Pathway to Japanese Literature

It had been a long journey—she thought again—and when she looked back over forty years of the past, her eyes grew dim and hazy.

When she raised her face between the lake’s surface—deeply still all the way to the horizon—and the sky honed to piercing blue, a large ginkgo tree stood forlornly evoking fragile nostalgia with its sparse branches.
Day by day unnoticed, yellow leaves kept falling away until now they revealed its half-bare form.
The dwindling count of frost-damaged leaves meant fewer travelers would soon visit this lakeside teahouse.

On a chilly autumn afternoon, as she was thus lost in these aimless thoughts, a young man came and rested on the bench placed at the water’s edge.

After instructing the maid—who had brought tea and sweets—to clean up after lunch, she once again pursued the shadows of her aimless thoughts.
From afar, a profound sorrow lapped at the lake's surface, sending ripples across it.
She reached for and picked up the small Bible beside her.
When she absently glanced his way, the young man was gazing fixedly at the lake’s surface.

I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot.

Such a verse lingered in her mind.
The clear sky, without a single cloud, was deeply filled with rays tinged with yellow.
From there, something trembling reached her chest.
She couldn’t clearly discern it.
Tilting her head slightly, she lowered her eyes to the book again.

Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.

At that moment, a shadow suddenly passed across her face.
The young man had come over and was staring intently at her.
When she looked back at his face with a slightly reproachful gaze, the young man said:

“Do you have any picture postcards?”

At that moment, she clearly saw the young man's face.
The gaunt face held a desolate outline.
His receding forehead made his features appear even lonelier.
The tightly pressed lips and entranced sorrowful eyes together revealed a heart filled with singular resolve.
She answered in a caring tone.

“They’re all just of the lake.”

The young man picked up one of them and stared at it intently for a while.
It was a monotonous depiction of the gently rounded lake surface.
Then he selected five or six and, without a word, returned to the hot spring inn.

He’s someone who casts a lonely shadow, she thought.

A mostly cloudy and desolate week passed.

The rain that had been falling steadily since the previous day showed no sign of stopping even in the afternoon.
Clouds heavy with rain crept over the mountain peaks.
And upon the hazel grove, upon the lake’s surface, cold small raindrops raised a whispering lament.
When those trembling tones gathered, filling the dim house's air with fragile desolation, she recklessly added charcoal to the brazier, stoking the fire until her cheeks grew faintly warm.
Looking through the square pane of glass set in the lower part of the shoji, she saw a damp mist hanging low outside, stitched through by fine rain.
Under the pressure of that mist, the lake’s surface stretched taut to its limits.
The falling raindrops, repelled by that tension, shattered into several pieces and maintained the form of small shining dewdrops on the water’s surface for a while.

At that moment, having suddenly noticed a figure at the entrance, she stood up and slid open the shoji to look.
That was the young man from the other day.

“Please rest here a bit,” she said.

She guided the young man into the house and lit a fire in the sunken hearth.
His figure appeared painfully pitiable in the rain to her eyes.

The two of them sat down beside the narrow earthen-floored hearth.
The area around them was chaotically cluttered.
The sweet boxes and picture postcard boxes had been tidied away from the veranda edge and piled up nearby, which the young man surveyed with curious interest.

“You must not get many customers these days.”

“Yes, it has become completely cold now. And on rainy days like today especially…” she said with a faint smile.

“But today’s scenery was truly magnificent.
“Standing by the lake shore for so long was worthwhile, but when it suddenly turned cold, I actually grew quite feeble.”
Having said this, he maintained an intensely solemn expression.

The rain still fell without respite.
The fire burning in the sunken hearth cast pale reflections of daylight through the damp air.

“Are you alone today?” he asked.

“Yes, since we hardly have any customers these days, I sent the maid to my brother’s place a couple of days ago—he runs an inn in the hot spring town—so I sent her there.”
“It’s only three or four chō from here.”
“And she comes to stay in the evenings as well…”

“If you’re alone even during the day, it must be quite quiet.”

