Pathway to Japanese Literature

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko (Horobetsu-gun, Noboribetsu Village) Around October 1916 (Sent from 5-sen Minami 2-go, Asahikawa Ward)

Dear Father and Mother, When we heard Father’s illness had improved considerably，we were finally able to feel at ease. Autumn had already reached its peak，and as the surrounding mountains stood adorned in brocade-like hues while steadily growing cooler，I prayed day and night that his condition would surely improve. We hear you have been in good health this year，Mother，and I pray both your rice harvest may prove abundant and your millet yields plentiful. I too remain safe and diligent in my studies，so please rest assured.

The Joint Exhibition you’ve read about in the newspapers began on the eighth. An education exhibition was also held. Since academic works from all schools within the ward and those under Kamikawa Subprefecture’s jurisdiction are displayed, it appears truly splendid. I too will go see them within the next two or three days. My composition is also on display.

Yesterday, the Ward Elementary Schools Joint Music Concert was held. I performed an organ solo as a graduate of the Fifth Ainu School, though unexpectedly it went rather well. The students from other schools sang their pieces skillfully, but our Ainu students too proved remarkably adept. Performing before tens of thousands of spectators must have been quite taxing. Someone like me managed to play without errors, received applause from everyone, and felt profoundly relieved. Though this may sound boastful of my skill, in truth I must appear thoroughly unskilled from Habo’s perspective. I also heard the solo performance of Suzuki-sensei—the singing instructor at Asahikawa Higher Girls’ School whom I once mentioned, who graduated from Tokyo Prefecture Gymnastics and Music Women’s School. They say hearing even one such teacher’s voice here in Asahikawa should be considered a great honor. With that, the event concluded. Yet it was truly splendid!

When I listened to the male teacher’s shakuhachi and such, I felt as though it had seeped into my very core. Isureki’s flute seemed slightly better than Uncle’s.

With this, let us conclude the talk about the music concert.

I had intended to send Father the barrel of sugar I collected recently, but upon hearing it would be bad for him, I regrettably must send it to Kōō and Mashibo instead—please eat it in Father’s stead. I received some kiribu and intended to give it to Habo, so I stored it together with the sugar. However, Fuchi must have left the cupboard open unknowingly, so the cat began eating it. Then Fuchi found it again and brought back the kiribu, only to accidentally drop it into the pot. And so it ended up completely ruined. I’ll find some more for you.

Farewell, farewell. Father, please take good care of yourself and recover quickly. Please tend to Habo with devoted care as well.

Farewell.

At the Window as Dusk Falls

Yukie

Dear Mother

Father,

To Chiri Takayoshi

April 1, 1917 (Taishō 6) (Sent from Asahikawa)

Dear Father,

Regarding the entrance examination for Asahikawa Ward Vocational School that you have been concerned about for some time now, I am pleased to inform you that I have fortunately passed in the fourth rank, so please rest assured. You will likely see it in the Times.

Farewell.

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

April 1, 1917 (Taishō 6) (Sent from Asahikawa)

Dear Father and Mother, I will be enrolling in the ward-established women’s vocational school. (Taksan Oiwai Shite Choudai na) As the family register extract is absolutely necessary despite the trouble it causes, I earnestly request you send it by April 9th. Without this copy, even my fourth-class admission will mean nothing. My enrollment and everything else will collapse entirely—I implore you most urgently. It should appear in the Times within two or three days—please open your eyes wide when looking. The article leads with “Among these entrants admitted in fourth place is Chiri Yukie, a former native”—Habo might well faint from shock upon reading this, so please take care. If only Fuchi would come soon…

Since I must bring the family register extract on the ninth, if it arrives late I will be in trouble—so please take pity and send it promptly. Kōō, Mashibo, please study diligently. I humbly request this of you. (Since I placed fourth out of 110 people, it must be quite impressive.)

