Pathway to Japanese Literature

On the shelf was a Chinese ceramic vase.
Since it was never used, I had brought cotton inside and prepared a cozy nest for myself.
That night too, late at night when I had gone inside and was dozing off, sudden noises and voices made me stretch up from the vase's mouth to look—only to see Mr. Katano come rushing in.

Mr. Katano was drunk.
He couldn’t stay in one place, and finding it too bothersome to sit down on a chair either, he kept staggering around the stove.

“Where have you been walking until now?” Ms. Yoshie shot a sharp look.

“Until now?
“What are you mumbling about? I’ve only been walking now.”
“In the first place—are you wet somewhere?”
“Well, whether you’re wet or not, whether there’s any evidence you were walking—go ahead and see for yourself.”
But truthfully, I had wanted to walk.
“A mist-like rain was falling—what a fine evening.
“Because they had to go and cram that into a car...”
“It’s revenge—let me have a drink.”

“No, no—do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Who cares what time it is….”
For women above all else—time seemed to matter most.
That’s one thing that grated on my nerves.
And then…

“And then?”

“Anyway, just one.”

Then Mr. Katano, deftly slipping off his shoes with both heels, crawled on his knees toward the small tatami room.

Upon entering from the front, one found an earthen-floored area with five tables bearing neatly arranged small chairs, followed by a four-and-a-half tatami room—this constituted the entire establishment.

Ms. Yoshie first instructed Sayoko who stood vacantly across the room, then brought over trays of small dishes and lit the gas stove.
Yet she made no move toward her, instead fixing unwavering eyes on the other's face.

“What’s wrong?”

Mr. Katano looked back at her face with an odd solemnity.

“It’s already one o’clock.”

“I’m sorry.”
And Mr. Katano smirked.

“You fool. You didn’t go home after that, did you?”

Mr. Katano nodded, but this time he smiled with his eyes.

“There was something on my mind...”
“The truth is, I ended up bar-hopping all over the place.”
“Somehow I just wanted to see everyone I know.”
“Of course, they were all women.”
“I probably won’t drink anymore from now on—I’ll become completely serious.”
“Tonight’s the last time.”
“So I thought I’d brightly meet all the women I know—you know how it is, just acquaintances really—wanted to swiftly meet them all, say goodbye, and come back home quickly.”
“This feeling—I was happy.”
“It’s because I truly love you.”
“But you love me too—truly love me—so you’d want to meet all your men acquaintances too—swiftly meet them—might even call them everywhere—but they’re men and you’re a woman—who knows what might happen...”

“Mr. Katano!” she cried out, still staring intently at his face. “Didn’t you do something strange tonight?”

“Strange thing…?”

“Cheating or something?”

“If I were going to do something like that, I wouldn’t be worrying about you this much.”

“Unbelievable. It’s as if only I… How on earth am I supposed to feel secure? If you keep feeling like that, unless we get married, things will never be settled. Didn’t you make such a firm promise?”

“But you know…it’s always like this.”

When Sayoko brought the sake bottle, he kept raising his cup in quick succession.

"After parting from you—it must be evening by then—when I wander the streets alone, I immediately start wanting to see you again."
"It feels both joyful and lonesome—so strange."
The women passing through the streets all looked like utterly unrelated foreigners.
"And I too might have ended up marrying one of those women if she weren’t here—you, I mean—if you weren’t here... serves you right, good riddance... That’s how I’d feel, and then suddenly, when tilting my head back to gaze at the sky, I’d come to resent you."
"Right now we love each other, but who knows—maybe someday I’ll find another lover, or you might find one."
"We promised we’d lay everything bare without hiding anything if that happened."
"I want you to keep that promise."
"If you were to get a lover—well, that can't be helped."
"If you’d just say that clearly, it’d be fine."
"Being lied to is what I can’t stand most."

“Then I’ll promise again—clearly, repeatedly.”

When Ms. Yoshie extended her pinky finger, Mr. Katano also extended his pinky finger, and grasping them together, they shook.

