Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

In that guy’s bookcase, dozens upon dozens of notebooks from his student days—their black spines aligned vertically toward this direction—still remained ostentatiously packed, just as they had been for years. True, the doors were always locked, but since the glass panes weren’t clouded, the books inside stood out all the more.
He didn’t possess any rare items, yet he was an extraordinary book collector—the small storage room adjoining his study had nearly taken on the form of a proper library.

Why he arranged those notebooks in that manner—I couldn’t fathom his reasoning.
He had claimed to be boasting to his family and neighbors that he had majored in natural sciences at a university in the capital—though I knew nothing of his life at that time—and given how he occasionally spoke with apparent expertise on matters like the moon and stars, I too had come to believe it.
He seemed to harbor some interest in philosophy as well, for whenever conversation topics ran dry, he would adopt an affected tone to invoke the names of past scholars, citing their theories in various contexts while habitually furrowing his brows with an air of profundity.—And so, upon the spines of those notebooks were inscribed in thick, meticulous white lettering such titles as *Dr. So-and-so’s Lectures on Astronomy*, *Professor Such-and-such’s History of Greek Philosophy*, *Graduation Thesis: Research on Wundt’s Psychology*… a miscellany of academic headings.

Books would be one thing, but as for ostentatiously displaying mere notebooks like that indefinitely—since I myself had never owned such things, I couldn’t comprehend others’ compulsion to preserve them—I felt something oddly unsettling, so when I once asked him about it, he glared sullenly:

“You’re truly a rude, vulgar man who makes presumptions about others.”
“Those who indiscriminately cast contemptuous eyes upon others’ actions as if they were mere sentimentality are ignorant delinquents.”
“Even in moments when I might appear tedious to the likes of you—within my breast there always burns a certain passion! Wonder stares wide through these eyes!” he suddenly blurted out, his face flushing red with this preposterous declaration, startling me so thoroughly that from then on I took care not to cast curious eyes not only on that matter but also on his study’s bizarre decorations.
(As for what his study was like—I may describe it later if I find the opportunity.)

Just when I thought so, he would on another occasion say such things with a strangely self-conscious stutter.
“As you can see, I’ve separated myself from the main house and spend my days here like this—but my mother and wife come peeking in from time to time."
“If I don’t maintain these scholarly pretenses, they’ll never stop ridiculing me.”
“I… look—you mustn’t tell anyone about this… I mean—” (he inadvertently blurted out in his rural dialect before correcting himself) “—I mean!”
(he continued in what he intended as the same affected tone)—“I just… I hate others knowing I’m a fool.”
“That’s why everything I do—every single thing—is nothing but surface-level cleverness.”
“I’m desperately pretending to be sharp-witted, I tell you.”
“Those who despise learning usually have some confidence letting them scorn it, but me—born without any confidence to begin with—ended up hating it all the same.”
“And when I think of how utterly impoverished my mind’s contents are, even I can only stand dumbstruck.”

“You know full well I’m not one for modesty—that’s why I’ll confess this—I was born a terrible fool,” he said, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. “If I were simply a fool, matters would be simpler—but this wretched instinct to conceal my idiocy has grown absurdly cunning! That’s what’s truly pathetic.”

He lowered his eyelids with affected modesty and sighed—a sigh so uncharacteristically earnest I’d never witnessed such vulnerability from him before. Against my will, I found myself drawn into his melancholy.

What nonsense! I couldn’t sympathize with such trivial agonies—yet seeing him tormented by such foolishness! When I considered this, even I couldn’t help feeling pity for his wretched existence.

What a pitiable man! I thought.

He caught his breath and resumed with renewed fervor: “Living with my own family is torture! Around them, my desperate efforts to appear clever turn every word into stilted lines from a play—every gesture into theatrical posturing! A single day together leaves me drained as though performing some grueling drama! And yet—” His voice cracked—“strip away this pretense and my personality becomes zero! Absolute zero!”

“Nothing but obstructive trash lying about!”

“Ah! What a contemptible fraud I am! Why must my actions and heart diverge so completely? Those notebooks—not one comes from my student days.”

“The truth is—since returning here under the pretense of study—there being no work…my family peeking in…I had no choice but to compile excerpts from lecture notes into those notebooks! For me too—it’s better than idling.”

“Let them see me idle? They’d force me back to work! Work? No—I want none of that!”

“That’s right—you were once a reporter for *Children’s Science*, weren’t you?”

