Pathway to Japanese Literature

And yet...

Hateful was that person—and beloved was that person—oh.
Why did I pour these two incompatible passions—hate and love—upon a single soul?
If I called it hatred—even devouring that person’s flesh would leave me unsated—yet if I called it love—yearning for them to appear before me this instant, repentant of their sins and apologizing for their wrongs—what madness was this, that I wished this fragile dew-like existence to vanish by that very person’s hand either way?
And yet through this single delusion had I sustained this unwelcome life until today—maintaining even this body, no different from a cicada’s hollowed husk, as at least a mere vessel to hold tears.
Had I not been lost in this delusion, I would have either killed that person long ago or taken my own life.
That I had neither died nor killed—preserving both our lives until today—was truly due to this single delusion alone.
Yet now that the clouds of obsession had cleared and the bonds of affection been severed—ah—would I return to my former self? Having begun to perceive through yesterday and today this fabricated reality while obeying the silent command of my deceased parents—yearning to become a being whose birth into this world held purpose—my heart alone resembled the bow-shaped moon: though called full, it was but a waning moon of no worth, fading night after night. What would become of this current self?
Ah—though even my hard-to-conquer heart had moments of victory—this inability to conquer stemmed from bodily affliction and death’s very root.
And now—what would I lament? What would I grieve? Rather than yesterday’s self—body alive yet heart dead—I counted today’s self—heart alive though body might perish—as fortune. Transforming years of sorrow into gratitude, I would at last purify my final thoughts and speak this tainted flesh’s repentance unto myself and my own heart.

Reflecting now, I must have been born under an ill-fated star indeed.
My father’s house, though farmers in my homeland, was an old family of standing—a lineage said to have been granted the right to bear a family name and wear swords before the Meiji Restoration.
Alas, my father’s ill fortune saw even the family headship and name passed down from our ancestors embezzled by that half-brother of his—the man who stood as my Lord Uncle—so that by the time I was born as their only daughter, both my father and mother had been reduced to such poverty that they daily tilled fields themselves, barely managing to secure food and clothing. Yet however this matter truly unfolded—though I later frequently inquired of Mother when grown—she would never speak in detail, deeming it too dreadful to wash blood with blood.
Yet even to my childish ears came frequent accounts of villagers speaking in vexation—not unilaterally pitying Father, but lamenting how his excessive kindness proved most troublesome, his Buddha-like compassion ill-timed—and when I reconcile these with fragments of words Mother had intimated, it becomes clear: that Father’s surpassing his elder brother to inherit the house must have had legitimate cause, whereas Lord Uncle’s embezzlement under the name of elder brother was surely an unjust deed.
Does Heaven not bestow favor solely upon the virtuous? For my Father never lived to regain his standing in this world—departing unexpectedly for the next life in the winter of my fifth year, leaving behind his still-youthful Mother and my infant self, though lingering attachments he must have harbored for us both weighed upon his heart.
At this very moment, had my life’s destiny already been set upon the path of so-called misfortune?
However, as my mother was a woman of resolute spirit, she did not deign to abandon me immediately to misfortune’s grasp; though the villagers urged her to remarry, and even Lord Uncle—with whom relations had long been distant—suddenly deigned to show kindness, proposing to take both Mother and me into his household, Mother firmly rejected this with profound resolve.
It was precisely because we resided in a land of deep-rooted connections that one came to dwell on such futile matters.
Superficial compassion masquerading as kindness—rather than endure their sympathy that wets sleeves, she would brave the harsh winters of an unknown land.
In a world robed in spring haze and floral splendor—as hearts grow restless with March’s approach—I alone remain like a wild goose forsaking blossoms; though it longs for its old nest, here I stand—a fragile woman bearing child—where shall I go?
The suspiciously gathering crowd’s sneers born of partiality—this too became one of those lingering memories.
With resolute determination—overhearing the voices behind her—she took me to Tokyo; this was when I was about seven years old.

And so, how did she manage to secure a livelihood? In Shitaya Kachidokimachi—now that I think of it, a row house partitioned into tenements—she took up residence. Just like children who had fathers in this world, she soon sent me to school as well, clothing me in presentable attire for Bon festivals and New Year celebrations that let me hold my head high among others, raising me with care through it all. How much care Mother must have devoted during those years—though when I later inquired about this after growing up, she would only smile without uttering a word. Her words were few—that even if one’s lot as a woman held no worth in this world, a child could still be raised if only one devoted oneself wholeheartedly…

Even my resolute-hearted Mother—she who bore such masculine resolve—could not bring herself to harbor endless regrets. Ever since I became aware of the world around me, she would often stroke my head and lament, "Ah, if only you had been born a boy"—this alone she repeated countless times. In my childish heart, I found this profoundly saddening—how could I never become a boy?—and though I harbored futile hopes at times, as years passed I resolved within my small chest: If I must remain a girl, then so be it—I would become one who rivals men, that I might ease Mother’s long-standing sorrows. And now that I have become such a worthless woman—unworthy even as a female—how bitterly must Mother be lamenting from the heavenly skies. When I think of this, hateful is that person—yet more bitter is my own heart. But now there’s no use in regretting or resenting—come, let me mindlessly revisit those memories once more.

And so, even as I dwelled on these thoughts—having resolved to devote myself to learning—Mother too must have considered this a worthy cause, for while neighborhood children, boys included, were put to work assisting with piecework labor before reaching proper age, let alone girls being driven to babysitting duties, and only those past ten attending school being thought the privilege of the wealthy—Mother alone never employed me even for morning and evening water-fetching chores.

