Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

After going to the station to send a package, I traced my return path along the field road leading toward the back mountain, then pulled out from my pocket an unsigned picture book called *The Tale of Sinon* as though greeting an awaited companion. Losing myself before those violent war illustrations, I walked while bellowing recitations at a volume that required no audience.

To walk—though I should say my attention remained wholly fixed on recitation—meant advancing a few feet only to stop there for five full minutes: tilting my head solemnly, unexpectedly pressing fists against my chest, gazing skyward until my jaw hung slack like a horse entranced by a koto's melody as it chews fodder. Thus this "walking!" demands adjectives and adverbs of extreme exaggeration—yet when forced to objectively observe this frenzied state unless rewriting "I" as "he," even I perceived such unnaturalness that truly I ought to have meticulously transcribed that frenzy, yet found myself compelled to omit it.

For did such states of exhilaration not impose upon observers nothing but a sense of meaningless absurdity?

Moreover, could I possibly have endured such cruel work—recalling and making dance before my eyes once more this self of mine rendered comical through excessive earnestness!

To feel nothing but compassion for myself—a mere single-minded zealot—is only human, I suppose.

Be that as it may—ah, what a pitiful zealot I perpetually am!

“Sinon!”
“Sinon!”
“Sinon!”

I was shouting Sinon’s soldier’s name at the top of my voice—this compulsion to call out expecting response made me forget dreams and time itself until I breathed the same air as those storybook characters.—Thus I had endeavored to seldom read books at all! Yet when part of a knight’s tale ordered from Tokyo for a beloved child arrived via station delivery—well now—how could I render this engagingly for oral recitation?

Thinking thus, I immediately tore open the envelope while walking and began skimming its contents—only to become imprisoned anew! Unconsciously tensing as if wielding swords, fixing my gaze while emitting strange growls…… With no alternative left, I frantically changed course and dashed down that deserted field path toward Back Mountain.

“Is this book also about war, Mister?”

“Let me just see the pictures first.”

“Whoa! That’s a huge horse! There’s a window right in the middle of its belly! Soldiers are inside!”

The schoolchildren who were regular enthusiasts of my recitations came clinging to both my arms while calling out one after another, but I—

“Wait, wait—this translation seems quite troublesome. I’ll have to consult the dictionary thoroughly and organize everything clearly before I can tell the story properly.”
“Wait—if I manage to sort it out by evening, I’ll sound the fishery dormitory siren as usual, then you all come gather round—”

With that barely managed explanation, I fled into the field path.

“Sinon!”

I called out.
“Our life in the fishery dormitory—doesn’t it precisely resemble that desperate night you spent inside the wooden horse’s belly!”

Sinon—though I mention this belatedly—was the celebrated hero of that renowned Trojan War.
How did Sinon, a mere foot soldier, suddenly devise that wooden horse stratagem?
What kind of nights did Sinon and his comrades spend inside the wooden horse after organizing their suicide squad?
When Sinon cautiously opened the wooden horse's belly door just a sliver, a shaft of moonlight like an arrow came streaming through—and in that light, how radiantly did his comrades' faces shine! On what day of their confinement did he last see those faces? What prayers did they offer? What letters had Sinon written to his hometown lover and mother on the eve of the wooden horse's departure—?

No matter which page I glanced at, I was struck so powerfully in the chest that my breath caught. And I, with the picture book still pressed against my chest, came before the Horse-Headed Kannon shrine and, without thinking, sank to my knees there in deep silent prayer. I offered coins, shook the bell to ring it, and prayed wordlessly with hands pressed together.

II

And my superstitious mood had instantly cleared up completely.
I resolutely closed the book and tucked it into my coat,

"Ah, the shepherds of Chaldea—"

I looked up at the serene morning sky and walked while singing a song of stars.
White butterflies fluttered over the cabbage field, while across the small stream where willow trees stretched their branches, a bullock cart rumbled with a creaking sound along the embankment.

Then the man in the bullock cart raised his hand toward me and,

“Returning to the fishery dormitory?”

He called out.

The term "naya" refers to the R Fishery employees' dormitory.
——Without bothering to answer him, I raised my voice in a booming, vacant tone:

“Good morning, G—what an impressive work ethic you have!
“Looks like you went straight home after that last night, huh?”

I countered with such questions.
The driver of the bullock cart was a young man named G—a fishery dormitory employee also known for his renowned filial piety.

