Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“I have been coming to this hot spring for thirty-seven years.”
“Due to various circumstances, I’ve changed lodgings twice, but in any case, I’ve always made sure to come at least once every year.”
“I have been coming to this lodging for about fourteen years since before the earthquake disaster.”

The slender and refined Mrs. Tamiya began to speak modestly.
That Mrs. Tamiya was a long-standing patron of this hot spring inn was something I had long known.
The truth was that due to my connection with a certain university student who happened to be Mrs. Tamiya's nephew and frequented my house, I had been informed that at U Hot Spring resort there was an inn called XX-ya known for its tranquility and attentive service, which made me suddenly decide to come here.

When I arrived, though I hadn't made any special request myself, it appeared the student had notified them of my coming in advance, for XX-ya treated me—a first-time guest—with unexpected courtesy and showed me to a secluded second-floor tatami room.

"The sound of the river might prove somewhat distracting," the manager said, "but we never assign rowdy guests to this wing, so it stays quiet."

"Yes, Mrs. Tamiya has honored us with her patronage for many years."
"She visits two or three times annually without ever failing to come at least once."
"She's truly a quiet, refined lady..." the manager continued his explanation.

No matter which hot spring one visits, the sound of the river is usually an ever-present companion.
If one didn't mind that, then this room was undoubtedly as quiet as the manager had described, I thought.

It was early May, and the mountains on the opposite bank of the river were buried in fresh green leaves.
In Tokyo, I never thought much of them, but the crimson beauty of the young Japanese andromeda leaves delighted my eyes.
At the base of the mountains, Japanese irises bloomed in profusion, their butterfly-like appearance resembling a swarm of the insects true to their name.
From the river, the croaking of frogs could also be heard.
I was told that come June, river frogs would also call.

I had spent about three weeks here quietly and pleasantly, but since I couldn’t afford to linger forever, I thought I would leave in two or three days and was beginning to prepare for departure when Mrs. Tamiya arrived.
I heard that Mrs. Tamiya was always shown to the innermost lower guest room, and her luggage was brought to a place far removed from any connection with my second-floor room.

However, it seemed Mrs. Tamiya had heard about my stay here both from her nephew and the inn manager, for she came to greet me in my room shortly after arriving. Though we were a man and a woman, being both elderly, I thought there was no need for excessive formality, so I went to her room to return the courtesy, talked for about twenty minutes, and left.

On the evening before I was finally to depart the next day, Mrs. Tamiya came to my room again to pay her respects.

“I hear you will be departing tomorrow….”

Taking that as the opening, Mrs. Tamiya spoke for a while.

Even though the rainy season was still more than half a month away, the mountain town there lay enveloped in clammy air, with the mountains appearing shadowed even at noon, making the summer days of late begin fading into evening as early as autumn.

Mrs. Tamiya was fifty-six or fifty-seven this year; she had married once in the spring of her twentieth year but was soon separated from her husband due to certain circumstances, and had lived a single life for over thirty years since then. The student who frequents my house is the second son of Mrs. Tamiya’s sister and is expected to become the heir to the Tamiya family, eventually calling his aunt ‘Mother.’ That student had once spoken of such things.

“My aunt’s husband apparently went missing about a week after their marriage, and for whatever reason she felt about it, she decided never to take another husband.”
“There must be some deep secret regarding that, but my aunt has never breathed a word about it.”
“My mother must have some inkling of the circumstances, but since she has never told us anything about it either, I don’t know a thing.”

I did not know Mrs. Tamiya in her youth, but inferring from her present appearance, one could easily imagine she had possessed beauty beyond the ordinary in her prime.
To this she added considerable refinement, and her family appeared wealthy.
That Mrs. Tamiya had cast away all the springtime of her life and maintained this sorrowful single existence until today suggested there must have lain some profoundly deep circumstances.
While still contemplating this, I sat facing Mrs. Tamiya.

Amidst the ceaselessly echoing sound of water, the croaking of frogs could also be heard, scattered through the air.
I glanced toward the front and said.