“This should suffice.
“No matter how many times we repeat it, it’s the same.”
“And we’ll keep our promise and live properly.”
“Let’s stop the wasteful spending too, shall we?”
“From now on, it’s about making money.”
“If we make lots of money together, wouldn’t that be enough?”
“Marriage? Who even cares about that.”

Mr. Katano nodded, but his expression was somehow somber.
A faint irritation lingered in Ms. Yoshie’s furrowed brow.

“Sayoko!” she called out sharply.
“Another sake bottle.”
“Go ahead and pour plenty in.”

Watching scenes like this, I found it unbearably frustrating, but since it happened so often, I'd given up.
And there remained one thing that made me secretly smirk.
That thing was money.
It had been about three years since the two had fallen in love, but apparently love alone wasn't enough—some jealousy-tinged quarrel would constantly arise.
They couldn't seem to marry either.
Mr. Katano had once cohabited with a woman, and Ms. Yoshie had been married for about a year; both relationships had been cleanly resolved. Though there'd been minor affairs afterward, Ms. Yoshie had strictly restrained herself these past two years while Mr. Katano occasionally engaged in outright philandering—they should have been able to marry without issue. Perhaps some hidden reason prevented it—mutual doubts about cohabitation, or absurd obstacles involving relatives and social standing.
Yet their trivial anxiety about continuing like this only grew.
Because of this, petty jealous quarrels arose constantly—quarrels they even seemed to enjoy.
One might say these became their twisted love play.
Unable to bear it any longer, I whispered into their hearts: "Why not make money?"
I'd meant it sarcastically.
Yet instead of irony, this became their final refuge—the notion that securing wealth would bring lasting peace.
Of course this remained mere fantasy; being spendthrifts both—despite Mr. Katano's modest inheritance and Ms.Yoshie's moderately successful restaurant—they stayed far removed from actual money-making.
That they kept retreating into this delusion made me wryly smile.
Hence my urge to mock them...

Mr. Katano grew even more intoxicated, and Ms. Yoshie was already quite drunk.
They seemed to be struggling to part ways from each other.
Mr. Katano suggested going somewhere, and Ms. Yoshie suggested he stay here.
From Ms. Yoshie’s perspective, she had only just left the house last night, and because it was late at night again, she was concerned about the journey in between.
From Mr. Katano’s perspective, unless it was something truly exceptional, staying here would have been awkward.

“It’s a special occasion.”
“It’s so late already, you see.”
“Besides, I’ve gotten drunk…”

But Mr. Katano kept making excuses.
It wasn’t the first time, and he already understood how things worked—it shouldn’t have been an issue—but above all, he disliked Sayoko.

“Why do you dislike her so much? It’s strange.”
“She’s not that unattractive, and she’s honest.”

“Honesty is just foolishness.
“I can’t stand her.
“Don’t you get that I’m always telling you to replace that woman?
“She’s got a lanky build with stubby legs.
“Her neck’s like a cow’s.
“And then there’s her buck teeth.
“That alone makes her worthless as a woman.
“Even if her eyes are somewhat presentable, even if her nose isn’t crooked—it doesn’t cancel out the buck teeth.
“More than that, I can’t stand her.
“If that one weren’t here, this place would be doing much better…”

“Shh, she can hear you.”
“That one has customers who’ve taken a fancy to her, you know.”

“Heh, what eccentric taste.”

“Anyway, you’re staying over.”

Mr. Katano fell silent and scanned the ceiling.
The space above it was Ms. Yoshie’s room.

Mr. Katano crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
His upper body swayed unsteadily.
He was still swaying—not just physically, but in his very being.

I flew over and whispered into his ear—Just stay over.
A man must yield to women.
And starting tomorrow: money-making.
This place has grown quite filthy, hasn’t it?
Make money and deck it out splendidly.
Toss out someone like Sayoko and install a pretty girl instead.
Well—it’s all about creating comfort, isn’t it?