Day after day around this time brought windswept spells, stretches of rain, or deceptively clear skies that gave way to capricious tides—more than ten days had passed since the nets had been raised, yet still the tidal patterns showed no sign of stabilizing.
In the plaza of the fishery dormitory, a barricade of nets had been erected, and dozens upon dozens of four-to barrels covered in shells for buoys lay scattered about there.
And so it came to pass that the majority of employees—the wise returned to their fields to till the soil, fools haunted the town's entertainment quarters, drinkers spent nights in taverns, and filial children returned home to gather firewood in forests and groves—leaving none fully remaining at the fishery dormitory except H the agricultural scholar serving as meteorologist, and us husband-and-wife who occupied an ambiguous position somewhere between observers and permanent guests.
But H too, about two nights prior, had repeatedly clicked his tongue impatiently, left the care of the signal flags and siren to us, and returned to his wife in the neighboring prefecture.

“Why?”

“This afternoon, the fishery dormitory crew are gathering on the second floor of Mameido.”

There was only one tavern in the village.

“And why is that?”

“Why... I mean! Don’t we need to discuss how we can finally cast our nets? Continuing like this day after day, stuck on land living like freeloaders—it’s utterly shameful, isn’t it?...”

They—who considered fishing, that maritime work famously called “hell beneath a single plank,” their divine calling—viewed their current circumstances of toiling in fields and paddies as nothing but parasitic dependency! And so it was said—exactly like soldiers idly waiting in their barracks tent for battle to come, they suppressed their flamboyant, feverish dreams.

“A gathering... of sorts...”

With that, I narrowed my eyes and gazed vacantly up at the sky.
It was a perfectly clear, radiant late spring sky.
While the sky was so beautifully clear, why did the sea alone remain so violently turbulent?
But—that very sea, when viewed distantly from this hillside, spread perfectly clear in deep blue hues—an ocean expanse so mysteriously beautiful that one could never imagine where storms swirled or treacherous currents flowed beneath its surface.
Was this not a perfectly tranquil spring seascape stretching endlessly before us—where a single steamship, likely advancing across the distant horizon while trailing thin smoke, could be discerned moving solely by the languid way its plume drifted behind, all amidst gently undulating waves?

But again—no matter how many thoughtful minds we gather to strategize, no matter how many long nights we hold our meetings—as long as our adversary remains the boundless ocean abyss under great Neptune’s dominion—ah!
What councils do we convene, what gatherings do we attempt to hold—ah, are we not akin to the mantis raising its futile axe?... But we cannot refrain from strategizing, cannot help but form circles to convene councils through endless nights—precisely because we know it to be a vain endeavor, our whirlwind of blazing blood must send its fiery plumes soaring skyward without cease.
And so they gather at the fishery dormitory's watchtower or congregate on the tavern's second floor—"discussing matters"—"proposing arguments"—"agreeing"—"opposing"—until finally exchanging insults, grappling one another, "mediating"—"declaring truce"—"reconciling"—"toasting"... Without repeating even such rituals as these, how could we possibly await the unfathomable whims of Neptune—each and every one of us?

I appended such explanations precisely because I am a writer—as if mirroring our battles against brilliant gales that neither logic nor sentiment nor knowledge nor philosophy could withstand when we first approached a work; our rebellion against boundless void through infinite desolation that eluded grasp; our aimless wandering and flitting about while clutching bottomless loneliness; our ceaseless spouting of grandiose debates without shame or glory—offering nothing but desperate prayers like that mantis's axe.
"That gathering of lamentations"—it was a scene no different from that sense of artistic supremacy.

“Well then, I can just head out like this without any problem.”

“No—if Mr. H happens to be at the fishery dormitory when you return, I was hoping you might ask him to join us…”

“All right—”

I felt my spirits lift with a refreshing flutter and had no sooner replied than I set off walking briskly. — Upon reaching the bend where the stream curved away, I noticed water forced through the sluice gate there forming a cascade with a rushing sound, and when I abruptly turned to look back, G had still halted his bullock cart facing my direction, waving his hat for no particular reason.

"It's spring—everyone's turning sentimental!" I thought, thumping my chest once before blurting out in a loud, toneless voice: "Lovely weather—Mr. G!"

III

Next, I—

“Are you feeling unwell?”

I was called by a gentle voice.

“Oh, Miss Kiyoko?”

“Honestly! We’re walking toward each other on this perfectly straight path, and you don’t even notice until we nearly collide!”

She was the fishery owner’s daughter.
“What are you thinking about while walking there?”

“No, it’s because the sun’s too bright...”

“I’ve been walking quietly too, you know—making sure not to let my footsteps sound.”
“How long would you have gone without noticing me—I wonder?”

