Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Compelled as I was, I held no ideals for the form of my life—I remained ceaselessly, foolishly idealistic.
Always, always, I was simply overwhelmed by a phantom garlanded cart spinning round and round in my chest—formless yet aching.
Spinning, spinning—in no time my soul was obliterated by a fierce smokescreen.
I had taken to calling such a self a quasi-opium smoker, but my opium would often leap beyond intoxication's bounds and come bearing down with such terrifying heft—strangling my windpipe with all its might as though to snuff out my breath then and there—that it happened time and again.

My supreme sorrow was this lament: that I, lacking the phrases to project my illusions as illusions into this world, was compelled instead to vainly take up the mundane matters I should have long since scorned—thereby forcing pity on my wandering self.
"The 'joys' and 'sorrows' encountered on earth—and toward all events, a certain awareness as though I harbor some delusional sense of detachment!"
That itself was a constant lament.
And yet again, with each matter, I felt a karmic contradiction in this obsession of mine—how toward every event encountered in this world, while they existed, I would grow infatuated, become engrossed, lose all sense of reality itself, yet refuse to let go until cast aside.
For many years I had studied humility, humor, and longing with the Platonists, traced back through Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius—yet this inferior student merely fell into malnutrition, vainly succumbed to nervous breakdowns, and failed to elevate his delusions to ideals!
I could not become sound until I could call them ideals.

Be that as it may, here I shall begin chronicling from such memories of a Doll Festival night.

It was the H family who, after viewing that year's cherry blossoms, had resolved to leave their long-familiar home in Yokohama and return temporarily to their home country.
Mr. H asked me to accompany his daughter F to view the Doll Festival decorations at the home of my friend.
That evening, I invited F to Yukiko's house in Nihonbashi where I was then staying.
Yukiko's household consisted of two sisters—the eldest Yukiko and Mitsuko, who was around ten years old at the time—and since their parents had a great love for lavish displays, the Doll Festival there would surely please F!
So I thought.
Our fathers had been friends with one another.
During extended school holidays, by my father's orders I would visit F's household, where I became acquainted with their ways.

“It was around this time that I finally came to understand you’re a lonely person without friends,” F said to me then.

It was around that time I developed the habit of grumbling something to the effect of “This familiarity with Ms. F’s household—it’s likely my father’s design to eventually make me reside in your country and become someone with a background like his own,” while slowly crossing my arms and maintaining what might be called a warrior’s grimace as I turned away. When I thought of parting with people, I was the kind who became ceaselessly sentimental.

“I detest seeing anyone off without exception—you dear ones especially must forgive me this.”

I don’t recall how F answered, but I remember laughing uproariously before receiving a kiss on the cheek.

Yukiko’s house held three distinct doll sets from her mother and sisters each—the sisters’ grandest tiered display competed in full regalia as though recounting their household’s golden age.
Since F was coming, they had spared no effort that time—preparing every conceivable decoration while clearing out Kuramae’s plank-floored storeroom for display.
Being an export business with no evening work, all staff had thrown themselves into perfecting every adornment from midday onward.

"I don't know much about dolls and such, so it's troublesome when I'm asked about every little thing—why don't you talk more, Yukiko?"

Yukiko kept making me alone entertain F while acting shy, so when I spoke up, F would turn away—and Yukiko, seizing that moment, would wave her hand fiercely or mouth “If you say such things, you’ll regret it later!” Instead of saying anything, she thrust her fist before her own face—so flustered was she that... Though this was not her usual way, for some reason F addressed me entirely in her native language. I was awkward, yet had no choice but to respond in the same language. For every little thing, F would tug at my sleeve and demand to know why the clerks were shouting “Boom! Boom!” at each other! “And do you and Ms.Yukiko sit there studying side by side at those tiny desks?” F continued firing off such questions, and I hated having Yukiko see me obliged to answer them kindly. She would turn around expecting me to take off her coat; I would slide open the door for her to pass through—I couldn’t help but feel utterly ashamed for Yukiko to witness such formality between F and me.

“Stylish!” or something like “geisha-like!”
Yukiko, whose fervent wish was to be called things like “Stylish!” or “Geisha-like!”, would nevertheless look downward even when F extended a hand for a handshake.
Normally boisterous and strong-willed, yet in front of unfamiliar people she was a reserved soul who could scarcely speak a word.
Moreover, Yukiko viewed Westerners with an intensely particular gaze and generally detested them.—“When you meet Ms. F and her kind, you somehow turn into a man who only caters to women’s whims, don’t you?”
It was Yukiko who would ask me such foolish questions.
“It’s not that I’m trying to please her, but—” I began awkwardly, my face flushing crimson as I tried to explain, when Yukiko shuddered from the start, cutting me off with a “Ugh, how vile!” then pressed breathlessly, “But surely you’re not... kissing her?”
Acting so absurdly foolish that I couldn’t possibly be serious, I began mournfully, “If it were just the back of a hand or a forehead—it’s not as though I’d take the initiative to…” whereupon Yukiko stared piercingly at my face as though beholding something truly vile, then hoarsely spat out:
“My, you’re such a shameless one.”
“I never took you for such a slob.”
“Ugh, just hearing that makes me sick!” she cried, clawing at her chest as if she couldn’t bear it—Kaaah!
“Kaaah!”
and she growled in her throat.

Though bringing F before such a Yukiko might have made me appear terribly brutish, Yukiko’s excitement stemmed merely from abstract nerves leaking in private—when we met, she proved amiable, sparing no hospitality, and indeed that evening’s affair could well be said to have been her initiative.
I had not forcefully suggested it because I anticipated that I myself would likely feel constrained, but F for her part was enthusiastic, and Yukiko too had wanted to entertain such a rare guest.
“Which would make you lonelier—me getting married soon, or you parting with Ms. F?”

One evening, Yukiko sat by my bedside and said something.

“You’d be lonely!”
“But why?” I asked back in surprise.
I had never once considered it before—marriage!
When I heard this, I was abruptly struck by an inexplicable loneliness.
It was not love—the feverish illusions that perpetually clouded my mind had, as if seizing clear words to press closer, become maddening and desolate.
Along with that came unbearable disillusionment with myself.
“Speak of love!
Seek a partner and speak of love!
Then you’ll realize your pseudo-mystical sense was just your wretched nervous breakdown,” came the whisper in my dream.

