Pathway to Japanese Literature

Old Well

I

It was a dimly lit garden of about twenty tsubo that had likely been carefully laid out initially but had long been left untended, now overgrown with plantings of various sizes.
Near the wooden fence bordering the neighboring house at the far end sat a round natural stone.

“Nowadays, it’s quite rare to find a rental house with a garden of this size.”
“That’s why, even though the house is old and dirty, I endure living here.”
“That’s right.”
“The fact that it’s left untended and allowed to grow wild is actually…”
“Moreover, that round stone in the back is rather intriguing.”

In that manner, he had once spoken with Fusako the housewife.

Next to that round natural stone during the rainy season, a small landslide had quietly opened a hole that gradually grew larger—seeming to gulp down rainwater with a thick gurgle as it drained into unfathomable depths.

“Mr. Katayama... This huge hole...”
“When did it form?”

Bathed in the crisp morning sunlight following the rainy season’s end，Fusako，broom in hand，turned toward him.

“Did you just notice now?”
“How carefree of you.”

Slipping into his garden clogs from the veranda，he made his way over.

But upon closer inspection，the hole gaping open beside the stone and slanting steeply downward—though not particularly wide—somehow gave the impression of being part of a vast cavern，its depths impossible to gauge.
Moreover，from the mouth of the hole，ground cracks formed a large semicircle—two or three intermittent fissures running outward.

“Could it be moles?”

“Well, if we’re talking moles…”

“Well then…”

“It’s such an unfathomable hole, isn’t it?”

“Yes, how creepy— Let’s diligently sweep in debris and bury it properly.”

Yet the occasional debris she swept in seemed unlikely to fill it. No sooner had its mouth been temporarily blocked than after the next rainfall, it would gape open again.

For no particular reason, he found his attention drawn to both the hole and the natural stone above it.

It was an ordinary round stone spanning about two arm-lengths, but it occupied an unnatural position—not placed there as part of any garden design with trees and rocks, but rather as if casually discarded where it had either been unearthed or come to rest. A foot or two from the stone lay intermittent ground cracks forming a semicircle, with one end opening into a narrow hole less than a foot long that slanted diagonally downward and widened sideways. When he thrust a stick inside, it slid smoothly through soft mud until striking something hard like a stone wall deeper within. Stepping around the hole caused only the ground between it and the stone to collapse and sink about five inches—as if a vast cavern had formed deep beneath.

“Mr. Katayama, what are you doing?”

One time, Mitsuko, the daughter, noticed from inside the house and came over.

“Oh.”

She had been staring back and forth between the enlarged hole and his face when her expression suddenly turned serious.

“If you do such things, Father will scold you.”

“Huh? Why?”

“He says it’s dangerous.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why… but Father told me you mustn’t fool around here.”

“So there’s something under this stone?”

“I don’t know.”

Mitsuko truly seemed to know nothing at all.

He threw down the stick and tilted his head.

II

——At a certain place, old gold and silver coins—worth about three thousand yen at current value—had been dug up from a garden corner. They appeared to have been placed in a jar and buried during the Meiji Restoration era.

Lying sprawled in his second-floor room, he kept repeating that newspaper article in his mind. It was absurd—but that very absurdity pulled him deeper into wild imaginings.

Suddenly, half-rising to look, he saw through the thickets of hinoki and camellia leaves a figure moving near the hole in the depths of the garden.
Just as he himself had done many times before, he was poking the hole’s bottom with a stick and stepping around its edges.
That was the landlord, Matsuki Shōsaku.

With a blend of realization—Ah, so that’s it…—and contempt—What a brazen bastard…—he lumbered to his feet and made his way down to the engawa below.

From the shadow of the garden’s shrubbery, Matsuki came with a gloomy expression.
He had his usual expression—leaving early in the morning for destinations unknown, returning late at night, and glaring at incomprehensible documents.

“Aren’t you going out today?”

“Yes.”

With only a brusque reply, he came to the veranda and sat down.

“What could that hole over there be?”

“Well… Moles or something…”

He answered nonchalantly and shot a sharp glance at Katayama’s face. But after a moment, he abruptly began to speak.

“At this rate, the stone above might sink in.”

“It’s a nice stone.”

“What was it used for…? It’s a shame to waste such a fine stone.”
“A stone that large with such natural roundness doesn’t come cheap.”
“It’s a shame to waste it.”

And then he shot another sharp glance at his face.
The gleam in his eyes now was identical to when he’d once shown him a few housing blueprints while asking if he knew anyone interested in a bargain-priced property—that same calculating glint lurking beneath the surface.

“Then how about moving it to the side?”

He too glanced back at Matsuki’s face.

“Can the two of us move it?”

“It’s fine. We can manage a stone of that size….”

Thinking that the stone wasn’t the issue—the real spectacle would come later—he leapt down energetically, barefoot.

Iron bars, straw ropes, hoes—such things were prepared.

The stone appeared half-buried in soil, but unexpectedly its base was flat—it was merely resting atop the ground. There was no need to dig deeply. However, when they tried to lever and push it using the iron bar, the ground there would collapse or their feet would sink in, making it somewhat difficult. But this complication proved fortuitous—by threading a straw rope beneath it, the two of them managed to shift the stone.

Letting out a relieved breath, they looked and saw an unexpectedly large hole yawning open—its edges revealing a foot-wide fault line as if it were a sinkhole.

"What on earth could this be here…?"

He glanced briefly at Matsuki’s face.

"Might be the remains of a filled-in pond or something."

Matsuki turned away and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Even so…”

When they stepped forcefully around the area, testing it, the extent of the collapse gradually expanded.

“Let’s dig it up.”

“Well… Carelessly getting involved…”

“Oh, come on—it’s your own garden, isn’t it? If you’re thinking of digging a goldfish pond…”
Matsuki shot a sharp glance at his face.

“Ah, a goldfish pond…” After a brief pause, he began speaking rapidly. “Mitsuko is fond of goldfish, you see. I bought her quite a lot of them, but you know how it is with glass bowls—they’d die quickly, so I stopped getting goldfish altogether after that. But if we dig a pond here, that shouldn’t happen anymore. There’s nothing to explain. I can manage this alone. As you can see, the ground here’s already crumbling… But well, do stay and witness this. If skeletal remains were to come out, that would be troublesome… It’s truly an inexplicable hole… If you would kindly stay and witness this, it would put my mind at ease.”