Mother urged me to devote my free time to studying and reading, but the neighbors sneered.
The very notion of tenement girls learning letters was cringe-inducing—this "splendidly accomplished" esteemed teacher earning her five or seven yen monthly, still just a trainee at elementary school herself—such excessive diligence in one so lowly became cause for concern.
For Madam Widow—who deigned to handle others’ laundry and sewing—the burden had grown rather excessive. 'How absurd,' said one person, then another.
'Truly as you say—not a single male teacher has ever come from these tenements since they were first built. For a widow with a daughter to harbor such outlandish hopes—why, the splash from such aspirations ends up drenching folks like us too. That landlord’s medicine kettle boils over whenever household taxes fall behind, yet he’s always saying "Take a lesson from Madam Widow there—through women’s handiwork she’s never once had rent demands, keeps her child in school perpetually, and even gives this landlord some standing with the town’s education committees." Things even inept husbands couldn’t manage—you’d do well to follow that example a bit.'

The way they’d bring it up as their second remark—how absurd it all was.
There was indeed a lid—the landlord remained oblivious to how one might fill it with water—and this too must have been because the status of being a young widow pleased him above all else.
In the end, they whispered among themselves—some waving hands, others patting backs.
When they unexpectedly met my gaze, they would sneer in some indefinable way; even toward Mother, they would point behind her back—though admittedly, there were times when they too furrowed their brows.
Even in my childish heart, I found it pitiful and regrettable.
When I turned twelve, I came to realize Mother’s considerate efforts that I had carelessly overlooked until then.
So that I would not lack writing materials and books, Mother worked through nights at her side job without rest—ah, when I realized all this hardship too was for my sake, how wasteful it seemed!
Unconsciously, my steps to school grew heavier—though I hadn’t even reached graduation from higher elementary school, how could I possibly advance to that girls’ school beyond it?
Even if Mother were to somehow send me there by any means necessary, that would only compound her hardships—thus I must overturn my resolve here and now.
Though unlike those who hung swords upon graves, when I would establish myself through hardship, Mother—for my sake—had already borne more years than others.
Though it remained uncertain whether she might have entered the ranks of those no longer in this world, a hope ill-suited to my station would only cause you further hardship—or so I thought.
Reflecting on this, I made assisting with piecework my sole purpose and ceased attending school altogether.
Mother was perplexed, and though I made no unnecessary considerations, I had no intention of stirring up the storm that had raged through our household.
That I considered it filial piety to disregard even her tearful admonitions became yet another root of the misfortune I brought upon myself.

Yet at that time, I considered this the most important matter and thus spent my days until sixteen years of age—truly not diverging from the worldly adage that time is money.
While our livelihood from mother and child working together remained unchanged from before, we managed to save a modest amount—a diligence that landlord Taisuke, who had long shown favoritism toward us, praised.
Thanks to that person’s support—though it couldn’t yet be called a proper boarding house in name—we began taking in one or two student boarders on the side while managing our piecework.
In the landlord’s district, there being a suitable house which he had lent to us—thus Mother deigned to try it out.
Though not as polished as the care of a shrewd city landlady who anticipates every need, their reputation for rural diligence spread, and the number of guests gradually grew.
Before long, our boarding house had become a full-fledged operation, and she relocated us to more spacious quarters.
By the autumn of my eighteenth year, Akiya in Kanda Sarugakuchō had come to be counted among the renowned boarding houses.

Within its walls

Though even an inn that bid farewell to guests from Hokuetsu at dawn and welcomed travelers from Satsunan by dusk could not compare—such was the relentless bustle of our boarding house mornings and evenings.
When we finally carried meals after their tenth shout of “Service!”, “No—I haven’t eaten yet! More importantly, why no lamps in this darkness? Do you mistake me for an owl?” they’d bellow from their rooms.
They’d pound their meal chests demanding “Break it open!”—“Why’s supper so late?”—while that strapping six-foot man settled for such meager rations; what presumptuous thrift!
No—more pressingly, though I never heard our sake shop supplying beef lay three ri distant, surely the butcher stood five ri away!
Amidst this storm of urgent calls from every quarter—though three or four maids stood ready—even I found myself attending to guestroom requests.
Among the many student boarders, one alone truly seized my notice: a man named Asagi Yuen, then attending the University Preparatory School.

As to why this man stood out so conspicuously—his room was a crude three-tatami space adjoining the paper-lantern storage room, unmatched in shabbiness by any other in the boarding house.
Not only did that man’s attire catch my eye, but it drew all others’ attention too.
First among these traits—the handwoven white-and-navy daimyo-striped fabric.
This served as his year-round everyday wear—his single presentable outfit at that.
Come summer, its cotton padding and lining would be ruthlessly stripped from their long-seated seams and banished to trunk bottoms—yet when winter reunited these torn elements, they reemerged as a triune spring garment clinging to his frame year after year.
The impertinent maids popularized his new epithet—the Daimyo-Stripe Guest.

To this I too had long been privy to his honorable name, yet seeing him, his attire did not appear so shabby. As for those people in yellow Hakujō fabric inherited from their parents and those who swaggered about in black hōshi-paper haori jackets—he far surpassed them all in noble bearing. Though his very appearance exuded an indefinable dignity, he never deigned to engage in the playful banter typical of young people. His lips, often pressed together, somehow held a charm—an indescribable loveliness that even a woman would long to behold. The commanding gleam in his eyes—a brilliance that declared him a man among men even without words—ah, how even those profoundly mysterious academic theories he spoke of seemed illuminated by Mr. Asagi’s gaze, fostering a sense of reliability in my heart. Yet this very feeling marked the beginning of my delusion. From then on, I found myself unconsciously attentive to his daily comings and goings—his demeanor bore a steadfastness unbefitting his twenty years. In the mornings, he would rise even before our kitchen staff—prompting the maid, who’d been roused from sleep by Mother, to routinely grumble: "Mr. Asagi’s up at dawn again, yet never once has he given so much as a tip!" He would not sleep until around two in the morning, and even on Saturday and Sunday evenings or festival nights—amidst those frolicking off to archery ranges and variety halls—he alone would seclude himself in his room for his studies. Truly, he was a man of such promising future prospects—my heart grew ever more stirred by him.

