Pathway to Japanese Literature

In that castle town of old, it was customary to disinherit all sons—the sickly, the prodigal, and any others deemed unlikely to ever hold promise as warriors—and adopt them out to neighboring fishing or farming families.
However, the master of the Kuwahara family was supposed to have disposed of his eldest son—who lacked even such reasons—by adopting him out to a fishing household in Uraga Town, his second son to a farming family in Kazamatsuri Village, and have his third daughter Sonoko inherit the lineage by bringing in his younger brother’s son.
That master was the Kuwahara family’s second adopted son, and while he had three sons, none were his biological children.
At sixteen, Sonoko ran away to Edo, following after F, a rather famous kabuki actor.
Sonoko became a white-haired old woman of striking elegance and never again set foot in her family home until her death at her brother’s house in Uraga, but no matter how old she grew, she would often tell people that she remembered the morning of that escape as clearly as a painting, wearing an unburdened smile of delicate refinement.
The old crabapple trees were densely layered on both sides of the gate, in full bloom.
On the thatched roof of the crossbeam gate, lotus buds had sprouted.
Sonoko was usually dressed in male attire.
She wore her forelocks down, dressed in a pale blue crested kimono with short sleeves and a roughly striped silk hakama.
The master was called a stern man by society, never showed others a smile, and had a habit of lecturing on moral conduct; however, he was unexpectedly uneducated and secretly had his wife and Sonoko write all documents and letters for him.
Although he never drank a drop of alcohol, when the hour came to bar the gate, the rigid intensity of daytime would melt away, leaving him with eyes as strangely vacant as a drunkard’s.

“My body’s gone cold—can’t sleep a wink.”
“You’re still just a youngster—no need for reserve. Won’t you sleep with me?”

He had said such things.

Sonoko carried out her flight during that period after her mother’s death when the first anniversary had not yet been observed.
When she was staying at a hot spring inn in Hakone with her mother for recuperation, the actor F—who shared their lodgings—would occasionally be invited by her mother, who had a deep interest in the arts.
When she recalled her previous husband, tears welled up in her eyes; but when the topic turned to her current husband, she would purse her lips as if pained and fall silent.
The maid Miwa was the daughter of a wealthy farmer from Kazamatsuri Village, there to learn proper decorum; yet she showed no inclination to heed the mother’s instructions,

“If you were to compare family fortunes, my house has five times as much as this estate here, and our storehouse’s stacked with gold coin chests.”

She stuck out her tongue behind their backs.
With her high-cheekboned face, she had a habit of snorting derisively.
Even when it came time to leave Hakone, Mother vehemently refused to return to her family home; after settling into a villa midway along the Yumoto Highway in Kazamatsuri Village, she passed away.
Only the numerous relatives of the master wielded influence, while Sonoko and her two siblings were powerless to act.
Sonoko, in her usual male attire with only a single folding fan painted with gold-lacquer crabapple flowers carried at her side, waited by the bridge tollhouse along the Sakawa River for F—who had taken a horse from the gatekeeper’s stable and was returning by palanquin from Hakone.
The sound of Miwa’s snoring lingered in Sonoko’s ears.
Sonoko advanced along the dimly lit highway, humming melodies to the numerous crabapple waka poems her mother had composed, and as the greasy figures of her father and Miwa receded like phantoms from another world, her future path seemed as blissful as a beautiful play—that was all.
Truly, Sonoko was as happy as she had wished. Though F had a wife, he treated her with such clarity and consistency as if she were a person of high status, and when F passed away before Sonoko turned thirty, the women came together—yet their bond fell short of sisterhood.
Sonoko gave birth to a daughter with F.
Sonoko laughed and rather shook her head, but F named their daughter Konomi.
The character 園 (Sonoko) was the hereditary name for the Kuwahara family’s eldest daughter.
F wanted to send Konomi back to her hometown to inherit the Kuwahara family name in title—at least that had been Mother’s wish—and he had abided by Sonoko’s mother’s words, but in the Kuwahara household, Miwa had borne the old master’s child.
The master grappled with ruffian porters at Hakone’s Daihiradai and met his end at the base of the cliff.
Sonoko’s brother in Kazamatsuri had attained some form of enlightenment, devoting himself to waka poetry and savoring the desolate solitude of bachelorhood—but then Miwa, who had just turned eighteen, forced her way into his life and staged suicide charades.
The brother, backed into a corner, took Miwa as his wife and returned to his family home.
All three of Sonoko’s siblings bore the unmistakable blood of a proper samurai family—profound chivalry and simplicity, rich in dreams, their handsome features cast in a gentle shadow.
That brother was an archery master who would occasionally live at the archery range with his wife serving as his arrow retriever, but as Miwa would often grow distracted gazing at her husband and interfere, he later took to the sea in a boat and devoted himself to fishing.
Miwa renamed herself Sonoe and immersed herself in naginata practice, Noh dance, and calligraphy, but before achieving mastery in even one of these pursuits, she bore two sons who bore not the slightest resemblance to her husband.
The original master’s child was a daughter named Misono, who bore a striking resemblance to Miwa.

