Pathway to Japanese Literature

"While my heartbreak still dragged its tail intact—while it remained heartbreak—there was still resilience in my heart that made even sadness, pain, or frustration bearable. But when I struggled like this to forget it—when I finally succeeded in forgetting—an unbearable emptiness instead took root in my heart. This wasn’t true heartbreak, much less requited love—this so-called loveless state was truly the most wretched feeling of all. This desolate emptiness became intolerable. The alcohol I’d relied on until then had served well enough as a heartbreak antidote, but proved utterly useless for healing this loveless desolation—I desperately needed some new kind of stimulant. That’s when Mr. Y and T appeared, guiding me into that world of debauchery. I felt I’d finally been given what I truly sought. So this time—even to the point of initiating invitations myself—I tumbled headlong into debauchery. Heartbreak—drinking—debauchery. It followed too textbook a path, yet precisely because it was textbook, it had been inevitable for me. Nor did I force myself down this path from some conceptual belief that heartbreak demanded such a course. 'For me to have drifted this far required experiencing that lukewarm state of lovelessness…'"

I had always justified my reckless lifestyle of that period in this manner. And to the criticism from my friends that would naturally arise, I intended to offer this explanation. And even then, if they couldn’t sympathize with my feelings or understand the inevitability of this outcome, I had concluded there was no choice but to part ways with such unworthy friends. However, deep down, I couldn’t help harboring the naive expectation that if I were to trot out my trump card of heartbreak, anyone would silently forgive me. And though I despised this naivety within myself, I tried to affirm that such a degree of gullibility was only natural to possess.—At first, shrinking under the fear of public ridicule, I had tried to hide my heartbreak in shame; but upon realizing that society’s sympathy—contrary to all expectations—was converging upon me with startling unanimity, I abruptly swelled with bravado—flaunting my heartbreak, exaggerating my indulgences, even commodifying it to the point of utter shamelessness. And since society silently permitted this, I grew increasingly emboldened, cementing a deluded conviction that brandishing this excuse would always secure forgiveness. Of course, on one hand, though I pitied such a self. And so I myself had thoroughly convinced myself that my current lifestyle was permissible. I had even convinced myself that the friends around me had surely decided to forgive me by now.

It was a certain day at the beginning of the New Year. I had left home for two days and returned absentmindedly at evening. Needless to say, Mother was displeased. Silently substituting reproach with action, she thrust before me the bundle of letters accumulated during my absence. I accepted them wordlessly and retreated to my study. Among belated New Year's greetings and miscellaneous correspondence lay a postcard from E. Having avoided meeting friends since plunging into dissipation, I stared with tearful nostalgia at his bold script gracing the card. It stated we intimates wished to gather on × day for a New Year's banquet of sorts, insisting I must attend. The × day—that very day. Time had nearly run out. Yet miraculously, I'd made it. Though conscious of the impropriety in rushing out again so soon after returning home, the prospect of cheerful banter with respectable friends after so long steeled my resolve to attend regardless. Thus I donned anew the overcoat just discarded.

“Are you going out again?” Seeing this, Mother called out from the family room.

I felt a bit awkward, but pulling myself together, I replied cheerfully, “Yes. It’s the Santokai tonight. I’ll just show my face and come back.” With that dismissive remark, I hurriedly rushed out of the house.

The venue was E's house right nearby. When I was led by the waiter up to a room on its second floor, the group had already mostly gathered, their conversation in full swing. As they noticed my entrance—E serving as organizer—stood up,

“Oh, you came after all. I thought you might not show up today either,” he greeted loudly. “No…” I said, running my hand through my hair, yet feeling somehow refreshed as I surveyed all the assembled faces and took my seat with apparent cheerfulness. However—though it wasn’t so much lingering guilt from being immediately confronted by E upon entering as a sort of bashfulness—I ended up choosing a chair in the back corner behind everyone.

I noticed one or two new faces among those seated. E said, “Shall I introduce them?” and proceeded to introduce each one to me. They were young graduates of M University. I had long known that these individuals were devoted to our works—or rather, primarily to A’s. And I too had felt some interest in reading their creative works and critiques. Among them, Mr. N at first glance had the appearance of a wholesome young man raised in a strict Yamanote household. He was unusually chaste for a young man of today, something I had heard about beforehand. With a certain reverence, I bowed my head before this figure—stylish yet free of affectation, embodying the very image of youthful purity.

I had grown rigid, as if turned formal. I even felt I’d thrown myself alone into an atmosphere utterly unlike our usual gatherings. Normally, the mere sight of their faces would make my lips unravel with clever banter, yet now they stayed strangely sealed.