“Every single day, you’re doing nothing but sleep—what’s wrong with you? You aren’t even in love with Ms. F, are you?”

“...”

I seemed able to nod.

“There were times you called out my name in your sleep.”

“Really?”

“And Mitsuko—she just laughed and laughed! That child acts oddly grown-up for her age—I can’t stand it.”
“She’ll surely turn delinquent someday.”
“If I’m gone, you’d better watch out.”

Yukiko would often tell me things like: if both sisters were to marry me, our ages would be mismatched—yet this somehow felt like happiness instead—surely I could remain their kind friend forever. But I never understood her meaning.
Yukiko was—love!
When voicing such notions, she displayed a nature that either recklessly spouted outrageous statements through innocent mischief or uttered words like marriage with clinical detachment.

F kept pointing at the doll platform and bombarding me with questions.

“What’s that?”

“They are court musicians,” I explained. “A drum, a flute, a small hand drum, a large drum, and five singers.”

“What about that elderly man doll?”

“How should I put this?” I asked Yukiko.

“It’s not Takasago,” she said. “Why don’t you just say something auspicious?”

After first trying out my explanation on Yukiko, I cleared my throat and translated for F in a student-like serious tone.

"They embody the married couple's Eternal health, materializing their blissful form through anticipation. They have reached one hundred years of age. Yet still they stand working beneath that sturdy pine tree with Eternal verdure, their faces graced with perfect smiles." With each utterance of "Eternal," I grew strangely exhilarated. "Behold! Above their heads spreads a crane aged a thousand years with wings of benediction, while beneath their feet rises a turtle aged ten thousand years, lifting both forelimbs in joyful exultation!"

“Oh, pretty-pretty!” F nodded emphatically.

“Why don’t you ask Ms. F to take whichever one strikes her fancy?”

“What are those lanterns called?”

“Bonbori—”

On both ends of each tier of the doll platform, pairs of bonbori lanterns blazed resplendently.

“Bonbon?”
Whenever F repeated her questions—perhaps provoked by my subdued tone—she would peer intently into the listener’s face from inches away.
While half-conscious of Yukiko’s presence, I corrected her with faint annoyance: “No—BON-BO-RI!”
Then F noticed the actual bonbons and erupted in laughter at her own mistake.
Laughing uproariously by herself in embarrassment, she suddenly seized my hand without pretext.

Just then, on the second floor directly above, a banquet was underway, and boisterous laughter, singing voices, and the sounds of foot-stomping all mingled together.

“Sis! I’m going to show Ms. F my dance!”
Mitsuko came running down the steep staircase and took F’s hand.
Unlike her sister, Mitsuko was still a child but hardly shy at all.
When she appeared like this, I kissed her without reason—
to put it dramatically—as if salvation itself had descended.
Yukiko’s presence had left my nerves utterly frayed.

“If we take our time explaining, she’ll get the gist of it—it’s better for women to handle this together. Let’s watch the dances separately.” With that, I took the lead and headed upstairs.

I joined the shop staff and watched Mitsuko’s dance. When a cup was offered, I was astonished at how freely I could drink. (This was the first time I had ever tasted alcohol.) Even now, I still regard that old evening’s memory as my first sake cup! (It is by fixating on this fact that I can recollect it.)

On Doll Festival nights, it was customary for this house to hold a household-wide celebration where various people would be invited.

With each cup I closed my eyes and gulped down, my head would flare brightly in an instant, the weight I’d been carrying strangely in my chest since earlier scattering like flower petals—then just as suddenly, an indescribable loneliness would come surging up like a tide, threatening to bring tears welling forth.
(Is this what being drunk on alcohol is like?
But this truly seems like a miracle drug for forgetting everything—everything. To forget everything—everything?
What in the world could there be that I must forget?!
There should be nothing.)

When I looked across, the figures of F and Yukiko sitting amiably side by side—something that would occasionally occur even under normal circumstances through some slight misalignment—appeared in my eyes as if viewed through an inverted telescope, distant and small; but at that moment too they had become so, looking like beans. With those eyes, I saw bean-sized F facing me and raising a Western-style wine cup in the distance, and Yukiko—who was reproaching me for being so far removed—secretly thrusting her fist toward me. I hurriedly turned my eyes to Mitsuko’s dance.

“Oh dear… He’s not here either.”
“What’s happened to him? Hopeless man, isn’t he?”
That was Yukiko’s voice.

“It seems he drank alcohol, but maybe he’s fallen ill from being unaccustomed?”
That was F’s voice.
The two were desperately searching for me.
Though Yukiko had somehow grown fully accustomed to F by now—with F’s awkward, precarious Japanese and Yukiko speaking in her ordinary way—their understanding barely reached halfway at best.
Moreover, Yukiko was in tremendous agitation over me.
“If we don’t find him, I’ll be ruined, I tell you!
You don’t suppose he’s gone wandering off in a drunken fit somewhere?”

“Why didn’t we notice?”

“He’s hidden himself and run off! I’m sure of it!”

“Has such a thing happened before?”

“It’s not about alcohol, but I’ve seen those comical letters that person wrote—they were so passionate…”

That was the scrap paper—if you could even call them letters—on which I had randomly scribbled some unnameable, restless emotion addressed to no one in particular.

“And the addressee?”

“Unfortunately, that part wasn’t written down, hohohoho.”

The thought of those being considered addressed letters was unbearable—Yukiko was truly someone you couldn’t let your guard down around!
And I shuddered.

I had suddenly felt chest tightness while watching the dances earlier, so I quietly slipped away from my seat and came downstairs.
I was nearly in a trance.
With everyone gathered on the second floor, there were no figures before Kuramae’s doll display—only the hollow glow of paper lanterns remained.
Staggering until I could no longer walk, I collapsed onto the wooden floor when it suddenly struck me to crawl beneath the doll platform.
I meant to rest there awhile.
Groaning like a gravely ill patient, I eventually seemed to doze off until that voice first roused me back to awareness.
Realizing how startled they’d be if I emerged from such a place, I held my breath.

“You haven’t forgotten to take photos, have you?”