He trotted over to the engawa, stripped off his kimono, and returned wearing nothing but a loincloth.

He was holding an iron bar and sitting on the stone they had moved.

Matsuki stepped into the hole and gradually expanded it by digging from the edge.
The sunlight filtering through the bushes danced brightly over unexpectedly robust muscles.
The excavation seemed easy—apart from the hard upper layer of ground, it was all soft black soil, and even when they reached a depth up to their knees, it remained the same kind of soil throughout.
The hole’s original location became indiscernible from the haphazard digging, but soon the hoe’s tip clinked against something, revealing a layer interspersed with pebbles.

“Hmm, this is…”

Covered in sweat and standing with the hoe handle as a cane, Matsuki’s eyes shone with an unnatural gleam.

“There’s an unusual amount of pebbles packed in here.”

His eyes lit up instinctively as he peered in.

“And they’re packed unusually tight…”

Along the layer of pebbles, Matsuki continued digging deeper.
It gradually became circular, forming a circle four to five shaku in diameter.
The surrounding area was packed with pebbles and hard, while only the center was soft with fresh black soil.
When he had dug it down to above his knees, Matsuki jumped out of the hole and tilted his head in thought for a while.

“This is… What is this? It must be the remains of an old well.”

“Huh? An old well.”

He also stood up and peered into the hole.

“It’s the remains of a filled-in old well.”

When it was mentioned, it indeed seemed to be exactly that.

“Then no matter how much we dig, it’s pointless.”

“It’s no good.”

They inadvertently spoke and met each other’s gaze.
In an instant, Matsuki made a ferocious expression—then burst into loud laughter: “Ahaha!”

“Trying to dig a goldfish pond over an old well… It’s just…”

Perhaps unable to bring himself to say "It’s no good," he abruptly fell silent, then—as if suddenly enraged—began restoring the excavated black soil to its original state.

Until the soil was completely restored, Matsuki did not take a single break.
In the morning sunlight, he watched Matsuki’s greasy vigor with an ironic gaze, yet for some reason, he himself couldn’t quite settle his feelings.

Perhaps because it had been dug up, the ground became flat without showing any lack of soil.

“While we’re at it, could I have you help me for a moment?”

Matsuki suddenly demanded this and, while making him assist, positioned the circular natural stone in a suitable spot in the garden.
Then, looking even more displeased, he went off toward the back entrance.

After Matsuki had washed his hands and feet and left for the public bath, he remained seated on the engawa, vacantly blowing cigarette smoke.

At that moment, Fusako arrived.

“Did you figure out what that hole was?”

“Oh? Didn’t Mr. Matsuki say anything about it?”

“Yes, he never tells me anything at all, and I don’t particularly…”

“Huh.”
“How strange.”

With a look that seemed to ask what was so strange about it, she inquired again.

“And that hole…”

“It’s the remains of a buried old well, I hear.”

“An old well,” she said, her eyes widening slightly.
“Now that I know, I feel relieved.”

“‘I feel relieved,’ you say?”

“Yes, I thought it would be troublesome if it were the remains of a grave or something…”

With kind-looking eyes, she was gazing out toward the garden.

He suddenly began to chuckle darkly—*kukuku*…

“My, what are you laughing about?”

The contrast between Matsuki—whose odds of success were one in a thousand, maybe three in ten thousand—failing to unearth treasure and fuming over it, and his wife, who remained oblivious yet felt relieved upon hearing it was an old well, finally settled his own unsettled feelings.

He chuckled darkly to himself again—*kukuku*…

III

The remains of the old well, lightly covered with soil, gradually sank with each rainfall but no longer opened into a hole.
And only the circular natural stone remained, positioned triumphantly in the center of the desolate garden.

Before he knew it, he had almost forgotten about the old well.
However, one night that autumn, he had a strange dream.

He was sitting on a high-floored engawa in an unknown place. Before him spread a sprawling garden—from the artificial hill and plantings to the arrangement of stones—all of which evoked the estate of a daimyo from times past. In the center of the garden, there was a well. Huh? he thought—and in that instant, right above the well, on the pulley frame, a young woman was perched. Though her kimono was unclear, she was a beautiful woman with her hair in a high shimada style, smiling sweetly in his direction. Thinking her a spirited woman, he started to tease her a few times. He couldn’t remember what he had said, but because the woman kept smiling, he gradually began hurling harsher insults. As this went on, the woman suddenly raised her eyebrows sharply, shouted “What do you think you’re doing!” in a man-like voice, slid smoothly down from the well frame, and came straight toward him. He tried to flee, but his body wouldn't move. By now, the woman had come right before his eyes, grabbed the collar of his kimono, and began tightening her grip. With an enormous force—as if pressed down by a massive boulder—no matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t even move. The woman kept tightening her grip on his collar while relentlessly pushing forward. He was pressed against the engawa pillar, his breath cut off, body crushed, enduring the agony with a groan—and in that instant, he gasped awake.

His entire body was covered in a greasy sweat, and his limbs were numb.

But what was even more strange than that was how each scene from the dream remained vividly etched in his mind, as if viewed through a spyglass, with a clarity surpassing reality. The garden’s state, the pulley well, the woman with high shimada-style hair perched on the well frame—her smooth descent and tightening grip on his collar—each of these floated up with a shadowless brightness. However, he understood nothing about anything outside the garden or below the woman’s neck.

He felt a strange, creeping chill, sat up, and turned on the light.
The room flared to brightness, yet in some deep darkness beyond the light’s reach—the garden, the pulley well, and the woman remained vividly outlined, refusing to fade.

Even so, he deemed it spineless to wake the household members and endured the eeriness in silence, ultimately lasting through the night until dawn.

Unlike his usual dreams, this unnervingly vivid one clung to his mind persistently.
He tried linking it to the garden’s old well but found the notion too absurd to share with anyone. Still, an unease took root deep in his thoughts, and from then on he began sleeping with the light left on.

