Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Makino Shin'ichi

Even though Taruno couldn't sleep at night, this was simply because he slept soundly during the day—it couldn’t be called neurasthenia. His sleeping in and staying up late gradually intensified until day and night simply became reversed. In his difficulty falling asleep and grumpiness upon waking in the morning, Taruno continued causing terrible trouble to the people around him since childhood. His mother, the more she tried to put him to sleep, would end up having to wander the seaside late at night clutching him as he grew increasingly restless. What a stubborn, fussy baby he was! For from the back of the house came the sound of his grandfather clicking his tongue in disapproval. There was even a time when Mother was mistaken for someone resolved to commit suicide—but she says she felt no inclination to deny it—so Mother recounts. Since she had grown so despondent that she sat on the sand clutching the infant, utterly at a loss,

“People rarely came down to the beach yet—it being that chilly early springtime!” “...” “Was it late at night? “No—it was early morning!” “The person who tapped my back was some stranger from the beach—I still remember his face!” “He’d apparently been watching me from behind for some time!”

What young Taruno found most unbearable among Mother's constant criticisms of his daytime naps and late nights were these very anecdotes she would recount with an awkward, self-conscious laugh.

He spent only suffocatingly tedious nights. Because of this, it was his wife who was being made to endure the harshest suffering of all during this period.

“Let’s go out before you get sleepy.”

With these words, she would occasionally knock on his door at dawn. The room was thick with tobacco smoke. He had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling. "This morning's no good either." "Again!" she said, pointing at the small foreign liquor bottle.

"Ah, I'm so sleepy now!"

The drowsiness that attacked at that hour pressed in with irresistible force—he would sink into a heavy slumber like an overexhausted child, sleeping past noon—and then at night, sleep would utterly evade him. He did nothing but keep smoking cigarettes in his solitary room, his face bitter. His thoughts revolved around one question alone: how could he properly reclaim these morbidly inverted days and nights? There was nothing beyond this single obsession. His wife strove to make him fend off morning drowsiness and stay awake through the day. If he could have endured it, he would of course have tried.

“Since I’m not drunk this morning, let’s try going out.”

“Since there’s nothing blocking our way, go ahead and walk briskly—I intend for us to race.” They descended to the seaside where dawn was approaching. “Thanks to this, I feel so refreshed—it’s because we sometimes get up this early—” She took the hand of her husband—now utterly fixated on sleep, his mind devoid of any other thought, his steps unsteady—and ran about to rouse him. She soaked the single wool jacket she had come out in with sweat. But beyond prolonging his daytime slumber even further, neither her efforts nor his endurance proved of any use. She laughed even as tears welled up in her eyes.

He rather found himself yearning indiscriminately! But no incident occurred during daylight hours that required his presence. Apart from his nap bleeding a streak of impurity through their days, that household remained supremely tranquil. And they had entered spring—when the lingering chill along the shore grew more pleasant with each passing day.—Their father, occupied with particularly pressing business, resided almost exclusively in the separate house he maintained in town. They lived together with Mother in an old thatched-roof house that would soon have to be demolished—a station having opened right nearby.

In brief, his wife—who knew his waking hours—spent her days going to Father’s place daily to serve as some sort of accountant.

One morning, again at dawn, he was invited by his wife, and the two practiced tennis in the vacant lot behind the house. She didn't particularly care for this game, but when he said he didn't want to go to the sea this morning, “Today, at least try staying awake until noon! If it becomes unbearable, you can immediately dash back inside—” she urged. Even while she was retrieving the balls, he was assailed by drowsiness. Her tennis skills were far inferior. He swung wildly without restraint.

"My leg's cramping up somehow? This feels odd!" she exclaimed, unusually furrowing her brows at intervals, yet deftly kept playing along until he, increasingly unable to endure it, finally dashed back into the house. "Ahh—today even I'm exhausted—shall we let things rest over there?" "Sorry—I can't even stand talking anymore."