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Around May 1918 (Taishō 7) (Sent from Asahikawa)

It had been a while; I would write another long, long letter. Tomorrow parcels were to be sent, and though Fuchi and Mother seemed busy preparing many gifts, since I had nothing to offer, I would instead give my usual long letter as a present. This was because I believed Father and Mother would rejoice above all else…… I had just returned from school when I read your postcard. And I felt so happy tears welled up. I earnestly pray summer vacation may come soon.

If Kōō and Mashibo could come with me…… I would be supremely happy. Though I have no gifts for you today, when I come for summer vacation this time, I shall bring a whole array of presents…… I’m already preparing little by little in my spare time.

Mother, I have been knitting the silver coin purse you ordered little by little in my spare time, but it was nowhere near finished. Please wait for that too until summer vacation.

I have mostly gathered Father’s gifts. I will also bring plenty of souvenirs for Mashibo-chan.

Since everyone must surely wish to hear about my daily life, I shall now tell you all about it. From now until we meet in August, I likely will not have another opportunity to write letters…‥. I woke around four in the morning and rested while night’s dusk had yet to fully settle. When I opened the window each morning, fresh air filled my surroundings—no thin smoke rose from the scattered houses, while the sound of Ishikari River’s flow, carried by a pleasant breeze, faintly reached my ears. Asahidake stood nobly in its white hood as spring haze filtered through its slopes. Leaving behind Asahi Park’s grounds tinged with blue where vivid red azaleas and pure white cherry blossoms bloomed in harmony, I hurried briskly toward school beneath the caress of morning’s spring breeze.

At school, with 380 students and 14 teachers, we were able to study without any lack. However, a very sad thing had recently occurred. The matter was that Tamabashi-sensei, our Class 2-A (Sewing) homeroom teacher, had lost her father in her hometown of Niigata on this occasion. And promptly, Sensei departed for Niigata. That day was a Monday, and moreover, it was during our cooking class.

Tamabashi-sensei appeared before us and said, “My father has passed away, so I must urgently return to my hometown.” When she bid us farewell, adding, “Though it pains me to leave your side, circumstances compel me—please study quietly under your new teachers without troubling them,” we all burst into loud sobs. Tamabashi-sensei and the cooking teacher too... In the midst of this commotion, our precious simmered butterbur scorched black, creating utter chaos. For the next three weeks or so, like children whose mother had left home, we had to wait for our teacher in helpless sorrow. Yet the other teachers showed us such compassion—looking after every need—that we could continue our studies without hardship.

The principal continued to kindly look after us. The principal taught us moral education once a week.

Vice Principal Matsumaru-sensei remained an excellent teacher as always, teaching us gymnastics twice a week while stroking his red beard. Therefore, we respectfully called him Red Beard Teacher. Next was Ishida-sensei, a teacher who had arrived at the start of this term and taught science and mathematics. He was an extremely strict teacher—so terrifying when angry that one might think the classroom itself would collapse—but when everyone studied quietly, he became so very kind, so very kind that it truly felt as though he were a deeply loving father. Because he was strict, all the students disliked Ishida-sensei, but... I actually thought I liked him best of all. That day there had been a mathematics exam, and I received full marks.

Next was Harada-sensei. This teacher had only recently arrived and was in charge of Japanese language. He was a comical, humorous, and truly amusing teacher. During Japanese class, he would have us listen to songs, sing poems, recite sutras, and dance, making everyone laugh. And he made Japanese class so interesting that we never grew bored and understood everything thoroughly, which was why everyone’s grades in Japanese were good, they said. He was a short-statured, portly sensei.

Next was Hiraiwa-sensei, a female teacher. She was a grandmotherly woman over fifty and an truly excellent instructor. She taught us bag-making. Then came Honma-sensei, who taught drawing, cooking, and etiquette. Among these subjects, she was particularly accomplished in drawing. She was a petite and lovely teacher. The other day, my drawing received a ‘top grade’. As it placed first in the class, I beg you to share my joy. They say she had graduated with honors from the Higher Normal School.

Next was Tamabashi-sensei, whom I had mentioned before. Then came Kouta-sensei, head of the two-year specialized course. Next was Okamoto-sensei, homeroom teacher of Class 1-A, from whom we were learning knitting. Though her features were plain, she was an excellent teacher.

