Pathway to Japanese Literature

When ships on the European route passed through the Indian Ocean and approached the Red Sea, there already swept desert winds that had blown since ancient times. As the sun set beyond camels’ backs, a mauve sky stretched endlessly into view.

At that moment, what unfailingly cast an eerie glow in travelers’ eyes wearied by sea voyages was those indescribable stars twinkling along the horizon—emerald stars emerging one after another, each as vivid as a brooch.

Fukakusa Nori was recalling a certain night’s incident from an autumn voyage over twenty years ago, where the stars’ radiance had etched itself especially deeply into her eyes.

Why had that memory suddenly resurfaced? Of course, she had never forgotten it for a single moment until now, but on this day alone, she found the color of those midnight stars she had gazed upon on that deck vividly rising before her eyes, and she felt a flush of blood rise to her cheeks—wrinkled cheeks now approaching sixty—completely unbidden.

Fukakusa Nori was currently serving as head maid at a hotel in a certain mountain resort. The experience of having worked as a cabin attendant on European route passenger ships since her youth had led her to choose this work even after disembarking. Her figure—a stout body clad in an elongated yellow wool sweater—caught the hotel guests’ eyes in a particular way. At her age, with large, blunt features and an overly composed expression that, combined with mechanical movements, made her far removed from any allure, she nevertheless possessed a certain charm: clicking her high heels in quick steps as she walked, her eyes constantly darting about to deliver efficient yet meticulous service with evident pride. To seasoned guests, this immediately marked her as the archetypal veteran head maid. Moreover, just when one might assume her habitually taciturn, she would unexpectedly adopt an excessively polite tone with familiar long-term guests and initiate unwelcome small talk they had no interest in hearing.

When summer passed, the number of guests dropped sharply. Even so, during the autumn foliage season, there were group reservations, and in winter—though it was a bit far from the ski slopes—there were several young guests who chose this place as their base.

This year again, as cool breezes began to rise and the hotel settled into a hushed stillness with the number of guests dropping sharply, it was nearly time to stock firewood for the stoves in preparation for winter.
However, Mrs. Aihara, who had been staying alone since summer for her health retreat, still showed no sign of leaving.
At first glance, she appeared to be a vivacious woman around thirty years old who showed no signs of respiratory illness—despite having both a husband and child in Tokyo, over these past two months, not a single person had come to visit her, nor had she gone to meet anyone—in short, she seemed to be quite enjoying her lonely and uneventful life.
Her mornings consisted of walks and reading; her afternoons involved taking a set nap followed by more reading and walks; and after dinner, without fail, her daily routine concluded with listening to her favorite records on the downstairs porch.
She rarely attempted to converse with other guests; the only ones she occasionally spoke to were limited to university students.
This was due to the coincidental reason that the focus of their interests aligned there, but there was indeed such an aspect to Mrs. Aihara’s charm and atmosphere.
Therefore, while Mrs. Aihara was by no means an easy guest for Fukakusa Nori—the head maid—to handle, precisely because she was not an ordinary woman did this strongly captivate her heart and make her into someone worth attending to at every turn.

Mrs. Aihara appeared in the dining room by six o'clock after saying she wanted dinner slightly earlier that day.
She wore a sleek kimono with stone marten fur draped lightly over her shoulders.

From the front desk, Fukakusa Nori acknowledged her with a nod of courtesy before scurrying to the porch to place one of Mrs. Aihara's usual record selections on the electric phonograph.

Just then, a male-female pair of guests arrived without prior notice.
Following the Manager's instructions, she guided them to Room 121 on the second floor, explaining it offered the best view and delivering her standard pleasantries—that autumn foliage remained premature but they might soon glimpse something white on distant mountain peaks—all while discreetly assessing their backgrounds.
The man, still several years shy of fifty, bore the broad-shouldered demeanor of a self-made businessman risen from laborer ranks; his companion, implausibly young for a wife yet undeniably wifely in station, had the air of a downtown-bred shrine maiden type.
Though such guests seemed inherently mismatched with this purely Western-style hotel—better suited to a Hakone or Atami inn—Fukakusa Nori refrained from showing bewilderment, given how recent patrons increasingly disregarded propriety about their own suitability.

