Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

With Father traveling, Mother shopping, and Brother out for a walk—so it was that Tamiko found herself alone for once, basking in the sun on the veranda—Yoshikazu came lumbering through the garden without bothering to announce himself.

"Oh, did no one come out?"

"I didn't even call."

"How alarming."

"Because there's someone lying in wait."

Having said that, Yoshikazu Higashi stared intently at Tamiko's face.

"Oh—so today you're wearing a Japanese kimono."
"It suits you rather well."

“If I didn’t look good in Japanese kimono, that would be a real problem.”
“Confident people are different.”
“You mustn’t take it that way.”
“Hey—ping pong.”
“No—I’d make poor competition.”
“Cheeky thing.”
“But Okumura’s likely coming today.”
“He’s too serious—it frightens me.”
“But this time it’s decisive.”
“That one takes everything to heart.”
“Where did your father go?”

“Maizuru.”
“He apparently wants to see the child at my sister’s place.”

“That’s right—a boy.”
“You should show yours soon too, Tamiko.”

But without responding to that, Tamiko found herself suddenly thinking that she, too, would be twenty-two next year.

Yoshikazu Higashi was a Navy Lieutenant and a staff officer assigned to the Naval General Staff.
Due to their shared hometown connection—with her father having served as his guarantor since his Naval Academy days, and more recently his friendship with her brother Hayao working at the Foreign Ministry—he now made regular visits once or twice a month, sometimes even three times.
He possessed the open-heartedness typical of a military man on one hand, yet maintained something coldly analytical on the other—a duality that made his character seem all the more complex.

Umehisa Minamijo, Tamiko's father, had long served as captain on Europe-bound routes, and though now retired with means to enjoy a leisurely retirement, his restless nature kept him from staying idle—he subsequently became involved in two or three shipping ventures, maintaining an air of being busier than he truly was.
Perhaps owing to his broad experiences, he refrained from imposing strict rules; yet when encountering those who committed misdeeds, he would habitually denounce them with, "That wretch is a disgrace to Japan."

This father would half-jokingly say that since he’d married off his elder daughter to “a merchant,” it might be acceptable to marry the younger one to “a man who can’t handle finances”—which was how Tamiko herself had come to understand his subtle interest in this Navy Lieutenant.

“Where’s Brother?”

“He’s probably playing ping-pong.”
“Oh, that’s right!”
“You still don’t know, do you?”
“brother’s going abroad again, you know.”

“Where to this time?”

“Turkey.”
“He’s delighted.”
“Says he’s had his fill of civilized countries…”

“That’s quite a bold claim.
But when it comes to Turkey’s modern girls—they’re truly formidable, I tell you.”
“So when does he depart?”

“It’s still just an internal order, so we don’t know for certain, but it seems to be early next month.”

“But even if you say ‘next month,’ there are hardly any days left, are there?”

“That’s right. Once the cherry blossoms have all fallen, that’s when we’ll hold the farewell party.”

As they continued this conversation, Tamiko found herself overcome by an inexplicable loneliness.
Though it contained a sisterly melancholy—the kind that comes when a brother who had only just returned from France two years prior was now departing for distant lands again—more than that, if truth be told, there existed another reason she wished to disclose to no one.

Tamiko abruptly stood up, slipped on her garden clogs, approached the lotus plants along the fence, and casually plucked a single lingering bloom.
That was a fleeting gesture to dispel a faint unease.
But then, from behind, Yoshikazu Higashi’s voice resounded over her.

“What’s wrong, Tamiko? You’ve gotten awfully lost in thought there.”

“That’s not true—I’m just examining this flower’s features right now.”

“Hmm, so you’re aiming to become a female Doctor of Science or something?”

When called a Doctor of Science, she was taken aback. Even while finding it absurd herself, there was nothing she could do about it. Flustered, she threw the flower in her hand skyward. Pale yellow petals scattered right above her head.

“You know, Mr. Higashi, what do you think is the most beautiful flower blooming around this time?”