Mother too must have shared this sentiment—indeed, saw fit to cherish this man especially. On a night during the drizzly Tenth Month, when the prolonged darkness seemed destined to exhaust one’s spirit, she brewed tea and personally carried it to him—this became the very thread that would bind me to him.
At that moment, when Mother unexpectedly heard Mr. Asagi’s personal story from his own lips, she let out a deep sigh.
Truly, I had long thought you an extraordinary man, Mr. Asagi—and with good reason, for your father having departed this world early, your mother alone now sends what support she can manage. With tuition funds arriving irregularly and their continuance uncertain, your scholarly dedication under such circumstances shows most commendable resolve.
Deeply affected by Mr. Asagi’s circumstances, she found herself contemplating his mother’s hardships.
Thus we managed the boarding house as our livelihood, though merely taking people’s money hardly constituted a true skill.
That night, she earnestly impressed upon me that aiding such a gentleman constituted true purpose.
Thus under Mother’s discerning eye, I found myself growing ever more enamored with that man.
As the wintry wind howled at the eaves, I wondered if Mr. Asagi had caught cold—how strangely poignant it felt to wake repeatedly that night.

From then on, even when Mr. Asagi’s boarding fees fell into arrears, Mother would not mention it—
Not only would she not mention it herself, but there were even times when Mr. Asagi would hand over this very thing.
In our household with so many guests, one person’s portion didn’t particularly stand out.
Rather than that, you should feel free to purchase any books you might need without hesitation.
Such extraordinary considerateness on her part—Mr. Asagi must have been delighted.
In the end, he even began to solemnly voice such sentiments as regarding Mother like an aunt.
Mother, holding this as her true intention, had gradually come to harbor the wish for him to become her son-in-law.
From time to time, Mother deigned to hint at such matters to me.
"If it were possible, I would have entrusted your future to a gentleman like Mr. Asagi."
"For one such as him to become son-in-law to our humble boarding-house household would be unthinkable."
"If your happiness requires it, I would not hesitate to let you go," I heard Mother mutter to herself, and suddenly I felt emboldened.
Though I knew not what Mr. Asagi might say, if such a thing were to come to pass, then Mother—who had endured such extraordinary hardships for my sake these many years—would surely become my pillar of strength.
To entrust myself to such a man would be an act of filial piety—or so I claimed, though that was merely the surface of my heart.
The hidden feelings were not unwelcome—how joyful were Mother’s words that spoke of the one I loved.
Though unworthy, truly refined Mother—the number of times I reverently bowed to you morning and evening only increased by one, yet this became the seed of future lament. Oh, the bitterness of unknowing days past!

During this time,I found myself increasingly preoccupied with thoughts of him，often forgetting even what Mother might have thought.
“Oh Mother—Mr.Asagi’s hakama has become so soiled it’s unsightly.We should have a new one made for him.”Before I knew it，I had blurted out these words，only to be laughed at by Mother.
Even with things I had collected from other guests—handkerchiefs，writing paper—anything that might prove useful to a man—I would hide them from Mother，label them“From Sachiko，”and place them near his desk；this became my greatest delight.
Though unspoken，mother and child together—the way they attended to him—had already been noticed by sharp-eyed observers.
Those who had made unpleasant remarks to me moved with pointed sarcasm to the boarding house across the way.
While some spread groundless rumors about him and me，others deliberately withheld boarding fees wanting to be treated like Asagi—even proposing to use daughters as bargaining chips—Mother grew deeply concerned about these distasteful matters being bandied about.
At times she would attempt to subtly discern Mr.Asagi’s true feelings，but given how extraordinarily he had been cared for，there was simply no way for her to refuse.
“Of course I too desire this—it would be perfectly suitable and agreeable—but taking a wife during my studies is most forbidden.”
“Since it would naturally hinder my studies，I ask that we simply formalize our engagement for now.”
“Even if it takes two or three years，once I have established myself，I will surely make it so.”
“Until then，let us maintain an outward appearance as strangers”—this single statement from the man，earnestly requesting formal discretion.

Surely there would be no unexpected changes—Mother did not dwell deeply on people’s rumors beyond that.
As Mother devoted herself wholeheartedly to caring for him, I too resolved that one who would become my future husband deserved sincere devotion from such a time onward.
In shadow and sunlight, our efforts bore fruit—in that summer two years later when I turned twenty.
Mr. Asagi had successfully graduated from the preparatory school, and with this achievement gaining even greater momentum, I would now endure with redoubled perseverance until I could be called the honorable wife of a scholar.
Mother too had endured the stormy waves of this transient world all these years, and her efforts bore fruit.
Mr. Asagi—no ordinary gentleman—having become our escort boat across the sea of this world, granted us safe passage.
It was then that we would cease the boarding house business, and to those hometown folk who had once mocked the mother and child’s journey, we would proudly proclaim Mr. Asagi’s name—such were the preparations we made during that pivotal time.
Clouds that veil the moon, winds that scatter blossoms—inescapable truths of this world—when word arrived that Mr. Asagi’s mother had suddenly passed away in her hometown, he had no choice but to return at least once.
My girlish heart lingered over every moment of our reluctant parting, but before I could even properly mourn our separation—bursting into tears at every turn—Mother busily urged me onward.
She hastily yet presentably prepared modest garments, and no sooner had Mr. Asagi departed at dusk than—
Mother and I took turns gazing at your empty sky until dusk fell, when three days later, an exceedingly solemn letter arrived for Mother from Mr. Asagi.

