Pathway to Japanese Literature

“Do bring Ms. F to my place as well.”

With implications that to do otherwise would be disrespectful to her and show poor friendship—Teruko affected arrogance and declared this high-handedly.

F—whether I took her to Teruko’s place or not had never truly been an option—from my perspective—.
But I was still in that period when I regarded my sly “malicious speculations” as a game.
It was that time when I would liken the foolish mind’s movements to a cunning insect—hiding beneath leaves, shunning sunlight, seizing night’s veil to blow on an absurd flute—composing poetry that escaped through a sorrowful bitter smile.

“………”

And I, without even giving a reply—maliciously—smirked.
Had Teruko not said such a thing, I would have been the one to propose it myself.

“What do you do every day?”

“Well, I’ve just been so busy… After all, F is such an uncommon guest...” I muttered mechanically—empty words—and maintained my composure.

“How does she even put up with you, Jun-chan?”

“Well, that’s just…”

For some reason, whenever I found myself before Teruko, I did not speak the truth.
It was no casual pretense.
Rather, it was an agonizing game.

"Why don’t you have her come visit you instead? I can’t stand walking around with F in public—after all, she’s a foreigner’s daughter. If people on the street so much as glance at us, I can’t bear it."

"Of course you’d say that—you’re the type who can’t bear walking beside a slender person!" Teruko mocked me.
Teruko had entrusted herself to being the "slender person".

“F is truly so slender, isn’t she? Even if she were Japanese, I’d feel awkward.”
“Honestly, I feel terribly awkward talking with F—and she’s so cheerful, intelligent, free of malice…”

Having realized Teruko had implicitly vexed me—suggesting I must feel awkward walking with her since she’s slender while you’re a shorty—I conversely attempted to humble her pride by lavishly praising F instead.

“First of all, I am fond of F’s features.”
“In those blue eyes dwells a refreshing sadness.”
“The shape of that nose differs from those commonly seen—it lacks coldness.”
“It’s delicate and refined—and that’s why there’s no coldness to it.”

“Isn’t she a bit too thin!” said Teruko.
Teruko was tall in stature and, from my perspective, too plump.
Teruko hated nothing more than being subjected to talk about her nose.
It was with malicious intent that I said, “Your nose overflows with warmth.”

“The word ‘thin’ doesn’t apply.”
“I’m elongated and taut—trimmed to perfection.”

Unaware that I was using Teruko herself as the contrasting element to nettle her, she fell effortlessly under my provocation and began leaking hostility toward F through her tone.

“Even I wouldn’t appear so stout in Western clothes.”
“When I bathed earlier and stood before the mirror,” Teruko murmured, her dull eyes momentarily adrift in thought, “I became entranced by this figure—it scarcely felt like my own…”

“Ah, I simply must have Western clothes made,” she muttered to herself.

“Hmm,” I said, deliberately feigning earnest agreement.
At this point, Teruko was no longer my enemy.

“I wonder—does my figure really suit Western clothes more than a kimono?”

“Well, you won’t know until you try them on… but… I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, tilting my head in a nod.
Another seed of contempt sprang up—one more way to endure the tedium.
If someone like you—a scrawny weakling—were to put on Western clothes... Hmph hmph.
(With conceit this thick-skinned, she’ll manage.) In my heart, I wore such a wicked sneer.

“Would a one-piece dress be best?”
“Or…?”

Teruko was absorbed in seemingly pleasant imaginings, paying no heed to someone like me.

“Two or three styles would be necessary, I suppose.”
“Thinking about hats and shoes—all sorts of amusing things…”

“What is Ms.F mainly like in her ordinary state?”
“Hmm?”
I regretted having no recollection of F’s apparel.

“Anyway, introduce me to Ms.F tomorrow or so.”

“F can’t speak Japanese,” I said hollowly.

“Fine by me. Even someone like Jun-chan is within my grasp.”

Teruko declared with every appearance of confidence.
She had always been the type to boast about taking private Practical English lessons from a Westerner for over a year while in Tokyo, often mixing English words I couldn’t understand into her speech.
I was enrolled in the English literature department at a private university, yet I couldn’t even read English novels in the original.

"But—" I was momentarily struck in the chest,

"But when it comes to actually doing it, it's quite difficult."