“I would very much like to inform you that you may use the bath as you please, but as we currently have the boiler shut down, I must apologize for this inconvenience. If you could kindly spare us a little time, we shall prepare the downstairs bathroom for you.”

With that, she bowed politely and made to leave the room.
Then,

“Hey, you there—the bath’s fine as it is, but we’ve gotta eat in the dining hall, right?”

The man called out.

“No, either option is perfectly acceptable.”
“As with a standard hotel, we would be pleased to bring your meal to your room at your convenience.”

“Then we’ll have you do that.”
“If you’ve got sake, bring one heated bottle—no, two. Let’s just go with that.”
“Of course, the meal’ll be Western food.”
“Get the meal ready. The meal.”
“Right, you’d prefer that too.”
“Ain’t no need to hold back.”

With that, he turned to the woman with a smile.

“As for the meal—well, how would you like it prepared on such short notice?”
“You see, with the only other guest being Ma’am over there—who has been having bread all this time—…”
“But I can manage somehow.”
“Would you like it done right away?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry, so get it done right away.”
“Have you been at this hotel all along?”
“About how many years has it been?”

With that, the man began intently studying Fukakusa Nori’s face.
She felt an eerie intimidation from that gaze and averted her eyes at the same time,

“Are you asking about me? Well, it’s been nearly ten years at this hotel alone.”

“Where were you before that?”

“Before that, I was aboard ships.”

“When you say ‘ships’…?”

“They were passenger ships on the European route.”

The moment he heard this, the man’s face suddenly appeared distorted.

“I see. No wonder I thought you were some stylish old lady.”
“That’s enough.”
“It’s not like I asked for any particular reason.”
“Well now, this view’s something else.”
“The color of those mountains must take on that hue when bathed in the setting sun.”
“Hey, c’mon, take a look at this!”
“The stars are shining so bright… the stars…”

Sharply turning his back, the man approached the window and muttered almost to himself rather than to his companion.

Fukakusa Nori went down to the dining room, but for some reason found herself gripped by unshakable anxiety.
She couldn’t help questioning her own emotions—why would this man, a guest she had just met whose name she hadn’t even learned, with whom she’d exchanged only a few words, leave such an indelible impression?

To be sure, at her age she occasionally felt a curiosity tinged with jealousy toward younger paired guests.
Yet toward any male guest, she had never once experienced direct interest as one might feel toward the opposite sex.
By now, she regarded men as beings entirely removed from her sphere.
Moreover, today’s couple lacked any newlywed charm or secret lover’s allure—they were simply an ordinary married pair—and even this man himself, compared to the refined gentlemen she had long grown accustomed to serving, possessed nothing that might stir her restless heart.
Nevertheless, his features lingered behind her eyelids, and even the rough edge of his voice seemed to chase after her now, coiling about her like clinging vines.

When she conveyed the second-floor order to the dining staff, she came face to face with Mrs. Aihara’s radiant smile as the latter dined there. That was an unusually warm smile, one that seemed to seek out companionship. Fukakusa Nori caught her breath, torn between the discomfort of having some secret laid bare and a lifeline-like relief, then strode resolutely toward her side.

“How very much like a guest he is.”
“I finally thought I was alone…”

With that, Mrs. Aihara said in a low yet clear voice, her words tinged with a touch of jest.

“Truly, he is quite an unusual guest for this time of year. Though it seems he’ll only be staying one night, being his first time here, he must think he’s stumbled upon quite an unexpected place.”

“Why?”
“Surely you’re not claiming ignorance?”

“I can’t say for certain about that, but through our eyes, we can generally discern it.”
“Those who come and think ‘How peculiar…’ versus those who think ‘Ah, I see…’—we can distinguish them quite clearly.”
“This mountain realm is an entirely different world, you see.”
“Unless one possesses a proper purpose, it holds neither interest nor amusement for ordinary people.”