As I grew impatient while Mother read on, my mind churned with restless anxiety about its contents.
At length, Mother released a heavy sigh and cast the letter before me with her weakened hand.
Though my heart pounded fiercely, I began reading through stiffened lips—for this too came from him—dreading what words might follow.
After pages of pitiful lamentations came the bitter fruit of Mother’s years of stubborn endurance—her financial maneuvers to spare me future burdens.
Now unexpected debts had arisen, binding me in their sudden snare.
To break free and return hastily to Tokyo seemed hopeless; he might well crumble into provincial dust.
Thus his lofty ambitions would not merely wither—
That we mother and child who received such boundless kindness could offer no recompense pained him deeply, yet—
In my present state I cannot allow even minor financial aid—there remains no alternative.
Since you too, Miss Sachiko, approach marriageable age—to keep you waiting on my futile affairs—
Lest your flower-like beauty fade abandoned upon barren soil, inviting calamity—
Should better prospects arise, pray attach yourself to them without hesitation.
Though fortune’s winds might someday blow me back to Tokyo—for now I resign myself to vain hopes—
The tear-blurred ink suggesting masculine weeping—I could read no further.
Were this solvable with mere coin, my hair ornaments would mean nothing.
Though I’d sell all to free him—still I yearned to see his face—
At dawn by that bridge of ill name—to one sharing no nighttime vow—I burned with shame imagining Mother’s judgment.
Yet calling it mere chance—how bitterly I strained to read Mother’s expression—
Mother—usually so mannish—now spoke with crisp clarity:
“Given this juncture—do you truly wish to bind yourself eternally to that man?” Mother pressed anew.

At a loss for how to give a proper response, I hesitated even now, but finally resolved myself and answered “Yes” with all sincerity.
Mother was in unexpectedly good spirits. “Then I too shall arrange as much money as possible with all sincerity,” she declared.
“Therefore,” she continued, “since I can no longer buy you whatever you want—this or that thing you request—as I have done until now, you must prepare yourself for that reality.” This proved easier than I had anticipated—that very night she immediately went out somewhere.
The next day she prepared two or three bundles of banknotes and promptly had them sent to him.
Within less than a week, I was able to see that ailing man from dawn till dusk once more.

However, no sooner was one wish granted than another arose—though Mother meant to fulfill Mr. Asagi’s wish to establish himself as well.
Given she had resorted to extraordinary measures—the care required until his university graduation being beyond a woman’s means—Mr. Asagi too had steeled himself.
That being another matter requiring waiting for the proper season, first and foremost I resolved to secure some foundation for myself.
Mr. Asagi had made appeals here and there until after two months passed—it came about that he began attending work at a certain pharmaceutical company in Koishikawa.

With Mr. Asagi’s circumstances having temporarily stabilized, Mother hastened to formalize our union through nuptial cups.
Mr. Asagi would invariably mollify her with measured words—"I am not yet one who believes his path ends here."
“Should occasion arise for renewed study, I mean to strive harder still—if only to secure a medical scholar’s credential if nothing more. Therefore I beg you permit me to remain thus awhile longer.”
“Though no ceremony binds us, Miss Sachiko stands as my cherished wife and you as my benefactress-mother—this truth I sealed within my heart long past.”
“While I desire your complete reassurance on this matter, you know full well I remain excluded even from university’s gates.”
“To wed in such haste—seeking wholeness like some roof-tile craving completion—would expose the baseness of my aspirations before former comrades. This humiliation being insufferable, you must concede there’s no choice but continued secrecy until my conscience finds repose.”
Mother set aside misgivings and acquiesced to his entreaties.

As time passed, since maintaining appearances at the boarding house residence had become difficult, Mr. Asagi proposed that we should at least secure a proper home of our own.
Mother was immensely pleased; there happened to be a suitable house on nearby Imakawa Lane.
This too became Mother's guarantor arrangement, which she undertook to borrow.
To the gentleman destined to marry me eventually, there was no need for outsiders to come meddling.
Mother had all our possessions moved from our house, arranged everything to ensure there was no inconvenience, and then at last we relocated to that place.

Thus Mother hastened my marriage preparations, yet Mr. Asagi would only ever repeat the same refusals and never consent.
Yet as months passed, even Mr. Asagi could no longer endure the inconveniences of maintaining a bachelor household.
Then he proposed that we at least hold a private wedding ceremony under the pretense of assistance on the surface.
Though Mother herself found this disagreeable, out of her heartfelt concern for Mr. Asagi’s well-being above all else, she pressed him again and again: “When then—when will we hold the proper public announcement?”
With Mr. Nakagawa—a trusted friend of Mr. Asagi—serving as proxy matchmaker, they conducted a perfunctory ceremony before having me mostly reside at his residence.

Thus as a month or two passed, I too had unwittingly come to call Mr. Asagi “you”—while he on his part addressed me as “Miss Sachiko”—the propriety of his words was so disarming that others came to envy our seemingly harmonious bond.
Mr. Asagi not only cherished me but also treated Mother as though she were his own true parent.
Whenever there were rare items, he would have them brought from our home and would even come to welcome us, treating us without reservation.
Although both Mother and I felt somewhat dissatisfied, our hearts settled with this arrangement, and half a year passed as if in a dream.