“That’s unrelated,” said F.
“You won’t forget about me… Let’s go watch Miss Mitsuko’s dance!”

“Yes.”
Yukiko nodded, but muttered in a rapid-fire, peevish voice that F could never possibly comprehend.
“There’s no one as unreliable as him! Infuriating, I swear.”
“Maybe he’s run off to Yoshiwara with someone else!”
“Listen, Ms. F—when our shop employees come on nights like this, they’ll first make sure Father’s good and drunk, see? Then they’ll skillfully vanish one by one, two by two, conspire along the way, and absolutely head off to play in that wild place called Yoshiwara!”

Yukiko, while remarking that come cherry blossom season such enormous paper lanterns would line the streets and the night blossoms there had long been a local attraction—perhaps they should go see them together this year?—climbed back upstairs once more.
"I too—this year’s cherry blossoms in Tokyo might very well be my last chance to see them for some time."

I was lying face-up.
On the red cloth above my eyes, shadows of dolls illuminated by paper lanterns stood arrayed.
Looking at them from behind like this—the bright red and vivid black tiers—through my peculiar eyes, I felt as though glimpsing one end of an empty staircase spanning my chest, ascending to some unknowable destination.
I counted them—one, two-oo, three-ee?—and wondered if I might catch the whisper of a turban shell.
I listened intently.—The chaotic din from the second floor, indistinguishable from dancing footfalls, reverberated through my chest like distant thunder.

II

Seeing me suddenly slump over the desk with a thick, groaning sigh, Mitsuko—who had been idly complaining of boredom in the same room’s corner since earlier—

"I'm not being a bother—shall we go out?" she asked.

"There's no need to go. When night falls, we'll go out together, so until then you can just read a book there or something," I said in an uncharacteristically stern, official tone.
On my desk lay spread-out ominous-looking old documents and scrolls, and I was taking notes and drawing diagrams.

“What’s on for tonight?”
“There’s nothing but bread—have you thought about that?”

…………

Since I was just staring fixedly at the neighboring roof, Mitsuko hurriedly said, “I’ll be back! Y’s painting past the railroad crossing—I’ll bring him some bread.”
“What time should I come back?”

“Ten minutes, twenty—” I muttered irritably, then began flipping through my notebook again.

“That soon?!”
Mitsuko instead seemed displeased.
“Even though I came all the way to Tokyo—it’s so boring!”
“It’d be fine to go see a movie at least—Y and I can go together now—”
“That about him painting is a lie!”

“Then I’ll go too.”

“Aren’t you saying this because you think I’m a hindrance to your studies? So even Y can’t paint or anything, but Big brother—” Mitsuko was accustomed to saying. “We borrowed a paint box and went out for a walk.”

“You can’t do that—going to a movie?!” I interjected with a pout.
“I’m going back home now.”

“No, no! At least four or five days—”

“That’s it!” I exclaimed, staring at Mitsuko with exasperation.
“I really will tell Sis this time—there’s all sorts of things piling up—”

When I said this, Mitsuko fell silent with a sad look.
I had raised Mitsuko with utter indulgence, yet would not allow her to leave my sight.
In truth, I had been engrossed in research work for about half a year prior, cherishing every moment of each day thus—yet whenever I yielded to Mitsuko’s tantrums about wanting to go to Tokyo at all costs, I would end up carrying a bag stuffed with reference materials meant for mere days, accompanying her everywhere like her shadow.
And at every place we settled—where shops sprawled in outlying districts maintaining perpetual menace—it was the rented room in Tokyo’s suburbs borrowed by Takeshita, the student Mitsuko called Y.
Takeshita was a friend of my brother-in-law who had lived at our seaside house all summer, but lately seemed to correspond frequently with Mitsuko.

I had been entrusted by Yukiko with all responsibility concerning Mitsuko.
"Her mother would take her along; given this, we now had no foothold left in Tokyo—in our current circumstances where there was nothing to do but entrust everything to you—so through your hands, I want Mitsuko to have a perfectly ordinary marriage as soon as possible, and above all else, I wish for you to keep the most vigilant and strictest eye on her surroundings..." Thus was I earnestly entreated by Yukiko.
I was well aware that I myself lacked any such qualifications, but considering Yukiko's current circumstances—her having trusted me outright (an unprecedented thing, that I could be trusted by someone—!) and made such a unilateral decision—there was no room for refusal.
I was merely faithfully adhering to Yukiko's wish as it was.
It was Yukiko who had failed in a marriage ten years prior and had recently resolved to remarry.

Thus, if not me, my clever wife would always accompany Mitsuko; however, once it turned cold, as my wife and Mitsuko were sharing a single coat—my wife, who had lost all her kimonos because of me—she could no longer go out with her.
Three or four years prior, F from America had sent my wife this coat for our disaster relief consolation.

So, my work was—.

I had long been involved in compiling a local chronicle of our home province at the recommendation of a certain Doctor of Literature.
Thus while tracing my homeland’s history back to the Sengoku Period, I discovered a castle lord who ignited my profound curiosity—and from that moment on, eyes gleaming with this find, I became one who had utterly abandoned the chronicle work, wholly engrossed in detailed research about that lord’s exploits.
The Doctor, both concerned and amused by my frivolous obsession, often offered words of caution, but I turned a deaf ear like a lover would.
When drowning, I know no bounds.
It was my custom to become engrossed until those illusions—bereft of the ornate phrases perpetually swirling in my head—burst forth like a broken dam and collapsed after expending every last ounce of energy.
Though it’s said my interests varied from time to time, this stemmed not from weariness but because my energy would inevitably deplete midway—such was my usual pattern.
I once abandoned my exploration of Breton philosophy after succumbing to malnutrition.
Stricken by severe hyperacidity, I also had to relinquish my indulgence in drink.
I once became absorbed in crafting an astronomical telescope and had my heart broken.—And when the fever subsided—I would spend those aching, vacant days cradling formless illusions in some hollow until discovering the next obsession.
Trumpets, horseback riding, insect collecting, liquor—I made no distinction; anything that could replace my illusions found me devoting myself utterly without reserve.

The castle lord, who spent his entire life immersed in "tengu dreams" while dwelling in the dazzling Sengoku Period, was ultimately dismissed with a laugh as a pitiful dreamer who ruined himself—but could there ever be one who truly measured the depths of his ecstatic visions? In the margins of my notebook, such scribblings were recorded, then erased.

