Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Perhaps I went a bit too far?
Ah well.

That morning, I found the room's condition pleasing.

Through the white curtains drawn across the window seeped the pallid light of what appeared to be an overcast day, while the table lamp glowed unnervingly faint.
A vast white chamber nearly devoid of decoration...
On the bed by the window lay Mr. Minami - blanket pulled over his face, long hair splayed across the pillow - sleeping like the dead.
Beside the table lamp rested a hat, detachable collar, necktie, wallet, watch, and key bearing a large wooden tag...
Atop the central round table stood two beer bottles - one drained dry, another still sealed - accompanied by two cups and two liqueur glasses.
Near the door stood another bed with perfectly arranged bedding - yet strewn across its surface lay Mr. Minami's garments in complete disarray: overcoat down to shirt and bellyband.
Whether torn off in anger or stripped during emergency care - in such disorder, the wardrobe in the corner stood utterly neglected.
Then at the foot of this bed - beside Mr. Minami's discarded clothes - lay a single crumpled towel nightshirt tossed carelessly aside.
From this comprehensive disarray emerged one truth - this room hadn't been occupied properly; it had merely been slept in.

Around eleven o'clock, Mr. Minami suddenly sat up.
The bed swayed.
Through the unfamiliar swaying of his body and the sensation of the sheets, Mr. Minami seemed to regain his senses for the first time and looked around the room.
His face was pale and swollen.
After a while, he unsteadily climbed down from the bed.
Noticing that the front of his nightwear had come undone, he tied the cord.
Tilting his head repeatedly, he surveyed the room thoroughly.
Then he lifted the window curtain and gazed outside.

Indeed, it was a leaden, overcast noon.
When he glanced out, it was absurdly high…
Here and there, the peaks of high-rise buildings towered, and in the deep, deep valley bottom vertically gouged out between them, train tracks could be seen.
A train passed.
Cars and bicycles… bean-sized people…
A chill air hung heavy, and malicious currents drifted aimlessly through the void.

After gazing for a while—not solely because I had whispered "Dangerous" to him—Mr. Minami shuddered from head to toe and stepped back from the window. He glanced at the clock, burrowed back into bed, lay on his side, curled his limbs, and closed his eyes. By the way he had buried his head deep into the pillow, he seemed to have fallen asleep... yet at an unexpected moment, a single tear slid silently from each eyelid. Like raindrops sliding off leaves—it was an utterly effortless flow. Then, before long, he drifted into a drowsy sleep.

Around one o’clock, Mr. Minami finally rose.
This time, he frowned, his face wearing an expression of profound displeasure.
It was probably due to his hangover as well.
He walked around the room a bit, scrubbed his face vigorously with cold water, changed into his clothes with an air of reluctance, pulled open the window curtains, propped one elbow on the round table, and while drinking beer and puffing on a cigarette, gazed blankly out the window at the space beyond.

Thereupon, I brought my mouth close to his ear and whispered furtively: “How about it? Do you remember last night? It’s only natural you don’t recall clearly—you were thoroughly drunk, after all.” The fact that you hadn’t even realized she’d left—well, reaching that point was a sure sign. There—surely you were satisfied now? How about it? Wasn’t it just as I’d said? You should’ve crushed it completely… Weren’t you feeling refreshed now? That heavy head or lingering melancholy—that was just the hangover’s doing. And besides, look how overcast it is today. Soon the clouds would part… Come evening, a crimson sunset would blaze through, and if you went to Senbikiya to nibble on an apple, both your head and heart would clear right up. Then everything would be settled—truly settled—reaching that state of freedom unbound by anything at all. Radiant freedom… You’d been thinking about that sort of thing, hadn’t you? That’s right—radiant indeed. No radiance without freedom, no freedom without radiance… Exactly, exactly. Matters with Ms. Yamane, matters with Tomiko, household troubles—all of it would vanish clean away. There—surely nothing remained to regret now? In any case, that lingering attachment was strictly forbidden. Just when you thought “This is the end” or “This is rock bottom,” another end or another abyss would appear—all because of lingering attachment’s machinations. Throw away your lingering attachment—then there’d be nothing left to fear. Even meeting Tomiko again would be perfectly fine then—after all, you’d have no lingering attachment left.

This side is radiant and free; they have their own path—that’s all there is to it.
You see? You’ve arrived exactly where you intended.
So didn’t I tell you it all comes down to your resolve?
“And from now on too…”

At that moment, I stuck my tongue out with a flick and was about to whisper something even more important when, unfortunately, someone knocked on the door.
After another knock, a woman wearing a purple work coat entered.
On a small tray she carried some coins and a payment receipt.
Even the name "Mr. Minami" was written there.
Mr. Minami stared at it with an utterly bewildered expression.

“This is your change from last night.”

Even after the woman had left, Mr. Minami kept gazing at the tray with his head tilted slightly.
Then he drank down the remaining beer and stood up.