Sonoko’s brother remained utterly composed, engrossed in fishing even after learning of Sonoe’s misconduct, but eventually set a boat adrift toward the open sea and never returned.
From that time onward, Miwa resolutely concealed her origins in Kazamatsuri Village, habitually misusing hackneyed maxims reminiscent of the previous generation’s platitudes. With her broad, thick chest puffed out in grandiose posturing, she would mutter weighty phrases like “A warrior must…” or “The beauty of flowers, birds, wind, and moon…” at every turn.
Her neck was thick and short, with hunched shoulders, and she stood low to the ground.
And with a piercing glare from beneath her brows, she would stare distrustfully at others’ faces.

“One must never trust people,” or “It’s outrageous to enter someone’s estate without permission.”

Such were the phrases she employed.

When Sonoko returned to Tokimare Town, Miwa barred the sliding door even during daytime.
Sonoko visited the Katano household, her mother’s younger male cousin.
The master of the Katano household was a modest clerk at the town office but had been something of a dilettante in his youth, having mainly lived in Edo where he associated with ukiyo-e artists and haiku poets; because he was an ardent admirer of Edo’s natives, he found himself in perfect harmony with Sonoko.
Their eldest son Eisuke possessed mathematical talent of extraordinary excellence; after skipping from the second to fourth year at Kogakukan Middle School and graduating, he gained admission to the Naval Academy without examination.
His younger brother Teisuke was a pale prodigy and an honors student in the medical department at Hongo University.

“With all these brothers here being so perfectly happy, Ms. Miwa must be absolutely beside herself with worry.”

Sonoko never addressed Miwa of the Kuwahara family as “Elder Sister” or “Ms. Sonoe.”
Miwa’s eldest son had failed all public school entrance exams and studied law at a private academy, while his younger brother had quarreled with both his mother and brother before disappearing without a trace.

“Let us not speak of that…”

The master of the Katano household flusteredly waved his hands as if performing a ritual warding-off gesture.
He had borrowed money from Miwa during his dilettante days by mortgaging the citrus orchard.
Miwa appeared at the Katano family’s karuta gathering with Misono in tow, but both mother and daughter shared the same haughty airs and ingrained contrariness that looked down on others—their gloomy dispositions making it impossible for them to get along with anyone.
Whenever Eisuke returned on leave, Misono would spend nights at karuta and invariably collapse from cerebral anemia come morning.
Eisuke and Konomi had been mutual lovers—their engagement formally settled, having even attempted several trips together—when he was suddenly compelled to marry Misono.
The matchmaker was Town Mayor Kawabe, who had been senior to his father.
Eisuke abandoned school and departed for America before his eldest son Newkichi was born.
Eisuke restarted from Fueyabun Middle School, progressed to Boston High School, then studied at that city’s engineering school.
The first vessel he boarded was a torpedo boat named U.S.S. Stockton, stationed at Kurubura Island in West India State.

"My dear Newkichi, through earnest hopes I became a crew member of a brave torpedo boat, but it's a shame I failed to become an officer of our nation."

In 1902, with a MAR. 12. postmark, he had sent a letter and photograph to seven-year-old Newkichi.
He sat in a corner of the upper deck cradling an accordion, sporting a stylish Navy cap tilted at a slant as he stared upward.

Newkichi’s grandfather,

“Has Eisuke finally resolved not to return… Ah…!”

Each time a letter came from Eisuke, he would take out the globe during his evening drink and stare at it—I just can’t accept that the world is round!
He had always tilted his head in puzzlement at this habit, but now he trembled as tears welled in his eyes.
He clung to the belief that if the Earth were truly round, then reckless Eisuke—pressing ever onward—would inevitably circle back to Japan whether he willed it or not.

“You crybaby!”

Newkichi shouted such things and kicked the globe.
For him, it was too large to carry, but the globe slipped from its frame and rolled toward the edge.
Grandfather silently allowed even Newkichi’s most reckless selfishness, muttering things like “Don’t go becoming some honor student.”
Teisuke was taken to Sugamo Hospital after descending into a frenzied state where he shouted “Forgive me, Brother! Brother!!” while attempting to seize Misono.
Misono gave birth twice in secret in Kazamatsuri Village.

“Let’s test how much strength you’ve got by pushing against my head, Shin.”

Grandfather would narrow his eyes and caress Newkichi when he grew tipsy.
Then Misono would kneel close and hold forth on educational principles.
Under Misono’s domineering sway, none dared behave freely—yet in shadowed moments when Grandfather sank into drunken stupors,

“What drivel are you spewing? That belly was just borrowed ware! He’s my grandson! Want to leave? Then haul yourself back alone!”

he raved.

“Grandma, a photo came. This... it’s my father...”

Newkichi raced down the thicket-shaded path—five or six blocks long—to Misono’s hometown, but when he tried to show the photo, the grandmother there

“I want nothing to do with America.”

