Pathway to Japanese Literature

But through all this—through my desperate efforts to forget, through finally succeeding in forgetting—what formed in my heart instead was an emptiness beyond remedy. In truth, this feeling—neither heartbreak nor, needless to say, fulfilled love, but rather what one might call lovelessness—was the most wretched state of all. This desolate state of mind was unbearable to me. And the alcohol I had been using—while it had served passably well as an antidote to heartbreak—now appeared utterly useless in treating this loveless, desolate state of mind. I desperately needed some new kind of stimulant. It was then that Mr. Y and T arrived and guided me into that world of debauchery. I felt I had been given what I had truly been seeking. And so this time, even going so far as to initiate invitations myself, I tumbled headlong into the whirl of debauchery. Heartbreak—alcohol—debauchery. That path was far too textbook in its progression—but precisely because it was textbook, it held inevitability for me. Moreover, I never forced myself down that path out of some abstract notion that having suffered heartbreak, I absolutely had to follow such a course. "For me to have drifted this far, there had to be that raw experience of lovelessness…"

I was always defending my haphazard lifestyle from that period in this manner. And to the inevitable criticisms that would arise from my surrounding friends as well, I had intended to offer this explanation. And even then, if they still couldn't sympathize with my feelings or understand the inevitability of this path, I had concluded there was no choice but to part ways with them as friends unworthy of the name. However, deep down, I couldn't help harboring the self-serving expectation that if I were to bring up my banner of heartbreak, they would silently forgive me. And though I despised this self-serving presumption within myself, I tried to affirm that such moderate presumption was only natural to possess. —At first, shrinking from society's mockery, I had tried to hide my heartbreak in shame. But upon perceiving that society's sympathy—contrary to all expectations—seemed to flock unanimously to me alone, I suddenly grew bold: flaunting my heartbreak, exaggerating my indulgences, even commodifying it to the point of utter shamelessness. Yet since society silently permitted this behavior, I grew increasingly self-satisfied, cementing the self-serving fixed idea that presenting this excuse would always earn forgiveness. Of course, on the other hand, I couldn't help viewing such a self with cold detachment. And so, I had thoroughly convinced myself that my current lifestyle was something permissible. He had even convinced himself that his surrounding friends must have already resolved to forgive him.

It was a certain day at the beginning of the New Year. I had left home for about two days and returned in a daze as evening fell. Needless to say, Mother was displeased. Silently, she thrust before me the bundle of letters accumulated during my absence—a wordless rebuke. I received them without speaking and entered the study. Among belated New Year's cards and assorted letters lay a postcard from E. Having not met my respectable friends since plunging into debauchery, I found myself staring at his bold handwriting with something like mournful nostalgia. It stated we close friends should gather for a New Year's banquet on Xth—today. Time had nearly run out. Still, I was relieved to have made it. Though conscious of the impropriety in leaving again immediately after returning, the thought of cheerful banter with wholesome companions after so long decided me. I put back on the overcoat I'd just discarded.

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

I felt a twinge of guilt but, recomposing myself with forced cheer, said: “Yes. Tonight’s the Sando-kai.” “I’ll just show my face and come right back,” he threw out before hurriedly rushing out of the house. The venue was Mr. E’s house right near our home. When I was led by the waiter up to a room on the second floor there, most of the group had already gathered, their conversation in full swing. When he noticed I had entered, E—serving as organizer—stood up: “Well, you actually came,” he boomed in greeting. “Today I thought you wouldn’t be here either.”

“Well…” I began, putting a hand to my head—yet still feeling refreshed—surveyed the faces of everyone gathered, and took my seat there with apparent delight. But having entered only to be immediately taken aback by E’s direct jab, I chose a chair in the corner behind everyone—not so much from any lingering guilt as from a certain bashfulness. At the gathering, one or two new faces could be seen. “Shall I introduce them?” said E, and proceeded to introduce each one of them. They were young graduates of M University. I had long known that these young men were devoted to our works—though primarily to A’s—and had been favorably disposed toward them. And I too had been one of those who felt some interest in reading their creative works and critiques and such. Among them, Mr. N in particular possessed at first glance the demeanor of a wholesome young man raised in a strict Yamanote district household. I had heard before that he was still a virgin—unusual for a young man of today. With a certain reverence, I bowed my head before this high-collar youth—not without a touch of affectation, yet undeniably pure in his youthful bearing.