I recalled how he had worked briefly as an editorial assistant at such a children’s magazine soon after finishing school—a publication from some newspaper company he’d subscribed to since its inaugural issue for over ten years during his boyhood, mainly featuring children’s science and fairy tales. At one point he’d even proudly mailed copies monthly to his grown self’s address.

I still remember how insufferably pretentious he was back then.
How he’d smugly squeeze into ill-fitting tuxedos and swagger down Ginza-dori.
His tastes were so unbearably affected that I kept my distance whenever possible.
Automobiles!
Perfume!
Cafés!
Opera!
Literature!
(When that guy uttered “literature,” I nearly choked holding back laughter.
And I secretly feared—God forbid he takes up writing next.)

“Why did you quit that?”

“I was dismissed due to oversleeping.”

“You must have been disappointed.”

“Yeah.”

“But after two or three years passed, you came back to Tokyo again, didn’t you?”

“I did.”
“At that time, I worked as a reporter—though it was also an assistant position—for about half a year at a certain literary magazine.”

“Huh, you?!
“What on earth was the magazine called?”

“Essei.”

“I’ve never heard of it.—Is it academic?”

“……”

“Why did you quit that?”
“Was it dismissal due to oversleeping again?”

“………”

He tilted his head oddly and contorted his face as though nauseated.
There was no mistaking I’d struck a nerve.

“Made peace with your father yet?”

“Hmm…”

“So lately, you’ve mainly been producing notebooks?”

“Well, that’s part of it—but this is just between us—” he said, lowering his voice.
Thinking how annoyingly secretive he was being with all this ‘confidential matter’ talk, I nodded boredly.
“Lately, I’ve been devoting my heart to literature.”

“Literature!” I shouted.
“You?!”

“Novels.”

“Are you researching classics now too?”

“No—I’m becoming a writer myself…”

“Hoh!” I pursed my lips as if possessed by a fox spirit.—To explain why this shocked me so would require detailing his entire character, but at any rate, I clicked my tongue at his recklessness.—Truly, what a fool!
And deeply, I found myself agreeing with his earlier words about his own foolishness.

He, unaware of my cold-heartedness, contorted his face gravely as if pondering some monumental matter and stared fixedly at the window overlooking the sea.

(They say there's an affliction called literary sickness among young people.)
That poor fool must have caught that absurd disease while working as a reporter for those magazines.

When this occurred to me, I felt such pity that I considered offering him advice—
But immediately checked myself—

(That guy's started another pitiful charade, hasn't he? He himself says 'I'm a liar,' so it's fine!) When I realized this, I felt an odd sense of relief. And gradually, I came to understand his earlier so-called 'foolishness,' finding myself able to sympathize with him as a pitiable creature.

Perhaps because I thought this way, when I gazed at his profile, his eyes held an animal-like senseless gleam—merely clouded and vacant. His flared nostrils twitched with each breath. He stared vacantly seaward with his mouth agape like a simpleton's—At least to me, with such a face: Truly, his silences must hold no thought; his chattering words no confidence; everything about him an empty husk; no wonder his speech contains nothing but lies; how desperately lonely he must be—though I'd never once seen that guy's smiling face! That countenance resembled nothing so much as an owl's—how utterly saturated with hollow sorrow it was! That fellow had once fervently declared to me, 'I've never experienced love,' but given his current state, no woman would ever approach him. Still, wretched as he was, his wife must be even more pitiable! Well then—I should find some proper occupation for that guy! —such were the thoughts that came over me.

“They’re here, they’re here, they’re here!” he shouted in sudden panic, becoming incoherent as he urged me into action.

“What?”

“Look over there! Mother and my wife are coming! They’re coming to check on me!”

He stood up in a fluster.—When I looked, his mother and wife were walking through the pine grove near the sea, conversing amiably. It was a tranquil seaside nearing noon. Refreshing sunlight gleamed silver upon the calm water.

To me, his panicked state of mind remained utterly incomprehensible. It had been a year since I last visited him here, but he hadn’t been like this before—a man childlike yet lively, prone to pedantic outbursts but free of this idle despondency that clings to him now. The only constant was how utterly he failed to act like a family man despite having a wife. Rumor had it his household had fallen into bankruptcy; perhaps that’s what weighed on him—though who’d have thought such a small-minded penny-pincher lurked beneath his bluster! If that's how it was, he should just have said so clearly! What an unmanly poser!