There was an elevator at the end of the hallway, but Mr. Minami deliberately took the stairs down.
It seemed like his first time at a hotel.
Looking around intently, he descended from the seventh floor to the first, his face slightly flushed with embarrassment, and addressed the front desk clerk in an oddly polite tone: “I am Minami, but I’ll be leaving now.” Then, empty-handed, he darted out into the street.

Once outside, he gazed up at the hotel’s towering structure, then buried his chin in his coat collar and began walking toward Ginza with an expressionless face. He seemed not to notice his unsteady legs, having sunk into melancholy brooding.

I hate that kind of thing.

"Well then, what should I do?"

Without any reaction, he was just walking absentmindedly.

I thought about egging him on... but no—I still had something more interesting remaining.
Mr. Minami resolved to catch him again shortly, and after parting there at the canal bridge, I broke into a run.

Two

I went to check on Ms. Yamane.

In my mind flashed the comical scene from last night between Mr. Minami and Ms. Yamane.
I had pieced together this fairytale-like scenario between the two of them, but it seemed to have ended in failure.
There were many things that didn’t sit right with me.—After Mr. Minami’s wife died, her aunt Ms. Yamane had come to his household, taking charge of everything from caring for his seven-year-old son Masao to managing all domestic affairs.
Though called an aunt, she was still a forty-year-old widow—wealthy, lonely, and idle, someone who had been passing her days in a daze—making her just the right person for the role.
It seemed her intention had been to stay until Mr. Minami remarried.
Mr. Minami was thirty-seven years old and, after his wife’s death, had sunk into severe depression and been drinking heavily.
And it wasn’t due to any particular reason, nor did either of them initiate anything specific, but Mr. Minami and Ms. Yamane had ended up in a strange relationship.
Yet Ms. Yamane’s demeanor hadn’t changed in the slightest.
She directed a maid, strictly managed all household affairs, and loved Masao.
The times for waking up, meals, and bedtime; the types of side dishes; the handling of clothes; methods of laundry; arrangement of furniture; Masao’s studies—since he would be entering elementary school next year, he was being gradually taught letters—the scope and extent of social interactions; all these matters were carried out with meticulous order.
Then there was the matter of Mr. Minami’s sexual desires, which was also handled appropriately.
Moreover, Ms. Yamane possessed considerable assets and had let slip an implication that she would eventually bequeath them to Masao.
By now, she had frequently supplemented Mr. Minami’s household finances with her personal assets.

For these reasons, Mr. Minami should have found himself in an ideal situation after his wife’s death.
He worked daily at a private university and should have been making significant progress in his specialized research.
Yet contrary to expectations, Mr. Minami had gradually descended into self-destructive behavior—his drinking grew more frequent, his dissipation recurring again and again.
And as for last night’s incident—well, to me, it’s nothing but a bitter laugh.
Though I must admit, I did meddle a little...

Late at night, in the second-floor study, Mr. Minami and Ms. Yamane were talking.
Late at night, when both Masao and the maid had already fallen asleep, the surroundings were hushed.
Mr. Minami was in his usual attire, but Ms. Yamane had thrown a kimono over her nightclothes, her figure clad in nothing but a single thin obi.
She seemed to have gone to bed once and then gotten up again.
And though the two had been talking… there was Mr. Minami, throwing himself onto Ms. Yamane’s lap and burying his face in her chest, quietly sobbing.
He looked exactly like a grown child clinging desperately to his mother’s chest.
Mr. Minami was generally short and thin, while Ms. Yamane was tall for a woman, her body plump and soft with smooth skin showing little oiliness—the kind of physique where her legs tended to swell from prolonged standing or sitting, a certain laxity about her frame. Yet her cheeks held a sharpness in their fleshiness, offset by eyebrows with soft curves and narrow eyes.
So even if the two of them were embracing, they seemed like parent and child, with not the slightest hint of indecency.

This is perfect, I thought and smiled.

But Mr. Minami was crying.

“I’m no good... I’m truly no good.”
“Something like a central axis—an axis of spirit or emotion—is gone.”
“And whatever discipline—or boundaries—I try to maintain in how I live disappears, and I end up trampling over all limits.”
“I tell myself I’ll just have one or two drinks, but before I know it, I drink until I’m drunk. Then I wander from bar to bar and do unspeakable things.”
“I’ll lay it bare.”
“I’ve never abandoned my home duties, but there are times I pay for prostitutes or streetwalking geisha.”
“Please forgive me.”
“I simply can’t help myself.”
“But believe me—just this one thing, believe me—there’s not a single woman I love.”

Ms. Yamane neither furrowed her brows nor smiled as she continued to hold Mr. Minami, keeping her thoughtful eyes lowered.
And she let out a sigh of relief.

“Then what on earth do you need?”