I cannot recount here the voluminous research records (though I had spent over a year and gained but scant references about his youthful conduct—), yet he sacrificed all facets of life to hear the beating of tengu wings, living out a most wondrous and utterly dauntless existence.
He constructed the Great Tenshu Tower and secluded himself in its upper chamber, sealing in the night.
I discovered a transcript of the pitiable letter in which he fabricated a false crisis to borrow gold from a neighboring domain's lord for constructing the Tenshu Tower.
Furthermore, through fragmentary castle records, I uncovered countless absurdly foolish deeds of this lord and diligently transcribed them into my notebook.
Even opening its first page might convey his character—he was the sort of man who thought nothing of forgetting even summer's distinction from winter.
There existed a sickbed account of when he grabbed ink from an inkstone box, mistook it for sweets and devoured it all, plunging into wretched physical distress.
He once leapt into a moat believing it a bathhouse.
There were instances where he drew close a life-sized doll mistaken for a maidservant, committing such trivial blunders.
He wrote numerous letters in frantic haste, forgetting his own status and name.
I discovered his peculiar romance too.
I also found a volume of songs purportedly composed in a rooftop watchtower.
To begin chronicling such matters here would know no end—for his entire daily existence had been but a shadow cast by tengu dreams.

His name had become a moss-covered small stone near an unknown bamboo thicket by the station in my town.
I photographed that grave from multiple angles.
—My job was the creation of this 'Hojo △△ Speech and Deeds Record'.

I had begun copying the floor plan of the Tenshu tower, but the accumulated fatigue from prolonged labor would readily draw groans from me. When I twisted my stiffened shoulders, Mitsuko dutifully moved behind me and kneaded my neck.

“Grip harder—use all your strength.”

“Even this doesn’t hurt.”
“This is as hard as I can go!”
“When Y comes back, you should just ask him again.”

“It’s agony!”

“It would be troublesome if you were to fall ill here. Perhaps we should go back after all...”

I would sometimes develop a fever—ever since taking up this work—.

“In another two or three days, this part should just about reach a stopping point—maybe we ought to keep at it here.”

“Big brother, please buy me a coat. Then you won’t need to come anymore.”
“I’m sick and tired of going out with you.”

Mitsuko—if she spent another two or three days here, Takeshita would surely grow restless and bring back some painting—but what sort of painting would it be?
Or maybe—since I want to live in Tokyo—I should become a department store salesclerk!
Or maybe—I had talked about renting a house in Tokyo someday—but what ever happened to that?
She kept voicing these thoughts one after another, but I merely nodded vacantly into space.

As evening approached, if Takeshita was present he would take over duties, but Mitsuko would don her coat and go buy sake. Peering through a window gap at the hedge-lined path, I saw Mitsuko returning huddled with Takeshita—her socked feet thrust into geta, a sake bottle swinging from one hand. Though I meant no intrusion, Takeshita would go out alone while I worked out of deference to our single-room arrangement. Why doesn’t he attend school! The thought surfaced—the alley stretched straight toward my window, making their approaching figures appear graspably close from my vantage.

Takeshita, as if saying "I'll carry it," tried to take Mitsuko's bottle, but she abruptly shook her head.
And the two stopped for a short while and talked.

I—this self that was disinterestedly observing their behavior—should have known it wasn't through my own eyes but rather through the perpetual burden from Yukiko; yet viewing them from such an unusual vantage point, I found myself interrupted by an oddly novel, fleeting delusion.

Facing the sunset, Mitsuko's features—squinting her eyes—bore such striking resemblance to Yukiko's sullen face from those days! I thought—probably being around the same age we were back then—and considered matters involving F...

"You should come along too—to the countryside."

“That’s what we talked about yesterday, wasn’t it.”

“Big brother, you might think you came along for my sake, but it’s actually the opposite—surely it’s for your own study mood… though rarely in a separate room…”

“But it’s here!”

“No, I say I like changing things up sometimes; as long as there’s a change, anywhere will do, I say.”

“But this place is a bit too eccentric, don’t you think?”

I recalled the conversation I had overheard between them the day before and tried to let the pair—whose amiable chatter as they approached remained inaudible—speak.

“That would be best. Going together would be best,” I murmured, just as I had said then.
“As Mitsuko says, I’ll go ahead and rent this room—I can come here alone sometimes. Honestly, I’ve grown rather tired of the village workroom…”

I talked with them, but whenever I saw Takeshita occasionally touch Mitsuko’s shoulder, my heart unpleasantly fluttered. The alley’s pedestrian traffic had ceased entirely. With the setting sun at my back, the figures of those two approaching toward the light appeared vivid and beautiful.

When Takeshita appeared in the room, I—
“That’s right—you should go somewhere together,” I said while adding details about the room I had just been muttering to myself.

“Yes, thank you.”

“That’s right—you said you’re graduating next year. So you hardly go to school anymore? Working on your thesis?”

“Yes, though it’s rather half-hearted—”

“Half-hearted?! That’s no good!” I declared with an earnest frown.
Takeshita blinked in bewilderment, his modesty having fallen flat.
Compared to summer, he seemed to grow increasingly ill at ease in my presence with each passing day.

I had been imagining their premarital courtship entirely of my own accord.

I too had run out of words beyond that point, and Mitsuko, noticing this, intervened.

“It’d be nice if you could drink tonight. I went all the way past the railroad crossing to buy it.”

“It’s definitely not because of the sake—however, I still seem to feel no desire for it; I’m at a loss,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest.

For some reason, my chest would not accept the sake.
I found it strange and tried day after day without growing weary, but only my face would turn as red as if masked; yet even so, if I forced myself to keep drinking, I would inevitably vomit before any intoxication could take hold.
It lacked flavor, like sake poured to the brim.
And, unable to get drunk, I was left with a night of restless sleeplessness until dawn.