Even as she spoke these words, Tamiko envisioned a young man’s figure in her mind—Keikichi Okumura, whose name had surfaced once or twice during their earlier ping-pong discussion. He was her brother’s middle school friend, a young Bachelor of Science who had abruptly begun visiting their home with increasing frequency about a year prior. Employed at a semi-governmental chemical research institute, he remained tight-lipped about his specialized work, though she had heard from her brother that it involved rare yet vital military pharmaceuticals research for Japan. A scholar’s poise intertwined with emotional sensitivity within him, casting an indescribably appealing shadow across his features.

Among all the men who had ever appeared before Tamiko’s eyes, there had not been a single one who had captivated her heart to this extent.
It was something she wanted to call utterly unconditional.

For whereas Higashi, given their long acquaintance, had simply grown naturally closer to her without showing any particular change in demeanor, Okumura’s attitude toward her seemed to shift subtly with each visit.
So to speak, she herself understood that she secretly harbored feelings beyond mere goodwill.
However, while Higashi—being as he was—might broach the subject of marriage at any moment, whether directly or indirectly, Okumura, judging from his behavior thus far, was not necessarily guaranteed to extend his hand toward her.
If her brother were gone, he might stop showing his face altogether.
Other than as her brother’s friend, it must be said that he had no apparent reason to visit this house.

When she thought of that, she didn’t know what to do.

The flower dialogue appeared to be a weak point for the Navy Lieutenant.

“Well, I may notice when flowers bloom, but I’ve never given much thought to what specific ones they are.”
“Cherry blossoms in spring, chrysanthemums in autumn—that’s about the extent of what I know….”

With that, Yoshikazu Higashi gave an offhand reply and covered it with what might be called boisterous laughter.

"That laugh of his…"

Tamiko furrowed her brow slightly.
No matter how she considered it, the Navy Lieutenant had something superfluous or something lacking.
At least according to her preferences, Higashi didn’t matter, but with Okumura, her feelings had progressed to the point where she felt compelled to act.
What she secretly desired was to confirm Okumura’s true feelings before Higashi broached the subject.

II

Tamiko, as if suddenly remembering something, called out toward the back—

“Ms. Osachi, could I have a moment…?”

A middle-aged maid appeared, wiping her hands.

“Oh my—guests! I hadn’t been informed…”
“Could you prepare tea? And then… Never mind—I’ll ask later…”

“I’d rather have beer than tea.
“Is that not all right, Tamiko?”

“I don’t mind.”
“Then please bring the beer…”
“We had peanuts or something, didn’t we?”

“Yes.”

Before long, the beer was brought.

“If you’re free now, could you rush over to Ms. Sone’s place?”
“Ask Ms. Matsushiro and Eiji if they’d like to visit…”
“Because there happen to be excellent Bridge partners here.”
“Don’t mention any names.”

“If I’m the one being named, they won’t come?”

Yoshikazu Higashi interjected from beside her.

“Eiji is even shyer than Ms. Matsushiro.”
“He said that whenever he stands before you, his head somehow feels like it’s going numb.”

“The heads of men who study humanities are made all mushy.”

After Ms. Osachi left laughing, Tamiko took out the playing cards and skillfully began a solitary game.

The faintly glimpsed nape of her neck—unseen in Western attire—mysteriously drew closer to Yoshikazu Higashi’s eyes, tinged with a tipsy haze.

“You’ve become an adult too….”
He muttered disgruntledly.
Since he had known her for ten years, that was surely an unfeigned confession.

Being close neighbors, the Sone siblings arrived before long.
Matsushiro was Tamiko’s school friend and a companion with whom she still attended Western dressmaking lessons.

“See? It’s Mr. Higashi after all.”

With that, she patted her brother’s shoulder and raised a triumphant cry.
Eiji, her younger brother, was fidgeting as he spun his new high school uniform cap on his fingertip.

“Eiji-kun, you just keep insisting it must be Mr. Okumura.”

“It doesn’t matter either way—let’s get on with it.”

With that abrupt declaration, Tamiko briskly prepared the table.

"If we settle on 'either way is fine,' I'll have to give it some thought."

With an overly serious expression, Yoshikazu Higashi demonstratively crossed his arms.
Matsushiro brought the sleeve of her pure white sweater to her mouth and laughed heartily.

While deciding partners, everyone remained solemnly silent.
It was decided that Tamiko would partner with Eiji, and Matsushiro with Higashi.

“Eiji, I’m counting on you.”

“Shall I give that head a proper numbing?”