Having said that, he fell asleep still in his shirt. He hadn’t even slept two hours yet when he was awakened by Sugita’s phone call. “I was trying to get up on my own!” he pleaded to Mother—this surely aligned with her plan—but waking up was agony akin to death. “Don’t be absurd! Didn’t you say it was an illness? What do you mean it’s just sleepiness?!” Mother cried with an extraordinary look.

“It’d be better not to tell Mother about you having such an illness!” his father cautioned the son, who had sunk down as if having committed some crime, his gaunt form collapsed over the dining table. “What in the world am I supposed to call her household?!”

No sooner had his entire body contracted than it became hot as fire. “While that’s occurring, unless you’re exceedingly careful, some dreadful fellow might come calling at any moment...” said Sugita with apparent nonchalance.

“I didn’t notice anything!” he said, clinging to Sugita’s nonchalance. (It had turned into a disaster. Solely out of the desire to shorten those agonizing nighttime hours—I kept frequenting such an uninteresting place...) Truly, he—with that sole desire—would sometimes slip out of his room unnoticed by anyone and make his way to the questionable brothels in town. There, he planned to become utterly drunk on sake and sleep through the night. What a weirdo! He was treated as nothing but a weirdo.

I had sensed a slightly unpleasant illness but never imagined it would lead to such suddenly terrifying consequences. For about the first week，the discernible symptoms had vanished，so he thought it was all over.—Of course，his wife too had not uttered a single word of complaint about any pain until then. “Ah，what a blunder! “Ah，what should I do?”

"...If this helps you start waking up mornings, I'd actually be glad," his wife murmured with forced cheerfulness, lying supine on the clinic bed where she couldn't even turn sideways unaided, her eyes barely open beneath pale lids. She had acute endometritis with a fever exceeding forty degrees. Every minute, terrifying pain coursed through her entire body. With no strength even to writhe, she could only endure the crushing agony through lips pressed bloodless. She—

“I can’t even see!” she cried. Having been administered an injection, she sank into a painful slumber. Taruno lost all sensation, aware only that his entire body had suddenly flared up with heat. That stubborn drowsiness solidified like stone, clinging to some corner of his head while his chest danced like flames. And his entire body seethed with mindless frenzy, like dried squid being scorched. He recalled with loathing his own figure from the night—smoking with vacant eyes,

"You! Damn you!" he shouted. He clenched his fist and slammed it into his own head. "What an impudent, wretched man I am! What a foolish plan I had devised, frequenting that sort of place. I was cursed by the night!"

He could not bear to see his wife's anguished figure. The moment he found himself there, he hurriedly ran to his father's house.

“Moving is a good plan. You should just say it’s for studying,” said Father. “And so, you’ll be coming here to work in place of Ms. Shuuko for the time being, I take it?” said Sugita. Though Sugita’s work was separate from his father’s, despite having his own home in the same town, he would come to that house at any hour, carrying himself with an air of vague idleness. Rather, he was closer in age to him, yet he was entirely Father’s friend. “There’s no need to worry—ha ha—it’s just one of those diseases that gets you anyway.”

Sugita comforted him by recounting his own experiences in meticulous detail. Even there, he couldn't stay longer than thirty minutes. Then he dashed back to the hospital, and finding her asleep with no one nearby, quietly took her hand and pressed it to his cheek. Once more he hastily departed that place and ran to his mother's house. "When you wake up in the morning with everyone else—that's what brings me greatest relief."

He would repeatedly recall his wife’s words in vain, "It’s fine—it’s a simple matter. Ah, what have I been up till now…" Muttering such things to himself from time to time, he bit his lip as though vowing to heaven. "If I keep bustling about like this," he thought, "then today I can stay awake all day through. At night, I’ll go to your side and sleep well…… And starting tomorrow morning—" He felt a pathetic sort of joy.

“It’s morning for me too,” Mother added. “And even if just for a single day, see that you live like a proper human being. If you find your duties detestable, staying at our house might be preferable.” “Father is always away from our house, and there are tasks at our house that require a man.”

“Haa—” he sat formally. “And you could split your duties and your own studies half and half.”