That memory had faded imperceptibly from his mind, and come the following spring, he went out with a few friends to see a play.
Within the program was *Sarayashiki*.
Upon seeing that scene, he clearly recalled the dream.

Up to that point had been manageable, but during the intermission, as they drank, the conversation expanded from the lore of *Sarayashiki* to the deeds of daimyo from ages past.
At that moment, one of his friends told him a strange story.

“……In that case, it’s exactly around your boarding house.”
“In that area, there once was a residence of a direct retainer of the shogun—a man who was apparently quite short-tempered and violent.”
“One day, while looking after the child, a maid was playing in the garden.”
“And somehow, the child fell into the garden well and died.”
“It was the kind like the well from *Sarayashiki*—the sort that were common in the spacious gardens of old.”
“Well, the lord’s rage was beyond description.”
“The lord had her bound, dragged her to the well, and while repeating, ‘You’re the one who dropped the child in here, aren’t you? You did it…,’ he forced her head into the well, tormented her relentlessly, and finally—in a sudden motion—cleanly severed her neck, letting it fall into the well.”
“After that, my grandmother would tell me detailed stories when I was still young—about how there were strange occurrences around that well—but after she died, I forgot all about those trivial tales along with her.”
“But anyway, executing a servant with their own hands—the daimyo of old seemed unfazed by such things.”

He was jolted to the core and stared at his friend’s face for a long moment.

“So that… what’s-it-called direct retainer’s residence—was it near my boarding house?”

“Well, my memory’s hazy, but according to my grandmother’s story, the town name and address do seem to match up… What’s with that weird face you’re making? What, is something gonna come out?”

“It won’t come out…”

“Ha ha ha! If something shows up, it’d be a real treat! Compared to something like *Sarayashiki*, that’s more real and interesting, but you know.”

Dismissed with a laugh, he ended up failing to bring up the matter of his dream.

However, that weighed heavily on his mind. He had no interest in watching the rest of the play and simply stared blankly, his mind incessantly circling back to the dream and his friend’s story. It wasn’t uncommon for people to dream of something after hearing a tale, but it was rare indeed to have a dream match it before ever hearing the story. Moreover, it had been an unnervingly vivid and eerie dream. Not only that—the more he thought about the excavated old well’s traces and that peculiar natural stone—the more tangled the suspicious threads became.

And so, he spent that night and the following day in an uncanny state of mind.
When he looked toward the garden, the round natural stone seemed to glow faintly bluish-white, perhaps due to the undersides of leaves in the thicket.
And the remains of the old well had sunk across their entire surface by about four or five sun, were already covered in moss, and revealed a distinctly circular shape.

“What are you so absorbed in thinking about?”

Having said that, Fusako peered in at him as he crouched on the engawa.

Seeing her kind face with its dull eyes, he suddenly felt the urge to confess everything to her.

“Oh!”

Her easygoing face stiffened slightly.

“But since it’s merely an old story with unclear origins and a single dream I had, it might all be my imagination.”

“But now that you mention it, that stone does seem odd… Why would anyone place something like that right in the garden’s center?”

“Well, taken alone, it’s rather fascinating… No—it must simply be my imagination.”
“Please keep this matter strictly between us.”
“If word got out carelessly and made us objects of ridicule—that would be disastrous.”

“Yes, I won’t breathe a word to anyone, but…”

“What a time to have seen a play about O-Kiku—of all things.”

Having said that, he gave a wry smile for the first time.
In truth, having confessed everything to her, he felt as though a weight had lifted from his chest.

4

About two weeks later, one afternoon, a man came visiting downstairs.
Since Matsuki was absent, Fusako handled the reception for a while, but before long, the two went out to the garden and stood talking near the old well.
He was a lanky, elderly man with half-graying hair, wearing a dark meisen silk kimono and an old crepe heko obi tied around his waist.

He had been reading a book on the second floor, but the voices near the old well began to trouble him, and he casually went downstairs to check on the situation.
Then he was intercepted by the old man sitting on the engawa.

Through the conversation’s tone, he realized the old man was the property manager.
At first, the man casually addressed him, detained him with trivial matters, then gradually steered the conversation toward the old well through roundabout means.
Beside them, Fusako—appearing somehow unsettled—kept signaling to him with her eyes, but he failed to grasp her intent and continued giving vague responses—when suddenly something unexpected slipped from the old man’s lips.
Their daughter Mitsuko, it was said, was often tormented by nightmares.

“What? You’re saying Mitsuko is having nightmares?”

At his startled words, Fusako flinched and lowered her face, but the old man began scrutinizing his expression intently with his narrow eyes.

“No, well—it’s just that upon hearing about the old well’s remains, she had a brief dream. Such things are common in children, so there’s truly no need for concern—as I’ve been explaining to Mrs. Fusako even now…”

“Yes, it’s nothing serious.”
“Speaking of which, actually, even I have had strange dreams before, you see.”
“Hmm… If that’s the case, then perhaps it’s still related to that old well after all…”

“Yes, it was a foolish dream.”

There, intending to reassure Fusako and the old man, he briefly recounted the dream.
Of course, he did not mention his friend’s old story.

Fusako remained silent throughout, but the old man gradually leaned forward and began tilting his head. After he finished speaking, the old man said in a conclusive tone following a pause:

“I suppose there are truths beyond reason in this world. We must devise some way to address this…”

“No—it’s precisely because you dwell on it and worry that you end up having dreams,” Katayama countered. “If you simply didn’t fixate on it, traces of old wells could be found anywhere…”

“Well, you could say it’s like that, but since Mrs. Fusako is concerned too, it’s best for our mutual benefit to keep things… unremarkable in society.”

The tone of the conversation had become completely opposite to how it began.
Moreover, Fusako kept her gaze downward, occasionally darting glances his way.
Unable to make sense of it, he retreated upstairs.

As he was about to ascend the stairs, Mitsuko sat vacantly in a corner of the tearoom.
He took her upstairs to the second floor.

“I just heard—do you have dreams about the old well?”

Mitsuko stared fixedly at his face and remained silent.