It was Tamiko who glared at Higashi.

The game proceeded with great ceremony and cheer.

Thus, the Sone siblings had saved Tamiko from sitting directly across from Higashi.
They were reinforcements, so to speak.
Today, she hadn’t needed to fear being alone with Yoshikazu Higashi quite so much.
Yet she couldn’t entirely dismiss the possibility—even this “Brave Sailor” might whimsically broach the matter today of all days. Should he casually propose something like “Tamiko, how about becoming my wife?” she would find herself utterly at a loss for a reply.
Even if she stopped short of outright refusal, once such words had been spoken, her life as a woman would inevitably be burdened with some lonely memento—a melancholy keepsake etched into her very existence.

“Now this one’s ours.”

Yoshikazu Higashi presented the next card to his partner with the look of someone whose strategy had succeeded.—That’s right, this man has everything completely under control, Tamiko smiled inwardly.

Tamiko’s team suffered a crushing defeat, bringing the first game to an end.

“How about us women team up this time?”

Matsushiro proposed.

"The era of women challenging men should have passed by now."

"Oh? Is that so? When did it pass?"

With grave concern, Matsushiro inquired.

“That was already about fifty years ago.”
“The Slave Era, Toy Era, Rebellion Era, Independence Era—and now we’ve entered the Cooperative Era.”

“Was there not supposed to be a Competitive Era...?”

This time, Tamiko interjected her words as if to counter.

“That’s included within the Independence Era.”

“I see.”

Matsushiro, who was skilled at playing dumb, tilted her head while dividing the cards.

Just as their mouths had grown busier than their hands, the entrance bell suddenly clanged harshly.

Ms. Osachi,

“Um, Mr. Okumura has arrived.”

With that, she called out from the next room in a casual tone, perhaps.

III

“Foresight unerring—the esteemed arrival of Bachelor of Science Okumura.”

Yoshikazu Higashi spoke as if to himself, yet without a trace of sarcasm in his tone; warmth suffused his words as he directed a greeting toward Okumura’s eyes.

“I called your boarding house earlier.”

Okumura offered a response that hovered between protest and excuse.

“So you told them I’d gone to Ogikubo?”

“Ah, I said that.”

“I came here thinking you might be here again.”
“Well—no, that phrasing isn’t entirely precise. When I decided to come here myself, I did wonder whether you might appear... or perhaps you wouldn’t.”

“That’s scientific of you.”

Having grown somewhat more at ease since earlier, Eiji finally opened his mouth to speak.

“Right now, we were just saying we should have a men versus women match.”
“If you join, I don’t mind dropping out.”

“No, no—I’ll just watch.
Oh, isn’t Hayao here?”

With that, he looked at Tamiko’s face anew.
And now, he seemed slightly bashful.
Tamiko found herself not minding it at all—this dignified twenty-eight-year-old gentleman blushing so readily before her eyes.
Far from it—she sensed that this man’s “special feelings toward her” were being clearly revealed even within that bashfulness.
It seemed to her a purer and truer “confession” than any skillful words could have conveyed.

But even so, his attitude persisted for over half a year without taking any other form.
While feeling “loved,” she couldn’t bring herself to call it “love”—this frustration.
While “loving,” the sadness of lacking the courage to make the other feel it.
Now she knew it keenly.

“He will soon be departing.
His Turkey-bound trip—you know about it, I presume?”

“Yes, I heard about it during our phone call the other day.”

“He mentioned wanting to see you.”

“I also want to meet him soon, but… lately, the office has been absurdly busy.”

“Be careful now—don’t push yourself too recklessly.”

Yoshikazu Higashi cautioned with pointed implication.

“I’m fine. Rather than that—you’re not involved in this reassignment?”

“No, I’m not. Well, for now, I’ll be staying in the capital. Shipboard life is carefree enough, but...”

Such conversations among men always captured Tamiko Minamijo’s curiosity.
She often saw her mother and others stifling yawns and struggling to find a place to rest their eyes whenever the conversation turned to matters that had nothing to do with them, and she found herself wondering why they were like that.
Whether she understood them or not, in the tone—or perhaps the rhythm—of their words, in those forceful cadences of speech, a world beyond the reach of women like herself would loom indistinctly, tightening her chest with an involuntary ache.
It was akin to the thrill of watching a play that grazes truth.