He said quickly.
“I’ve been pretending to them again that I’m still a student.”
“And I’ve been telling them you’re my teacher.”
“Since you’re two or three years older and have such an impressive beard… they don’t suspect a thing.”
“I meant to tell you about this sooner, but I ended up not mentioning it until now—sorry!”

No wonder his parents and wife had been acting so strangely whenever I happened to see them over the past two or three days! I realized this and grew flustered. He continued.

“There are… painful reasons behind all this—I’ll explain later! ……Ah, they’ve already come this close! Listen—*I’m* going to switch to polite speech abruptly, so *you* just nod nonchalantly like it’s nothing.”

I couldn’t bear it, but he was so deadly serious and flushed crimson that there was no opening to refuse.
I could do nothing but stare fixedly at his face.
I had never before lied before anyone.
Nor had I ever deceived anyone.
I had never performed any sort of act before others.
I detest people who dwell in both shadow and sunlight.
And I possess not a single playful element within me—...

“Ah, they’ve already started climbing the stone steps.”

From his eyes that held a desperate expression, a single tear rolled down at that moment.
My own heart began pounding violently too, and with blood suddenly surging through my whole body in such agony, I nearly found myself moved to tears alongside him.

We sat facing each other like daruma dolls.

II

Tomorrow I'll leave, tomorrow I'll leave—so I kept thinking, yet before I knew it, my stay had already stretched to over two weeks.
Here was a small fishing village in the remote countryside, dozens of miles from the capital.

He was still asleep.
Last night, I ended up keeping him company drinking until nearly dawn.—Bored, I went out alone for a walk along the seashore.
Passing through a pine grove thick with evening primroses, I came out to a rocky shore.
It felt good.

Does that guy not know this wonderful morning feeling?
I’m done being his drinking companion.—I puffed out my chest and took a deep breath.
I breathed in the fresh sea breeze as if devouring it.
Fatigue disappeared like bamboo sheaths being peeled away... I slowly turned my neck, stretched my arms, bent my torso, and attempted some quiet calisthenics.
My nerves were utterly exhausted.
The agony of facing his family members was beyond description!
To wear a mask—could it truly be this torturous?!
To some extent, I’d come to clearly sympathize with that fool’s idiotic suffering.
If I lingered carelessly too long, I might catch his sickness too!
Perhaps it was my imagination, but lately even when speaking to non-family members, I’d begun sensing an odd self-awareness seeping into my bearing—I needed vigilance.

Yesterday at noon, I spoke with his father.
It was truly agonizing.

“How is his work progressing?”

“He seems to be working quite diligently.”

“They say studying philosophy makes one pessimistic—is that really true?” his father asked with a laugh.—Wait—am I being cast as a philosophy professor now?! I thought, not a little taken aback. He was supposedly enrolled in XX University’s philosophy department too, but I didn’t know any philosophers’ names—the only one I recognized was Socrates, and even then I knew nothing about him. They say he turned many disciples into sophists, though he himself was some great philosopher—not that becoming a sophist mattered. Maybe I should borrow his notebooks and study Socrates a bit while I’m at it—.

“There is absolutely no need for such concerns on your part.”

“Well, I’m not worried about that.”
“As for him, I think it would be better if he became thoroughly pessimistic—”

“Well, I suppose that’s one approach to education.”

“Just what does he intend to become in the future?”
“I don’t particularly care about that sort of thing myself, but there’s no point in him carrying on like that indefinitely.”

“Are you referring to something like employment?”

“Yeah.”

“I have been considering it as well.”

“Is he writing some research thesis with the idea of perhaps obtaining a degree?”
“He seems to leak such remarks to Mother and my wife, but with me, he just mocks—‘You’ll end up like Father!’ I’d be troubled if he became like me. After all, I’m doing something like a shady speculator’s work.”

“That’s not the case, I’m sure. If he were to become like you, wouldn’t that be ideal?” I said, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere while lavishing praise on his father.

“Don’t butter me up, Professor! Though I’d rather he inherit my way of thinking than end up a fool—I don’t want my lifestyle copied. Keeping him at arm’s length like this strikes me as a good balance.”

“He does seem to be applying himself earnestly,” I stated exactly as I believed.

“His wife—well, she’s naive enough for now, but if he doesn’t start thinking about independence soon, even I’ll be troubled after I die. My own wife’s quite the eccentric herself—a woman who used to be an elementary school teacher, you know. Has a spiteful streak… Not that she’s from a low-class family, but she acts like she’s proud of it… What you might call the hypocritical type—”

“You’re somewhat of the hypocritical type yourself...”