“Why did you hide it from me?”
“What? What kind of dreams do you have?”
“Tell me.”
“Well? What kind of dreams?”

Mitsuko shook her head.

“Look, I can’t understand if you stay silent. Tell me the truth.”
“Huh? What’s wrong?”

Mitsuko put on a frightened face and spoke in a low voice.

“I don’t have any dreams.”

“Huh? You don’t have them?”
“But Mother says you have nightmares….”

Mitsuko stared blankly into space for a moment, then suddenly clung to his shoulder and began whispering.

“I don’t have any dreams.”
“But… Father says I have to claim I have scary dreams…”
“When I said I didn’t want to, he scolded me terribly.”
“So I told them with all my might.”
“That I have scary dreams and can’t sleep at all.”
“Then that old man stared straight at my face.”
“I got so flustered, I recited all those scary dream stories exactly as I was taught.”
“Father said after hearing the stories, I had to believe they were real—so I kept thinking ‘I saw it in a dream, I saw it in a dream’ over and over.”
“Then somehow… it started feeling like I really did see it.”
“I’m scared.”

Her eyes were blazing.

“What kind of dream was it?”

That was an absurd dream.
In a vast, beautiful garden stood a pulley well; at the site of the old well lay traces of an infant's crying; a woman's head came rolling from some unknown place; there were various other elements too.
Yet one could clearly see how every detail derived from those old tales he'd heard from his friend.

“And Mother…”

“When I got scolded and cried, Mother would quarrel with Father and get beaten badly.”
“And then she never takes my side at all.”
“And the fact that you had those dreams—that’s true, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t…… But I’m scared.”

He embraced Mitsuko.

“I’ll stay with you from now on, so you mustn’t think about those dream stories anymore.”
“Look—you’ll end up forgetting it all.”
“No matter who asks anything, say you don’t know and let yourself forget it all.”

Mitsuko had been clinging to his shoulder but finally burst into tears.

“Don’t cry.”

As he said this, he furrowed his brows, placed a hand on his forehead, and sank deep into thought.

Six or seven well-digging laborers came and began excavating the old well site in the back of the garden once more.

He seethed alone with nowhere to direct his indignation. He couldn’t confront Matsuki directly, nor could he press Fusako for details out of fear Mitsuko might face reprisals later.

He took opportunities to draw out the general circumstances from Fusako through subtle probing. Everything had stemmed entirely from Matsuki’s designs and unfolded precisely as planned. Having learned from Fusako about both his tenant’s dreams and the old legends, Matsuki concocted a scheme and negotiated with the property manager—who proved gullible enough to swallow it whole. Even Katayama’s candid accounts of his nightmares had been twisted to serve the opposite purpose. In the end, under terms requiring secrecy about the haunting, they secured a modest rent reduction for six months while arranging to have the old well excavated anew.

He would occasionally go down to the garden and gaze with a strange feeling at the black soil that had been buried being dug up and carried away.

The elderly property manager also came around periodically to inspect.

“That round stone that remained at the well site… What happened to it?”

After he said it, he suddenly felt a pang of guilt.
However, the old man seemed not to notice anything and answered while looking toward the stone in the center of the garden.

“That must also be because they buried a well that shouldn’t have been buried, leading to such an outcome.”
“But once they dig it back to its original state, such stones become unnecessary—heh-heh-heh—no need to worry anymore… Generally speaking, digging up something you’ve already buried—they say there’s no precedent for that in the law. But since burying it in the first place was wrong, they claim this actually restores it to legal compliance…”

The well had reportedly been buried about ten years prior, during the time of the previous property manager, after becoming old and dilapidated.

And what had been newly reconstructed was a pulley well exactly as it had existed in former times.

The Shinto priest who had come when they first began digging arrived once more in white vestments and conducted prayers facing the well.
He arranged a simple offering table decorated with branches of sacred evergreen, chanted incantations while brandishing a ritual wand, and repeatedly scattered alternating handfuls of salt and ceremonial sake into its depths.

He glared from afar at Matsuki’s sunburned, swarthy face with its usual gloomy and expressionless forehead. And he did not approach the well.

The well began to be used for various purposes. A large basket was prepared for chilling beer, watermelons, and other items by suspending them, while the water was used for sprinkling the garden. Matsuki washed his face with well water every morning.

Matsuki would sometimes return home unexpectedly during the day, wipe the sweat from his back with well water, then dash off to who-knows-where. When Katayama spotted this figure from the second-floor veranda, he hurriedly hid behind the shoji screen.

At the new wellside where dappled sunlight filtered through a large maple tree's shadow, Katayama peered through the hinoki hedge and felt inexpressible indignation rise within him as he watched Matsuki—his stocky torso and short legs clad only in a loincloth—vigorously scrubbing himself with a cold towel soaked in well water. Not only did Matsuki's greasy sweat seem to defile the maple shadows and pristine wellside, but all manner of unwanted thoughts came flooding into his mind at once.

However, he could do nothing.
Avoiding Matsuki’s naked body, he seethed alone behind the shoji screen.

The only thing that gave him some small comfort was that Mitsuko never once approached the well, often staying apart and lost in thought. She would often come upstairs and silently stay by his side. He came to like being alone with her like that—without talking or playing, simply idling.

Mitsuko seemed to be growing thinner and thinner. Her complexion grew noticeably pale, the skin from her forehead to her cheeks bristled as if covered in goosebumps, and her eyes darkened with an unnatural gleam. Even when occasionally taken to places like zoos or botanical gardens, she showed little enthusiasm.

He grew worried and repeatedly asked if her condition was worsening.
However, she only silently shook her head.

“There’s nothing wrong anywhere.”

Finally saying this, she managed a faint smile.

Fusako too seemed to begin worrying about Mitsuko’s condition in that state. Then one day, she told him with a puzzled air that Mitsuko appeared to be waking up frequently during the night.

He was surprised. He pressed further with questions, but Fusako’s account grew even more disjointed. There were times when she would suddenly sit up on her futon in the middle of the night, but even that seemed to be done in a daze, and she would quietly lie back down—that was all there was to it.

“No matter how much I ask, she won’t say a thing, so could you please try asking her?”