Mr. Katano still sat with his eyes closed, swaying his upper body.

“Well? What’s wrong?”

Mr. Katano opened his eyes and gazed at Ms. Yoshie's face with a puzzled expression.
Then he fixed his eyes intently on empty space.

“That’s it! I’ve thought of something interesting.”
“Paper and… stationery will do. And a pencil—could you lend me those?”
“I have some work to do.”
“You need to go to bed first.”

Whatever his intentions, Mr. Katano stubbornly persisted.
He gathered paper and pencil, put a kettle on the gas stove to heat sake, and prepared a fresh bottle.
The leftover dried fish still remained on the tray.
And there, he insisted on being alone.
Ms. Yoshie went up to the second floor.

Near the back door stood a three-tatami room left behind during haphazard renovations.
Sayoko slept there.
Takahashi the chef and his niece Michiko always departed by midnight; that night too, they had already left when Mr. Katano arrived.

Late that night, when he found himself alone in the narrow, hushed shop, Mr. Katano glanced around and let slip a smile.
After reheating the sake and starting to drink once more, he stared fixedly at some unseen point, became absorbed in thought, then closed his eyes and crossed his arms, leaning motionless against the dining counter.

Time passed.
Just when it seemed he might have fallen asleep, he suddenly opened his eyes.
Then immediately, he spread out the paper and began writing something with a pencil.

They were various mysterious patterns.
Vertical lines, horizontal lines, squares and triangular circles, arabesque patterns, strangely shaped flowers and leaves, animal and doll figures—other indiscernible things intermingled and scattered until several sheets of paper were completely filled.
Apparently these were various architectural details: windows, transoms, ceilings.
That’s right—he was an architect.
The architectural details emerging one after another on the paper scraps all twisted into eerie shapes—laughing, dancing, alive and moving.
This could not simply be dismissed as drunken doodling.
They were imbued with a creative, mysterious vitality.

As I watched from the sidelines, I became oddly entangled and found myself wanting to intervene.
I occasionally touched the pencil, steering it in arbitrary directions.
Each time, Mr. Katano would widen his eyes and study the figures.
Whether those designs met architectural standards, I couldn't discern.
But he himself must have slipped into a profoundly genius-like state.
He'd worked himself into such fervor that faint sweat beaded on his forehead.

After scribbling across about ten sheets, he flung the pencil aside and heaved a sigh.
Then came the dry crunch of him devouring leftover fish before reaching again for the sake.

When the sake bottle became empty, he took it in hand and stood up.
He stumbled but caught himself, then sank back down just as he was.

“Hey, another bottle.”

“Yes.”

When a reply came, I was startled, but he himself—the one who had unconsciously called out—appeared even more startled than I. He kept staring fixedly toward the voice until Sayoko arrived with the sake bottle, at which point his expression bristled like an animal's raised hackles.

“Idiot, are you still up?” And he let out a small breath. “Why aren’t you asleep? Didn’t I tell you to go to sleep? I’m working. It’s distracting when people are up. Because you’re up in a place like this—look at this—I can’t get any work done. What are you dawdling for? Do you even think I’m a thief? Ridiculous! Who would run off with anything? Do you see even one decent item here worth stealing? Putting on such a show of loyalty, you fool—if you’re awake, make yourself useful and go fix some appetizers. There’s got to be something. Hey, why are you silent? Just bring some pickles or whatever! And more sake. Hurry up. Go to sleep already. Just go to sleep already…”

Even I was surprised that the usually quiet Mr. Katano started shouting.
Sayoko was completely flustered, fumbling about as she burst into tears.
While crying, she began preparing the sake.

“Nothing but clueless idiots gathered here.”

Mr. Katano stood up, staggered into his geta, and went to the toilet.

When Mr. Katano returned from the toilet, he glanced toward the darkened kitchen area.
In that corner, Sayoko was performing some task while crying.

