Pathway to Japanese Literature

In February, an unexpected heavy snow struck the Tokyo area.
What began falling in the evening had become a violent blizzard by night, though it had ceased by morning, leaving every visible surface of the ground blanketed in pristine white.
As blizzards do, the snow had accumulated unevenly—in drifts beneath cliffs and similar formations lay areas where depths reached one meter.

Though skies typically clear completely after snowfall, that day remained dimly overcast; the next day too hung under thin clouds until finally clearing on the third day. Around noon of that sunlit day, a young woman's corpse was discovered within one such snowdrift.

It was a boundary between high ground and lowland, forming a gentle slope, with a road winding around the plateau.
It remained as scorched remnants from wartime firebombing, with only a few small houses sparsely built here and there.
On one side of the road, at the bottom of the slope where it leveled out, the snow lay deep, and within it, the corpse was buried.

It was children enjoying skiing who made the discovery.
Because the heavy snow was unexpected, youths rushed outside and began skiing each in their own way.
Some had brought out proper ski equipment while others had improvised temporary gear.
The slope bustled with those people.
The slope—once crowded with pedestrians—eventually had its snow cleared away or melted, rendering skiing impossible. However, the children, still unable to resign themselves, ventured out to snow-covered slopes.

The group of children stood frozen as if bewitched by something strange.
The snow that had drifted to the bottom of the slope had largely melted, becoming soggy and waterlogged, thinning out—yet within it spread a pale blue fabric.
The fabric appeared to be an overcoat, and it was shaped like a human.
Upon closer inspection, the human shape had black hair attached to it, and at the opposite end, the tip of a rubber boot jutted out abruptly.

With a collective cry—no one could tell who started it—they raised their voices, then frantically fled to alert the neighbors to the abnormality.

Then it turned into a great commotion.

What had been extracted from the snow was the corpse of a woman around twenty years old, wearing an ordinary suit with an overcoat and rubber half-boots. Her hair was permed only at the ends, and her facial features had a charming roundness. Contact was made with the police, and shortly before the medical examiner arrived, the corpse was identified as Taishiro Kiyoko, a housemaid working in the inner quarters of Mr. Mikami’s residence not far from there.

The corpse showed no signs of disarray whatsoever. It could not be considered murder, nor could it be considered suicide. An autopsy was performed as a precaution, but there were no external or internal injuries, no poison was detected, and it was even proven that she was a virgin. It could only be concluded as death by freezing, and the time of death was estimated to be around midnight during the blizzard. However, even with all that, there remained an inexplicable inconsistency.

The master of the Mikami household where she served, Mikami Sosuke, was a Diet member.
The family consisted of his wife, a boy in the upper grades of middle school, and a girl in the lower grades.
There was one lower-ranking housemaid.
Kiyoko had been working earnestly for about a year through an acquaintance’s arrangement as a housemaid in the inner quarters—that is to say, in the lighter role of a junior maid.
She had won the mistress’s favor and was well-regarded by those around her.

On the night of the blizzard, after dinner and finishing her household chores, around eight or nine o'clock, Kiyoko said she was going out to buy something and left.
The snow wasn't falling heavily yet.
She never returned after that.
Mrs. Mikami, worried, searched her room but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Even so, after waiting two nights and two days with no return, Mrs. Mikami—not to the extent of filing a missing person report but in a more casual sense—had the matter reported to the police.

When Kiyoko went out, she was supposed to have taken a bamboo-ribbed umbrella, but that umbrella was nowhere to be found.
There seemed to be no other missing items.
She had also been carrying a wallet containing around 200 yen.
The umbrella had been blown away by the wind, and an interpretation that someone had picked it up was also formed.

Just how had she come to freeze to death—there were no signs of assault by a molester, no discernible motive for suicide could be found, and surely other means would have been available?
The notion that someone had kidnapped her seemed implausible—her stomach contained nothing beyond her evening meal, and the estimated time of death further supported this.
It was concluded she had likely gone out shopping and, on her return path, slipped down that slope due to the blizzard, lost consciousness, and consequently froze to death.
As for what she had meant to purchase, there remained no one who knew.