Now, amidst such talk, cards of fortune and misfortune came to cover the table in a riot of colors.

The slanting sun had already begun casting its yellow glow upon the windowpanes.

Her mother Sue Minamijo came up carrying several large paper packages, saying “Cold, cold.”

“Welcome home.”

And thus, she was greeted by a mixed chorus of men and women.

“Oh my, what a commotion!”

Her eyes widening as if faced with some grand spectacle, she tried to determine exactly who all these guests were.

As a seafarer’s wife who had been beyond reproach, this woman was modest and cheerful.

“Ms. Matsushiro and everyone—what will you do about dinner? That’s the first matter to settle.”

“We’ll be heading home now.”

“Alright. Gentlemen, you have no objections to brown rice again?” “Oh, how dreadful of me!” I’d mistaken Mr. Okumura for Hayao this whole time. “Please come in.”

Being addressed so directly anew, Keikichi Okumura became flustered.

“I came by when you were out... I have an appointment I must attend to, so I’ll take my leave today.”

“Really, Mr. Okumura?”

And Tamiko looked reproachful.

“Has Hayao gone out so far away?”

“He said he was going for a walk, but I suspect he’s at the ping-pong parlor near the station.”
“I’ll send someone to fetch him now.”
“I’d simply assumed he was taking his time.”

“No, no—let him take his time…”
“When you say he went out—where exactly? Tell me.”

Okumura remained silent and laughed.

“Well then, I’ll look in at that ping-pong parlor on my way home.”

“No, that won’t do any good at all.”

Tamiko once again called for Osachi and tried to send her running to the station.
Then, from the kitchen,

“Shall I go and fetch him?”

This was Shin, the young maid who had just returned with Mrs. Minamijo.

“You’re the type to mix up ping-pong parlors with barbershops, so don’t bother.”

Mrs. Minamijo rebuffed her without mercy.
In the end, they had to trouble Osachi.

And so it was decided they would play a round of ping-pong until Hayao returned—and before it grew too dark—whereupon the match began between Tamiko and Keikichi Okumura, their skills being evenly matched by established reputation.

“Oh dear, my sleeve keeps getting in the way...”

“Today, my arm’s been itching for action—you’d best keep that in mind...”

“Oh my, that’s fierce!”

In reality—though not appearing particularly intense—Tamiko waited calmly and cheerfully for her opponent’s serve.

The spacious sunroom-like veranda housing the ping-pong table was bathed in the full glare of the western sun, and Keikichi Okumura—facing directly into it—kept squinting as if dazzled.
Tamiko had noticed this but found it more comfortable than having him look directly at her, making no effort to change positions.
Instead, she reciprocated by occasionally narrowing her eyes or shading her forehead with her left hand, intending these gestures to show some measure of consideration.

The opponent was surprisingly easily defeated.
Amidst the thrill of receiving applause, she solemnly returned Okumura’s bow.

“You seem rather out of sorts today.
“Or perhaps I’m the one who’s out of sorts…”

“You’re both acting strange. Come on, Tamiko.”

When Yoshikazu Higashi urged her, an alarm bell began ringing somewhere.
“Fire.”

And Tamiko strained her ears.
Following that, near and far, the steam pump sirens wailed in drawn-out blares, conjuring visions of ominous chaos.

“It seems close.”

Matsushiro ran toward the window.

At that moment, Osachi entered through the kitchen entrance and announced loudly to Mrs. Minamijo.

“Madam, the fire seems to be near Ms. Sone’s residence.”

Then upon hearing this—

“Damn it!”

And with those words, he dashed out to the entrance.

IV

Even Ms. Matsushiro had now lost all color.
Tamiko too found herself at a loss.
Just then, her mother entered with deliberate composure.

“Don’t panic.”
“Ms. Matsushiro, stay right here quietly.”
“Your family at home must know by now.”
“Oh dear—has Eiji already left? Yoshikazu-san—I’m terribly sorry to trouble you—but could you please go check on things?”

“I was just considering what course to take.
“If I might be of service, then I shall go investigate.”

As Yoshikazu Higashi prepared to leave, Tamiko finally noticed Okumura’s absence.

