Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Toyoshima Yoshio

I

Yoshino was always carefree and cheerful.
So certain men said she was boring.
If all she had was her carefree cheerfulness, she’d be no different from a doll.
Playing with a doll as one’s companion is for children or the elderly—romantic novices or jaded incompetents…….
But for ordinary people—much like how tobacco tastes better after sake—there must be something: liveliness or loneliness, sensuality or vulgarity, coquetry or miserliness, or... in short, stimulation is what they crave.
There Yoshino would simply smile brightly without employing any artifice, remaining openly carefree—neither seeming particularly interesting nor unpleasant.
So her clients too found her neither interesting nor unpleasant.
And yet she was quite the popular courtesan.

The hungover mind was a misty nightscape.
Bizarre forms hovered in midair, shifting and appearing and disappearing, while hazy light intertwined between them.
Each was terribly fleeting, yet every one of those moments bore an aspect of eternity.
But the aspect of eternity vanished into the mist, and under its weight, the moments warped and warped... until at last, all dissolved into boundless void.
Forlorn weariness.
Ordinary things, peaceful things, sleepy-looking things glimmered faintly through the bleary haze…….
In the depths of memory, unexpectedly, with a kind of frustration, Yoshino’s figure...

Slender and tall, her beautiful skin being the distinguishing feature, with a slender face of ordinary looks...
A gracefully elongated neck, a nose that stood unnecessarily high, the glint of a gold tooth peeking through loosely closed lips, eyes rather lifeless yet undaunted in their gaze—with these features and her flawless skin, she possessed either an excess of carefree simplicity or a deficiency in quick-wittedness, giving her a rough-hewn quality.
She seemed to relish bathing—not to cleanse her skin, but because she would set the water temperature to lukewarm on a whim and soak absentmindedly, lingering endlessly as if time held no meaning.
"Yoshino-san's Long Baths," they called it—a phrase most patrons knew.
Yet despite this seemingly indolent habit, she never let hot water touch her face.
Whether bathing or facing frigid mornings, she always washed her face with cold water.
Perhaps she'd heard it from someone or read it in a ladies' magazine—she believed hot water damaged facial skin, particularly the delicate complexion beneath a geisha's white makeup.
And she would murmur: "The face is the front signboard..."

That made Madam smile.

“...She has an honest disposition, a decent face, beautiful skin—there’s no reason she couldn’t handle one or two patrons, but... Honestly, she’s like a signboard of a geisha—don’t you think there’s something lacking...?”

For such a popular geisha, those were rude words.
But more than that, for a madam managing three or four geishas, those were remarkably shortsighted words.
The reason would have been immediately apparent to anyone who observed how she conducted herself at work.
She seemed to have transcended feelings of goodwill.
She seemed to have transcended feelings of intimacy and distance.
So to speak, she conducted business most fairly.
In standard teahouse parlors, or...

Stubbornness, pride, chivalry—the long-cultivated tradition teaches that fairness must not be upheld.
On the surface, fairness may be the principle, but underneath, unfairness runs rampant.
That is human nature.
Therein lies the allure.
The expressions in trailing words, exchanged glances... Though they may burn and vanish in an instant, illuminated by their light, a different kind of deep world—be it of the past or the future—is depicted.
That is the trap.
A trap, or perhaps a refuge.
People imitate beasts, competing on all fours... openly.
Because that is human nature.
And that has become business.
A special business operating beyond the pale of commercial methods that take the disregard of human nature as their principle.

That held true even in standard teahouse parlors.
How much more so...

Yoshino had not thought about such things.
However, she had unconsciously upheld the principles of commercial practice.
Her gaze conveyed no dual intent.
Her loosely closed lips revealed the gleam of her gold tooth identically to every client.
And she always spoke with languid articulation.
So to speak, she had arranged her wares on a display shelf within everyone’s reach—each bearing a fixed price tag.
A fair merchant knows their merchandise’s value and tends it carefully.
Even this indolent, carefree woman proved no less diligent than others in tending her own goods.
That she had never known illness stood as her pride.
She transacted business brightly, efficiently, and equitably.
It was refreshingly straightforward commerce.