I muttered with strange discontent.
If F couldn’t speak Japanese, she would never have been able to associate with me.
Since she had been staying in Japan for five or six years, her Japanese conversation skills were quite proficient.
The conversations between me and F mainly used native Japanese words.

“But it’s fine,” Teruko also muttered with apparent dissatisfaction.

“But—” I trailed off evasively, muttering some complaint under my breath too quietly for the other to hear.

Setting aside such vile games of the heart for a moment—were I to introduce them, how pathetically they would expose me as a liar! This truth would inevitably become known to them both. To F, I had been insinuating that Teruko was my "Sweet Heart." And to Teruko, I had been exaggerating my closeness with F far beyond reality.

“F, well…” I said.
“There’s just… something about her that doesn’t sit right with me…”

“What are you talking about?”
“What does that even matter?”

“No… She’s a Yankee girl and it’s unpleasant.”

I suddenly said such a thing.
This was the very same F I had just praised so lavishly.
Then Teruko—(not that she had measured herself against F through me, but rather after my words had stirred in her that degree of resentment one feels toward a beautiful stranger passing by)—lit up her eyes with ignoble self-respect.
So under normal circumstances, she should have taken issue with my careless remark, but she forgot to,

“I knew it…” she nodded with satisfaction.

“That’s why talking for thirty minutes makes you end up bored.”

“Is that so…”

“Her hair being oddly reddish and her eyes candy-blue might be somewhat interesting at first glance, but when you look closely, she somehow seems inhuman—makes you wonder what this creature’s thinking?”
“Gives you that feeling and starts creeping you out.”

“Jun-chan, you’re so childish,” Teruko laughed with merry derision.

“And their customs are too materialistic—it makes me feel sick.”

“Well, I think it’s splendid.”

Teruko showered me with elated and pretentious criticism.
“Jun-chan, your tastes are so barbaric they’re not even worth discussing.”

“That may be so, but dealing with that sort of woman is quite trying.”

I had been telling the truth, but conveniently, Teruko misunderstood that I was explaining F in presumptuous terms—
And so I too, carried away as my lies blossomed, would go so far as to put on this outrageous pretense—that despite such words, F and I were actually in love.

“Why, compared to that, someone like me has such a broad mind!”
“Whether it’s a Westerner or Jun-chan, I can interact with them in the same way.”
“I’d rather marry a foreigner.”

Marriage—merely hearing that word made sweet, hot smoke swirl through my chest.—Teruko stood up and lowered herself into a veranda chair to gaze at the sea.
I shook off this unsightly agitation and turned my eyes seaward again.
Then in a thin, affected voice,
"I suppose the waves look calm," I offered.
"Is Ms. F away today?"
"Father took them sightseeing in Hakone," I answered listlessly.

“I hear you study English literature,” she said clinically, “yet your conversational English appears deficient.”

One day, F posed such a question and made my throat constrict.
“Who told you I study English literature?”

“I heard it from your Daddy some time ago.”
“No, I mainly study Japanese classics.”
“Oh, I see.”

F—who was by no means suspicious—nodded readily, secretly making me self-conscious.
This unsuspecting “Oh, I see” of hers—
With this very phrase, I would often find myself exasperated.
I remembered when Father first introduced me to F.—Throughout the hour-plus they spent talking, I had strained to catch only those parts concerning myself, barely grasping some three minutes’ worth of key points.

“How does he stay so silent? Could something be bothering him?” F asked my father about me.
Father wore a dissolute smile,

“He’s likely overwhelmed by the lady’s beauty.”
“Though that son of mine possesses this rather disagreeable nature of taking perverse pride in his social awkwardness.”

I turned away while observing how Father delivered these careless remarks with such relish.
F opened the lid of the large red leather makeup case resting on her lap, angled her face toward the interior mirror, and began rhythmically dabbing white powder across her cheeks—

“I don’t know any such nature,” she said coldly.

“F!” my father said, a sardonic smile still playing on his lips.
“Would you be so kind as to teach him some manners?”
“gradually—”

Tch!—I felt a sullen tongue-click in my chest.

“Oh, I see,” F replied nonchalantly with a nod, then immediately turned toward me.