“Let me see…”

He gave an ambiguous reply, but it had grown increasingly concerning to him.
However, no matter how much he asked Mitsuko, he couldn’t obtain a clear answer.
But then, on a rainy evening when the shower fell in soft patters, Mitsuko suddenly caught him on the downstairs veranda.

“I’m scared.”

“Huh? What?”

“Because that spot is open.”

When he looked where she was pointing, there was a gap of two or three inches in the transom panel of the veranda.

“When I’m asleep, I can see outside from there at night.”

He realized for the first time what it was, had Fusako find a piece of wood, and plugged the transom gap for her.

“This should do it.”

“Yes.”

He took Mitsuko, who had nodded, up to the second floor and began slowly asking her various questions.
Mitsuko spoke haltingly, her words coming in scattered fragments.
As expected, it seemed she was having strange dreams at night.

“It’s like… something pitch-black is coming from the wellside.”

The dreams apparently ended there, but whenever she had them, she would remain unable to sleep indefinitely.

“Why don’t you tell Mom about that?”

“But…”

“In such cases, you should wake Mom up.”

“But… I get scolded.”

“Have you been scolded before?”

“Yes, by Father.”

“Why…?”

“I had a dream, then couldn’t sleep, and when I sat up on my futon, Father suddenly got up and glared at me with terrifying eyes.”
“If I say I can’t sleep because of a dream, he snaps, ‘Then you don’t need to have any dreams—just go to sleep right away!’... And then he threatens, ‘If you do this again from now on, I’ll make you suffer!’...”
“So I got so scared that I burrowed headfirst into the futon.”

“Did Father say such things to you?”

“Yes…
“So even when I have nightmares and can’t sleep, I just keep enduring it quietly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?
“No matter how much I asked, you kept hiding things…
“From now on, you must tell me everything.”

“Yes.”
“But…”

“Oh, it’s nothing…”

“Father…”

“Did he say something to you?”

“Yes, um… the other day, I told the Old man I was having scary dreams—lied about it….”
“He was afraid I’d told on him about that.”
“And then… he said if I tell Mr. Katayama anything from now on, he’ll make me suffer terribly….”

“But did you tell Father that you talked to me?”

“No.”

“Then… to your mother…?”

“No, I won’t tell anyone.”

“In that case, how did Father find out? I didn’t tell anyone either…”

“He knows everything.”

“Huh? Why?”

“For some reason, he… he just knows everything. That’s why I’m scared.”

Mitsuko fixed her eyes and stared at his face as if clinging to him. He clenched his lips.

“From now on, I’ll handle everything for you, all right? You must confide everything in me. And if Father ever scolds you, come fleeing to my place.”

“If you do that…”

“I don’t mind.”
“That’s so cruel….”

He simultaneously felt an eerie unease and a seething indignation.

After enduring it silently and comforting Mitsuko in various ways, when he went downstairs, Fusako was doing needlework in the tearoom.
Upon seeing that kindly yet insensitive face, he suddenly lashed out.

“Mitsuko is still having scary dreams and can’t sleep at night. To leave that untreated until now—isn’t that terribly cruel?”

“Oh my… She’s having nightmares and can’t sleep…?”

“That’s right. It’s also because you tried to make her lie to deceive the property manager.”

Fusako muttered with a blank look at his intense tone.

“I tried to stop him, but my husband insisted…”

“No matter what Mr. Matsuki says, aren’t you her mother? You should be protecting her to the end—that’s what a mother would truly do.”

“But…”

“The root of it is you’re too softhearted—that’s the issue.”
“Do you truly not know what schemes Mr. Matsuki devises? What deeds he carries out?”

“As matters stand, he shares nothing with me…”

“Because you never make any effort to inquire.”

“Even if I ask, I don’t understand anything, and when they tell me women shouldn’t interfere in men’s work…”

“How can you not feel uneasy about that?”

“I’m just… this is my nature…”

“Even so—don’t you care for Mitsuko at all?”

“Yes, that’s already…”

“Then you have to at least be firmer when it comes to Mitsuko…”

“I do think so myself, but…”

“Do you actually understand how Mitsuko feels right now?”

“That’s why I’m telling you…”

“Are you deigning to say that you’ll have someone listen to you… about your own daughter?”

In that way, as he kept cornering Fusako with his words, his fervor gradually drained away until he fell silent.
He couldn’t tell whether it was absurdity or fury coursing through him.
Then, after some time had passed, Fusako suddenly spoke.

“I’ve given up after all these years.”

When she suddenly teared up with a sigh, he was left dumbfounded.

Seven

"What a gathering of nothing but strange people," he thought.
And that thought always settled into resentment toward Matsuki.

However, when face-to-face with Matsuki, he found himself utterly unable to speak.
Since they had dug up the hole in the garden, he had scarcely spoken to Matsuki.
And he could only simmer in frustration in the shadows.

Matsuki still seemed to spend all day rushing about for his endless jobs.
When he returned home at night, he would smoke cigarettes endlessly in the tearoom or sit glaring at documents in the back tatami room, remaining mostly silent and barely speaking to his family.

He, too, sometimes sat motionless in the downstairs tearoom, enduring the mosquito bites with a defiant air, as if to counter him.

All of his consciousness was wrenched toward Matsuki, and smoldering irritation grew increasingly fierce.

Matsuki, who always talked in amounts ending with “hundred thousand”—two hundred thousand, five hundred thousand; Matsuki, who pawned even his wife’s kimonos when desperate; Matsuki, who went so far as to force his twelve- or thirteen-year-old daughter into a dangerous charade to deceive the property manager; Matsuki, who crushed his wife into submission until she seemed a fool; Matsuki, who terrorized his daughter into perpetual fear; Matsuki, who barely spoke to anyone yet understood everything—the entirety of this Matsuki’s existence had become unbearable to him.

The sun-darkened, swarthy forehead perpetually gloomy and expressionless; the coarse buzz-cut hair already showing scattered white strands despite his not being particularly old; eyes that clouded oddly or gleamed sharply depending on the moment; a seemingly robust set of teeth and rigid lips; thick neck; long torso; short legs—though no single feature stood out as abnormal, the entire body grew more detestable the longer one looked, until he found it unbearable.