“Yes, it’s so quiet it’s almost lonesome.”
“But during those times, I always make it a habit to read the Bible bit by bit.”

With that, she glanced briefly at the young man’s face.
"It brings me great comfort when I’m lonely."

“Have you kept your faith since long ago?”

“Not that long ago, though….”
As she spoke, she recalled that time—from when she had returned to her hometown after her husband’s death and been compelled to take over this lakeside teahouse due to unavoidable circumstances, to being led onto that path by a believer who had visited frequently one summer—all these things.
And she added this:
“Since then, I feel as though I’ve become truly happy.”

“I too once walked the path of a believer.”
His face briefly lit up.
“But now I walk a different path.”

“Well then,” she began, but finding herself momentarily at a loss for words, she added:
“I think believing in God remains a good thing.”

The young man offered no response.
A formless unease gripped her heart.
“I must pray,” she resolved.
And so she quietly folded her hands against her chest.

“You…”
“Might I speak of such things?” she asked, watching his expression.
He kept staring at the dying fire.
“Are you not troubled by something?”
“You would do well to believe in God.”
“I too suffered terribly before falling into such circumstances.”
“Yet it was God who saved my heart then.”

“Do you truly maintain belief in God?”

“Oh, I do believe,” she answered clearly.

“You—” he said, staring intently at her face.
“Have you ever truly prayed from the heart to the point where you felt it was enough?
Did something answer your tearful prayer then?”

Something cold swished past her head and flew away.
She tightly clenched both hands.
And she said this:

“There was a time when I often shed tears.
And I prayed.
While praying, I clearly believed in God in my heart.
It was only God who taught me about various sufferings and the joy within tears.”

A powerful feeling welled up within her.
A sensation came over her as if she might weep, and she put strength into her words.
“God gives strength to those who suffer.”

The two of them fell silent after that and remained so for some time.
A faint sound—the rain’s patter, seeming both distant and near—drifted through the stillness, drawing circles in the quiet.
Such silence hung over them with an oppressive weight.

“Blessed are those who believe in God,” the young man said in a low voice.

That struck her as ironic.
And at the same time, it evoked a profound loneliness.

“No… I’m not happy…”
She said.
And for some reason, without even knowing herself, she repeated it.
“I am not happy.”

At that moment, the young man suddenly raised his head.
And fixed his gaze as if staring at some distant point.
“In truth, while praying, one must simultaneously attain the state of being prayed to.”

She did not clearly understand the meaning of this.
Suddenly, she felt as if something large struck her.

“God is watching!” she half-whispered to herself.

“I don’t give a damn about God,” the Young Man said，tightly pressing his lips together.

She saw him holding his breath.
He was keeping his eyes fixed intently on one spot.
There was an unbearably lonely shadow on his cheek.
“Did I say something that offended you?” she asked softly.

“No,” he answered.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way.
“It’s nothing at all.”

“If that’s the case, then I suppose it’s all right…”

The silence continued.
The Young Man remained motionless as if absorbed in thought.
When she saw this, a mysterious unease welled up from the depths of her heart.
She suddenly stood up and casually moved the brazier’s fire into the hearth.

“It’s a cold day, isn’t it.”

The Young Man let out a sigh of relief.

“I should go back now,” he said.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

The fine rain still fell.
A pale mist hung suspended in the afternoon light, through which slender raindrops wove silver threads.
With compassionate eyes, she watched the young man’s retreating figure walk beneath a large umbrella bearing the inn’s crest.

When she closed the front entrance and turned back inside, she felt as though she had collided with something unseen.
In some recess of her mind, the young man’s fate assumed a sorrowful contour.
It was not quite death itself that lingered there, yet a profound unease took root.
She paused mid-step.
Gave her head a slight shake.
Then quietly traced the sign of the cross.

Several sunny days followed.