“Hey. What’s the matter? Don’t stay holed up in the corner like that—come over here at least a little.” Having keenly noticed my condition, A called out to me in invitation from across the room in his usual cheerful tone.

I shifted my seat slightly toward the center. “The way K just entered had the air of a prodigal son returning home.” After waiting for me to take my seat, H jeered from beside me. H’s jeer contained both a tone meant to provoke me and an undercurrent of criticism. I remained silent, wearing a bitter smile. Then, overlapping this, A immediately added: “When you entered, it had the air of a prodigal son’s homecoming. But looking closely now, it seems more like you’ve just dropped in on your way out somewhere else.”

“That’s enough.” I had no choice but to cut them off with genuine seriousness. Yet inwardly, through being mocked like this by them, I felt as though I’d truly become a proper debauchee—even growing somewhat proud of it. This act of “playing”—for me—contained a certain childish vanity.

In the midst of this, the dining room opened, so the conversation naturally shifted to a different direction. Even amidst the clamor of clattering knives and forks, they never ceased their lightning-quick exchange of epigrams and relentless volleys of biting sarcasm. And before I knew it, I too joined their ranks, buoyed by a couple glasses of beer.

The post-dinner chatter grew even more animated. I had already completely become one of their group. I had become no less talkative than anyone else. And I began competing in epigrams no less than anyone else.

Then, by some turn of events, I suddenly found myself in a strangely sober mood. This was because my epigrams and sarcasm required a kind of effort, so whenever some chance occurrence arose, a self-reflection would surface: "Here I am straining upward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them by spouting these epigram-like things—but what good does putting on such an act do?" And when I sobered up in this manner, I would pity my own mediocrity while at the same time finding their pretentious epigrams and sarcasm unbearably repulsive. Even if what they called vigorous debates about primary issues arose there, I could not help but come to think they ultimately amounted to nothing more than mutual pride in intellectual prowess, pedantic clashes of erudition, and clever one-upmanship—nothing beyond that.

I suddenly fell silent and sank into thought.

Then a different imagined scene spontaneously rose before me. It was the second floor of that Kisen establishment. There upon the mulberry serving counter burned bright lights—different from the chandeliers illuminating pristine tablecloths here yet equally luminous. Surrounding it sat S, Y and T whom I'd just left behind, clad in New Year's formalwear, mingling with glittering companions as they cheerfully raised their cups. Even among them emerged epigrams and sarcasms following the same sequence as here. Yet within their tone I sensed—whether imagined or not—none of that self-aggrandizing resonance present in this place. This quality fostered an ease, an intimate familiarity...

I wanted to flee this place and go there immediately. The small amount of alcohol I'd drunk earlier was fueling this urge powerfully. But I remembered I'd left home yesterday too. I recalled Mother's imploring expression when I'd departed earlier. And so tonight, I resolved I absolutely wouldn't rush off to those streets again. I shook my head to dispel these delusions, then had to forcibly adopt a cheerful manner to rejoin their conversation.

The chatter grew lively once more, buzzing incessantly. Then, amidst all this, the conversation suddenly turned to matters of debauchery. And from such matters as who was a true debauchee and who was not, the question naturally descended upon each of us individually. From my recent experiences, I felt I had more authority to speak than others and spoke with pride. “When it comes to lacking debauched elements, there’s no one as deficient as H.” “That very point is both H’s weakness and his strength.” “However, those who praise H for not indulging in debauchery as if it were some remarkable virtue are mistaken.” “From the very beginning, H has completely lacked any debauched elements, so on that point, he absolutely has no right to discuss debauchery.” I even said such things.

H listened with a stifled laugh, as if acknowledging he himself lacked such qualifications. Then E, seated beside me, must have found this grating. He suddenly turned to me and spat out these words: “Now that you mention it—you’re no true debauchee yourself, yet there you are preening among that crowd like you’ve found paradise. How ridiculous.” “Really now—what’s so delightful about keeping company with those wretches anyway?” E’s words came, as ever, like a dagger thrust straight to the heart.

“Well, the reason I indulge is different from theirs… But it’s not like they’re as lacking in merits as you think.” I first had to answer with forced humility.

Then A, who had been sitting across the room, assumed the bearing of a headliner and—as if pronouncing a verdict—thrust out his chin and sharply began to speak.