That figure—there, under the electric light—crouched heavily like a toad.
His very existence seemed like a sin already.

Even as he thought it absurd, his consciousness kept being drawn in that direction. Moving his hands and feet—even the slightest shift of his body felt as if each motion were mirrored by the other man. If he stayed still and endured it, a greasy sweat seemed to ooze from his forehead.

If some opportunity arose—if there was even a slight trigger—he thought he would lash out: that very thought alone filled him with terror at what he might do.

Both Fusako and Mitsuko were cowering in the corner.

Matsuki gestured to Fusako with his chin and had her cut the watermelon that had been chilling in the well since daytime.
And he offered it to him as well.

“My stomach’s a bit upset.”

With great effort, he managed to say just that and, as if fleeing from Matsuki—who was silently munching on watermelon—retreated upstairs to his room.
And for the first time, he could breathe easily.

Even when I told myself, "What the hell am I doing?" the moment I faced Matsuki, I couldn’t do a thing about him.

When Matsuki was home, even Mitsuko would muffle her footsteps when coming upstairs.
When she came to his room, she seemed to sigh in relief.
“Are you still having the dreams?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Then I’ll lend you something good.”
“If you place this by your pillow when you sleep, you won’t have any bad dreams at all.”
“Okay? Convince yourself of that and sleep soundly.”

Until now he had hesitated, but resolutely taking out a small short sword less than a foot long, he handed it over.

“Oh! This is a sword.”

“Yes.”

Though she had placed it apprehensively on her lap and was staring at it, he forced her to take it in her hands.

“If you keep this by your pillow when you sleep, you’ll never have bad dreams.”

“But they’ll find it.”

“I don’t care.
“Just tell them I made you take it.”

“Will I get in trouble?”

“If they scold you, run away.
“I’ll handle the explanations.”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Yes. You’ll be fine.”

What did he care if something happened? He sternly told this to his own strangely jittery heart.

Eight

Mitsuko had stopped having nightmares.
She suddenly grew lively and spirited.

“You won’t have any more dreams, will you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sleeping well?”

“Yes.”
“I can sleep well.”

Mitsuko smiled and looked at his face.

“Then you don’t need that sword anymore, do you?”

Mitsuko shook her head.

“Huh? Why…?”
“You shouldn’t keep holding onto something like that forever.”

“Because if I have those dreams again, it’ll be trouble.”

“I’ll lend it to you again when that happens.”

“No! That—give it to me!”

“What are you going to do with something like that?”

“I’ll keep it safe.”

“If you do that, you’ll really get scolded.”

“It’s okay. Because no one knows.”

“But you did sleep with it by your pillow, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Then what did you do?”

“So that no one would notice, I slept holding it.”

“Huh? You slept holding the sword?”

“Yes, I slept holding it every night, and in the morning, I’d quietly tuck it away.”

“Where?”
“In there—your closet in the three-tatami room.”

With a happy smile, she blinked her eyes rapidly.

“So that’s why you stayed silent even when I asked about the sword.”

With a teasing laugh, she suddenly leaped at his neck.

“Hey, give that to me.”

“I could give it to you, but…”

“You’ll give it to me?”
“I’m happy!”

She tightly hugged his neck, then nimbly leaped back and shook the veranda railing with all her might.

Her features resembled her mother’s, with a round, animated contour, but her mouth was drawn tighter than her mother’s, and her long-lashed eyes shone clear.
At the base of her ear was a small mole.

“Oh, from here, that well looks pretty.”

Even though she saw it every day, she stared wide-eyed as if seeing it for the first time.

“A ghost comes out from there now, you know.”

He first tried making a joke.

"No way!"

"But it did appear, didn't it?"

"Lies! Lies!"

She flew over to him and covered his mouth.

“I’m going to study now. Teach me the parts I don’t understand, okay?”

“Yes.”

Because of this, Mitsuko began coming up to the second floor constantly.
And she wouldn’t go back down until called.
At times, even when called, she wouldn’t readily get up.

“Won’t you get scolded?”

“It’s okay.”
“I don’t care.”

As she grew more cheerful, she began displaying gestures that belittled her mother. Not only that, but she also seemed to start looking down on her father.

He watched over her behavior with a peculiar emotion.

When Matsuki returned home and didn’t see Mitsuko, he called out loudly from downstairs.

“There!”

Mitsuko went downstairs with a sarcastic smile, but at night—even with Matsuki stationed in the tea room—she would unhesitatingly come up to the second floor again.

“I had a fight with Father.”

“With Father….”

He was surprised and stared at her triumphant face.

“Yes! Because he’s being awful! He tells me not come up TO THE second floor or stay up THERE without coming back down…. I was so frustrated I ran out INTO THE garden AND threatened TO jump INTO THE well.”

“Why did YOU pick such A fight?”

“I don't know.”
“HE SAID THERE WAS NO UNFILIAL CHILD LIKE ME AND RAISED HIS FIST SO I RAN ALL THE WAY TO THE WELL.”

He had dismissed it without much thought, but when Fusako told him that Mitsuko sometimes ran out threatening to jump into the well, he was shocked.

“Whenever something upsets her, she immediately does that. Though she likely won’t actually jump, I still worry.”

Fusako had lowered her voice as if divulging an important secret.

However, one evening, a real commotion arose.

It was past ten o'clock.

Suddenly, a loud commotion of voices and noises erupted downstairs.
Just as it had grown quiet for a moment, hurried footsteps sounded from the direction of the garden.

He started and ran downstairs.

In the middle of the back room, Matsuki stood rigidly.
His eyes glaring wildly, his complexion changed.

“What happened?”

He instinctively blurted out, but Matsuki gave no reply.
Then, sliding open all the storm shutters, Matsuki went down into the garden.
He followed behind.

Fusako was rummaging about in various spots around the garden.

“What’s happened?”

“Just now... Mitsuko said she’d jump into the well and ran out through the back door...”

Leaving her sentence unfinished, she began pacing restlessly around the area.