In truth, reaching this conclusion had also involved behind-the-scenes maneuvering by Mikami Sosuke.
The title of Diet member had produced some effect.
Moreover, the fact that Mrs. Mikami had filed a report with the police proved advantageous.
The fact that Kiyoko was a virgin became a fundamental condition.

Thus, it was deemed an accidental death, and the police investigation was closed.

A provisional funeral was conducted, and Kiyoko’s cremated remains, cradled by her biological brother who had come from a rural district near Mito, returned to her hometown.

About two weeks later, in a secluded room of the Mikami household—or in other words, Mrs. Mikami’s private parlor—Mrs. Matsunaga, a visitor, and Mrs. Mikami engaged in a solemn conversation, having steered clear of others.
The two had been close friends for many years, sharing a degree of intimacy rarely seen between women—a relationship without secrets or barriers, built on absolute mutual trust.

The two women settled into a kotatsu facing each other.
On the side table lay a scattered array of sweets and fruits, green tea and black tea, whiskey and beer.
These last two items served as an indication of both the women’s friendship and the nature of that day’s conversation.

“These days, we simply can’t fathom what young women are thinking anymore, I must say.”

Mrs. Matsunaga said that and let out a sigh.
Her daughter, who was attending a women’s college, had become involved with a certain new theater troupe but declared that she would drop out at the end of March and formally take to the stage.
Though being a stage actress might still be preferable to a film actress, even so, Mrs. Matsunaga was appalled at her daughter’s decision to drop out of school midway—yet the daughter stubbornly tried to assert her own will.

“But your daughter’s way of thinking is so free and bright—I don’t believe there’s any cause for concern.”

Mrs. Mikami said that and seemed to let her thoughts race toward something else.

At that moment, Mrs. Matsunaga brought up the matter of the deceased Taishiro Kiyoko.
Taishiro Kiyoko—known as Kiyo-san in the Mikami household—was someone Mrs. Matsunaga had come to know well through her frequent visits.
She had always said what a good maid she was.
She lowered her voice.

“I wonder what really happened to that person.”

“Even now, I still can’t quite make sense of it.”

From their casual exchange of words, Mrs. Mikami finally confessed everything.

The following is Mrs. Mikami’s account.
Of course, this was a dialogue with Mrs. Matsunaga—such conversations between close friends of similar standing often touch upon delicate matters with surprising frankness, yet also sometimes gloss over crucial points.
That dialogue was structured not so much as Mrs. Mikami’s account but rather in the form of a confession.

With things having turned out that way—it was truly a regrettable outcome. No, not for us. I speak of that person herself. As you know, she was a girl with lovely features, neat-and-tidy, always smiling and working diligently, so I had taken considerable care to look after her. Rather than someone meant for domestic work—to put it another way—she had the disposition of someone suited for roles such as a company office worker or department store clerk.

One day, when I happened to tentatively bring up that subject,

“I dislike such things.”

She answered clearly and concisely in a single word.

While she was usually quiet, she was the type to speak her mind clearly and concisely when she had something to say. Her speech as well—while she had a strong dialect when she first came from the countryside—she very quickly adjusted to standard Japanese. She also naturally picked up how to handle phone calls. Well, I suppose one could say she was intelligent.

But upon closer observation, while she was always smiling, there was something undeniably gloomy about her—a shadow she seemed to carry with her.
The fact that she disliked office work must have been true.
Letters would occasionally arrive, but she seemed to have no friends who came and went, and she rarely went to see movies.

Her mother had passed away when she was young, and she was raised by her father—from fragments of that girl’s words, I could infer he had a stubbornly inflexible disposition. Her brother had come here at the time of the incident; I met him directly—an earnest yet taciturn man. Indeed, that girl rarely spoke of her own circumstances.

Later I heard from another maid—Kin-san—that when that girl was in her hometown around her girls’ school graduation years, there seems to have been a man she secretly loved: the son of a once-prominent landowning family from their village who attended a specialized school in Tokyo. During his vacations he apparently brought her various gifts—though how deep their relationship ran remains unclear—likely a naive pastoral romance. Yet that student perished mountaineering in Tohoku’s snowy peaks—Kin-san had failed to catch which mountain exactly—and this entire tale seemed colored by her imagination enough to obscure hard facts.

