Pathway to Japanese Literature

“You were wearing a mask.”
“Take off that mask.”

Though Kyoko said this tearfully, I hadn’t been wearing any particular mask.
I had simply devised the most prudent expedients and walked what might be called the Middle Path.
How could someone following the Middle Path possibly commit any crime?
I could find no reason within myself to be condemned by others.

Perhaps I had put on too modest an air.
Yet a humble demeanor deserves respect under any circumstances.
Especially when borrowing from colleagues—how could one possibly assume an arrogant attitude?

I always spoke in an extremely quiet manner.
I did not resort to pitiful entreaties that might sway others' emotions, nor attempt to evoke sympathy through grave, sorrowful tones - I simply spoke quietly and modestly.
In other words, I adopted a moderate manner of speaking.

"I was wondering if you might be able to lend me around ten thousand yen for a month."

It was crucial to keep the amount vague—around ten thousand yen—while clearly specifying a one-month deadline in return.
I made sure to emphasize this point.

"In one month, the money was supposed to arrive from my uncle. If things went wrong, I intended to allocate my entire salary toward repayment."

My monthly salary amounted to a little over ¥10,000, so there was no cause for concern regarding this arrangement. The uncle story was merely a pretext—that too being just a matter of phrasing—for the understanding that money would come from elsewhere.

It wasn’t exactly a desperate situation, nor was it something I could insist on requesting outright, but I explained that if some financial accommodation could be made, it would render me most fortunate.

It was necessary to maintain a degree of flexibility.

These days, falling ill would have been quite disastrous.
Apart from consultation fees - injections, oral medications, emergency medicines - all ridiculously expensive - I also had to take nourishing foods, making it a full-blown crisis for a poor man like me.
Well, it was fortunate that I was healthy enough, but given that she was the mother in our three-person household with my sister, I wanted to do everything possible for her.
While my mother's illness remained unhealed, I had privately vowed not to even consider marriage - or so the situation stood.
The house we were living in had survived the war unscathed, so we didn't face daily hardships, but there was nothing of value left to sell. If we endured too severe a life of austerity, it might worry my mother and aggravate her illness - turning these thoughts over in my mind, I found myself utterly disheartened.

In such a manner, I steered the rest into casual conversation.
But there weren’t many lies.
My mother’s illness was also real.
My mother had a tuberculous lesion in her right lung.
She was already quite elderly, and since the affected area had stabilized, there was nothing immediately worrisome, but daily caution was required.
Overwork and nutritional deficiency must be particularly avoided.
That I wanted to cherish this mother was my true intention.

In this manner, I took care to attend to every aspect of the conversation, showed a degree of leeway, and spoke in a way that never felt overbearing.

Moreover, I also had confidence in my own physiognomy.
My complexion was on the fair side, my eyebrows spaced apart, my forehead broad, and particularly my nose neatly high—though I didn't mean to boast, it wouldn't have been wrong to call these refined features.
Even considering my own experience, I couldn't bring myself to lend money to those whose appearance suggested baseness, servility, or wickedness, while one tended to carelessly hand over money to those without such traits.
In other words, I was born with a physiognomy that made borrowing money easy.

However, even if I met all the necessary conditions, it would be futile if the other party had no financial leeway. This was an absolute principle, so I had secretly scouted targets beforehand.
Working at the same company allowed me to roughly estimate whether they had any margin of flexibility.
Thus I made loan requests, which mostly succeeded.
Though regarding amounts, ten thousand yen often got bargained down to seven or eight thousand.

As it was one of Japan's foremost large corporations, there were many colleagues, and eventually the money accumulated in my hands reached one hundred thousand yen.
However, I never once postponed a repayment deadline.
Strict adherence to deadlines formed the foundation for maintaining trust.
Though I had borrowed secretly from each individual, there was no guarantee information might not leak through some mishap.
Yet so long as I scrupulously observed deadlines, there was no danger of compromising credibility.
Moreover, after allowing a suitable interval to pass, it became possible to borrow again from the same person.
When appointed deadlines arrived, I would append about ten Peace cigarettes to repayment sums.
Since we were colleagues who wouldn't accept interest even if offered, ten cigarettes as tokens of gratitude struck that properly moderate balance.

In my estimation, I could have increased the total debt even more.
However, I kept it to around ¥100,000.
I mustn't get carried away—so I restrained myself.
In other words, as far as I was concerned, I believed I had maintained my portion in moderation.

The one who suggested such debt policies to me was Kurokawa Zoutarou.

During the war, in a domestic military unit, he had been my subordinate.
Though I was considerably younger, I had already become a paymaster lieutenant while he remained a warrant officer.

