Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Makino Shin'ichi

I collided at the divergence point between philosophy and art and was left with a mind bereft of freedom.
Suffocating and tormented, having lost my way in the desert, I maintained a state where I could do nothing but gaze blankly at the sky.

At some point, I divided myself into three distinct personalities, learned the technique of setting these personas into motion within a fictional world, and thereby gained some respite. Had I continued clinging single-mindedly to that delusion, this body would surely have burst like a balloon from that aimless passion.

My three personalities are as follows.

A was—

“Various forces rise and descend, exchanging the golden manual elevator.”

In other words, he was the carefree artist of that current.
Thus A—reciting with devotion the works of that great medieval libertine poet who left those words to us—swaying between affection that turned to hatred and hatred that turned to affection, rolling back and forth from this to that—“Let’s roll it over and over, this barrel like St. Diogenes’—” or humming soldiers’ ditties like “Today white bread, tomorrow black bread…”, would dash about fields collecting insects, immerse himself in poetry at a corner of the Mermaid Tavern, gaze at stars through a homemade telescope, or waste himself on whimsical romances.

B was—

“Those who do not despise their father, mother, wife, children, brothers—nay, even thy own life—cannot become my disciples.”

B was—the saint’s faithful servant.
And he—inheriting the blood of the Stoic disciple who had dismissed Euripides, author of *The Lament of the Marsyas River*—mocked tragedy and devoted himself solely to divine authority and power.
He had to abandon logical artifices and seek the clearest, most sound life through reason’s unity.

C had secluded himself at the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and dropped numerous metal spheres of varying sizes to the ground—he was a disciple of that scientist who discovered the "law of falling bodies."
C always wore such a sorrowful face.
For no matter how fervently he cast down many spheres to study their descent, not only could he never discover any theorem surpassing the "law of falling bodies" established through that scientist's discovery, but merely found himself trapped in an endless cycle—retrieving the dropped spheres, climbing back up the tower, dropping them again, observing intently, then retrieving them once more.

One day, the three of them discussed embarking on a journey to wander through various lands.
Melancholy C—who harbored the resignation that nothing better would come of it no matter where they went—was reluctant, but pocketing nothing but his metallic spheres as belongings, he set out toward the capital on a journey together with loquacious A and cantankerous B.
Needless to say, these three were perpetually at odds—so much so that even when encountering each other on the road, they rarely exchanged greetings.

…………………

When I came up with this much of a beginning, I suddenly became cheerful and jumped down from the bed.
My mind felt as refreshed as the early summer sun shining after the rainy season.

Skipping about with indescribable delight, I took down the Native American feathered headdress hanging as a wall decoration and threw on a Native American gown (I simply had to do something like this—truth be told, I was such a fool, my emotions swinging violently between extremes, and even now when daily life hardly required it, I would impulsively attempt geometry or algebra problems; on those rare occasions when I solved one through my own efforts, I'd let out strange cries of ecstasy). The voice was so sudden and absurdly loud that when this occurred at night, my housemates in deep slumber suffered tremendous disturbance, were consequently forced to oversleep the next morning, and I would end up having to go eat boxed meals at the station waiting room, unable to wait for breakfast. …and even now, I was about to let out a cry of joy but realized it in the nick of time and barely managed to seal my lips. But how could I possibly stay still after awakening to light following days upon days confined to a bed of gloom!) I simply couldn’t resist attempting a Native American dance with spirited gusto.

I found it exceedingly delightful that I could now imagine and conceive of three travelers who would traverse a strange journey and encounter all manner of events. For far too long I had wandered through nothingness and achingly observed their irreconcilable discord. Merely thinking of sending my “Soldier’s Song” A to battle demons along Bunyan’s perilous path, making cantankerous B confront the gentleman of La Mancha in debate, or dispatching the Pisa student to Swift’s flying island to tour Lagado University’s science chamber and have his mind blown—such imaginings amused me so profoundly that I lost all sense of myself.

“Oh cursed primitive philosophy! Oh laughable petty art! Oh wretched land of yesterday’s emotions!”