After sending the maid who had finished breakfast to her brother’s house, she went outside.

A mist hung over the lake.
Steeped through the night and imbued with tender dreams, it melded with the lake’s surface in a moist, heavy embrace.
Over the eastern mountain ridge fell pure sunlight upon the basin centered around this lake.
Round pebbles on the mist-dampened shore reflected a blue sky still faintly tinged with orange.
And on fallen leaves lay white frost, while beads of dew on withered grass blades glittered in the morning sun.

She felt the happiness of being alone in this way.
And she thanked God in her heart for that.
But at the bottom of that happiness lay a lonely emptiness.
At that moment, she suddenly thought of her own age.
But she thought that the emptiness did not lie there.
Then why was that?
"Such things can’t be understood through thinking," she told herself.
And she thought she must give thanks to God once more.

She went down to the shore.
And then she stood there for a while.

“Good morning!” When she turned around at the greeting, there stood the Young Man.

“The other day…” she said with a light bow.

The Young Man was excited.
He wore an expression as if pressing down a throbbing chest.
His eyes were wide open.
A vivid flush spread across his cheeks.
She recalled that afternoon from days past and, with an odd sensation, spoke.

“A clear morning feels quite pleasant, doesn’t it.”

“Yes,” he answered, but after a moment added:
“Your life is truly enviable.”

“Oh, no—it’s only like this for now,” she said.
“From summer through the autumn foliage season, we’re busy with customers, and then comes the tedious winter.”
“Though I say that, it’s not that I resent anything in particular.”

“If there were monasteries in Japan... it would have been good had you entered one.”

“Huh?”

“On a morning like this, how pure the monastery garden must be. On the cheeks of those who kneel there and pray earnestly to God, tears of gratitude will flow.”

She was suddenly enveloped in loneliness without knowing why. When she looked at the young man without responding, he was pursing his lips into a circle and exhaling softly. She gazed at his breath—white and frozen, flowing—with eyes that seemed to contemplate some distant sky. “For him, everything now is pure and pleasant,” she thought. And this thought imparted a quiet loneliness to her.

“You had a boat at your place, didn’t you?” he suddenly asked.
“Would it be possible to borrow that this afternoon?”

“In this bitter cold!”

“A little cold is nothing.
“Well then, since we’ll definitely come this afternoon, please make sure to build up a good fire.
“And sweets and something to eat as well…”

“But it must be terribly cold on the water... Will you be alone?”

“No, someone else will likely come.”

He was gazing out across the lake.
Before they knew it, the mist had cleared, and the water’s surface, gently pressed down by the sunlight, bore not a single ripple.

“Then I’ll inform the boatman as well.”

“No, I’ll be the one rowing.”
“We don’t need anything beyond the warm fire.”

His eyes were shining dreamily.
She stared fixedly at his face.
A peculiar anxiety sprouted in her heart.
From the lake’s surface, from the shadowed mountain hollows on the opposite shore, from the distant ridges that blurred the eyes, she quietly shifted her gaze all the way to the blue sky.
And she spoke thus.
“Is that all right?”

“Yes!” The Young Man nodded emphatically.

What exactly was good about it remained unclear to both of them.
Their shadows stretched long across the shore.
The dew-drenched gravel gradually dried, and the cold air flowed quietly.

That afternoon, she spent three anxious hours.

Before lunch, she prepared the boat and tied it to the shore right in front.
And when she had finished lunch, a maid came from the hot spring town.
She was a maid from the inn where the young man was staying, and had come to deliver two large bundles of cotton-padded robes.
She recognized the maid.

“They’ll be departing shortly, it seems,” said the maid.

“With a friend? Two of them?”

“No,” the maid smiled. “It must be Madam. She arrived the day before yesterday.”

“Oh, I see…”
“…Please tell them that the boat is ready.”
“Thank you for your trouble.”

“Then I’ll take care of it respectfully.”