Mother had thought that his staying up all night every night meant he was engrossed in some sort of research. Because the household members retired early and he would occasionally sneak out through the back door—returning to fall asleep before dawn while no one was yet awake—even his wife had never noticed his nighttime excursions. Had his plan succeeded and he fallen asleep while away, the family members should have noticed—but. “This studying of yours—” Mother continued. “So this studying of yours doesn’t seem to be the kind that enables you to support yourself.” “Isn’t it the sort that requires patience and steady research?”

“…………”

He nodded deeply. And he looked down and closed his eyes. He was struck to his core by a slovenly sense of pathos.—“Today I even went to F Village and saw that house…”

“Is it livable?”

“Good... We’ve already begun cleaning—.” “Starting tomorrow, we’ll move—” “Is it far?” “But—” “Though I suppose it’s more convenient for the hospital.” “As long as there’s a hospital involved, you won’t be able to handle our household matters either—” He couldn’t maintain a composed conversation even here. A feverish drowsiness buzzed dully in his skull. The hour had passed noon. “And with such furnishings?” Ignoring Mother’s remark, he zealously led the way in hauling out the bizarre furniture from the outdoor shed—dust-caked relics thrown haphazardly inside. There was a box-like bed hastily crafted by a local carpenter when Father’s foreign friend had once stayed. A long bench resembling a summer cooling platform. A crude dining table.

He beat the dust out of straw mattresses and carpets with the vigor of chimney sweeping. He brought out an old American-made desk lamp and tested the condition of its screws. He hauled out Father’s old trunk. He searched out the dumbbells and clubs he had used during his student days. He suddenly hit upon the idea of creating a strict daily schedule that even specified the types of exercises for each workout period; it didn’t last, yet he found himself wanting to establish a new regimen again. “How many days will this last—” Mother wore a wry smile as she watched him facing the vegetable field and experimentally swinging a club, but even so, she murmured encouragingly. He was fighting against the sleepiness that lunged at him the very moment his nervous tension began to wane.

Several days had passed since the luggage was moved, but he still lacked the capacity to settle into F Village. ——He frantically visited the clinic several times a day. Of course, he had no business there, nor any reason to settle in for a proper conversation—yet each time he went to and from the clinic, he made a point of stopping by his father’s house. Sugita was always there, consulting with his father about something. When he returned to Mother’s house, he wandered restlessly through every room as though searching for a lost item. All day long, he fidgeted like a patient possessed by some unseen force. He reclaimed half the night. From early evening until around midnight, he could sleep soundly, but after that he would wake up and remain awake through the day. In the afternoon, the sleepiness that assailed him was overwhelming.

In the backyard of Father’s house, Sugita’s motorcycle remained perpetually parked. Perhaps because its age made riding uncomfortable—or perhaps because Sugita had truly abandoned it—Taruno rode it constantly since that day, dashing about everywhere as before. Along the stone-strewn highway he would charge headlong, often racing even to their new home in F Village. Without this machine, he surely could never have endured the daylight hours. When staying still became unbearable, he would drive the motorcycle aimlessly, careening recklessly from place to place. Thus he scattered the pain toward his wife, the regret, the overwhelming afternoon drowsiness, the listless mood over trifles, and all vague anxieties.

“When winter comes, wild boars appear.” “As for rabbits—if you shoulder a rifle during your noon break and make a round, you’ll naturally bag at least one. Mountain birds, pheasants—” “The mountain folks have turned their sporadic hunting during work breaks into quite a proper side job.” “So it’s that deep in the mountains!” “They set traps near the huts—wild boars rarely get caught, but occasionally foxes stumble into the rabbit traps. The boar traps are placed much further inland from the factory area, yet they’re kept up all winter long.”

“It’s rather pleasant that they have such diversions.” Sugita often told Father stories about various mountains. When Father was nowhere to be seen, Sugita would often be found idling alone on the second floor. At times, he would even take naps during the day.

It was the time for her afternoon examination. When Taruno realized he had carelessly encountered that hour, a heart-crushing anguish pressed down on his chest; he hurriedly fled the clinic, found himself at the outskirts of town without purpose, and drove at reckless speed down the pine-lined road. The torment was such that even imagining her wretched figure lying supine on an operating table resembling a barbershop’s reclining chair brought with it an overwhelming sense of jealousy.