“……You……dear……Could you show me your town’s beautiful coastline?……I am studying Japanese……I’m interested in sightseeing……associating with a young man……my first impression upon arriving in this town was……”

…… was a part I couldn't catch.
Since I kept silent, F turned toward Father.

“Can he not speak English?” she inquired.

“He seems to be poor at practical matters,” Father answered.
“So he defended me—not that I’m any good at practical or academic things—” I muttered to myself, feeling self-conscious.

“Oh, I see. If he continues to associate with me going forward, it should prove educational for him as well.”

“Extremely, extremely—it seems he holds the hope of visiting your country after graduating from school.”

I felt even more troubled and made a bitter face.
Father, seemingly sensing swiftness in my rigid presence, quickly,

“Come on, say something,” he whispered.

I shook my eyes and head sideways.

Father clicked his tongue lightly—then immediately addressed F with amiable charm.
—I carelessly let out an extraordinarily large yawn.

“You can go home now,” Father added in a whisper to me.
I rose with relief.
Father and F were conversing about something incomprehensible to me, but as I turned away to leave, a single phrase from Father abruptly pierced my burning ear.

“He is Foolish.”
“And at times suffers attacks of illness.”

“Oh, I see. Foolish!”

F’s words were cold and clear like a scientist’s, delivered with immovable certainty.

(So ‘Foolish’ carried no scorn or mockery—damn it, that made it even worse! Now I’d been cast as some patient...Foolish boy! A Foolish boy!)

Muttering these things, I hauled my stone-stupid heavy body home through leaden air. Then I berated Father before Grandmother and Mother.

“Well, you’ve come back.”
“Don’t you go imitating your father’s show-off ways.”

The seventy-year-old grandmother, after saying such things, turned toward the Buddhist altar,

“Namu Amida Butsu.”
“Honorable Ancestors, I earnestly beseech you to watch over Junichi’s person,” she prayed and bowed reverently.
She was my maternal grandmother.
While secretly breaking into a cold sweat over having been so inflexible in front of F and the others, I instead boasted of myself as though I were a person of integrity, berated Father, and curried favor with Grandmother and the others.
In the span of about a year, F had become remarkably proficient in Japanese.
And she had become able to associate with me as well.

“When the sea season comes, you were supposed to go to K—— with my family, weren’t you?”

“Ah,” I replied awkwardly.
When that topic had come up previously, swept up by the vivid splendor of the seaside resort I was supposed to visit with F, I’d spouted nonsensical boasts like being something of a swimming champion…

“Just the two of us would be rather dreary—wouldn’t your friend Miss Teruko care to join us?”

“She probably won’t come—firstly, her disposition is obstinate and dull.”

I found it amusing to utter groundless insults about Teruko behind her back.

“What does ‘Injun’ mean?”

“In other words, she’s your exact opposite in nature. And she’s a ridiculous country girl.”

Just as I had attempted to disparage F in front of Teruko before, today I resolved to thoroughly lambaste that impudent Teruko—or so I thought.

“But you said that among your friends, the one you like most is Miss Teruko.”

“Hmm—.”
“But Teruko’s extremely compliant toward me—I just think of her as Petty—aren’t there all sorts of ways to love?”

“My B has said such things about me before.”

F laughed lightly and modestly lowered her eyes.
I felt gloomy jealousy.
B was a young man born in the same country as F who lived in Yokohama—I’d often heard from F that they associated closely.

“Why don’t you go with Mr. B then?”

“B has office work, so he can only go out on Sundays,” said F, her eyes appearing sorrowful to me—or perhaps it was just my imagination.

The garden trees glistened like shadows reflected in water, each leaf of their fresh greenery receiving the radiant sunlight. I kept my eyes on the quiet garden. Directly acknowledging F's presence had become unbearable. Through gaps between the cultivated trees, I could see the small vegetable plot behind the house. At the edge of this field hung F's socks on a long thin clothesline cord—countless pairs motionlessly bathing in the subdued sunlight. My gaze remained fixed on those socks.

“I’m bored—why don’t we go visit Miss Teruko?” said F.

Of course I opposed it as much as possible.
In fact, I had opposed it so vehemently that I ended up hurting F’s feelings.