“Whichever he takes after, it’d be troublesome, Professor!”

“…”
“That poor wife of his.”
Is that so?!
I thought too.
His wife was not living with him but staying here.
Though from her perspective, being here might be preferable to staying by his side—

At that moment, his mother appeared and performed a meticulously polite bow, as if adhering to some formal school of etiquette,
“Professor,” she said.
I felt as though I had somehow become a doctor.

“Would there be prospects for him?”

I couldn’t grasp what prospects she meant—I should have asked him about this beforehand— “He appears to be studying quite diligently.”

“If this year’s examinations prove unsuccessful again, would it not be prudent to have him pursue a different direction now?”

“When you say ‘different direction,’ to what field do you refer?”

“What might your esteemed opinion be on this matter, Professor?”

Be that as it may, my nerves were utterly exhausted and I was ill-suited.

“What exactly have you told your mother? What exam are you supposed to be taking?” I asked him with rising irritation that evening, when we were drinking alone.

“Civil Service Examination—”

“...And to your father, you’ve been claiming to study philosophy and astronomy, haven’t you?”

“Well.—Isn’t that also true?” he said, pointing at the row of notebooks inside the glass door behind him.

“But that’s—! Then are you actually serious about the Civil Service Examination?”

“In that moment alone, I truly do come to feel that way.”

“Before I knew it, you’ve become the honest one. I’ve been subjected to your corrupting influence and learned the art of doubting others’ words!”

“That’s only natural,” he said, nodding with exaggerated gravity.

“Are you already tired of being a reporter?”

“Not particularly tired of it…”

“At any rate, you also seem to be in no position to keep dawdling around like a fool any longer? You must become something.”

“That’s right.”

“What have you told your wife?”

“Since she hasn’t particularly asked me anything, I haven’t answered her either, but…”

“That must be the easiest way, don’t you think?”

“But it’s not easy at all. When I’m asked about my purpose and manage to answer somehow—that’s when I feel a sense of strength. If I stay silent, it would just end at that—but then I feel uneasy.”

“Well then, having them ask would be better.”

“I detest such unnatural pretense!”

“Hah!”
“‘Detest unnatural pretense’—you say?”
“Wait—I’ve somehow gotten completely tangled up here…”

“I also—” he said chokingly, downing his cup in one gulp.
I too, somewhat troubled, downed my cup in quick succession.

“Then when you’re alone, do you not think about anything related to that?”

“Well? What do you think?” he said with a composed demeanor, tilting his head.

“To me, you answered ‘literature’—but in truth, didn’t I not take that seriously in my heart?”

“I suppose so.”

“Was I wrong?”

“I was wrong—at least Father and Mother seem more faithful—”

“Wouldn’t their excessive faithfulness, on the contrary, cause you trouble?”

“I’m not troubled—not all that much—.”
“If it were troubling enough to cause problems, I would probably be saved instead.”

“But your complexion shows no sign of distress.”—Whether saved or not—it’s not as if either outcome existed. From any angle, this wasn’t the face of a man with nerves or ideas—I wanted to say this to him.

“That’s only natural,” he groaned heavily from deep in his throat.
“If you’re going to complain, then complain clearly like you mean it.”
“It’s tedious when the conversation always revolves around you—how about we talk about me for once?”
“I envy you!”
“I suppose so. I’m not a scholar like you.”
“That’s true… Through some damned twist of fate, I’ve ended up studying nothing but other people’s work.”

“Did you study that much?”

“Exactly as you see,” he said, turning once more to look at the notebooks inside the glass-paned door behind him.

“Splendid! Since coming here, I’ve caught a bit of your hobby myself—developed something of an urge to do research. First off, I’d like to borrow your notebooks and start reading Socrates or someone like that. First of all, it’s terribly awkward when meeting your family.”

“You’d be better off listening to my research report while drinking—the notebooks are a chore to read.”

“It makes no difference either way—have you mostly exhausted that field’s history?”

“For now—”

“Is there any particular philosopher’s philosophy you’re considering adopting?”

“Since I didn’t start this of my own volition, I have no real drive—but I’m somewhat caught up with Schopenhauer—”

“That peerless pessimist?”

“It can’t be so categorically decided, but—even so, it’s admirable that you possess even that much of a concept…” he said, nodding with exaggerated approval.