“That’s it, that’s it—I myself don’t know what’s truly necessary.”
“Ms. Yamane… What should I…”

He shook Ms. Yamane like a spoiled child, causing her to nearly topple over, but as she regained her balance, she flashed an uncanny smile.

“Is what you need… a wife?”

“No, that’s not it. That’s not it at all.”

“Then… is it romance?”

“No……”

“Then…”

Ms. Yamane’s eyes widened, taking on a semblance of affection… and fixedly stared at the ceiling.

“To put it plainly—would you call it something like a heart?”

This won’t do, I thought.
Seizing Mr. Minami’s silence, I… whispered something to Ms. Yamane.
Anguish surfaced on Ms. Yamane’s face.
She spoke:

“But you mustn’t chase fantasies.”
“You need to steady yourself.”
“You’re capable of it.”
“Grasp things with substance, not emptiness.”
“First you must weather many disillusions.”
“You ought to endure that.”
“Since you’ve laid yourself bare, I too shall speak plainly.”
“I… question whether I love you at all.”
“No—I do not love you.”

Mr. Minami raised his face and peered into Ms. Yamane’s eyes.
But Ms. Yamane’s complexion and gaze remained unmoving, as if cast in wax.
Her voice too held no emotion.

“Just because you and I have come to this point doesn’t prove we love each other.”
“From that first time until now, we’ve never once spoken of love or its absence, have we?”
“So when you find someone to love or remarry, I’ll withdraw without fuss.”
“Until then, there’s no harm in continuing as we are.”
“You confessed that even while married—and even now—you’ve consorted with base women.”
“Such encounters… inevitably leave a bitter aftertaste.”
“But have we ever tasted bitterness between us?”
“A man and woman… satisfying each other is perfectly natural.”
“If you don’t eat, you grow hungry—but hunger doesn’t justify scavenging through trash.”
“Do you think our bond is muddied?”
“No, not muddied at all.”
“It’s crystal clear. Between us… no hunger exists, only clarity. Without troublesome talk of love, we work calmly—isn’t this the most natural ideal?”
“That you fret and cloud it stems solely from your drinking and debauchery.”
“Curb the drink and reject filthy pleasures, and we’ll stay pure forever.”
“Moreover, I needn’t fear conceiving children.”
“This body cannot bear them.”
“Whether you noticed or not—I underwent surgery long ago. My uterus was removed.”

Contrary to what I thought was splendid, Mr. Minami seemed to have suffered a terrible shock. He stared intently at Ms. Yamane’s face as though gazing at some apparition possessing him, but the next instant he crumpled forward, clinging to her shoulder as he began to sob—whereupon Ms. Yamane too threw her arms around him and broke into tears.
And so they wept, clutching each other so tightly their bodies might have melted together, as though they could never be parted again.
Between sobs, they kissed and writhed in anguish…

Even I was appalled by such foolishness.
I was at a loss for what to do, but all I did was scratch my head.

Mr. Minami spoke as if in a dream.

"I'll quit drinking."
"I won't engage in indecent acts either."
"I truly swear it."

Ms. Yamane also spoke as if in a dream.

“No, you must not swear.”
“No, I swear.”

“No, you must not swear.”

That seemed to make them both happy.
I clicked my tongue in disapproval.
Whether they heard that sound or not, the two of them—with a startled air—looked around and exchanged glances... serves them right... their smiles froze.
Admittedly, it was a cold night.

What I couldn’t comprehend was Mr. Minami’s even more severe melancholy from the following day onward.
As Ms. Yamane had stated, Mr. Minami should have been in an ideal state.
True, Ms. Yamane may have had something faintly frigid about her, but that was inconsequential; and as for Mr. Minami, he had been so oblivious during last night at the hotel that he understood almost nothing—but regardless, Mr. Minami’s despondency was unquestionably of an entirely different nature.
And Mr. Minami drank even more heavily, and though I did assist him to some extent, matters ended up precisely as they had the previous night.

What sort of state Ms. Yamane was in—that was the central focus of my interest.

Yet the maid was doing laundry, Masao lay sprawled on the veranda scribbling on *gasenshi* paper with colored pencils, and Ms. Yamane herself sat imposingly before the long brazier in the tearoom as always, her manicure set spread across the low dining table as she polished her nails.

Ms. Yamane was exceedingly meticulous in both her approach to all household tasks and her personal grooming, but the fact that she had never applied a razor to her face—leaving a faint, downy mustache on her upper lip—and her diligent polishing of her fingernails alone struck a slightly discordant note.
Even though she used colorless nail polish, the polished nails still looked unmistakably polished.
Her shoulders were sturdy, her arms thick, her fingertips slender; only the thumbnail was broad and flat, while the other nails were small and well-shaped—and all of them always gleamed with a polished shine.
Every four or five days without fail, she would take out the manicure tools.
First an emery board, then cuticle remover, polish, enamel… To completely finish all ten fingertips required an hour or an hour and a half.
She was still diligently buffing her flat thumbnail with a buffer.
There was little difference from her usual self—only a sleepless cloudiness in her eyes and, in the slight sharpness of her cheeks’ contours, an occasional flicker of something hysterical that caused the buffer’s tip to hasten momentarily before slowing again, her entire being settled with the weight of fifteen *kan*.