I placed a folded zabuton at the edge of the alcove, using it as a pillow to lie on my back as I gazed up at the black ceiling.

F and Teruko had arranged chairs facing each other near the veranda and were continuing their exceedingly skillful conversation.

“Since becoming acquainted with Ms.Teruko, I have become very happy.”

“The impression I heard from Jun about you and how I’ve felt since meeting you are completely different, aren’t they? What a liar Jun is.”

Teruko spoke those words half-aware of me and to tease me.
Teruko had imitated how F addressed me as "Jun" following her country’s custom.
“You’re quite skilled at flattery.”
With that, F laughed skillfully.

Of course, I had been utterly excluded by both of them since the day after F and Teruko became acquainted.
They treated me as someone not even deserving contempt.

Talk of music, talk of theater, talk of opera, talk of marriage—these formed their principal subjects.
And regarding any of these matters, I remained disconnected and mute.

As a means to curry favor with them, I wanted to demonstrate at least one substantial piece of knowledge—I grew desperately anxious, yet everything dissolved into mere fantasy.

I quietly closed my eyes.
...(Dealing with these foolish women and getting worked up—how naive I am.—) I tried voicing such resentful soliloquies, but they held no conviction whatsoever.
Instead, it only fanned the flames of that saccharine sorrow, intensifying my discomfort.

"Jun fell asleep."

Suddenly, F’s voice reached my ears.
I grinned inwardly and pretended to sleep.

“I somehow feel sorry for him.”

“His Daddy said he was Foolish way back when.”

“Hohoho,” Teruko stifled a laugh, barely able to contain her amusement.

My friend Yamamura; Teruko’s younger brother Ryuji, who graduated from middle school a year ago; myself; F; and Teruko went out for a walk toward Mikan Hill.

“When autumn comes, this entire area becomes completely covered with yellow mandarin oranges, you know.”

Teruko, answering F’s question, used the tip of her parasol to point out the fields below and the green trees on the upper hills.

“Jun-chan’s mandarin orchard was around here, wasn’t it? —It’d be fine to pick those flowers, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine—who cares about others’ anyway?”

“Ryu-chan, go fetch those lotus flowers and bring them here,” Teruko ordered her brother.
Ryuji took out a jackknife from his pocket and cut two or three lotus flowers to bring back.

“Ms. F, why don’t you pin one on Mr. Yamamura’s button?” Teruko exclaimed shrilly.
Yamamura flushed crimson and dashed up the narrow ascending path.
F kept pulling snacks from her pocket, munching vigorously as she declared, “When my season returns, I shall visit again.
“Jun likely won’t be here by then, but you and your Ryuji will suffice,” she added while patting Ryuji’s shoulder.

After circling the middle slope of the hill, we set off on our return path.
We emerged onto the schoolyard from behind the middle school.

"This here is the middle school we all graduated from," Teruko explained to Ms.F.

“Oh, nice grounds!”

“Mr. Yamamura and Ryuji are the popular ones at this schoolyard.”

With that, Teruko went on to talk about stories from the sports festival and such.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and in the vast schoolyard, there was no one else except two or three children playing in a corner.

There was an old-fashioned school where physical exercise thrived.
The majority of graduates applied to the Imperial Japanese Army Academy and the Imperial Japanese Naval Academy.
Around the schoolyard stood various gymnastic equipment in grand array—the Twelve-Step Platform, parallel bars, vaulting horse, wooden horse, horizontal bar, broad jump pit, pole vault area, beam, swinging log, balance platform, mechanical gymnastics apparatus, shooting range, and a place whose name I’ve forgotten where they’d laid a log over a pit—that log bridge where two people would grapple single-armed to push each other into the hole below.

“Let’s stay and play here for a bit,” F suggested first.
I insisted I didn’t want to, but Teruko paid no heed and—
“Shall we watch everyone’s athletic displays?”
With that, she urged Yamamura and Ryuji.

“Alright, let’s do it,” said Yamamura.

“Well, it’s been a while since I last did this, so I’m not sure if I can pull it off,” Ryuji said as he agreed.
And so we first gathered before the mechanical gymnastics apparatus.
Yamamura and Ryuji stripped down to a single shirt.