“Even if you hadn’t walked so quietly, I wouldn’t have noticed you coming across this soft grass—not in those straw sandals.”

“That’s precisely why it’s dangerous—if you don’t keep looking straight ahead—”
“Boo!
“I should’ve given you a proper fright!”

“That’s no joke.”

“I’ve been waiting for you at the fishery dormitory until now. I wanted to borrow a book…”

“There was nothing there, was there?”

“I didn’t go searching around or anything.”

“—.”
“Was Mr. H there?”

“No... No one... And... there’s something else I want to ask?”
“When are you planning to go to Tokyo?”

“I intend to work here during the fishing season, but…”

“Have you grown tired of nothing but gatherings?”

“Not particularly—”

I shook my head.
“When are you going to Tokyo?”
When pressed like this, I found myself yearning for city life; truly, at this R Fishery where nothing but those “gatherings” continued, and considering how utterly useless I’d become there—shouldn’t I just pack up and leave immediately?
I had been recalling such thoughts, but since Kiyoko did not inquire further about them, I remained silent, and—

“If you’ll be staying here for a while, then I want to join the fishery dormitory too—in the meteorology office—”
“If you’re going, then I want to go to Tokyo with you—”

“…………”

I found myself without words to respond.
This sort of earnest questioning always made me overthink things preposterously and fall dumb—a chronic tendency of mine.
...Yet the girl swiftly changed tack.
Gesturing toward the three books tucked under my arm,

“It’s terribly forward of me so soon after you ordered them—but might there be anything suitable for me among these?”

she asked.
Her custom was always to co-opt my recommendations into her reading regimen—one book after another.

“Well, these are...”

With that, I showed her the books, unable to suppress a smile.

“Unfortunately today’s selection consists entirely of ancient tales—stories from times long past. Though I acquired them for the village children’s sake, I must confess I’ve recently found myself developing this peculiar inclination—where reading such material stirs a profound passion within me.”

“Old works suit me fine too—something like The Lament of the Marsyas River you gave me previously would do.”

“This one is _Trojan War Anecdotes_, _The Tale of Sinon_—this here is _Seven Warriors of Christendom_—and this beautiful volume is _Phoenician Pirate Tales_…”

“Then I’ll have you save it for another time.”
“You see—I want to read something absolutely devastatingly sad, regardless of what it’s about—because lately, even when I encounter things happening around me that should naturally make me feel sorrow, I don’t feel sad at all. Instead, it all somehow becomes oddly amusing. Then I start worrying people must think me shamelessly insensitive for a woman—which makes me grow impatient with myself. So... I thought... when I carefully read The Lament of the Marsyas River the other day and actually felt sad—I was truly relieved.”
“—That truly sad things—or perhaps their opposites—don’t exist in this real world at all, but only within people’s imaginations—I wonder—”

“……Now, what exactly is that supposed to be?”

“Ugh, if you’re just going to listen half-heartedly...”

“I’m not being absent-minded at all.—If we reflect on how tragedy and comedy came to be born in our world—in the world of art—doesn’t that question naturally become self-evident? To trace back those ancient histories while basking in this spring sunlight—in such a state where calling out would bring immediate answers—surely no response could be given to any inquiry, don’t you think?”

The two continued walking along the stream, exchanging such questions and answers while holding each other's arms.

“Hey! Mr. G’s oxcart is moving parallel to us on the opposite side of the embankment!”

I raised one hand again,

“Hey, Mr. G—! H isn’t at the dormitory, see.”
“So I won’t be returning to the dormitory like this.”

I called out.

“From over here, watching the two of you walk like that—why, it looks just like a pair of lovebirds strolling through a spring meadow!”

G stopped his cart and called out, using his palm as a megaphone.

“Not merely in matters of living beings, but in all phenomena across the universe—their surface serenity does not immediately speak to their entirety. Just as a band from the suicide squad lay hidden within the belly of Troy’s wooden horse dragged into the moonlit courtyard—storms lurk everywhere—sorrowful things too, donning various masks, must lie scattered here and there in abundance—Kiyo-chan!”

I growled such things in a gravely confident tone, belatedly making the girl tilt her head.

“Even when contemplating the fishery workers’ pent-up frustrations with nowhere to direct them, I’m instantly overwhelmed by suffocating pathos.”
“If a villain were to appear now, all our stifled resentments would converge upon them at once and be swiftly vanquished—or so I imagine.”

“Would someone like Sakuji from N Village count as a villain, I wonder?”