I felt as though I had been scorned. To what extent had he actually progressed in his research? There was a rumor that Schopenhauer was notoriously abstruse—could getting caught up in such things actually be messing with that guy’s head? When I thought of him wandering around Ginza a few years back, I simply couldn’t imagine him sitting in his study—

“Let’s stop all that talk altogether,” he said.
And for the first time, his expression took on a semblance of vitality.
What a pitiful fool he was—

“Sake, sake, sake, sake! But listen—I’m not drinking out of some self-destructive feeling here. Don’t you go mistaking me for some desperate delinquent.”

“You must be a reckless delinquent.”

“It’s a quiet, lovely night.”
“Out there on the open sea—countless lights must be shimmering like a city—do you know what those are?”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve been wondering what it could be since earlier.”

“That’s a squid fishing boat.”

“Do they catch squid at night—?”

“They lure them in with lights.”
“They don’t need bait or anything else.”
“With barbless hooks, they get caught endlessly.”

“That must be fascinating.”

"But barbless hooks... I hate them."

"If they just get caught, wouldn't that be less troublesome?"

"You're such an extreme realist!" he said, widening his eyes with exaggerated seriousness.
Thinking how absurd it would be to be criticized over something so trivial, I shifted my mood and casually,

“I’d like to watch it up close once,” I said.

"My wife's old man goes there every night."
"You know he's a poor fisherman, right? Me—at first, when my own father's boat flickered in the dark night sea right before my eyes—wait, squids won't bite on moonlit nights, y'know? How grotesque—no, I mean, if the boat my old man's riding in kept shimmering like that before your eyes... the girl watching it from shore—that's my wife..."

“Hey—hey, have you gotten drunk already?” I said, slightly furrowing my brow.
Is this guy looking down on his wife simply because she’s from a poor family? If he had even a shred of such base notions, I’d grab him by the scruff and haul him up—I thought.
(I’d forgotten to mention—that guy weighed just under eleven kan with his scrawny build, physically light and utterly lacking in strength, whereas I held a first-degree black belt in judo and had never weighed less than seventeen kan.)
When drunk, that guy putting on such grandiose airs struck me as unbearably comical.)

“I always harbored a beautiful sympathy, thinking how sentimental my wife must feel watching that—but she remains unfazed.”

“She must be fine with that.”
“I wouldn’t mind imagining the same thing myself.”

“Even just looking at those lights—doesn’t it stir up some sort of sentimental mood like this in you?”

“You who profess to be a scientist—it’s absurd to have such a look in your eyes.”

Even I, if I forced myself to view things through such a lens, could not help being stirred by this kind of sentimental mood—but I thought it would be disastrous to carelessly agree and end up inflaming his literary fervor.
Fundamentally, he was someone who, while appearing stubborn at first glance, possessed a nature that allowed his own tastes to be altered by others’ words.
And he had a disposition capable of becoming engrossed in them to some extent.
Was that fortune or misfortune?
I couldn’t tell—but looking at his recent stagnant life, he seemed anything but fortunate……As I dwelled on such thoughts, I too began growing drunk.
I thought about shutting him up and becoming talkative myself.
I might have been less adept at being talkative than him, but I didn’t feel lacking in confidence about what I said like he did.
I’d never experienced telling a lie and later regretting it.

“Oh come on, you!” I said.
After all, being uneducated and devoid of romantic sentiment myself, I couldn’t say anything clever—but I wanted to somehow shatter that guy’s superficial mood.
“It’s all about your state of mind—how you hold it, see? You could get sentimental over anything if you try! I don’t scorn sentimental moods myself, but yours—it somehow makes my teeth ache—”
“It’s not just those fishing lights out there! Take this sake bottle here—stare fixedly at nothing but this, and wouldn’t you start feeling sentimental too!”
“There’s a dining table!”
“The cloth is white!”
“Each of us has dishes laid out before us!”
“Some half-eaten, others untouched!”
“A glass single-stem vase!”
“There’s a white flower!”
“I don’t know its name!”

“It must be Freesia.”

“Here I am like this!”
“And there you are like that!”
“We’re both getting a bit drunk! — When you think about it, isn’t everything just steeped in sentimentality?”

“Ah,” he sighed, but as if finding it galling to be persuaded, he switched gears defiantly—
“If there’s no aesthetic emotion—” I said.

“Don’t you understand the beauty of still life?”
“Even the existence of you and me?”

“You’re messing around!” I shouted.
“You’re the one shackled by vulgar, conventional thinking! I don’t even know what research you’re doing, but you immediately make everything about yourself—that’s why you’re a fool!”
“Even gloom would be appalled to hear this!”