F, Teruko, and I sat down on the corner lawn and stared with eager eyes.

"I have never seen this kind of athletic display before," said F.

"I don't particularly care for this sort of militaristic atmosphere... Not that I dislike militarism itself."

I muttered such things, but neither F nor Teruko heard me.

Yamamura was first to perform the inverse wheel.
I too was profoundly amazed by that marvelous feat, but feeling both resentment and jealousy at how intently F and Teruko were watching, I observed my peers' techniques with a cold gaze, as though scrutinizing them.

When Yamamura's powerful arms gripped it, the horizontal bar seemed to become as pliable as candy. His taut muscles produced sharp, crisp cracks that resounded against the metal. Though initially tinged with bashfulness, Yamamura soon became entranced by his own prowess, executing precise maneuvers without showing a single strained breath. Like a black kite soaring through the sky, he demonstrated the "giant swing" with effortless grace before releasing his grip to execute a flawless midair flip just above the sand.

“Oh, how beautiful!”

F involuntarily exclaimed and looked at Teruko and me.

“Well, still not quite there yet,” Yamamura said, tilting his head with a smug look as he laughed.
Yamamura’s brave yet humble figure left even me, a man, entranced as I watched.

“Now it’s your turn, Ryu-chan!” Teruko shouted.
Ryuji ran up to the summit of the Twelve-Step Platform and performed a handstand.
He excelled at it.
He aligned his toes and stood like a candle indefinitely.
And then, tracing a gentle arc, he descended to the ground.
Yamamura, following suit, performed a trick where he lay face up at the top and dropped feet first.

“Jun, why don’t you try something?” said F.

I had been dreading hearing those very words all along.

“Jun-chan, why don’t you show us some mechanical gymnastics?”

“………” — “I like the swinging log.”

“If it’s the swinging log, even I can do it, right, Ms.F?”

F laughed and nodded.
Yamamura and Ryuji continued competing in athletic feats—beam walking, broad jumps, pole vaults… Not a single one failed to impress the spectators.
F, Teruko, and I all found ourselves gripping our sweating palms.

The two of them, their shirts soaked with sweat, came to rest beside us.
F asked Yamamura various questions about the exercises and lavished praise on him, making him blush.

“Ahh, it’s so hot—I’d like to take a dip in the sea,” said Ryuji.

“The seawater’s actually warm around this time.”
“I tried going in once the other day.”

Yamamura muttered while smoking a cigarette with clumsy hands.

“Oh!” F widened her eyes.

“I swam as many as three times this winter,” said Ryuji, muttering something like, “Maybe I’ll try going in tomorrow or so.”

“Then let us also go to the seaside and see, shall we, Ms. Teruko?”

Teruko nodded,

“Let us also try going in—at the water’s edge, just our legs—” she said.

As we discussed plans like going sea bathing together every day once summer arrived, we returned home.
—That night, I fell asleep reading a book titled *Swimming Techniques*.

The next morning when I woke up，F was already gone.
I knew that F had come to wake me earlier but pretended not to notice.
I feigned innocent slumber.
The previous evening，I had told F that I too could swim in the cold sea like Ryuji and the others.
“Ryuji and Yamamura do swim competently，but their fisherman-style strokes make for an unsightly display.”
By saying such things，I implicitly hinted that I was a remarkable swimming athlete.
And in the end，I blatantly insulted them，saying their swimming was like that of horses.
F believed what I said，

“So you’re the sort who can’t ride a saddled horse,” she sneered.

“You’re quite skilled at allegory.”
“Exactly, exactly—but on the flip side, I’d be just the thing for the lifeboat when your group goes swimming, ha ha ha…”

I stood up on the table to demonstrate diving forms and recounted impressions from when I’d worn glasses to dive to the seabed.
I also explained how to move one’s head during the crawl stroke, the way to pull through with one’s arms, breathing techniques, and so forth.
I claimed that diving like a cannonball toward the base of crashing waves made me feel the pride of conquering the open sea as I advanced against them—leaving F utterly astonished.

“You didn’t exactly shine in today’s schoolyard, but I suppose by the seaside you’ll naturally become a splendid Victor.”

“Things like jumping down stairs or doing somersaults in mechanical gymnastics—I was good at those when I was a child, but I’ve grown thoroughly weary of such monotonous exercises.”