Next was Koizumi-sensei, who served as the artificial flower instructor and head of the supplementary course, though she was presently unwell and resting for two or three days. She was said to be a graduate of Tokyo’s Kanda Women’s Vocational School. She was a beautiful and kindly teacher.

Next was Bessho-sensei, homeroom teacher of Class 2-B. They were a teacher who had arrived at the beginning of this term. I did not know this teacher well. But they seemed to be a good teacher. Next was Kobashi-sensei, a truly beautiful teacher and homeroom teacher of Class 1-B. She was said to be strict yet kind. We would now be learning household tasks from this teacher.

Next was Shimazaki-sensei, who had been our homeroom teacher during first year. She was now the embroidery teacher for the entire school. Then came Yoneko-sensei, a teacher with a lovely voice who was thought to be forty-five or forty-six years old. In this way, all our teachers were truly excellent. Miyamoto Eiji-sensei had taught Japanese language and music until March, when he retired at month's end. He was a dark-complexioned teacher—a spiritual guide—and so very kind; an excellent educator. Moreover, he had been a devout Christian. Thus I had liked him best of all, but after retiring, he recently departed for Tokyo. He stayed there until around August, after which it was said he crossed over to America.

And thus, it was said he was researching music. Then there were two custodians and one young serving girl, so my school continued to prosper increasingly.

The third-anniversary commemorative ceremony was held on the fifteenth of last month. At the celebration that day, I took part in a dialogue.

As I would be having dinner now, I decided I would write after returning from school tomorrow.

“Good night.”

Today I returned home at four-thirty. Under splendidly clear skies worthy of being called 'Japan-fine,' where cool spring breezes whispered through sleeves with indescribable delight. Since walking nearly one-and-a-half ri each dawn and dusk keeps me thoroughly hale.

Although there were only five classes today, as it was my duty as vice-class leader, I supervised the cleaning and handled tasks for the teachers, which made my return home late. Since receiving my appointment as vice-class leader for this term on April 18th, I became quite busy. Friday and Saturday were my duty days. My duties involved going to school in the morning, determining today’s time duty and cleaning duty, writing them on the blackboard, and inspecting after the cleaning. During lunch breaks and after school, students went to the staff room to submit their crafted items to teachers or convey other matters they wished to discuss.

Class Leader Date-sama was a person named Date who was truly kind and wonderful. This person had become a special scholarship student when he reached his second year this time. He was exceedingly kind to me. The vice-class leaders were Mr. Kunimoto and myself, the two of us serving in the role. Since the responsibility of us three was exceedingly grave, we consulted one another to fully recognize that responsibility and work diligently, striving with that resolve at all times.

The supplementary course accepts those who have graduated from the third year of the main course. The main course maintains an equal balance of academic subjects and technical arts. Currently, the main course consists of first-year Classes A and B, second-year Classes A and B, and a single third-year class. Additionally, there exist Part 1 Specialized Courses and Part 2 Specialized Courses. The Part 2 Specialized Courses admit those who have completed Part 1. Upon finishing Part 2, one progresses to the supplementary course. In this manner, the institution comprises eight grades in total. These students would play in the indoor gymnasium during rainy weather, but ventured outdoors on clear days. The outdoor sports ground stood planted with numerous cherry trees. Larch trees enveloped in fresh young leaves surrounded the school grounds, their vibrant green complemented by pale cherry blossoms—a scene perfectly suited to the magnificent school building. That I could study at such an institution filled me with profound gratitude. This too I recognized as divine grace and gave thanks accordingly.

How beautiful must the spring in Noboribetsu be? How serene must the spring sea of Noboribetsu be? How beautiful must the scenery be with the spring rain falling steadily? Picturing Kōō playing as he basked in that balmy spring day, I grew unbearably nostalgic wondering how much he must have grown. The figure of Mashibo, darting about energetically on that elementary school playground with its lovely scenery, also rose vividly before my eyes. How utterly adorable must little bedwetter Miss Mashibo be? Misao! What a wonderful name this was. I dearly loved that name.