After the war's end, we spent days without any word from each other, and just when I had nearly forgotten about him, he suddenly visited my home. He had packed his rucksack full of various valuable items and presented it as a token of his visit.

“This is a token of gratitude.”

At first, those words didn’t make sense to me.

In both his demeanor and speech, formality and roughness stood out distinctly apart, while his clothing mingled sharp neatness with careless dishevelment.
In short, there was something incongruous about his entire bearing.
Upon hearing his story, I learned that he had been working as a black-market broker of sorts, but had recently started a moneylending business—a revelation that left me momentarily speechless.

As we continued chatting further during our conversation, I came to understand what he had meant by his “token of gratitude.”
When the unit was disbanded, vast amounts of military supplies had come under the accounting department’s discretion to a certain extent, so I, having heard that Kurokawa’s family was poor, had tacitly permitted him to freely dispose of a quantity of the supplies.
He felt indebted for that.
Using the money he had gained at that time as capital, he began working as a black-market broker before transitioning to moneylending.
However, his funds still did not appear sufficient.

“You probably won’t care for this sort of proposal, but why not entrust your funds to me as you would a bank? I’ll guarantee twenty percent monthly interest with full responsibility. This way I can turn a profit, and naturally you’ll profit too—that’s how it works.”

Even during our military service, he’d demonstrated sincerity toward me. Now too, I perceived that same sincerity remained. There was no mistaking this wasn’t some ploy to coax money from me with sweet talk. Yet regarding those very funds—I possessed almost no savings to speak of. When I confessed this plainly, he emitted something between an admiring groan and a sigh.

Since it had been a while, I served him the whiskey I had saved for special occasions.
He drank it without reserve and then freely imparted money-making strategies to me.

At the time of the unit disbandment, Kurokawa had now clearly come to know that I had hardly sought any personal gain—expressing both wonder and admiration—but I myself did not particularly boast of it.
It wasn’t a matter of something like a sense of justice.
I had merely followed a moderate path.
Even if, over two years later, I attempted money-making as Kurokawa advised, it wasn’t due to any change in my mindset.

Kurokawa viewed the moneylending trade merely as business.
I too believed that was how it ought to be by its very nature.
Outcomes like draining others’ lifeblood arose from the borrowers’ own strategists.
In this climate of extreme credit contraction, there were those who avoided bankruptcy through moneylenders’ assistance and others who reaped substantial profits—an explanation Kurokawa had provided that I accepted.
Therefore, even if I hitched myself to his wagon, it hardly warranted censure.
Moreover, just as during the unit’s dissolution years prior, in a way I was assisting him again.

According to what Kurokawa said, among moneylenders there were currently those demanding as much as twenty percent interest over ten days. However, Kurokawa was more moderate. He only demanded thirty percent interest per month. In return he only engaged in secure transactions. Even so there were still cases where recovery became impossible. That's why he said if I were to invest he could guarantee up to twenty percent monthly. Through this Kurokawa himself could establish a profit benchmark while I would naturally profit.

Now, regarding those funds on my side—I naturally didn’t have them on hand.
However, Kurokawa said you’d need to come up with twenty or thirty thousand yourself.
From there on, it was easy.
In my company there were plenty of colleagues who had small savings, and well—they would likely lend around ten thousand yen or so.
Unlike schoolteachers or lower-ranking bureaucrats, they probably didn’t have that tightfisted mentality of clinging to petty cash.
All I needed was to skillfully broach the topic.
The crucial points were not setting deadlines beyond a month and always repaying on time.
For that first repayment alone, I had to scrape together twenty or thirty thousand.
And if I deposited whatever money I raised with Kurokawa, twenty percent monthly interest would reliably accrue.
By shifting repayment dates, not only could I cover the principal through interest alone—it would grow like a snowball.
If I borrowed ten thousand yen each from twenty people to amass two hundred thousand, I’d make forty thousand monthly profit.
To colleagues—since it was just a month-long arrangement—there was no need for interest; ten packs of cigarettes as thanks would suffice.
Even so, for them it far surpassed bank interest rates.

“You must not leak such matters to others.”
“It concerns your honor.”
“For my part, I intend this as repayment of the favor.”
“No matter how much others may bring, I will absolutely not accept it.”
“I’m a moneylender, not a borrower, after all.”

Kurokawa laughed heartily with apparent amusement.

I needed money.
This was partly to fulfill my filial obligations to my mother.
It was also for supporting my sister.
These were my natural domestic responsibilities.
Additionally, I required some discretionary funds for my relationship with Mikami Kyoko.
After all, my salary alone proved insufficient to manage everything.