“Oh—where is Mr. Okumura?”

“It seems he went with Eiji a moment ago.”

Matsushiro answered in a flustered voice.

“I’ll show you the way.”

“Tamiko…”

Ignoring her mother’s attempts to stop her, Tamiko was already racing ahead with Yoshikazu Higashi.

Indeed, the northern sky abruptly brightened, confirming that the flames were precisely in that direction.
When they drew within two or three blocks, the pillar of flame blazing fiercely in the twilight, surrounded by the shadows of a howling crowd, froze her in her tracks.

Yoshikazu Higashi was there,

“You shouldn’t come.”

Having shouted this, he alone blended into the crowd.

As Tamiko assessed the wind direction, she concluded that—apparently—the Sone residence remained safe.
Moreover, rather than remaining there, she felt that taking a slight detour would allow her to reach her destination more easily, and so she turned on her heel.
As she made her way along the wind-swept narrow path, twisting and turning, she indeed discovered that the Sone residence lay over a block away from the source of the fire.

At the gate, Okumura had joined Eiji and his father, who were safely watching the fire.
When Mr. Shufumi Sone caught sight of Tamiko,

“Well, well, even Ms. Minamijo…”
“There really was a spirited young lady.”

“I came to pay a visit.”

With a playful air, she glanced up at Okumura’s face.

“It seems it’s already over.”

Okumura muttered to no one in particular.

“You’re right—the flames have lost their vigor compared to earlier.”

So, having brushed aside the invitation of “Won’t you come in for tea?” they resolved to take their leave for now.

“Please tell Matsushiro to return at once.”

“Yes.”

Having answered, Tamiko quickened her pace and drew close to Okumura’s side. She couldn’t help feeling as though she’d stumbled upon unexpected happiness here. She flushed spontaneously, her chest throbbing faintly.

“This way is less crowded.”

She led him back along the same path they had come.
The steam pump appeared to be withdrawing; gradually, the two moved away from the commotion of the main street.
The sun had sunk completely, and the grove of leafless trees loomed blackly before them.

“What about Mr. Higashi?”

Okumura asked.

“We came out together, but we parted ways along the way.”
“Because Mr. Higashi went straight to the fire…”

“Is it all right if we don’t wait?”

“I don’t mind.”
“It’s cold, you know.”

“You must be chilled through.”
“Shall I lend you my coat?”

“But you’ll be cold.”

“Not at all. I grew quite warm from running earlier.”

While he was saying this, the heavy man’s coat had already descended upon her shoulders.

“Oh!”

With that, she rested her hand on the collar.
A moment drew nearer step by step.
A creeping awareness of such things prickled through the air.

“Brother may have already returned.”

With a light sigh, she blurted out:

“I’m thinking of having myself sent abroad before long.
While research remains research, it actually serves as a diversion.”

“Is your current work truly so trying?”

“No—the work itself interests me.
My surroundings.
This life.
Does nothing ever go as one wishes?”

“Isn’t that merely how you choose to perceive it?
If you resolved to act differently, couldn’t you manage?”

“Do I lack courage, I wonder?”
“You’re being cautious.”
“Well, that’s neither here nor there—are you going somewhere this winter?”

“Well—who can say? Mother still says she wants to go to the hot springs.”

“I might return to my hometown around New Year’s as well.”
“I don’t suppose Hayao will have departed in the meantime?”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”
“Even if Brother is away, you’ll still come visit, won’t you?”

“Well, would it be all right to do such a thing?”

“Why?”

“Watch out! Careful.”
“There’s a puddle here.”

The two avoided it by moving to either side.

"If you were to go with Mr. Higashi, it would surely be no trouble at all."

"If Mr. Higashi invites me, then that…"

"Would it be unacceptable if I were the one to invite you?"

In a tone feigning jest, she posed this question.
But immediately afterward, she felt she had uttered something utterly tactless and wanted to cover her face.
And to distract from that, she took off the borrowed coat and tried to gently drape it over him.

“In that case, I would be delighted to accept.”

As he said this, he hurriedly extended his hand.
Her hands trying to drape it over him and his hands trying to prevent her waged a battle around the coat.
But finally, Okumura relented.

“Oh… Thank you.”