He hung his head dejectedly.
Did I go too far?
I thought, but my contempt only grew stronger.
Yet the troubling thing was this: when I suddenly viewed myself objectively—thinking such things, ranting about them—I felt an inexplicable mix of sorrow, loneliness, and futility, even fearing something was mocking me... until I nearly slumped my head like he had.

I’d caught his condition—while hanging my head and sinking into silence, my mind too had become utterly hollow, just as he’d say—neither happy nor sad nor anything at all, everything I’d prattled about now felt like lies—and I began to feel I’d have to make notebooks too, just to keep up appearances.

As I thought this, I suddenly became fond of him, feeling an unusual sense of closeness.
—It was that I had gotten drunk.

“I’ll study with you. I’ll stay here for the time being—”

“Really?”

“At least let me study your notebooks until I can properly respond when your family calls me ‘teacher’— Then that mask’s agony will vanish, and I can become a scholar too, see?”

“But reviewing that many notebooks would be grueling work.”

"What do you mean? I have a strong will."
"I'll graduate in one month what took you two years—how amusing! For us to share common interests, discussing astronomy and dragging in Greek philosophers to make the same research flourish—"

"That's good…"

"When it comes to literature—you weren't serious about what you said earlier, were you?"

"That's right."
"I can't write."

"You can't imagine how much more carefree it is to read what others have written than to write yourself!"

“Well, of course.”

“Is your stomach hurting or something?”
“You seem down.”
“I’ve become wonderfully cheerful—for now, I’m your disciple, teacher.”

“My stomach isn’t hurting or anything. I’ve somehow started feeling happy too—I’ll drink!”

“I’ve suddenly come to see all my past ignorance as hideous.”
“Ah—I’m glad I came to see you.”
“The Teacher’s suffering—I’ll endure any measure of that.”

III

Before long, he too became flamboyantly drunk.
We forgot everything and sang in unison.

Yet I suddenly grew sleepy when it was past twelve. It was as if the accumulated fatigue from earlier had erupted all at once. I wasn’t accustomed to nervous strain—

As I began to tire, he grew proportionally more energetic.

I don’t remember clearly. Every time I dozed off, he would shake me awake and prattle on about some incomprehensible nonsense.
“You’re just a big simpleton.”

“I can’t go on. No matter what you say, I’m sleepy.”
“Don’t be fooled!”
“Huh?!”

“No—make sure you fool those folks at home properly.”
“Didn’t I already say I’d take care of that?”
“I’ve just now started to get my head clear, but—”

“……I can’t go on.”

“Should I prop your eyes open with splints?—I’m not joking, isn’t there really some tool like that?”

“……You idiot!”

“I want it—though not now.”

“——”

“The squid-fishing boats have gotten beautiful—hey, wake up for a second and look.”
“There’s so many now—like a lantern procession.”
“Once the moon’s up, it’s over for them too… They say when moonlight hits, the squid scatter and you can’t work anymore……”

“——”

“Isn’t there someone who’ll catch me… before the moon comes out…”

“…………”

“……Ah—even though I know nothing—I’ve ended up deceiving you too—careless—Tsk!”

“……?”

"You’ve gone and fallen sound asleep, huh? …Since I can’t even retort, I’m done for!"
Even so—had another troublesome predicament come about?
I must craft yet another new mask for you! This one seems quite elaborate.
Even though I lack the mind for devising anything—how far am I trying to take this foolish act?
"In any case—I must craft a secret research room somewhere…"

“……Are you still awake?”

“Oh! You were awake?”

“You’re just unbearably noisy…”

“Sleep... I won’t wake you again.”
“Do as you like.”

“……”

“Maybe I should borrow a boat too, hide away, and join their ranks?”
“And if I could—I wouldn’t mind becoming a fisherman!”
My wife would probably have been pleased.
It was quite nice, spending a night like this out at sea… Alright—I’d do that.
But how should I cover up for you? Wasn’t there some clever excuse?
Keep it secret even from Father and Mother!
Right—I couldn’t carelessly reveal it even to my wife! She seemed to think I’d eventually become a university professor or something.
Because it was easiest, I had fed her the most brazen lies... To lack confidence—could anything be so utterly wretched!
Alone!
Alone!
If only I didn’t have to encounter humans—I was a man who could get by just whistling.
――That's right.

“——”

“Hey, wake up! It’s no fun being alone.”