The manicure had only just begun and didn’t look like it would take long, but that was precisely what I couldn’t stand. But to kill time, I invited Masao out to the garden. The only one I could freely hold a conversation with was Masao.

In the corner of the garden, there was a pond.
Perhaps because it was still cold, the scarlet medaka remained motionless near the bottom.
Masao crouched at its edge and gazed intently at the clouds from the clearing sky reflected in the water.
Then he peered into the water and poked the medaka with the tip of a thin bamboo.
The medaka darted about unsteadily, then became perfectly still again.
He poked again.
Again they darted about...

“Why are there only medaka?”

“Because they didn’t put in anything but medaka.”

“Why didn’t they put in any goldfish either?”

“Because they’d eat up the medaka.”
“The medaka were the first ones put in.”

“There are some pretty big ones here.”

“Yeah. The big ones are all siblings, the medium ones are all siblings, and the small ones are all siblings.”

“Hmm, quite a crowd. Don’t you wish you had lots of siblings too?”

“If there were as many as medaka, it’d be weird.”

“Aren’t you lonely being alone?”

“I am lonely... But it’d be nice to have an older sister.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to have a mom?”

“Mom’s dead.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice if you could have a new mom?”

“You can’t know unless it happens.”

“Auntie… Ms. Yamane… do you like her?”

“I like her.”

“Why not have her become your mom?”

“But she’s Auntie.”

“I’ll make her your mom.”

“She’s different from Mom.”
“How is she different?”
“No, she isn’t.
Mom is Mom, and Auntie is Auntie.”
“And Papa is Papa.”

“Papa’s really busy, Auntie said.”
“That’s why he couldn’t come back last night…”

“Why’s he so busy?”

“He’s got all sorts of duties….”
“And apparently he’s terribly busy.”

“Which one’s busier—Auntie or him?”

“Papa’s way busier.”
“But Auntie’s a good person.”
“Maybe she’s a bit strict… but she’s really kind… and she knows all sorts of things.”

“Anything about her that bothers you?”

“I don’t really know why… but when she wears perfume, it’s too strong, and when she doesn’t, it’s too faint… It’s weird.”

“Weird? What’s weird?”

“Mom always had… a soft smell.”

“It’s the smell of breast milk, right?”

“No, that’s not it.
I don’t drink breast milk or anything like that anymore.”

“What kind of smell does Papa have?”

“Papa doesn’t have any smell at all.”

“To you?”

“No, because you’re a man.”
“So men don’t have any smell, but women do?”
“I don’t know about everyone.”

Masao sullenly fell silent.
And then he started poking the Medaka fish again.

“So you really are lonely all by yourself, and you envy the medaka with all their brothers and sisters.”

“That’s not true—if it’s brothers and sisters like these, I’ve got them all over the world.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters all over the world?”

“There are, sure—older brothers and younger brothers, older sisters and younger sisters—all over the world.”

“And Papa and Mama too?”

“...You’re silly.”

Being scolded by Masao, I felt cheerful.
When I peeked into the tearoom, Ms. Yamane was still doing her manicure.
I gave up and left, whistling as I went.

III

That evening, I found Mr.Minami on the second floor of Senbikiya.
Just as I thought.
No—more than I'd imagined—Mr.Minami looked refreshed.
He must have shaved his beard somewhere, taken a bath, even had his shoes polished clean, with every speck of dust brushed from his suit and hat.
Unlike his disheveled state when leaving the hotel—like this, he cut a proper gentlemanly figure.

Mr.Minami was drinking coffee.
After some time he stood up—not to leave—but went instead to the inner dining area and began eating.
Having drunk his coffee, he must have finally noticed his hunger.
True enough—while his appearance remained orderly—his mind still seemed foggy.
His once-swollen face now sagged with sallow flesh—puffy eyelids anchoring a leaden gaze that fixed on nothing.
The brightness belonged only to his exterior—his spirit appeared thoroughly overcast.

Mr. Minami finished his meal, drank another coffee, and left there.
And he walked on slowly—frustratingly slowly.
He was no longer staggering, but his legs seemed to lack strength.
And his forehead bore a trace of cloudiness.
After walking for a while, he entered a beer hall and drank about half a mug.
Next, he frowned, went out, started walking slowly again, this time entered a back-alley eatery, and began drinking sake.
The progression—from coffee to Western food to beer to sake—was completely backwards.
Perhaps his mind, too, was retracing time backward.
I planted both elbows directly across from him and stared intently at his face.—“How about it? Shall we finish this off for good with no regrets…?”