She snorted bitterly without turning her head.

“Kurubura Island, Kurubura Island... Where could that be? It’s not on the globe at all—Misono! Misono! Come help me look!”

Even when Grandfather raised his voice—impatient yet gentle—Misono did not emerge from her room.

“Hey, call your mother and have her bring the map scroll.”

Grandfather pressed Newkichi further, but he particularly disliked approaching his mother’s side in such situations.

“1898

June 6th (Monday) - Clear; by afternoon, the wind grew strong.
My head would not clear.
Gazing at the clock—seven, eight, nine o’clock—my urgency to attend school grew desperate, yet once I resigned myself to missing Mr. Braddy’s lecture, I fell back into deep slumber and awoke at noon.
I ceased to dream of Newkichi.
I was tormented by my father and wife’s failings, yet through hardship did not succumb to despair; only my resolve never again to tread my homeland’s soil remained firm.
Yet the child’s dreams alone closed off my heart beyond bearing.
Thinking of this and that, the wine I had unwittingly consumed became a poisoned chalice.
‘Henceforth, though inner demons may terrify me, I shall resolutely never take up the wine cup again.’”

This was a portion of his diary that Newkichi read when sorting through Eisuke’s documents after his death, once Newkichi had reached adulthood.

“In the evening, Mr. Braddy, concerned about my absence from school, paid a visit on his way back to campus.”
Mr. Braddy’s benevolence brought abundant comfort to this wandering son of the East.
Were it not for Mr. Braddy, I could never have endured this desolation.
Thomson and Harry had been discovered in a drinking incident and subjected to disciplinary reprimand.
Since I too shared equal guilt in this matter, I reported it to Mr. Braddy—yet for some reason he did not take up my words, saying the affair had already concluded.
Instead, I was presented with a souvenir package.
It contained a sky-blue soft cap.
I was accompanied by Mr. Braddy to Albert Grill.
After parting with him, I hastened by bicycle to visit Thomson.
“Coincidentally, Harry was also visiting—the two were being sternly reprimanded before Mr. Thomson’s father at that very moment.”

Thomson’s father was a navy captain on leave who later became the man who enabled Eisuke to realize his ambitions.
“Thomson’s mother and younger sister were fighting back tears.”
Since it had been my idea to urge Thomson and Harry to drink, I involuntarily shouted, “Forgive them and punish me instead!”
Yet my demeanor at that time must have been unbearably rigid and absurd.
No sooner had I finished speaking than my parents and younger sister abruptly burst into laughter, leaving me crimson with mortification.
After my younger sister took a photograph of us gathered around Father, we listened to her play the piano and chatted amiably.

“June 8th (Wednesday) - Rain”

During break time, many classmates surrounded me and pressed me to speak about Japan.
I am highly popular as the foremost orator in my class.
In the afternoon, Thomson and Harry—along with three female students named G, F, and R—visited my boarding house.
When Thomson pointed to the photo of Fujikichi and Newkichi on my desk and explained, the female students all chorused in unison, “Alas!”,
grieving as they promised to send an infant’s cape and other items.
Though I drew no firm distinction between them, Fujikichi bore no troubles while only Newkichi suffered.
Is he happy with his mother?
For his mother’s very nature—resembling an insatiable sectarian, rich in libertine blood—the anxieties toward her child were anything but one-sided.
Were he to reach school age, I would overcome all obstacles to have him alone follow wherever I might go.
I hold profound aspirations regarding the education of a child.
In the evening, after the rain stopped and we had finished a lively homemade meal together, we proceeded to Mr. Braddy’s residence to view the Kinescope.

“June 9th (Thursday) - Rain”

At 1 o’clock, I left school and spent the entire day engrossed in reading.
In the evening, I visited Kitano Hōgaku.
He was the only Japanese national in the district, though there had been no interaction for some time.
Hōgaku vehemently denounced the Americans and then performed a sword dance.
The performance’s strikingly vivid and vigorous nature naturally made my mind and spirit tense, but when it came to witnessing the portrayal of an abandoned child—a tempest of tragic winds and bitter rains—I could no longer endure the heartrending sorrow and, halfway through the performance, involuntarily closed my eyes.
Though urged again to drink, recalling last Sunday’s grave misstep sent shivers through me, and I declined.
What an astonishing dance I witnessed!
Even when midnight came, I could not sleep.

“Newkichi! Clear skies, perhaps? I have now left Kurubura Island and been assigned to the Norfolk Naval Station in Virginia.”
“The U.S.R.S. Franklin is a receiving ship; since it’s anchored safely within the harbor, there’s no danger to worry about—though I still find torpedo boats more interesting myself. I hope your adventurous spirit continues to grow robustly.”

This letter and photograph were postmarked May 1904.
Franklin was a slender, two-story ship resembling a dormitory, roof-covered and bearing forty-seven windows on one side.
On the roof were two antennas, one short smokestack, and five ventilation pipes counted; yet at first glance it resembled an apartment-like building rather than appearing as a ship.
In one of the enlarged photographs, Eisuke leaned halfway out of a window, vertical wrinkles carved into his brow.