"I’ve been meaning to tell you—what exactly do you plan to achieve by living this way?" "The longer you keep wasting time with that crowd on these frivolous amusements, the more we’ll have to distance ourselves from you." "And you’re fine with that?" "It can’t be helped." "If you—who ought to understand my true feelings—insist on leaving me, then I suppose it can’t be helped. When the time comes that you truly comprehend them, I may yet return to how things were."

When I heard that, suppressing the resentment filling my chest, I managed to answer like this. That was my utmost show of defiance. What grated on me most was detecting in A’s words an implicit threat veiled as friendship—something like “You’ll regret not associating with me”—that he himself had embedded there. “If that’s how it is, then I suppose I can’t help it either. —But let me be clear—I’m not playing the good friend here to give you advice *for your sake*.” “For our sake—no, for my own sake—I wish you’d stop your debauchery.” “When you’re out carousing with that crowd—not only are you never there when I go, but you’ve even stopped writing on your own—it makes me feel terribly lonely.” “Whenever I go, if you’re sitting at that desk writing fiercely, you can’t imagine how heartened I feel—how profoundly stimulated I become.” “I find your dissipation lonelier for me myself than for you yourself.”

A pressed forward with his argument using his signature logic, ever more clearly articulated. I felt utterly incapable of refuting his words. Yet even as he laid everything out so methodically and rationally, I found myself unable to suppress the resentment welling up against his manner. You see—A himself wanted to posture as a good friend offering advice, but being shrewd enough to recognize this impulse in himself, he deliberately framed this counsel as being for his own sake rather than mine. In truth, he was driven by an urge to advise that sprang from his own sense of superiority. I couldn’t help peeling back layer after layer of hidden motives. Once I’d grown this resentful, giving a straightforward answer became impossible.

“But I’m not living for your sake, you know.” “But I imagine it must be quite lonely for you yourself as well. You live like that—don’t you feel unbearable emptiness when you wake up in the mornings?” “That—I’d feel it even without living this way. If anything, these days I hardly feel it at all.” “Then are you satisfied with that lifestyle?” E interjected. His interjection resounded powerfully through A’s orchestra of condemnation directed at me, like a trumpet blaring over the ensemble.

“I’m not satisfied, but I am enjoying myself. I’m not like ordinary debauchees who force themselves into it out of obligation when there’s no joy to be had. Actually, I am enjoying it.” “Then that’s all the worse. Such an attitude is just hedonism in its infancy, isn’t it?” “Can’t help it if you say so.” I declared this while fuming at the faint smiles that E’s apt criticism of my hedonism being in its infancy had drawn from the others listening.

“Anyway, what’s your point?” A pressed further. “H is also worried about that point, but you really must consider how damaging such a lifestyle is to your standing in the literary world.” “When you say it’s damaging in the literary world—do you mean it’ll make me lose popularity?” “Well, that’s about right.” “Then that’s not my intention.” “If that’s the case, then even if you’re forced by material circumstances to churn out more works than ever or write pulp novels, are you saying it wouldn’t be detrimental to you?”

To this, I too had no answer. But precisely because I couldn’t respond, the illogical resentment surged up even more violently. A wasn’t offering advice at all—he was now openly attacking me. He was expressing his contempt for me under the guise of advice. ――I resented even this. And with that, I fell completely silent. The blood in my chest was surging like a storm in rebellion against them.

When this dialogue began, the others immediately stopped their idle chatter and sat mostly with crossed arms or bowed heads, listening intently. H too had offered no direct remarks. He remained silent—not aloofly—but followed the unfolding events with close attention. To me, this silence felt both unsettling and faintly reassuring. But regardless, I knew he wasn’t on my side.

Finally, among those people, Mr. K—who had graduated from university a year before us and was then working in M Store’s advertising department—perhaps unable to bear watching me being harshly berated alone,

“It may be odd for me to interject here, but we should really drop this subject.” “I do believe I understand Mr. K’s feelings, but if there’s any advice to give, I think it would be better done privately—doing it here like this will only put Mr. K in a bad mood.”

To this commonsense remark, everyone present had no choice but to concede. A also,

“I never meant to say such things either, but I simply got swept up in the moment’s momentum.” “I’ve been thoroughly disrespectful to K.” With that declaration, he brought matters to a close. They tried resuming their former casual banter, but the gathering—its atmosphere now thoroughly chilled—could never regain its prior warmth. The hour had already neared midnight. Thus without any formal proposal, they collectively resolved to disband.

Outside, a New Year’s cold wind was blowing—a night so dark it seemed the sky had been smothered.