While muttering such things to myself, I suddenly found I alighted upon the village thoroughfare.
I held a sword as slender as a whip.
This too was one of the practice fencing swords that hung crossed beneath a "WASEDA" pennant on the wall.
This wasn't mere decoration—every morning and evening I would take it up to practice swordsmanship with whichever housemate was available; when unbearably depressed beyond remedy, I'd relieve my mood by playing war games with it; when excited from reading warrior training tales, I'd swing it about while projecting myself onto the characters.

It was a moonlit white thoroughfare.
When I looked back at my house halfway up the hill, the window shutters hung open toward the outside, languid and dreamlike as if a bird had escaped through them.

I was running along the bright, flat thoroughfare while brandishing my sword.
The bird feathers on my head flapped noisily, cutting through the wind with a dashing vigor that felt absurdly pleasant.

“Poet, keep going! Philosopher and physicist student, follow me! —”
“I’ll see you off to the border hill.”

I shouted.
And then I thought:
The solitary me remaining after sending you all off on your training journey—this is my true form.
“After tonight, I’ll have no ties with any of you.”

“Tell the Mermaid Tavern’s barmaid through you—that if I find a jewel beetle on my travels, I’ll send it to her as a brooch, a token of my complex love for her—”

the Poet whispered to me.
That such a shabby tavern—which he’d probably described using some Keats poem or other—could be habitually called the “Mermaid Tavern” and send the poet into raptures made me marvel at his simplemindedness—I thought with a wry smile,

“O Laureate Poet!”

I flattered him.
“When you reach the capital, you’ll find golden jewel beetles with cloisonné wings in jewelry store display windows.”
“If you wish to sustain the Mermaid’s lover’s affection, send her a jewel beetle from the jewelry store.”

The Poet absently let my parting words go in one ear and out the other, launching into his usual—
Singing “From this to that, from that to this!” at the top of his voice, he cheerfully descended the moonlit hill.

“Anxiety stems from our groundless perceptions of things—things themselves contain no anxiety.”
“Only fools beget tragedy.”
“Like a beast escaped from the woods through the Odyssey’s path, I shall advance trusting solely in my own strength.”

B departed without lingering, growling these words in the cadence of Athens’ grandiloquent philosopher who worshipped the doctrine of universal flux.
Anxiety, tragedy, confidence—all were but wind in a horse’s ears to me.
So comical was B’s posturing that

“You’d better take care not to let that foolish confidence make you step into anxiety’s abyss instead.”
“Let’s give you this bow—as insurance against hunger—”

I considered adding a warning, but since he didn’t even turn around, I abandoned the idea.
Through my sword bent like a bow, I merely tossed an ambiguous wink that could be read as either respect or ridicule.

C passed by wordlessly, trudging along while making his pocket spheres jangle like gold coins.

“Now, with this, I’ve finally become my own world.—Berry! Bright!”

I watched their figures disappear into the dim distance, then raised both hands and let out a piercing scream from the hilltop. By day I would roam the fields and mountains seeking provisions, and by night I would gather villagers around the hearth to regale them with thrilling warrior training tales. I pitied the philosopher dreaming of the Mount of Olives through “the thought of thought,” despised the poet rolling Diogenes’ barrel, severed ties with the physics student who endlessly ascended and descended colorless stairs for unification’s sake, and shook the crown of triumph. And imagining what trials might await them under their journeying skies filled me with exhilaration.

Elated by such thoughts, I hopped and skipped down the hill and was just about to reach A’s so-called Mermaid when—

“Oh my, it’s Mr.Makino!”

Shouting this, that tavern maid came running out and blocked my path.
And after staring at me curiously for a little while,

“You think you can slip past me looking like that? No way,” she cooed while leaning against my chest.
“……Hey now, what’s wrong? I went through all the trouble of coming out to greet you like always—hurry up and pick me up to take me inside the shop already.”

“I can’t imitate that poet—not me—”

“Don’t play dumb!”

“Never—”
“I meant to have Shichirōmaru take me night fishing tonight. Since I couldn’t find any other suitable clothes, that’s why I came dressed like this.”

“So, are you planning to go to Shichirōmaru’s house now?”

“Whether there’s fishing or not, I’ll definitely stop by on my way back—wait for my triumphant tale.”

