Pathway to Japanese Literature

Love Among the Lonely

There are women who are said to hate men, just as there are men who are said to hate women.
As for men who hate women, I do not know what feelings women of the world hold toward them.
However, toward women who hate men, men find themselves strangely drawn.

If a woman who hates men were indeed exceedingly ugly, and if her ugliness caused men to disregard her, leading her to develop a vengeful misandry, then whether one sympathizes with her or not is each person's prerogative—but from my perspective, such a scenario seems utterly shallow and not worth discussing.
A woman who hates men should ideally have at least average looks—the more beautiful she is, the better.

Why did that person become a man-hater? Was she born with some lonely misfortune etched into her very being? Did fate mark her birth under a sorrowful star? Or had life dealt her some profound wound to the heart? Had sorrows overflowed till tears ran dry? Could it be that beneath it all lies an idealism too pure for this tainted world—not lofty aspirations exactly，but an innocence verging on naivety locked away in her breast? Does every interaction between men and women truly seem so vile，so repugnant，to her eyes? Or perhaps… might hers be a spirit too tender，too timid，retreating ever inward till only solitude remains?

It was these very thoughts that indulged my sentimentality.
In other words, they tempted my masculine desires.
No one would ever consider misandry to be something definitive or inherent.
Even if she claimed to hate all men, there remained this vain hope within me—that I alone might be excluded from that universal contempt, perhaps even becoming the sole individual toward whom her heart might gravitate.
The more absolutely "all men" meant everyone without exception, the more radiantly I alone—excluded from that totality—would shine.
Therefore, setting aside those base souls who felt smug satisfaction upon hearing of a woman who hated men—such vulgarity being beneath consideration—most people would feel something like a faint smile forming in some corner of their hearts.
You must be like that too.
There's nothing to conceal.
In truth, I had been the same.

That said, when it came to women, I was by no means a forward man.
Rather, I was considered a misogynist by my peers.
However, this misogyny of mine stemmed from a fundamentally lonely nature.

In this modern age, if one spoke of something like loneliness, people would surely laugh.
Everyone was equally lonely.
Moreover, being lonely amidst the crowd made it all the more difficult to bear.
Trains were packed, streets were packed, homes were packed, offices were packed—within all that crowding, every single person was lonely.
Even if someone grinned broadly with joy or furrowed their brows in distress, no one paid them any heed.
Go ahead and let out a loud wail.
Was there anyone who would care for you?
You would simply become a curious spectacle—and even that only for a fleeting moment—before everyone passed by with complete indifference.
Emotions failed to connect.
If we consider words to include even facial expressions and gestures, then words failed to communicate.
People became isolated individuals scattered apart from one another.

Moreover, my loneliness also stems from a timid sense of shame. In a crowd, I can hardly express any opinion. In truth, I don't even know whether I possess any original opinions of my own. And yet, I find myself unable to voice even ordinary, harmless remarks without them feeling somehow disingenuous; what's more, no suitable words fitting the time and place ever rise to mind. Being acutely aware of my own incompetence and clumsiness, I naturally find myself wanting to withdraw into corners. Each scene of daily life feels to me like a theater stage; I feel as if being watched by a crowd, and I cannot endure those countless gazes.

Among a crowd of spectators, women's eyes were the most spiteful and frightening.
That was why I could not help but feign coldness toward women.
From such behavior, I suppose I came to be thought of as a misogynist.
But why must it be limited to women?
Why could they not just call it misandry?
Why not simply call it misanthropy?

This so-called misogynist—myself—came to love that so-called misandrist—her.
As for my feelings toward a woman said to hate men—or rather, my own perspective as a man (though in truth this concerns myself)—these had already been described previously.
As for what feelings she held toward me—the one called a misogynist—I did not know.

Given that Sumie was called a misandrist, she was naturally no daughter from a respectable family. She was a waitress at a small restaurant.

To that small restaurant Katsumi, I had been taken by the Company President along with my colleague Nagata twice before. On the third occasion, the Company President suddenly burst into laughter.

“Sumi-chan’s a misandrist and Matsui-kun’s a misogynist—what a perfect match. Just don’t go fighting, you hear?”

The Company President was always in high spirits when work went well.
He poured a drink for Sumie and continued his weighty discussions with Nagata.
Nagata and I were what you might call the president's secretaries at Yamanishi Securities Company; Nagata served as the president's strategic advisor while I merely shuffled papers.
Though securities companies are inherently frenetic places, Yamanishi mainly focused on steady spot trading and kept financial dealings confined to special relationships, so there wasn't particularly much foot traffic, and especially our office work remained quite leisurely.
While Nagata was likely mentally occupied, I merely performed my duties mechanically.
Timid, taciturn, unperceptive, and always wanting to withdraw into corners—I seemed to be regarded by the President and Nagata as someone who, if not exactly trustworthy, at least required no reservations; in a sense, a man they could essentially ignore.
Thus even when visiting Katsumi, I never joined their conversations and could simply sit alone nursing my sake in a daze.