Mr. Minami floated a wry smile, his eyes glinting briefly.
And he took out his wallet and checked inside.

Mr. Minami stood up.
His face flushed red, his eyes gleamed, and his footsteps steadied.
A drinker’s stamina—how it suddenly wanes or flares up, becoming utterly unpredictable.

Now that it had come to this, my patience in following him all this time had been worth it.
Moreover, Mr. Minami’s destination was last night’s Akashiya.

As I had predicted, the western sky was beginning to clear brightly, but it was already evening—the town caught in that hazy hour when daylight and streetlights offset each other, the sidewalks crowded with hurried passersby. The café hadn’t yet accumulated the stuffy heat of human bodies, remaining bleakly quiet. Mr. Minami walked straight upstairs without glancing sideways and took a seat in the corner booth beneath banana-leaf shadows. To the two waitresses he recognized who came hurrying over, he ordered a beer, lit a cigarette, propped his head up with one hand, and stared vacantly at the foliage.

“What happened after that last night?”
“You were completely plastered.”

Even as she sidled up and poked his knee, Mr. Minami merely said “Uh-huh…” before sighing.

“Actually, there’s something troubling me.”
“A matter I was asked to handle…… Is Ms. Tomiko here?”
“Can’t you call her?”
“We’ll drink later.”

The two waitresses exchanged meaningful glances before abruptly shouting “Ms. Tomiko…!” in overloud voices.

This pleased me.
My judgment had been sound after all.
That a private university professor—a man of some standing—would summon Tomiko for secret talks in this disreputable café frequented by acquaintances, mere hours after last night’s incident… it strained credulity.
Yet seen another way, though he’d later grasped what transpired at the hotel, perhaps no visceral memory remained—it being lost in drunken chaos.
Not that I cared.—Tomiko arrived wearing a modernist gold-threaded kimono with gradient-dyed barley motifs, her hair an ill-done Western style framing a round face—large-eyed, tight-lipped, brazenly spirited—that seemed made for belting metallic movie themes chin-upward. She sat opposite Mr. Minami with affected formality, offering a silent nod.

“Um… I was just about to give you the letter….”

Her eyes held a probing gaze.
Mr. Minami stared fixedly at that face with a look of wonder.
Her complexion paled faintly, but in a tone both eruptive and coquettish—“You’re awful….”
And slowly, “Last night, you were too hasty, you see….”

Mr. Minami averted his eyes and spoke as if weighing each word.

“I was completely drunk, so I must’ve pushed you too far, huh?”

Tomiko floated an ambiguous smile.

“I came here thinking to ask your forgiveness.”
“I was drunk and made everything chaotic…”
“But through you, I feel I was truly saved.”

This really wasn’t good.
I scratched my head.
Mr. Minami was a bit drunk, but this wasn’t like him at all.
He drank beer—that stomach of his could hold it well—gazed at the banana leaves as if suddenly remembering, lowered his face as if ashamed, bit down hard on his cigarette filter, and spoke:

“I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’m truly grateful.”
“For you, I suppose it was nothing, though…”

Tomiko maintained an air of extreme coldness—appearing partly to conceal some underlying fear—and watched Mr. Minami’s behavior with visible unease.

At that moment, Mr. Minami suddenly thrust both arms forward as if performing calisthenics, then banged his fist on the table.

“Beer.”

When left alone, Mr. Minami stared wide-eyed in shock, then suddenly buried his forehead in both hands, peered upward with his gaze fixed, and fell completely still. His face bore an indescribably gloomy expression—something like a muddy swamp without a shred of resilience remaining. That gloom gradually, quite naturally, took on a shadow of self-mockery. His face turned ugly. The drunken flush, the blood’s vitality, and likely consciousness itself had all receded like an ebb tide—a stagnation one step removed from death. Even I found myself watching it intently—a rare occurrence—but… then Tomiko returned.

“I brought two at once.”
“I’ll drink too.”

Mr. Minami raised his face as if waking from a dream, blinked his eyes, gestured to summon Tomiko to his side, and had her sit beside him. And as they drank beer, the conversation—“To be frank, I have a lover. I love that person with all my heart, and am staking my life on this love. And she truly loves me too.”—Hearing this, I tilted my head in puzzlement.—“But due to various circumstances, we’ve become unable to meet.” “But… circumstances… What do those things have to do with me?” “If I want to meet her, I can meet her, you know.” “But even so—no matter how much two people love each other, they don’t have to meet all the time. As long as they can meet someday.” “Plus, isn’t it more interesting to meet someone new?”—That’s right, that’s right… I nodded in agreement.