While listening to this, Mrs. Aihara turned her gaze to the scenery beyond the window where the sun had fully set.

Realizing she had been talking too much, Fukakusa Nori bowed and left.
And then, she replaced the record with a new one for Mrs. Aihara.
As the waltz melody flowed out, she felt a slight buoyancy and sat down right there in the chair.
She suddenly recalled the abrupt question from the guest earlier.

“...You’ve been at this hotel all this time? About how many years has it been?”

Why would he ask such a thing? Then he asked where she had been before coming to this hotel. She had been on a ship. When you say ‘ship’…? “A passenger ship on the European route…” Why did I answer so readily again? What good would it do to honestly blab about my past to anyone? Couldn’t I have just stayed silent and laughed it off?

Yes, yes—that guest had suddenly brought up stars again.
The stars in these mountains—indeed, when one notices them for the first time—glare more intensely than those seen in the plains.
But when it comes to stars—there’s no question—it’s that…

Thereupon, she vividly recalled that frenzied night on the Red Sea over twenty years ago.

Mrs. Aihara, having finished her meal, settled into her usual spot in a corner of the porch and was quietly listening to a record.
As it was customary for the porch lights to be reduced according to the number of guests once the season had passed, now only two remained lit.
Consequently, the area with the phonograph and the slightly removed tea table were dimly illuminated by a dull light, while Mrs. Aihara was deliberately sitting in a wicker chair by the window where the light did not reach.

Just then, a figure approached the window, threading through the birch grove in the garden.
The window had already been closed, but its pane rattled.

Mrs. Aihara turned toward it with an expression of mild surprise.
The figure abruptly retreated and disappeared into the darkness.
Mrs. Aihara, with an air of restlessness, stood up from her chair and gazed intently over Fukakusa Nori’s shoulder—Nori, who was lost in thought by the phonograph—at the record’s rotations nearing their end.

“Are there birds that come tapping at windows at night, I wonder?”

Suddenly, Mrs. Aihara asked Fukakusa Nori.
Surprised, Nori raised her face.
“Well now, has such a thing ever happened?”
“I felt such a thing just now…”

“It often happens in the evenings—small birds whose eyes fail them collide with the windowpane and fall…”

With that, Mrs. Aihara turned her heel and returned to where she had been.

However, after a short while, a young man pushed open the front entrance door and entered energetically.
He headed toward the front desk, exchanged a few brief words, then strode briskly to the porch—prompting Fukakusa Nori to hurriedly rise from her seat,

“Oh my, Young Master, when did you arrive?”

and she inquired with exaggerated emphasis,

“Just now…”
“I’ve been at the villa since last night.”
“Since I was bored all alone, I came over for a little visit.”
“It’s awfully deserted here, isn’t it?”

Having answered casually, he now slowly approached Mrs. Aihara.

“Madam, it’s been some time… I made a bet all by myself, you see. One part of me insists, ‘You should’ve left ages ago,’... No—not yet, not yet,’ the other me insists. So I just cut class a bit and came to check, and sure enough, that’s how it was.”

“What a tipsy whim of a bet, you…”
“And what will the losing party do now?”

“That’s the problem, you see. To be fair to myself—that is, if Madam were no longer here, I resolved to stay in these mountains for one week; but if you were still present, I decided to meet with you briefly and then depart from here within twelve hours.”

“Oh my, that’s quite strange. Well then, you’ll be departing tomorrow morning, I suppose.”

With that, Mrs. Aihara declared dismissively, as though she felt nothing.

This young man, Masuno Toshiharu, was a student in the Faculty of Economics at P University whose father owned a villa in the same area; owing to his habit of spending every summer there since the war’s end, he had come to frequent the hotel and, at the beginning of that summer, became acquainted with Mrs. Aihara through a few companions.
All his companions were of a status that necessitated cutting their stays short after a few days, but he alone, by privilege of villa residence, could occasionally become Mrs. Aihara’s open visitor.
Needless to say, his twenty-four-year-old youthful blood had been secretly stirred by the sharpened charm of this one woman in her full maturity.