I puffed out my chest and swung my sword triumphantly.
Then the woman suddenly shoved her fist into my chest with all her might.

“Liar!”
“There’s no way there’d be night fishing on a moonlit night like this!”

“Oh, right!”

And I recoiled.
“Wait—wasn’t night fishing supposed to be done on moonless nights?”
“It’s settled, isn’t it?”
At that moment, a ruddy, self-satisfied face appeared at the tavern window.
It was Shichirōmaru.
“I’ve been waiting ages for you to show up.”
“Instead of posturing for Her Lunar Highness out there, why not come inside?”

“Shichirōmaru, if you’re here, then I’ll naturally come in.”

I found myself in a foul mood and stomped into the tavern.

“Shichirōmaru, you should stop being friends with such a liar.”
“And from now on, why don’t you get along with me instead?”

The girl who came rushing in after me with loud footsteps suddenly cut between us and clung to Shichirōmaru’s neck.

Shichirōmaru was supposed to be both the family name passed down in his household as a fishing family and the name of their family boat, but now that the boat was gone, only the family name remained—he was my friend.
When autumn came and night fishing began this year, I had absolutely wanted him to take me—this was what I had been constantly telling him.

“What a shame you went to all that trouble preparing.”

He gently moved the girl aside and offered me a cup of sake.

I was by no means doing this for mere amusement, which is why when it came to fishing matters, I remained Shichirōmaru’s devoted disciple through and through.—Today, I had rushed out of my room for that very reason, but since Shichirōmaru had always insisted that one should wear this outfit when heading out to work, I too—overcome by self-consciousness in this attire—had ended up saying those things to the girl earlier. Still, if I were told we were setting sail immediately now, I would undoubtedly depart as I was.

“I just went to your room to look for you, but...”

Shichirōmaru choked up as if struggling for breath and gripped my hand with his hot one.
“Ah, now that I’ve met you, I don’t even know how to begin speaking.”

When I suddenly noticed, round tears like spheres came gushing from the corners of his wide-staring eyes that hadn’t blinked once as they fixed on my face—and abruptly he let out a loud cry and embraced me.
I startled like a small demon caught by Zhong Kui.
Shichirōmaru continued to cry out in loud, wailing sobs.

“Shichirōmaru!”

And I too, my heart swelling for reasons unknown, cried out.
“Who made someone like you—such a good person—so sad?”
“You don’t need to explain anything.”
“Just tell me the villain’s name.”

“No, no.”

He swallowed his tears and barely managed to say.
“I’ve encountered the fortune of raising the Shichirōmaru flag on a ship again.”

Atop the storage shed in the fishing grounds stands a structure called the Uomiyagura—a fish observation tower.
Shichirōmaru, who owned no boat, had long served as the observation officer at this lookout.
Though he occasionally borrowed boats to venture offshore, his strained relations with boat owners meant he mostly holed up in this tower—hoisting weather-dependent signal flags, operating the siren switch to alert villagers of fish migrations, and fretting over his underutilized skills.
My C was not actually experimenting with the "law of falling" but would come to this observation room to assist Shichirōmaru with his work; for instance, when he kept watch through the telescope,

“They’re here—signal!”

When he shouted, I lowered the siren switch; the villagers surged forth, and a spectacular drama suddenly unfolded at sea.

At such times, I would grow so excited that I’d instinctively grab a megaphone to cheer on the rowdy fishermen, but the moment I recalled what lay in my boat-obsessed friend’s heart, I too would transform—methodically assisting with raising and lowering flags, silently recording weather observations and tidal charts in the logbook.
And thus, I continued to be enveloped in a chill as though I had become an assistant physicist at the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
The two of them, from the fish observation tower’s window, merely showed stern faces and did nothing but observe the village’s commotion closely.

“Oh, that’s—”

I too could say nothing more than that.
And the two of them merely called each other’s names and danced hand in hand.