Kyoko was a female office worker at the company and, what you might call, in a mutual relationship with me. It was not that we had engaged in passionate love; ours was a rather peaceful relationship that had formed naturally over time. In this matter too, I had walked a moderate path. There had been no romantic catalyst—within the ordinary mutual fondness typical of young men and women, we ended up lying down together in her apartment room. There were no particularly memorable scenes.

She was large-framed and mentally somewhat dull.
Her longish face had small eyes, a small nose, and a small mouth sparsely arranged across it, with a well-defined nose bridge and earlobes of exquisite shape.
I might say I loved those earlobes most of all.
She never hid her previous marriage from anyone, declaring she would now live independently.
While her lifestyle was generally modest, she spared no expense when it came to sugar and butter.
Moreover, her complexion changed drastically—sometimes her skin would be beautifully clear and radiant, other times ugly and sallow—yet her mood remained mostly bright regardless.
I sensed a certain lack of coherence.
That very incoherence may have been what drew me to her.

We would avoid our colleagues' eyes and go to movies, visit coffee shops, take stylish suburban strolls, and drink in her room.
If one were to call it utterly vulgar and petty, that would be one way to put it—but to rephrase, we never overstepped our bounds.

On one hand, my debt policy succeeded.
Because I strictly adhered to repayment deadlines, it could even be said that I gained trust while accumulating debts.
Kurokawa remained sincere toward me and offered various guidance.
After just a bit of forced financial maneuvering at the start, the funds I had entrusted to Kurokawa gradually multiplied, and I became able to withdraw necessary pocket money whenever needed.
"Don't be in such a hurry to spend it all," Kurokawa admonished me.

Everything was progressing smoothly.
I was supremely secure.
Because I had no grand ambitions or aspirations.
And because I kept to my portion and walked the Middle Path.
I was, in truth, a moderate human.
And I lived a moderate way of life.
What's wrong with a moderate human living a moderate way of life?

However, something strange occurred.

Due to his previous work connections, various black-market goods would sometimes be brought to Kurokawa.
They were far cheaper than market price.
Among these, I occasionally accepted odd lots of daily necessities like socks and shirts.
I bought some for my sister as well.
Because there was light brown woolen suit fabric available, I bought enough for a suit and gave it to Kyoko.
Kyoko wearing that new suit became unrecognizably refined compared to her previous black-trousered appearance.
It seemed to have drawn attention.

Kyoko had several female office worker colleagues.
Among them, there seemed to be those who, with women's uniquely sharp intuition, had noticed the relationship between Kyoko and me.
Among my male colleagues as well, there seemed to be someone who had vaguely noticed our affair.
Even so, it hadn't been anything particularly problematic.
Then came Kyoko's new suit.
For men it was a trivial matter, but for women it became a major issue.
Kyoko was viewed with fresh curiosity by colleagues and even subjected to direct ridicule.
Kyoko handled it skillfully while calmly hinting at assistance from me—or so it appeared.

How those ripples spread, I did not know, but before long they came washing back to me.

On my way home from work, Nakao came chasing after me and invited me to a familiar bar. And while drinking shochu, he began probing. Moreover, since it stemmed from goodwill toward me, it became all the more troublesome.

“You seem to be borrowing money from various people, but you don’t appear particularly troubled.”
“What on earth is the reason? Won’t you tell me?”
“If it’s something difficult to talk about, I don’t mean to press you, but I can’t help feeling concerned.”

“Oh, it’s a simple matter.”

I explained that since the promised allowance from my uncle tended to be delayed, I borrowed money as a stopgap in the meantime.
Since I was constantly using this fictional uncle, I couldn’t very well omit him now.

“However, it seems the number of debts keeps increasing, doesn’t it?
“How many people are you borrowing from now?”

Judging from those words, my debts had already spread quite extensively and seemed to have become common gossip.
However, as long as I repaid them without fail by the deadlines, it should be fine.
I replied.

“Hmm, that may be so, but...
“You’ve kept your word with me too, and from what I hear, you’ve never broken a promise.”
“But eventually, you’ll reach a point where you can’t manage anymore.”
“I’m worried about that.”
“The day of deadlock will surely come.”
“What will you do when that time comes?”

“You’re probably thinking suicide or crime, but don’t worry—there’s no need for concern.”

Nakao stared into my eyes as if startled.
He must have imagined suicide or crime, and there seemed to be others of similar mind.
But how could a moderate human like me be capable of such outlandish acts?
Nakao abruptly changed the subject.

