Pathway to Japanese Literature

*Yamabuki no Hana*

At the lake’s center existed an eye.
Reflecting blue skies and drifting white clouds through eternal clarity—devoid of hidden intent—yet intermittently merging with Tamiya’s own vision.
Whether Tamiya’s eyes gravitated toward that aqueous pupil or the lake’s gaze drew into his being remained unclear; when coalescence occurred, within those rippling optics resurfaced countless faces, events, and phenomena.

From these apparitions Tamiya meant to flee.
Meant to consciously sever ties.
Thus he sought refuge at this mountain-encircled shore.
Yet why couldn’t complete escape be achieved?
Why did they pursue him even here—to this remoteness?

This place, Okunikkō’s Marunuma Hot Springs.
Twelve ri from Numata Station on the Jōetsu Line.
By bus, they drove through farm-patched roads, crossed a mountain pass, emerged onto the banks of the Katashina River, ascended the river, turned right from Kamata Town, proceeded along a mountain stream, passed Shirane Hot Springs—beyond which no houses remained—climbed up the mountain path, reached Lake Marunuma’s shore, circled its eastern side, and there on the northern shore lay the hot spring hotel.
The building was imposing, but it stood completely alone amidst the woods.

From this hotel, if you follow the Marunuma lakeshore halfway back around and ascend the mountain path, you will reach Suganuma Lake.
On the east shore of the lake, there was a mountain cabin called Yamanoie, and beside it were the facilities of Tent Village.
From there onward, it becomes a pedestrian path where vehicles do not pass, crossing Konsei Pass and leading to Okunikkō’s Yumoto Hot Springs.

Tamiya settled himself at Marunuma Hot Springs Hotel.
He soaked in the transparent hot springs, drank a small amount of alcohol with his morning and evening meals, and strolled along the lakeshore.
The surrounding mountains, the deep primeval forest, the gentle lake surface—all was serene.
Often, when he encountered backpackers or buses, he would be startled by how utterly unexpected they felt.
His emptiness of mind was disturbed.
To calm it, as he gazed at the lake water, there was an eye at its center.
Was it indeed the eye at the lake’s center, or was it his own eye?
In that eye, things he thought he had buried in the past became visible.

In the weeds along the lakeshore, there were many yellow flowers.
They came to resonate with the color of yamabuki flowers…

It was when Ayako lay confined to her sickbed.
From mid-February she had taken to bed—diagnosed with mild peritonitis—but it showed no signs of healing.
At first she lay quietly, but as her condition dragged on, even she began betraying traces of restless impatience.

“I wonder when I’ll get better….”

She uttered abruptly, gazing up at her father Tamiya with eyes that clung and accused.

“Well…”

Avoiding Ayako’s gaze, he looked out at the garden through the lower glass of the shoji screen. In one corner, a cluster of yamabuki had put forth pale green young leaves.

“By the time those yamabuki flowers bloom, you’ll be healed.”
“You’ll definitely be healed.”

“Yamabuki…”

With that murmur, she smiled weakly.

However, even when the yamabuki flowers bloomed and even when they fell, Ayako’s illness did not heal.
Not only that—it gradually worsened.
She never mentioned the yamabuki flowers again.
Though she should have clung to hope from Tamiya’s words, she said nothing as she watched the flowers bloom and scatter.
Had resignation taken deeper root in her heart?

The figure of Ayako—who lay quietly without uttering a single complaint, without asking whether she would recover or not—became anchored through the eye at the lake’s center to the yellow of yamabuki flowers mirroring the lakeshore weeds’ blossoms. And at that course of action, Tamiya wavered.

When evening approached, the afterglow of the sun sunk beyond the western mountain ridge would sometimes spread across the lake surface. Neither fully upon the water nor shallowly submerged, that afterglow swayed and glimmered as it drifted awhile, then fractured into fragments here and there before vanishing one by one. It was beautiful yet ephemeral.

But in the lingering afterglow, he also saw the form of something unpleasant.
He glimpsed it just beneath the water's surface.