Having been told offhandedly, “You’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, I suppose,” Masuno Toshiharu showed a momentarily flustered air, then—while barely concealing his utmost effort beneath his usual wit—

“If we part ways tonight as things stand—but I intend to persist here until tomorrow morning, if only you permit it.”
“Of course, I’ll have the stove lit.”

Mrs. Aihara laughed with just her shoulders, her body bending as if to do so.
And then, suddenly,

“Ms. Nori—here, some tea for this guest.”
“And whiskey—I’ll have that too.”

she said.

Fukakusa Nori had been vaguely listening to Masuno Toshiharu’s bold voice since earlier.
She couldn’t make sense of what he was chattering about, nor did she detect any particular significance in his somewhat impassioned tone.

“Y-yes.”

As if startled into motion, she took a step or two toward Mrs. Aihara,

“Tea and whiskey, correct? Understood, yes.”
“Young Master—are you departing tomorrow morning already?”

When she repeated what she had overheard, Mrs. Aihara giggled—this time letting out a full laugh—
“Ms. Nori, this Young Master says he wants to talk with me all night long… How improper.”
“How improper.”

At Mrs. Aihara’s words—which hovered between jest and something more pointed—she drew herself up solemnly, puffing out her chest.

“That simply won’t do, no,”
she answered.

“What’re you on about? None of your business,”
the young man retorted curtly.

“No, Young Master—Madam has come here to rest her body, so…”

“I know that already…”
“Haven’t said a thing about going running with Madam.”

“But staying up late…”

“Enough already… What do you think Madam’s doing in her room? She’ll be thinking until dawn, then take Adorm.”

“Lies…”

Mrs. Aihara muttered under her breath, as though not entirely without some recognition.

Until ten o’clock struck, Masuno Toshiharu did not try to move.

Fukakusa Nori was going in and out of the porch during that time.
Although the pretext of having work to do—changing the records—was valid, it was more that she perceived the conversation between Mrs. Aihara and the young man Masuno to be gradually advancing into a delicate situation, and she absolutely did not want to miss hearing its final outcome.

But as she had to lock the entrance as soon as ten o’clock struck, she casually went to inform the two of this.

“Well then, let us call it curtains here.”
“What a fine curtain call it is.”

With that, Mrs. Aihara said as she stood up.
The young man reluctantly rose from his chair,

“Indeed—a fine curtain call for the leading lady, Madam.”
“I’m just a minor role.”
“A role that could vanish at any time.”
“Good night.”
“Good show, Madam.”

Mrs. Aihara placed her hand on the young man’s shoulder from behind and said,

“Good night. A far far more splendid leading role will come around to you.”
“You’d do best to wait for that.”

Having seen him out to the entranceway, Mrs. Aihara once more—

“Good night,” she said.

Fukakusa Nori timidly looked up at Mrs. Aihara, who stood motionless there,

“Madam, I’m truly sorry to impose, but might I have a moment of your time? I’m such a strange woman, and today of all days, I simply can’t hold back any longer. No—though I say it’s trivial, it may indeed be trivial—I can no longer keep it locked away in my heart alone. From some trifling thing, I suddenly remember it and feel like I’m going mad. It’s not something I could speak of to anyone else. I’ve arbitrarily decided that Madam would surely laugh and listen to me—but what do you think?”

Mrs. Aihara looked at Fukakusa Nori’s face as if regaining her composure.
She could not simply dismiss these words of the old housekeeper—so abrupt yet intensely earnest.

“Hmm… Tonight, I’m rather exhausted—but what sort of story is this?”
“If merely listening will suffice, I’ll let you tell me.”
“If that would satisfy your feelings—”

While saying this, she began walking leisurely down the corridor—where a faint chill hung in the night air—toward the porch.