Then, after rushing back to the fish observation tower and their excitement had somewhat subsided,

“So I rushed to your house—and then the door was locked… No one was there.”
“But your window was wide open, so I went around through the garden and peeked inside—the lights were left blazing away, but I couldn’t see you anywhere.”
“The place is a complete mess—like after some huge brawl—isn’t it…”

He spoke only of such things.
He made no mention of matters like—how he had come to own a boat, how he had managed to effectively reclaim his family name.
I too had no moment to inquire.

"But when I suddenly noticed that thing always hanging on the wall—"

And he pointed at my attire.
“Since that was nowhere to be found, I thought this guy must have passed me by, so I hurried back to Mermaid and stood guard—but the anguish I felt during that time was beyond words.”
“When I sensed your presence outside, the girl rushed out like that, but I was just trembling all over uncontrollably and couldn’t move.”
“And I said to you in this strangely calm tone—‘What a shame you went to all that trouble preparing’—but truthfully, when I found you in that getup, I got even happier, couldn’t say anything properly, and messed up my words.”

“How many years has it been since this flag has come to flutter upon the sea again?”

Gazing up at the "Shichirōmaru" flag that had hung on that wall since who knows when, I asked with deep emotion.
We had only ever broached the subject of that flag once—when Shichirōmaru was thoroughly drunk—and aside from that solitary instance, we had both maintained an unspoken pact of silence on the matter, with me too feigning ignorance all this time.

“……So I’ve been pretending this room is a ship to keep my spirits up.”
“...pretending to have the flag properly planted here like this…”

I remember how during that night of heavy drinking, he said such things and stood up with arms crossed before the flag on the wall.

“With that much passion, it will undoubtedly soon be fluttering on the real sea.”

And I too had said at that time—I have not forgotten standing by his side.

“If that comes to pass, let’s share ‘Shichirōmaru’ and strive mightily together.”

“I promise.”

And I nodded.
“Ah! This exhilaration—it feels astride Pegasus charging through clouds!”

We stood towering beside the fluttering flag (drunk enough to make the room ship-like), arms spread wide like Greece’s “Statue of the Boaster,” singing sea chants.

“Until that time comes, we shan’t marry, eh?”

“Of course.”
“To me, every single woman cannot help but appear as nothing but monsters.”
“I received the sword of Perseus (the hero who slays female monsters) from Zeus…”

However, this vow was soon mutually understood through reconciliation—a vividly memorable recollection from when we had just graduated (Shichirōmaru from the fisheries training institute). By all accounts, that night, the two of them remained terribly excited until the eastern sky began to lighten,

“Hoist the sails!”

“Aye aye—”

“Raise the flag… Rah-la, rah-rah-la!”

and so on—chanted in unison and ran wild; but at that moment, the two of them,

“Morning flag-raising ceremony!”

And so, the "Shichirōmaru" flag we had hung on the wall still remained exactly where it had been.

Shichirōmaru had continued serving at this observation post ever since that time. For some reason, beyond that single instance, we never exchanged so much as a word about the flag—as though avoiding some raw wound.

Let me clarify one point: while my A indulges in drink, nearly all my interactions with Shichirōmaru occur through my C alone.
That night when drunkenness revealed our surreal excitement remained our sole lapse across nearly ten years; between us since then not one utterance has strayed beyond ordinary tones.
To have witnessed Shichirōmaru's tears—that tavern commotion earlier could only be called an unprecedented miracle.

“Hey, Shichirōmaru—that must be something from nearly ten years ago now. Tonight, let’s speak of your dream entwined with that flag—”

"Shall we talk about it—" I suggested, quietly closing my eyes and slowly tilting my head, when he—

“Slip-slop!”

With a groan, he hastily tilted his Western-style cup, then stood up and began taking down the flag from the wall.

“There’s really no need to suddenly take down that flag now, is there? Why don’t we raise this ceremonial toast beneath the flag!”

“I’ll take it down once before your eyes—then you can do whatever you want with this… just spare me the memories.”

“Oh—the ship! It’s moving! Moving!”

“It’s moving! It’s moving!”
“The waves are pretty high!”

When I too stood up, both of us found our legs trembling so terribly we couldn’t stop them, and grabbing either end of a single flag,

“No, no—this should be your handiwork!”

“No good! Tonight and on the launch day, it absolutely must be done by your hands, my friend!”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but such formalities don’t suit my style!”