There was no moonlight, and the garden was pitch black.
The light from the back room streamed through the single open storm shutter, abruptly spilling over the thicket of shrubs.

Even when they peered into the well or tried to see through the thicket, there was no trace of Mitsuko to be found.

As their initial panic began to subside, the three of them stood vacantly in the garden.

“Nonsense! As if she’d jump into the well right away!”

Matsuki’s suddenly resounding, irritating voice struck him.
He flared up.

“This... This is no time to be saying such things!”

In the darkness, the two men stood facing each other, their faces close.
One second... two seconds... passed.
He trembled violently.

“Hmph. Getting all worked up like that—your audacity knows no bounds.”

With that retort, Matsuki whirled around and began walking toward the zashiki room.
He turned rigid like stone.
His voice wouldn’t come out.
He stood with his fists clenched.
Fusako grabbed his sleeve.

“You, please….”
“My husband is in a state of agitation right now….”

At her nervous demeanor, he snapped back to his senses as if waking from a dream.

“Please… don’t say anything more…”
“More importantly, Mitsuko…”

However, his head had suddenly cleared, and the words hurled by Matsuki now filled his chest.

Silently turning around, he tried to enter from the back door opposite Matsuki when he noticed small footprints on the wooden floor, leaving black mud marks.
He stopped and gazed vacantly at them.

Fusako, who had followed from behind, also noticed the footprints almost simultaneously.

“Ah! This—she must’ve—”
“She must’ve gone into the house.”

He instinctively realized.
Suddenly running out and going up to the second floor, he found Mitsuko huddled in the corner of the three-mat room.

He stood blankly.
Mitsuko suddenly burst into tears and clung to his knees.

Then Fusako arrived.

“Oh my!”
“You…”

After that, there were no words.

He slumped down there and stroked Mitsuko’s head.

Until Fusako managed to calm and coax Mitsuko into going downstairs by force, he didn’t utter a word.

When he was alone, he tried opening the closet.
In the back, the short sword remained hidden.

He let out a relieved breath, returned to the six-mat room, placed both elbows on the desk, and cradled his head in his hands.

The words hurled directly by Matsuki gradually took on clear meaning.
He pondered the nature of his relationship with Mitsuko and, startling himself, looked up.

In the pitch-black night sky, stars shone sparsely.

I should move out.
Having thought that—before he could even determine whether he had resolved to do it or not—his eyes grew hot with tears.
And once again, he buried his head in his hands on the desk.

Nine

The crisply clear, beautiful morning sun of early autumn shone across the entire engawa.
He sprawled out there and was agonizing over what to do next.

With a bright face as if she had completely forgotten last night’s events, Mitsuko came climbing up the stairs with light steps.
But she quickly noticed his expression and stopped for a moment.
That standing figure stretched up smoothly, as if still attempting to rise even higher.

“Miss Mitsuko.”

As he called out, he half-rose.

“What is it?”

When he stared intently, her sensitive eyes and the mole at the base of her ear held a mature allure he hadn’t noticed until now.

“I may have to move out due to some circumstances, but…”

“Why?”

“Just because…”

Only the light in her eyes moved with alertness; in every other way, she remained entirely childlike as she suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

“No! Don’t move out!”
“I don’t want you to!”

“But even if you say such nonsense…”

“No! I won’t allow it!”
“I’ll be all alone…… If you leave, I’ll follow you.”

“What would you do if you followed me?”

"But I'd be in trouble!"
"All alone..."

"You have Father and Mother, don't you?"

"Even with them here, I'm still alone."

"That's unreasonable..."

"No! I won't allow it! I won't no matter what!"

Mitsuko began to shake his shoulder.

“Fine then, I’ll really jump into the well.”

“And then you’ll hide in the second-floor three-mat room, right?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Suddenly adopting a serious tone, her eyes began to gleam fiercely.

“What’s wrong?”
She remained silent.
“Are you angry?”

“That’s enough! I’ll really jump in, you know.”

He took in the sight of her eyebrows twitching sharply and felt a jolt in his chest.
Rather than dangerous, it was as if something unknowable was swirling within her innermost being.
She remained silent as if she had resolved herself with single-minded intensity.

“You know, I’ve thought it through, but I can’t help feeling it’s bad for me to stay in this house.”
“You’ll understand such things before long.”
“Listen—even if I move out, I’ll come visit sometimes. Isn’t that all right?”
“No!”

Having declared this firmly, she fell silent again.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Stay at home. Stay here forever.”

He let out a sigh.
There was nothing he could do.
After a moment, Mitsuko's voice suddenly became tearful.

“No! I won’t! No matter what!”
“Hey, if I ever do anything wrong, I’ll apologize.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I won’t talk about jumping into the well anymore.”

“But your father must have said something, right?”

“Yes… he said something terrible.”
“So I shoved my desk aside and ran out.”

“What exactly did he say to you?”

“That we’re getting along way too well… and… pretending to be a married couple…”

“What? He said that to you?”

“Yes. I got so angry I lost control… but I’m fine now.”
“Whatever Father says, I don’t care anymore.”

Before those innocent eyes that stared at him without a trace of shame, he gradually lowered his face.
And then, his mind suddenly cleared.

“That’s right… I’ll stop moving out.”

She smiled and nodded.

"I was thinking foolish things."

"What are you talking about?"

He pulled her close as she gazed up at him, then softly pressed his lips against her forehead.
She stayed perfectly still.

“We’ll stay calm no matter what happens.”

“Yes, I’ll stay calm.”

He gazed at the clear morning sunlight and clenched both fists.

However, when Mitsuko went downstairs, he found himself seized by anxious restlessness once more.
While Mitsuko had been with him, he felt calm and clear-headed, but once alone, everything clouded over with gloom.

He paced around the room in circles, often losing himself in the process.

Ten

He had not exchanged a single word with Matsuki since the night of the commotion.
He avoided even meeting face-to-face as much as possible.
He also spoke little with Fusako.
Fusako, for her part, was also oddly silent.

Matsuki would sometimes return home during the day and, as was his habit, wipe the sweat from his back by the garden well.
He seemed to be suffering from the lingering summer heat due to his profuse sweating.

