outside is a beautiful moonlit night.”

“Oh, is the moon really that lovely?”

My casual remark had provoked an unexpectedly intense reaction, leaving me somewhat flustered.

“Well... it’s just an ordinary autumn moon...”

“It’s still the same old moon.”

He declared dismissively. Under the electric light, his face—angular planes catching illumination where bone protruded—bore shadows creeping into hollows where flesh had wasted away.
As I gazed at it absently, I found the silence growing oppressive.
And as I sat there in the hushed silence, wanting to say something but unable to find the words, I began to feel an unexpected pressure of a different kind.

It was difficult to explain precisely, but to put it simply—the presence of the nurse, whom I had barely noticed until now—the nurse wearing a white uniform with her head slightly bowed, seated in a corner of the room—suddenly swelled ominously and loomed before me, or so it felt.
No matter how much we others fretted from the sidelines, it felt as though the very air enveloping the patient—the air he breathed—was entirely under her control.

I gazed at her with an odd feeling. The hem of the white uniform billowed softly in a wide circular shape around her knees. On her dull, sleep-deprived face, straight thin eyebrows stood rigidly upright as though glued in place.—It struck me that Yoshioka’s condition might be more critical than expected, and I felt myself an ill-fitting intruder in that space.

The silence continued.

“Then please take good care of yourself—I’ll come again.”

With that, I bent my body in a bow-like motion and left the room.

At the entrance, I was detained by Toshiko-san and treated to tea and sweets.
The maids had sleepy eyes.

“Did you manage to say something about that matter?”

“No, nothing at all.”

After a while, I was the one who spoke.

“The doctor didn’t say it was that bad, did he?”

“Yes… But would that be undesirable?”
“It doesn’t appear so, but……”

After speaking in a low voice about such matters, Toshiko-san spent a long time going back and forth to the sickroom.

Before I knew it, night had deepened and the trains had likely stopped running. I stayed overnight as urged. The thought—if something were to happen to Yoshioka—kept resurfacing no matter how much I tried to banish it. The entire progression lay clear before me: from coughing up blood at spring’s end to being confined to his sickbed all summer, then catching what seemed like a chill when autumn winds rose until his condition suddenly worsened. I couldn’t sleep until late.

I later heard Toshiko-san had kept vigil by Yoshioka’s side that night too. Though Yoshioka appeared to sleep soundly, he would suddenly open his eyes and tell them both to go to bed. This happened repeatedly. So Toshiko-san resolved to sleep.

It was said that the nurse had stayed constantly by Yoshioka’s side for two consecutive nights—that evening and the previous one—hardly sleeping a wink.

IV

The following early dawn, I got up.

Toshiko-san—her disheveled hair from the previous day swept back slightly, her face properly made up—approached me with a composed yet tense expression.

“When I mentioned you had stayed overnight, Yoshioka seemed eager to see you at once.”
“Would you come over there?”

“Oh? Has something happened?”

“Oh, right—I hadn’t yet told you about this, had I?”

And Toshiko-san recounted the morning’s events to me.

When dawn had just broken, Toshiko-san woke up and went to the sickroom, where Yoshioka seemed to have been waiting for her. He called her to his side and asked what had become of the 800 yen.
When she answered that she still had the money, he began proposing in a resolute tone that they should donate the entire sum to the nurse’s brother’s tuition.
Toshiko-san was at a loss for a reply.
The nurse had lost her mother in childhood, become separated from her father, and now had no reliable relatives left; it was a pitiful yet admirable story of her single-handedly supporting her brother attending medical school. Moreover, since coming to care for Yoshioka nearly a month prior, she had devoted herself with few words and utmost faithfulness—for these reasons, Toshiko-san harbored goodwill toward her.
Moreover, Toshiko-san was indeed struggling with what to do with the money in the Western-style envelope.
However, she also felt it would be unfair to Kōno to do such a thing.

As she fidgeted uneasily, unable to bring herself to say it, Yoshioka spoke.

"I want to hand over that money right now and get everything settled."

That’s right—it would be better to settle this quickly, Toshiko-san thought as she resolved herself. When she saw the nurse return with a face washed clean of sleep, her exhausted appearance from nights of caregiving hardening that resolve further.

Soon after, Yoshioka and Toshiko-san summoned the nurse to his bedside and presented the Western-style envelope Kōno had left behind.
But she kept her eyes lowered, refusing utterly to accept it.
Toshiko-san entreated her in measured tones.

Yoshioka pressed in a strong tone.

“To you who’ve known everything from the beginning, it might seem like we’re trying to force our goodwill upon you, but that’s absolutely not the case…”
“It would be a relief to me if you accepted it.”
“When I told you about it before, didn’t you say you couldn’t understand Mr. Kōno’s feelings?”
“I can’t understand your refusal to accept it.”
“You should stop dwelling on such trivial matters and just forget them completely. Holding onto them forever is a luxury… No—you didn’t call it a luxury, but didn’t you keep telling me things that meant the same?”
“That’s exactly it.”
“I want to completely escape from such luxurious concern.”
“If you would just accept it, everything would be settled.”
“It might be better to wait longer, but a patient like me grows impatient—I can’t stand dragging things out.”
“Please accept this to clear my mind completely.”
“You might say it’s hard on your conscience to simply accept this, but you’ve already done far more for me.”
“I have felt these past two or three days as if everyone has been ganging up on me, delivering a death sentence.”
“If something were to happen… I felt as though everyone was thinking that way and only making preparations for that moment in secret.”
“For someone like me who wants to live, how oppressive a burden that became—you in your health could never imagine it.”
“However, last night when I heard your words, I felt as though the sky had cleared.”
“‘Among all the patients I’ve attended to, not a single one has passed away thus far. I’ve sworn that as long as I work as a nurse, I won’t let any patient die under my care. You too will surely recover—I’ll make sure of it.’”
“And you probably said something like that to me.”
“I knew from your expression at that time that those weren’t lies.”
“And that alone might have been such an immense source of strength for me.”