Because she was that kind of woman, whenever appearing before clients, she always kept a substantial sum ready in her coin purse. Even when regular patrons asked what she desired, she would merely smile without making any requests. Instead, even if summoned by familiar clients while elsewhere—even during her free time—she would dutifully serve at the teahouse until her scheduled hours ended, never letting herself be taken away beforehand. Her sole act of selfishness lay in claiming to be "unwell" whenever encountering truly detestable clients outside teahouse engagements. During such occasions, money held no sway over her decisions. Even merchants retain the right to exercise free will regarding whether to sell their wares. And a fair merchant won't stoop to unfair profiteering by compromising their principles. The only remotely questionable gain in her case involved having clients—whether regulars or not—make teahouse reservations for her. At times she sought retroactive approval for these arrangements. These reservations she repurposed for various needs—for evenings with too much idle time, for personal errands, for returning favors to colleagues... Thus even Madam considered her an impeccably loyal house geisha.

Among the names of those reserved clients, those of Mr. Ō gradually increased and caught her colleagues’ attention.

“See? No matter what you said, it’s just as I thought…”

Yoshino laughed.

“It’s not like that. Since he’s part of the trade anyway, it’s just perfect.” She said something enigmatic, then fell into an odd contemplation. Afterward, looking up with a puzzled expression as if even she found it strange, she laughed again.

Around that time, Mr. Ō’s visits had indeed grown more frequent.

Two

Okuno Shinji had initially maintained a cheerful demeanor toward Yoshino that bordered on recklessness, but as their encounters multiplied, he grew strangely taciturn, earnest, and desolate in appearance.
Within him, something anguished seemed to stir—not what one might call love or romance, but rather a heart left adrift in the emptiness of thwarted expectations...
And increasingly, he would fix his gaze upon her face.

Yoshino had also noticed this, but it had nothing to do with her business.
She had calmly managed to uphold her professional duties.

And then, his confession came crashing down.

The autumn night faced them with its lonely aspect.
In the hushed stillness came the plucked notes of a shamisen from somewhere, announcing the late hour.
In the courtyard, bamboo leaves rustled...
Yet Yoshino remained cheerful.
In that sweetly carefree tone, she kept talking about how even in slow business seasons she enjoyed having ample practice time; about how practice companions could be identified just by listening from afar; all while attending to the shamisen's plucked notes.
Okuno too lent more ear to those sounds than to Yoshino's words.
The accumulated traditional sentiment sought to engulf him.
He too tried to drown.
But within his chest lurked a dull black mass.
His eyes burned with unshed tears.
That sensation of watching himself from the sidelines while lashing...
Yet he couldn't cling to Yoshino.

“The more I meet you…”

“Do I look like a fool to you?” Yoshino interjected—

He dissolved his choked words into tears that spilled in ragged streams.

“Someone did say that.”

Startled into finishing her thought, she then smiled.

However, he did not raise his face.

“I’m tainted, I’m tainted—listen to me…”

To explain what this referred to—it concerned a certain widow he had mentioned in fragments before. It had begun with a trivial incident—due to his weak will—and dragged on endlessly; at times he even received money from her. In his self-loathing, he squandered that very money on dissipation… That was all.

“And each time that happens, you get money?”

Okuno, unable to respond, lay facedown on the table like a criminal, as though in repentance.

Yoshino’s disbelieving eyes gradually cleared, steadied, and filled with a smile.

“Then that just means you’re no different from us, right?
“There’s not the slightest thing to be ashamed of.”

They were utterly words from another world.
Okuno raised his face.
He raised his eyes.
He stammered in a tone that was hard to bear.

“But… but… that’s not it… wrong….”
“First of all—what do I even use that money for!?...”

“You earned it yourself.
Whatever you use it for—that’s your business.”

“……”

It was like the emptiness left after the wind had blown through...

A pallid forehead, cheeks faintly flushed with drink, eyes staring vacantly skyward, the gold tooth visible between her lips, and a nose pointlessly upturned...
Stretching her neck gracefully, revealing flawless skin, she leaned one elbow on the table, let one shoulder droop, sat sideways, arranged her kimono hem...
To that, Okuno clung.

"I... I like you... truly... I really do like you."
"At first, driven by reckless despair, I wandered around with the intent to kick myself down into the gutter."
"Covering myself in mud, making myself filthy—that at least gave me some satisfaction."
"It was atonement."
"I went to all sorts of places."
"If I became filthy, if I became wretched—that was my true desire..."
"But ever since meeting you... strangely... my feelings don't get disturbed..."
It grated on him.
So I kept at it relentlessly, as if to say 'Is that all you've got?'... but it was no use.
You don't work.
The thing inside me is breaking apart.
And I couldn't forget.
I'm coming to like you more and more.
......What am I supposed to do.
Do whatever you want with me.
"What should I do..."