My heart was still seething with resentment. To vent this resentment, I decided to walk awhile with Mr. K, who had mentioned going toward Hirokoji. Then A and E joined us too, since that was their route home. As a result, I could no longer openly vent my displeasure toward them. I simply followed behind them, tending to keep silent.

At Hirokoji, the four of us were to part ways. After A and E had left, Mr.K remained alone for a moment, but when an E-bound train arrived there, he abruptly said, “It’s late—I suppose I’ll just take the train back from around here,” “Well then, I’ll take my leave. “Though tonight’s events must have been unpleasant for you, everyone certainly didn’t mean any harm—so don’t take it badly and go home.” “Alright?” “Well then, goodbye.” With that, he leaped onto the arriving train and was gone.

This time, I was truly left all alone, stranded right in the middle of Hirokoji. The wind of the deepening night swept past me on both sides as I fought back tears. Hugging the sleeves of my coat around me, I stood there wondering what to do next. I knew all too well that I couldn't bring myself to obediently go back home like this.

“Go! There!” The resentment that had filled my chest to bursting suddenly found its voice in rebellion. That’s right. Going straight there immediately after their advice—this was both the sole outlet for my resentment toward them and the only way to repay them in kind! I immediately boarded an S-bound train, and upon reaching S Town, hired a taxi from M Bridge Station.

Within less than five minutes of that, I was in a taxi speeding through Marunouchi toward Issan, my hands clasped tightly over my chest, burning with defiance against them.

“Hmph—such precious friendship.” What’s friendship anyway! Advice disguised as concern. What’s advice anyway! If they had any true sincerity, they wouldn’t have needed to say such things in that place—in that nearly public setting. Let alone in a place where even people I was meeting for the first time, like Mr. N, were present.—“Even if it’s said they did it entirely to flaunt their precious friendship and solely to humiliate me publicly—what could they possibly say in their defense?”

I stared fixedly ahead through the thick glass.

Within less than twenty minutes, the car arrived at the house we were headed to. When I alighted, the maid who had hurried out to greet me, upon seeing my face,

“Oh, it was you. “You’ve truly come after all. “Everyone has been eagerly awaiting your arrival since earlier,” she ushered. “Huh? You mean everyone’s already here waiting?” My voice rose involuntarily.

“Yes—now please come this way.”

Overcome with joy, I hurried up the ladder-like stairs two steps at a time. When I entered the banquet room, everyone was already thoroughly drunk. “Hey, you made it!” “Well now—hurry up and come sit here.”

They said this in unison. I was so excited I could barely keep my hands still and took a seat beside them. I had thought they might be there, but for everyone to be gathered like this and waiting for my arrival was almost as if it had been arranged. I wasn’t the only one who was delighted. “This is exactly why I believe in psychic power.” “Ah, I do believe.” “I can’t help but believe it—since we’ve waited this long, you were bound to come.” “I said you’d definitely come. And here you are, just as I said.” Mr. S, who had always harbored a quasi-superstitious belief in human psychological power, let his sharp, distinguished eyes grow slightly glazed, flushed his small white face, and tilted his head repeatedly as he spoke.

“Today, you see,” “A while back, the three of us gathered and started drinking without geisha—when Mr.S here began telling me how fascinating humans are. So why shouldn’t we freely enjoy these humans who only grow more intriguing the longer you observe them?” “Yet why do people out there cower instead of savoring this human fascination?” “So we decided to take charge ourselves—to enjoy these humans as we please, after discussing and unanimously agreeing on it. But when we surveyed the whole literary world for potential members, aside from us three here, we concluded there was truly no one else but you.” “Then we suddenly resolved to summon you—so starting earlier, we’ve been calling all your usual haunts like L in Ginza and I-za, casting our net wide as we waited.” T waited for me to settle before explaining everything in detail.

Mr. Y, too, shook his massive frame from beside me while directing his amiable gaze, “We really were waiting for you.”

“Truly, not even the most sought-after first-class geisha has ever been courted as ardently as you were tonight.” “This way, we didn’t summon anyone else—just kept waiting for your arrival, you see.” “If you hadn’t shown up after all that, then your absence would’ve been nothing but a bald-faced lie!”

Mr. S continued. "Oh? Is that how it was?" "That's truly appreciated." "I'd been at E's place until now," I finally said calmly after downing two or three drinks.

“E’s place?” “If I’d known that, I should’ve called earlier.” “What were you doing at E’s place?” “I had a miserable time,” I said in a deliberately offhand manner. “What kind of miserable time are you talking about?” “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Today when I heard our group was having a Mitsudo-kai meeting—just us members—I thought I’d go see their faces after so long. But then some trivial thing brought up my debauchery, and next thing I knew, everyone was lecturing me in unison with their ‘advice’ and all that. It got under my skin so much that I ended up storming out right then. And then I ended up here like this. The net of heaven may be wide, but nothing slips through— I just couldn’t help feeling so happy!”