“I’m terribly sorry.”
“If you prefer, it would be perfectly acceptable even while resting in your room.”
“Or perhaps—since I won’t take up much of your time—might I presumptuously chatter by your side while you listen to a record or two?”

Mrs. Aihara thought that this idea was not entirely unwelcome.

“Well, something quiet would be nice.”

“How about Peer Gynt? Would that be acceptable?”

“Go ahead…”

Fukakusa Nori first wiped her mouth with a handkerchief.
She cleared her throat lightly.
Then, turning her eyes—their lids sagging—toward the ceiling, she began to speak deliberately.

“I’m not quite sure how best to explain this—it may take some time—but if I may start from my upbringing, just a little…”

Having made this preface, she suddenly lowered her face and tilted her head slightly as if performing a role,

“Um, I was born in Yokohama.”
“My father began a fish trade business in his time, but when my mother passed away and it came time for him to take a new wife, he sent me into service at a foreign household.”
“I was sixteen.”
“The foreigner was a British gentleman serving as a bank branch manager, and between him and his wife, they had two small children—the elder being a young lady called Miss Elizabeth, and the younger a young master named Master George.”
“I was primarily entrusted with caring for Miss Elizabeth, but what with one thing and another at that residence—though I had long requested leave—they would not permit it.”
“Even so, when Miss Elizabeth was finally to enter high school in her home country and I was entrusted to accompany her to London, this marked the end of my service there.”
“But parting with Miss Elizabeth, whom I had devoted my utmost efforts to caring for—though my care was inadequate—over those many years, was more painful than anything.”
“I returned on the same ship, this time all alone, but there was no longer any purpose in thinking about anything.”
“First, as I thought that even if I disembarked now, there would be no one waiting for me—the moment the ship approached Yokohama Port—I collapsed in tears on the deck, heedless of appearances.”
“When the chief purser saw this and inquired about my circumstances, I told him everything truthfully and asked if he might employ me as a laundry worker on that ship, if possible.”
“In this way, I was finally allowed to serve as a cabin attendant on the Yusen K-maru.”

“But you see, Madam.
“I was already twenty-nine at that time.
“Admittedly, with looks that can’t even be called average—there’s no bloom of youth to speak of—but even so, shouldn’t this suffice to qualify as a woman?
“It wasn’t that I never secretly yearned for something.
“But no matter how long I waited—truly, not a single heart-fluttering tale was ever told to me.
“Whenever I saw girls my age chattering about love or marriage prospects, I felt something peculiar.
“I would often glance around myself, wondering where I should look to find such things.
“But the more I think about it—if I may say so—the less it makes sense: women who seem far less fortunate than I sit properly by a man’s side wearing some semblance of happiness.
“Well, conflicts must arise whether large or small.
“I understand that casting women into misfortune’s depths is also men’s doing.
“Even so—is there any rule that a woman who’s turned twenty-nine should never have tasted even once a fleeting moment of happiness?”

“However, I’ve already come to see this as half innate disposition and half fate.”
“Life on the ship differed from working at a residence—each day wasn’t monotonous, and above all, it was free.”
“There were all sorts of people to talk with.”
“Everything I saw and heard felt new to me.”
“Yet Madam—why must people be such creatures of duplicity?”
“Both men and women working on that ship would put on angelic faces before guests and officers, but once alone in shadows, they’d shed every shred of decency.”
“They’d make lewd gestures and trade vulgar jokes without restraint—there were moments when even I couldn’t bear to stay near.”
“No no—who knows what those very guests and officers did behind closed doors?”
“How many shocking scenes do you suppose these eyes have witnessed?”

“Given this temperament of mine, whenever I found my colleagues’ behavior too much to bear in their presence, I would reflexively show them a displeased face. Gradually, they began restraining themselves around me alone—yet being disliked like that isn’t a pleasant feeling at all.”
“I do my utmost to restrain myself and avoid showing a displeased face, but by the time I realized it, it was already too late.”
“When I would pass by, the young bellboys and stokers would turn their faces away, you see.”