Still—from multiple angles—I concluded this incident must have carved itself deeply into that girl’s heart.

After that incident, I secretly conducted a thorough investigation of that girl’s room.
Since this was after the police had already thoroughly ransacked the place, naturally, I could find no clues whatsoever.
However, after hearing Kin-san’s story, I realized something with a start.
That was about the books that girl had.
They were a modest collection of small-format books, but most were mountaineering accounts.
Translations of various climbing chronicles from the Alps and Himalayas, records of ascents in the Japanese Alps, and final testimonies from those who had perished in mountain accidents.
At first, I dismissed it as nothing more than an eccentric interest and had her brother take them away, but after hearing Kin-san’s story, I began to sense it wasn’t mere curiosity.
I now bitterly regret not having examined those books more closely.

In addition, I should mention that among that girl’s books, besides mountaineering accounts, there were several Buddhist-related volumes such as the Threefold Lotus Sutra, the Three Pure Land Sutras, and a biography of Nichiren.
This was strange reading material for a young woman, but at the time, it did not strike me as unexpected.
The reason I say this is that she ordinarily treated the Buddhist altar with great care, and during Obon or the equinoctial weeks in spring and autumn, she would prepare various offerings before I did.
Furthermore, she would often tell me about her aunt back home being a devout follower of Nichiren Buddhism.
That is why I had let her brother take those books as well, but looking back now, it seems they held a special significance.

That dark shadow that seemed to follow her, the story of her lover who perished in a snowstorm mountaineering accident, the various mountaineering accounts, her Nichiren Buddhist aunt, the Buddhist texts... When I line them up like this, I am astonished at the mysteries of a young woman’s psyche.
Could this be my misconception?
But I feel our girlhood days were much simpler and more straightforward.
If that child hadn’t died in such a way, only her usual smiling, obedient surface would have caught my eye.

"I have taken a terribly roundabout way to tell this story, but in truth, I cannot help but feel that child’s death cannot be dismissed as merely accidental.
I will endure my shame and confess the circumstances that had been ongoing.
Since this is a matter best kept from others’ ears, please let it remain between us here.
“Of course, we had kept this hidden from the police as well.”"

It was the end of January.
In the evening there were several guests, two of whom stayed overnight.
As you know, such occurrences were not uncommon in our household.
However, the next morning after the overnight guests had left, that girl—Kiyo-san—came to me alone, said only "Madam," and kept her ashen face turned downward with grave intensity.

Since there was an air of something amiss, I remained silent and waited.
Kiyo-san glanced up at my face and produced a stark white square envelope from the front of her kimono.

“Madam, Mr. Sugiyama forced this upon me earlier, but I had no opportunity to return it.
“I find this unpleasant, so could Madam please return it on my behalf?”

Since the envelope remained unsealed, when I checked inside, there were only three 1,000-yen bills and nothing else.

“What is this?”

As a token of appreciation for the drinking, overnight stay, and trouble caused, the amount was far too large.
A distasteful gloom came over my mood, and I frowned.

At that moment, I recalled having once glimpsed Mr. Sugiyama seizing Kiyo-san in the corner of the washroom, waving his hand grandly while saying something.
I had thought they were merely teasing Kiyo-san over some trivial matter and paid no mind, but it was likely about this envelope.

Mr. Sugiyama referred to Sugiyama Ryukichi, whom you also knew—a gentleman affiliated with the same political party as my husband. Though he had yet to stand as a candidate for office, I had heard that for his age, he excelled in both talent and capability, and his future was being regarded with great expectation.
But as for me, I did not particularly care for that recklessly overbearing personality of his.

Kiyo-san remained silent with her face down, showing no sign of readily divulging the circumstances, but before long, she began to speak as though resolved.
In that case, it is indeed clear.

The previous night, after everyone had retired, Kiyo-san was in her room—having not laid out her bedding nor changed her clothes, the electric light left blazing—reading a book.