As he spoke, a chill nude figure was reflected in his eyes.
In the soft electric light filtered through pale blue gauze—against the folding screen backdrop, sitting with one knee raised, her upper body slipped free from her under-kimono... —“I’m tall, you see, but I’m not that skinny, am I?”
With delicate skin texture and gentle curves…
It was like a marble statue—so cold it could be called pure, without even a trace of carnal desire…

Yoshino drew back slightly and stiffened.
And she let out an incongruously long sigh.

“You should drink and make some noise. ……Shall I play something? ……Though I’m not very good….”

Okuno gazed at her face as if waking from a dream.
Her eyes flickered with an awkward gleam.
That lit up his face.

“Alright, let’s drink.
“Getting drunk’s fine…… And then… if someone… calls over someone you like……”

“It’s really fine……”

She laughed with affected carelessness.

“Then I’ll go ask around.”

As she stood to leave, Okuno kept his eyes fixed on her—then suddenly pitched forward onto the table.

Around that time, the maid of "Aoyagi" took note of those matters with slight suspicion.

Okuno’s once-vigorous face had grown gaunt, its healthy glow vanished, now bearing a gloomy shadow yet paradoxically appearing starkly pale.
He arrived with that face drawn even tighter, wearing an excessively solemn expression.
The tortoiseshell green glasses that once escaped notice now stood out discordantly.
Though the lenses seemed weak, behind them he kept his gaze concealed.
Somehow he brought to mind “a churchgoer entering the chapel”—
he resembled something of that sort.

The room was usually the six-tatami mat room in the back downstairs that he favored… He hardly spoke. He had been drinking alone in silence until Yoshino arrived. Even at the maid’s slight jokes, his pale face would flush. Anyone would gradually grow bolder as they became accustomed to the place, but he alone seemed to be saying the "exact opposite." Or perhaps he was becoming "serious about Ms. Yoshino"—he might have been becoming serious about Ms. Yoshino.

However, strangely enough, during times when Yoshino—as was her habit—was out elsewhere and took her time coming to him, he would gradually relax, becoming his "usual self" and growing "cheerful."

Yoshino, too, began to change slightly.
She remained as frank as ever, but that carefree woman started adopting wifely airs—putting on dignified reserve and composure.
She was.
It was unclear whether she was happy or troubled, but somehow a "steadfast side" began to emerge.

And the two of them were simply being unusually subdued—a state that others couldn’t comprehend.
They met frequently, yet their relationship didn’t appear particularly intense.
Neither their meetings carried particular joy, nor did their partings show any particular reluctance.

Okuno rarely stayed overnight.
He didn’t get very drunk either.
But Yoshino—"truly mysteriously, unexpectedly"—
would sometimes get drunk.
And at those times, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt this sense of pity…

The rest remained unclear even to the maid.

The six-tatami room in the back downstairs that Okuno favored was dimly lit during the day, giving it a cellar-like feel, but it faced a narrow two- or three-tsubo inner courtyard adorned with a small pond featuring cold bamboo and nandina shrubs, complete with a modest wooden veranda.

To the rustling of bamboo leaves, the two would often listen in silence.

Depending on how one listened, it might resonate mournfully... impermanently... or even joyfully...
Okuno gazed at Yoshino’s serene figure with teary eyes.
Forgive me!
The plea surged from his chest’s depths.
...Forgive me!
I’m tainted.
I brought this defiled body to you.
After all—I was lonely.
Unbearably wretched.
By your side—I’ll hate her with all my heart—curse that woman—Sumiyo...
This feeling—you’d never grasp.
It’s all the same!
Lies—lies!
X and X... The logic claims so—but no—it’s different!
Where does this wretchedness come from?
Because it’s not a proper transaction!
Because it’s not business!
Because it lacks life’s structure!

“In that case,” she’d tell me to quit.
Ah, how I wish I could cleanly cut ties...
That decadent lust, those rotten caresses….
Does that—while trampling me—still have the power to draw me in?
Lies! Lies!
I swear.
If only I could see you...
And to meet you, given my status, there’s no other way than to draw money from her.
Ah, may I be cursed!
May I myself be cursed!
Just believe me—at least my heart is…
I swear—swear by anything and everything.
What should I do... What should I...