There was not a soul in sight. A pale evening moon hung over the sea. Like an ancient soldier bearing a quiver, he raced onward, his layered kimono billowing at the back as he vanished into swirling dust. "How far am I going to run?!" he shouted. Suddenly an abnormal chill coursed through his body. A grotesque shudder racked him. Am I catching a cold? he thought. Then I'll sweat it out! he muttered. Bracing himself like a beast sighting prey, he doubled his speed and charged forward.

But the chill he had once felt solidified and rapidly spread throughout his body. He felt as if drenched in sleet. As he raced onward, a sinister chill surged through him—his entire body dissolving into a raging current. Soon, he felt an excruciatingly painful mass of heat in his lower abdomen—as though he had swallowed a burning stone—and involuntarily lifted both legs from the pedals, performing a bizarre acrobatic maneuver.

“Got me! Got me!” “So I tell ya, this thing’s dangerous!” “I’ve been thinking that way since this all started—” Sugita, who had come running at his call, rescued Taruno—his lips trembling—from the red-painted motorcycle while saying this. “With this thing, I’ve been done in too—just thinking about it gives me the creeps.” “For a couple to both have it happen—that’s a bit too unlucky!” “I’ve been warning you all along, but you just won’t listen—you’re too damn reckless!” “Steady! Don’t lean into it like that!”

“I thought it couldn’t be happening!”

“It’s not the drink’s poison, I tell you.”

That very night, he was transported by stretcher rickshaw to the hospital where his wife lay, without uttering a single word beyond groans. “I know that agony! We’ll be there soon, so try to hold back your groans a bit longer. Mr. Rickshaw Driver, take the back streets as much as you can.” He faintly sensed Sugita’s voice outside the carriage hood—Sugita who had accompanied them. Just as Sugita had said, it was diagnosed as acute orchitis. The state of torment was exactly the same as his wife’s.

After living at the hospital until they could walk again, they finally returned to F Village. The cherry blossoms along the moat that his wife said she hadn’t even noticed in bud had mostly scattered, with the new leaves now standing out more prominently.

“This is the only cherry blossom viewing spot here, you know.”

“Hmm.” “I’ve never even seen proper cherry blossom viewing in Tokyo—I was determined to see it here this year!” “I also…” “These trees were only planted three or four years back—come to think of it, I haven’t seen them bloom either.” Beneath the cherry trees now clothed in leaves rather than blossoms, they exchanged these words. Their days revolved around commuting from F Village to the town clinic—an all-day endeavor. The doctor had advised gentle, measured walks. Thus Taruno traversed the same roads he once raced down on his motorcycle, now leaning on his wife’s shoulder in deserted stretches while jabbing a rough-hewn ashwood cane into the ground, one leg locked stiff as any prosthetic. Though his sleep pattern had nearly normalized during hospitalization, it now reverted completely—mornings found him dragged unwillingly from bed. The daily trek and struggle against drowsiness grew doubly agonizing for his weakened frame.

“But this time by necessity—I must reclaim it.” “Soon enough—a real morning-rising habit will take hold for me.” Thinking this way—he steeled himself while clinging to bright hope. He vividly imagined—the healthy life awaiting him once such habits took root. He yearned—for the day he might meet Mother and the rest—in sound health. “Filthy!”— Mother had exclaimed upon learning his diagnosis— He’d heard secondhand how she’d spat those words sideways—then kept her face turned away.

Taruno's wretchedness every morning was unsightly. ...At that very moment, he was often in the midst of hurling some apologetic-sounding words—words he couldn’t help continuing in a dream that grew eerier the brighter it became—toward someone. On a corner shelf far beyond his reach, a brand-new workman’s alarm clock blared as if to physically shove him.