I was looking forward to summer vacation. There were still sixty-seven days left, you know. During that time, I knew I must truly strive and work hard. What kind of grades would be announced at term's end... I wondered... I had stored up heaps of souvenir fairy tales—various and sundry stories—and songs to sing for you all. Why, it had been two whole years! I prayed we might eat plenty of Gusuburi again this year. I missed the sea unbearably. Surrounded by mountains on all sides—wherever I looked there were only trees, only grass, only houses—the seemingly endless Kamikawa Plain made for splendid scenery indeed, yet somehow this sea-less vista left me feeling unfulfilled.

Tomorrow was Sunday and I would conduct a thorough cleaning. By way of digression – our house’s kitten possesses such surpassing adorability that words fail to capture it. Yesterday saw the arrival of *Fujin Sekai* which you so enjoy Mother; expect its delivery to your hands ere long. Mother here labors under such ceaseless occupation – The five-shaku-five-sun square of velvet lies stretched drum-tight upon her frame, And swift! Swift beyond telling moves her needle’s course – Five days having now elapsed since first she took stitch in hand, The emerging work glows with such radiance as might startle sleep from one’s eyes.

Fuchi was preparing the meal amidst great commotion with four cats. The barley here had grown remarkably large. The other day I received some noya shito from Mr. Italy and ate it.

Until recently, there had been no sugar for about two months—every day I wanted nothing but to eat sugar and begged Mother to buy it for me—and now that she had done so, I wished to prepare barley sugar and eat it too, but having no time left me quite troubled. In the midst of this indulgence—sprinkling sugar on my rice each morning—I worried whether our supply might run out before we even harvested this year’s barley.

And there is still more I have to tell. The other day, a major incident occurred. You had probably already heard from Mother, but I will also tell you.

It was that the school almost burned down. This incident occurred during the predawn hours of the fourth of this month. Right across from the vocational school, a miso and soy sauce brewing company marked with the shop symbol ※ (where the '工' in '仝' is replaced with '旭') burst into flames. Oh no—it was just past three in the morning when sparks began scattering like fireworks. The clamoring voices of the crowd seemed to shake heaven and earth. Firefighters came rushing in as pump after pump converged at the scene. This company stood right beside my school, surrounded by the Fourth and Second Elementary Schools, a middle school, district courthouse, and prison—and being a large two-story structure—so the flames swelled relentlessly without mercy. By the time the vocational school's principal arrived huffing under his heavy corpulent frame, that company's great building had already become fully consumed by fire. Still sparks mingled with flaming planks fell like snow, engulfing the vocational school within...

The principal, like a madman, shouted "Pumps! Pumps!" at the top of his voice, desperately calling for pumps. However, since the pumps were now in full operation, not a single one came to help, and amidst this, someone let out a roar— "The vocational school's roof has caught fire!" "Ah, it’s hopeless now," some cried. “Help us!” “Help us!”

The teachers who rushed over still in their nightclothes and those who came flying with disheveled hair raised their voices together to call for help. However, since it was a second-story roof—high up and steeply sloped—the crowd could only shriek "Look there! Look there!" and scream helplessly... The flames along the roof ridge resembled a devil's tongue trying to lick away the southern side. People grew frantic with worry. Danger crept closer with every passing moment. Was this where the vocational school's fate would meet its end? Oh! At that instant, a dark figure appeared atop the burning roof's ridge. The crowd drew breath with a collective gasp. The teachers pressed their hands together—"Ah, God..."

The figure on the roof gradually approached the flames and attempted to lower one leg near where they burned. At that moment，another worry took root in the teachers’ hearts—if he were to slip even one step on that steeply sloping roof，what would become of his life? However，that person initially appeared to hesitate slightly，but seemingly resolved himself and，maintaining a composed demeanor，drew near the blazing flames and managed to extinguish them without incident. And when this brave soul climbed back onto the ridge once more，the people cried out “Banzai!” in unison. The teachers let out a collective sigh of relief and placed their hands over their hearts. But this proved a fleeting respite，as from somewhere indeterminate came the cry：the roof fire’s out，but flames have reached the ceiling space! “Oh! The schoolyard roof is on fire!” a person shouted. The teachers once again felt as though they had plunged into the abyss，their very will to live extinguished…

At that moment, another brave soul appeared. One foot bare, the other clad in white tabi socks, the brave soul… Next, four or five young men appeared. The fire in the schoolyard was extinguished.