“The frogs are croaking quite a lot, aren’t they?”

“Ah. Still, compared to before, there are far fewer now. In the past, it was so noisy that the frogs’ croaking drowned out even the sound of the water.”

“I see. As this place has grown more prosperous each year, I suppose it’s gradually become more developed,” I nodded. “When I go upstream along this river, I sometimes see people fishing on the rocks—they say they’re after char. According to the inn staff, they used to catch them quite easily in the past, but in recent years the numbers have steadily declined.”

When I carelessly said this, Mrs. Tamiya’s expression shifted slightly—a change that caught my eye even in the dimness.

“It’s true that char used to thrive here in great numbers long ago,” Mrs. Tamiya began quietly, “but as houses continued to be built along both banks of the river, they say one can hardly catch any at all these days.”
“In addition to char, they used to catch quite a lot of large eels as well, but even those are hardly caught these days, they say.”

Such stories were not uncommon.
At any hot spring resort, such conversations were often repeated among the guests.
It remained nothing more than an ordinary, mundane exchange to pass the time, yet this very ordinariness became the thread through which I came to hear from Mrs. Tamiya's lips a tale of old that defied all mundanity.

Why did Mrs. Tamiya reveal to me alone the past secret she had never divulged—not even to her own nephew, let alone others? If I were to explain those circumstances in detail here, there was a risk this story’s preface would grow excessively long; therefore, I omitted all such matters and proceeded directly to the main subject. Please read with that understanding.

Mrs. Tamiya's story went as follows.

II

"I graduated from girls' school in the spring of my nineteenth year.
That was Meiji 27—around when the Sino-Japanese War had ended.
In May of that year, I was brought by relatives and visited this U Hot Spring for the first time.

As you may know, this hot spring only came to be widely known throughout society as it is today after the Sino-Japanese War. During that conflict, they began sending army wounded soldiers here, which suddenly spread rumors that those waters held special efficacy for cuts and other injuries.
At the same time, people visiting the wounded soldiers also started streaming here in great numbers, further elevating the hot spring’s reputation.
The reason I first came here was likewise to visit wounded soldiers."

The son of a family called Matsushima, with whom my household had long been acquainted—he had enlisted as a second lieutenant in the one-year volunteer program and been deployed—had been wounded on the Manchurian battlefield and evacuated to recuperate at this hot spring. Thus, it was decided that someone from our household ought to visit him at least once. However, my father was occupied with company affairs, my mother unfortunately fell ill, and there was no one else available to go. When relatives offered to make the visit, I ended up accompanying them.

“Human affairs are truly mysterious things—had I not come here at that time, I believe my life’s fate would have been profoundly altered. Of course, at that time such thoughts never entered my wildest dreams—especially as we women were all swept up in wartime fervor, eagerly occupied with troop support and visiting the wounded. In those days, I rather welcomed the chance to visit U Hot Spring to pay respects to injured soldiers.”

“Unlike today, traveling there was quite inconvenient in those days, but there is no need for me to elaborate on the journey’s details. Upon arriving there, we first secured suitable lodgings, and the following day went to visit Mr. Matsushima.” We brought sweets, tobacco, handkerchiefs, and other gifts, and when we distributed them not only to Mr. Matsushima but also to the others, everyone appeared greatly pleased. “We were planning to stay there one more night and return the following morning, so that day we returned to our inn, bathed, and rested; but as early summer days were quite long, in the evening we went out for a walk with our companions.” “The companions were a married couple from my relatives.”

The three of them followed a narrow upward-sloping path along the river.
The town’s appearance had since changed considerably, but the color of the mountains and the sound of the water remained much the same as they had been long ago.
As I mentioned earlier, the only clamorous thing was the voices of the frogs.
We walked aimlessly without looking at anything in particular, and before we knew it, we had come to a stretch of riverside where the houses ended.
On the bank, silver grass and reed leaves grew thick and green, and the sound of the stream—choked by rocks as it cascaded down—rang out even louder there.
The evening sun had already slipped behind the mountain’s shadow, but the river’s surface still glowed faintly.
On a large rock midstream, two male figures came into view.
Their white uniforms made it immediately apparent they were wounded soldiers.
Both held fishing rods.
Having heard from Mr. Matsushima that convalescing soldiers were permitted outdoor excursions to pass time char fishing, we assumed these men belonged to that group.
As we paused to observe them, one soon turned to glance toward the bank.