“Enough already, enough already.”
“What’s this—you’re crying?”
“Idiot.”

Mr. Katano approached and placed a hand on her shoulder.
She seemed to flinch.

“What kind of fool cries over this? Idiot.”
“Get over here.”

Sayoko continued to sob.

“I said enough already…”

Mr. Katano held her shoulder.
Sayoko leaned against Mr. Katano’s chest as if pressing into it, her sleeve pressed to her face while surrendering to his lead.

Mr. Katano returned to the tatami room while holding her.
He pulled her closer as she lay prostrate there and lifted her onto his lap.
She had a blank-faced expression.
Then suddenly, he put strength into both arms.

It was so utterly unexpected that I was left dumbfounded.
Mr. Katano was tightly embracing Sayoko—the very Sayoko he had so detested, her with the short legs, sturdy neck, and buck teeth.
Sayoko had already stopped crying and, in a manner as if being held by her father, was entrusting her entire body to Mr. Katano.
She had her eyes closed and appeared as if she had cast aside both body and soul.
Mr. Katano’s teeth came into contact with her buck teeth, and there was a clattering sound.

Coming to my senses from the initial shock, I grew somewhat amused and whispered into Mr. Katano’s ear.

Is this what they call human compassion?

There was no reaction at all.

Is this what they call the flavor of counterfeit humanity?

There was no reaction at all.

Very well—do as you please.
Whether you strike her, kick her away, or treat her as a toy—it's all at your discretion.
Don't let this opportunity slip away.
To handle a human being however you like is more amusing than anything.

There was no reaction at all.

Blindly, the two bodies simply kept clinging to each other.

I was utterly appalled.
For about thirty minutes, the two remained locked in embrace, whispering absurdities and exchanging fragmented replies in hushed tones, yet never crossing that final threshold—then Mr. Katano stood up.
He crammed the scribbled papers into his pocket, properly fastened his shoes, had Sayoko open the back door, and went outside.
Sayoko watched his receding figure, then tilted her head slightly upward.
The rain clouds had split apart, allowing a faint suggestion of moonlight to seep through.

I suddenly remembered and went up to the second floor.
Ms. Yoshie was asleep, exhausted from drink.
That pleased me.

The next day, Sayoko claimed to have a cold coming on and stayed in bed all day.
Regarding Mr. Katano, Ms. Yoshie could only get out of her that he had suddenly remembered urgent business and left after that.
She went into Sayoko’s dim three-tatami mat room several times but found her not particularly ill.
From what I occasionally glimpsed by peeking in, Sayoko was simply sleeping soundly.

After spending a day in bed, Sayoko energetically got up and faithfully began working.
From wiping down surfaces to cleaning up afterward, she even did Michiko’s share herself.
She was polite to the customers.
She had simply grown quiet for no particular reason.
And she was especially loyal to Ms. Yoshie.
She seemed to pay close attention to Ms. Yoshie’s every move, attending to various details while eagerly serving her.

I watched this transformation with wide eyes.
Ever since that night, nothing has sat right with me.

Ms. Yoshie seemed to be worrying about Mr. Katano.
She wrote letters and such.

On the fourth day, there was a call from Mr. Katano.
Ms. Yoshie had a long conversation, then smiled and said to Sayoko.

“He’s supposed to come tonight or so…”

Sayoko’s expression did not change.

But Mr. Katano did not come.

After Takahashi and Michiko left at midnight, with no customers remaining either, Ms. Yoshie sat quietly around the stove with Sayoko, just the two of them.
It was a cold night.

“It’s freezing.”
“Won’t you pour me a drink?” said Ms. Yoshie.

Sayoko heated the sake, arranged small dishes, secured the front entrance, then went upstairs and brought down a padded kimono.

The padded kimono seemed to catch Ms. Yoshie’s attention.
She gazed curiously at Sayoko, pulled the stove near the raised threshold of the small tatami room, sat down there, and poured a cup for Sayoko as well.

“Have a drink.”

Sayoko was laughing.