Amidst this chaos, the pumps finally arrived. With thunderous crashes echoing one after another, water cascaded onto the roof. The attic fire too went out completely. The company’s flames had dwindled at last, leaving no trace of danger... This all unfolded around half past four. What anguish must have gripped our teachers until that moment? As for that first courageous soul who risked life itself to quell the roof flames—though they searched exhaustively—his name remains unknown even now. Who then was this figure who subdued the schoolyard blaze wearing but a single white tabi sock? None other than Mr. Miyamoto of whom I wrote before. Among those four or five youths who followed him, one sustained injuries—though mercifully slight ones that healed swiftly. On Monday came our teachers’ turn-by-turn recounting of this fiery ordeal.

Such a major incident occurred at my school. The beginning of this major incident was an extremely trivial matter—it is said that it occurred because an eighteen-year-old youth, who had been serving as the company’s night watchman, neglected his duty and fell asleep. The account of the fire became quite lengthy.

From now until summer vacation, I likely won’t be writing any letters. I’ll keep gathering plenty of souvenirs and tales of those souvenirs in preparation, so please look forward to summer vacation with—[text missing].

To Chiri Namiko

May 17, 1920 (sent from Asahikawa)

It has been such a long time since I last wrote. Please forgive me. I have been thinking of nothing but how things have been since then and eagerly wanting to hear about the stallion, but alas, as my body has not been free, it has come to pass that I have delayed until today. How is Father’s condition? From today’s letter, I understand that Mother is suffering from a headache; please do take good care of yourself. I am most heartened to know that all other dear ones remain in unchanged good health.

I must offer my deepest apologies for having imposed such trouble upon you during my recent visit, and moreover for causing you various worries by straining my throat. When will I ever become truly healthy enough to bring peace of mind to my dear parents and everyone else—it makes me feel utterly wretched to wonder. But now my condition is much improved; even when I look at myself in the mirror, my complexion appears favorable, so the time when you can all be fully reassured will surely arrive before long. I earnestly beg you not to worry in the slightest.

When Dr. Taniguchi examined me, he said it was chronic bronchitis or something of that sort... "Is it not pleurisy?" When I asked, he replied, "Ah, there are traces of pleurisy, but there's absolutely no sign of it now." He explained thoroughly that there was no need to worry about the heart condition—being congenital, it couldn't be fundamentally cured, but though quite severe in nature, it would pose no problem as long as I didn't overexert myself. I did have quite a high fever recently, but now there's nothing amiss. Having grown somewhat weakened, the doctor instructed me to take nourishing foods and avoid bathing, so Fuchi and I ate about twenty eggs together these past days. They bought me bread and jam and all manner of things in abundance, so I'm taking great care with my recuperation. I'm not as faint-hearted as you imagine me to be, Mother, so I earnestly beg you not to worry.

Fuchi had also been gravely ill，but through divine mercy，she had spent these last two days cheerfully playing with kittens，so please set your heart at ease.

Dear Noboribetsu!

It was on the 28th of last month that I departed from my dear hometown—already nearly a month has passed since then. Ah yes... Since arriving here, plum blossoms have bloomed and irises flowered…

On that day when I left my home behind, I was truly struck by an indescribable feeling. That home of ours, so different from usual with its tangled web of circumstances—whenever I thought of it, my chest would tighten so... The endearing smile of Mashibo standing there with a gentle beam disappeared, and as I ran alongside the departing train for a few dozen yards, even Kōō’s dear voice calling “Big sister, goodbye!” faded into the blowing wind—until before long, as we passed through that dark tunnel, even the town of Noboribetsu became but a shadow against the mountains.