“It’s such a strangely shaped ship, isn’t it.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Fujikichi tilted his head as he looked at the photograph.
Newkichi blushed for no particular reason,

“It looks like a school.”
“Even if I drew something like this, it’d be boring, wouldn’t it.”

he muttered.

Fujikichi lived with his grandmother Sonoko in Uraga and occasionally visited Newkichi’s house in Odawara.
Konomi had entrusted her son Fujikichi to her mother and uncle, sent him to Uraga, and married a merchant named Obara in Kitajima-cho, Tokyo.

“After all, Mr. Obara comes from generations of Edo natives—a man of deep kindness who doesn’t grumble—so Konomi is fortunate.”

Newkichi’s grandfather was talking with Sonoko.

“Ah yes, well, Mr. Obara may be that young, but my heart is steady enough…”
“Even regarding Fujikichi, he says he’d gladly take him in, but my brother and I can’t bring ourselves to part with him.”
“Moreover, my brother also says it would be better to keep such grudges completely hidden from Fujikichi without ever letting him know...”

When Sonoko came, Newkichi’s grandfather would prolong his evening drinking until late into the night, whereupon Misono would throw a tantrum and go flailing off to her parents’ home. Then the house would abruptly grow cheerful and warm—the shamisen case, normally left untouched, would be fetched from the storehouse, and Sonoko would take up the plectrum to play them quiet songs.

“We mustn’t listen to songs like that.”
“Since we’re to become soldiers, we must maintain the resolve to cast aside personal matters at any time.”

Fujikichi had a pale, clear complexion unlike that of a child living by the sea, with long-lidded sunken eyes. Whenever he spoke, he would lower his eyelids to gaze quietly at his nose while adjusting his kimono collar—a habitual gesture. The slender bridge of his nose, steeped in loneliness, ran straight and true. He wore a long kasuri-patterned kimono whose hem reached above his ankles, its dark navy merino heko obi tied with flowing tassels.

“But since you have a father, I’m envious.”
“Grandma says my father is Mr. Obara, but that’s not true.”
“As for who my real father is—where he might be, who he could be—I don’t know…”

He muttered such things,

“Ah, forgive me.”
“Come on—I’ll draw you a picture.”

he cheered up.
He had been diligently studying all aspects of warships, having memorized everything from displacement and number of gun ports to speed and even captains' names for principal battleships and cruisers like the Asahi, Mikasa, Shikishima, and Itsukushima.

"Hah hah, you really mustn't draw pictures like this anymore."

He corrected the warship illustrations Newkichi made.
Newkichi had once drawn a picture where an enormous crab filled the entire page, using its twin claws to pluck Russian warships one by one from the sea and crush them to splinters.
Fujikichi laughed while adjusting the crab's shape.
Grandfather sent that drawing to Eisuke.
Eisuke happened to be serving on the receiving ship while making frequent trips to the White House, and when this drawing caught former President Roosevelt's eye through his pince-nez glasses, Newkichi received an honorable message from the president along with a fountain pen adorned with a silver chain.
Newkichi, reflecting that he'd received at least some assistance from Fujikichi,

“Grandpa, why didn’t you write Fuji-chan’s name when you sent it?”

Newkichi pressed Grandfather.

“Well, well, so that’s how it was. No wonder I thought you’d outdone yourself there.”

At Newkichi’s suggestion, Grandfather distributed the fountain pen to Fujikichi, but he did not make even a semblance of a happy face.
Later, Newkichi discovered from the desk drawer that the fountain pen had been wrapped in a piece of paper inscribed: “It’s not that I don’t want it, but since you’re younger, things like silver chains would surely make you happier than they would me.”
Please use it with care.
On the morning of his return, he found it wrapped in a piece of paper inscribed “Fuji”.

To think that cape stretched all the way there! Every time Newkichi went out to the seaside to view the open waters, he was astonished. Like wisps of cloud smoking above the horizon, it became utterly indistinguishable from actual clouds on even slightly overcast days. Yet the more he gazed, the more the cape's tip appeared to stretch endlessly onward, its endpoint perpetually blurred and uncertain. Where on that peninsula could Uraga Town—where Fujikichi lived—be? Newkichi wondered. The western Manazuru Cape bent its short, plump arm right before his eyes, the shore-hugging path lying clear—a route Newkichi and the others had grown accustomed to traversing whenever occasion arose—yet no one from this side ever ventured toward that smoke-like peninsula of Miura Misaki.

When meeting Fujikichi, Newkichi sometimes grew bored because he was too quiet and spoke little; yet after parting, Fujikichi's figure would ceaselessly linger, vividly reflected in a white haze, and the anticipation of waiting for his next unknown visit grew suffocating.
For Newkichi, there were no playmates other than his own grandparents.

“There’s something strange about New’s condition, I tell you.”
“How about we try giving him some Semen?”