That feeling had vaguely come through to Yoshino as well.
She understood full well how much he was suffering inwardly, yet she also understood that his vow was as transient as a lapsed believer's tears.
And strangely enough, he himself knew that his vow was a youthful romantic ideal.
Still, there was nothing to be done about it.

As the tide of emotion receded, creating a spontaneous void in that moment, he gazed at her with pious eyes of trust.
She gazed at him with eyes of pity that resembled love.

When the rustling sound of bamboo leaves came, it was cold….

Okuno kept refilling his cup, but the liquor sat poorly in his system, leaving him sober.

“You...”
He stammered, eyes wavering timidly, “How long will you keep... doing this?”

“But it’s fine being carefree.”

Responding in an absentminded tone, she suddenly turned serious.

“In time, I plan to borrow the signboard.”

And she began explaining the differences between being fully sponsored and operating independently—detailing aspects like business freedom, income structures, down to precise financial figures.

“By then, you should be the one to wrap up that matter over there quickly.”

“If you wrap things up... then what?”

“I won’t do anything… but isn’t it enough just that you don’t suffer?”

“…………”

The trembling of his body caught her eye too.
But she held her ground.
And even she was surprised by her own effort to hold firm.

“I’ll end it.”
“I’ll do it properly,” said Okuno.
“I swear.”
“That’s the only way to save myself.”
“Then I’ll truly be able to reach you…”
“Even if…”

“It’s fine, really… Let’s not talk about that anymore.”
“Let’s stop this talk.”

As she overrode his words, she found herself involuntarily tearing up. Underneath her interruption, he kept pressing on.

"No—I refuse to stop until I've said everything...."
"I don't care about that woman... not at all."
"That woman... No—more than that—even you... Even regarding you, I don't know whether I love you."
"...I just wanted to be saved from the mire."
"And when I meet you, my feelings become clear—they brighten."
"I don't know how to express my gratitude for that."
"I'm simply... grateful."
"Save me."
"I might not love you at all."
"You probably don't love me either."
"That's fine."
"Just... as long as I can feel purified."
"As for everything else... forgive me."

Yoshino suppressed the heat welling up in her chest.
Business was the principle.
If something were to break, everything seemed about to come crashing down.
Even if she told herself it wasn’t that fragile, the anxiety remained.
The path of business she had unconsciously trodden—now that it had begun to crystallize through her relationship with Okuno…

Her gaze grew more solemn than ever.
And she drank sake.
She drank hostilely.
The sight of Okuno’s face looking like he was about to cry was funny.

Okuno clutched his head with both hands.

“I—I really swear it… As proof, next time I’ll drag her here—Sumiyo.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Idiot, idiot… you’re such an idiot, you young master….”

By now, she was drunk.
She couldn’t tell whether she was crying or laughing.

III

Her inherently carefree and easygoing nature instead became a central pillar of support, and with Yaetsugu’s capable assistance as well as the brief duration, Yoshino found it relatively manageable.
Above all, she was glad it wasn’t the “Aoyagi” house.
Even so, the rhythm had been off from the very beginning.

Eyes large and keenly vivid, their sunken sockets perceptible.
Then, in a smooth voice that required no strain from her throat, she first said lowly, “Good evening,” then continued brightly, “I’ve heard about you for some time and have been wanting to meet you.”—The weight of those two phrases struck Yoshino’s chest, and she silently bowed.
And indeed awkwardly, she pushed through it as it was and settled into composure.

The Irokohama-patterned kimono and tsuzureori brocade obi, with their understated flamboyance, were perfectly complemented by the malachite green of her obidome.
In her mid-thirties, with delicate beauty, her gaze could appear either intensely alluring or sarcastic depending on how one looked—the hint of weariness visible there seemed to stem from the hollows of her eye sockets.
And with no apparent hesitation—without secretly observing Yoshino’s state—she had Yaetsugu sit appropriately, handed the shamisen to her, and herself joined in quietly beneath its notes.

“After all, things like riverside willows and iris-patterned summer robes…”
“Those lighter motifs suit better, don’t you think?”
“Though I’m originally from Yoshizumi myself…”
“Though saying that makes it sound rather grandiose… Ohoho.”

And Sumiyo and Yaetsugu alone kept the gathering going.

“Let me hear something from you too.”

Even when addressed this way, Yoshino simply relied on Yaetsugu’s kind gaze and settled for laughing brightly.