“How about today—it’d be a relief if you could drink...”
At the evening meal, I muttered such things while tilting my head in feigned perplexity, but the first taste upon touching the cup to my lips was always acrid.
Along with that, I twisted my face into a pitiful grimace.
I—with my irregular habits and perpetual boldness toward health—had never bothered to voluntarily consult a physician; yet those around me, reproaching my lack of exercise, even suggested I set aside that work temporarily.
Everyone disliked facing me when I couldn’t get drunk.
Still, I wondered—with the telescope it had been sleepwalking from neurasthenia, with Pleton philosophy malnutrition—each time struck by unavoidable ailments that forced suspensions—but if this were an illness now, what could it be?
If that work’s pressure was truly imposing these peculiar symptoms, might I not have to abandon it before even reaching the halfway mark?
Indulging in cowardly needless worrying, I found myself biting my lip raw from lingering obsession.
And so I stubbornly tried drinking anyway, but the sake I attempted to welcome each day—as if I’d angered Bacchus himself—tasted utterly flat.

“Since you hardly ate any lunch today, this might work out better. Just try drinking without worrying about it.”
Both Mitsuko and Takeshita showed concern over my sake, their anxious eyes fixed on the cup until it met my lips.

“Could it be the location?” Takeshita ventured, though I likely had no such experiences to draw from.
I—with this complete lack of judgment—had repeatedly made grievous mistakes before.
Wherever I went, I should have habitually transformed in an instant into some ecstatic, barbaric chatterbox.

“...”

I was staring fixedly at the sake cup as usual, just as I always did.
The absolute outcome determined by that first touch on the tongue filled me with dread.
"Today I might get drunk—my chest feels somewhat lighter."

“You’ll be fine,” Mitsuko encouraged.

With faintly trembling fingertips, I pinched the sake cup and hesitantly brought it to my lips.

“How about today?” Takeshita and Mitsuko asked in unison.
I examined the sake on my tongue as if it were poison for a brief moment, but when I resolutely swallowed it, I immediately contorted my face into a demonic mask and—

“No good again!” I groaned. “A shame, but there’s nothing to be done about this.”

“Well then, let’s go out somewhere.”

Mitsuko, suppressing what might have been a shared sigh with me, steeled herself.

It had become Takeshita’s custom to follow up with, “Let’s go to Ginza.”
“If you walk awhile first, you’ll certainly be all right.”

And I, having no opinions of my own, would typically go out walking shoulder to shoulder with them as told—but this time, I gave a slight shake of my head.
“How about... from now on you come along to my house too, Takeshita?”

When I went out to Ginza and such places, I would invariably get drunk.
Whenever I encountered drinking acquaintances, I’d grow cheerful and move from café to café drinking.
I would return leaning on Mitsuko’s shoulder to my left and Takeshita’s to my right, but however pleasantly drunk I was, as we neared this rented room my intoxication would gradually turn hollow until even alcohol’s scent grew repulsive—and then I would, until dawn,

"Ah, I can't bear this!"

"I can't go on like this."

“What a terrible ordeal!” I muttered ceaselessly, consumed by futile irritation.

In the six-tatami room, having arranged three pillows, there lay I right in the middle. Because I was so restless, even Takeshita and Mitsuko could hardly sleep! I seethed as I said this.

Three

“The Shinmachi house! Wasn’t that mine either? I just can’t…” I muttered with a faint smile. Such things were of no concern to me at all, but having vacated the village residence and decided that the family would move to Shinmachi while my study would remain in the village house for the time being—now that I had settled somewhat, I suddenly found it unexpected.

“Well then, shouldn’t we hurry and find a rental house?”

“In that case, let’s go to Tokyo,” my wife and the others insisted, but around this time my work had progressed as far as conducting on-site surveys of historical sites, so I couldn’t possibly comply. Takeshita had been commuting to school from here about once a week, but having until now been a self-supporting teacher, he now served as an assistant for my work. Until about half a year prior, my wife’s younger brother—who had been engrossed in motion pictures—had served as my assistant, but after he ran off complaining about irregular pay, his own younger brother N, a student preparing for exams, took his place; however, as my work progressed, N alone proved insufficient. N was skilled in mechanical matters and, unlike his brother, worked without reserve at any task, making him an especially valuable assistant during this period. For work involving photographing from various angles the soon-to-be-filled moat’s patterns, the collapsed stone walls, and the pine forest—as well as setting up a homemade telescope at the castle keep’s remains to record panoramic views—I had to rely on their assistance.

I was a busy man.

"As for this sentimental inheritance from my forefathers—I'd grown utterly sick of it."
"I never meant to need anything from the start—"
"When those things appear I inevitably ruin my own important work," I would habitually snap with irritation.
Whenever I said such things,the people around me took it as proof of self-assurance,making earnest,nearly reverent faces.

When least expected—upon receiving notices that such-and-such property had sold and that this was the surplus money you ought to receive—wretched me would instantly become a complete mess, and for as long as that money lasted, I’d transform into a frivolous hedonist devoid of any hope or purpose, a state that even I found shameful.
Just the other day too, when the distribution money from selling what was supposed to be the final mountain of mandarin oranges came in, I became a restless man with altered eyes like one who’d committed some crime, utterly forgetting about my work, and spent close to twenty days vanishing to who-knows-where.
Merely recalling myself during that time fills me with nothing but shame.
And so, having returned in a daze, I—with my soul renewed once more—thus began devoting myself single-mindedly to work.

...The family members who had moved to Shinmachi thinking it was mine had, before I knew it, returned to the village house.

"This house should've passed into others' hands sooner.—If finding a rental's too much trouble, then I don't care whose property it is! This time I'm moving to Shinmachi too—it's more convenient for my commute to the castle anyway!"

“But that house leaks when it rains.”
“We all tried fixing it ourselves, stepping and walking all over it, and it was just—!”
“And if it’s somewhere like the bathroom, when it rains you’d have to hold an umbrella or something…”

Because my thoughts were entirely preoccupied with work, I couldn’t even discern who I was speaking to.

“How much would it cost to fix the roof?”

“I don’t know about such things—”

“If it rains, we’ll just go out somewhere— Oh, that could be amusing, couldn’t it?”
I had been getting by saying such foolish things.

“Today’s fine weather—how about everyone moves back to the other place? I have to go out now—come on, come on, get things ready for me.”

Where had I been wandering all this time? It had taken far too long for what was supposed to be preparations for work! Dismissing the questions that were about to spill from everyone’s lips, I hurried them along frantically.