“Tomorrow, you’ll try swimming too!”

“Back in my middle school days, being first to enter the sea each year was a point of pride.”
“On New Year’s dawns, I’d swim before the sun even rose.”

“When summer comes, I’ll have you teach me every swimming method.”

When morning arrived, though normally slow to wake and despite the unease in my chest, my eyes opened as if it were exam day.
F stood by my pillow trying repeatedly to rouse me, but I kept feigning sleep with faint snores.

“Well then, I’ll go wait at the seaside.”

F left after saying that.

Ever since F had arrived, Grandmother and Mother had been away at the Izu hot springs.
Father had been away on a trip for business matters since four or five days prior.

After finishing a leisurely breakfast alone for the first time in a while, I entered the study and sat upright at the desk.
For the next month's issue of the literary coterie magazine I ran with friends in Tokyo, I was supposed to write a novel.
I now found myself belatedly regretting how I'd spent nothing but foolish days, feeling idiotic anxiety while dealing with Teruko and F.
"This time I'll get serious and write a masterpiece," I vowed as I'd parted ways with my Tokyo friends.

“You—if you’re going to write about love, then throw yourself into it.”
“The rhythm of our senses remains perpetually taut.”
“Even a breeze’s touch should draw sobs—therein lies life’s pulse. Even a blood-drenched existence holds meaning,” declared Fujita.

He had been relentlessly demanded love by three women, but being demonic in nature, he embraced nihilism. Casting aside all women, he walked a dark solitary path with bowed head as if possessed by some cosmic force. "Ms. A, Ms. B, Ms. C—please forgive my cruelty," he cried out, then smiled faintly upon sensing an unseen power at work. A was a married woman. B was his friend's lover. Yet he was a man who wrote a full-length novel chronicling his melancholic youth spent realizing that the universe holds neither good nor evil—only an eternal flow.

"That protagonist's fin-de-siècle ideology!" Such phrases had become Fujita's trademark. While claiming to depict his own life with unflinching realism, declarations like "As for that protagonist—the protagonist's feelings—" also numbered among his habitual expressions. "In the universe, there is no good, there is no evil—there is only an eternal flow." He would set these words to a lilting rhythm and murmur them with saintly solemnity.

“The nation perishes, yet mountains and rivers remain—don’t they?” I said, and he made a bitter face.

“That’s not some old-fashioned ideology,” he replied.

That such a grubby man could make so many women weep—thinking this, I found myself impressed by Fujita.
To shout “There’s no good or evil” after thoroughly deceiving women, then mutter “Ah, I am a demon—a sorrowful demon” in solitude—what a self-serving story. Though I felt this way, I held back, knowing carelessly voicing such thoughts might invite arguments I couldn’t refute.
Yet when I watched Fujita’s expression—eyes fiercely focused, mouth drawn tight with grave intensity—I felt strangely oppressed, yet simultaneously awed by his seeming profundity.

As I sat at my desk concentrating on imaginary thoughts, Fujita's words—"Even a breeze's touch makes one sob"—and "There is no good nor evil in the universe"—flitted strangely before my eyes. Those fanciful imaginings had vanished with that.—Perhaps I should try casually writing about recent life—Teruko, F—there being nothing else that touched my heart. Yet when it came to writing it down, I found myself—the one who should be protagonist—too wretched to endure.

I even thought—out of sheer vexation—of taking it a step further: writing about how I had hinted at F when with Teruko and Teruko when with F back when they hadn’t yet met, portraying myself as being tormented by two women.

Teruko’s face surfaced, F’s face surfaced.—I instinctively pulled my head in like a turtle.
It was all so hollow.

I let out a bitter sigh as I looked back on my recent life.
Every emotion merely glanced off the surface.
Pretense, flattery, sycophancy, cunning, obstinacy, stupidity, cold sweat, ignorance, incompetence—manipulated by strings bearing each of these names, I could not help but liken myself to a puppet that moves its hands, throws its legs, shakes its head, rolls its eyes, and twists its mouth.