She then lit in the hearth the fire that would be carried to the boat.
And she waited for the young man.
The quiet afternoon passed uneventfully, time flowing gently onward.

She was sitting by the hearth, just as on that certain afternoon, keeping her gaze fixed on the charcoal fire. A vague premonition of anxiety sprouted within her heart. Something ominous slipped through her chest like the sun being eclipsed—and suddenly there surfaced in her mind the maid’s words: “It must be Madam.” “I’m not jealous at all,” she startled herself by vehemently affirming aloud. Yet still she wanted to keep tormenting the Young Man as she had that afternoon long ago; wanted to tell him, “God is watching.” She pictured his form……and in that moment felt a terror as if being dragged into darkness itself. Then with a sigh of relief she stepped back into the light and picked up her Bible—but though she turned page after page, nothing resonated within her heart.

The afternoon brightness filled the house completely.
And instead made the outlines of things indistinct.
White ash already covered the charcoal fire in the hearth.
In her heart surged great anxiety and tension.
She felt as though some grave destiny lay waiting for her.
It wasn’t solely because she was waiting for the Young Man.
Then what?—"One must not demand miracles from God!" she declared resolutely in her heart.

The Young Man arrived around three o'clock.

"I'm truly sorry for making you wait."

"No," she said, forcing a smile.
But that smile kept twitching involuntarily.

Behind the young man stood a young woman alone.

“You’ve come at last,” she said.

The young woman simply bowed her head politely.
Her small eyes beneath long eyebrows were opened wide in surprise.
Those wide-open small eyes and unassuming nose suggested a heart fiercely cradling some tiny treasure.
Her black, clustered locks were carelessly tied up.

“Please warm yourselves over there for a moment,” she said quickly to the two.

She felt somehow unsettled.
Her heart was involuntarily spurred on.
She carried the prepared sweets, fruits, sushi, and such to the boat.
She securely fastened the brazier to the crossbeam and piled it high with fire.
She placed the tea utensils, charcoal, and padded kimono to one side.
She hurriedly did all these things while breathing heavily.
And said, “It’s ready.”

The two gazed intently into each other’s faces.
And rising from beside the hearth, they went down to the shore.

She tried to say something, but the words escaped her.
Somewhere within her heart lay a place where equilibrium had crumbled.

The woman silently entered the boat first.

The young man, standing by the boat, suddenly turned his face toward her.
His cheek muscles were drawn taut.

“Because there’s a full moon, we might be a bit late returning. Please don’t worry.”

She did not know how to respond.
When she fixed her eyes on the young woman, the young woman turned around at that moment and stared intently at her.
On her serene face, innocent eyes shone.
And she answered thus:

“Yes, take your time… But if it gets too late, I’ll worry.”

The young man had been hesitating briefly but stepped into the boat as he was.

She tightly grasped the boat’s stern.
There was something that lingered in her heart.
But she pushed the boat with all her strength.
The boat glided smoothly away from the shore.
Suddenly, a relief as though a heavy load had been lifted was felt in her heart.

When the boat glided silently over the water, the young woman extended a pale hand from the gunwale and trailed her fingertips across the cold surface, then turned toward the young man and smiled softly.

The Young Man, having discarded the water pole and taken up the oar, handled it unsteadily.
The boat spun around.
Still, they seemed to inch forward little by little.

She remained kneeling on the shore.
A great stillness enveloped her.
She knew well this was a time when those two were bound together with hearts full of both joy and sorrow.
When she set them afloat upon the water and found her own heart liberated upon today’s shore, she began to feel herself the mother of all nature—of mountains, forests, and waters—nay, even of their love upon the lake.
The agitation that had gripped her heart moments before now struck her as strange.
A single tranquil life gives limitless joy.

The late autumn sunlight was feeble, hanging like mist over forest and field.
The surface of the lake glittered, etching that light.
The boat floated dreamlike.
The Young Man discarded the oar and sat down beside the woman.
They were holding small wooden pieces.
And dipping them into the water from both sides of the boat, they seemed to move it aimlessly from time to time.