“——”

He seemed to mutter something to himself endlessly, but being shaken violently from time to time left me completely exhausted.
I couldn’t make sense of what he was babbling about, but he must have been delighted that I’d offered to share his interests.
In the end, he seemed to shout and carry on alone—if he was going to get that drunk, I’d much rather he had just slept. From today on, I want him to quit those endless drinking sessions.
I’ve had enough.

I wandered along the seashore until I could no longer endure the hunger.

IV

“Professor!”
“Are you out walking?”
“Alone?”

When I turned to look, it was his wife.

"Well, I'm simply not built to sleep in, you see."

"My, how commendable..." said the Wife, looking up at my face with an air of intense envy.

"It's not commendable at all."
"In times like these, it's unbearably boring."

"I pray you do not take offense..."

She seemed to find using formal words extremely suffocating.
She spoke carefully, phrase by phrase, in awkward, stilted speech, as if a foreigner were using Japanese.
She seemed entirely preoccupied with her choice of words and did not show even a hint of a smile.
“I must be being terribly rude.”

I was anxiously hoping she wouldn’t inadvertently use honorifics when referring to herself—if she did use them by mistake, I thought I would pretend not to notice and let it be.

"I’ve known about his habit of sleeping in for ages, so it doesn’t bother me at all. Even if you force him up, as long as his eyes aren’t truly awake, he’ll just mope around until evening—it’s more bothersome that way."

"Oh!" she said feignedly, her interjection devoid of any genuine feeling. "Professor, you as well? My!"

“No—Sekihan.”

I myself had no way to speak either.

“He has been hospitalized.”

Suddenly she said such a thing.
In the same artificial tone, she spoke as if reporting some routine matter.

“Who might that be?”

“It concerns my husband.”

“Wh… why?”

“It’s nothing unusual. Lest it alarm you, Professor, I thought to observe his condition first before explaining in full—alternatively, he had urgent business requiring four or five days’ absence, but should he be able to return by tomorrow, he will…”

“That doesn’t matter at all.”
“Well, then I’m not surprised in the least—did he collapse from drinking too much?”

According to her explanation, he had a habitual tendency to abruptly check himself into the hospital from time to time—without informing anyone and despite there being no real illness to speak of—as though he were moving into a boarding house.
If you let him tell it, he would say things like it was a substitute for traveling—or so I heard.
According to the message sent from the hospital this morning as well, he had carelessly forgotten about you, Professor, but upon arriving here, it suddenly began to weigh on his mind—so he asked that I pass this along properly.
She had apparently been searching for me for over an hour.

“Hah hah hah… That’s just like him.”

I couldn’t put it into words, but somehow I felt I understood his state of mind. Though there was nothing amusing about it, I forced a laugh.

“So would it not be possible for you to come stay at my family home for two or three days?”

“There’s no need for that.”
“Since I too have some tests to conduct, I’ll borrow that place.” I said—the tests themselves weren’t a lie—but how excruciating this sort of position was!
This feeling grew more acute with each passing moment.
And during that time, whenever his family members came and went, I too would think I had to put on an act like his—and each time, I was struck by an oddly pitiful feeling.
A slight misstep became the source, and now I too found myself shackled; when I thought that there was no one but that guy to whom I could voice this suffering, I felt I couldn’t bear to stay away from him any longer.

“Will you be going to see him during his hospitalization?”

“I won’t be going.”
“It’s locked.”

“And friends?”

“I won’t inform anyone.”

“Then I suppose I too cannot go to visit him?”

“If it’s you, Professor…” she said, floating a faint smile for the first time.
The fact that I had deliberately said “visitation” in a comical way seemed to have gotten through to her as well.

“What on earth is he doing?”

“Apparently if one studies too intensely without ever changing surroundings, their spirits become quite depressed.”

“So he took his work with him then? I’d thought he’d gone again for some temporary relief—”

I too had become quite skillful at feigning ignorance, I mused, secretly letting out a bitter smile.

“This morning he was in such a great hurry—for some reason he carried off all those notebook-like things from the bookcase.”

“He seems quite engrossed in them, you see.”

Having said that, I once again found myself unable to grasp the reason.
...But I pretended not to notice,

“We’re supposed to be in the rainy season now, but not a drop has fallen yet.”
“I don’t know whether to call this state favorable or unfavorable,” I said in an easygoing tone.

“The rainy season has not yet commenced.”

“Is that so.”
“Then this must be the most agreeable season now.”

“I do prefer midsummer.”

“Can you swim?”