Ms. Yoshie kept writing various numbers on scraps of paper and sighing.

“Why on earth aren’t we making any money?”

“If you adjust how you measure the alcohol just a bit, it makes quite a difference.”

Ms. Yoshie laughed in a shrill voice.

“My! Sayoko, I never thought you had such cleverness in you.”

And she gazed at Sayoko curiously once more.

“You know, I’ve decided I’m going to start saving money from now on.”
“You’ll stop wasting money too.”
“You make sure to be careful in all matters too.”
“When I have the money, I’ll do more for you too.”

Sayoko smiled faintly.

“Is there nothing painful about being here?”

“No.”

"You don't feel lonely or anything?"

Sayoko did not reply and was thinking.

“You’re from Echigo originally, aren’t you? You haven’t been back in quite some time, have you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you ever want to go back?”

“No.
Though… there are times I think I’d like to hear that sound of the waves….”

“Huh? The waves’ sound?”

“The ‘whoosh-whoosh’—it’s always there.”

“Were you born on the coast?”

“Yes.
When Father went out fishing and didn’t return because of the storm, I still remember how Mother and I sat listening to the waves.”

“And then what happened?”

“After that, Father never came back.
“The ship sank.”

Ms. Yoshie remained silent.
Sayoko also fell silent after that.
But she had leaned close to Ms. Yoshie.

“I also,” Ms. Yoshie said after a while, “went to Echigo long ago.
“And when I saw the sea, I was astonished.
“It’s completely different from this sea.
“There are large sand dunes, with pine trees sparsely growing...
“And with a swoosh-swoosh, the sea breeze comes rushing in.
“It’s all mixed with the wave sounds—you can’t tell which is which, waves or wind.
“It’s incredible.”

"But listening to it feels nice."

“Feels nice, you say?”

Sayoko stared wide-eyed in a daze.

“My! Cold hands.”

The moment she touched it, Ms. Yoshie took hold of Sayoko’s hand slightly.
Sayoko kept her gaze vacantly fixed in midair as she pressed closer still.
To her, Ms. Yoshie had taken on the semblance of something precious, gentle, and nostalgic.

“Have a drink. You’ll warm up.”

Sayoko accepted the cup.
And the two of them drank sake while engaging in aimless conversation.
Sayoko turned red immediately.
And she writhed her body and pressed closer to Ms. Yoshie.

“I’ll work as hard as I can from now on to make the shop more profitable.”
“For the drinking customers, I’ll keep bringing out sake bottles one after another.”
“It’s a bit too refined, like Michiko-san.”
“Moreover, the dishes could be priced higher.”

Ms. Yoshie gazed at her as if surprised.
And she suddenly stood up.
Despite having been sitting there with Sayoko pressed close beside her, holding hands at times before the sake bottle, she seemed even more surprised.

“Let’s go to bed,” she murmured.

Sayoko was staring blankly.
Then, turning her already red face even deeper crimson, she stood up.

“You can leave the cleaning for tomorrow.”
“It’s late already.”

Ms. Yoshie, in some sort of bad mood, looked up at the clock and headed toward the washroom.
She washed her hands and rinsed her mouth.
She seemed displeased at having been pressed close to Sayoko.
Flapping her kimono, she went upstairs to the second floor.

Sayoko cleaned up slowly while lost in thought.

Inside the vase, I used to yawn time and again.

The following evening, Mr. Katano came around nearly eleven o'clock.
There were four or five customers.
Mr. Katano sat down at the corner table.
Sayoko went out and silently bowed politely.
Her eyes had more shadow from their lashes than usual, deeply darkened and seemingly flickering with laughter—Mr. Katano briefly took note of this before immediately turning away.
Sayoko withdrew without even attending to her duties.
Michiko came and guided Mr. Katano to the small private room.