She absentmindedly picked up a small stone and threw it into the water.
As the small sound vanished beneath the blue sky, her quiet joy swayed gently.
The broad heart akin to a mother of all things, and the quiet joy of simply existing—both melted into the small ripples playing at the shore.
Amidst an ease as if liberated from living and a melancholy drifting from the distant sky, she thought of God.

Eventually, she stood up and walked toward the house.
Her head naturally and limply drooped.
At that moment, she was recalling, one after another, the nostalgic names of old friends.
When she entered the house, she took up the brush with the intent to send a long-awaited message to one of them.

The basin surrounded by mountains darkened early.
From the forest nestled in the mountain’s embrace, night crept out quietly.
The light of the sky reflected on the lake faded, and the outlines of all things were enveloped in a vast, blanketing gray.
And the moon hung pale in the sky.

After lighting the lamp, anxiety began to stir within her.
The anxiety tightened into a mysterious form.
She strained her ears intently, trying to catch the whispers of hidden things.
The fate of the two people in the boat took on a dreamlike stillness and was imprinted upon her heart.
From there, a mysterious bewitching anxiety stretched out its hand.

She went outside again.
That was the fourth time since dusk.
She had still not once caught sight of the boat.

The sunlight in the sky had completely vanished.
And the moon shone brightly, casting a bluish-white scent over the shapes of things.
Over the lake, an evening mist hung thinly, and the water’s surface shone like mercury.
She gazed intently through the moonlight.

The boat appeared to float on the water like a realm of dreams.
She unconsciously held her breath and stood frozen there.

The two sat facing each other in the boat, wearing padded kimonos.
The young man clasped his hands tightly together at his chest and kept his head bowed.
The young woman pressed her hands gently against her chest, her head similarly bowed—she was praying!
They remained so still they might have turned to stone.
All things held their breath.
Time passed without a sound.
...Eventually, the young woman pressed a handkerchief to her face.
Then she wiped tears from the young man's eyes and cheeks and gazed intently at his face.
At that moment, the young man unclasped his hands and softly embraced her neck—he stood up and took hold of the oar.
The young woman gazed up at the sky in rapture—

She hurried into the house.
Her breath was coming in gasps.
More than regret at having seen what should not be seen, a fear akin to having desecrated something sacred welled up in her chest.
She felt as though she had quietly peered into a shrine’s inner sanctum.
There, something glimmered from the depths.
She felt as if she couldn’t stay still.

She lit a fire in the hearth.
Then she boiled water in the brazier.
She felt she had to do something—though there was no particular reason why.

When the sound of a boat came from the shore, she hurriedly went out there.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” said the young man.

“You’re back,” she said casually.

After guiding the two into the house, she carried everything from the boat.
And then she moored the boat there.

She stood outside for a while.
Something large loomed over her.
And her heart, restless without reason, was powerfully drawn toward the two.
While half-consciously thinking of God, she hurried into the house.

The two were sitting by the hearth.
While pouring and serving tea, The Woman said:
“You must be hungry.”

“No,” answered the young woman.
“We ate so many different things in the boat.”

She too sat down there.
When she looked at them, from their eyes fixed unwaveringly on one spot and from the tension in the muscles around their mouths, it showed that each had sunk into their own thoughts.
And the silence intensified the agitation in her heart.

“You’ve returned safely,” she said.

“Huh?”
The young man raised his face and looked at her.
Seeing his gaze clouded with shadows, she continued.

“No, I was just a bit worried since you were so late.”
However, beneath those words lingered a residue of dissatisfaction.
“We actually wanted to stay on the lake forever, but…”

“I... I,” she repeated.
“I had truly noticed.
Even on that rainy day before, and then...” She trailed off briefly.
She felt as though she were lying.
But she added:
“Still, I could finally feel relieved.”

“I would never do something like commit suicide,” said the young man.