It was still during Ayako’s sickbed days.
A kitten—though by now it was quite a large, reddish-brown cat—had come from somewhere.
Whether it had gotten lost or been abandoned, it was not a stray cat after all.
It was eating something in the garden.
Upon closer inspection, it was food that one of the house cats had vomited.
Cats, as creatures that constantly lick their fur, accumulate hair in their stomachs; when this happens, they swallow grass or bamboo leaves to scratch their own stomachs and regurgitate the hair along with rice grains and such.
The outsider kitten was eating the clump of rice grains.
Since it hadn’t been vomited due to poison or illness, it wasn’t harmful, but seeing the kitten munching away on it was both brazen and defiling.
It must have been starving.

Tamiya felt repulsed and tried to drive the kitten away with a bamboo broom.
Yet the persistent creature barely flinched when prodded with the broom's tip.
Less bold than plainly weakened, it resisted his efforts.
He forced it out toward the thoroughfare.

Some time later, the kitten had clambered onto the storage shed's roof.
Enraged, Tamiya struck it down with a clothes-drying pole.
The animal neither cried nor fled, simply crouching motionless on the ground.
Then the maid arrived, sweeping it away with her broom to a distant stretch of road.

That had happened in the evening, but the next day, when the maid returned from her errands, she reported that the kitten had been crouching by the roadside in the burned ruins.
Upon hearing this, Tamiya furrowed his brow.

The kitten had likely crouched motionless in that area all night long.
It was not allowed into any house, was not given any food, and simply remained still in silence, dejectedly waiting for something.
What in the world had it been waiting for?
And how much longer would it stay like that?

The figure of that kitten rose vividly in his mind.
Now, once again, it revived within the afterglow on the lake surface.
It was not so much brazen as it was a pitiful, sorrowful sight.

Tamiya himself, amidst this grand nature, found himself thinking he too was a pitiful, sorrowful being.
Beside the hotel stood a forest of towering elm trees; stepping inside brought only a faint chill.
This wasn’t because temperatures here never rose above twenty degrees even in midsummer—rather, he felt himself shrinking ever smaller beneath the oppressive air of that dense verdant forest smothering the sky.
Emerging from those woods and retracing the lakeside path, even when he sought out less familiar trees—katsuras here, Japanese walnuts there—no flicker of interest came.
The sound of mountain streams flowing into the lake stayed faint; though birds’ cries occasionally reached him, their forms remained unseen.

All human endeavors appeared minuscule.
And here there existed a philosopher-like young man.

Between Marunuma and Suganuma lay a considerable distance if one took the main truck route.
But a nearer back road had been opened.
From the mountain lodge by Lake Suganuma at Konsei Pass's base, one crossed the lake by small boat.
To the left rose Nikkō Oku-Shirane's distant majestic peak; to the right stood a ruined octagonal hall atop a peninsula's tip.
Emerging onto the lake's main body, one then ascended to the southern shore.
From there descended a steep slope along mountain streams to Marunuma's eastern shore.
This area was commonly called Hacchō Waterfall.
The old route measured eight chō—about 872 meters.
The stream carried Suganuma's waters into Marunuma.
During wartime years had stood a small hydroelectric plant here.
With nearly three hundred meters' elevation difference between lakes and waters plunging through eight chō distance,
rapids formed everywhere—thus earning Hacchō Waterfall its name.

In both Suganuma and Marunuma dwelled carp, crucian carp, and similar fish; trout had been stocked there.
The trout hatchery was located far below Marunuma with two varieties: rainbow trout and kokanee salmon.
Since their spawning periods were divided between spring and autumn, hybridization did not occur.

These stocked trout were primarily caught near Lake Suganuma’s mountain lodge.
While Lake Suganuma remained deep, serene, and masculine in character, near the mountain lodge its waters grew comparatively shallow—the terrain bright and open—and with apparently abundant prey that drew frequent gatherings of trout.
There they set up nets or lowered fishing lines.

At Marunuma Hotel, there was a young man who worked as a trout fishing technician. He would typically don a raincoat, carry a fish basket, set out after breakfast, climb the steep slope of Hacchō Waterfall, and row from Suganuma-shiri to the mountain lodge by boat. Then, after doing chores and catching trout, he would return along the same path in the evening. That was almost his daily routine.

The trout were not caught in large quantities. However, when there were VIPs requiring full hospitality at the hotel, they did not want to run short of their signature fish, so when supplies fell short, the manager was troubled. And then he would complain to the young man, asking if there wasn’t something that could be done. The young man answered calmly.