The sight of Matsuki in that state was the most unbearable thing for him.
Even when he tried not to look, he could still see directly below from the second floor.
He deliberately closed the shoji screens tightly and stretched out on the opposite corner.
Even so, the sound of the pulley well came through clearly.

Why am I so agitated? I asked myself, but no clear answer came.

Was it unacceptable that Matsuki was Mitsuko’s father……or that he was neither a great villain nor a good man, but merely a mediocre man of little schemes and emotional detachment……No—his very existence was unbearable to him.

Where did such hatred come from? He couldn’t understand it at all. If it were hatred born of arguments or brawls, he might have found a way to manage it—but this fundamental loathing, this speechless revulsion that seized him whenever they faced one another, defied all remedy.

The other night, when they faced each other in the garden’s darkness, he later clearly recalled how a murderous impulse had stirred somewhere within him. As his emotions built up, he felt as though something might burst at any moment. At night, when his awareness turned to Matsuki waiting in a downstairs room or sleeping under the same roof, he felt an impulse he couldn’t suppress.

To escape from such dangerous emotions, he sought out Mitsuko incessantly. To Mitsuko, who possessed a certain hysterical yet radiant quality, he found himself increasingly captivated. It was neither romantic love nor pity—an inexplicable emotion.

“Do you like your father?”

“I hate him.”

“What about your mother?”

“I neither like nor dislike her.”

And with Mitsuko’s eyes sparkling, he lifted her onto his lap.

“If I say I’m going somewhere, will you come with me anywhere?”

“Yes, I’ll go.”

“Anywhere at all.”

“Yes.”

The only way might be for the two of them to run far away, he thought.
Yet again, the inexplicable hatred he felt toward Matsuki instead kept him bound to the house.

As long as Matsuki was alive…… He gritted his teeth.

And while he was tormented by his solitary emotions, Mitsuko suddenly fell ill and took to her bed.

She had been lively and cheerful just moments before, so the suddenness of her illness left everyone shocked.
They couldn’t determine what illness it was.
The doctor said there was nothing wrong internally.
It might be due to nerves, they said.

She had no appetite, no energy, lay with her head heavy on the pillow, and kept her large eyes wide open. Even when asked where she was in pain, she would reply that nothing hurt anywhere. While her energy seemed completely drained, she didn’t sleep at all and kept her eyes wide open. Even when she closed her eyelids, she would suddenly open them wide again.

“You have to stay strong.”
“Stay strong.”
“I’ll stay with you.”

When he said that, she formed a frail smile and nodded emphatically on her pillow.

And whenever he stood up even slightly, she would immediately call him back.

“Stay with me, okay?”

However, she didn’t particularly want to talk.
No matter what was said to her, she would only give brief replies and remain silent, occasionally smiling.
He brought a book and read while lying sprawled near her.

Fusako remained nonchalantly composed, leaving Mitsuko entirely to him.
He felt angry but didn’t voice it.

From the second or third day onward, Matsuki sank into visible unease and rarely ventured outside anymore. At first, he had avoided the tearoom while Katayama was in the sitting room, but eventually began silently entering to sit in a distant corner from him, smoking cigarettes and reviewing documents. However, it was clear from his demeanor that he remained constantly preoccupied with Mitsuko.

That was the most excruciating pain for him. When her father approached, Mitsuko shot him a sharp glare but then immediately reverted to an air of complete indifference. But when he left and didn’t return for a while, she immediately called out loudly. While holding his breath, Katayama had to enter the room where Matsuki was waiting. And no matter how much he endured, his consciousness gradually twisted toward Matsuki’s presence. It was a feeling as if searing sweat were seeping out. Why did Matsuki’s presence weigh on him so? Why couldn’t he help but hate him so? He himself couldn’t understand.

When it became too painful, he would deliberately move closer to Mitsuko and try to talk, but she seemed disinclined to speak. The occasional smiles she showed gradually faded; she stared fixedly at the ceiling, then closed her eyelids. After a while, she stared at him with large, open eyes. When he looked back, a shadow resembling a smile formed on her cheeks.

For Mitsuko’s sake, he vowed in his heart to ignore Matsuki’s existence.
But before long, his frustration began seething again until he no longer knew what might happen.
The fact that Mitsuko and her father were parent and child became an unbearable oppression.

He took Mitsuko’s hand, peered into her large deep eyes where light floated on the surface, and tried to drown his heart within them.

Mitsuko’s condition remained indeterminate—neither improving nor worsening—and showed no signs of change.
Similar days and nights continued.

Around the fifth day, Mitsuko’s face began suddenly brightening and clouding over.
Just when it seemed she had maintained a smile for a long time, she would be tearing up again.

He began to worry.
He stayed until late at night.
He even tried suggesting to Fusako that they consult another skilled doctor.

“No, she’s regaining her strength.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.”

To Fusako, who was knitting her brows, Matsuki said calmly.
Hearing that, he flew into a rage.

“But somehow...”
“Do you not care if it’s too late?”

“It’s fine.”

He sat up straight and turned back toward Matsuki.
Matsuki was also staring fixedly in his direction.
And the two of them sat facing each other for a long time.
He felt suffocated and, on the verge of losing himself, snapped back to awareness.
In the end, everything grew hazy.
Tears filled his eyes.

“Mr. Katayama.”

Called out to, he looked up.
Matsuki held thick paper in his trembling hand and thrust it toward him.

“Mitsuko is fine. When she recovers, please take her somewhere for a change of air. It seems neither you nor Mitsuko can get along with me anymore. I’ll leave this in your care...”

Matsuki’s face turned ugly and dull black, losing its luster, with only his eyes glaring fiercely.
What was presented was a postal savings bankbook under Mitsuko’s name with nearly 1,000 yen in it.

He choked up and couldn't speak.
When he turned around, Mitsuko was watching them with a bewildered look, as if puzzled by their behavior.

He could no longer bear to stay seated and, throwing the bankbook at Matsuki, went out into the garden.
In a muddled and hazy state where he couldn’t tell whether he wanted to cry or laugh, he felt on the verge of losing consciousness.
He went to the well, drew up water, and splashed it over his head.