Those words gave terrifying form to her thoughts.
“No, no,” she shook her head.
“You mustn’t say such things.”

“But I have thought about death before.”

“Now now, you mustn’t say such things.”
As a fierce resolve flashed across the young man’s face, her heart filled with dread—the dread of sin.
In a prayer-like tone, she said: “God will not forgive you.
“Suicide is a terrible sin.”

“No,” the Young Man continued.
“It wasn’t God who forbade me from dying.
It was…” he said, staring intently at the woman who hung her head.
“That was our love.
It was our love that appears as sin in God’s eyes.
As we continued offering prayers, before we knew it, death had fled.
I rejected death and accepted love—a love that affirms everything.
And… I often pray.”

At that moment, a light of ecstasy flickered from the depths of her heart.
All will be forgiven and saved.
Her heart naturally melted into something vast.

“I,” she said.
“I observed you offering prayers on the Lake.
You were clasping your hands in prayer.
And shedding tears.
Since the moon was shining brightly...”

“That’s a lie!” the young man suddenly exclaimed.
“I have never offered prayers to anything outside my own heart.
When I pray, have I ever extended my hands to anything?
I... I have only ever clasped my hands toward my own chest, toward my own heart.”

“You mustn’t teach lies to your own heart.”
“That will kill your heart.”

“It’s not a lie!”
“……But even if it’s sin, that’s fine.”
“I want to affirm everything.”
“Sin or tears—”
“Even suffering and sorrow—in the midst of pure, anguished prayer, everything becomes strength.”

“You still do not fully comprehend.”
“The true path… Ah, how should I express this… lies deep within…”

She clasped both hands tightly together.
“The true path lies in the depths. It would be good for your prayers to reach that point… and for you to acknowledge God…”

“That means even my heart still hasn’t reached those deepest depths yet.”
The young man weakly lowered his head as he continued.
“Even when I think this must be the furthest depth I’ve pressed into, faint whispers sometimes reach me from hidden places beyond.”
“But those voices soon grow clouded with tears.”
“I don’t consider that any loss at all.”
“……We sought love too deeply.”
“Shed too many tears.”
“Prayed too often.”
“When our love took sorrow’s shape, a deathly veil drifted down over us both.”
“We didn’t gaze at death then—only at the love weeping within that shroud.”
“The hands of sorrowful love naturally joined.”
“Before we knew it, death’s veil had changed into tearful prayers.”
“We loved more deeply still.”
“Wept.”
“Prayed.”
“When we clasp hands to chests and pray two hearts into one love—within that prayer, eternity’s form becomes clear. God’s very shape.”
“Yet there—in those depths where life lies pressed down—I feel another death waiting.”
“Death might not be its proper name.”
“It’s the mystical temptation—this sense that my body might dissolve into smoke, leaving only the heart to live on endlessly.”
“……When our love grows deeper still, we’ll die through love’s prayer—no, rather, we’ll live.”

“There our god awaits us.”

Having said this, he closed his eyes resolutely while pressing both hands against his chest in prayer.

She felt as if the myriad thoughts that had filled her chest all whooshed away to some unknown place. And afterward, a mystical excitement remained. “You both…” she started to say. The words broke off. When she looked at the young woman beside her—the young woman let a tear she’d been holding back spill onto her lap.

She gently placed her hand on the young woman’s back. And she said.

“There’s no need for you to worry.”

“No,” the young woman said, shaking her head.
“I’m not worried about anything at all, but…”
And grasping her hand tightly, she said.
“I believe.”

The meaning of believing was clearly reflected in her heart.
Then, sandwiching the young woman’s hands between both palms, she squeezed them tightly with a heart full of solicitude.