When the shamisen was set aside and the talk turned to casual matters, Okuno joined in too, making Yoshino’s composure grow even more unguarded.

Sumiyo could handle some alcohol.

“Ms. Yoshino, please come visit my home sometime when you’re free.”
“I do so look forward to guests from all walks of life….”
“At home, we’ve fully embraced an open-door policy.”
“In return, there won’t be any feasts though.”
“If it’s just Eitaro’s pickled plums…”

Yoshino was startled.
She liked those pickled plums and would often suck on them at home……
It seemed she had told Okuno about it.
When she glanced at Okuno with a suspicious gaze, he was blowing cigarette smoke aside.

“Your principle is absurd… To be so afraid of burglars….”
“And yet you’re so terrified of burglars….”

“Oh, come now, burglars are a different matter.”
“And thunder….”

Putting on a trembling act, she placed her hand on Yoshino’s shoulder.

“Ms. Yaetsugu, don’t you think it’d be lovely to have a sister like this?”
“She’d suit me perfectly, wouldn’t she?”
“I’m rather tall myself, this one’s demure—exactly my taste.”

“Oh my, then where does that leave me…”
“With this young sister here…”
“How peculiar…”

With a glance toward Okuno’s direction, Yaetsugu cast Yoshino a protective look.

Yoshino drew her neck inward beneath Sumiyo’s touch.
The role reversal—her being treated as guest rather than host—transcended mere atmosphere; Sumiyo’s sinuous grip scattering all such pretenses now roused Yoshino’s self-consciousness.
What she’d been absorbing through instinct alone surfaced clearly.
...Sumiyo’s coquettish pose with cuffs gathered and palms against chest; those exquisite fingers feigning restraint; the weathered skin at her nape; that imperious gaze flaring and fading yet ever insistent—underneath it all, a fatigued allure—then Okuno’s pretended indifference as he exhaled cigarette smoke in torrents, his stare ensnared by Sumiyo’s every motion…

It was different!
Almost instantaneously—from instinctual reaction to conscious realization—Yoshino felt it.
What Okuno had said was true.
This bore no resemblance to business dealings.
A different world—one she didn't know—a world of carnal desire.
Not a clean transaction.
Disgusting.
Even the slightest droplet would soil the body...

She shuddered and pulled away from under Sumiyo's hand.

"If I were a man, whatever would I do with you...?"

A sharp spark flew toward Okuno for an instant, then with feigned nonchalance—her eyes glazed with drink—she drew closer to Yoshino.

“Don't you dare run away now.”
“We're siblings now, aren't we?” She lined up two cups. “They're quarreling over there—let's keep things friendly here...”

She laughed toward Yaetsugu and Okuno exchanging cups through their drinking game and lifted the sake flask herself.

“Oh...”

Sumiyo intercepted Yaetsugu as she hurriedly tried to reach out.

“No, no.
“No outsiders allowed… We have a private matter to discuss—just the two of us, hmm?”

Yoshino nodded with an oddly arrogant gaze and a smile at her lips, then drained her cup.
And this time, while pouring sake into two cups herself, she stared openly at Okuno.
Lying sprawled out, his figure—as if struck down by something—looked truly wretched.
Idiot! You idiot!
She wanted to scream that at him.

But against her ear, Sumiyo’s warm breath lingered.

“Next time… you’ll come alone at your leisure… won’t you?”

She listened to it as if in a dream.

“And then…”

She did not move.
Her ashen forehead turned cold as stone.
Sumiyo poked her fingertip against that cheek.
Then, taking a cigarette butt—though cautious enough to extinguish it first—….

Yoshino jumped up.
Pressing her cheek, she suddenly left the room.
She went to cool her cheek with water.
But it was nothing.
After carefully fixing her makeup, she returned.

Everyone’s gazes welcomed her.
Into that crisscrossed crossfire, she smiled and stepped through.
Pride!
That feeling stirred.
The pride of a merchant who knows her product’s worth.
No matter who said what, no matter with whom she transacted—this pure, beautiful body.
She was glad she hadn’t stumbled.
She held out well.
Beast! You brute!
Keeping such cries buried deep in her chest, she gracefully arched her neck and smiled with an air of innocence.

“Oh, honestly…”
Yaetsugu patted her back.
“I was the one who got a shock!”

Sumiyo’s eyes blazed passionately.
Okuno averted his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

Yoshino said this to no one in particular and laughed brightly.