Yet even upon blossom-laden boughs—how fearsome are the thorned hearts of this world!
My twenty-first spring concluded joyously here, while others mourned the parting of flowers.
In me alone did spring persist—my joy manifest in lush foliage’s hue, my ease perceived through summer robes’ light sleeves.
I thought of nothing beyond tending Mr. Asagi’s cherished potted plants until the day he returned from the company with altered countenance.
While he would customarily count rosebuds first, I laid dinner nearby; he’d yield four sun-widths to me before cheerfully taking chopsticks as was our wont.
That day alone passed uneventfully, yet his pensive air permitted no ease.
What thoughts claimed your mind?—my own heart so unsettled that I pressed him repeatedly.
“No matter what—this isn’t for your ears.”
My heart knew only torment, only bewilderment.
Ah, how pitiless this world! Love and ambition—these twain resist all reconciliation.
Yet my heart stood resolved: though I’d never become Shūkingo in this life, from Yawata’s Inreika I’d never part.
His sudden grasp startled me, yet my craving to know grew until I resented his guarded heart.
Mr. Asagi finally nodded, then spoke to dismiss me under repentance’s guise:
“Never—never deem me faithless.”
“Now then,” he began awkwardly, “the president of my company—Masuda—is what men call a gentleman merchant.”
“Today brings his plain wish to make me his daughter’s groom—so long as I refuse consent, they’ll hardly hasten the match.”
“Should you desire it, they’d even admit me to university—study abroad at whim, they claim.”
“I’ve no mind to become that man’s son-in-law, even temporarily—yet other matters prove opportune.”
“A dire scheme to secure tuition—or rather, temporary compliance makes me groom in name alone.”
“Once studies conclude splendidly, academia shall be mine.”

“Even if I were to breach the contract then, they wouldn’t come demanding restitution.”
“Though it suddenly occurred to me—what should I do if you were to doubt my integrity even slightly?”
“Even should you harbor no doubts, I cannot endure causing you momentary distress.”
“They say the daughter is remarkably unattractive—no doubt adequate compensation for their offer.”
“No matter—it’s not something I mean to carry out in any case.”
He laughed hollowly, yet his shifting gaze betrayed unease.
Knowing Lord Asagi’s habitual ambitions burned like shame at his imagined contempt.
That’s most welcome news—why don’t you consent? If it benefits you, I’d endure any hardship—the careless words spilled from me...
Lord Asagi abruptly grew solemn—“So you cling to faith in me without relent.”

Splendidly accomplished—wise woman and chaste wife—thus you proved yourself my most beloved spouse. With my heart now at ease, I resolved to rouse my ambition at this decisive moment and set this scheme into motion.
Though the world mocks those who lower themselves to carrying their own pots, true love builds a person’s name and establishes their standing.
Had it not been for your words now, I would never have realized my heart’s dullness.
Were I to rot away like this while having such a wise woman as my wife—it would mark the height of a man’s good fortune.
Reflecting—I too counted among the men of this world. Come—let me rise splendidly through diligence—ah—that I might join the ranks of scholars.
When that time came—to raise up our family’s long-cherished standing—I would see your wish fulfilled.
Not knowing your reckless encouragement was calculated—I had no choice but to comply.
The words I had spoken were seized like arrow shafts by his catalpa bow.
An obstinacy neither yielding nor restrained—I strained my resolve of my own accord—enduring the torment of being unable to refuse.
If only Mother would refuse—ah—that this matter might become mere fiction—I pinned such precarious hopes upon it.
Before I could finish explaining—Mr. Asagi had already gone to Mother that very night—how he obtained her consent I’ll never know—but given she likely couldn’t refuse him either—I felt all strength drain away.
Though I had spoken imprudent words—I regretted my own rashness.
At that time—through deep trust in Mr. Asagi—even this seemed nothing but my own futile confusion—I could only scold and discipline myself.

When I later heard of it, it seemed Mr. Asagi had told Mother that I had earnestly urged him to do so.
All of this—before I could even speak to Mother—Mr. Asagi had acted, perhaps fearing the hearts of mother and daughter might yet change.
Like a bird taking flight from beneath one’s feet, the very next day brought urgent relocation proceedings.
That matter aside, he had long determined it inconvenient not to reside near the company.
Since the president had kindly arranged to lease a house, he would now move there.
In the end, out of consideration for my husband, I wanted him to stay at my family home for the time being.
In return—since I would be constantly going to comfort him—I dismissed matters as trivial.
All of this—just endure it for a little while—within two or three months, under some pretext we would move far away and welcome him back into our home as before.
He had smoothly glossed over the situation and departed with hasty preparations—so abruptly that when Mother, suspicious, came rushing in, Mr. Asagi’s shadow had already vanished at the crossroads of Kita-Kanda, and I lay collapsed in formless weeping where his study once stood.

However, from the very next day onward, Mr. Asagi began visiting us every few days, conversing as though nothing were amiss.
Mother and I gradually settled our hearts—as our anxieties eased here, his visits there grew sparse.
When no word came even of this place, Mother—as might be expected—grew deeply suspicious and had someone clever investigate.
Who could have imagined that on Mr. Asagi's side there had long resided a wife who had borne him a child—with rumors now swirling that she would soon don the pregnancy sash?
When questioned about university attendance, he showed no signs of refusal; he still commuted to the company belonging to his wife's father.
As the president's cherished son-in-law, people's reverence knew no bounds.
Not only had his monthly stipend increased from before, but his wife also received an allowance—their lifestyle grew extravagantly opulent.
Moreover, this wife was said to possess beauty ill-suited to her stipend-supported station—a tale neighborhood parents recounted with evident envy while coveting such matches for their sons.
Before hearing half of it, Mother clicked her teeth sharply and seethed with resentment—I, through partiality toward that man.
Even were it merely others' words—too uncertain to settle one's thoughts—why did Mr. Asagi come so swiftly yet fail to explain matters to Mother?
At first I waited single-mindedly, but wait as I might, no word came.
In the end, even I came to bear this humiliating shroud of suspicion—all because I was born a woman.