“So that’s why I’ve rather let myself go—drinking and indulging in dissipation.”
“It became a habit—constantly going out, unable to focus on work or anything else, losing all patience, finding everything bothersome—but along with that, my lover’s image began fading into the background.”
“I started thinking someone like her didn’t matter anymore.”
“Now that it’s come to this, it’s the same as not having a lover at all.”
“No—maybe there was never one to begin with.”
“But she does exist.”
“She exists but doesn’t exist.”—What are you saying? I muttered.
“But here’s the thing—that...that nearly nonexistent lover keeps flitting about, appearing before me when I least expect it.”
“At the most unexpected moments—when I’m most unfocused... Like when walking down the street and turning a corner, or stepping off a bus to stand frozen on the sidewalk, or stumbling drunk and clutching a utility pole, or just now when you stood up and left—that cold breeze rushing through the gap—in those moments, her figure becomes clear.”
“I can’t tell her face or how she’s dressed—but like light, like sound, like fragrance—her presence becomes vivid regardless.”
“Last year when my wife died, I often remembered her then—but those memories were entirely different.”
“My lover’s figure is alive now—vividly present right there.”
“Once when heading west up a hill at sunset—the sky blazing red—I stopped to gaze at it, and there she stood motionless at the crest.”
“While I stood there, she too remained still—bathed in sunset—gazing my way.”
“The moment I stepped forward, she vanished.”—I scratched my head.—“And normally when tired or lying awake at night—just thinking of her makes my chest tighten until I want to cry.”
“I become accursed—filthy—lonely—until I can’t bear staying still...”
“I tell myself it’s my fault—blame myself.”
“And in the end resolve to stay faithful.”
“Quit drinking—cut back smoking—sever all attachments—purify myself—become someone who won’t shame her.”
“But that resolution gets pushed back—next time...then next time—delayed again and again—until I’m still getting drunk and indulging every debauchery.”—I furrowed my brow.

“So you see—when I declare this will be the last time, that very act makes me sink deeper into debauchery.”
“And then it ends up like last night.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
“I beseech you to forgive me.”
“I don’t really remember what kind of tantrum I threw, but it seems I caused you a great deal of trouble.”
“And then it ended up like that…”
“This morning, at the top of that hotel, I felt utterly overwhelmed.”
“It was actually better that you left without a word.”
“The more miserable I make myself, the better it is for me.”
“That way I can carry out my resolution.”
“I want to hurl myself into a ditch.”
“I’m grateful to you.”
“Everyone, forgive me.”
“Through my genuine gratitude toward you, forgive me.”
“And… let’s shake hands cheerfully…”
“That’s why I came here today. You understand, don’t you?”—The more earnest Mr. Minami became, the more I too felt an inevitable chill.—“I… don’t love you, but I do like you.”
“I don’t want us to part like that, so I’ll clearly state my gratitude, let bygones be bygones, and let’s shake hands cheerfully.”

Tomiko turned to stone.
Mr. Minami extended his hand, but she ignored it and gulped her beer.

"Are you truly grateful?"

She shot a fleeting, intense glance.

"It's true," Mr. Minami nodded vigorously.

"I'm grateful too."

The words were like ice.

And she stood up.

“Let’s drink.”
“I’m getting drunk.”
“Let’s have some sake.”

She called out to the waitresses across the room.

“Come on over.”
“I had to listen to all his romantic boasts from Mr. Minami.”
“Listen here, it’s just wonderful.”

Mr. Minami had already begun wearing a pleasant—a sensation akin to an awl prodding an itch—smile.

I scratched my head.
Things just aren’t clear.
I understand all sorts of things perfectly well, but they’re all scattered and don’t come together—and as for Mr. Minami’s talk about a “lover,” what on earth is that even supposed to mean?
But those incomprehensibly mismatched aspects are actually what’s crucial, I suppose.
The other waitresses arrived and livened things up, Mr. Minami cheerfully started cracking jokes, the phonograph began blaring away as it had earlier, and more customers streamed in.
I considered getting drunk myself.
“How about it?” I whispered to Mr. Minami, and he grinned.
His grin was unsettling.
Most of his head was numbed by drunkenness, with what appeared to be a single small spot remaining sober at its center.

Even so, Tomiko had come out briefly after that, gulped down drinks one after another, and then disappeared somewhere.
I grew tired of waiting and went to investigate what she was doing.

In the back of the booth across the way, she withdrew all alone and was licking the pencil.
Her face was deeply flushed.
Peering at the letter before her, I thought, "Ah."

She was writing—

Just as you are grateful to me, I too am grateful to you.
I am absurdly grateful.—(Here she stalled.)
I advised her.
She wrote.)—I’ve never received special money from you, not even last night, so we can be equally grateful.
You’re cowardly, like a demon.—(I smiled bitterly.
(But she stalled again, so I advised her.)—How can you fancy so many women when you have a lover?
I may not have a lover, but let’s all like each other.
Or should we all hate each other instead?
But rest assured.
Even if I grow to love or loathe you, I’ll never cling to you.
—(When she began writing “Alone and lonely…,” I started, completely blacked it out, and advised her.)—Who’d cling to someone when there’s nothing in it?
You can safely devote yourself to that so-called lover of yours.
I’ll spit in that person’s face.