“But you know there’s no one else available!”

While deferring to each other in this manner, the thoroughly drunk, reserved American Indian and the large man clad in a beautiful Maiwai chased each other round and round the cramped room like lion dancers frolicking among peonies.

(Note 1.
Slip-slop—this interjection is one I’ve popularized among the youth, meaning, as is known, “I mock thy sentimentalism.”)

(Note 2.
Maiwai.
This is a Dōtera-style coat distributed to all villagers during bountiful catches; it would be appropriate to write “ceremonial robe” with the phonetic gloss “Maiwai”.
Most are pale blue cotton garments resembling underkimonos, with multicolored patterns dyed around the hem—depicting scenes such as the dance of the Seven Deities of Good Fortune and Chinese children at play.
Though called a ceremonial robe, it isn’t necessarily worn on festival days.
The villagers freely wear it regardless of season—during slightly chilly evening strolls, as loungewear.

As a digression, I have maintained a yearly Christmas gift exchange with an American female acquaintance of mine; last year, having no funds whatsoever and in my perplexity, I sent her the new Maiwai I had received from Shichirōmaru, pompously adding: “Though in your country our work clothes are lately being referred to and used by eccentric collectors as ‘Happy Coats,’ this here is the true Happy Gown of our seaside village—do try wearing it and ask your tea friends for their opinions!”—and was met with immense gratitude.)

In such a manner they were arguing when Shichirōmaru suddenly let go, held his breath still as if frozen, then cupped one palm by his ear,

“You can hear it, can’t you!”

he whispered with intensity.

Outside lay a moonlit night of crystal clarity. When I strained my ears between the gentle waves, the incessant clang-clang of chisels resounding from afar reached me. I strained toward the sound as if being drawn in.

While all surrounding fishing households seemed to have extinguished their lights and gone to sleep, only the shipwright’s workshop beside the pine grove near the beach still labored through the night. Since it had only a roof without walls—and with a bonfire blazing in its front square—the workers’ figures stood silhouetted against the flames.

“Are they already at it?”

I asked, eyes wide.
An indescribably refreshing storm raised new flames within my chest.

……

Shichirōmaru nodded deeply, then began explaining in a solemn tone.

“Marugen was a friend of my grandfather’s Shichirōmaru—he’s tackling this job with half-chivalrous determination to see it through.”
“He vowed to finish most work while moonlight lasts—been straining at the bit all day, and now he’s properly begun!”
“There’s about fifteen apprentices working yonder, but eight are Marugen’s own sons.”
“Each one’s a strapping shipwright through and through.”
“Look there! That red oni-like old man bellowing by the bonfire—that’s Foreman Marugen himself... What say you?”

The bonfire flames shone like a giant lantern lit at the heart of the moonlight, and the figures of the working people appeared as a lantern painting.

“Alas, my voice doesn’t reach them.”

“That’s impossible.”

“That makes it an even more glorious sight—can’t you see!”

I held my breath, entranced by the magnificent distant view of the worksite.
I strained to peer through the bonfire’s brightness so as not to miss even their subtlest movements, undaunted by the distance at which the sound of a hammer—first raised high, then struck down, then readied again above the striker’s head—reached my ears.

Enraptured by the fascinating spectacle—where, at the center of an infinitely pale blue screen formed by moonlight and tranquil air, rays cast in all directions like a giant fantastical lamp-moon’s shade manifested a crystalline golden ring, and within that single section alone, vibrant liveliness akin to battle preparations unfolded—I stood captivated.

...Then—likely a visual error caused by my staring so fixedly without blinking—the giant lantern, still containing those vivid silhouettes continuing their activity, slid soundlessly through the air, floated aloft, and transformed into a small, bright moon. Even so, the figures of the people working there remained clearly visible, and I could discern so distinctly not only the facial features of Marugen’s Taro, Jiro, and Saburo but even imagine what they were saying from the movements of their mouths.

“If we don’t hurry and get this done while the moon’s still up, we won’t be able to work with just the bonfire after this!”

“That’s right, Father! When it comes to Shichirōmaru’s work, we make no distinction between day and night!”