I should explain that in our household, as the maids’ room measured a cramped three tatami mats, we had only Kin-san sleep there, and since the four-and-a-half-tatami student room stood vacant, we had allotted that space as Kiyo-san’s quarters.

In that very room, Kiyo-san had been reading books until late at night without preparing for bed.
Then, at some unknown hour in the middle of the night, someone went to the back toilet, and that person came toward Kiyo-san’s room and quietly slid open the fusuma door.
That was Mr. Sugiyama.

The moment she saw Mr. Sugiyama in his nightclothes, Kiyo-san abruptly stood up.
The room had two entrances and exits.
From one of them—the entrance different from where Mr. Sugiyama had come in—Kiyo-san fled to the kitchen, gushed water noisily, clattered around already-washed dishes, and simply made a racket.

After patiently carrying out such actions, she then quietly returned to her room and peered inside, only to find that Mr. Sugiyama was no longer there.
And so Kiyo-san turned off the light and lay down, remaining in her kimono as she pulled the futon over herself and drifted into a light sleep.

Even after morning came, Kiyo-san continued avoiding Mr. Sugiyama, but was finally caught in the washroom.
At that moment, Mr. Sugiyama thrust an envelope containing three thousand yen into Kiyo-san’s bosom.

“It’s just a token of my feelings.
“It’s nothing serious.
“Keep this between us, you hear?
“If this reaches Mr. Mikami’s ears, I’ll be in a bit of a bind.
“We’ll talk properly again next time.”

Mr. Sugiyama had reportedly made these remarks.

Kiyo-san had merely peeked inside that envelope, been at a loss over what to do with it, and then handed it to me.

“Kiyo-san’s account—you must have noticed as well—has something that doesn’t sit right.”
“It wasn’t just that—there was something else, I too felt.”
“Even if Mr. Sugiyama had playfully teased her in a drunken moment, isn’t it strange that Kiyo-san remained in her kimono without laying out bedding and stayed vigilant until late at night?”

After thinking for a while, I gently probed that point using as inoffensive language as possible.

Then—wouldn’t you be surprised?—Kiyo-san calmly revealed an even more serious matter.

I recall it was about half a month ago, after the New Year’s pine decorations had been taken down.
There were indeed many guests, and as it was the closing out of the New Year, after much eating and drinking, three of them ended up getting drunk and staying over.

It was that night.
Someone entered Kiyo-san’s room and abruptly burrowed into her futon.
In the pitch darkness, Kiyo-san remained tightly curled up and could do nothing.
Then that man clung to Kiyo-san, did all manner of selfish and lewd things as he pleased, and after some time left.
That man was Mr. Sugiyama.

When the autopsy results of Kiyo-san’s corpse revealed that that person was still a virgin, I cannot express how overjoyed I was.
No—rather than being overjoyed, it would be more accurate to say I was relieved.

However, when I first heard the aforementioned story from Kiyo-san, I felt truly suffocated.
Kiyo-san did indeed say he had done all manner of selfish, lewd things to her, but I neither understood what exactly those things were nor could I press her for details.
In my estimation, I could only think that this was surely a case of Kiyo-san having been violated and defiled.
If Kiyo-san had been my own daughter, I would have questioned her more thoroughly about such matters—now I cannot help but regret it.

At that moment, Kiyo-san sitting before me even seemed hateful.
Having had her body defiled, she shamelessly disclosed the matter without shedding a single tear.
Could it be that beneath her demure girlish facade lay an unexpectedly jaded and cunning woman? Such suspicions even arose within me.

Simultaneously, I felt furious.
Kiyo-san was another family's cherished daughter.
Yet while entrusted to my household, this unthinkable situation had occurred.
If my own daughter were subjected to such treatment, how would I respond?
This fury came to target not Mr. Sugiyama, but Kiyo-san before my eyes.

“Why didn’t you resist at that time?”
“You could have bitten him or cried out for help...”
“It was inside the house, you know—not out in some open field.”

I was fretting and glaring at Kiyo-san.