……

I’d only just managed to fall asleep a little while ago! Ah, this was utterly unbearable! It was scrambling my nerves down to my very fingertips! If that were the case, he should just get up and stop it—but he found it unbearable to move and fully awaken. He closed his eyes with abnormal attentiveness—utterly faithful to his sleepiness, stiffly, as if enduring a terrifying injection—and resisted the ferocious bell. Curling up and burrowing deep into the bedding, he would then—like a demon recoiling from light—clutch his head, cover his ears, and recoil in disgust. Obedient only to his drowsiness, he attempted every form of passive resistance through sluggish movements. At times, in his frenzy, he would suddenly leap from the bed and lunge at the clock as if seizing a live bird—only to be jolted fully awake by his own commotion.

The bell rang relentlessly.

“A hammer!” he cried out, his face contorting in misery. “Someone! “Stop that bell! If I sleep five more minutes, I’ll definitely get up!”

“You’re quite the enduring one, aren’t you? I actually look forward to waiting for the clock to start ringing every morning—watching you wrestle with it from over here. But since we’re merely convalescents who should be exercising now, and since there’s truly nothing wrong with our condition anymore, let’s start getting up much earlier from now on. Listen—the bush warbler’s singing.” The instant the bell stopped ringing, his wife began calling out various prompts from the neighboring room beyond the sliding doors—her tone mechanically dutiful, as if reciting memorized lines. Until that moment, she had been holding her breath.

"Hmm." He groaned, fearing his own unnecessary words for his sake. He stared unblinkingly at the bright shoji—not yet fully awake. The desirable morning awakening merely glimmered vainly in the far distance. ……Sure enough, the bush warbler’s song reached his ears.

“Let’s occasionally have a calm breakfast at our house before going out.” “It’s much more refreshing as I do if you wake up before the alarm startles you!” She added that sometimes when the bell began ringing, he would—likely in his frenzied state—emit a strange groan. “Before the bell rings—” “Then I’ll end up not sleeping a wink at all.” he murmured as if about to collapse. Shuuko, fearing that even a moment’s pause in speech would send him back to sleep, had to devise questions he couldn’t ignore answering and fire them in rapid succession. The thought that she was striving to act as an alarm clock substitute often irritated her with its absurdity.

“Ha ha ha ha!”

She didn’t want to laugh, but deliberately let out a dry, hollow chuckle. “So if you just endure one full day properly, from that evening onward it should start gradually improving, shouldn’t it?” “I know that perfectly well!” Though provoking him had proven effective, she continued calmly: “Let’s decide not to stop by your father’s place on the way back. If we go there, it’s hopeless—you’ll inevitably end up sleeping there till evening!”

“If we don’t stop by, I’ll collapse on the street.” “I’ll end up tumbling in.” “No wonder. So just endure—” “I’ve gone beyond enduring!” “Just when will that time come?”

“I want to get used to it,” he said. “With this every morning, I’ll recover bit by bit—I’m waiting for the day when I won’t need to stop by that place, I tell you!” “How splendid!” “Hoh hoh hoh…!” “Oh very well then! For your sake—you’ll never get another chance like this! Besides, if we’re caught again, it’ll be disastrous.” —“Goodness, it’s already half past! Come now, we must get up—” she declared crisply, signaling. He had to lift his stone-like head while keeping his eyes tightly shut.

Mornings that were quiet and serenely bright, overflowing with amber sunlight from early dawn, continued one after another.

After washing their faces with cold water drawn from the Tsurukame Well, they would drink only milk in the shade of the mandarin trees and set out without returning inside. Both front and back, the house was encircled by old mandarin stock. In the vicinity, there were only five or six farmhouses—half engaged in fishing and farming, similarly encircled by mandarin trees—scattered here and there.

“At night, what do you mostly think about?”

“Nothing—” said Taruno.

"For a person who's awake to think nothing—that's a contradiction," he realized. Worrying about tomorrow's anxieties—where was that sleepiness bastard lurking now, the one that came charging in with ferocious intensity come daytime? he thought—I want that bastard to come during the night! He kept thinking such things—but when pressed for an answer, there was nothing more to say than "nothing"—that's how he felt. "So it's all the more unbearable. Compared to that afternoon agony, which is worse? If asked, given how terror accompanies it, that nighttime agony would offer no salvation. When I tumble into sleep, it's a kind of intense pleasure... I wonder."