“Ah, in my chest…,” said the young man, staring fixedly at the lamp.
In the quiet night, the lamp trembled with red light, guttered.
“In my chest resonates something like what you might call an eternal whisper.”
“A faint shudder from a distant world, a tremor as if the deep bosom of the blue sky and the distant horizon of the ocean were intersecting…”
“And my chest becomes so full it feels about to burst—with prayer.”
“It’s not that I’m praying for anything.”
“It’s not that I’m praying toward anything… nor am I even praying to my own heart anymore.”
“At that moment, all I can see clearly is the living love of two hearts.”
“And within tears, eternal life and death become one, carrying what I am to a far, far place.”
“As if endless years have been compressed into an instant, I feel myself swaying on the verge of collapse beneath that weight.”

He continued to stare fixedly at the dim corner, his chest quivering as he measured out labored breaths.

At that moment, the young woman’s hand twitched faintly in her palm. Then she said in a hushed tone.

“Surely happiness awaits you both.”

“No, no.
If anything more were to come now, I’m certain I couldn’t bear it.
Even if that something were happiness.”
Having said this, the young woman closed her eyes.

She discovered her own heart, distant from the two of them.
There existed a space that seemed both lonely and quiet.

And she let out a sigh of relief and said:

“You both are forgetting something… something.”
“It’s not good to stare too intently at one thing.”

“To forget everything beyond the heart—that is my victory.”
The Young Man answered thus.
At that moment, his eyes shone with loneliness.

Silence persisted.
The charcoal fire in the sunken hearth had grown desolate.

Inside the house, night swirled like a vortex, and something lay in wait with bated breath.
The lamp’s light occasionally swayed gently even though there was no wind.

“Forgive me,” the young man said abruptly.
“I’ve been chattering away about all sorts of things.”

“No, it is I who should,” she said, raising her head.
All the while, she had been sinking into depths of thought even she herself didn’t know.

The young man and young woman gazed intently at each other’s faces.
And then the young man said.

“We will take our leave now.”

“Oh, but now…” she said, gazing in surprise at the two who had risen.
“When the maid returns, I will have her see you off.”
“No need—it’s right there.”

Outside, the moon was shining brilliantly.
Her heart, having followed the two outside, remained excited yet became serenely clear.

Everything existed within pristine silence.

The moonlight, heavy like mercury, drifted across the lake’s surface and mingled with a faint haze.
And it cast a pale raw silk veil over forests, fields, and even the distant mountains.
High above them spread the deep indigo sky.
At the center of the vast sky, studded here and there with stars, hung a moon shining silver.

In her heart as she stood there dwelled an indescribably remote emotion.
When she saw the two standing slightly apart before her, they were clasping their pinkies tightly together like children making a vow.
On the shore, a small abandoned boat lay moored in desolation.

“Though I’ve said all manner of things,” the young man said, turning toward her.
“Please don’t take any of it to heart.”

“No, it is I who should be saying that.”

“We’re actually meant to return tomorrow.”
“With the train schedule requiring such an early departure, this may be our last chance to meet.”

Something cold pierced her heart.
And so she fixed her gaze upon the young man’s lonesome face.

“I think we will surely come back here one day,” the young woman said.

“Yes, please do come again… I’ll be waiting.”

Her heart was suddenly crushed by something overwhelming. In the midst of this aching transience, she recalled every moment since the day she first saw the young man.

“Well then…” With that, the young man faintly twitched his eyebrows. He bowed his head in silence.

“I will always guard this lake… So please…”

The young woman halted her half-taken step and stared fixedly at her face before lowering her eyes to the ground. “Goodbye,” she murmured.

“Goodbye.”

After the two left, she stood there for a while.
She thought everything had ended.
The pure moonlight and tranquil lake waters rendered her heart lonely.

She felt a stillness as if silver powder were cascading through the moonlight, blanketing everything.
Mystery streamed from sky to earth!
And naturally, hot tears welled up in her eyes.
There, the future’s lonely journey lay reflected.
But that loneliness filled her heart with a gratitude that made her want to weep.
And under the vast sky, quietly thinking of God with hands clasped, she knelt there.