Then, suddenly, I felt as though I had tumbled from heaven to earth.

Kiyo-san quietly stated as follows.

“At first, I didn’t realize it was Mr. Sugiyama.
At first… I thought it might have been Master.”

“If it had been Master… are you saying you would have endured it?”

“Yes.”

That "Yes" reply pierced my chest like an awl.

I wouldn't go so far as to call it jealousy.
Shall I say doubt instead?
All at once, various doubts came surging up.

Kiyo-san had been favored not just by me, but by Mikami as well.
I had cherished her with particular care, and Mikami too, despite his rough disposition, had treated her gently.
Even when she made some blunder, we would merely caution her and never resort to scolding.
Little by little, Kiyo-san had come to handle Mikami's personal affairs in my stead.

“Don’t leave everything to Kiyo-san—you should take care of me a bit too.”

Laughing it off as a joke, Mikami had once made such remarks.

Those words came back to me in an inverted sense.
Various other trivial daily matters rose to mind with implied significance.

Could it be that some special relationship had formed between Mikami and Kiyo-san?
Though it was terrifying to suspect such things, this was not unheard of in society.
Even if it were not a matter of love but merely a capricious dalliance, would that not be unbearable for a wife?

If the man who had sneaked into Kiyo-san’s room that night had been Mikami… Kiyo-san herself stated she had initially thought it was Master.
How could I possibly guarantee nothing like that had occurred before?
I must clarify that I had believed Kiyo-san was no longer a virgin.

Had I lost my composure?
But if you found yourself in my position, what would you have done?

I brought my conversation with Kiyo-san to a close.
Telling her to leave everything in my hands from then on, I took custody of the envelope from Mr. Sugiyama.
Yet in truth, Mr. Sugiyama had already faded into obscurity, while Mikami stood blocking my path ahead.

I paid attention to Mikami’s behavior.
I also paid attention to Kiyo-san’s behavior.
Even so—though it feels odd to say “strangely” now—I could obtain no clues whatsoever.
Mikami was his usual self, and Kiyo-san seemed as though she had found some resolution regarding Mr. Sugiyama and was now at ease.
My suspicions, having lost their outlet to the outside, could only turn inward.

For these reasons, being unable to contain my own feelings, I resolved to launch a frontal assault and settle the matter decisively once and for all.

Mikami was often away from home, but one evening when he returned early, intending to catch him off guard, I abruptly broached the subject in the tearoom.

I had the maids retire to their respective rooms, and the children were studying in their own rooms.
In the midst of our conversation, there was also a strategy: if Mikami were to take me to the study or parlor to continue the conversation, I could reasonably judge this as suspicious.

"What are your thoughts on Kiyo-san?" I asked point-blank.
"Surely you haven't engaged in an improper relationship with her?" I pressed directly.
"If that's how it is, then I want you to make it clear," I pressed.

Even to myself, it had been a strangely businesslike way of speaking.
This was because I thought delicate phrasing would prove ineffective against Mikami’s thick nerves.
Yet even to such bluntly practical words, Mikami remained utterly unfazed, showing no reaction whatsoever.
He was slightly drunk, but smirked as though amused.

“That’s the most entertaining story I’ve heard in ages.”
“My life’s grown rather colorful lately, hasn’t it?”

Was he not making light of it like that, blowing smoke rings?

I—more than having my assumption proven wrong—found myself irritated and declared, "Regardless of your part in this, Kiyo-san is the suspicious one."
Mikami’s expression abruptly changed, and he snapped, “Explain clearly.”
Thereupon, I clearly explained about Mr. Sugiyama and Kiyo-san’s words.

Mikami did not interject a single word and listened in silence, but gradually, his eyebrows furrowed and his expression turned hostile.
When I finished speaking, he said, “Very well, I understand.”
“Bring Kiyo-san here.”

He was obstinate and confrontational.

From my perspective, things had turned out entirely different from what I’d expected.
But in any case, telling myself that she was just a young girl, I tried to appease him and called Kiyo-san.
When Kiyo-san came out, Mikami made a bitter face but ordered her to bring a bottle of sake.
He seemed to be forcibly suppressing some irritated feeling.