“Isn’t the morning splendid!” She deflected his words and looked up at the sky. “Splendid! This is happiness above all else. If only this didn’t come with drowsiness—” he too looked up at the sky, but in the morning’s swaying, drifting drowsiness, he sensed a faintly sweet intoxication. “When I walk bathed in morning light like this, it feels as though I’m indulging in beautiful memories—though what I sense is merely a formless dream, yet so richly vivid.”

At the culmination of indolence—he thought.

"I want to see the mandarins take on their color—when they’ve all ripened across the fields, won’t that be beautiful?" Formless dream! If I keep indulging in such things... But there's no helping it now.

“I hear it’s rather busy!” “What about when it’s time for the mandarin harvest?” “What on earth could I even do?” “Of course, if we don’t stop by there on our way back, my work will pile up.”

On their way back, while he took afternoon naps in the second-floor of Father’s house, she was handling work she had taken on previously. “If we keep stopping by, who knows when your morning suffering will ever subside! But if we wait a bit longer, even if we do stop by, you should be able to go without sleeping.” “Practical work! If I got involved in some actual business, I might actually find happiness.”

They crossed the bridge at the village border, each of their words holding dreams as they conversed.

“For now, let’s not just live in F all the time.” “If we’re there, commuting to Father’s place won’t be inconvenient.” “He hasn’t told you directly, but Father said he means to use you for Mr. Sugita’s work.”

“Mr. Sugita’s?”

“Yes, it’s mountain work, they say.” “The mountain timber factory work that Mr. Sugita brought in—Father has gotten completely enthusiastic about it.”

He thought that must be the mountain where wild boars and foxes were said to appear. "No! If only this would heal—I too have my own work to do!"

He retorted as though his pride had been wounded. He looked up at the blue sky with a troubled expression. “Letting myself be beaten by some lumber mountain? Not a chance!” “Oh, you mustn’t walk so fast.”

“Hurry up and bring summer! “In the morning, I’ll suddenly plunge into the sea—then even my eyes would wake up. “Even if I dashed out naked from that house, it wouldn’t matter.”

They would always rest at their accustomed sandy clearing in the pine grove. There, they opened the basket and ate egg sandwiches. Looking back, F Village lay quietly bathing in morning sunlight at the foot of a deep green hill. Ahead along the highway, the town smoldered in purple haze. At the midslope of the bow-shaped inlet, they gazed upon scenery resembling a miniature garden. From the pale blue island visible only faintly on clear days along the horizon's edge, a wisp of white smoke rose.

“Don’t lie down. With such lovely weather and this tranquil seaside—if you lie down like that, even an ordinary person would grow sleepy, you know.”

“Hmm…” “One day! “So I’ve become your alarm clock, haven’t I? “I’ve grown utterly sick of it.” “But if I keep forcing myself this hard—won’t I develop some nervous disease, something wrong with my head—before ever forming proper habits?” “If you don’t establish these habits, you might truly fall ill—maybe even get stomach troubles.”

“That area over there,” he explained, brushing sand off himself as he stood up and pointed toward the distant cape. “It’s a place filled with ancient battlefields. The site remains where Sanada Yukimura met his tragic end in battle. Phlegm choked his throat—in that pitch-dark night, he tried to declare his name, but no voice would come out.” “I know that story.” “That’s why people suffering from coughs still visit Sanada Shrine there. When Lord Yoritomo—pursued by enemies—lost his way in the forest and hid in an ancient tree’s hollow, a spider wove its web across the entrance. So they overlooked him entirely. They say that very tree still stands deep in those mountains.”

“Oh, there’s something like a little train running over there!” “In a place like that?” “What could that be?”

“It’s a light railway—the cape ends there; if you look just a bit further ahead, you can see a tiny island like a bean, right? It’s said Minamoto no Yoshitsune could leap from this cape to that island in a single bound!” “I’d like to ride that. Where could that train be headed… Oh! It blew its whistle!” When the mandarins had finally begun to take on color, they moved to a village on the far side of the cape—a journey of just over two hours by that train.

“You’re the one who’s truly suffered an outrageous misfortune.” “No matter what you say to me, I’ve not a single word in reply.”

“Yes.” “How long do you think it will take?”