Whenever Grandfather voiced such concerns, it was always because Newkichi had secretly become intoxicated by visions of Fujikichi.
“Because you’re going to become a soldier—” Fujikichi had admonished—likely seeing through my own feeble resolve—and Newkichi reconsidered so intensely that he shook his head violently.
When he tried to think of another courageous matter instead, he found himself transformed into a crab as large as a mountain.
Manazuru Cape became its shorter claw, while the distant peninsula curved into its long, freely moving claw.
Brandishing both pincers ceremoniously, the crab walked step by step across the seafloor.
Whenever it encountered thousands of enemy warships along its path, it effortlessly smashed them to pieces with its massive claws.
Before long, the crab reached America.
Then Newkichi suddenly grew as sorrowful as the tiniest crab and awoke from his dream.

“This was made by my grandfather.”

Once again, Fujikichi was accompanied by Sonoko and brought a three-masted black ship model.
It measured about three shaku in length with two smokestacks and flew an American flag.
The hull featured two waterwheel-like paddle wheels along its sides.
Newkichi trembled with such profound excitement that he carefully placed it atop the armor chest in the tokonoma and stared fixedly while holding his breath.

“In Kaei 6 [1853], an American named Perry first came to Japan aboard this.”
“They called it the Mississippi—a seventeen-hundred-ton vessel.”

“Old warships had things like this fitted on them, huh.”

“That’s called a paddle-wheel ship.”

Fujikichi explained in meticulous detail, step by step.
“The top speed was only about seven knots, but instead it used sails.”

“Did grandfather build this all by himself? That’s amazing!”

“But my grandfather’s family are shipwrights—something like this…”

The adoptive home of Sonoko’s elder brother—whom Fujikichi referred to as grandfather—was a shipwright’s household; however he, being an adopted son, did not become a shipwright but instead idly immersed himself in ship research and collected model ships.
Sonoko supported the household by working as an instructor in the performing arts.

Newkichi’s grandfather preferred paper lanterns over oil lamps, lighting one beside each guest whenever visitors came.
In the corridor， round snow-viewing lanterns were lit.
It was a hushed evening thick with impending snow.
The strains of Sonoko’s shamisen resonated deeply to the detached room where Newkichi and the others sat.
When a thunderous burst of laughter erupted, Newkichi instinctively bolted into the hallway to peer through the sliding screen’s gap.
Several of Grandfather’s acquaintances from the town office had gathered to hear Sonoko sing, until Grandfather himself—hunching his shoulders and rolling up sleeves in kabuki fashion—lurched unsteadily to his feet.
The sight of this pencil-limbed, stooped old man striking such a ferocious mie pose proved so absurd that guffaws shook the room.
Sonoko laughed while retuning her instrument, prompting guests to clap rhythmically as they chorused: “With Sino-Japanese talks ablaze / From Shinagawa sails Azuma brave—”
Lantern light cast Grandfather’s silhouette sharply against the garden-facing shoji screen, his jerky movements resembling calisthenics to Newkichi’s eyes.
Misono never appeared where Sonoko sat, though Mayor Kawabe’s presence compelled her demure restraint.
She addressed him as “Father,” while Newkichi’s grandparents used “Sensei.”
His Daruma-round face earned him the nickname “Thunder Voice.”

Before he knew it, Fujikichi came up behind him.

“Shin-chan, you mustn’t look at such things.”
“Adults who drink are all fools.”
“There’s no good lending an ear to that racket.”
“Aren’t they just like bewitched cats or sly raccoon dogs?”

He bit his lip and urged him back to the original room.
“You have to study.”
“You can’t be coddled.”
“Both you and I must become exemplary naval officers.”

Fujikichi’s voice trembled with unusual intensity, and Newkichi felt afraid.

“Newkichi, Newkichi…”

Grandfather clapped his hands.

“May I respond, Fuji-chan? They’re trying to make me perform a sword dance, you see.
“The lion sings, I tell you!”

Mr. Kawabe was skilled at poetry recitation and taught Newkichi sword dances such as “If you wish to draw your sword and slay…” and “…ten years to hone a single blade.”
And he had Newkichi enroll at an acquaintance’s dojo, but Newkichi so detested going there that it made his hair stand on end.

“Just say you hate it!”
“How am I supposed to put up with being forced to deal with drunks?”

Newkichi, with all the voice he could muster,

“I hate this!”

he shouted.

“Newkichi, it’s Mr. Kawabe calling for you—not Grandfather.”

When Misono appeared and said that, Fujikichi glared sharply at her.
And then, firmly,

“He says he hates it, Shin-chan—”

he shot back.
Misono, overwhelmed by Fujikichi’s extraordinary demeanor, withdrew.

“Cracking his whip as he passes taverns, dressing flamboyantly to revel in brothel quarters—”

The others sang popular songs, but Thunder Voice had a habit of reciting one unfamiliar Chinese poem after another in his booming voice.

“When I hear that voice, my ears start pounding and my vision swims.
But since the man himself is such a proud peacock, we simply have to be impressed.”