“That which invites human contempt is inherently evil—so teaches ancient Greek philosophy. Sakuji’s deeds are certainly contemptible enough. Yet since no proper outlet exists for our frustrations to be channeled, he remains unharmed for now—”

“I was happy back then, wasn’t I…… Had things stayed that way, I might have married Sakuji.”

“Might have married?! What nonsense!
“That’s absurd—”
“Spouting such carefree nonsense…”

“But back then, if things had stayed that way, wouldn’t it have been unavoidable?”

“Enough. …Wouldn’t it be better to hurry back and recite The Lament of the Marsyas River—to fill that astonishingly carefree mind with proper sorrow—”

“Forgive me.
I won’t speak of that anymore.”

The girl’s father had been the fishery owner, but after repeated failures led to bankruptcy, R Fishery was soon to welcome a new sovereign.
In the village, Sakuji's clan—who flaunted their status as the only family with a Tokyo university graduate, one who served as youth association leader in neighboring N Village—launched a campaign to become candidates for this position. Yet from the very beginning, the fishery dormitory members remained unconvinced by their efforts.
This Sakuji was a man who maintained a dignified demeanor in his own N Village, even holding moral lectures on self-cultivation with such fervor that one might think him a paragon of virtue. Yet once removed from his village, despite his youth, he would frequent urban financial circles, skillfully committing fraud and taking almost pride in deeds resembling the deception of women. No matter how boastfully he proclaimed to barmaids—"My family's the wealthiest household in these parts! We've got a vault this big! Assets worth tens of thousands!"—it had become my custom to pretend not to hear and avoid all conversation. It was only recently that I heard from Kiyoko herself—my delicate little friend—about Sakuji's marriage proposals to her. Though his ardent courtship continued persistently, once her family's bankruptcy became public knowledge, it abruptly ceased without another word—this being the conclusion she shared.

"But you know, at first, my father used to say that man seemed quite serious..."

“Then why didn’t you tell me immediately when you first heard such talk?”

“……I’m sorry for saying such things earlier.”
“Of course I have no intention whatsoever of getting married.”
“It was mean-spirited of me—I was the one who—”

“Earlier, what you said—‘If things had stayed that way back then’—what exactly did you mean by that?”

“His passionate fervor back then!”
“But if that was all lies, then that theatrical performance—I might actually come to respect it a little.”
“Was it truly that overwhelming?!”

I wanted to hear every detail of this explanation—what had I said?
"What kind of letters did he send?"
"When you met him on the road—how did he behave?"
—he unleashed this rapid volley of questions while keeping hold of her arm and peering intently into the girl’s face.
I found myself profoundly curious about how men comport themselves when courting women under such circumstances.

—Kiyoko, who had been gazing fixedly ahead, suddenly raised her fingertip and—

“Isn’t that Sakuji?”
“He’s standing there—”
“Look, look! Isn’t he making such exaggerated gestures and talking about something over there—”

“That’s him! That bastard!”

I instinctively stopped in my tracks, lowering my voice as though I’d spotted an enemy.—Two women sat on the grassy embankment, dangling their fishing lines.
Beside them, a man was narrating something with various gestures.

“The women fishing there are my wife and Meiko the barmaid.”

And without waiting for me to finish speaking, Kiyoko suddenly raised her voice—

“Mrs.—”
she shouted.
It was a broad, flat landscape—just a stream with three tiny figures dotting its banks and wheat fields—where a crystalline voice seemed to race through the spring haze.

At that voice, the figures in the distance turned toward us in unison.—Then Meiko and my wife stood up, each raising their fish baskets above their heads like lanterns.
—And when they lowered them, a voice came through.

“I caught one—”

“Please hurry over...”

—And simultaneously, the man behind them seemed to recognize who we were? Having acknowledged this—indeed, with a start!—we noticed him appearing flustered; he stiffly shrugged his shoulders only to abruptly turn around and stride off briskly in the opposite direction.

“He’s getting away! I need to speak with him directly—please call him back for me.”

Kiyoko whispered to me.
And so, I strained my voice to its limit,
“Wait—!” “Wait—!”
I shouted three times.

But carried by wind that refused to carry sound, his figure receded unchanged into the distance. He must have heard—hadn't the women just exchanged words with such clarity moments before? Moreover, in my shouting—having unwittingly stopped there, clutching my sides, bending forward at a right angle until my voice gave out—my volume must have doubled theirs, even if what emerged was but a hoarse croak.