I had long heard that Sumie was a misandrist, and a faint warmth had been stirred in the depths of my man's heart.
Women who never made others uncomfortable—women who would flirtatiously strike up conversations—I found myself hopelessly awkward around them, to the point of wanting to flee.

I secretly observed Sumie's demeanor. Her eyes held a downcast, sickly shadow, while her lips carried a spirited air. Her face was rounded—though one couldn't call her a beauty—with cheeks whose flesh appeared soft, and a complexion pale beyond mere makeup. Her ears seemed small, half-hidden by black hair. She wore a striped meisen kimono, but rather than a restaurant waitress... she had the air of a tobacco shop daughter—though such things no longer exist—the kind of tobacco shop spinster that appears in old novels.

While pouring me sake, she stared intently at my face—

“I see... You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

And her cheeks suddenly flushed crimson.

I felt my heart skip a beat.
Had she not flushed like that, I might have bristled at her presumptuous remark—but that vivid blood-color reflected directly in my heart, and I too seemed to grow slightly feverish in the face.

But in truth, I was no only child.
I had both an elder brother and sister.
During the war I’d been conscripted into the Navy, but afterward left my family home to take up residence at thirty-three in a second-floor room of some amateurish boarding house.
Though my mother and siblings kept urging me to marry, I found the very notion of family life peculiarly burdensome and terrifying.
As for physical desires—if one simply visited a prostitute, one could remain silent without any need for consideration, receiving satisfaction quite naturally.
No mental strain required, nothing to feel bashful about.
But in a household there would inevitably be all manner of embarrassing situations and awkward formalities.
Thus regarding marriage I’d always evaded them by declaring, “I have certain ideals—until finding someone who fulfills them, I shan’t marry.”
Ideals—truth be told, not a single one existed.
When I thought about it all, those days seemed bleak and desolate indeed.

With a sensation like a small hammer lightly tapping somewhere in my chest, I looked back at Sumie's face.

"How did you know I'm an only child?"

“Somehow... you seem so quiet and lonely.”

This time, without any change in her complexion, she spoke with an earnestness that seemed to give her all.

“If you say that… then you must be an only child too.”

After saying this, I felt my face flush red.

She did not reply.
I too fell silent and took up the cup.
After that, we didn’t speak much, but while exchanging cups, we naturally and boldly met each other’s gaze several times.

If one were to say that just this meant we loved each other, it would seem rather absurd.
However, the spark of love is usually something trifling.
We had exchanged such trivial words about being only children, but our mutual blushing proved fatal.

I began visiting Katsumi alone because I wanted to see Sumie.
I was shy and bashful, while she remained taciturn and brooding.
We rarely spoke deeply, but our affection suddenly flared into passionate intensity.

Sumie began coming to my boarding house too.
I went to Katsumi frequently.
Since Sumie stayed over at both her aunt's house and Katsumi, our deception held, and we could go stay elsewhere together.

Before they knew it, their relationship became known to those around them.
The landlady at my boarding house stopped treating Sumie as a stranger.
At Katsumi, Sumie stayed constantly by my side, almost like a geisha.
On the other hand, I found myself short on money and borrowed a considerable amount of company funds from Nagata.
Through Nagata, a fellow employee like myself, I learned for the first time that company funds could be used with some discretion.
However, there must have been the president's tacit approval.

Nagata said.

“You don’t need to worry about the money.”
“The president is vaguely aware of you two.”
“But don’t get in too deep.”

In every direction, there were no significant obstacles.
However, a strange thing occurred between the two of us.

Without even clearly realizing it myself, I began neglecting my work at the company more often.
Sumie too started taking days off from the shop even during the busy evening hours.
And as long as we were together, that alone satisfied us.

I lit the kotatsu in my room even though it wasn't particularly cold yet.
Rather than sitting across the dining table from her, burrowing into the kotatsu together felt more comfortable after all.
And a bottle of whiskey with cheese, salted beans, and nigiri sushi—that was more than enough.

Sitting sideways with my face buried in the kotatsu, I thought.
The gentle warmth of smoldering embers, the supple softness of futon bedding—how these things soothe the human heart.
To me, Sumie was exactly that kind of thing.
However, Sumie seemed to have been thinking about something entirely different.

“I think I’ll go back home, but...”

She said abruptly.

Her hometown was in the rural countryside of Akita, where her father and brother worked in agriculture.

“That’s odd—
Why would you get that idea?”