“It doesn’t go as planned. Especially since that campground village was built, it’s been…”

Beside the mountain lodge, along with the establishment of the campground, several rental boats were lined up. The boisterous young men would row those boats around, not only frequently damaging the trout nets but also sometimes deliberately hauling them up to take the trout. The young man nonchalantly overlooked that. And still calmly, as he did every day, he commuted to the mountain lodge and set up his nets, whether there was much prey or little.

In winter, when the snow was deep, the hotel would close and everyone would descend the mountain—what the young man did during that period remained unknown—but while the hotel was open, he simply continued his work in silence. What he was thinking remained unclear, with no shadow of discontent or ambition to be seen—he remained as composed as nature itself. When viewed through this philosophical demeanor, people’s endeavors seemed truly base.

During Ayako’s illness, there was only one young maid at Tamiya’s house, and being short-handed, they decided to seek temporary commuting maids. When they made inquiries around town, they unexpectedly found several candidates. These were mostly elderly women around sixty years old. They would have their morning and evening meals at their own homes and work from around eight in the morning until five in the afternoon. Tamiya’s lover Hisako came roughly every other day to care for the patient and oversee household chores.

According to Hisako, all those elderly women were people unfortunate in their family lives.

Among them was a woman called Ms. K, who was a somewhat inscrutable person.
She was nearing seventy years old, her hair half-gray and face deeply lined with wrinkles, but tall and seemingly robust.
She had apparently worked at places like dried goods stores bundling wakame, rice mills mending hemp sacks, and doing kitchen work like cooking rice.
But she spoke politely and had some knowledge of cooking.

At home, there were her son and his wife; Ms. K’s husband loafed about, looking after their grandchildren or doing piecework at home, and apparently took pleasure in having a drink each evening.
Ms. K liked cigarettes and even went so far as to collect and smoke Tamiya’s discarded cigarette butts.
Her way of working was sly; she would tidy visible areas as instructed but cut corners in unseen places.
She often took breaks by making some excuse.

“My daughter-in-law suffers from terrible hysterics, you see. She snaps at every little thing and does nothing but scheme ways to work me to the bone.”

Ms. K had said this, but it proved untrue.
According to someone familiar with Ms. K’s household, the daughter-in-law was actually a fastidious and proper woman who constantly admonished Ms. K for her slovenly ways.

For these reasons among others, Tamiya dismissed Ms. K.

Then there was also a peculiar woman named Ms. N.
She appeared to be around fifty years old with a dependable character and carried herself with neat composure.
Her wish was for a live-in position.
According to the person who had arranged matters, she had worked at a house along a train line where the noise made proper sleep impossible at night, leading her to take leave and seek employment at some quieter household.
Though an odd account, they had her come for an interview nonetheless.
Tamiya left the handling to Hisako, who happened to be present.

“Since you’ve chosen to work here away from home, you must have your circumstances—perhaps things aren’t pleasant in the household—but this is a home without reservations, so please feel at ease.”

When Hisako said such things, Ms. N lowered her face and sobbed. Then, after handling various tasks, she said as she was leaving:

“If I spend a day here, I can get a good sense of how the household runs. If I am acceptable, I shall come to work starting the day after tomorrow.”

Her character seemed favorable, so they discontinued the interview and decided to have her start.

However, on her way home that day, Ms. N stopped by the caretaker’s house and declined the position at Tamiya’s.
The reason given was that she didn’t like cats.

“I get chills whenever I see cats.”
“And that cat there being solid white… it’s just unsettling.”

That was the end of their dealings with Ms. N, but the whole affair never sat right with them from start to finish.

And then there was Ms. F—a good sort through and through. A petite woman nearing seventy, she worked with diligent faithfulness. Her features were well-balanced, her clothes immaculate, her work pants crisply tailored. Though hers was a commuting position, she would stay over on busy days. She bustled about constantly, detesting even a moment of idle hands. When tasks ran out, she’d take it upon herself to clean cupboards, organize dishes, weed the garden, or press the young maid to produce mending for their clothes. Often she tended to the patient too. Ayako herself took a liking to Ms. F, laughing aloud at her candid stories.