“Even if poorly done, if it’s gidayū chanting, one can still endure it for a while.”

Sonoko and Newkichi’s grandmother sighed in the shadows, but Misono alone sat upright and listened attentively.

“Reveling in brothel quarters—huh? That sounds amusing. Maybe I’ll head out first thing.”

Newkichi’s grandfather interjected with jeers.
Unaware that everyone was cringing, Thunder Voice contorted his face like an oni,

“A million matters extinguished in an instant—not a single word spared in mercy.”

Thunder Voice continued,

“This matches exactly what this humble one has been thinking.”

He crossed his arms with such pronouncements.

“What nonsense are you spouting, Hamigaki—”

Fujikichi, enraged, shook his fist.
"What the hell? So this is what happens at your place?"
"Sometimes, you know—"

“Why don’t you come to Uraga?
“The grandpa in Uraga doesn’t have a single friend to speak of, but instead he just keeps building ships with me.”
“When it comes to ships, he knows everything.”
“And you know, Grandpa says he absolutely won’t die until I become a naval officer, but that’s not going to hold true.”

“...I want to go to Uraga too, but Mom never lets me.”

Newkichi envied the grandfather in Uraga.
Though he had only met him two or three times, unlike his own grandfather who would get restlessly drunk, when urged to sing something, he would calmly perform a song.
In any case, Newkichi could not comprehend either of them, but when the grandfather in Uraga’s voice resounded through the house, the entire space became as brisk as if struck by a waterfall—utterly incomparable to Thunder Voice’s clamor, which was like the clanging of a temple bell.
And he would spread out before Newkichi the photo album of ships arriving from America, poring over it with rapt attention.
Newkichi felt a dazed sort of fulfillment, for none of the other adults had ever shown such earnest interest in looking at his photo album.
As for his grandpa, all he did was drink sake and make these ridiculous noises that made people laugh—ask him to make even a simple water pistol, and he acted like it was some outrageous request: “How can an amateur handle a saw!?”
All he did was put on these exaggerated faces—Newkichi found himself thinking such things.
The wooden cannon that the grandfather in Uraga had given him as a souvenir would clatter spectacularly whenever someone turned its handle, the gears inside the barrel springing into action with a mechanical rattle.
Fujikichi had told him that the grandfather himself had made even that, and indeed, Newkichi couldn’t find such a novel mechanical cannon in any toy shop.
The barrel was gray, the cannon barrel vermilion-lacquered with careful adjustment, and it was equipped with a heavy pair of wheels.

“You know, if it weren’t for you, I’d never come to a house like this.”
“You don’t know anything, do you?”

Fujikichi grew uncharacteristically irritable that particular night. Each time he became aware of the commotion across the way, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Newkichi fired the cannon beneath the Black Ship.
On the opposite shoji screen, human shadows staggered indiscriminately like shadow puppets from a revolving lantern, but a shrill, seductive voice that must have been Misono’s would rise,

“Misono’s pours are unmatched! A young woman’s loneliness... hah?!”

The sight of Thunder Voice playfully teasing Misono was visible.

“Oh, Newkichi’s still up? Trying to catch a fever again? You always keep staying up late whenever Fuji-chan comes. Hurry up and go to bed by yourself already.”

Misono shot Fujikichi a severe glare thick with insinuation.
“Trying to catch a cold again?”

Fujikichi opened the window facing the bamboo thicket and leaned against the window frame.
Sleet was falling.

When Newkichi came to Tokyo from time to time accompanied by his grandfather, he stayed at the "Mr. Obara" residence in Kitajima Town.
Newkichi never did figure out what sort of business that establishment was in. Despite there being no particular goods lining the shopfront with its latticed windows, several boisterous clerks bustled about every which way, with three or four telephones lined up whose bells kept ringing incessantly.
Even during the day, incandescent gas lamps were lit, making people’s faces appear uniformly pale and starkly vivid.
Turning through a dark corridor reminiscent of an aquarium and coming to the back, Konomi—

“Oh my! Did you come too, Shin-chan?”

Konomi exclaimed and hugged Newkichi.
Newkichi felt Ms. Konomi’s cheek as cold as a vase.
A cold, sweet scent assaulted his nose, and Newkichi—though not truly sad—felt tears welling up.
Grandfather sat down, and it was immediately sake.
Mr. Obara did not remain seated for long, and Ms. Konomi, having been ordered by the grandmother from Uraga—Sonoko—an even older woman who was F’s widow—busied herself diligently.
When Newkichi looked up at the transom, there hung a photograph of the grandmother from Uraga in her younger days—more youthful than Ms. Konomi—encased in an imposing gold-framed picture.
Newkichi initially thought it was none other than Ms. Konomi, but Grandfather—

“After all, Ms. Sonoko’s reputation back then was something extraordinary—someone like me couldn’t help but feel I had no right to approach her,” he reminisced. That was apparently a commemorative photo from when Sonoko had been employed as a dancer at the Rokumeikan. She wore a bonnet adorned with white roses, trailed a pure white Rococo-style skirt, and held a lavish fan of bird feathers so voluminous it nearly concealed her entire chest. Each time Newkichi and the others visited, they would tour the Shintomiza and Kabukiza theaters under Konomi’s guidance. Newkichi’s grandfather, in a tipsy good mood, would call out in an inappropriate tone,

“When I come with Father from Odawara, that’s what I can’t stand.”