I had grown stiffly formal. I even felt as though I'd plunged alone into an atmosphere entirely unlike our usual gatherings. Usually, even just seeing their faces would naturally loosen my lips with wit, yet now they remained somehow sealed.

“Hey. “What’s the matter?” “Don’t stay in the corner like that—come out over here a bit.” A, having keenly noticed this state, called out to me in his usual cheerful tone from across the room. I moved my seat slightly toward the center. “The way K just entered was exactly like the return of the prodigal son.” Waiting until I had taken my seat, H sneered from beside me. H’s sarcasm contained both a tone meant to provoke me and a critical intent.

I remained silent with a wry smile. Then, immediately overlapping this, A added:

“When he came in it was like the prodigal son’s return—but looking properly now, it seems more like he’s just stopping by on his way out somewhere.”

“That’s enough!” I had to interject with genuine force. But inwardly, through being mocked like this by them, I felt I had become a full-fledged debauchee and even grew somewhat proud of it. “The act of ‘playing’—for me—had contained a measure of childish vanity.”

In the midst of this, the dining room opened, so the conversation naturally shifted to different topics. Amidst the clamor of knives and forks, they did not cease their lightning-quick exchange of epigrams and relentless volleys of biting sarcasm. And then, emboldened by a couple of beers, I found myself joining their company before I knew it. The after-dinner chatter grew even more animated. I had already completely become one of their group. I became no less loquacious than the others. And then I began competing with them in spouting epigrams just as vigorously as they did.

Then, somehow, I suddenly felt strangely sober. This was because my epigrams and sarcasm required conscious effort, so whenever some chance trigger occurred, I would be struck by self-reflection: Here I am, straining to keep up with them by spouting these epigram-like remarks—but what's the use of putting on such an act? And when sobered in this manner, I began pitying my own mediocrity while finding their pretentious epigrams and sarcasm unbearably tiresome. Thus even when so-called heated debates about fundamental issues arose, I could not help concluding they were ultimately nothing more than mutual admiration of intellectual prowess, academic posturing, and competitive flashes of wit.

I suddenly clamped my mouth shut and sank into thought. Then there surfaced a different imagined scene of its own accord. That was the second floor of that Kisen. There, upon the mulberry dining table—though different from the chandelier illuminating the pure white tablecloth here—a similarly bright lamplight was lit. And surrounding it were S, Y, and T—whom I had just parted from—wearing their New Year’s attire, mingling with glittering company as they cheerfully raised their cups. Even among them, the same epigrams and sarcasm as here would emerge in due course. Yet in their tone—whether by my imagination or not—there seemed none of that self-displaying resonance which existed here at least. That very quality made it feel easygoing and familiar……

I wanted to flee this place—to go there immediately. The small amount of alcohol I had drunk earlier had lent considerable force to this impulse. But I recalled that I had left home yesterday as well. I also recalled Mother’s pleading look when I left home earlier. And tonight, I resolved never to run off to those streets again. I shook my head to dispel those delusions, then forced a cheerful attitude to rejoin their conversation once more.

Once again, the chatter grew increasingly lively. Then suddenly within it, the topic turned toward something like debauchery. And from discussions of who was a true debauchee and who was not, the issue naturally fell upon each of us individually. From my recent experiences, I felt I had more right to speak than others and was chattering away proudly. “When it comes to lacking debauched elements, there’s no one as deficient as H.” “That very point is H’s shortcoming—and also his strength.” “However, those who praise H for not engaging in debauchery as if it were something commendable are mistaken.” “Since H completely lacks any debauched elements from the very beginning, he absolutely has no right to discuss debauchery on that point.” I even went so far as to say such things.

H listened with a faint chuckle, as if even he himself acknowledged lacking such qualifications.

Then E, who was sitting nearby, must have found this irritatingly vexing. Suddenly turning to me, he came out with this.

“Now that you mention it—you’re not even a true debauchee yourself, yet you parade about playing with that crowd. That’s even more absurd.” “Really now—what’s so enjoyable about keeping company with that lot anyway?” E’s words came head-on with characteristic abruptness.

“Well, I have different reasons for indulging than they do… But it’s not like they’re as meritless as you think.” I first had to answer modestly like this. Then A, who had been sitting across from us, assumed the bearing of a headliner and—as if delivering a verdict—jutted his chin forward sharply as he began to speak.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time now—but really, what do you intend to do by living that kind of life?” “The more you indulge in such frivolous play with that crowd, the more we’ll have to distance ourselves from you.” “Are you really content with that?”