Ms. F’s house was home to her son—a tatami craftsman—and his wife, along with four small children.
When Ms. F saved up money, she delighted in buying things for her grandchildren.
Since her son’s work supported the family’s livelihood, Ms. F’s reason for working outside was to have pocket money in her old age and to give gifts to her grandchildren.

“When it comes to my daughter-in-law, she even begrudges giving me bath money.”

Saying such things, Ms. F laughed.

“And the things she says—aren’t they something?"
“‘It’s precisely because I’m here at home that Grandma can go out to work,’ she says.”
“If she isn’t at home, where does she think she’s supposed to be?”
"When she gets worked up, she blurts out ‘you shitty old hag!’"
“So I talk back.”
“When did I ever take a shit? It’s your kids who’re always shitting all over the place…….”

Ms. F laughed with satisfaction. She had an open-hearted, cheerful disposition. Yet there was a lonely shadow about her. Even her tales of arguments with her daughter-in-law were likely a form of complaining for Ms. F.

Besides these, various people came and went here and there. They were mostly elderly women who preferred commuting over live-in arrangements as housekeepers. Though connected to households through some relationship, they found little joy within those homes.

Hisako said the following to Tamiya.

“When one employs elderly maids—no, rather, when you employ them—it makes me feel rather strange.”
“Moreover, what does it mean that young maids are becoming scarce while so many elderly maids can be found?”
“But in reality, we ourselves, and all our friends as well, have come to think differently than we did in the past…”

That is to say, it concerned the relationship between parent and child—particularly between mother and child. Once children are raised and married off, they cease to belong to their mothers.
Sons become their wives’ possessions, and daughters become their husbands’ possessions.
They would not be reliable in the long run.
The only one you could rely on was yourself…….

That in itself was acceptable—no, rather, it was only natural, Tamiya thought.
Even so, people past fifty—even sixty or seventy—having to work as maids in others’ households due to circumstances and family situations was undeniably wretched.
The figures of Ms. K, Ms. N, Ms. F, and the other old maids floated before his eyes.

Even wandering through the primeval forest revealed not a trace of petty conflict there.
Things that grew thickly, stood deadwood-straight, or entangled others—all had naturally become so.
No strife or resistance could be seen; a united harmony pervaded everything.
Amidst this, why did he find himself recalling those old maids from before?
Tamiya walked about restlessly.
When he tired from walking, he soaked in the bath.

In a separate building connected by a corridor lay a hall spanning over one hundred tatami mats.
On the stage-like elevated platform stood massive natural wood pillars—each requiring two men to embrace—positioned at all four corners.
Lying sprawled in the center of that hall and gazing up at the high ceiling left him feeling lonelier and more unsettled than when amidst the forest.
Was it because phantoms of human affairs now cast their shadows here?

Something like a storm, violent thunder, something that would shake heaven and earth—Tamiya longed for such things.
However, calm days continued.

At times, black clouds would cover half the sky.
He went out to the lakeside to observe the situation, but his expectations were always dashed.
Black clouds had gathered from the direction of Ensozan to Shirotake, but the wind blew from the opposite direction, and the sky gradually cleared.

The wind blowing across the lake surface drew a long breath.
It would raise ripples with a swish, then immediately calm down. After a pause, when least expected, it would come swishing back again.
Its direction remained unfixed, blowing now from the right, now from the left.
At times the wave crests collided and whirled into eddies.

In one such whirlpool floated a yellowed leaf that had fallen from somewhere unknown.
It revolved slowly, came to rest, then revolved again until eventually blown toward open water.
Tamiya stared fixedly at it until, as it dwindled to invisibility, he felt a sudden pang.
Hisako—the name escaped unbidden within his chest.

In the end, she had pleaded with Tamiya repeatedly about various matters—from morning all day, then almost the entire night, and again all day and through the night the following day.

“I feel like I’ve been swept into a massive whirlpool.”
“Everything has become incomprehensible.”
“It’s utterly repulsive.”
“I can’t endure this putrid stench any longer.”
“Let us part ways.”

And the next day, she took poison and attempted suicide.
Fortunately, because the poison had been kept in an ordinary glass bottle rather than a light-blocking colored one for many years and had degraded considerably, it did not take full effect, and she was able to survive.