When Miss Mary, who had ridden with me, pressed upon me a pin she had offered as a keepsake and we parted at Shikishō Station, I thought—Ah, now I am truly traveling alone—and only afterward did I notice how impermanently nostalgic the skies of my homeland had made me, how my eyelashes had dampened with helpless yearning. As I leaned back and gazed absently out the window, there at Tomakomai Station I caught sight of Nishipa’s white beard—silver strands fluttering in the wind. Then boarding came Uncle Hisanosuke Kaizawa of Hidaka.

Since my voice wouldn’t come out even when I tried to speak, and as Nishipa was in the second-class car, that uncle kindly suggested that having him offer a prayer might help, and so I was able to meet Nishipa. “As it would be inconvenient on the train, please come to my house tonight,” Nishipa graciously said. And so I disembarked at Sapporo Station, a place I had never even dreamed of. That day passed with me reading letters, writing them, and dashing out to mail them. I was carefully examined, received prayers, and was shown warm hospitality; that night, I ended up staying in the room of an elderly cook named Maruyama Korimise. After drinking the sugar water and lying down, the old lady immediately fell into a peaceful sleep with soft snoring. However, upon the bedding that had been laid out for me, I laid down my weary body—yet even as I counted my breaths and measured my heartbeats, I found myself utterly unable to sleep. The tick-tock of the clock filled my ears while my eyes only grew more wakeful, and whenever the old lady was seized by a hacking cough, I thought of getting up to talk with her. Outside, the moon must have been out, but inside the room was pitch black; even so, as I stared at the white shade of the electric lamp hanging there, I drifted in and out of a doze. But then, from behind me, I heard a lovely voice calling, “Yukie-san! Yukie-san!” When I turned to look, there stood a boy of seven or eight wearing a coarse-patterned kimono, his adorable face dimpling as he beamed at me. Startled, I asked, “Who are you?” He replied— “You know, I’m Warudengāra’s child,” he said. “Oh, is that so?” I replied. Yet I found myself puzzling—if Warudengāra was the stallion I had bid farewell to at the stable this very morning on my way here, and given he wasn’t even deemed fit to be a stud horse from what I’d heard, how could he possibly have such a lovely child?—and I tilted my head in thought. “This is strange,” I thought, and when I looked at the child once more—how about that? The boy’s body remained that of a child, yet his head was unmistakably Warudengāra’s—moreover, those enormous eyes blazed fiercely as though piercing my entire being, the star on his forehead sunken like a gaping hole, his crimson mouth agape as if to devour me at any moment. Ah! This was terrible—I tried to flee, but my legs turned to lead and would not budge an inch; I tried to cry for help, but no voice emerged. As I was caught in this turmoil, just when I thought that apparition was drawing nearer step by step, it instead retreated backward—and with a thud as it collided against the pillar behind, I jolted awake to find everything pitch black. When I looked more closely in bewilderment, there I was, still lying beside the cook as before. When I tentatively tried moving my legs, fortunately, they were free. When I listened carefully, from somewhere unknown, the sad, distant howl of a dog could be heard. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the hand towel by my pillow and tried to sleep again, but I could not fall asleep no matter what, and amidst this, the clock resounded with deep tolls to announce two o’clock. Though I resolved not to think of anything, various thoughts welled up from the past and flowed into the present like water, their destination unknown. And so the night dragged on until dawn, and at 4:30, I rose from bed together with the cook.

Truly, I felt utterly foolish for having spent the entire night without sleep over such a meaningless dream. Strangely, my voice emerged smoothly, so I gave profound thanks to God’s great power and had Nishipa pray for me once more; then, after expressing deep gratitude to both Nishipa and Kakkematsu for their grace, I departed the house around six o’clock. I boarded the 6:35 train and arrived in Chikabumi a little past twelve. Unusually, the train car was sparsely occupied with passengers, and sitting comfortably, I arrived safely while continuing my meditations. Both Fuchi and Mother were extremely pleased with the souvenir shikottsu. As Fuchi was confined to her sickbed, after resting awhile, I set out again and retrieved that luggage.