“Ah!”

It was Mr. Matsushima.

“Are you catching any?”

When we called out to him, Mr. Matsushima shook his head while laughing.

“They aren’t biting.
While you can see the fish swimming, they just won’t take the bait.
It’s because the water’s too clear.”

Even so, it wasn’t that they weren’t catching anything at all.
Having said he’d caught about two fish since earlier, Mr. Matsushima turned back toward the shore, pulled out fish of various sizes from a tin can to show us, so both my relatives and I peered in.

At that moment, I witnessed something even more strange.
"Since this is the focal point of my story, please listen carefully."
While Mr. Matsushima was talking with us, the other man's hook kept catching fish—it seems he had reeled in about three while we were watching.
That alone would have been unremarkable, but when I peered into Mr. Matsushima's can and then—quite absentmindedly—glanced toward the river, the man was holding a long, snake-like fish—likely an eel.
He caught it, swiftly removed it from the hook, glanced around briefly, and then—in an instant—devoured it ravenously while it was still alive.
Even if it were an eel—to devour a fish that must have been nearly a foot long while still alive...
I shuddered inexplicably.

I alone had noticed this; Mr.Matsushima, absorbed in conversation with my relatives' married couple, appeared entirely unaware.
The man who ate the eel resumed lowering his fishing hook.
After exchanging brief words with Mr.Matsushima, we parted ways and returned to our inn—yet I told no one about the man who had consumed the live eel.
"At that time I was young and quite a tomboyish chatterbox, but something felt too unsettling to voice such a matter, so I ultimately let it rest."

When we departed the following morning and went to visit Mr. Matsushima again, we found another wounded lieutenant of the same rank sharing his room.
I hadn’t caught sight of this man yesterday—perhaps he had been out—but today both were present, and one turned out to be the very person who had been fishing with Mr. Matsushima the previous evening—the man who had eaten a live eel—leaving me taken aback once more.
Upon closer inspection, I surmised this man too must have been a one-year volunteer soldier.
While Mr. Matsushima himself cut a respectable figure, this man possessed an even more refined bearing—his sun-kissed complexion, gentle eyes, and what one might call a princely demeanor all complemented by speech that blended clarity with an underlying softness...
“Oh dear,” I interjected, “how embarrassing to speak of such matters at my age—I shall refrain from particulars—but truly, I never could have imagined this man devouring a serpentine eel alive.”

He seemed unaware that I had witnessed him and continued speaking cheerfully, but I still felt an inexplicable unease, so I remained mostly silent with my head bowed, stealing occasional glances at his face.

We then safely returned to Tokyo.
"I told my parents and sister all about Mr. Matsushima and U Hot Spring in great detail, but I still did not tell anyone about the man who ate live eels."
I—who was such a chatterbox—do not fully understand why I kept that secret even from myself, but as I gradually thought about it, it seemed not simply due to unease—indiscriminately spreading such a thing felt somehow pitiable toward that person.
To feel pity—when distilled to its essence—becomes something rather difficult to voice from my own mouth.
In most cases, I trust you can imagine.

About a month had passed, and it was now the morning of early June.

A man came to visit my house.
When I saw "Asai Akio" printed on the business card, I started once more.
I had already been introduced to him by Mr. Matsushima at U Hot Spring and knew his full name.

Mr. Asai first met my parents and then met me, offering thanks for our recent visit during his convalescence.

"Mr. Matsushima has made a full recovery but will be returning to Tokyo some ten days later than planned.
Since this is so—if you were to return ahead of me—I was asked to call upon Mrs. Tamiya and properly convey our gratitude for your previous kindness."

“That is most considerate of you; I am deeply obliged.”