"There’s no help for it." "If you—who ought to understand my true feelings—say you’ll distance yourselves, then I suppose there’s nothing to be done.—And when time comes that you do understand them, there may come a day when I return to how things were." When I heard that, suppressing my full antipathy, I managed to reply thus. That was my utmost display of bravado. What grated on me most was how I perceived A’s words to contain a threat veiled as friendship—something like 'You’ll lose out if you don’t keep associating with me.'"

“In that case, I suppose there’s nothing to be done either—but let me be clear: I’m not acting the good friend to advise you for your sake.” “For our sake—no, for my own sake—I want you to stop your debauchery.” “If you keep carousing with that crowd—not only never being there when I visit, but having stopped writing altogether—I feel terribly lonely.” “If whenever I came by, you were sitting at that desk writing fervently—you can’t imagine how heartened I’d feel, how profoundly stimulated.” “I find your dissipation makes me lonelier than it could ever make you yourself.”

A pressed forward with his methodical logic, advancing his argument with clarity. I felt there was no way to counter his words. Yet even as he expounded it all so systematically and rationally, I found myself unable to suppress the antipathy rising toward his attitude. Oh, A himself wanted to play the good friend offering advice, but because his own cleverness made him aware of this pretense, he deliberately claimed this counsel wasn't for our sake but his own. And in truth, he was driven by an advisory compulsion born of his own superiority. ——I couldn't help seeing motive layered beneath motive. When I became this cynical, I could no longer give an honest answer.

“But I’m not living for your sake, you know.” “Still, it must be terribly lonely for you yourself too.” “Living like that—don’t you feel unbearable emptiness when waking each morning?” “I feel that emptiness even without living this way.” “If anything, these days I scarcely feel it at all.” “Then are you satisfied with that lifestyle?” This time Mr. E cut in. His interruption reverberated through A’s orchestral condemnation of me—a trumpet blaring through strings.

“I’m not satisfied, but I am enjoying myself. “I’m not like your average debauchee who keeps at it despite finding no enjoyment—forced by circumstance. “Actually, I am enjoying myself.”

“Then that’s even worse.” “That attitude isn’t even proper hedonism—just its early stage.” “Even if you say that, there’s nothing to be done.” I retorted sharply, angered by the particular smile his apt remark about my hedonism being in its early stage had drawn from the others listening. “In any case,” A pressed on, “H is also concerned about this—you must consider how continuing such a lifestyle will damage your standing in literary circles.”

“When you say it’s detrimental in literary circles—do you mean I’ll lose popularity?”

“Well, I suppose so.” “In that case, it’s not my intention.” “Then even if you’re materially pressured into churning out more works beyond this, or forced to write popular novels—you’re saying that wouldn’t be detrimental for your sake?” To this, I too found myself at a loss for a response. But precisely because I couldn’t respond, an illogical antipathy seethed all the more sporadically within me. A was in fact no longer advising me but was now openly attacking me. He was laying bare his contempt for me under the guise of advice. ——I grew even more spiteful. And with that, I fell completely silent. The blood in my chest was surging like a storm in rebellion against them.

The others immediately stopped their idle chatter when this exchange began, mostly crossing their arms or looking downward as they listened intently. H too said nothing directly. He remained silent—not aloofly—listening closely to how things unfolded. To me, this felt both unsettling and somewhat 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 singled out for such harsh criticism,

“It may be odd for me to interject here, but we should drop that topic now, don’t you think? I believe I understand how Mr.K feels, but if there’s any advice to give, I think it would be better done more privately—doing it here like this will only put Mr.K in a bad mood.”

To this commonsensical remark, each and every one of them had no choice but to concede. A, too— “I too never originally intended to say such things, but it simply came out in the heat of the moment.” “I was truly rude to K.” With that, he had settled the matter.

There, they tried to shift back to other small talk, but the atmosphere that had cooled could no longer return to its former state. The time was already nearing midnight. And so they disbanded without anyone in particular having proposed it.

Outside, a cold New Year's wind blew beneath a sky that hung dark and oppressive—it was that sort of night. My heart still seethed with resentment. To give voice to this resentment, I resolved to walk awhile with Mr. K, who had proposed strolling as far as Hirokoji. But since this route also served as their way home, A and E joined our group. Thus I found myself unable to openly vent my displeasure toward them. I simply kept silent for the most part and trailed behind them.