“If we keep riding it, there would be no telling how long it would take.”

“Though saying that, I find it somehow disagreeable to be the one asking first.” “Should I just quit at this point?” “At the very moment when good habits might take root in you?” “...My head spins.” “My legs refuse to feel like my own!” “This drowsiness!” “Well then—another day’s failure.”

After finishing at the clinic, they passed through his father’s gate at the fastest walk permitted. He ran upstairs and greedily seized sleep. She had declared that her happiest hours were spent working alongside these lively clerks here—who resembled him in no particular—not one bit! Even before marrying Taruno, she would stop at her father’s transport company office after school to handle minor clerical tasks like her current ones. “Tokyo versus countryside, school versus clinic—the difference amounts to just that,” she had remarked. “Though back then I didn’t find office hours quite as effortless as I do now—” she added with a faint laugh.

When Taruno heard such things, his self-reproach was intensified.

“Has she gone out somewhere?” He pointed at his wife’s desk and asked Sugita. Sugita was alone, intently writing something down. “Everyone went together to the play. “No matter how much they tried to wake you, you wouldn’t get up. “It’s past eight—this isn’t a joke.” “Aren’t you going?” “I’ll be heading to the mountains in four or five days—terribly busy right now.”

Taruno returned to the second floor and burrowed back into bed, but he was already fully awake. His night from now until morning now began. When they failed to return to F Village, they stayed here. When they stayed over, Father returned to Mother’s house. He harbored an unpleasant suspicion toward Father based on the situation here. The second floor’s state likely had a gaudy atmosphere not in keeping with Father’s usual tastes. When he opened his eyes wide with suspicion, he alone flushed crimson. It was a strange eeriness—beyond reason, a loathing to speak of and a shame—particularly felt because they were blood relatives. Even when mutually understood, when it came to illnesses of his sort, parent and child could not speak openly—he felt the same peculiar suffocation.

“Father said he’d stay over, but then went back home,” she laughed with a somewhat teasing air. If it had been just that, he might have remained composed, but with Sugita and his two companions present, she chattered away in a carefree, flighty tone—as if returning from the theater—saying things like, “There’s something Father doesn’t want us to know…” When the work was done, she too had assimilated to their ease, indulging in dissipated idle chatter. That had nothing to do with it, but he felt an unpleasant chill.

"I'm not some actor who comes here on purpose. It's because Hakone's here that he comes half for fun, isn't it?" "But if we were in Tokyo, even we wouldn't go out of our way that often." "That might be the case, but unless it's times like these, we... isn't it?"

Gathering chairs around the brazier, they began criticizing the play they had seen.

“Really! Mr. Sugita?” In a shrill voice, he called out to Mr. Sugita, who remained bent over his desk. His wife and the others fell silent mid-conversation. His chest throbbed painfully with the exhilaration of having lunged at something decisive. “Well now, what could it be...?” Sugita smirked obliquely. He adopted an even more rigidly formal delivery,

“I hear geisha often come to visit at this house—is that true?” he shouted.

“That would have been when there were guests, perhaps.”

The sound of the clock echoed. His wife, trying to restore everyone’s mood to its earlier harmony, “You’ve no right to make such a face—” she laughed dismissively. He abruptly headed up to the second floor. His wife’s oblivious attitude infuriated him. He also felt guilty for disturbing their natural gathering. If they avoided family matters as conversation topics, there was a part of him that could relax somewhat in their company. ……Was this what they called selfishness? Biting his lip through unshakable discomfort, he pursued these delusional thoughts.

“Don’t you know?” Sugita pointed at the ceiling—indicating Taruno—while staring with put-on seriousness. “It’s about Ochō-san! You might have an inkling,” his wife bitterly whispered, “but you’re the type who can’t help but insist on viewing your own family members as paragons of virtue.” “What would happen if you understood clearly?” “Father must find Mother terrifying; we won’t be able to come here anymore.”

Due to him missing the opportunity, the two had already failed to return to F Village for three days. He alone had also failed to visit the hospital. When his wife had finished her daily duties and was growing sleepy, he would finally get up and say things like, “Shall we return to F Village now?” His breakfast coincided with her evening meal. On the second floor, the two of them were eating dinner delivered from a caterer.