My father also happily greeted him.
After discussing various things about the battlefield and such, Mr. Asai left a little over an hour later.
After he left, there was no ill repute regarding Mr. Asai.
Father said he was quite a reliable person.
Mother praised him as a person of fine character.
And yet, I thought to myself how fortunate it was that I hadn’t mentioned anything about him eating live eels.

About ten days later, Mr. Matsushima indeed returned.
There was no need to elaborate on such matters, but after about two more months had passed, Mr. Matsushima visited accompanied by his mother and broached an unexpected proposal.
Mr. Asai wished to marry me.
Looking back now, a dark shadow had begun to spread across my path.

III

Mr. Matsushima, being still young, had apparently come with his mother out of concern that arriving alone to discuss marriage arrangements might undermine his credibility.
According to his mother’s account, Mr. Asai’s elder brother was an engineering graduate of Imperial University who occupied a considerable position at a certain company.
Mr. Asai being the second son had been employed at another company after graduating from a private school, but due to his status as a one-year volunteer lieutenant, he was to be deployed in the coming war. Thus it went without saying that upon returning to the capital he would resume his former position—indeed, they said he had already returned to work the previous month.

In our family there were no male children—only my younger sister Isako and myself as daughters—so by custom, my sister was to marry out, and I, as the elder sister, had to take a husband.
Since Mr. Matsushima was well aware of these circumstances, it was stated that Mr. Asai—fortunately being a second son—could potentially become an adopted heir depending on arrangements.
Since this was not a matter they could answer immediately, my parents excused themselves by saying they would give a proper reply at another time and sent Mr. Matsushima and his mother home for the time being. However, as the marriage proposal had come from Mr. Asai, who had made such a favorable impression during their recent first meeting, both my father and mother seemed quite enthusiastic.

When it came to this, ultimately, it would be settled depending on my judgment.
My mother also said to me.

“If you consent, we have no particular objections, so please consider it carefully.”

Of course, it was a matter that required careful consideration, but to tell the truth, at the time I had no room for such careful thought—so much so that I wanted to give my consent immediately.

"The man who ate live eels—there may be those who would say, 'Have you forgotten that?'
I have certainly not forgotten.
As evidence of that, that night I had such a strange dream."

I couldn't discern where I was, but found myself laid out upon a large cutting board. I had transformed into an eel. A one-eyed man resembling an eel shop artisan, clad in a happi coat, gripped what appeared to be a needle or awl as he attempted to pierce my eye. Just as I surrendered to the inevitability of my predicament, the man was abruptly shoved aside and another figure materialized. When I recognized this newcomer as unmistakably Mr. Asai, I let out an involuntary scream.

“Mr.Asai，please help me.”

Mr.Asai didn’t reply and suddenly grabbed me，trying to put me into his mouth.
I screamed again.

“Mr.Asai.”
“Please help me.”

When I awoke from this dream, my pillow was drenched with cold sweat.
I realized the eel incident remained firmly etched in my mind's depths—this marriage proposal had evidently conjured such nightmares to torment me the moment I heard of it.
As I dwelled on this, the prospect of marrying Mr. Asai grew increasingly disquieting, leaving me lying awake until dawn while turning over countless thoughts.

But when dawn broke and I looked up at the vivid blue morning sky, the anxieties of the previous night vanished as if wiped away.
I resolutely convinced myself that I had such an ill-omened dream simply because I was preoccupied with thoughts of eels—there could be no other cause or logic to it—and made every effort to appear cheerful as I presented myself before my parents.
If I put it this way, you can likely surmise the rest.
My marriage proposal thereafter progressed smoothly, as if gliding along.

The sole complication was that my chronically ill mother took to bed again that autumn, and I was nineteen—my unlucky age at the time, for such customs had not yet faded—so the matter was postponed until the following spring, with the wedding finally held in late April of the year after.
Of course, prior to that, we on our side had thoroughly investigated his background—confirming that Mr. Asai’s elder brother Natsuo held a considerable position at a certain company, that Natsuo had both a wife and children, and that Akio Asai himself was of upstanding character with no prior scandals. Only after conducting these meticulous inquiries did we decide to welcome him into our family as an adopted heir.