As I imagined their conversations—(Ah! Had I failed to notice being swept into a dream?)—I blinked and looked anew at Marugen’s Taro, Jiro, and Saburo. To my astonishment, those three men were none other than the same trio I had seen off to “Border Hill”!
――Were they spending the first night of their journey in such a place, in such a manner?
They must have been drawn to that bonfire, perhaps mistaking it for a village light.

A was still humming "this and that" while swinging his hammer with all his might.
B was eating his lunchbox beside the blazing flames at an unusual hour.
C, who kept his face lowered so that his features remained indistinct, had taken up a ruler and appeared wholly focused on measuring the dimensions of wood pieces.

“Starting from the very first night—though their vigor was reassuring—I did wish I could at least offer a word of appreciation for their labor.”

I prayed for the happiness of the three penniless travelers.
But as I had no words of prayer to offer, I could only quote B’s mentor’s teachings and earnestly wish for their journey to be peaceful.

“Your journey is a pilgrimage toward the entire world; an inspection of all constructions being carried out in every void of space; and a progression toward magnificent infinity while encompassing the physical restoration of all things.”

While praying thus toward them, I moved my arms as if repeatedly seizing the anguish in my chest to cast it away—grasping and hurling it with each motion.
Clutching at my chest, forming a fist, I thrust my arm into space only to open my hand again.

As this went on, within the circle of light ahead, various figures gradually increased in number, completely encircling the bonfire to watch the vigorous work being done.
They seemed to be voicing words of joy one after another.

"Oh my!"

I blinked once more and squinted.
In the midst of that crowd, Shichirōmaru’s grandfather and father waited in attendance, wearing crested haori.
My father too was dressed in similar fashion, his face set in a stern and imposing expression.
Young people in ceremonial robes were dancing around the bonfire.
The fact that our grandfathers—who should have already bid us eternal farewell in this world—were appearing in such a manner made me feel somewhat absurd, yet seeing their forms indistinguishable from those in the present world and watching them engage in conversation with Marugen and his men, I came to feel as though I were simply witnessing something entirely plausible—needing no particular explanation—

“Well, that’s fine.”

I found myself thinking.

“Thank you――”

I was brought back to my senses when Shichirōmaru tapped my shoulder, but the vision I had seen within the brightness of the distant worksite was not something I could easily dismiss as an illusion.
——Shichirōmaru continued while tapping my shoulder.

“Thank you—— I can’t help but feel grateful for your terribly earnest figure there, watching Marugen’s work like that.
I will never forget your magnificent figure overflowing with passion…… I’m getting overwhelmed—please return to the table.”

When told this, I examined my own posture and found myself transformed into a lifelike doll: one leg propped on the windowsill, right fist thrust into the moonlight with the full force of a reckless warrior striking a villain's flank, torso leaning forward like a tiger's pounce, left fist jutting up against my own chin.

The bell rang.

Visitors.

“Who is it?” Shichirōmaru asked, pressing his face to the intercom.

“Please lower the elevator.”

It was my wife's voice.

Since this room was strictly prohibited for non-staff to enter or exit, we staff members had to roll up the rope ladder whenever returning to the room.
Visitors carrying luggage would request staff members to lower the elevator.

It was an elevator where a rope hung from a pulley, a wooden box tied to that rope, manually hoisted up from inside the room using a fishing basket mechanism.
Though manually operated, the hoisting mechanism was equipped with two gears of different sizes and arranged to lift by turning a large handle—much like the principle of a bicycle—so that the machine demonstrated several times the work efficiency relative to the input force. Thus, even if the elevator operator were a drunkard, this task could be easily performed.

“Alone?”

“No, a whole crowd—Mermaid-san’s with us too. We ran into her there.”

So I took Shichirōmaru’s place at the intercom, peered into the speaking tube, and groaned.

“If there is anyone who harbors resentment or discomfort toward us for whatever reason, let them take their leave tonight.”

“Are we interfering with kagura practice?
...I could see everyone from afar.”

“What should we do?”

So I consulted Shichirōmaru.

“If we’re seen, then we’re seen—there’s absolutely no need to be intimidated. Let’s lower it.”