Even Mother wept secretly over the irretrievable past—how pitiable she seemed.
Before I knew it, my resentment had grown so fierce that—ah!—had I followed my heart’s desire, there were moments when I even wished to kill him.
Yet Mother would console me: “In this world where human hearts have never changed since time began—to be deceived by white-haired elders who should know better—this failure of perception is yours alone! Endure it!”
As she admonished me, our four sleeves grew ever wetter with tears that never dried—how wretched we were, mother and child.
Did God feel no pity? We who waited through days when even Mr. Nakagawa remained absent from Tokyo.
Then autumn winds rose without warning, stirring a lone paulownia leaf—at this very season Mother succumbed to grave illness, and by two o’clock she had passed from this world.
Beneath the sheltering tree where rain now leaked through, though my body longed to vanish like dew—must life itself prove so cruel even now?
The sorrow of being left behind—this solitary existence more worthless than those utterly without purpose.
Still I clung to hope through every pretext.
Though Mother had sent word to Lord Asagi from my yearning heart’s vain hopes—he never came, claiming travel kept him away.
When only condolence money arrived with time’s passage, my hatred swelled anew—though my desire to make him acknowledge whether he cared raged within me, I stifled memories of his past kindnesses. Through Mother’s forty-nine days of mourning, I endured flames in my breast that flared and died in endless torment.
Then when Mother’s hundredth-day memorial concluded, word came that Lord Asagi had welcomed a jewel-like son into his household.
With firm resolve, I prepared splendid attire.
Bearing congratulatory gifts, I visited Lord Asagi’s residence in Suwa-cho.

Beneath that

Even in the lopsided town where the architecture of the artillery arsenal, towering into the clouds, blocks one’s view.
Before this stood a building in the garden marked with raked patterns, its gate doors shining bright—yet clouded was the heart of that person who, undaunted by societal judgment, had boldly inscribed "Masuda Yuen" upon the installed nameplate in thick brushstrokes.
At the sight, my chest tightened first, but deeming this a critical juncture, I gracefully requested to be shown in.
The person I sought was not present, but being introduced as the daughter from the house where he had once lodged, the madam had perhaps graciously permitted my entry.
She deigned not to put on airs in the slightest and graciously received me, even showing me her beloved child’s face.
I too played my part in this charade, casually entertaining them while observing how the young mistress’s eyes perfectly mirrored the master’s own, her entire countenance bearing the madam’s likeness.
Truly, with such an enviably dear infant as Miss Kazuko here, one cannot help but feel concerned for how her upbringing and future will unfold.
Having offered all possible flattery—for what parent in this world would not be pleased to have their child praised?
To this, Madam too deigned to regard me without reserve, and taking advantage of her invitation to "come visit whenever occasion arises,"...
Not many days later when I visited again, it appeared that even Mr. Asagi had not gone so far as to prohibit my comings and goings.
Contrary to my anxious thoughts of "How will she receive me?", when Madam once again graciously invited me inside, I first felt my heart settle.
From then on, out of a heart determined to grow familiar with that man by any means necessary, I catered to Madam’s every wish in all matters.
After that, though she was the young madam of a wealthy family, she harbored no suspicions whatsoever—I had gained myself an excellent conversational partner, it seemed.
When I did not visit from here, messengers would be dispatched from there—such was our smooth arrangement.
Even in my fleeting joy that my plan had reached its midpoint, Mr. Asagi—as might be expected—had begun to feel pangs of conscience.
He would seek moments when no one was present to draw near to me, explaining there were various reasons for this, urging me to endure all matters for a time, and that he would in due course find an opportune moment to gradually discuss things.
That skillfully phrased mouth of yours—none other than the very mouth that once deceived me in days past.
Though I found his words terrifying and infuriating to hear, having already steeled my resolve regardless, I took his glib assurances at face value - so long as he did not renege on that final promise.
Eventually, Mr. Asagi too abandoned all restraint—showing no hesitation before me in his affectionate displays with his wife—while I, pretending not to see, allowed my heart to settle into resignation regarding all matters.

While subtly questioning Madam about Mr. Asagi's plans regarding university entrance and overseas study—thinking these at least might hold truth—I found they too were empty lies. What I heard of future plans amounted only to this: that a portion of Father’s assets and that pharmaceutical company would be transferred to Madam’s name. I came to realize the deceptions I had suffered were beyond counting. With this resolve hardening in my heart, I devoted myself even more completely to winning over Kazuko’s Haruo-sama. Though just an infant past weaning, the child had already grown accustomed to my touch. When she no longer cried upon being lifted into my arms, I deemed the time ripe—telling neighbors that with Mother gone and my heart adrift, I would return to my hometown. The lingering visage of Mother—whose memory would not fade—and the cherished home where still echoed the voice of Lord Asagi, he of the daimyo stripes who had once shown me kindness—I transferred it all to someone in the same trade. What remained I converted to cash and wrapped about myself, then set out immediately for Suwa-cho. As usual under pretext of soothing Kazuko, I slipped away clutching her to my breast. Setting aside Lord Asagi—how profound must have been the grief of blameless Madam left behind! When I think back—how cruel it all was—I who resented Lord Asagi to madness’ brink! To have forgotten even Madam and Kazuko—nay, even my own wretched state—how despicable.