“Hurry up!” I commanded, leaning forward urgently toward N in the driver’s seat.
We were advancing toward the town’s castle ruins in a Ford automobile borrowed from a mandarin orange wholesaler.
N had been learning to drive from the wholesaler’s driver.
I clutched a telescope like an old cannon firmly to my chest.

It was a winter morning, yet suffused with a warm, still sunlight like that of early spring. Since the group was heading to clean up the Shinmachi house that day, I parted from them by the moat and, hoisting my telescope, made straight for the castle keep at a sprint as I climbed. Having wasted days in folly—to reclaim the work I had neglected—my heart buoyant with resolve, I—

**Four**

After much effort, having returned to the main path and begun devoting myself single-mindedly to research, I once again stalled.

One day after leaving the village and disembarking from the train, I sat down at the "Resort" before the station square and drank water. With my cheek propped against the table while needing to urgently consider some matter, I would occasionally close my eyes—yet whether due to the excessively pleasant warmth of the fine weather, my mind contained only an endlessly bright-seeming chaos whose smoldering smoke hung strangely tranquil in the air. And before my eyes, something like flickering flower petals shimmered in the light, scattering dazzlingly. As I absently gazed at them, the swirling petals would transform into a cluster of butterflies and vanish into the haze-shrouded depths of the field—only to abruptly blow back near my eyes, flapping against my leaden eyelids as I watched, before steadily piling up in my lap.

"Come on now—get up quickly and finish today's work!" I urged myself, yet the mere thought of "today's work" weighed me down.—Though listless, as if these days of dissolute drinking had sapped my strength, I fixed my insatiably greedy eyes and wallowed in scheming.
――My task for today involved an unexpected small plot of land at the town's edge that was being purchased by the municipal office to become a road—procedures for which I had been summoned.

I strove to shed the garments my ancestors had clothed me in, resolved not to be bound by such things—yet continued despising myself for being instantly crushed whenever they appeared—so that upon receiving such notices, I would cast everything aside and foolishly set out.
Truly for one like me, my forebears' material blessings were poison sure to destroy me.—To compound matters, according to documents acquired by the town office regarding this day's affair, it emerged I had already borrowed money from my uncle using that land as collateral.
Thus after obtaining my uncle's seal on those documents and submitting them to the office, the disbursed funds had to be repaid to him.
Whether aware of this or not, upon hearing such talk I immediately consulted friends, borrowed money under promises of repayment once obtained, and passed my days in dissolution.
—Though normally speaking with such detachment and single-mindedly pursuing research, whenever confronted by such matters I transformed into a wretched, shady creature using my mind solely for scheming.
If I repaid my friends and deceived my uncle, a considerable sum would still remain.
When such thoughts arose, a riotous black cloud—swirling up garishly—would spread its splendid wings and in an instant sweep away all of me.

“Alright!” I growled from the depths of my chest.
I’ll keep up an honest face until I get them to stamp the seal—then once it’s done, I’ll vanish into thin air!
The moment I resolved myself, a violent jazz swelled up in my chest.

“Let’s go—if I keep up this drunken revelry, it’ll surely become a carefree paradise!”
My heart danced at the thrill of lingering in village izakayas with barmaids, haunting strange hotels in port towns, and drinking my way through Ginza cafés.

“There likely won’t be any quarrel afterward—no matter what’s said, keeping silent will end it!”

“Then you’ll be charged with embezzlement!” he’d likely press forward with a demonic face.

“……”

For my part—complete silence. No particular awkwardness either. Just seethe with indignation!

“Putting on such an innocent face normally, yet you’re one tenacious scoundrel!” he’d probably erupt in that inscrutable fury—whether laughing or enraged, who could tell.

“……”
Exactly! I’d give one emphatic nod as if declaring it outright.

He might shout “Idiot!” through gritted teeth, but with that flat accent and drawn-out genial tone he used for everything—so mindful of appearances he’d never raise his voice properly—the shout would likely strain through throat and gut alone. Had you not seen his face, you’d mistake it for a common cough.

“Thief!” he might bellow next—but even that word, further choked by propriety, would surely tremble out with all his body’s strength compressed, sounding like another cough. As for me—shameless wretch that I was—what scene would erupt if I countered with a savage roar instead?

“Shut up! What the hell’re you yappin’ about?”
“I don’t recall ever borrowin’ money from your sorry ass.”
“Do whatever the fuck you want!”
If he kept nagging, I’d shout with everything I had and raise holy hell.

That’s right—quit dawdling around and just steal his seal already!

“Mr. Tarno!” called a barmaid from a Ginza back-alley bar who had somehow learned my surname.
She was quite beautiful.
And she showed sympathy toward me.

“You’re suffering from a broken heart, I hear.”

Truly, my manner of drinking was that of a heartbroken man.
At home, I couldn’t get drunk as if it were an illness, but while clutching such money and rushing about, I could drink without wanting to stop.
“Heartbreak!”
“Oh, that’s right—exactly that! A chaotic, self-destructive binge.”

“But if you drink that much, it’s poison, you know.”
“No matter how much you drink, you remain oddly composed, don’t you.”
“That’s exactly the problem, you know.”

When such things were said to me, I would fall into a sorrowful self-intoxication as if truly inhabiting a heartbroken man's circumstances.

"And the other person doesn't know?"
She thought me unmarried.

"Hmm... hmm..." I hung my head thus.
Closing my eyes, the castle lord's figure leaning against the main keep's window and facing skyward would abruptly transform into a woman's form receding into the distance; a maidservant proved to be Yukiko; peering closer revealed F grinding ink beside the lord attempting verse composition; then just as I registered this, a dancer flourishing a golden fan became Mitsuko—when suddenly, to my ears—

“You’re in love with me, I hear.”
“This is so troubling… Whatever shall I do, I…” she whispered tearfully—only to suddenly fling herself against my chest—
“Hypocrite! Fake Platonist!” I shouted.

“I never knew you had such a filthy heart.”
“You deceived me, shut me away in this backwater—who knows what you’ll do next?”
“There was never any ‘sister’s request’ or anything of the sort.”
“False kindness!”
“You jealous fool!”

I was haunted by such an impossible dream.

There had been a time when my uncle caught me at a village tavern, utterly stupefied by shadowless sake.