Thanks to your kindness, I distributed them here and there, and everyone was delighted.

I had intended to write a letter immediately the following day, but perhaps from exhaustion, I couldn't even manage to go to the doctor. Amidst all this, before I knew it, four distinct shades of green had begun appearing vividly before my eyes. The other day, an eighteen-year-old young woman passed away in this village. During our elementary school days we had been classmates—she was truly gentle-hearted—yet she died not long after marrying. At eighteen she was but a flower bud just beginning to open—to have scattered in spring's early days... How profound must be the grief of Miss Kane's beloved mothers. On a day when misty rain fell ceaselessly, the plain wooden coffin containing her remains was borne slowly up to the lush hilltop cemetery. When I saw what appeared to be her oblivious younger sister walking briskly beside the coffin—her face radiant as if delighted by her white kimono—I found myself shedding tears unbidden. Ah, may my dear friend's spirit continue resting peacefully now in Yomi's realm.

After that, how has Tani-sensei been faring? We are constantly praying that he may make a full recovery. In Noboribetsu too, the rain has continued these days—it must be rather dreary. Yet even so, Noboribetsu’s scenery on rainy days must be exceptionally beautiful. Still, my hometown remains dear to me. The sound of waves heard by my pillow all night long—that is something one cannot even hear in dreams in this place...

The spring in these vast wilds was also rich in charm, you see. On fine weather days, when I brought my desk to the center of the room and leaned against it in silent thought, the spring breeze visiting through the open window stirred the hem of my haori with soft rustles and flipped through the pages of the books on my desk with papery flutters before departing somewhere. As I gazed up at the ultramarine-clear sky while recalling Misako's endearing face, and listened intently hoping to hear that dear voice, from within the pure white clouds floating above came the cheerful song of a skylark.

Yesterday it rained all day, and in the afternoon even wind joined in, making for a dark, cold day. After Mother had laid out her bedding and retired around three o'clock, I found myself leaning against this desk once more to gaze outside—the trees' verdure glistened so intensely that the pouring rain seemed like green dew. Thinking staying cooped up indoors too much would not do, I walked through the rice fields there the other day and gathered as many white violets blooming along the ridges as my one hand could hold. These small, lovely flowers still release their sweet fragrance upon my desk. If it were possible, I would like to capture this scent of gathered blossoms in a glass jar and send it to you, Father and Mother.

When these white violets bloom in full along those ridges around this time next year, I too shall become a healthy person—so lively that I might go bouncing about with vigor—and to this end, I have made a firm vow to these small flowers.

The fields must also be keeping you quite busy. Have the peas I sowed when I was still there already begun to sprout? If you haven’t sown the others yet, won’t the timing be too late? Here, it seems most everyone has already finished.

Our field still hasn’t been tilled by anyone.

Has the stud horse arrived? I’ve completely forgotten its name. Was it Hebokonideru? The other day, through a postcard from Michio-san, I heard Uncle had gone to Sapporo regarding the stud horse—I was worried about how matters turned out. Even if you do worry, I wasn’t such a weakling as to let it harm my health, so please don’t trouble yourself over it…… Ah, and also—please rest assured that when I felt somewhat better recently, I carefully wrote a letter of thanks to the mistress of the hot spring inn and sent it off properly.

At my school, Vice Principal Matsumaru Otochika had been transferred to Hakodate Normal School previously, and then just the other day, Honma Shige—a senior female teacher who graduated from Higher Normal School—retired and sent me a long get-well letter from her home in Otaru. Startled by this, I sent a reply together with the hot spring inn's mistress—only to receive another postcard addressed to me the very next day. When I looked at it, there it was—as you must know—a message written aboard the train by Tamabashi-sensei, who had been our homeroom teacher from second year through graduation and held the position directly below Honma-sensei, now having resigned and begun her journey back to her hometown in Niigata Prefecture.