It had been one year since Ayako had passed away.
Ayako had lived for about two and a half months after the yamabuki flowers had scattered.
During that time, she had come to rely on Hisako—who, given the age difference, could not be called either a mother or an older sister—as if she were both.
And after her death, Hisako attended to the body before the nurse could and arranged the funeral before Tamiya’s relatives did.
But the subsequent year proved disastrous.

What was the whirlpool?
It was human society's most disgraceful manifestation—gossip intermingled with jealousy, resentment, flattery, greed, and other elements; malicious reports that embellished half-truths with added details and altered hues through slander.
Let us list, in no particular order, the gist of what Hisako had been told.

Woman A—"Mr. Tamiya is quite a cold person, you know."
"He never stated it outright," she said, "but he subtly implied to me: 'Ms. Hisako has no particular merits—she's just devoted to me. I feel too sorry to cast her aside, so I'll leave her be until she tires of it herself.'"
"And if you insist on suspecting the worst," she added, "couldn't this just as well mean you're the one harboring feelings for me?"

“If you keep clinging to Tamiya-kun, you’re sure to meet with misfortune,” said Man B. “By nature, he’s incapable of loving others. Even if he were to love anyone, he’d only love himself. And someone as reckless, stubborn, and lacking in sense as you won’t last long with Tamiya-kun.”

“Mr. Tamiya was praising Ms. Haruko quite highly the other day.”
“She’s graceful, kind, and truly feminine, he said.”
“Have you ever met Ms. Haruko?”
“I don’t know this Ms. Haruko myself, but she’s someone’s wife, isn’t she?”
“Is it really proper for him to praise another man’s wife so extravagantly?”

Woman D—“There is just one thing that weighs on my conscience.”
“It was quite some time ago and only once, but I was kissed by Mr. Tamiya.”
“At that time, Mr. Tamiya was terribly drunk, but even so, I felt guilty and was troubled for a long time.”
“And thinking that if I confessed this to you, my mind might find peace, I resolved to endure the shame and tell you.”

“Mr. Tamiya has been a close acquaintance of mine for years, but he’s such an impossible man to handle,” said Woman E. “He’s always evasive—slippery as a gourd-handled catfish with nothing to grasp. Whatever we tell him flows right through like wind past a horse’s ears. Dealing with someone like that must wear you to the bone. Why not grab him by the tail and give a good hard squeeze? That’d sort things out nicely.”

Man F—You must be careful.
“You know of someone named Taguchi, don’t you?”
“That Taguchi had said—”
“Regarding Ms. Hisako and Mr. Tamiya’s relationship, it seems there’s a whiff of both lust and calculation more on Ms. Hisako’s side.”
“This is not something you can simply let pass!”
“Or if you were to have even a little something—like receiving items or pocket money from Mr. Tamiya—then the matter would be different, but that isn’t the case, is it?”
“That’s why you must be careful.”

“I’ve heard about Mr. Tamiya’s past from a certain source and know all the details.”
“When Mr. Tamiya married his previous wife, he apparently truly loved her younger sister instead.”
“But then, for some reason, he ended up marrying the older sister instead.”
“Well, it’s something that happens all the time in the world—which is precisely why it’s so…”
“It’s quite a vulgar story.”

Woman H—Ms. Hisako, shall I tell you something amusing?
“They say you’ve bribed Mr. Tamiya’s young maid to spy for you.”
“At Mr. Tamiya’s place, there are occasionally female guests, aren’t there?”
“At such times, they say you have the maid spy on what’s happening.”
“Of course I don’t believe such things, and I know your nature well.”
“That’s why I’m turning it into a joke like this, you know.”
“I don’t know where such rumors started, but isn’t it quite an amusing story?”

There were many more besides.
Even lining up all twenty-six letters of the alphabet wouldn’t have sufficed.
Though it wasn’t that so many people had said these things; rather, a single person had uttered many of them.
Regarding each and every one of those things, Hisako appealed to Tamiya and wept.

“I simply wanted to live purely and honestly.”
“That I’ve ended up blaming you and others, becoming almost hysterical—that’s what saddens me.”
“I’ve grown utterly sick of myself and sick of the world.”
“Everything feels defiling.”
“Let us part.”
“For the sake of pure love, let us part.”