Konomi fumed.

When a middle school was first established in Newkichi’s town, Fujikichi came alone to prepare for enrollment.
Newkichi’s mother had long been absent.
He had heard she had gone to Kazamatsuri Village due to illness, but his grandfather told him visiting her wasn’t necessary.

In that town, telephones remained such novelties that neighbors would come gawking at night, tilting their heads as they watched Newkichi chatter away.
The grandparents stayed fearfully distant from the electrical contraption, leaving Newkichi and Fujikichi to man the telephone whenever Misono was absent.

“After all, they say you can even talk to Tokyo with that contraption—it just creeps me out.”

While Grandmother was saying such things, Newkichi appeared.

“It’s from Tokyo.”

he pressed in a trembling voice.

The household fell as silent as still water, and Grandfather sternly suppressed even the distant footsteps.

“Y-yes… Mother isn’t here…”

Then the man’s voice on the other end gave way to a woman’s.

“I’m from Kitajima Town—do you understand?”
“Oh, is that Fujikichi?”

Newkichi panicked and passed the receiver to Fujikichi.

“No… no… no… I just can’t stand it…”

After saying just that, Fujikichi dashed out of the telephone room and, upon hiding in the study, burst into tears.

The following day, Konomi visited Newkichi’s house for the first time since he had known her.

“If the person themselves refuses, there’s simply no way to persuade them, is there? Anyway, at least let him take the exam. If he fails, his mind might change, you know.”

Grandfather told Konomi with a sternly formal expression that resembled giving counsel.

“Mother has always been of that mind—determined to stand against her family’s ways till the very end… Why, she even defied your uncle in Uraga…”

Konomi was crying.
Konomi could not help but rigidly adhere to Sonoko’s dying wish—to have Fujikichi adopted as the kabuki actor’s heir.

On the morning of the successful candidates’ announcement, Grandfather—wearing a bowler hat and hakama, cane in hand—climbed the middle school slope with Konomi gripping one of his arms. On a long, steep, toe-straining slope, Fujikichi and Newkichi took turns pushing Grandfather from behind.

“In this world, there are parents who wish for their children’s failure, and children who strive not to lose—but really, whose side am I on… Even with a capable son, all you get is hollow pride.”

“Oh, Father, please climb properly and keep your mouth closed.”

When they reached the top of the hill, the sea came into view, and peach blossoms were in full bloom across the fields here and there.

Ōtsu Fujikichi had been officially admitted as the top-ranked student.

They lined up rickshaws and headed toward the town’s photo studio.
Fujikichi and Newkichi rode together and went ahead.

In his later years, Newkichi—now an adult—found the photograph from that time in Eisuke's document box.
Konomi stood behind Grandfather—who sat facing forward in his chair—with her hair in an evening-updo, while Fujikichi and Newkichi flanked them on either side.
Fujikichi, wearing a hat adorned with a new emblem pulled low over his eyes, stood at the same height as his seated grandfather; Newkichi, dressed in American-style knickerbockers, reached only up to Fujikichi’s shoulder.

From around that time, Konomi began visiting Newkichi’s house frequently.
Newkichi received magic lantern tools and air guns as gifts.
Fujikichi, always showing displeasure at his mother’s visits, would draw the warship pictures requested by Newkichi in the back room.

“Shin-chan, let me see those American photos too.”

Konomi took out the velvet-bound photo album from Newkichi’s bookcase and gazed at it repeatedly, but when Newkichi suddenly looked up and found her intently comparing him to the figures in the photos, she flusteredly averted her eyes.

“Don’t Fujikichi and Shin-chan share some resemblance in their features?”

One day, Konomi asked Newkichi’s grandfather.

"That’s no joke."
"Shin clearly takes after his grandmother, doesn’t he?"

Grandfather snorted.

In the Kuwahara family, Misono and her mother were particularly notorious for their unattractive appearances.
When Newkichi compared his mother and Konomi, he was struck by immense melancholy.

“Oh, that’s not true at all…”

Konomi turned red and pretended to strike Grandfather, though she seemed terribly flustered.

“I’m listening—stop it, I say!”

Grandfather cut in.
At that moment, Newkichi was seized by an irrational hatred for Grandfather and suddenly lunged at his chest.

“I surrender! I surrender!”

Grandfather was at a loss and pulled in his neck.
“Now now, go over there and have Fuji-chan read you a book or something.
“Why must you always cling to adults like this? Look at Fuji-chan—even when Mother rarely visits, isn’t he quietly focusing on his studies just like that? Eh? Hey?”

“Shin-chan, I’m so sorry.”