“I know this is prying,” he said, “but about that Mikami Kyoko... There’s a rumor you’re spending quite a bit on her—whether pampering her or getting squeezed dry. You really ought to be careful about this.”

I immediately felt that my having become an issue must have stemmed from such circumstances. This was utterly disastrous. I lied. While explaining that I had merely given her the fabric out of gratitude since I'd borrowed money from her, that there were no ulterior motives, and that above all one must show proper courtesy toward women, I broke into a cold sweat. Nakao gulped down his shochu as if he couldn’t believe it, with evident dissatisfaction.

“There are all sorts of rumors going around, so you need to be careful, you know.”

In such a manner, it ultimately ended inconclusively. On my end, since I had nearly worked out a method to organize my debts, 'rest assured,' I said as I gripped Nakao's hand. In truth, my funds in Kurokawa's hands had grown fat enough that I no longer needed to repeatedly borrow much more.

At the company, a subtle atmosphere drifted around me.
Hushed whispers, curious eyes, anxious gazes, cold pretenses, exaggeratedly sympathetic attitudes—all manner of things swirled around me like dust.
Yet they remained chaotic and lacked cohesion.
Testing the waters, I requested a loan from one colleague who readily lent ten thousand yen.
Unexpected.
With rebellious intent when settling other due debts, I conspicuously placed a tobacco gift on his desk—gratitude made visible.
He furtively stuffed it into his briefcase.
"Serves you right," I thought, feeling vindication flood my chest.

Against such a backdrop, Kyoko confronted me.
She had seemed to be avoiding me, and I too had been keeping my distance out of consideration, but then she suddenly told me to come to her apartment.
On that promised Sunday afternoon, I steeled myself and set out.
I sensed there was some grave matter she wished to discuss, and I resolved to comply with all her wishes.

She was unusually dressed in a kimono and received me with a stiffly polite demeanor.
In keeping with what I always drank, she served black tea and whiskey.
Cheese and fruit had been provided.
After an oppressive silence had continued, she began to speak.

“You must have something you’re hiding from me.”
“Would you kindly tell me everything about that?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I feigned ignorance.

She stared fixedly at my face.
"You've been borrowing money from various people at the company, haven't you?"
"Yes, I'm borrowing."

I gave a casual nod.

“Why did you hide that?”

It was an absurd question. Borrowing money from people wasn’t something to hide or not hide—it was a trivial matter. There was no need to go out of my way to spread it around. However, she insisted otherwise. If spending money on her was causing trouble, she even went so far as to suggest breaking up. The whole story just didn’t add up.

“You’re the one hiding something, aren’t you?”

When I pressed further, she confessed she had been summoned by Section Chief Toda and severely reprimanded. According to Toda’s theory, I had incurred massive debts from dozens of people and stood in a state where collapse could come at any moment. Should collapse come, there would be no telling what fraud he might commit or what crimes he might perpetrate. Association with such a man required caution. Particularly, receiving any manner of favors from him would spell personal ruin. Rumors were already circulating everywhere. While rumors remained rumors, what proved crucial now was exercising caution regarding future matters and maintaining resolve to recover. In any case, a man like me demanded sufficient vigilance…

Even after hearing that, I wasn’t particularly surprised.
I merely thought it was unnecessary lecturing.
I know full well that I am not the sort of person capable of committing fraud or crime.
Within the company, various forms of corruption were indeed being carried out.
Bribery and corruption, illegal diversion of supplies, fraudulent transactions—these were being conducted quite extensively under either corporate or individual auspices.
There were even some that had nearly become open topics of discussion.
What about all those matters—and what about those people?
As for me, I hadn’t done anything wrong.
When I borrowed money, I repaid it by the due date and gave tokens of gratitude however modest.
Even with Kyoko—I hadn’t forced myself upon her; it had been founded on what you might call natural mutual agreement.
In all these matters I had conducted myself modestly.
I had always kept within my bounds and remained satisfied with moderate positions.
In what part of me could there be any whiff of fraud or crime—any seed thereof?

I quietly and modestly explained these matters.
However, something entirely unforeseen occurred.
As my words trailed off and I smoked a cigarette and drank whiskey, Kyoko suddenly raised her voice.

“No, you are a cold-hearted person.”

This occurred during a period when neither coldness nor passion had yet become points of contention.
What had she been contemplating?
What exactly had she negated with that “no”?
As I lost my mental foothold and gazed blankly, her eyes acquired a peculiar glint that fixed upon me.

“You’ve been avoiding letting me get pregnant.”