After that, Mikami remained silent the entire time.
The sake was warmed and they began drinking with what was at hand, but he had Kin-san withdraw and called only Kiyo-san to the table.

“You seem clever but are in fact a fool.
An utter fool,” Mikami began.

I watched anxiously from his side, but Mikami barred my interjection.

“Do you intend to disgrace me?” said Mikami.

Kiyo-san stiffened and bowed her head down.

Even so, Mikami appeared to be exercising considerable self-restraint.
He did not raise his voice and strictly explained only the key points.

“Leave Sugiyama’s matter to my wife; I’ll pretend not to know anything,” said Mikami.
“What’s crucial is your own conduct.”
“Do you think that I would sneak into your room at night, even if I were drunk?”
“You’ve crossed a line in looking down on me!”
“I frequent the pleasure quarters, and though I’m in front of my wife, I do sometimes amuse myself with women in the nightlife trade.”
“However, I am not so senile as to lay hands on the housemaid of my own household.”
“Thinking it might be the Master was your own presumptuous delusion, but such a notion is utterly an act of disgracing me.”
“You’re destroying my social standing.”
“If Sugiyama were me, what would you do?”
“Do you mean to obediently follow my will?”
“The notion that it must be the Master—such a thought is a remnant of feudalism.”
“It’s precisely because of such antiquated thinking that Japan remains perpetually stagnant.”
“Reconsider and start anew.”
“Before starting anew, cleanse yourself.”
“Aren’t you already stained in both body and soul?”
“Do a purification ritual or something.”
“Take a cold water ablution or submerge yourself in an ice bath—if it snows like the other day, you should stand in the snow all night.”

“Go think for one night—no, two or three if need be—about whether what I’ve said is wrong.”
“Understood?”

“Yes,” Kiyo-san answered.

From the time Kiyo-san came to the house, we had instructed her that her responses should be clear, but she was indeed a child who gave clear responses.

Now that I reconsider, it was Kiyo-san who deserved pity.
Whether it was I or Mikami, neither of us had ever earnestly contemplated Kiyo-san's circumstances.
We had been so absorbed in our own concerns that we disregarded Kiyo-san's position entirely.
A pitiable victim—I cannot help but feel that she was such.

There was some truth in what Mikami had said.
The notion of enduring submission simply because it was the Master—that was precisely a remnant of feudalistic thinking.
But apart from that single grain of truth, the rest was utter nonsense.
Things like disgracing his face or social reputation—wasn't that itself a presumptuous Master-like consciousness?
And finally, the purification ritual.
I myself grew ashamed.
Even Mikami, depending on the circumstances, was a man who might sneak into the maid's quarters at night.
Did not the fact that I, his wife, was the first to harbor suspicions already prove this?

Be that as it may, it ended up having a strange outcome.
The next morning, I comforted Kiyo-san by saying, “I’ll be right behind you, so stay calm,” and showed her kindness.
And with that, my distasteful feelings toward Kiyo-san vanished, leaving only hatred for Mr. Sugiyama.

After that, I secretly kept watch over Kiyo-san’s condition.
Still, there was simply no way to dispel the vaguely awkward atmosphere.
Mikami himself also seemed to find the aftertaste unpleasant and stopped speaking much to Kiyo-san.
In return, I made an effort to speak to Kiyo-san, but it often ended up sounding forced, and even I found it distasteful.
As for Kiyo-san, though she seemed to have grown even more reticent than usual, there was no particular change in her demeanor.

If I may mention something I noticed, Kiyo-san would often be absorbed in reading books late into the night. Those were likely the books on mountaineering and Buddhism that I later discovered. Once when I saw the bright light still on in Kiyo-san’s room late at night, I called out to her. She immediately replied “Yes” and said she was going to sleep right away.

Later, when I asked Kin-san about it, she told me Kiyo-san occasionally had trouble sleeping and had been using sleeping pills. If there truly was an errand that blizzard night, I can’t help thinking it must have been for those pills.