The four of them parted ways at Hirokoji. After A and E had left, Mr.K remained alone—but when an E-bound streetcar arrived there, he suddenly said, “It’s late already, so perhaps I should just board around here to go home,” “Well then, I’ll be off. “Tonight’s events must have been quite unpleasant for you, but they certainly didn’t speak with any ill intent—so please don’t take it to heart as you return home.” “Alright?” “Goodbye then,” he said, boarding the arriving streetcar.

This time, I found myself utterly alone, stranded in the very center of Hirokoji. The wind of the deepening night blew past me on either side, carrying with it the urge to cry. I stood there clasping my overcoat sleeves, wondering what to do now. It was perfectly clear that I couldn’t bring myself to obediently return home like this.

"Go! There!" The resentment that had filled my chest to bursting suddenly gave voice to rebellion. That's right. To go there immediately after their advice—this was the sole outlet for my resentment toward them, the only way to retaliate against them!

I immediately boarded an S-bound train and, upon arriving at S Town, hired a taxi from M Bridge Station. Within less than five minutes, I was in Taxi Ichi speeding through Marunouchi, my hands clasped firmly at my chest and burning with rebellion against them.

"Hmph. What marvelous friendship. What's friendship anyway?! Hypocritical advice. What's advice worth?! If they had any real sincerity, they wouldn't have needed to say such things in that place—on what amounted to a public stage. Much less where someone like Mr. N, whom I'd just met, was present. ——Even if you said they did it purely to flaunt their friendship and tear me down before everyone—what defense could they possibly offer?"

Through the thick glass, I stared fixedly only straight ahead. In less than twenty minutes, the taxi arrived at the intended house. When I alighted, the maid who had hurried out to greet me, upon seeing my face,

“Oh! It was you.” “You’ve truly come.” “Everyone has been waiting eagerly since earlier. Please come in,” she said, inviting him in. “Huh? You mean everyone’s here waiting for me?” My voice rose unintentionally. “Yes.—Now please come this way.”

In my excess of joy, I hurriedly climbed the ladder steps two at a time. When I entered the tatami room, everyone was already quite drunk. "Well, you actually came." "Come here quickly and sit down." They said in unison. I was so excited I could barely keep my hands still as I took my seat beside them. I had thought they might probably be there, but that everyone was gathered to such an extent and even waiting for my arrival was almost as if it had been arranged. It wasn't just I who was delighted.

“This is precisely why I believe in psychic forces.” “Ah, believe I do!” “Can’t help believing—after waiting this long, you were bound to come.” “I told them you’d come without fail. And here you stand—didn’t I say so?” Mr. S—who’d always maintained a quasi-superstitious belief in what might be termed human psychological energies—let his keen, remarkable eyes grow slightly unfocused, flushed his delicate pale face, and spoke with his head cocked to one side.

“Today, you see,” “The three of us met up earlier and started drinking without any geisha, but then Mr.S began telling me how fascinating humans are—so why don’t we freely enjoy these increasingly intriguing humans?” “Yet why do society’s lot cower without savoring this fascinating aspect of humanity?” “So we resolved to take the initiative ourselves in enjoying these humans—once we’d unanimously decided that, we moved on to selecting members. But when surveying the entire literary world, aside from us three gathered here, it inevitably came down to someone of your caliber.” “Then we suddenly decided to summon you—so starting earlier, we’ve been calling all your usual haunts around Ginza like L and I Theatre, setting up our net and waiting for you.” T waited for me to settle down and then explained everything in detail.

Mr. Y too, swaying his massive frame from the side, directed a friendly gaze my way while— “We really were waiting for you.” “Truly, even among any first-class geisha, none have been pursued as eagerly as you were tonight.” “Thus, without calling anyone else, we’ve been waiting for you to come.” “If you hadn’t come after all this, then not coming would’ve been a lie.” Mr. S added further: “Oh? Is that so? “Thank you very much for that.” “I was at Mr. E’s place until now,” I said, finally able to speak calmly after two or three cups of sake.

“Mr. E’s place? If you knew that, you should’ve called sooner. What were you doing at Mr. E’s place?” “I had an unpleasant time,” I said with deliberate carelessness.

“What do you mean by ‘unpleasant experience’?” “Oh, it’s just that... Today there was supposed to be this Sankai-kai gathering just for our group, so I went out thinking I’d see the guys’ faces after so long. But then somehow my debauchery became an issue, and I ended up getting this whole chorus of advice from everyone.” “Because it got under my skin so much, I ended up rushing out right then.” “Then I wound up in this situation here.” “The net of heaven is vast; its mesh may be coarse, but nothing escapes.” “—I’ve ended up feeling truly happy!”