“Well, that’s quite alright, Madam. As for the family guests who became familiar with me—well, they would favor me so excessively that I found myself in awkward situations, receiving outrageous tips.”

“Oh dear, I seem to keep straying off into digressions…
‘I ended up spending about nine years aboard that ship as well—though I say this in your presence, Madam—for once you pass thirty, you lose confidence in what we call youth.’
‘Especially for a woman like me, even the signs of youth slipping away remain unseen, and I simply end up ushering in one dark year after another.’
‘I will never forget it—it was the autumn when I turned exactly thirty-five.’
‘The ship that had left Japan in early October would pass through the Indian Ocean—as you know—and enter the Red Sea by the latter part of the month.’
‘What we call the Red Sea—that narrow inland sea separating Asia and Africa.’
‘As it’s a land of eternal summer, naturally everyone wears white clothing.’
‘The winds of the Indian Ocean could sometimes make you forget the heat entirely, but once you reach there, a dreadful calm persists.’
‘The occasional desert wind merely tickles the skin, but if you’re as plump as I am, there’s scarcely a moment to dry your sweat unless exposed to the night air.’”

That night as well, I had returned to my room past ten o’clock, but due to the oppressive heat—though this was strictly forbidden—I quietly changed into just a single yukata and went up to the lower deck.
Once we had come this far from Colombo, there were no deck passengers to be found, and aside from the early evening hours, no one came out onto the lower deck.
Even so, while still keeping some awareness of my surroundings, I leaned my body languidly against the railing in the shadow of the boat closest to the bow.
What lay close before my eyes was the Arabian land leading to Mecca.
There was no moon, but the clear night sky was filled with stars.
“And those stars—if I may be so bold, Madam—have you not yet deigned to see them? Each and every one shone like jewels.”
“Even now, I can clearly see the color of those stars before my eyes.”
“Was it my imagination, or were all the stars a golden green—perhaps I should liken it to emeralds being scattered…? Madam, that host of stars twinkled as though alive, stretching endlessly on and on.”
“I, spellbound, gazed at that beautiful starry sky and found myself in a bittersweet mood, like a girl’s.”
“Since I had memorized a song Miss Elizabeth often sang when she was little, I tried singing just the beginning part in a low voice at that time.”
“Please don’t laugh, Madam.”
“I am terribly tone-deaf, you see.”
“Therefore, in front of others, I have never once sung or anything like that.”

"Oh dear, I've strayed off track again.
At that moment, I felt with profound certainty that paradise truly existed here on earth.
And I also felt deeply that even alone, I could taste such joy.
As this thought came, my chest suddenly swelled full, and fixing my eyes on one particular star, I waited motionless for my vision to gradually blur.
It felt exactly like being guided by the stars toward some unknown land—a sensation so vertiginous it made my spirit reel."

At that moment, suddenly, a brawny man’s arm coiled around my shoulder.
Staggering backward from the impact, I fell sideways onto a stack of furled sails.
Though I tried to see his face—thinking this must be some cruel joke—the boat’s shadow plunged everything into utter darkness.
The man crushed me against him, and rather than resisting, I became singularly obsessed with discovering his identity.
Forgetting even to shield myself, I strained to discern his features.
His body pressed flush against mine—face invisible—yet from his wiry frame and taut muscles, he seemed scarcely twenty.
“Who are you…?”
“Tell me your name properly!” I finally gasped.
No answer came.
Yet shameful as it is to confess, Madam—in that moment I surrendered completely through some base instinct.
“I needed to hear his true voice—just once.”
“Useless.”
When I reached to trace his jawline, he pinned my hand down. “Wait… I beg you—only your name—”
“Don’t speak of after—”
I clung desperately to his leg.
Then—can you imagine?—
He kicked me savagely beneath the breasts.
Madam—what manner of madness is this?
“I bear no hatred for that beast.”
“Only this—to see his face clearly once.”