Then one time, I overheard a strange conversation between Kiyo-san and Kin-san.
Kin-san seemed to have observed a dialogue between deaf-mutes outside that day and was apparently impressed, perhaps even imitating it.

“That’s absurd,” said Kiyo-san.

“But you must have gone through tremendous hardship to learn how to talk with your fingertips,” said Kin-san.

“That’s why I’m saying it’s absurd.
If it were me, I wouldn’t engage in such absurd studying.”

“But they’re deaf and mute.”

“Isn’t that just fine? Rather than having the half-measure of hearing and speech, being like that is far happier.”

“Well, what a peculiar kind of happiness.”

“I sometimes truly wish I could destroy these ears and mouth.”

“You’re such an oddball.”

“You’re the one who’s an oddball.”

Just when one might think they were arguing, both of them burst into laughter.

I'll set aside trivial matters—one thing remains that left a deep impression on me.
When I was out in the garden one evening tending to some task, I happened to look up and saw Kiyo-san standing on the second-floor veranda.
She might have gone to close the storm shutters—having slid them halfway shut, she stood leaning against the edge with both hands pressed to her chest, utterly still.
The sun had already set, but crimson clouds bathed in its afterglow drifted in tattered fragments across the western sky.
Gazing at those clouds, Kiyo-san stood motionless.

At that time, Kiyo-san was wearing a kimono.
From when she first came to the house, she had only owned Western clothes, so at year’s end I acquired a complete set of hand-me-down kimonos from my youngest sister back home—ones considered too gaudy—and gave them to Kiyo-san.
A meisen kimono and haori with large scattered red camellias, paired with a crimson merino obi.
Kiyo-san was utterly delighted and began wearing them from New Year’s onward.
The sleeve length fit her perfectly.
However, since she couldn’t tie the obi herself and needed Kin-san’s help, she didn’t wear it constantly but alternated between kimono and Western attire.

Wearing that kimono, Kiyo-san leaned against the half-closed storm shutters on the second-floor veranda, both hands pressed to her chest, gazing at the red-tattered clouds drifting across the western sky. Whether from the clouds' reflection or not, her whole body seemed wrapped in a reddish haze that gradually appeared to fade. Was she contemplating something, or was her mind truly empty? She remained utterly still for what felt like an eternity.

From the garden, while observing Kiyo-san's state, it suddenly occurred to me that Kiyo-san had never once paused her work midway before... A peculiar feeling came over me, and I quietly slipped back into the house.

The impression from that time still remains vividly with me.
However, I could not keep watching over Kiyo-san for long.
Within days, a blizzard night arrived, and then came that unfortunate incident.

I cannot bring myself to believe that Kiyo-san accidentally slipped and fell from that cliff.
Nor can I believe she had resolved to commit suicide.
To imagine Kiyo-san went out on some trivial errand that blizzard night, became lost in some delusion along the way, wandered into a snowdrift, and met her end freezing through sheer carelessness—is this but a maudlin romantic fancy unbefitting my years?
Is it not said that death by freezing brings rapturous bliss once past a certain threshold?

I cannot help but feel that we too bear some guilt.
Be that as it may, Kiyo-san was a peculiar person.
Instead of articulating matters clearly, she blurred all the essential points at their core.
One might even think she couldn’t distinguish between what was essential and what was not.
And then again—if we suppose she truly once had a lover—the longing for that lover, books on winter mountaineering, an entirely separate Buddhist atmosphere, antiquated notions of “Master,” alongside an untainted innocence unacquainted with defilement, a penchant for solitude—if you were to list them all, they’d be countless—how could all these elements have coexisted within a single mind?
Though I called her a clever girl, upon reflection, there seems to have been no overall unity in her.
Is this the normal state of young women today?
I simply cannot comprehend it.

As that person’s remains were being carried back to her hometown by her sullen brother, there suddenly floated up in my mind a gloomy farmhouse heavy with tradition. At the same time, I was overcome by an intensely lonely and sorrowful feeling. No, it was not for my own sake. It was for that person’s sake. And I involuntarily shed tears. I wish to consider those tears as a heartfelt offering to that person.