It was just that, but something struck a noticeably different note from usual.
And Mr. Katano hunched in the corner of the small private room and began drinking with modest dishes, but showed no interest in anything.
Ms. Yoshie peeked out, offered a perfunctory greeting, then whispered, "Please wait."
An offhand "Yeah" came in reply.
He barely spoke even when Michiko brought the sake bottle.
He must have been deeply troubled.
Perhaps it related to what had transpired the previous night.
So I crept closer and tried to prod at the thoughts in his head.
Since he seemed so thoroughly adrift, I meant to lend him aid.

"The other night—after grabbing Sayoko—you did some rather foolish things, I must say."

"Hmm…"

"Dwelling on such things makes it all the more trivial, doesn't it."

——Right….

"But it was rather disorderly, wasn't it? People would recoil if they knew."

――Maybe so.

—You were holding her and asked, "Are you still a virgin?"
“Yes,” she replied.
"Do you remember?"

—You seem to remember.

—“Yoshie’s practically my wife, but lately—hasn’t she been getting close with some man?” you asked.
Then she replied with just a single word: “I don’t know.”
"Do you remember?"

—You seem to remember.

—In the middle of a kiss—how you could even utter such things.
I was utterly appalled.

"I'm appalled too."

"What on earth were you feeling?"

"I don't know."

"You hated her so much, didn't you? Was that your pinnacle of debauchery?"

――No.
――Do you still hate her even now?
――I don't know.
But I don't like her.

"If you don't like her, then you must hate her? Or perhaps it's like sniffing at something foul?"

Mr. Katano made a disgusted face.

"Or was what you embraced merely a lump of flesh?"

Mr. Katano frowned.

"Why didn't you go all the way and violate her?"
"That was rather cowardly of you."

"Everything was cowardly."

"No, that's not the case."
"You were brave."
"Your teeth clashed and made a sound, didn't they."

"That's stupid."

Mr. Katano seemed to have grown angry.
No matter what was said to him now, he gave no reply and simply kept drinking sake.

"Isn’t this enough already?
Look at Sayoko..."

Mr. Katano did not even raise his eyes.
Yet seeing how calmly he remained seated there, perhaps he had already started completely ignoring Sayoko.

However, Sayoko was being reconsidered.
The black shadow in the depths of her eyes seemed to glow with an odd intensity.
She cheerfully entertained the drunk customers, let out high-pitched laughter, and—though she normally wouldn’t so much as touch the cups being thrust at her—downed them in single gulps.
In this house, since Ms. Yoshie had been meticulously maintaining an air of refinement upon refinement, both Michiko and Sayoko would behave demurely; there were no rowdy customers, aided by Takahashi’s skillful kitchen work and no troublesome drunks to speak of—so much so that by nearly midnight, everyone would be sent home.
But today, Sayoko was oddly frolicking, carrying sake bottles incessantly to a trio of salaryman-like customers and keeping up boisterous laughter as she drank with them.

“Hey there，Mr．Takahashi—they say we should toast to your skills．”
“Come on out here．”

Takahashi was laughing from the back of the kitchen，while Ms．Yoshie and Michiko were frowning．

“Here’s your cold sake.”

With that, Sayoko did things like pour cold sake into cups instead of water.

“You’re amazing, Sayo-chan!”
“If you keep up service like this, I’ll come drink here every night.”

“If you don’t come early, it’ll be packed and all the seats will be taken.”

Humming some suspicious melody she must have picked up somewhere—her steps were already unsteady.

A customer near the exit stood up, and in doing so knocked over the chair.
At the sound, Sayoko jumped up in apparent surprise, grabbed onto the table, and held her breath.
Her complexion had changed.
Then she began to laugh—a hollow, empty sound—before going over to Michiko and grabbing her shoulder.

“I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry.
I’m drunk…”

Michiko, not understanding what this was about, was at a loss as to how to handle her incessant apologies.
Sayoko puffed out her cheeks, abruptly left Michiko’s side, and then ceased her boisterousness.