“As my friend, there’s nothing wrong with you antagonizing him—after all, there are ample reasons for it.”
“There’s no need for reserve or anything like that…”

Furthermore, when Kiyoko whispered such things to me—"Alright! What an insolent man!"—I muttered under my breath and adopted a clear confrontational stance.

"You idiot!"—"Spineless coward!"—"Womanizer!"

I shouted a relentless barrage of fierce challenges one after another.

Then, even he—as expected—seemed provoked; with a momentary glance back, he thrust his fist skyward.

I leaped into the air, brandished my fist, and continued shouting ferocious challenges—but in the blink of an eye, my opponent vanished into the wheat fields.
The black head bobbed up and down through the stalks, but in an instant, that too disappeared from sight.
"What a pity!"

I growled, glaring fixedly ahead.
“Even just one word—I want to tell that greedy man something where someone can hear us—”

"Well now, about that man..."

And my wife simultaneously took my hand and Kiyoko’s hand,

"You see, this pair here is walking in the shadow of the opposite embankment talking about love right now, so why don’t we all quietly take a detour and follow them?—that’s what she’s trying to entice us into."

With a sorrowful expression, she gave a wry smile.

"So, what did that feel like for you?"

I too made a sorrowful face and found myself unable to resist drawing my pitiful wife close against my chest to ask.

"What are you saying, you idiot!"

My wife pushed away from my chest and instead pulled Kiyoko close,

"What did that feel like for you?
But I did!"

she said, mimicking my words as she clutched her sides.

"You know—you made such an oddly serious face…"

Kiyoko added through her laughter.

I, terribly flustered and scratching my head, suddenly peered with exaggerated curiosity into Meiko and my wife’s fish baskets.

“Got some! Got some!
“This spot's a goldmine—five fish when we combine both baskets! Let’s return to the dormitory for lunch!”

he exclaimed in an artificially buoyant tone.

IV

The observation room on the third floor of the fishery dormitory had glass walls on three sides, but since R Fishery had suspended operations, it had been draped with curtains and kept its silence.
To be sure, since this was a room I myself had privately rented and arbitrarily named the observation room, it bore no relation to whether R Fishery was operational or idle—yet these were days when my spring melancholy dreams seemed to lower deep emerald curtains around me, perfectly suited for confining myself to fantastical daytime slumbers.

On the large table at the room's center lay scattered several nautical charts that I too had feverishly copied during R Fishery's busy seasons—rolling up my shirt sleeves and sweating profusely though no one had asked—along with abandoned star charts left half-finished. On the floor, books concerning classical Greek art, science, and philosophy that until recently had been reverently displayed on corner shelves now lay discarded like crumbled bricks, while the tripod-mounted telescope pointed rigidly at the peeling ceiling, its lens shrouded under a cloth cover.

I lay on the hard bed in a dark corner, my eyes half-open in a daze.
Despite it having long since turned night, I made no move to light the lamp—did not light it.

I would occasionally part the curtains slightly at their seam, tilt my eyes filled with deep emotion, and appear as if lost in solitary delight.
Ever since I first became engrossed in The Tale of Sinon, a new mental habit had taken root within me.
Whether I was in this observation room—needless to say—or sharing meals with my wife at the dining table, attending meetings with the fishery dormitory group, or clinking glasses with village drinkers and barmaids—so long as it was indoors, I would vividly feel as though I were inside the belly of a wooden horse, associate it with the many scenes from The Tale of Sinon set within such equine hulls, and find my trance-like state gradually engulfed by passionate smoke until I had transformed myself into the soldier Sinon. Until just recently, within this very room, I had been like a Stoic student clasping a stone statue in a winter gymnasium.
I had been a Spartanist who would chew through Eleatic philosophy's theory of real existence, clench my fist and pound my own chest while crossing the bridge of absolute materialism, ranting about flipping myself over to the pantheistic beyond.

I, frenzied by delusions, would suddenly leap up,

“Ah! Let me tell this thought to my Dr. Bacon! For these science students who have now cast off their wretched idol notions—let me have their brows moistened with droplets of ceremonial wine! Hahaha!”
“A soldier! A soldier! A soldier! From today onward—”

I roared with laughter at such words.

I took down the fencing sword hanging on the wall, raised my shoulders toward the great sky (the ceiling where I'd pinned my handmade star chart), surveyed the earth (the floor strewn with various books), and displayed a cheerful mocking.

Suddenly, at that moment, from outside the curtain,

“Doctor! Doctor—”

A deep male voice resounded, calling out—

“Am I the one being called ‘Doctor’?”

I retorted, maintaining my mock-ground stance.