“Even if only in my mind, I want to properly call out that name—that is all.”
“Could you, Madam, have understood this strange feeling?”
“From then on, I frantically scrutinized every single man’s face on the ship.”
“Of course, since the man wearing nothing but a shirt at that time had an oily smell unmistakably that of a stoker, I focused my attention primarily on the young stokers—but those stokers were all uniformly covered in soot during their regular work, and moreover labored in areas where we rarely crossed paths. Thus, I had to lie in wait when the ship entered port and they came ashore.”
“But Madam, distinguishing unfamiliar faces was fundamentally an impossible task from the start.”
“If I could have identified him through their gazes or demeanor toward me, that would have been possible, but every face I saw bore no connection to me whatsoever, and I was utterly worn out.”
“So, Madam—shameless as this may seem—as a last resort, I resolved to go up to the lower deck at midnight on several nights during each voyage.”
“At the same time, in the same place, I would wait motionless.”
“I continued that for three and a half years.”
“Once I finally understood that what happened once might never happen again, I gave up.”
“And then, before long, I left the ship.”

How time flies.
And now twenty-three years have passed since then.
In all of heaven and earth, the man I have known remains that single unknowable man—encountered but once—... That shadow-like recollection I have always kept stored deep within my heart, alongside the starry sky’s vista.

“Curious indeed, Madam.
At my age now, I’ve no interest in romantic affairs anymore—but rather than being troubled by men, I consider myself fortunate.
Even so—what manner of evening is this tonight?
After showing those newly arrived guests to their room and hearing Sir’s few words—suddenly—the feelings from that night twenty-three years ago, which had lain dormant until then—came welling up strangely in my chest.
So unbearable—so unbearable… I want to scream at the top of my voice.
After all—I must have been waiting and searching for something in vain.
Madam—please—say something.
A word—anything will do.
Please—grant me strength and light…”

There, Fukakusa Nori abruptly cut off her words and pressed the handkerchief in her hand to her eyes; her rounded shoulders quivered faintly.

Mrs. Aihara, half-listening to the melody of Solveig’s Song nearing its end, distinctly heard—even as Fukakusa Nori concluded her lengthy reminiscence—the voice that called out “Madam, please…” and breathlessly pleaded for “strength” and “light.”
To her, this pitiful tale was nothing but an unimaginably foolish farce—yet precisely because she sensed in its teller an almost superhuman goodwill, one so terrifyingly earnest that it transcended mere folly, she could not offer a perfunctory response.

“Well, if that’s true, it’s quite an unusual story, I must say.”
“But in any case, that story doesn’t quite resonate with me.”
“After all, it’s a psychology that defies ordinary understanding.”
“But through that, I’ve come to understand quite well the kind of person you are.”
“That, well, is simply gratifying.”
“Even if you tell me what to do, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“But most women can’t live without their dreams, you know.”
“If that dream is yours, you shouldn’t go shaking it about so roughly, you know.”

After saying this much, Mrs. Aihara abruptly rose from her chair.
As if this were a signal, a man in nightclothes descended soundlessly from the second floor.
With the front desk lights already extinguished, he hesitated briefly before moving toward the illuminated porch entrance.

The man’s gaze locked precisely with Fukakusa Nori’s.
She stiffened, swallowing an “Ah—” in her throat.

“We depart first thing tomorrow morning. Call a hired car.”
“Understood?”

The next morning, in the car speeding along the narrow road to K Station, the man said to the woman—

“Hey, when I thought that old maid was some woman I’d seen before, I finally remembered.”
“Didn’t you say she used to work on a ship?”
“Just picture this—I worked as a stoker on that same ship back in my day.”
“Back then, that woman—she’s the one who tried coming onto me…”
“Or wait—maybe I made the first move?”
“Can’t remember which for sure.”
“Was a damn muggy night…… You ain’t jealous now, eh?”
“That… that beast of a woman…”

The woman opposite simply guffawed.