With the sensation of hearing his reply as if from some strange distance, she found herself passing through the gate of the house she had somehow reached without realizing.

V

At the entranceway, he was slightly hesitant as he,

“If Hayao hasn’t returned yet, I believe I should take my leave now…”

he began to say.

“Oh, do come in for a moment…
“I’ll go check right now, so…”

She hurried into the back.
Her brother had not returned.
According to Osachi’s response, he had not appeared at the ping-pong room today.
While she was at it, wondering about Higashi, she peeked into the reception room, but he too did not seem to have returned.

“Mother, where is Ms. Matsushiro?”

She inquired, but she had already withdrawn long ago.

“But isn’t she said to be quite far away now? The pharmacy errand boy came earlier and informed us of that, so I told you, ‘You should go home now.’ And Mr. Higashi?”

“I returned together with Mr. Okumura. But he says he won’t come up unless Brother is here. What should we do?”

“If he’s in a hurry, there’s nothing to be done. But since it’s gotten so late…”

While saying so, Mother came out to the entranceway.

No matter how much the two of them urged him, Okumura insisted on going home.

“I’ll try calling Hayao tomorrow.
I don’t know whether I’ll be able to visit over the next month or two.
Farewell, everyone….”

After haltingly delivering that uncharacteristic farewell—without any trace of playfulness—he bowed politely and slowly departed.

As she watched his retreating figure, Tamiko was suddenly overcome with the urge to weep—
What am I supposed to do now?
To understand all there is to understand, yet remain unable to take a single step forward—which of us bears the blame for that?
Is that something beyond one’s own power to change?
But it was still too early to abandon hope.
Until Brother departs, there remains a path for that person’s heart to reach me….

“Now, Mr. Higashi will likely be returning soon, so you go keep him company.”
“I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’ve been feeling terribly chilled since earlier.”
“Depending on how things go, I might have you let me go to bed early.”

Tamiko was listening to her mother’s words with an utterly absent mind.

Meanwhile, after exiting the gate of the Minamijo household, Keikichi Okumura turned to look back once more toward the scene of the fire.

Three or four bicycles with lanterns came speeding along in a cluster.
Bathed in that faint light across his profile, he caught sight of Yoshikazu Higashi approaching—hatless, his coat dangling from one hand.
"Oh," he thought, and Keikichi came to a halt.

“What’s wrong?”

When called out to, Yoshikazu Higashi raised his face, streaked with sweat and grime,

“Oh, I had a terrible time. I couldn’t find my house and was searching for it when they forced me into helping at the fire. I was grabbed by this woman who’d forgotten her baby and ended up doing life-risking work.”

“Was it saved? The child?”

“That’s the amusing part. When she snatched the child from my hands, that woman ran off somewhere without even saying thanks. It was maternal instinct obliterating civilization. For my part, in that moment, I despised human emotions. I threw myself into the thrill of battling the fire. I don’t even know what I did. I just kept ducking through flames and smoke and the spray from hoses again and again. Thanks to that, here I am.”

His coat was soaked through, and the chest of his shirt was blackened and scorched.

“Oh, right, right,” Higashi continued.

“I’ll come by soon to discuss Hayao’s farewell party.”
“Then—don’t you have any intention of marrying Ms. Minamijo?”

Suddenly confronted with this abrupt question, Keikichi Okumura was so flustered he could hardly breathe.

“No.”

And he answered with great effort.

“You’re lying.”

Higashi retorted.

“Why? Explain yourself. Your feelings for Tamiko—no one could fail to understand them.”

“Feelings aside—I haven’t considered marriage. Once Hayao goes abroad, I mean to stop visiting that house entirely. The reason—I won’t say it now. Well then, let’s meet again. Excuse me…”

“Wait—you’ve never had that sort of talk with Tamiko?”

“Ah! I’ve sworn nothing!”

Keikichi Okumura breathed a sigh of relief there and turned his back on his friend’s blunt question.

VI

That autumn, Tamiko Minamijo married Yoshikazu Higashi.

VII

It was a day in the closing days of December, and a snowy one at that.

Tamiko was attending to various details to see her husband off to the government office.
The freshly washed handkerchief still hadn’t been ironed.
She slid her knees toward the long brazier, thrust the iron into the charcoal fire, and in the meantime cast an indifferent glance at the back of the newspaper her husband was absorbed in reading.
Then, for some reason today, death notices of all sizes filled nearly that entire section.