“Yes, I can swim.”
“But Mother has been strict about it, so I haven’t swum these past two or three years.”

“And him?”

“When midsummer comes, he only ever goes to the sea.
He takes a midsummer break.
The previous rainy season…”

“The rainy season troubles everyone, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied in a timid voice that seemed to swallow tears for some reason.

V

I sat vacantly smoking before his desk, having lost the materials I had finally intended to examine—it was dreadfully tedious.
That guy was such an oblivious fool. The hospitalization itself was fine, but there had been no need for him to drag all that stuff along.

What was I supposed to do until that guy came back?!
I did like naps, so lazing about while being blown by this tepid sea breeze during his absence might actually have been pleasant—but then the family members would surely think me a strange teacher.

I visited the hospital along the coast.
Even though it was called a hospital, it was as small as an ordinary house.
A white-painted single-story house built among pine woods on a hill facing the sea.

"I’ve come to visit ××—" I asked the receptionist, but they said there was no such person here.—?
I immediately understood, so when I described his appearance and condition in detail, the receptionist chuckled softly,

"That would be Mr. △△," she said.
Just as I’d thought, that guy had been using a pseudonym.

Sure enough, the door was locked.

When I suddenly listened closely, I heard what seemed like voices whispering softly to each other.
...What nonsense—here I was, respecting his solitary tendencies and offering this pristine sympathy, but he’d been making a fool of me all along—there must be some secret woman involved, I thought. Just as I was about to jokingly clear my throat in that signature way of mine, the cheerful laughter of what sounded like two or three men erupted.

“Sleeping like a log!”
“They had him sniff some knockout drops, I hear.”

“When the hell did he come back from his trip?”

“Yesterday, I hear.”

“You don’t see any guy taking trips while hospitalized.”

“This notebook—what’s this?”
“Nothing but pompous titles—not a single one has actual writing!”

“Ha ha ha—still an utter slacker, huh?
“At this rate, he’ll flunk again this year.”

“Ha ha ha! If he never writes anyway, he doesn’t need any of this crap, does he?”

“And yet he’s surprisingly thin-skinned—how ridiculous!”

“I may be uneducated myself, but there was a time I was stunned by this guy’s ignorance! Why do you know he dropped out of ×× University’s philosophy department citing pessimism?”

“What’s wrong with him?”
“Of course he’s a dropout.”

“No denying that, but it’s so absurdly idiotic it defies discussion. Not only does he not even attend for an hour normally—what even is philosophy? He doesn’t know that; doesn’t know famous philosophers’ names either. Yet he brazenly attended only the philosophy exam. There was this question—‘Briefly discuss Schopenhauer’s pessimism.’ Get this—he used the full two-hour period and came out looking smug as hell.”

“Well now, looks like he did know Schopenhauer after all.”

“Did you manage to write it all?”
When asked, he declared, “I wrote volumes!”
“He goes”—puffing out his chest—“If it’s Skopenhōru you’re asking about, I’ve done extensive research on him!”

“Skopenhōru?’ you say?”

“He actually said it straight-faced!
You see, Schopenhauer’s name was written in Western letters on the exam question.
The idiot couldn’t even read that.”

“What a philosopher student he turned out to be.”

“I’ve got a mean streak myself,” one chuckled. “Played dumb about his blunder. That idiot probably still thinks ‘Skopenhōru’ and Schopenhauer are two different philosophers.”

“That’s rather cruel,” another interjected.

“First off,” a third voice sneered, “he’s likely still puzzling over why he failed that exam—damned fool’s convinced himself his ramblings showed real promise.”

“What on earth did he write in that exam answer?”

“What do you suppose he wrote?”

“Should we try asking him about it casually next time?”

—When I heard that far, I snapped.
I resolved to fight those bastards for his sake.
Even after hearing all that, somehow I didn’t feel at all like he’d deceived me.
Those preposterous cronies of his became utterly loathsome.
That’s exactly the sort who must be delinquent youths.
By claiming he’d gone traveling, I’d splendidly duped those bastards; sensing that even if you introduced them to me I’d likely refuse to speak anyway, you must have outmaneuvered them masterfully…….

"But—" I thought I ought to consider his circumstances and our relationship a bit more thoroughly—but finding it all too bothersome, after making only favorable interpretations on his behalf, I clenched my fist and suddenly began pounding the door with all my strength repeatedly.

“Open up! Open up! You bastards don’t know this—I’m his friend!”

I kicked the door in a frenzy.