As time passed and the customers had all left—with Takahashi and Michiko, who knew about the mistress's circumstances, having gone home—Mr. Katano was still drinking with a gloomy expression, while Ms. Yoshie remained taciturn.
She tentatively suggested closing the noisy small restaurant and opening a stylish café instead.
On Mr. Katano’s side, he mentioned that the general design for the assembly hall’s room—the one discussed by Mr. Tsushima—was nearly complete, but he showed no enthusiasm whatsoever.
The air was chillingly cold.
And then the two of them went upstairs.

The strange thing was that both of them did not say a word to Sayoko.
Sayoko withdrew into the back of the kitchen as if forgotten by all—and as if she had forgotten her own self—but when left completely alone, she suddenly shuddered violently, then hurriedly finished cleaning up, turned off the lights except for one remaining in the kitchen's depths, and hunched over the fire bowl there to sink deep into thought.

She remained motionless for a long time.
Gazing vacantly at the fire bowl's flames, she seemed to be listening and watching intently within her heart.
She was probably remembering either her hometown or the sea breeze.

Her father had died in a shipwreck when she was ten years old. Then, the year after she finished elementary school, her mother caught a cold that turned into pneumonia and died. She went out to a nearby town and became a restaurant maid. After about a year and a half, she fled that place and sought refuge with her aunt in Tokyo, who ran a folded-paper box shop. At her aunt’s house, she worked for five years at physically demanding jobs without sparing herself. Then, when things didn’t work out at her aunt’s place and the shop had to be closed, she went out to work as a maid. At a small contractor’s household, she could barely receive any wages. She herself rushed to an employment agency, had someone her aunt was acquainted with become her guarantor, moved around two or three times, and then came to Ms. Yoshie’s current household. She wasn’t quick-witted, but she was honest. She harbored something fierce within, while her exterior remained indistinct and blurred.

She crossed her arms like a man, hunched over the fire bowl, and sank deep into thought……

I respected her meditation and simply watched over her.

Around two o'clock, footsteps came down from upstairs.
The footsteps were quiet.
It was Mr. Katano and Ms. Yoshie.
Both were silent.
Ms. Yoshie opened the back door.

“Well then, I’m sure.”

“I’ll be fine.”

But Mr. Katano seemed powerless.
Holding Ms. Yoshie’s hand, he went outside only to immediately hang his head and walk away lost in thought.

Ms. Yoshie locked up and started ascending the stairs, but suddenly stopped her feet and peered toward the kitchen.
She stood there for a moment before striding over.

“What are you doing there?”

Sayoko stood up.

“What are you doing there, still awake at this hour?”

Sayoko stared vacantly at her as if seeing a ghost.

“Idiot, what were you doing?”

Ms. Yoshie's slender face twisted in anger.
Legs trembled.
Staggering unsteadily closer, she tried to slap Sayoko’s cheek.
Startled, I intercepted that hand—that seemed to have been a mistake.
She grabbed a cup within reach and hurled it.
The cup struck the wall with a terribly loud crash and shattered into pieces.
At that moment, Ms. Yoshie let out a sharp cry.
In Sayoko’s hand gleamed a sharp kitchen knife.
Ms. Yoshie turned deathly pale.
Sayoko also turned deathly pale and stood like a stone statue.

It was a mere instant of clashing wills.
The moment Ms. Yoshie twisted her body around to flee, Sayoko threw down the kitchen knife and ran away.
As their movements collided, the kitchen knife grazed Ms. Yoshie's leg.
Ms. Yoshie collapsed abruptly.
Blood gushed out from precisely above her tabi-clad ankle and flowed across the floor.

Sayoko didn't seem to notice.
She rushed to the back door, opened the lock, and ran out to the front.

Ms. Yoshie sat up.
She bound the wound with a handkerchief.
But that wasn't enough.

I had to help Ms. Yoshie.
Then I also had to go search for Sayoko.
And then, far from being amusing, I became strangely depressed.
What a sorry state everyone’s in.
I moved beyond absurd feelings into sheer desolation.