“You were here all along? Outrageous—when everyone’s in uproar over relocating—”

“Relocating? Where to?”

“Shinmachi.”
“You’ll have to move to Mukōgata too now.”

“That’s irrelevant but…”

“That place is my own property—”

"What do you mean? That's mine!"

"Yours ends with what's in the village."
"You knew full well yourself, yet now I'll have you stop with this petty talk."

“Tsk!” I clicked my tongue, but even in such situations—so long as the other party didn’t cast me aside—this self that sought to follow along was that of a strange sentimentalist.

“From now on, you’ll pay the rent,” he said with a laugh, yet made his demand disagreeably clear.

“I’ll pay—” I said.
Looking for a house would only be more troublesome.
Even so, I loathed going straight to the townhouse and instead ran to a hotel in the port town—one with mixed-race barmaids—where I danced until I collapsed.
It was a room where the sound of ship whistles could be heard.
I would burrow into my solitary bed and listen to the sound of ship whistles.
The women here too mistook me for a heartbroken man and would only approach to become dance partners.

After spending such days and becoming utterly destitute, I—ablaze with resplendent resolve to finally settle down and begin my work—had just returned to my village residence when an official notice arrived from the town hall.
And so, I was plunged into disarray once more.

When I thought back, even the nights at that port town hotel had their strange amusement. I'd mastered this clattering dance—a trendy one quite different in flavor from what I'd learned from F—accompanied by raucous music perfectly suited to my swirling head; drunkenly performing it with wild abandon in full view of everyone was undeniably exhilarating! Not bad at all—you've got quite the knack for dancing! When praised by mixed-race barmaids with such remarks, could I not become utterly over the moon! The nights at Ginza cafés were nostalgic too; to have one's heartbreak sympathized with until the chest overflowed—such rapture was hard to find elsewhere. Playing the wealthy patron at the village pleasure quarter was amusing too. Having many barmaids attend, leaning against the side with an imposingly arrogant yet carefree air, hands tucked into my sleeves, listening to leisurely string melodies while nodding off and tilting my cup—when I thought of it, such had been an unforgettable worldly pleasure.

Tokyo-bound!
Tokyo-bound!
A station attendant was calling out while shaking a bell.
Automobiles arriving in quick succession were disgorging gaudy guests returning from their excursions.

“There’s still time—please take your leisure.”

“How hectic! Why don’t they hold back one train?”

“But that simply won’t do.
Even if we go now, will we make it in time for the opening act…?”

“Mother!” I had nearly called out.
At the central table, three elderly women with companions were chattering over what seemed a belated lunch.
I recognized one as my mother.
I had been about to visit her to retrieve Uncle’s seal that should have been in her keeping.
Whether through some rough noise I’d inadvertently made, Mother noticed me first and spoke.

“Oh, you! Where are you off to?”

…………

“What a ridiculous posture that is!” Mother snickered to her companions while scrutinizing my appearance.
“And what are you standing there dazed for? Where’s your greeting?”

The companions were the navy major’s widow and an ikebana instructor.
Even when scolded, I couldn’t even manage a greeting.

“What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“……Just… a walk…” I managed to say.

“Is everyone well?”

“......”
I nodded vacantly.

Despite living in a nearby village—there being times when he wouldn’t show his face for three months—Mother would say such things about me to her companions while pointing my way.
And I seemed nostalgic.

“You must be so relieved, now that your son has grown into such a splendid man.”

“Not at all—”

“And now, what is—your son?”

I cut in as if to interrupt—

"That town hall—" I whispered to Mother.

"Ah, that!" Mother already knew.
"They say we need your seal pressed."
"You probably hate this sort of thing, but soon…"

“Soon I’ll go to the town hall—”

“Yes, you must have someone go there—though I know it’s a bother—”

“No, that’s…”

Before long, as the time for the Tokyo-bound train approached, the people going to see the play hurriedly departed.
While clearly picturing Mother’s absence in my mind, I accompanied her to the ticket gate as a dutiful son might see someone off.

V

Having sent off Mother, I was at a loss for the half day until dusk.—I detested anything but night.

I stopped by the house in Shinmachi.

“I was thinking of coming to meet you today.”
“We’ve received an invitation from Mr. Aono—he says there’s a village festival coming up and asks us to stay overnight,” said my wife．
It had long been customary for my family to be invited to Aono’s village festival．
With Mother away in Tokyo now，I wondered if they’d extended their invitation here instead．

“Will you go？”

My wife thought only that I was absorbed in my own work．
“I’ve put my castle ruin excursions on hold！ For now，I’ll shut myself away in our village study！”
So I’d been declaring．

“Are you leaving already?”

“Yes, once this is done.”
“It’ll be done in an hour. I’m wearing this one when we go!”

My wife brought a chair out to the sunny spot in the garden and was intently knitting a woolen sweater.
“That Mitsuko! She absolutely refuses to wear anything but that coat!”

“But…” Mitsuko leaned over my wife’s back, covering her mouth playfully.

“Even though we’re only walking along farm roads, there’s no need for that coat really.”

My wife and Mitsuko were frolicking together.—Having gotten drunk and seen such an outlandish dream, I felt unbearably awkward looking at Mitsuko.
Takeshita and N had apparently gone to the elementary school playground for basketball practice.

“Aono’s village festival?!
“Then maybe I’ll go when night falls—alone afterward—” I muttered.

“It’s fine—through those dark rice fields—” my wife’s eyes widened.
I imagined myself dashing off at full speed down the dark rice field path.
I would stay at Aono’s house for two or three days until heading to the town hall again with the documents bearing all the proper seals, slowly weaving my scheme!
I wondered if there might be some diversion—not alone, but with everyone together—that would consume our time all at once, but no ideas came to mind.

“That’s no problem—I like walking alone on night roads.”

“If you’re coming anyway, why don’t we go together?” Mitsuko said.
I was struck to the core but feigned nonchalance,
“I have a brief meeting with someone early this evening,” I said.
When the knitting was completed, my wife and Mitsuko went to the bath together.
I sat down beside a small spring and thought I would escort them—who were calling out from the bathhouse—to near the racetrack area, since I knew a shortcut!
We discussed such things.

“Has the roof leak been fixed?”