That too was abrupt.
Admittedly, I had no intention of getting married yet, and she appeared to feel the same way; consequently, thinking it would be troublesome if she became pregnant, I had been careful to avoid that.
It was one of my appropriately measured actions.
But what did that have to do with my debts or these hypothetical crimes?
Her glaring eyes clouded over as if misted, and this time she began to cry.

“You don’t truly love me.”
“Let’s part ways now.”

When I remained silent, she said while crying,“You were wearing a Mask. Take off that Mask.”I was startled by something，but I couldn’t understand why myself.In truth，I am not so wicked as to wear a Mask；rather，am I not honest and modest？

“I don’t wear any mask, nor have I ever felt the need to. I’ve always intended to maintain my true face as it is.”

Strangely—or rather, perhaps naturally—my heart grew cold. And I even came to see her as hysterical. Her cheeks were pale and clear. As I looked at them, I suddenly recalled the shifts in her everyday face—how her skin would become beautifully radiant or unpleasantly dull—and found myself thinking the odd notion that these must be mere physiological changes.

“My face has always been my true face.
“It’s just that there’s no physiological change.”

She defiantly raised her face.
Her eyes flashed with something like hostility, and the flesh of her cheeks spasmodically trembled.
She poured whiskey into her own glass, then emptied the remainder completely into mine.

“You get drunk on liquor all by yourself, and then you always go on about ‘physiological changes, physiological changes’ to me…”

“No—that’s not how I meant it.”

“I understand perfectly. A Mask doesn’t undergo physiological changes.”

I fell silent.
Had I suddenly embraced her or kissed her, my careless words might have passed as a joke—but there was something in her that kept me at bay.
Was that my principle of maintaining moderation?

I had become moderately drunk on whiskey, but feeling that reconciliation with her was no longer possible, I left the room. I silently left an envelope containing ten thousand yen in bills on her desk. At that moment, becoming acutely aware I had prepared such a thing in advance, my head grew hot while my heart turned icy cold.

Kyoko quit the company.
She had apparently been transferred elsewhere.
She offered me no formal farewell; nor did I attempt to reach out.
However, thoughts of her lingered oddly in a corner of my mind.
That may have been natural, but it felt as though a cloud had formed somewhere.
And I adopted a cold attitude toward everything at the company, both naturally and deliberately.
I spoke little, smiled rarely, performed duties at a sluggish pace, neither approached anyone nor opposed anyone.
In connection with Kyoko’s resignation, the gazes directed at me grew even more persistent, but I ignored those as well.

However, one day, when handling office duties took slightly longer than expected and I wanted to finish everything by that day, I stayed behind for about an hour to work.

At that moment, Mr. Nishiyama brought tea over for me.

“Working diligently, I see.”

He wore a kind-looking smile.
He was so diligent that he frequently stayed late to work.
He was a small-statured man over fifty years old, always smiling, seemingly without a care in the world, and giving off an impression of utter benevolence in every aspect.
Having seen that I had finished my work, he apparently brought tea.

Mr. Nishiyama sat down beside me and, just like me, drank tea and smoked a cigarette.

“You must be lonely,” he muttered.

While I was blankly staring in confusion, he casually remarked that Ms. Kyoko had quit the company...
Then after exchanging a few pleasantries, he casually inquired again.

“I hear you have rather substantial debts—might I ask what the total amounts to?”

It was all delivered in perfectly casual conversation.
The matter of my debts that concerned so many at the company seemed utterly mundane to the kind Mr. Nishiyama.
I gave an evasive reply, but he pressed on regardless.
Debts shouldn’t be scattered among multiple parties—ideally consolidated under one lender.
Strict adherence to repayment deadlines was most commendable for a young man like myself.
In that case—using your company salary and retirement allowance as collateral—I could arrange a lump sum through monthly installments.
“With no more financial obligations toward Ms. Kyoko, installments should prove manageable.”
“In return—given present circumstances—I’d require about ten percent monthly interest...”

“Well, just think it over for now.”
“There’s no need to worry about every little thing.”

And he slipped away without waiting for my response.

I felt strange and for a long time cradled my forehead in both hands. Then suddenly, anger welled up within me. That seemingly benevolent Nishiyama knew everything about me and was likely attempting to lend his own money at ten percent monthly interest.

I came to realize intuitively. Such ostensible kindness represented the height of arrogance—might it not potentially drive someone to commit any manner of crime under certain circumstances? Nishiyama was by no means what could be called a moderate human.

I left the company while deep in thought and walked the streets while deep in thought.
I found myself pitiable and miserable.
Moderate human, moderate human… As I whispered this to myself, tears threatened to spill.
"Moderate even your sentimentality," I admonished myself, then lifted my face and smoked a cigarette.