“Yes—it’s a mocking honorific I bestow upon you. Though I don’t mean to ape lines from classical theater—have you not realized that nothing but your own seething passion can bring you happiness? Have you not yet grasped that these myriad volumes exist solely to grieve your heart and drown you in melancholy, sir?”

“You’re wrong—”

And I reflexively switched from a mock stance to a thrust stance facing the curtain.
“You’re wrong—I stand here liberated from humanity’s four most wretched idol notions, in the throes of excitement to burst through icy laboratory doors, attempting a hope-filled warming-up!”

“Don’t make me laugh—you slave to Theater Idols! You standard-bearer wretch of the Idols of the Tribe! Let’s go to the bar—get yourself ready. You needn’t bother with money—I’ve already had the foresight to use your stock of books as collateral and get three gold coins from the town moneylender.”

“...Hey... just who the hell are you?”
“When I thought about it and realized something was off—the things you were saying are lines from the play I’m currently writing—”
“You sneaky bastard! Don’t move from there—when did you sneak into this room and read through that manuscript?”

“Oh my, getting all worked up?”

The male voice suddenly changed into a girl’s voice.
And from behind the curtain appeared a petite student wearing a hood with a pheasant feather tilted at a slant—a character from my unfinished play "Auerbach's Turmoil."
So I—since the several costumes I had prepared in advance for that play should have been hanging on the clothes rack behind the curtain—frantically checked the spot, only to find they had all been stolen.

“What?! Meiko…”

“Since we’ve come this far, let’s keep up the act a bit longer. —Skipping over the middle part— I’ll say it.”
“Well then, Teacher—shall we go to the bar? If you refuse… I’d like to see your skills demonstrated. There—that should do it.”

The student placed a hand on the sword at their waist.

There I, being that foolish Doctor from the play, continued my lines.

“If going out arm-in-arm with you on such a moonlit night—be it not to a bar but even to the forest beyond the mountains—expounding my theory of tragic genesis as we go—I tell you this in confidence: though you play the student’s part, I know you’re my dear little dove, Auerbach’s Margaret! Your wish shall be my command—if you desire it, I’ll become your dueling partner in those shadowed woods, and even pierced through by your thrusting blade, I’d die without a shred of regret—or so it strangely seems!”

In the play, this was where the Doctor praised the student's clever stratagem and embraced them, so I too began extending my arm to draw the girl close—

“Stop!”

Then from beyond the curtain came another voice, and Kiyoko—likewise disguised as a student—appeared alongside my wife clad in a winter coat.

“Now then, you must depart. Everything here is fully prepared.”
“The carriage has arrived and waits outside.”
“Change your clothes…”

…………

That's right—I had carelessly forgotten that we were supposed to depart the village this evening, proceed to town, and set out early the next morning for Tokyo.

R Fishery might ultimately fall under the management of Sakuji’s clan, and my friends in the capital had long been urging me: ‘You mustn’t smolder away in this backwater—come to the capital where fellow artists await, and the sooner the better!’
and having been thus urged, my own heart had been greatly stirred at that very moment.

“And what’s the meaning of those two’s getups?”

I pointed at the girls and asked my wife.

“We’re taking photos—for the memory of this room—and praying your play comes to glorious fruition! —as a token of that—or so they say.”

“Tch! You’re making me laugh—damn you!”

I muttered, though not entirely from a place of displeasure.

“The photographer Mr. G went to fetch should be arriving from town any minute now.”

We were going to the nearby capital, yet they saw us off!
That was somehow sad—and so I came up with this play...

“If you want to laugh, laugh heartily.”

“I absolutely will not laugh.
Thank you!”

And I solemnly waved my sword in salute.

“Wasn’t that a splendid idea?”

“Go with the same mindset as when visiting the bar in the neighboring town, all right?”

The two maidens each struck their characteristic poses,

“Off you go!”

“Safe travels—how far shall we escort you?”

As they spoke these words and pressed against me from both sides with sweet gazes, I emitted a plaintive rasp from my throat—from that play’s—

“Were I to venture forth with you all on such a moonlit night—”

Reciting the [...] lines with such fervor in praising the two students' clever stratagems that—in a climax replicating that dramatic scene where the Doctor lifts them up and kisses them—he drew each close in turn, laying bare his profoundly moved emotions.

V

“I had written only about half of such a play when I withdrew from my life at R Fishery after over six months...”

“Has your writing setup changed so you can’t write? Why not have Mei-chan or Kiyo-san come help right away?”