Thus, after completing the wedding without complications, my husband and I came to embark on what would be our honeymoon.

After much deliberation about where to go for our destination, we ultimately decided on U Hot Spring, a place filled with memories.
A hot spring resort filled with memories—this U Town has utterly become a place of many memories for me.
However, at that time, my heart was so full of newlywed joy that I had no room for any such thoughts; with a feeling akin to a butterfly chasing the spring breeze, I came fluttering here together with my husband.
The inn where we stayed at that time was not here.
It was an inn called ○○-ya located a bit further downstream.
The season was again early May—though I find myself repeating this each time—and along the riverbank, frogs were clamorously croaking.

Our stay was planned for one week, and on the afternoon of the third day—as it is today—the day was overcast.
In the morning we took walks around the neighborhood, and in the afternoon we shut ourselves in the second-floor room facing the river, listening to the water's sound and frogs' croaking as the newlyweds talked pleasantly.
When I suddenly looked out, there appeared a man wearing a happi coat from some inn—holding a small hand net—wading from rock to rock in the river while scooping up what looked like fish.

“Someone is catching fish,” I said, pointing to the river.
“Is it still char?”

“I suppose so,” my husband answered with a laugh.
“There are no sweetfish here, no dace.”
“Char and eels are about the only things here.”

Eel—that word resonated sharply in my head.

“Are there any large eels?” I asked casually.

“There don't seem to be any particularly large ones either.”

“You also caught some last year—”

“Hmm. I’ve caught them a couple of times.”

I should have remained silent then.
I should have kept silent about the eels forever, but in youthful talkativeness, I carelessly let slip something reckless.

“What did you do with those eels…?”

“They were just small eels—there was nothing to be done. I threw them back into the river.”

“You ate at least one—didn’t you?”

“No—I didn’t.”

“No—you did eat one—didn’t you?
“Alive…”

"Don't be ridiculous."

My husband laughed dismissively, but the unnatural gleam in his eyes caught my attention.
In that instant—Ah, I've said something terrible—I too suddenly realized.
To have blurted out such a thing so carelessly toward my husband, whom I had married only days before, was indeed my fault.
However, from my perspective, this matter had been a constant seed of doubt since last year.
It was at this opportunity that I brought it up, wanting to hear a proper explanation from my husband's own mouth.

Though he laughed aloud, I immediately sensed my husband’s displeasure upon noticing the troubled look in his eyes, so I said nothing more about the eels.
My husband likewise offered no semblance of an explanation.
Then we made tea, ate sweets, and continued talking amiably as usual until the summer day began to fade into dusk, and the young leaves on the mountains across the river turned dusky.
Even so, since there was still time before dinner, I went downstairs to take a bath.

I had not intended to linger so long in the bath, but between having the bath attendant scrub my back and attending to my post-bath grooming, some thirty minutes had passed by the time I returned to our room—where my husband was nowhere to be seen.
When I asked the maid, she said it seemed he had gone out for a walk by himself.
I too thought it must be something like that and paid it no particular mind, but even after an hour had passed—by the time the maid came to bring our dinner trays—my husband still had not returned.

“Did he not inform you where he was going?”

“No, nothing at all…”
“He simply took his cane and went out for a walk,” the maid answered.

Still suspecting he might have notified the front desk about something, the maid went to inquire with them as a precaution—but they too knew nothing.
One hour passed, then two, and even as evening approached nine o’clock, my husband still had not returned.
As matters stood, my anxiety grew unbearable, so I went to consult with the front desk—where they too began sharing my concern.

Though a male guest at a hot spring inn going out for a walk and not returning for two or three hours might not be such a major incident, the inn knew we were newlyweds and must have taken special pity on us—they had two men from the inn take lanterns and split up to search upstream and downstream. Unable to stay composed myself, I went downstream accompanied by one of the men.