Konomi panicked at Newkichi’s outburst, but no one could do anything about his fit of madness; he rampaged through the entire house like a whirlwind, and it was rare for such episodes to subside even once his breath finally gave out.

“Newkichi had a convulsion! Newkichi—he’s had another one!”

Such disturbances gradually became more frequent.
Late at night, Grandfather—having lit a bow-shaped paper lantern—rushed to Misono’s place where he had gone to seek her family’s help, but Newkichi’s mother never returned.
The grandfathers, single-mindedly convinced that Newkichi’s seizures stemmed from his parents’ constant absence, pitied and indulged their grandson with unchecked intensity.

Fujikichi entered the dormitory starting from the second term through Grandfather’s recommendation.
The reasons were Newkichi pestering him too much for drawings and Misono’s occasional appearances casting gloom.
He became Class A’s representative with a cherry blossom emblem on his collar.
When he returned on Saturdays, he would make warships for Newkichi until late into the night.

“Breaking through dream paths where deep clouds dwell, the morning bugle’s valiant call—” He hummed this song while rhythmically tapping his chisel.

“Since Grandfather and Grandmother have died, I won’t go back to Uraga anymore.”

“I wish I could see that warship they say is in Uraga.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll make something far more detailed than that for you!”

The Asahi warship that Fujikichi built every Saturday was launched by the following summer.
Fujikichi and Newkichi, at the edge of the garden pond, scattered armfuls of lingering snow and played the Warship March in unison on their harmonicas.

“Fujikichi’s skill is something else!”

Grandfather, who had been sitting in the tatami room heaving thick sighs of admiration, suddenly—
“Agh! Agh!”
—let out a labored cry.
A cerebral hemorrhage—that was all.

Konomi showed grief more intensely than anyone else.
When she tried to stand up, she inadvertently staggered unsteadily and was supported by people in formal montsuki haori and hakama.

Fujikichi and Newkichi were leaping across garden benches lined up at the back courtyard’s edge when—

“Mom!”

Shouting, Fujikichi rushed in barefoot.
Misono stood rigidly by the altar, glaring fixedly at the scene.
Newkichi stared fixedly at his mother’s figure with eyes filled with hostility.

In Eisuke’s diary dated “August 17, 1906,” Newkichi read these words in later years.

"I received word of Father’s death.
Unable to return home, I wired back.
I felt only the futility of secrets.
In the end, I informed no one of the death."

It was added that being stationed aboard the Receiving Ship had made telegrams conveniently accessible.

After that, Konomi never visited Newkichi’s house again, and Fujikichi soon transferred to Tokyo Prefectural Middle School. Due to the results of his transfer exam, he skipped second grade and advanced to third year. One winter morning, Newkichi boarded a train without his mother’s permission. While waiting for the up train at Kouzu Station during the transfer,

“Hey, you!”

a person laughed boisterously and grabbed his shoulder. It was Kawabe the Thunder Voice.

“I’m going to see the Triumphal Arch.”

“Alone?”

“Fuji-chan should be coming to meet me at Shinbashi.”

Then Thunder Voice turned aside and fell silent. As he got off at Yokohama, handing Newkichi illustrated magazines and such, he muttered, “Letting a child ride the train alone is the height of irresponsibility!”

Konomi and Fujikichi stood right beside the ticket gate and called Newkichi’s name in unison. Fujikichi was wearing a black woolen mantle that had been prohibited at his rural middle school. After being discharged from Sugamo Hospital, Teisuke—who had never shown his face in his hometown—was wearing a square cap and smiling broadly.

“Sis—”
Teisuke called out to Konomi.
“Treat me to Houtei.”
“…What’s this about Shin coming without telling Mother? Hah hah…”

“No—Fujikichi invited him.”

“Once you graduate—Brother’s letter that arrived today says you should invite Shin to Tokyo.”

They passed through the Kyōbashi Triumphal Arch constructed like a Niōmon gate.

“Mom insists—absolutely insists—that I go into medicine and won’t take no for an answer.”
“But I hate doctors.”

Fujikichi whispered to Newkichi in a subdued tone.
Teisuke—
“You!”

He laughed mockingly and grabbed him by the neck, but Fujikichi didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.

However, later he took the naval academy entrance exam but failed due to nearsightedness.
He entered First Higher School without taking exams and soon transferred to the humanities department.

“TOUKICHIKITOKU TEI”

That telegram was addressed to Newkichi.
Newkichi was a third-year student at a rural middle school.

When Newkichi rushed alone to Kitajima Town, Konomi was nowhere to be seen, and Teisuke—

“She’s hospitalized at Juntendo. It’s better not to meet.”

he said.

Teisuke and Mr. Obara were tidying up Konomi’s doll furnishings displayed in the tokonoma.

It was the beginning of March.
Fujikichi’s cause of death was poison.
The suicide notes were addressed to Konomi and Newkichi, one each, but at the end of the letter to Newkichi, it was requested that the contents not be disclosed to anyone and that they be burned along with the diary.