“For every god that abandons you, there’s a human who’ll pick you up—right?” “That’s precisely why we need this human fellowship,” declared Mr. Y, thoroughly pleased with his own jest as he erupted in booming laughter once more. “So what sort of counsel did they give you?” T pressed with an air that brooked no silence, his manner turning earnest as he began his inquiry.

“In short, you all are the bad friends.”

“So you’re saying associating with us is unnecessary?” “More or less. If I keep seeing you, they threatened that side would cut ties.”

“Who says such things?” “Ah, let’s not start naming names.”

“Come on, isn’t it fine? You’ve said that much already—A? E? You don’t mean H, surely.”

H remained silent.

“So it’s A and the others then.” For some reason, T pressed further. I had no choice but to say, “Hmm.”

“Bad friends, huh? “Bad friends. Splendid.” "You need Bad Friends." “Even that essayist wrote in some paper that you need hands stained with evil and feet caked in mud, didn’t he?” “In the first place, considering what A and his group have done—they’re the ones who made K into a proper human being—so really, we Bad Friends ought to be thanking them!” T himself seemed somewhat troubled by this and had said such things to dispel that feeling. “The problem is there are far too few Bad Friends in today’s literary world.” Mr. Y also nodded in agreement.

Then Mr.S leaned forward and began to say such things.

“Mr. K, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for some time—if they’re going to cut ties, then it’s just perfect.” “Why don’t you take this opportunity to completely break away from the people around you?” “Now friends may be necessary things to have—good things without question.” “But relying on friends forever is foolish.” “We must live alone—unbothered by trivial friendships.” “Though mind you—without friends—there are times when you’ll feel truly lonely.” “When I parted ways with S and the Shirakaba group—I was unbearably lonely indeed.” “But I thought—if I couldn’t endure even that much—I’d never become a proper writer—so I clenched my teeth and bore it.” “Then before I knew it—I grew accustomed—and now feel almost... refreshingly unburdened.” “From my perspective—it would be better for you to part ways with your current companions.” “You’re different from those people who nimbly navigate society—leading flawlessly ordered lives.” “You’re not one of those capable men who—before thirty—take a wife—settle into domesticity—balance creative output—methodically elevate their literary standing.” “You should lead a far more reckless life—more derailed than theirs.” “Life isn’t some flawlessly ordered thing like theirs.” “Art isn’t some flawlessly ordered thing like theirs either.—If they say they’ll leave—let them go their way.” “That poses absolutely no inconvenience for you.”

At that moment, I found myself strangely and genuinely enjoying this absurd debate. And during that time, I could feel Mr.S’s heart pounding right there beside me. Before I knew it, tears had quietly welled up in my eyes.

T too remained silent. Mr.Y too had remained silent throughout, nodding alone with a pleased look. Because the entire group had listened with such rapt attention, Mr.S became somewhat embarrassed,

“Well then, let’s set aside talk of the human world for now and summon the heavenly beings,” he declared. Though it was already late, geisha were immediately summoned. As it was New Year’s, most of their regular faces had been assembled. And once again conversation flourished—though now of an entirely different nature. But even so, as it neared two o’clock, the geisha too began slipping away home, and Mr.S and Mr.Y—whose residences were relatively nearby—called for automobiles and prepared to leave.

After everyone had completely left, T and I had the futon laid out for sleeping without any female presence. We felt there was something we desperately needed to discuss when alone. As the night was quite late now, the surroundings had fallen completely silent. The wind that had died down completely since midnight would occasionally flap against the storm shutter's outer cord with intermittent pattering sounds—as if suddenly remembering its purpose. We drank copious water by our pillows, laid them side by side, and went to bed; the lights had long since been turned off.

After experiencing various emotions, my eyes remained wide awake and I couldn’t sleep. Suddenly, I heard the thud of T turning over in sleep.

“Hey.” “Still not sleeping?” I called out.

“Not yet. I just can’t fall asleep.”

I lay there for a while, staring at the dark ceiling. Then I laughed softly to myself.

“What are you laughing at?”

T inquired from within the darkness. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking they wouldn't even dream of knowing I'm lying here like this with you."

T did not answer immediately. And after some time had passed, in a quiet voice as if he were a different person, “But you’re fortunate. To have friends like that alone is enviable,” he said.

“Hmm….” Before I could answer, I suddenly felt my eyelids grow hot.

(October 1919)