From there, to the hideout I had prepared long ago—
This referred to a maid named Ume who had long served our household, now married into Nishinakamachi in Asakusa—it was to her that I turned.
This child—born of my secret bond with Lord Asagi—I left behind in disgrace.
When I pleaded, “Please shelter us here awhile,” Ume exchanged glances with her husband. In her vexation at not answering promptly, she declared, “This is for your temporary upkeep,” and...
Though I handed over no small sum, it seemed even hell’s judgment bowed to gold.
The couple’s expressions softened instantly; without exchanging a word, they offered obsequious smiles of comprehension.
Though they did not go so far as to sweep the garden with mallets, the couple used their hands as makeshift brooms to clean the back room and attended to me with exaggerated care.
I had settled there temporarily, yet my heart grew troubled at every turn—what if others noticed my clumsiness in tending this unfamiliar child?
“Everyone starts out like this—do it this way, handle that thusly”—yet even Ume, who had once raised children herself, showed not a trace of suspicion.
Taking it upon myself to care for her—since I believed funds still remained—I felt neither wholly secure nor entirely anxious.
Though my meager savings dwindled, I repeatedly steeled myself by recalling how Mother had once raised me single-handedly in harder times—passing two or three months as if in a dream. The resentment I had vowed to repay without foresight now shackled me instead. The false mantle of parenthood gradually kindled genuine maternal feelings—this child not being my own yet growing dearer each day—but seeing Kazuko’s eyes and mouth increasingly mirror that man’s features only reawakened anguish. “If only this were our child together,” I would think, futilely dwelling on the past as I vacillated daily between hatred and longing, finding solace only in these tears.

“Even so—to be wandering this area looking like that at this hour... Hmm, I see now. So Asagi still refuses to acknowledge you.”

“I too have only recently returned from my home province and first learned of Asagi’s misconduct. Had I been present here, I would never have permitted such dishonorable deeds—yet it vexes me to think that while your future remained entirely uncertain, I have idly let the days pass until now.”

“However, given that he and I share a hometown, his disgrace reflects upon our entire community—how could I possibly turn a blind eye to this?”

“Especially as I cannot escape my role as mediator—having fully ascertained how matters stand—I had resolved to counsel him relentlessly... yet encountering you there proved a blessing for us both.”

“Yet when pressed about the child—though you are in no position to answer—I too swiftly deduced it: Hmm, need we even ask? This is unmistakably Asagi’s child. The way it resembles that fool has its own peculiar charm.”

“With such compelling evidence at hand, saving my friend from dishonor and forcibly restoring your happiness should not prove too difficult a task.”

“Very well—I shall take charge of everything and see it through smoothly,” he declared without preamble, inquiring about my current lodgings. Though my shame remained unforgotten, with no other recourse and recalling Mother’s patient waiting—for only this man could hear my full account—I found sudden resolve. Yet still I faltered to speak of Kazuko’s circumstances. When I conveyed my present plight, he deemed my situation ever more pitiable: “In that case, I shall arrange temporary shelter where you might find some peace.” Following several paces behind as he strode ahead through winding backstreets whose names I knew not, we soon passed Manseibashi to our left and emerged rightward at Ochanomizu—the place called Hongō Yumichō, I later learned.

It was the second floor of a lone old woman’s house.

Perhaps the old woman had mistaken me for being intimately acquainted with him, for that night she resumed her gossip about Mr. Nakagawa: "Even if you weren’t in such a hurry, it would have been better had you stayed a while longer to compose yourself—yet to depart straight from the garden! My, my, what an inflexible gentleman."
"Yet even when he appears so stern," she continued, "he remains a truly kind master—this old crone has long enjoyed his patronage."
"Though my work be mere sewing and laundry of no great consequence, he always grants me most generous payment. Moreover, the cast-off garments he bestows without hesitation—which become this woman’s finest attire—let me enjoy splendid New Year celebrations each time."
"He’ll likely come first thing tomorrow morning, so you’d best retire early tonight. Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock," she prattled on, oblivious to my discomfort. Only when her impatient footsteps faded downstairs did I release my tension—and there lay Kazuko, this child not of my blood yet borne by this counterfeit parent through night winds that must pierce her thin garments. Divine restraint kept me dry-eyed as I gazed upon this face I could never tire of seeing—this stranger sharing none of my lineage. Though I cradled her to sleep with tear-dampened hand, rest eluded me as I tossed through the night. How strange hearts are—Mr. Nakagawa’s features bore no resemblance, yet this rough-mannered man who once boarded with us and whose severity once frightened me so—that he should show such compassion through mere duty as mediator filled me with trembling gratitude.

Even were half this kindness present in Mr. Asagi now—no no, such musings proved futile—why did my worthless heart linger? More urgent—what of this child? Should I hide her endlessly? No—that barred recourse to Mr. Nakagawa. Since he studied law, perhaps confess all and seek counsel? But no—he’d order her returned. What then? Now that I spoke of vengeance—even were I to divert my heart—how could this child be torn from me? Amidst these knotted thoughts, I must have slipped into dreams.

When Mr. Asagi—escorted by Mr. Nakagawa—appeared honorably at my bedside, I writhed voicelessly to voice grievances unknown; then roused by the crying child, I opened eyes to morning light glinting through grimy door-cracks, a spider’s toil gleaming below, while at the gate passed a tofu seller summoned by the old woman—such was the moment.

Startled by this, I tried to rise—yet my head weighed heavily and my body languished, rendering me unable to lift myself—perhaps having contracted a chill—as the old woman prepared with care a thin gruel and offered it; but even this would not pass my throat, the agony unchanged after a night’s passing. When by dusk of the next day Mr. Nakagawa still had not come, loneliness compounding my distress, I sank once more into brooding—until the old woman’s vigorous voice leaked through: "Should you continue this excessive indulgence in sorrowful airs, it will only harm your condition."