Those strings bearing such wretched names must be severed... To the vulgar blare of a brass band, a shabby puppet shambled into the center of the stage.
(I wanted to at least dress this puppet in a clown’s costume.
But I couldn’t perform the trick of kicking up a fallen hat with my foot and catching it on my head.
I couldn’t execute a brilliant somersault to draw the spectators’ sympathy—)

The puppet wore gray clothes.
It wandered aimlessly about the stage, pacing here and there.
He stood before the mirror and gazed at his reflection.

"This Western clothing doesn't suit me."

Muttering this, he changed into a blue outfit.
The blue didn't suit either.
Red, yellow, purple, russet... all failures.
In reckless abandon, he tore off his jacket, cast aside his trousers, ripped away his shirt, and stood naked.
Yet his neck, wrists, and feet—the parts visible even when clothed—were painted white, while the rest remained straw.
He stood dumbfounded, as if seeing his absurd form for the first time.
Then he went mad and performed a frenzied dance.
...In a whirl of madness, drunkenness, and raucous laughter, he danced wildly.
He'd forgotten he was a puppet.
All strings snapped.
With a clatter—as he collapsed onto the wooden floor—he realized: "Ah... I was just a puppet all along."
Too late.
Eyes snapping open resentfully, he glared at the ceiling.... The curtain fell silently.

I, having indulged in such ridiculous fantasies, let out a hollow, bitter smile.

I gave up on writing and wrote a letter to Fujita.

"The plan for that romance novel I once mentioned to you has failed."
"As my own heart dissolves into the novel, I find myself crushed by the agony."
"But I will write again before long."
"As substitute, I've recently begun drafting plans for a drama."
"If properly realized, it might become a solemn dance performance."
"It's meant to be something strikingly symbolic."
"This should mark how my ideology has lately been drifting from realism."

I became exhausted just from writing the letter.
Because I had left Fujita’s letters unanswered, I reluctantly wrote one.
——How pathetic that I couldn’t even write the truth in letters—proof there was nothing in my head or life worth putting into words. I should quit novels, quit them for good——Thinking such things, I paradoxically felt refreshed as I dragged my weary body out to the veranda and collapsed into a chair.

F and Teruko returned covered in sand.
They went barefoot and, still wearing their tabi socks, kicked at the garden pond to shake off the sand.
Teruko phoned her house to have a change of kimono delivered.
Still in her damp skirt, F entered the tatami room, shut the sliding paper door firmly, and changed clothes together with Teruko.

“When I speak, my lips grow cold—when I write, my pen turns cold—and my thoughts grow colder still.” While thinking such things, I blankly smoked a cigarette, my eyes cast toward the garden pond.

“Jun, why didn’t you come?”

“I was going to go, but I remembered some work I’d forgotten.”

“And has that been settled already?”

“Since my work isn’t business, there’s no such thing as settled or not.”

Without paying any heed to my thin, muddled voice,

“We went in up to our knees,” F said, glancing at Teruko.

“What exactly *is* Jun-chan’s work?”

“My work is the complete opposite of sitting around talking with you all like this.”

Even as I spoke those words with vague uncertainty, I found myself half-heartedly pondering something else entirely.

“Jun’s work is probably sleeping in and staying up late.”

F muttered while polishing her nails.
Teruko gazed at F’s fingertips with a look tinged with hostility.

“Well now—if idle folk like you want to waste their days being fools.”
“Why don’t you go back to that precious work of yours then?”

“Tonight at my house, we’re having a tea gathering with Ms. F as our guest—but I suppose Jun-chan can’t come.”

“I detest it.
“Even without work to do, I must decline.”

I said that, but felt a twinge of envy.
If it were that sort of indoor gathering, it wasn't like I couldn't put on some display and catch their eye.
The other evening, for instance, I'd gotten carried away and pulled out a musty formal samurai outfit from the long storage chest,

“I’ll show you our country’s old customs and traditions,” I said to F, taking up a sword and standing.
“Careful now,” Teruko said, whereupon I—as if proclaiming “This is it!”—made the onlookers retreat to the next room and stood imposingly in the center of the ten-mat room,
With a “Hyaah!” I shouted and drew out the glinting white blade.
And drawing an imaginary enemy, I assumed the seigan stance.
I had intended to use the long sword, but it was too heavy and impossible to swing, so I used the short sword instead.
I had wanted to perform some sort of theatrical display, but since I didn’t know any lines, I simply slashed wildly in all directions.
I took down a spear from the beam and demonstrated its use by working it skillfully.
When it came to such solo feats, I was quite skillful.