“Oh my, people do die so often, don’t they.”

As if to herself—yet in an alluring voice that bore no relation to misfortune—she feigned surprise.

Her husband Yoshikazu,

“Hmm.”

With an ambiguous response that was neither a counter-question nor an agreement, he kept his eyes fixed on the "London Dispatch: Rengō" article.

“What if the name of someone I’m casually acquainted with appeared here, I wonder. We’re not close enough to receive formal notifications, but when I see names like ‘so-and-so-dono’ written inside those black-bordered notices, my chest tightens all of a sudden—I think there are countless people like that.”

“Who, for example?”

And then, at that moment, her husband—though still keeping his face downcast—posed the question in a somewhat blunt tone.

There, she wondered who it might be.
At that moment, a name floated into her head—but before she could voice it, she barely had time to grow wary of her husband’s tone.

“Who do you mean? There are all sorts of friends from my school days and the like.”
“You’re no different, aren’t you?”
“You must have some yourself.”
“If you were to consider it…”

“Keikichi Okumura, for starters…”

Having been so directly named, Tamiko faltered for a moment.
However, her surface composure remained perfectly intact as she lightly licked her fingertip and tested the iron’s base,

“Mr. Okumura—that’s right. But we agreed not to speak of that person.”

“It’s fine even if I’ve said it.”
“I haven’t been thinking anything of it at all lately.”
“You’d be fine just hearing the name.”
“Maybe I should pay him a visit.”

“It would be better if you stopped.”
“You impose your own feelings on others because…”
“So what if I do…? What’s the matter?”
“There’s someone who’d be troubled.”
“Oh dear, it’s time already.”
“This clock runs five minutes slow.”

“Wait—it’s begun to weigh on me.
Even if he doesn’t approach us first, I can’t keep pretending not to notice.
Today after leaving the office, I’ll go see how he’s doing.”

Before long, she pressed the brush diligently against the chest of the military uniform adorned with gold-braided cords, but she could do nothing about the peculiar trembling of her hand.

“Take care now.”

To his retreating figure, she called out as cheerfully as she could manage, then hurried back into the inner rooms.
The more she tried to push it away, the phantom that rose to block her vision—this time, she fixed her gaze upon it.
And she screamed in her heart.

Coward!
Liar!
Coward!

Since her marriage—to such an extent that one might marvel she had forgotten at all—she had succeeded in erasing all traces of Keikichi Okumura from her memory within a matter of days. She had immersed herself completely, one might even say perfectly, into the hopes and stimuli of her new life, literally without so much as a glance to the side, and had "continued to love" her husband Yoshikazu.

Why had it come to this today?
She had never imagined that a conversation she herself had casually begun would drift there.
Though she had always believed it absurd for a woman to take pride in her own chastity, she now felt she was discovering for the first time how easily mental infidelity could occur—and found herself unable to fully suppress a certain despondency.

When she suddenly looked beyond the shoji screen, the snow had already stopped falling without her noticing, and pale sunlight spilled over the planted garden.

If it would clear up—she thought.

8

That evening, powdery snow began to fall sporadically again.

Tamiko was preparing fried food with the maid in the kitchen when the landlord’s son’s voice called from the front entrance,

“There’s a phone call for you.”

Where could it be from? she wondered.

Before she could ask that in return, the clattering sound of geta on the grooved floorboards faded into the distance.

Thinking that whoever had initiated a switchboard call at this hour must be either her mother back at her family home in Ogikubo or her husband at the ministry—one of those two—Tamiko rushed into the inner entrance of the landlord’s house just two or three doors down, still wearing her apron and holding her oil-paper umbrella over her head like a hat.

The call was from her husband.

“Oh—you’ve come?”
“What? The hospital…?”

She involuntarily cried out.
But then, holding her breath, she pressed her ear firmly against the receiver.

“It seems he’s already critical.”

Her husband’s voice was solemn.
She feared her pounding heart might transmit itself through the telephone wires to her husband’s ear.
However, she did not utter a single word.