Without replying, she sank into deep thought.

“Visiting family graves, I suppose. Such things can be left to the elderly instead of the young needing to do them, right?”

“No, I was thinking of going back for good...”

Not so much unexpected as—I was utterly dumbfounded.

“We can’t go on like this, can we?”

As for that matter, I too had been thinking about it. I had even thought that we might eventually get married. As for fears about domestic life, if it were with Sumie, I had none at all. Through her, I had for the first time come to know a passionate desire that transcended shame. Both she and I seemed to lack strong passion compared to others, but within that weakness, our two bodies came together naturally without hesitation, never growing tired. Could this be what they call love?

“You don’t need to worry... Let’s get married.”
“Once we’re married, everything will work out.”
“I’d been thinking about that too.”

“Marriage... it’s no good.”
“I’m fine with things as they are.”
“I’m fine with things as they are, but…”

She was neglecting her duties to Katsumi’s proprietress; she was creating awkwardness with her aunt; and I was racking up debts at the company—knowing full well things weren’t working out, she said haltingly.

“So let’s get married.”
“Why is marriage no good?”

“Because if we get married and then end up divorcing, I couldn’t bear it.”

“Getting married doesn’t mean we’ll necessarily get divorced.”

“But if we ended up divorcing, that would be too miserable. No—I don’t want to leave you.”

It was all such a senseless tangle.
Of course, I knew she had been married once before.
She had come to Tokyo from her aunt’s house to attend girls’ school, married young, but before completing the formal registration with his family, her husband had been conscripted and killed in the war.
She returned to her aunt’s home, where there’d apparently been some brief romantic dalliance that came to nothing, until she finally became a waitress at Katsumi.
Could those old wounds still linger in her heart?
When I broached the subject, she glared at me and said.

“I have never loved anyone before. Only you.”

Or perhaps there was some childhood friend back in her rural Akita hometown—had she given up on society and intended to marry this man?

“No, there’s no one like that.”

She said while glaring at me.

“Then, even if marriage is out of the question, how about we decide to live together? Find an apartment or something—live together. I’ll keep working at the company, you’ll keep working at Katsumi…”

“There’s no need for such trouble—I’m fine with things as they are now.”

“You were the one who said things can’t go on like this.”

“So I thought about going back home.”

“But going back home for good would mean parting with me.”
“Surely you don’t mean to drag me along too?”

“You couldn’t be a farmer.
I’ll go back alone.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.
What exactly are you trying to do?
If you want to break up with me, just say it outright.”

“No—I don’t want to break up.
I never want to leave you.
Why can’t you understand that?”

She lay collapsed over the kotatsu and began to cry.

I was at a loss.
It made no sense at all.
There was no logic to any of it.
Hysteria... Or had she lost her mind?
But until now, nothing like this had ever happened.
She had always been restrained, speaking candidly only in private, never acting spoiled.
What did this mean?
She didn't seem particularly drunk on whiskey.
If anything, I was the one growing intoxicated.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind... Pregnancy.

I pulled her close by the shoulders and whispered those words into her ear.

She jolted with a start, raised her face, wiped her tears with her sleeve, and shook her head vehemently.
“Idiot.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson, and as if to hide it, she clung to my chest.

I could no longer comprehend any of it.
There must be something beyond my comprehension.
She leaned forcefully against my chest, thrusting the full weight of her body against me.
It was violent.
Carelessly, I rolled, and she rolled too.
While rolling about, she pounded my chest.
Knocking away her hand, I stood up.
She also got up and gulped down whiskey.

“Mr. Matsui!”

Eyes harbored a shadow bordering on the pathological, lips twisted slightly.

“If I were to slap your cheek… what would you do?”

The best course was not to answer foolish questions.
I silently drank whiskey.

“I’ve decided not to go back to the countryside anymore.
In that case—I’ll act out instead.”

Eyes filled with tears, sniffle rising through nostrils.

“This infuriates me.
...Your doing—this ruin of mine.
...What would you have me do?”

It was utterly unlike her usual demeanor—a capricious fit.

“Fine—I’ll act out then.”

Staring fixedly, she rolled the drained glass across the tabletop and spun it round and round with her fingertips.

I lay down on my back.

“You don’t care about me anymore, do you.”
“Understood.”
“Then I’ll leave.”

Those words suddenly provoked my anger.

“If you’ve lost all affection for me, that’s enough—if you want to leave, then just leave.”

For a moment, everything went deathly quiet.
I pressed my arm over my eyes.
I wanted to see nothing.

“Understood.”
“I’ll leave.”

This time her voice was strangely quiet.
Then with equal quietness she stood up, left the room, and silently descended the stairs.