The scene from that evening remains vivid in my memory to this day.
At that time, as the area was desolate, even the lights of the relatively open downstream townhouses sank into the foothills of black mountains, and within that dark abyss, the sound of water echoed fearsomely.
The great sky that had been overcast since noon sank ever lower, and a mist-like fine rain began to fall.

The search ultimately proved futile.
The man from the inn who had gone upstream to search returned empty-handed.
The inn newly reported the matter to the local police station.
As night deepened inexorably yet still clinging to hope he might return from somewhere, I sat upon the bedding laid out by the maid and passed a chill night without sleep.

At first, I clung to the faint hope that perhaps he had encountered an acquaintance during his walk, been invited to some inn, and was talking until late into the night—but by then I understood such hopes were mere wishful thinking.
I was utterly at a loss; when I sent a telegram to Tokyo nonetheless, my father rushed over in alarm.
Mr. Natsuo and Mr. Matsushima came as well.

Even so—didn't you have any inkling?
This was a question everyone asked, but I could give them no answer.
I couldn't claim to be entirely without suspicion.
That business with the eels—I could well imagine my husband had disappeared because I'd carelessly let it slip—but the thought of ever bringing it up again filled me with such dread that I resolved never to breathe a word.

The people from Tokyo also exerted themselves in every possible way to search for him, but my husband’s whereabouts ultimately remained unknown.
Fearing he might have lost his footing in the twilight and fallen into the river, we searched thoroughly up and down its length, but nowhere could his corpse be found.
I returned to Tokyo in a dream-like state.

IV

That his secret of having eaten live eels might have been discovered by his new wife could indeed be a shameful matter for a young husband. While that much was understandable, I found myself unable to grasp why he would vanish entirely because of it. Particularly given my husband’s fundamentally forthright nature, such behavior seemed inconceivable. And how could relatives and parents who remained blissfully unaware of these circumstances be anything but utterly bewildered?

“Perhaps he suddenly went mad,” my father was saying.

Natsuo, my brother-in-law, was also deeply concerned and continued to search using every possible means thereafter, but it too proved futile.
In those early days, everyone clung to lingering hopes—today a message might arrive from somewhere, tomorrow he might wander home—and spent their days saying nothing but such things. Yet as two months passed, then three, then half a year, they found themselves unable to relinquish yet having no choice but to resign.

As that year too drew to a close—marking a full year since my husband’s disappearance in April of my twenty-first spring—my brother-in-law approached me once more to discuss divorce proceedings.
He said it would be cruel to leave someone as young as I was in such a state indefinitely.
Yet I refused.
“Please,” I asked him, “wait a little longer—”
I did not know what would come of waiting, but so long as he was not dead, I believed word of him would eventually reach me—that was my reasoning.

Then, after a little over another year had passed, word of my husband finally reached me.
It was the end of October when I was twenty-two years old.
One evening, Mr. Matsushima hurriedly rushed in and told me this.

“I’ve discovered Mr. Akio’s whereabouts.”
“Though he didn’t give his name, I’m certain beyond doubt it’s him.”

“Where was he?” I urgently inquired.

“This afternoon, I had to attend an unavoidable funeral at a temple in Kita-Senju. While returning through Senju with three or four companions, I noticed a man filleting eels at a roadside eel shop.”
“When I happened to glance over, the craftsman wearing a patterned happi coat was Mr. Akio.”
“Admittedly, his left eye had been destroyed, but his face was unmistakably Mr. Akio’s—the small scar below his right ear confirmed it.”
“I immediately entered the shop and called out ‘Mr. Akio!’ Startled, the man stared at me before brusquely retorting, ‘You’re mistaken—I’m not that man,’ then hurried into the back.”
“As I had others waiting, I temporarily withdrew. But being absolutely certain it was him, I came directly to inform you.”

Since Mr. Matsushima said so, there could be no mistake.
That he had been found at an eel shop particularly caught my attention.
Though dusk was already deepening, I could not wait until morning.
After consulting with my parents, I immediately departed for Kita-Senju with Mr. Matsushima, our two jinrikishas proceeding in tandem.