Tamiya didn't know how to comfort her.
Nor did he understand that Hisako's feelings had reached such dire urgency.
When confronted with her suicide attempt, he stood shocked.
As she had maintained relatively carefree circumstances since Ayako's death, she had divided her time equally between her own home and Tamiya's house.
The poisoning occurred in her living room at home, but she was carried to a small nearby hospital for treatment.

When Tamiya rushed there, she was lying on her side.
She lay so still she seemed barely to breathe, her face drained of color like wax.
At the bedside, her trusted friend Yuriko was keeping vigil.

She kept her eyelids closed for some time.
Eventually，those long eyelashes fluttered faintly.
Then her eyes quietly opened and looked at Tamiya’s face.
She had an air of gazing mindlessly.
Suddenly，tears spilled down，and her eyes closed again.
Tamiya gropingly took her hand，but it remained limply relinquished.
He had nothing to say.

Yuriko still did not fully understand the circumstances.

Five days later, Hisako was discharged from the hospital and returned home to recuperate.

“Please let me think for a while.”
“Please give it some thought as well.”
“Let us refrain from meeting for about a week.”

Tamiya accepted Hisako’s proposal without resistance and came to this remote mountain hot spring at Marunuma.

He had nothing left to think about.
To stop himself from thinking, he wanted to cast everything out of his mind.
And all he felt was that a life without Hisako was meaningless and empty.
For Tamiya, who had lived rather recklessly in the past, even this discovery of love came as something unexpected.

He felt like simply waiting for that time—for that time whose nature he didn’t even fully comprehend.
And he realized that simply waiting was separated by only a hair’s breadth from thoughts of death.
By the narrowest margin, he nearly resolved to end his life.

And yet, how vividly these trivial matters—strayed from the center—had surfaced: the kitten, Ayako and the yamabuki, the elderly maids, and even various other things—all were reflected in the lake’s mirror-like surface.
And now, upon that lake surface, a single leaf was being carried toward the lake center, gently rotating round and round.
Directionless winds swirling, and capricious whirlpools.
That leaf was in peril.
It was unclear when it would sink.
Wasn’t that leaf’s form exactly Hisako’s own?
She might have been swallowed up by the whirlpool of worldly affairs and sunk.

Tamiya detached himself from the tree trunk he had been leaning against and hurried away from the lakeside.
The eye at the lake’s center was somehow terrifying.

When he crossed the wide grassy field before the hotel entrance, he came upon a mountain stream where clear water murmured gently.
By that shore’s edge stood a large sandalwood tree in full foliage.
It bore clusters of small flowers divided into yellow and purple hues, though some had already formed fruit whose crimson flesh showed through.
Tamiya snapped off what appeared to be the most beautiful branch among them and returned to his room.
He summoned a maid, borrowed an appropriate vase, and thrust the sandalwood branch into it.

The cluster of small flowers in two colors—yellow and purple; the tiny fruits showing hints of red—when viewed against the oval-shaped leaves on the slender branches, it was truly lovely.
Tamiya tried to focus his mind intently there.
To keep his heart from growing turbulent, to keep the eye at the lake’s center from growing turbulent, he wanted some gentle sentiment.

The sandalwood’s flowers, fruits, and leaves simply would not wilt; their luster did not fade.
But as he gazed at it morning and evening, he gradually grew accustomed to it, until it no longer held any interest for him.

At that very moment, a telegram arrived from Yuriko, to whom he had entrusted everything.

Hisako has recovered both physically and mentally.
Please return immediately.

Tamiya stood up and stretched vigorously.
He no longer had any lingering attachments to Marunuma or Sugenuma.
He had stopped thinking of death and now simply wanted to save Hisako.
Ayako had died, but Hisako was alive.

It is said that yamabuki flowers bear no fruit after blooming, but Tamiya knew this wasn't always true.
At least in his garden, the yamabuki had borne many small brown fruits.
Even flowers alone would have sufficed, but I wanted them to be flowers that bore fruit whenever possible.
At the very least, I wished human affairs could be that way.
Thinking of his home's yamabuki flowers bearing fruit, Tamiya felt his energy return.
That wasn't sentimentality.
He immediately requested the hotel bill, obtained a travel guide to check return times, wrote a telegram to Yuriko, and packed his belongings.