“It’s impossible to go back now.”

“I want to get started on my own projects even tonight.”

“You’ll have to go to Tokyo to buy paper, won’t you?”

He soliloquized. "I want strength. Something... anything!" “Poetry?” “I’ve been thinking about writing a novel all along.” “You’ve written a novel before, haven’t you? Back in your student days?”

"Even thinking about that makes me shudder…" "Do you feel you could write it?" "I have a fever." From her husband's manner—muttering as if oblivious to her presence—she sensed an eerie warmth, something unfamiliar and disquieting.

“If you’re going to Tokyo, Father mentioned earlier that he has something he’d like to ask of you.”

"Why does thinking about work fill me with this peculiar melancholy even though I have a fever? This melancholy stays confined within the smallest scope yet remains stiflingly rigid—as if I’m shackled by some conventional notion. Anyway, maybe I should go to Tokyo after all? ……Alright—I’ll go tomorrow morning. Then I won’t return to F Village tonight… I can just sleep during the train ride there and back."

“It might be better if you can’t sleep on the train—that way starting the day after tomorrow, you’ll surely be able to reclaim the daytime!” “That’s right,” he said, suddenly clenching his fist and striking his knee. And, for the first time, he smiled. “That’s a smart idea. I’m the type who can’t sleep on trains—that purpose alone is enough. Even if I were to work, I’m already sick of nights—can’t come up with anything proper.”

“It’s truly—night!” “To think that…” “No, that’s….” In F Village, the mornings there were truly pleasant. “This will be fine. Let’s take tomorrow’s first train and depart.” “If it’s too far, you may always turn back midway. Just try enduring it for now.”

“No matter what suffering I must fight through, I’ll recover everything by tomorrow,” he declared with uncharacteristic fervor.—“Father, are you still here? Well then, just wait a moment…” He had just begun eating his meal when he dashed downstairs. “Hah... Calling this a ‘wild beast trap’ seems a bit too grandiose for its name, I must say!”

“That’s precisely why we should get a sample—take one unit of this No. 3 model to test.” “Why don’t we place an order after seeing how it functions?” “So here—right here—when the wild beast… er, when it places its leg here—hfft!—this spring releases and—” “It’s a mechanism that clamps firmly onto the leg once caught, you see.” Sugita gestured animatedly with his hands. His father shared this enthusiasm yet found the “Wild Beast Trap” designation oddly comical. Sugita maintained unwavering seriousness throughout. The two men sat consulting the firearms dealer’s catalog spread before them.

“If wild boars are appearing, wouldn’t even the No. 1 model suffice?” “But their structures are identical, you see. With the No. 1 model, you couldn’t carry it by hand, could you? If only I had time to go myself…” “Quite the vexing product—might it already be sold out?!” Father said with a bitter smile as he turned to him. “Are you certain? You?” he asked. “I’m fine—” He gave a brief nod.

“You mean to conceal this in the thicket?! Humans would need to take extra care—they’d be in far greater danger than any beast,” his father said, tilting his head skeptically. “Wouldn’t rifles alone suffice?” “Because we haven’t time to keep firing rifles all day,” Sugita countered resentfully. “This whole business is utterly superfluous. Besides, you still don’t grasp the mountain’s true condition.”

“What should I say when buying it?” Father asked again, pointing at the catalog as he spoke to him. “Do I show them this and say ‘Give me this’? Or should I just say ‘trap’ at the shop counter? Somehow I doubt even you could manage to purchase this thing.”

“You’re worrying about such trivial things.” Sugita grimaced exaggeratedly while pretending to pressure his father, seeking his agreement. “It’s just shopping, you see. “What does it matter what you call it?”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, nodding blankly in the same manner as before. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he alone was being relentlessly mocked by some invisible presence.

He himself hadn’t noticed, but to anyone observing him, it had been clear for some time that he was suffering from quite severe neurasthenia. Therefore, everyone was privately concerned about his behavior, but no one informed him about his symptoms. (15th Year · November)