On the way, the sun set, and by the time we crossed the great bridge, a cold wind that might be called a wintry blast began to blow.
Guided by Mr. Matsushima, when we visited that eel restaurant, we learned the craftsman was a man named Shinkichi who had been hired at the shop five or six days prior.
They said he had gone to a nearby bathhouse a short while earlier and would likely return soon, so we waited there for some time, but he did not come back.
Growing uneasy once more, I asked an errand boy to check at the bathhouse, only to be told he had not come that night.

“He ran away,” Mr. Matsushima clicked his tongue.
I too felt like crying.

There was no longer any room for doubt.
He had undoubtedly hidden himself immediately after being discovered by Mr. Matsushima.
Had he known this would happen, Mr. Matsushima lamented while stamping his feet, he would have forcibly restrained him earlier—but it was too late now to do anything.

Even so, as an employee of this establishment, the owner should have known his background details, and there should have been a proper guarantor.
When Mr. Matsushima first inquired about it, the eel restaurant owner scratched his head and admitted he still didn’t properly know the man’s background.
The craftsman they had previously employed was a troublesome drunk who had argued with the owner five or six days prior before disappearing without notice.
Then the next day, the one-eyed man casually appeared and said he’d heard they’d lost their worker—would they hire him instead?
Since we were in a bind ourselves, we agreed to try him out, and he turned out to work quite well.
His name was Shinkichi.
Being still on probation with unsettled wages, they explained there had been no time to investigate his background.

Upon hearing that, I was utterly disappointed.
Mr. Matsushima too grew increasingly regretful, but there was nothing to be done.
The two returned dejectedly, buffeted by the cold wind.

However, with this confirmation that Asai Akio was still alive in this world, we too came to feel as though we had gained some strength.
As long as he was alive, it wasn’t impossible that we might meet again.
Even if he hid himself once, it wasn’t impossible that he might return to his former shop.
Thinking this way, I continued going to inquire at the eel restaurant in Kita-Senju once every month thereafter, but the one-eyed craftsman never showed himself again.

Thus, after half a year had passed, a letter suddenly arrived at Mr. Matsushima’s residence.
It was in Akio’s handwriting, stating that he was cursed by eels through some strange fate.
Never search for my whereabouts.
It had simply been written briefly that Masako—which is my name—should welcome a new husband and live happily, with no current address or such details noted.
Unfortunately, the postmark was again blurred, and the originating post office could not be clearly determined.
Of course, even if they were to go and investigate that originating location, there was no reason to believe he would be there—

Why he had suddenly sent such a letter over half a year after leaving Kita-Senju—that too I could not understand.
As for the details of his being cursed by eels through some strange fate—those too，of course，I did not know.
When I inquired with my brother-in-law Natsuo asking if he had any ideas，he too，after considering various possibilities，said there was only one such incident.

“When we were children, we lived in Hongō’s XX-chō district, and there was an eel restaurant right nearby.”
“At the front of the shop was a large barrel where eels of various sizes were kept.”
“When Akio was about six or seven, he would play in front of that eel restaurant every day. Once, out of childish mischief, he tried to snatch a small eel from the barrel and run off with it. But when the shop staff noticed him and gave chase, he threw the eel into a roadside ditch and fled home.”
“When his parents found out about it, he was severely scolded, and they compensated the eel shop with some payment—but beyond that incident, there’s nothing else we can recall.”

Merely that incident alone did not seem sufficient to establish such a strange fate between my husband and eels.
I even suspected my brother-in-law might be hiding some other secret, but nothing certain could be determined.
As for my personal circumstances, even had it been written that I should welcome a new husband and live happily, so long as my first husband might still have been alive somewhere in this world, I could not bring myself to take a second husband.
My parents and others frequently urged me to remarry, but I stubbornly persisted in my refusal.

In time, my younger sister came of age and married into another family.
My parents too are no longer in this world.
Over thirty years have passed like a dream, and I have become such an old woman.