“It should be mostly fixed—though we won’t know for sure until it rains again—”

“Brother, when did you get here?”

“…………”

“We haven’t eaten a meal together in over a month now.”

I became conscious of the passage of time.

To reach Aono’s B Village, crossing the hill on the north side of town was the shortcut.
When they reached the hilltop, the entire town lay spread out below them at a glance.
The other side of the mountain was a racetrack formed into a basin.
Beyond the racetrack there was another hill, and on the other side of that lay the festival village.

Vegetable fields stretched across the landscape as a single village road wound through them—when one reached that area, festival drums echoed from beyond the fields. I pointed toward the unseen B Village in the distance and began meticulously explaining the route.

“If you go now, you might just suddenly encounter Tengu-sama along those tobacco field paths.”—Ever since I was led by my grandmother’s hand, I had often encountered tengu there—ones dragging great spears and clad in single-tooth geta. The tengu stood before the mikoshi; yet since they paraded it hither and thither, the creature would end up walking alone half a ri ahead. With only the distant drums reverberating and nothing but verdant fields stretching to the horizon, the sudden emergence of a tengu amidst such surroundings seemed like something from a dream.

“Well now, out for a group excursion, are we? Everyone’s been waiting eagerly—so the tengu calls out,” I said.
“Genbei-san—you know him, don’t you?”

“Ah, that hard-of-hearing old man!” my wife nodded.
Genbei-san, who had been a horse handler in Aono, was a large man over six feet tall, so he always became a tengu during festivals.

“Thank you for your efforts today. Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it? Since this isn’t ordinary Genbei-san,” the old woman had said while bowing respectfully—you must all bow properly too if you meet him.”

“That Genbei-san becomes Lord Tengu—how perfectly absurd.”

“What kind of fool calls this amusing?—These days, since he can’t understand a word, he’d probably just pass by in silence.”
“Oh, he’s likely become quite the tengu by now.”

An old man who for decades had swaggered about as a tengu at every festival marking the start of each season—now he had withdrawn from all worldly sounds. Though he spent his twilight years quietly at his home in Aono, with no large man appearing to inherit that ceremonial role, on festival days alone he would rise resplendently—making every last villager bow their heads—and walk about with a demeanor so fully mastered it seemed ten years were but a day; what state of mind this aged tengu possessed lay beyond our imagining—so I thought.

“The mikoshi procession remains,” he would laboriously say, “quite strenuous indeed.”
“Now then, shall we take respite?”
In former times, after uttering such words and removing his mask, he would transform into the loquacious Genbei-san—sitting with us on the grassy levee while indulging in trivial chatter about all manner of things—but nowadays, conversation holds no appeal for him, so he merely drifts slowly past.

While Genbei-san conversed with my grandmother about crops and such matters nearby, I would timidly gaze at the vivid red tengu mask resting upon his knees from arm’s length.

“Ah, I’ve completely lost myself in conversation. Since the drumbeats seem closer now, let us be on our way.
“We shall meet again this evening.”
He once again donned the mask over his face and walked away.
When I called out to him, he would turn around and strike a dramatic pose for me.
On evenings—particularly this evening—he would sit in formal seiza and receive cups of consolation until late into the night.—I had attended the previous festival day, but these days he hardly drank any alcohol, saying it felt strange to sit there with ears that could no longer hear; instead, he would wear his mask and sit rigidly upright in the alcove. In his figure, I sensed an indescribable dignity and allure that kept me from becoming a foolish drunkard.

“I’ll definitely come along later.”

I parted from my wife and the others at the hilltop. They descended the steep slope hand in hand. They bypassed the racetrack and emerged onto the village road on the opposite side. Mount Kintoki, Mount Ashigara, Mount Afuri and other such peaks towered brightly in the crystal-clear sky. The distant hills where B Village lay hidden stretched out like an embankment bathed in golden sunlight above them. A fishing pond glimmered amidst the rice fields. An express train sounded its whistle as it ran past the gas tank. When they emerged from the rice field path—now bean-sized—they looked up in this direction and waved their hands, but I couldn't make out their faces. I turned my back to them and looked down at the town. The sea shone white. The shrine grove, the school roof, the fire watchtower, the town hall, the bank, the castle ruins—I blankly surveyed these sights and muttered: Ah, that's the brothel district! That's the prison! Whereabouts in Shinmachi is my house?!—as if whispering to some companion. The sun, halfway through its arc in midheaven, blazed across the sea and glared off rooftops until it dazzled.

I stood with my arms crossed, rooted to the spot.
As the sun dipped lower, my heartbeat heightened.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” I too raised my hand without thinking.
It was Fujio the sculptor.
He was coming up the slope, pulling the wooden horse on which his son rode.

“I simply couldn’t figure out who it was,” Fujio said, tilting his head slightly.

“Ah, I also—for a moment.”

“Out for a walk?”

“Yes.”

His childlike face softened my heart.
I had been friends with him since seeing his small cow sculpture from last year.
Since praising his cow sculpture with heartfelt admiration, I had occasionally visited his atelier.
“Won’t you come by?”

He always spoke haltingly, yet I never sensed that particular awkwardness felt between taciturn souls.
It was not uncommon for us to sit facing each other in silence for thirty minutes.
He would stare with those round eyes of his—clear and unblinking.
There was an undistracted clarity to that gaze, as though conducting a sculptor’s silent assessment of form.

“Yes, thank you. Again—”

“Is that so? Shall we hold a year-end party soon?”
“Yes, let’s do that.”

And then, as we sat facing each other for a short while, I suddenly became uncharacteristically talkative.
“I’ve been thinking of hiring a female model.”
“I plan to make simply watching her into several days’ work.”
“For that—might I borrow your studio?”

“Yes, please do.”

“Do you object to female models?”

“Not at all.”

“Since watching alone would be improper, I’ll just observe from the side—like someone watching you work.”

“That should be fine.”

“Well then, please—”

“Understood.”
He didn’t find it particularly strange.

I myself couldn't comprehend at all why I had suddenly uttered such incongruous things, but upon finishing speaking—throwing open my chest, overwhelmed by nothing but heat and an inexplicably complex emotion—I descended toward the town now verging on dusk with an unsteady gait, as though wearing single-tooth tall geta.