She put down the pencil and sank into thought. She seemed on the verge of tears.
Thinking This is dangerous, I urged her on.
She crammed the letter into the envelope, forgot to seal it, and ran off.

Mr. Minami was drinking with two waitresses.
Tomiko burst in there.

“Mr. Minami, you said you liked me, didn’t you?”
“At the very least, you said you liked me, didn’t you?”
“You really said it, didn’t you?”

Mr. Minami looked bewildered and answered immediately.

“I said that.”

“Then hold me. Please, hold me tight…”
“Come on, hold me properly…”

She leapt onto Mr. Minami’s lap and pressed her face into his chest.
But her recklessness knew no bounds—she almost let the letter slip from her grasp.
I assisted by tucking it into his overcoat’s inner pocket.

She jumped back.

“That’s enough. Because I listened to Mr. Minami’s heartbeat. It’s wonderful—it’s saying ‘Love you, love you…’ Listen for yourself.”

And then she forcefully shoved one of the waitresses toward Mr. Minami.

“Dangerous. …Ms. Tomiko, you’re not yourself.”

“I’m doing it. I’m happy, you know.”
“Somehow… somehow… it feels… strange…”

While singing, she went off to the other side.

The mood turned somewhat awkward, but remaining quiet in that awkwardness, it seemed instead to enhance the alcohol’s flavor.
Mr. Minami kept smiling as he treated the waitresses to cheese and fruit desserts, having completely settled into his seat.
And he appeared spirited.
Yet seeing how he remained in his overcoat all along, it must have been that somewhere deep within his body was cold.

With the feeling that this was all over now, I grew bored and took a stroll around the room.
Tomiko was talking animatedly with three young company employees.
There were customers here and there.

But I really hated this so-called café. Despite ceilings spanned with gaudy colors, every corner stayed stubbornly dim - they'd even crammed in withered potted plants everywhere. In alcoves resembling zoo cages without wire mesh, men and women whispered furtively. The women looked sallow-skinned and coarse; every man wore expressions of exhaustion, boredom or naked greed. Worst were those anemic plants - their shriveled leaves practically guaranteed melancholy in anyone who looked too long. Even among cafés, one with an airy well-lit hall might have been bearable. A dance hall without brightness at least had motion to entertain you. What I liked was leaning both elbows on some second-floor handrail to watch the scene below.

At that moment, a good idea came to me.
I went to the window facing the thoroughfare and gazed down at the street below.
In the back street, pedestrian traffic was sparse and the light dim, yet it still held some interest.
And as I gazed, I ended up dozing off drowsily right there at the window.

A considerable amount of time seemed to have passed. When I woke up, I went over to Mr. Minami, who was already worn out from drinking, and urged him to leave.

Mr. Minami stood up. He was staggering considerably. He went straight to the stairway entrance but stopped there, thought for a moment, and tried to quietly survey the room. As his face turned halfway back, from the side booth where the singing had just cut off at "...the blood surges in my breast, let my spring overflow," a glass suddenly came flying. In that instant, if I hadn't leaped up and knocked it down, it might have injured Mr. Minami's cheek. The glass fell and shattered. The sound was small, but somehow an eerie tension spread through the room. At the same moment came a shrill laugh, and Tomiko rushed over. She was drunk and unsteady. Stepping on the shards, her eyes gleamed unnaturally.

“Goodbye.”
“Let’s shake hands.”

Mr. Minami shook hands as instructed and then calmly descended the stairs.
Tomiko’s figure was no longer visible.
Mr. Minami staggered outside.

IV

When Mr. Minami arrived home, it was well past midnight.

He staggered against the gatepost and, with his hands behind his back, frantically pressed the bell button.
After a while, the gate was quietly opened.
The one who came out was not the maid, but Ms. Yamane.
Mr. Minami was startled and stood frozen.

“I’m home…”
“I’m sorry.”

Upon bowing politely, he staggered and entered the house maintaining that momentum.
In the tearoom, he discarded his overcoat and sat with his knees neatly folded, though his upper body swayed unsteadily.
He closed his eyes.

Ms. Yamane locked the doors and returned.
I widened my eyes.
Ms. Yamane was not in her everyday clothes—she wore an Oshima-patterned kimono haori, a green-tinged subdued obi with omoto plant designs, and her hair was neatly combed.
Finding this strange, I ran through the house inspecting her footwear, her furoshiki wrapping cloths, and her luggage, but there was no sign she had gone out.
That she had changed clothes to wait for Mr. Minami—this was a grave matter.—She sat with immaculate posture and was serving him tea.

“There’s no need for you to stay up…” he said, though Mr. Minami kept his eyes closed.

“The maid has to get up early in the morning, so she needs to be put to bed on time.”

Mr. Minami bowed unsteadily.

“Since you are the head of the household, when you aren’t coming home, you must inform the house that you won’t be returning.”