The friends I met at the city bar urged them to come to the capital.
This was because Kiyoko had asked me that if my life settled even somewhat, she would first come to the capital—either as a working woman or to resume her student life—and so I would occasionally mention such things to my friends too.
However, my “life” showed no signs of “settling down,” and on top of that, I found myself constantly flitting about restlessly, thoroughly enjoying Tokyo life after such a long absence.

“No—”

I couldn’t help but say.
“I must forget about Mei and Miss Kiyoko—I—”
“When I appear in this city bar and get drunk like this, my playwriting means nothing—I feel utterly dreamlike! My observation room at R Fishery transforms through elaborate decoration into peaceful Troy! That triumphant wooden horse makes its belly’s chamber serve as soldiers’ banquet hall where nights become days—such ecstasy overwhelms me... Oh! Here exists such lovely Mei-chan! Such splendid Margaret!”

I would hum soldiers' songs and perform triumphal dances as I settled beside the obedient barmaid, then grow utterly entranced while gazing at her beautiful features. And at every turn, my wife—who constantly attended me like a maid—would rebuke me with remarks like “What are you doing?!” or “If you hover around those people acting all lovestruck like that, you’ll land yourself in trouble,” her scornful glares finally bringing me back to my senses—a scene that played out time and again. Startled,

“Don’t think ill of me. How could my heart not leap upon suddenly appearing in this dazzling city? Come now, let us all go dance!”

“Hey now, this triumphal mood won’t do.—We’re heading into battle.”
“—A council.”

And my friend restrained me.
They launched a flamboyant artistic movement under the auspices of a new magazine, holding their association meetings night after night, and I too was enrolled as one of its members.

―A council!
When I heard those words, the life at R Fishery surged violently through my chest and awakened a strange power within me.

I,

“Alright, I’ll sober up and cool my head,” I muttered while opening the small window in the corner of the bar. In the basement bar of a massive building, when I barely stuck my head out the window to gaze upward, the narrow strip of sky wedged between black structures appeared like an immense blue ribbon.

“A starry, moonlit night.”
“Hark! The wooden horse advances toward Troy’s walls.”

“That’s right! With that spirit, we associates will build up our new magazine while embarking on a new work.”

VI

One day, my wife and I met Meiko at Tokyo Station.

“Last night’s call said Miss Kiyoko was supposed to come too, didn’t it?”

“Well… but suddenly…”

Since Meiko hesitated to explain, I didn’t press further.

“Buy me high heels first.”

“Then you two should get Mei ready in about two hours—I’ll wait at our usual basement table—”
“Besides, Y’s office being on that building’s sixth floor makes it just right.”

Y was a friend of mine engaged in commerce, and I had entreated Kiyoko to become a typist there.
Meiko had apparently come in Kiyoko’s stead to hear the response.

“Well then, I’ll dash off and be back in a flash.”

When my wife took the girl’s hand and stood up, Meiko pointed at the strangely long-and-narrow box propped in the corner of the bench,

“I brought this for you.”

With those words, she left.
When I looked closely, that was the fencing sword I had left at Mei’s house when departing the village.
During my time in the village, I would frequently swing this around under the guise of exercise.

Thinking of Meiko's kindness and my current tiny four-and-a-half-mat lodgings, I made a troubled face, picked up the box, and carried it outside like a rifle.

Before long, Meiko appeared at the bar where I was waiting—wearing a white beret tilted at an angle, her white high-heeled shoes click-clacking—accompanied by my wife.

I introduced Meiko to Y.

“I can type too, you know—couldn’t you both employ me?”

Meiko suddenly asked Y.
"Whether it's Mei or Kiyoko, they both have equal qualifications as typists.
They'd thoroughly practiced in my observation room at R Fishery—"

"But Mei...!"

The words burst from me unbidden.
"Mei has to work at her own home—isn't that perfectly clear?"

"Well... I was rather shocked when I heard this from Mei-chan earlier..."

"Don't say it—not like this..."

Meiko turned her flushed face away.—“Take me to the rooftop… I want to see the view—if one looks from such a height… wouldn’t it be just like gazing at the sea from R’s observatory……”

“It’s beautiful!”
“Then let’s go see it.”
“—As for Y’s situation—whether he needs even one typist or not—I’m thinking of having Kiyoko-chan inquire elsewhere.”

“Then ask about mine too…”

“Are you truly resolved to this?”

As I pressed my question with lingering doubts, my wife interjected again from beside me—leaning close to whisper in my ear:

"You see—the marriage proposals keep multiplying daily! She can't even stay at home anymore!"