I kept lying sprawled out with eyes covered.
I endured as body kept twitching incessantly.
Then I abruptly sprang up.
I strained ears but heard no sound.
It felt like she had vanished shadow-like.
I waited but she never returned.

I drank the remaining whiskey, threw the bedding over the kotatsu, and burrowed in up to my forehead.
The night was late, but I couldn't sleep.

The next morning, I walked around Katsumi several times at a distance, circling it over and over.
I still hadn't clearly made up my mind.
In any case I had to meet Sumie, but I didn't feel like calling her, showing up first thing in the morning seemed awkward, and if she hadn't returned home it would've been humiliating.

Now that today had come, the world somehow felt changed.
The loneliness of emotions and words never truly connecting with others; the desolation of receiving only cold stares from many—it was the sensation of being cast back into that very state once more.
Enveloped in affection with Sumie, I had grown complacent; but upon losing her, I became more utterly alone than ever before.
Ah well, being alone didn't matter.
I had lived thirty-three years.
A young woman’s sentimentality might fantasize about death at thirty-three, but for my part… that aspect had actually remained vague.

Last night I gave myself over to delusion throughout the night. It was a delusion straddling the boundary between dream and waking. As the first pale light of dawn began to show, I came awake with a violent start. Sumie. Why had she become so utterly distraught? Though we'd both been quite drunk, as I retraced each lingering memory, I felt I'd overlooked something vital. About her misandry and such matters—I who'd initially spun all those naive fantasies—had been the shallowest sort of fool. Hadn't Sumie in truth been living on the very edge? And wasn't last night's chaos her final attempt at resistance? That ultimate resistance after discarding both body and soul. I don't know whether women are capable of such things, but there's no other way to make sense of it. That wasn't mere disillusionment with me. Because I hadn't understood, I must have grown angry. Or perhaps more accurately—I don't even understand myself.

Anyway, I wanted to see Sumie one more time.
Without Sumie, I might not be able to go on living.
Stripped naked and trembling, I could see my own figure.

I couldn't bring myself to pass directly in front of Katsumi and instead circled around it at a distance.
I could pass it off as having come for lunch once noon arrived.
There was still about an hour to go, but simply walking around Katsumi put my mind at ease.

In an instant, as if struck by a flash across my face, I hid in the shadows.
It was Sumie.
It was definitely Sumie.
Wearing a deep red half-coat and white tabi socks, she walked briskly ahead without glancing aside.
She seemed deeply preoccupied with something, not even attempting to avoid the bicycles approaching her.

Where could she be going?

I followed her trail.
I felt as if possessed by something.

At the tram line, she stopped.
The train came, and she boarded it.
I boarded from the opposite side.
The train wasn't too crowded, and there was a risk she might spot me, but I had already steeled my resolve.
I turned up my spring coat's collar, pulled the soft hat low over my eyes, and feigned nonchalance.
At the transfer station I was indeed at a loss, but managed to go undetected.
She might as well have never glanced aside.
On her part too, she seemed as if possessed by something.

Gradually, my chest grew restless.
She was coming toward my house.
But before long, I found myself strangely settling into a calm state of mind.
I felt as though I had known all along that she would come to visit me again that morning, and also as if I had gone to meet her.

She got off the train and turned toward my house.
There was no longer any need for hesitation; I immediately followed behind.

Before opening the lattice door at the entrance, she glanced back briefly.
She gazed intently at my face without blinking.

Suddenly, I teared up.
I said, concealing it.

“Let’s go to the room quickly.”

When I showed her into the room, she took off her coat and gave a formal bow.

“Where had you been?”

I smiled faintly.

“I kept circling around near Katsumi.”
“Then I spotted you and followed your trail, you see.”
“I see.”

She also smiled faintly.
Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks pallid.

"Anyway, let's light the kotatsu."

It wasn't cold, but the kotatsu was still better.
After drinking tea and burrowing into the kotatsu, I gripped her fingertips.
The slightly chilled fingertips pierced my heart like a nail, and I could no longer release them from my palm.

While gazing into her eyes, I said.

“Let’s go out.”

“Yes.”

“Somewhere far away would be good.”

She nodded.

It seemed this hadn't been decided last night, but rather had been an understanding settled long before.
And beyond that, there appeared to be no other course left to take.

We calmly and concisely made our arrangements.
I had a little money, and she had quite a bit.
The luggage was her small suitcase.
Leaving notes and such was completely unnecessary…….

When our arrangements were settled, we went outside, had a light drink, and enjoyed a pleasant meal.
Then, she returned to Katsumi, and I went back to my room and tidied up here and there.

That evening, we met up at Ueno Station and boarded the train.
Strangely enough, I felt somehow happy and was no longer lonely at all.