“Yes… that’s right.”
He was slurring his words.
“Not having a phone at home is truly inconvenient.”

“A way of staying where one cannot make plans in advance is, in any case, not a proper way to stay.”

“That’s right.”
“Truly… it’s not a proper way to stay…”

“I’ve had enough…
“Go ahead and have some tea or something, then get to bed. Good night.”

“Good night, then.”

He staggered forward unsteadily but caught himself again.

Ms. Yamane took the discarded overcoat, shook it out on the engawa, and carried it to the next room.
And she returned shortly after.
“Something is inside.”
She held out a white envelope.
“It’s inside.”

She examined the envelope, saw that it was unsealed, and opened it.
She read it—it was Tomiko’s letter.
It had no address or signature.—She paled slightly, then flushed.

“What is this…?”

When the low table was struck with a sharp rap, Mr. Minami opened his eyes for the first time.

“Go ahead and read it.”

Mr. Minami took the piece of paper and read it.
He stiffened as if struck by electricity but remained motionless, cast his eyes to the corner of the room, and sank into deep thought.
Then he gazed quizzically at Ms. Yamane.
And because he stayed so silent, Ms. Yamane peered at the scrap of paper again and read it once more.

“I can generally tell what sort of person wrote this,” she said. “But what do you mean by this ‘lover’?”

Her tone remained unexpectedly composed.
Mr. Minami listened intently to that voice and stared fixedly at Ms. Yamane.
Then he averted his gaze again and sank into thought.
Suddenly he spoke:

“A lover… Yes, precisely—a lover.
Not human, certainly not divine—no—it’s a lover.
That one hasn’t appeared yet, but will emerge now.
A miracle… will occur.”

Ms. Yamane gradually grew pale, the flesh of her cheeks twitched spasmodically, and her eyes grew larger.

“Who are you talking about?”
“It’s no one.”

Muttering low, Mr. Minami collapsed sideways.
Tear-filled eyes.
Then suddenly—snatched the paper scrap on the low table, tore it ragged.

"That bastard wouldn’t get it… You wouldn’t either…"
"Still… I have a lover."
"Not woman… Not man… Not anyone… A lover."
"That… exists."

Tears were flowing down Mr. Minami’s cheeks.
Ms. Yamane turned completely pale and grew cold, yet taking a handkerchief in her hand with its glossy nails, wiped away Mr. Minami’s tears.
The tears kept coming one after another, and by the time they finally stopped—what a thing it was—Mr. Minami was already beginning to doze off.
Ms. Yamane stared intently at that sleeping face, let out a deep sigh, then forcibly roused Mr. Minami and led him to the second-floor bedroom.

I stayed there scratching my head.
—Seems my fairy tale was a failure after all.
They're all such odd people.
What kind of lover is that supposed to be?
And Ms. Yamane changing her clothes made even less sense.
But there was still no telling how things would turn out.
There was just too much that didn't quite add up for me…… Ah, whatever.

I went to check on Masao sleeping in the inner room.

Masao was sleeping peacefully.
When I kissed his forehead—perhaps a bit too forcefully—Masao opened his eyes wide.

"Why did you wake up?"

“Something weird came.”

“It must’ve been a dream.”

“I don’t dream.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.
Probably ’cause I sleep too soundly.”

“Haven’t you had any dreams?”

“I haven’t had any.”

“Why?”

“Even if I did have them, they’d be boring.”
“They disappear right when I wake up.”
“Is there something that doesn’t disappear even when you wake up?”

“There are!”
“There are tons of them.”

“Yeah, those do exist.”
“But Papa and Auntie have lots of dreams too, don’t they?”

“I don’t know about that.”
“If they’re having them, it’s probably because they can’t sleep well.”

“Hmm, maybe they can’t sleep well.”
“And you sleep far too soundly.”

“What’s wrong with sleeping too much?”

“Isn’t it lonely falling asleep first all by yourself?”

“Lonely? As if!”
“But it’s lonely when everyone else goes to sleep first and I have to fall asleep alone afterward.”

“Then what about dying?”

“Dying’s different.”

“Why?”

“If you die, that’s it.”
“You won’t ever wake up.”

“But hey, there are cases where people come back to life, right?”

“If they come back to life, then they weren’t really dead in the first place.”

“Then what becomes of things like hell, paradise, heaven, and the land of the dead?”

“That’s all lies.”

“And that’s fine with you?”

“What’s wrong with that? You just live while you’re alive. You’re such an idiot—how long do you even want to keep living?”

This kid was utterly beyond my control.
But I liked Masao.
And so I kissed his forehead one more time.

Just then, Ms. Yamane came along, deep in thought.
She must have put Mr. Minami to bed.
She got into bed but kept her eyes open indefinitely.
She might have meant to ponder something all night long.

Feeling utterly absurd, I slept beside Masao, who was already fast asleep.