“After all, I’m a samurai’s descendant.”
“Townsfolk like Teruko and hairy barbarians like F—had this been the old days, they’d have been cut down by my own hand long ago.”

Having taken off the shoulders of my formal samurai attire and paused to rest, I had said such things to make them laugh, but suddenly felt: "If this were truly the old days…"

“Let us have a costume party tonight,” F said to Teruko.

“Ms. F, you should borrow Jun’s school uniform and become a university student.”
“I’ll borrow Ryuji’s baseball uniform.”

I thought it was probably a lie.

It rained for two or three days straight.
I felt relieved.
I spent the entire day sitting at my desk, lost in idle daydreams.
When night came, with F as my companion, I engaged in the same absurd antics as always.
Teruko learned dances from F to the music of the gramophone.

That morning dawned clear and blue.
Rosy sunlight streamed deeply into the room.
F and I were engrossed in talking about summer and the usual swimming topic when Teruko,

“Today everyone went to the sea.”
“Though we still can’t go in ourselves—shall we try taking a walk?”
Having said this, she came to fetch F.
“Why don’t you try swimming?” F said to me.

“It’s still cold.”

“Cold? I didn’t rush here that much, but I’ve worked up such a sweat,” Teruko said as she took a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her cheeks.

“I’ve heard enough about Jun’s swimming from your household already—why don’t you show me the real thing today?” F said, her eyes shining with earnestness.

“No—the work isn’t finished yet.”

“Well, there’s no helping it.”

Teruko and F went out, their white Western-style parasols aligned side by side.
I heaved a sigh and patted my chest—yet my heart throbbed with peculiar intensity.
I circled about the room whistling.

The days were growing hotter and hotter, and being invited to the sea every day was becoming unbearable—I thought. I could not help but lament my inability to swim. If only I hadn't told those lies from the start—with this thought, I felt unbearable regret. Even when gazing at the carp in the garden pond, I felt absurdly envious.

When I was a child, I was not allowed to go to the sea.
Instead, I floated a washbasin in this small garden pond and rode around in it.
I floated many toy boats and, keeping myself alone aboard a washbasin, likened it to Gulliver’s voyage to Lilliput.
I built a harbor and began trading.
I stirred up storms to sink ships, climbed ashore, and even attempted Robinson Crusoe’s adventures.
...spent those days never knowing seaside outings.
When I entered middle school, friends came to invite me to the sea, but feeling it too awkward to admit I couldn’t swim now, I fabricated various excuses and declined.
I certainly played in the garden pond until the summer of my second year of middle school.

"I'm light enough—maybe even now I could ride a washbasin," I thought with complete seriousness. At the same time, without any deliberation, I stripped down to my shirt, jumped barefoot into the garden, and quietly retrieved the washbasin from the storage shed. And then I floated it in the garden pond.

Sitting in the center of the washbasin, the technique of maintaining balance through hips and spine remained skillful even now through years of experience. The washbasin's rim sank until it nearly skimmed the water's surface, barely staying afloat.—Until seven years ago, it had floated freely—had made me envision vast seascapes—but these brief years later, the washbasin no longer moved. I could no longer envision vast seascapes. How much had my mind grown in seven years? Perhaps it was only the oppressive weight of delusions immobilizing the washbasin…… As I became ensnared in sentimental melancholy over such foolish thoughts, there came a splashing sound—and at once the washbasin reached the bottom of the garden pond.—Suddenly feeling mortified, I scrambled up to the veranda.

“What preposterous things I’ve been doing. If they had come back during that commotion, what excuse could I possibly have given?”

I felt a terrible cold sweat. I took off my shirt, changed into a dry loincloth, and basked naked in the sunlight.

“If one practiced for just three days, they should be able to manage swimming!”—I retrieved the book on swimming techniques I’d been secretly reading from home these past days from the locked drawer of the bookcase and opened it.

And following the book's instructions, I tried raising and lowering my arms.
I entered the tatami room and lay facedown.
"One, two, three!"