Mr. Asagi had been utterly distraught—there being no interval to even speak of an illness since yesterday—when the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs reached me; thinking That must be Mr. Nakagawa, I brushed back my disheveled hair and with great effort lifted my heavy head from the pillow. When Mr. Nakagawa saw this, he appeared profoundly shocked from the first moment, and thus it became clear that the old woman's words had not been mere idle talk after all.

Though he showed deep concern by furrowing his brows—intending to summon a physician known to me—I, agonizing over burdening him with further solicitude, declared this would suffice for the present; whereupon Mr. Nakagawa, as I strained to feign composure, regained some calmness of manner. "Though we may later address your health as needed," he began, "there first exists a matter I must ask you."

"Yesterday I had some business that prevented me from going to Asagi’s place, but now I am returning from there."

“Truly, women are fearsome creatures,” Mr. Nakagawa observed, watching me shrink in shame after I’d anticipated his unspoken question—That child isn’t yours, is it?—“The right and wrong of this matter need no explanation from me, for you surely know them already.”

“In any case, you should return that child to Asagi.”

“If that is not done, even my admonishments to Asagi will lack seventy percent of their force—how then can I effectively say anything?”

“In truth, driven by single-minded resolve, I went immediately after confirming matters I need not have asked again—but this was my error. To make him repent his sins utterly, I was met unexpectedly with accusations against you from that quarter—using the child as pretext—leaving me no choice but to return today.”

“Though he does harbor some guilt, and you have kept this matter concealed from others until now—there will be no escalation of this affair hereafter—but to exploit this situation for such unjust ends is not something I can condone for your sake. Do you not realize that his current wife, so tormented by thoughts of the child, even took to her sickbed for a time?”

“Setting aside your resentment toward Asagi for now—I wish you would at least try to fathom even a little of Mother’s heart.”

As he admonished me—my sins being enumerated as if for the first time now—though I had no heart to hesitate even briefly.

When I thought about it—this strange bond indeed—the act of returning a child not my own to her parents felt somehow unsettling.

Though parting with her proved excruciatingly difficult, I gradually resigned myself and expressed my intent to comply with his directive—whereupon Mr. Nakagawa, greatly pleased that his words had taken effect, continued offering me earnest consolation before finally taking Kazuko away.

From this point on, I became ever more acutely aware of the emptiness of my existence—what thread of life remained for me to cling to?
If I’m to end it, let it end; if to sever, then sever—since I was not fated to witness that heartless one’s demise, I spent those days of inconsolable grief clinging to the meager comfort that he might at least see my own end.
When Mr. Nakagawa came again, I regained some semblance of composure through his presence, yet—
Looking up, I found his complexion bore a feeble pallor unlike his former vigor, giving me pause.
He gazed at me uncertainly, as if marveling at how terribly I had wasted away in such brief time.
After appearing to ponder something momentarily, he finally spoke in a gravely somber voice:
“I loathe to speak such matters to you in your sickbed—yet since your illness springs from this root, I shall lay all bare to dispel your confusion. But truly—what a contemptible wretch Asagi has become! Though I never imagined him capable of such shallowness, his very entrails have thoroughly rotted away.”
“No method now exists to confront him—his drunken mind would register no reproach.”
“Consider how this world teems with spineless creatures who exploit golden purses to rise—deeming this their highest honor.”
“He too cannot escape being counted among their ilk.”
“Though he likely never foresaw this from the start, his gentlemanly mien—unwittingly appealing to feminine tastes—must have hastened this decline under his circumstances.”
“Thus even his current wife—when her gold runs dry—will find their marital bond severed.”
“They say since her father-in-law’s passing last year, she has meted out no small coldness upon him—now burdening him with cares matching your own.”
“While tolerable when driven by lingering ambition, he now appears utterly intoxicated by the very gold he once sought to wield—having lost sight of ambition’s path entirely.”
“Reflecting—he was once a pitiable man. That he should sink so low…not even he could have foreseen. As all stems from his moral frailty and weak will, no purpose remains in tallying his fickleness for condemnation.”
“Yet as a final friendly act to spur his repentance, I have resolutely severed ties—thus concluding my role as mediator.”
“Let me speak plainly now—clinging eternally to such a man will never bring you happiness.”
“Were you to properly assess his present state, you’d likely find relinquishing him poses no great hardship.”
“Still, this is not mine to enforce—the choice remains yours—but I offer it for consideration.”
“Enough of that matter,” His Lordship earnestly admonished before departing, “Focus wholly on recovery—I shall protect you absolutely.” Thereafter he seldom visited, deeming “worldly complications” best avoided—yet through his ardent care, I, though undeserving, was meticulously tended by the old woman day and night. But guilt over burdening him so drove me repeatedly to rise from bed—only to be stayed by his past gesture of solemnly pointing heavenward, as in days long gone.

Solemnly he declared: “Such concern for me is unnecessary—for over there dwells your Savior.”
“I am but a servant who follows that divine will,” he said, taking a volume of scriptures from his breast pocket and leaving it behind—which I had gradually come to regard as both friend and teacher.
Though my heart’s troubles had now been utterly wiped clean by these teachings, I still found myself unable to forget Mr. Asagi of the daimyo-striped robe days—even as I could no longer regard him as *that* man. Yet whenever the wish arose to show him these scriptures and restore him to his former self, I knew this was no pure longing born of virtue—but one lingering regret that yet remained……
(*Bungei Kurabu*, May 1897)