“If I am to live…though in truth I don’t know when I’ll die…if I can maintain this radiant hope of life until my final moments, it’s all your doing.”
“I truly must thank you.”
“Even considering these feelings of mine, couldn’t you accept it?”

“Really, please—don’t say anything. Just accept this for your brother’s sake,” Toshiko-san added with tears in her eyes.

The nurse bowed, a tear dropping as she accepted the Western-style envelope.
Toshiko-san also shed tears.

“I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t stop crying—it was quite troubling.” Toshiko-san concluded her account while growing emotional again, tears brimming in her eyes.

I stood up vigorously.
I was led by Toshiko-san to the detached sickroom.

Yoshioka’s face had changed beyond recognition. It wasn’t merely due to the morning light—the gloomy, prickly cloudiness had lifted, leaving it calm and clear. It was as if he had bathed to wash away the grime of before and shaved his beard—that was the nature of the transformation. Yet despite this, coarse stubble still covered his chin; his cheeks were pallid and gaunt, his eyes sunken yet faintly gleaming—it was hard to grasp where this transformation had come from. As I watched with mild surprise, a strange comparison suddenly floated into my head. If his face until now had been like a chicken egg still in its shell, then his current face was now one of only the peeled egg’s white and yolk. And I even felt a sacred fear—the kind of holy dread one might feel toward that sudden flash of life’s light at death’s door. But his fever had subsided, his pulse had stabilized considerably, and he was breathing calmly.

“I feel remarkably well,” he said.

“I ended up staying late last night…” I said apologetically.

“Oh, right. Did you sleep well?”

“Ah.”

“There are times when I sleep soundly and times when I can’t sleep at all, but being able to sleep regardless is a good thing. Yet because I couldn’t sleep last night, I ended up doing something worthwhile instead.”

“Something worthwhile…?”

“I saw the moon by your grace. Remember how you called it a lovely moonlit night? I became desperate to see it myself. After quarreling fiercely with her and making quite a scene, I finally persuaded her to open the storm shutters. Through the glass of the shoji screen, I gazed at it—the half-sunken moon was truly exquisite.”
“……How strange it was.
The moment I saw that moonlight, insect cries suddenly swelled around me. Even after she closed the shutters later, their voices persisted until dawn.
Yet until that moment, I hadn’t heard them at all…”

“Isn’t that simply because you didn’t notice it before?”

“No—it was utterly silent, and I was so absorbed in listening that I couldn’t possibly have failed to notice. After seeing the moon, even with the storm shutters closed, they rang out so clearly it was almost deafening.”

“It all sounds like something out of a dream.”

“Ah, it’s completely like something from a dream,” he said. “As I gazed at the moon, that person told me a fairy tale.”

“A fairy tale...”

“Yes, well—a fairy tale.”

Perhaps having heard that voice, Toshiko-san and the nurse—who had been conversing about something in the far corner—simultaneously looked up toward us.
The nurse had already finished her morning preparations, but beneath the skin of her cheeks and forehead—where signs of sleepless fatigue stood out vividly—there peered through what one might call a solemn, single-minded conviction, starkly contrasting with her large bun neatly combed through with fine teeth and the faintly white substance applied to her face, while her straight, slender eyebrows drawn in a perfect line appeared briefly beautiful.
As for Toshiko-san, having cooled from her earlier agitation, she now wore an expression of liberated composure, the flesh of her narrow cheeks slackening in dreamy languor.

I averted my gaze and, while looking at the slanting yellowish light of the morning sun upon the dew-laden garden plantings, tried to imagine what kind of conversation Yoshioka and the nurse had had the previous night. But that must have been something entirely different from the stories one would associate with moonlight, insect cries, a lung disease patient, and a nurse—an utterly wholesome yet enigmatic thing of common sense, truly what could be called a fairy tale.

Yoshioka followed my gaze and looked up at the morning sunlight streaming through the lower glass panes of the shoji into the garden. After remaining silent for a while, he said in a low voice.

“But……… compared to moonlight and insect cries, morning sunlight is better, don’t you think?”

Even so, to my ears, the lingering chirps of insects in the shadows of the plantings still rang out distinctly.
When I turned to look, he was staring fixedly and gave a rare smile.
That feeble, almost bashful smile rising to his emaciated, pallid cheeks—emerging in the crisp brightness—etched itself more deeply into my mind than any fairy tale ever could.

And after that, we never spoke another word about Kōno or the 800 yen.
All such matters had flown away somewhere.—From the surface, it was the nurse who had gained.