When we released the lock, the elevator box descended quietly with a gentle creaking sound.

“As you’re aware—only one person at a time.”

“With six people, won’t that be too difficult?”

“Please don’t hesitate——. Please press the bell each time you board.”

The bell rang.

“All right——Heave!”

When Shichirōmaru gave the signal, the two of them, with utterly practiced motions,

“Heave-ho! Heave! Heave!” they shouted spiritedly as they hauled up the elevator basket.

The first to emerge from the box was B, with a rucksack on his back and carrying in one hand a bottle resembling soy sauce and a bundle of green onions.
(The young people such as B, R, and H were friends of my wife and younger brother—fellows maintaining their communal living at my village residence there.)
(I should note beforehand that R, H, my wife, and my younger brothers each carried heavy-looking rucksacks too.)

“Today I pulled a cart to town and sold most of your books.”

“That’s terrible. Those books are second only to my life——”

As I flushed red and tried to press the issue, the bell rang again, compelling us to grab the handles—when R emerged clutching lotus roots and burdock roots,

“I pawned your watch and bought bullets.”
“We won’t have to worry about meat for a while.”

R declared.
R was a master of the rifle and had always sustained us with birds.

“Ah!”

I screamed.
“If that watch is gone, my observatory work will…”

“I bought gasoline.”
“This means we can use the motorcycle for trips to town for a while now.”
“Any type of your errands can be accomplished within an hour.”

Then H proudly thrust a Mobil oil tin can right before my eyes.

“And the funds for that?”

I pressed a hand to my aching chest and stared wide-eyed, but before I could await a response, with the next bell—

“We discussed how it’s not like only you have a kimono, and...”

“Don’t let me hear the rest.
“I get sad.”

I waved my hand violently toward my younger brother.
Being quite the dandy that I was, the thought that I had been robbed of the kimono made me want to cry.
Before I could cry, my wife—carrying a loaf of bread under her arm—appeared right after Mermaid,

“You must remain in that attire for the time being, whether you like it or not.”

she declared.
The moment I heard that, an overwhelming grief welled up within me,

“Ah, what should I do?
What should I do?” I wailed, breaking into tears.

The entire group stood dumbfounded at my unmanly spectacle.
For I had always addressed them regarding material possessions with what were likely composed, lofty pronouncements.

“No matter what they say... having to spend every day from now on in this getup...”

“Everyone.”

Shichirōmaru declared.
"Please rest assured—Mr. Makino has simply had his emotions stray into strange territory tonight because he's intoxicated by an extraordinary joy that defies convention."
"I'm not saying it's just him—I myself also—"

“Shichirōmaru-san, are you someone who drinks alcohol too?”

“That’s not the case…”

He deftly brushed this aside and launched into an impassioned speech about the future course of “Shichirōmaru.”

“Behold.
“The ship is already being built with that very splendor you see.”
“When the *Shichirōmaru* emerges upon the sea, all of you must transfer your entire communal life onto our ship at that very moment.”

Upon hearing this speech, the group of unemployed comrades involuntarily raised high what they were carrying in their hands,

“How wonderful!”

they shouted.

“Now I finally understand. I thought there was no way my husband would be sad over something like that.”

With that, my wife heaved a sigh of relief and rushed to my side,

“That outfit suits you perfectly well.”
“Since nobody will think it odd, you should work in it without concern.”

With that, she clung to my chest.

“What in the world is inside those bags on everyone’s backs?”

When I asked, the group answered in unison like students.

“Rice.”

“We went to town and bought rice.”

My wife and Mermaid ended up setting off together to buy alcohol.

Since they were traveling light, I placed the two of them together in the lift cage, removed the lock, and took hold of the handle.
And, turning the handle to regulate the slowly descending cage,

“Come to think of it, I had eaten nothing but potatoes last night and this morning too... No wonder my chest felt off and the alcohol was hitting me so bizarrely.”

Such were my thoughts.

My wife's whistle could be heard in the distance.

The room was filled with bright laughter and conversation, making it impossible to distinguish whose words were whose, but someone was mocking someone—

“Slips Lop!”

The jeering—"Slips Lop!"—reached the ears of the elevator operator at work.