Now then, how was she to convey her current feelings to her husband?
In reality, both her head and heart were merely in a state of confusion.
It could be said she was merely panicking.
It was nothing more than a kind of mental spasm—devoid of any meaning and unnameable as any emotion.

“So then...”

After a moment’s pause, her husband resumed speaking.

“Would you like to go see him once? His consciousness remains fairly clear, but his mouth doesn’t seem to move freely.—‘Please give my regards…’ That was all he could manage. So I tried asking if he wanted his wife sent over. He must have heard it clearly, but he just closed his eyes and didn’t respond. I’ll explain the details later, but you should go see him. I’ll permit it.”

She remained silent.

Probably the sound of a nurse running down the hallway—overlapping with her husband’s voice—the rapid staccato sounds of thudding or pattering came through. Strangely enough, something like the smell of medicine struck her nose pungently. She finally,

“Hello…? Hello…?”

she called out.
And resolutely,

“There’s no need for me to go.
“And you—about what time can you return?”

When she finished saying this, she felt relieved.
It was truly a lightness of heart, as though she had been saved.

“Anyway, I’ll come back once.
“So you’re not coming then.”
“Alright….”
“I’m starving.”

While she was dazedly lost in thought, the phone had already disconnected.

Nine

Yoshikazu Higashi sat down at the dining table past seven o'clock.

Tamiko watched her husband’s complexion—unchanged from usual—while wondering if that was indeed how it appeared.
He was talking about Keikichi Okumura.

“Earlier, when I told you to wait—about that illness... This is likely something the ministry has kept secret, but since you’re a military man’s wife, I’ll tell you...”

“……”

She had nearly let slip something like “How honorable” in a joking tone.

“He was researching poison gas.
“Do you know about that?”

The term "poison gas" was new to her ears, but she hadn't been completely unaware of its implications. Even so, she simply shook her head.

“That guy,” he said, “made that poison gas himself and tested it on his own body. I only heard about it today myself. Apparently it started this spring. There are various testing methods, but animal testing’s too tedious, and since their skin tissue differs from humans’, you can’t get accurate measurements. So he applied a fixed dose to his own leg instead—trying to calculate reaction ratios, they say. When the doses were small, treating the numbed areas didn’t take much time. But as he neared the maximum dosage, the drug would spread through his whole system. Each time required hospital stays—a week, two weeks, even a month. This was the final round, you see. No—he probably didn’t think it would be the absolute end. But factually speaking, it was indeed the end. The dosage had reached its limit. Pulled off that life-risking stunt of his… Hell of a guy.”

“But when you say ‘this spring’…”

“That’s right—around the time he used to come visit the house in Ogikubo.”

Something struck hard in her chest, and Tamiko lowered her eyes to her lap.

“Well? Has everything become clear now?”

Yoshikazu kept hold of his chopsticks, rested his arm on the dining table, and peered into Tamiko’s face. He had unwittingly learned today that Keikichi Okumura’s past “hesitation” had stemmed from such circumstances, yet for some reason, he found it gratifying to relay this truth to his wife with such haste. That was not all. “In the face of this groundbreaking sacrificial act that the entire nation should praise—he, as one who holds a military position—could do nothing but bow his head in reverence”—indeed, it was that. At the same time, the resolve to cast aside love—“a single personal sentiment”—for that cause struck Yoshikazu as something so natural it bordered on the self-evident.

Even so, Tamiko remained looking down, not attempting to raise her face.

“Tea.”

At that familiar command, she jerked her gaze away sideways.

The steam from the iron kettle wafted up and clung to her tear-clouded eyes.

Memories of a distant, distant day long past began to surface hazily, as though a mist were clearing.

That searing impatience, that breathless stagnation, those inescapably tangled feelings of her former self along with the surrounding atmosphere—all now transformed within her memory as if they had suddenly become something clear and radiant, something heart-cleansing, something brimming with hope and conviction, emerging in an entirely altered guise.

That was also what one might call reality yet like a dream.
It even occurred to her that the Keikichi Okumura of those days might be the Yoshikazu Higashi of now.

Tamiko could no longer endure it.

Did she want to cry?
That wasn’t it.

Did she want to laugh?
No, that wasn’t it.

She suddenly put down the teapot, scooted closer to her husband’s side, and pressed her lips to his in a desperate kiss…….