“When gods abandon you, humans will pick you up—that’s how it goes. That’s why we need a Human Appreciation Society.” Mr. Y, thoroughly pleased with his own witticism, burst into booming laughter again.

“So, what kind of advice did you get?” T asked seriously, unable to let the matter drop.

“In short—you’re all bad friends.” “So you’re saying associating with us is unavoidable?” “Well, I suppose that’s right. They threatened that if I kept associating with you all, the others would leave.” “Who’s saying such things?” “Well, let’s not get into personal names.” “What’s the harm? Since you’ve gone that far already.” “Is it A?” “E?” “It couldn’t be H, right?”

“H was silent.” “So it’s A and the others, then.” For some reason, T pressed further. I had no choice but to say, “Yeah.” “Bad friends, huh? “Bad friends? Splendid.” “You need bad friends, I tell you.” “Didn’t even that essayist write in some paper that you need hands stained with evil and feet caked in mud?” “In the first place, we bad friends ought to be thanking A and his lot for graciously making K into a proper human being.” T seemed to have taken some offense after all, and had been saying those things to brush it off.

“The literary world these days has far too few bad friends.” Mr. Y also chimed in agreement. Then Mr. S leaned forward as if bridging the gap between them and began to speak.

“Mr. K, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for some time now—if they’re going to leave you, this is perfect timing.” “Why not take this chance to completely sever ties with those around you?” “Now don’t misunderstand—friends are necessary things, undeniably good.” “But clinging to friends forever? That’s folly.” “We must learn to live alone, unburdened by trifling friendships.” “Oh, you’ll feel lonely without them—bitterly so.” “When I parted ways with S and the Shirakaba group, the loneliness nearly crushed me.” “But I told myself—if you can’t endure this much, you’ll never become a proper writer. So I gritted my teeth and bore it.” “Before I knew it, I grew accustomed. Now I rather enjoy playing the tough.” “From my perspective, breaking from your current circle would do you good.” “You’re not like them—those clever social navigators living flawlessly ordered lives.” “Not the sort who marries before thirty, settles into domesticity, balances creative output, and climbs the literary ranks with steady competence.” “No—you should live more recklessly. More unhinged.” “Life isn’t their neat little package.” “Art isn’t their tidy construct either—if they want to leave, let them go.” “It’s no loss to you whatsoever.”

I found myself strangely savoring this reckless philosophizing in that moment. All through it pulsed Mr. S's heartbeat beside me - thud-thudding against my awareness. Then came tears swelling silent behind my eyelids before I knew to stop them.

T remained silent. Mr. Y also remained silent throughout this, nodding cheerfully by himself. Because everyone at the gathering had listened so intently, Mr. S grew slightly embarrassed, “Well then, let’s leave off this talk of the human world and summon the heavenly host, shall we?”

Although it was already late, geisha were immediately summoned. As it was New Year’s, most of the usual faces were gathered. And once again, conversations of an entirely different nature grew lively. Yet even so, as the hour approached two, the geisha began trickling away, and Mr. S and Mr. Y—who lived relatively nearby—called for a car and prepared to leave.

After everyone had completely left, T and I had the futon laid out for sleeping without any women around.

The two of them felt as though there was something they desperately needed to discuss now that they were alone.

The night had grown quite late, and the surroundings were completely quiet. The wind that had abruptly ceased since midnight would occasionally, as if remembering, slap against the cord or something outside the wooden shutters with a repetitive pattering. The two of them drank down the water by their pillows, laid their pillows side by side, and went to bed. The lights had long since been turned off. After experiencing a tumult of emotions, I found my eyes stubbornly open, making sleep impossible. Suddenly, I heard the thud of T turning over in his sleep.

“Hey. “Aren’t you asleep yet?” I called out.

“Not yet.” “I just can’t fall asleep.” I lay there for some time staring at the dark ceiling. And then I let out a quiet laugh to myself.

“What are you laughing at?” T asked from the darkness.

“Oh nothing—they probably wouldn’t even dream that I’m lying here like this with you.”

T did not answer immediately. And after some time had passed, in a quiet voice that seemed almost like someone else’s,

“But you’re fortunate. I envy you just for having friends like that.” “Hmm….” Before I could answer, I suddenly felt my eyelids grow hot. (October 1919)