The man cursed by eels—all trace of him vanished completely.
After all, so many years have passed—he may no longer be in this world.
Fortunately, my father had left behind a considerable fortune for me, so I have somehow managed to live without hardship, making my annual visit to this U Hot Spring to revisit old dreams my sole consolation.

“Are you asking if I stopped eating eels after that—?”
“Oh no, I partake of them gladly.”
“It was not particularly a favorite of mine before, but since then I have come to eat them with pleasure.”
My one-eyed husband might be hiding somewhere—could it be that this eel too was split open by his hands?
Could it be that it was grilled by his hands?
When I think this, I feel a strange sense of nostalgia, and find myself able to enjoy my meal quite deliciously.

However, as I too am a person of today, I cannot simply dwell on such sentimental matters. As for why my husband was said to be cursed by eels, I myself thoroughly investigated the matter and discreetly made inquiries with experts, but there exist people who willingly eat wall plaster or mud, and others who consume snakes or earthworms. This is most common in children, commonly attributed to worms or a nervous disposition—in medical terms it is called pica, though its exact cause remains unclear, and it is generally considered to be a neurological disorder. They say that if corrected during childhood it is one thing, but once one becomes an adult, it becomes quite difficult to cure.

When I consider this, it seems my husband too was likely one of those individuals afflicted with pica.
He had possessed this habit since childhood—even his theft of eels from the restaurant stemmed from it. Though it was claimed he threw them into a roadside ditch, one might well imagine he had actually eaten them alive.
Even as an adult, no one noticed this bad habit had persisted.
He himself must have been extremely careful, striving not to let others notice.
Of course, he must have been desperately trying to stop himself, but since he couldn't no matter how hard he tried, from his own perspective, he might have thought himself cursed by eels.

Thus, when he came to this hot spring and happened to catch an eel while fishing with Mr. Matsushima, that unfortunate trigger reignited his old compulsion. He seized a moment when no one was watching to devour it whole, only for me to discover him in the act—as misfortune would have it...
In other words, one might call it a tragedy for us both.
When he realized that I, his wife, had uncovered the secret he believed safely hidden, he must have been profoundly shocked and mortified.
Though I wish he had simply confessed openly, I imagine he became overwhelmed by shame, terror, and an unbearable urge to escape my presence—fleeing the inn without forethought in his anguish.

What happened after that remained unknown, but having reached this point, he could no longer return to Tokyo either, and it was thought he had ultimately resolved to live as he pleased, resigning himself to self-destruction. For the full two and a half years before appearing at the eel restaurant in Senju, I do not know where he drifted about, but he must have resolved to choose the most convenient occupation for satisfying his appetite and worked at various eel restaurants. It could be inferred that he destroyed his eye not by accident but with the intent to alter his facial features. He likely drove an awl into his own eye, just as one would pierce an eel's. In such a state, one might say he was truly cursed by eels—a thought terrifying indeed.

Even after destroying one eye, he was still discovered by Mr. Matsushima, so he must have become frightened anew and hidden himself away somewhere—though what motivated him to send that letter half a year later remains unknown.
Nothing is known of what followed thereafter, but one might surmise he drifted from place to place, spending his life satisfying his pica.

When I relate it thus, it becomes neither a tale of marvels nor a ghost story—merely that I happened to have a husband with such an aberration. Yet one thing still strikes me as peculiar: as I mentioned earlier, on the very night I first received the marriage proposal, I had an unsettling dream...
When I tell this story, people may find it laughable—I myself find it difficult to speak of this earnestly—but there I was, transformed into an eel lying upon a cutting board, when a one-eyed man clad in a workman’s coat approached with an awl, attempting to pierce my eye.
At the time, I thought nothing of it, but upon later reflection, it seems to have foreshadowed my husband’s future form.
Was it not said that Akio had become one-eyed, become a craftsman at an eel restaurant in Senju, and worked clad in a workman’s coat?

I hear that research on dreams has advanced considerably in recent years, so before long, I intend to consult a specialist and have this doubt resolved as well.