“If it’s marriage, isn’t that natural? There’s no need to say she can’t even stay at home…”

While automatically dismissing this, I now found myself absently studying Meiko’s figure anew—until just recently, I would stage such theatrical performances, or again, when drunk at Mameido, pull some girl close and substitute “Mameido” into that line from Faust: “Though our bodies part, our souls shall never separate—Mameido’s lips...”

“Even if Mameido’s lips were to touch a sacred object, I’d be envious!”

Groaning such things, I would lose myself in merry antics before the bar regulars—though I could no longer manage such performances—when suddenly I found myself entertaining such foolish thoughts. And suddenly returning to an impatient tone,

"Who the hell?! Is this marriage proposer someone I know? If someone actually goes through with such a splendid proposal and Meiko were to accept it, that bastard would be the luckiest man alive! Just who is this dandy anyway?" I panted. Whenever I get even slightly excited about things lately, my tone inevitably turns theatrical! With that, the wife and Meiko forced wry smiles at their unfamiliar surroundings, but then the wife brought her lips close to my ear and—in a husky voice that carried brisk force—

“That’s Mr. Sakuji, I tell you!”

she whispered.

“Bastard!”

I shouted involuntarily and slammed the table with a bang.—“Don’t mess with me! …Don’t mock me… You utter fools!”

My wife and Meiko fled the bar in confusion.
Like a villain, I chased after the two women and climbed the stairs.

"I can't stand it—shouting such loud angry outbursts in a place like that!"
"It's unsightly and you can't keep up this stiff act."
“...Let’s climb all the way to the rooftop... There are eight floors... Count ten! By then, that fit of anger should subside.”

On the deserted iron staircase, the clanging sounds of women’s shoes ascending above me rang out hurriedly yet beautifully through the space—I couldn’t tell whether it was my wife or Mei—and their words reached me in fragments.

“What a situation!”

“That’s precisely why Mei-chan didn’t come to consult you about being troubled by it in the first place.”

“What fucking consultation?! —Wait for me! It’s suffocating—pull my hand!”

I staggered and leaned against the window,

“What floor is this?”

I asked.

“Third floor!”

(If there were a wooden horse this big, how delightful that would be.)... Caught in the throes of such passion, I found myself suddenly swept into this fantasy—and couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of my own face poking out from the window.

Mei said sadly.
“My father has borrowed a great deal of money from that person’s father!”

“What on earth are you saying? What’s that supposed to mean, I ask you?”

I shouted and came to a halt.

“Fourth floor… And before we knew it, our shop became part of that person’s…”

“Wait up!”

I thrust a thick breath toward the great sky from the window.
Then, imagining this commotion to be like that within the belly of a gigantic wooden horse, I burned with blood-steeped righteous fury.

“Let’s take the elevator.”

“This way’s better.
“And then to my father...”

“Does that man really say such things to you so bluntly?”

“In essence saying something like ‘My family’s that wealthy—so if you marry me you’ll find happiness…’”

“Don’t lie!
“Even so—what a detestable bastard he is!”

“Fifth floor—look, already fifth floor!”

“…Then this is exactly like some Shinpa tragedy play!”
"Can such dramatic incidents truly exist openly in this world?!"
"But surely he wouldn’t go so far as to say something straight out of a play—like demanding 'Hand over your daughter or else what will you do about the debt?'—would he?"

“No, that too is exactly like a play...”

“Alright!
“I’ll go back with you tonight—how can I stand being shocked by such an absurd story!”
“—A fight.”

I involuntarily thrust my hardened fist sharply before my eyes.—Then, exposing my face to the open air through the adjacent window, I expelled a hot breath with a "Hah!" and closed my eyes for a moment, attempting to cool my head.
But try as I might, the worm of fury refused to be quelled.
…Leaping on horseback into that despicable man’s mansion—a ferocious fist flying straight at the bastard’s forehead—a brawl—nothing but such scenes flickered dazzlingly before my eyes like flashbulbs.

“Seventh floor—just one more to go, right?”

"No dreams or logic—only this surging blood of fury…."
"Truly like a play."

“What are you muttering there to yourself?
“Ah—isn’t this the eighth floor—?”

“Oh how beautiful—the city lights! Do come up quickly!”

The Wife and Meiko praised in unison and urged me onward as I climbed the stairs a step behind.

“They say department stores have started using women as elevator attendants lately?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Should I try applying?”

“...No matter what—I must escort Mei back to R village tonight—” I muttered while staring fixedly at the night sky when a fragment of their conversation reached my ears.