I had been thinking how lonesome our alma mater must have become with all its fine teachers having departed, when earlier—during my hospital visit—I encountered a vocational student from the second or third year whose name I did not know, and from this person I learned that three teachers had resigned, with as many as five distinguished new teachers of some repute having entered in their stead. In Honma-sensei’s letter, it was written that for humans, the most important thing is to fully utilize all the talents bestowed by God. No matter how inferior one’s abilities may be compared to others—even if ridiculed or scorned—to express everything one possesses is truly what matters most; to do this is not for gaining money nor honor, but to strive toward fulfilling humanity’s mission. However,’ she had written at length, ‘when one falls ill and cannot accomplish what one ought to do as intended, that does not align with God’s holy will—it becomes a sin of failing to fulfill one’s mission—so Chiri-san, please regain your health soon.’

In Tamabashi-sensei's postcard, she had written that when ill, one must remain calm and recuperate; that if I kept my spirits firm and focused on recovery without fretting over external matters, I would surely heal quickly. That these teachers all remembered to send me letters as they prepared to leave Asahikawa—me, who counts for so little—filled me with tearful gratitude. The other day, Mr. Kamada and another male teacher came to inquire after my health, urging me with, "The fifteenth is our anniversary—you simply must attend," though I found myself unable to go two days prior. On the seventeenth, when a cleanliness inspection was scheduled, I spent the day pulling weeds before our house while gazing at the distant school sky, singing the anniversary song of "Banzai! Banzai!", celebrating my dear alma mater's auspicious birthday from the heart, and praying it might thrive for a thousand generations and eight thousand more.

Kamada-sensei was our Japanese language teacher who detested formal literary styles like *bunshōtai* and formulaic epistolary conventions such as *sōrōbun*. No one you met on the street would utter such stiff phrases as "I humbly offer my deepest gratitude for your constant kindness"—and so from now on, he declared, all writing must become colloquial in style. In this busy world of ours, brush writing would soon fall out of use, he insisted, and everything would be done with pen writing. Unless this came to pass, Japanese civilization could not be considered advanced. As you well know, Honma-sensei was a refined person—skilled in drawing, highly idealistic, and kind—the teacher from whom I always learned etiquette alongside drawing and knitting. For two years, Tamabashi-sensei treated me with motherly affection, watching over me with great care.

Because she was truly a kind person, my class was said to have the most timid, quiet, and gentle people in the entire school. She too was a Higher Normal School graduate, next in rank to Honma-sensei. At our parting, Honma-sensei spoke to us in a solemn tone about many things, and Tamabashi-sensei saw us graduates off by singing a farewell song of "Farewell, farewell." I will never again hear those kind words, nor will I ever hear that beautiful voice. Since then, whenever I try to sing, my voice becomes like a mosquito's hum—truly unbearable.

Now I had nearly returned to my former condition, though I kept my neck wrapped in bandages and constantly used cough medicine. My windpipe must have worsened considerably. Had there been any word from Older Sister since then? How was Tsuya-san faring?

Please give my warmest regards to Fuchi from the beach, Mother of Ietsu-san, Uncle and Aunt next door, Hatsue-chan, and everyone else. When I arrived, Aunt was still asleep, so I left without saying anything. When I recall walking with Micchan to gather Tamapiru, I find myself smiling alone. Please give my warmest regards to Kōō and Mashibo as well. Our little plum tree must have indeed bloomed beautifully. Kōō always used to tell me, “The blossoms will surely open while you’re here, so make sure to go see them,” but in the end, I never got to look upon them. Mother, please preserve the plums again this year. In times of illness, pickled plums are indeed the most beneficial.

The happy times when I walked with Kōō and Mashibo gathering butterbur shoots and udo would come back to me unbidden. Today, the clouds hung low, the wind was cold, and occasionally rain pattered down only to cease. From the direction of the shooting range came the incessant sound of gunfire—boom…—that could be heard. Occasionally, cannons boomed with such loud noises that they made my already large eyes widen as wide as saucers.

With that, I shall lay down my pen. I will have much more to share with you hereafter. Though rude to mention at closing, please convey my kind regards to Hirose-sama. I offer humble prayers that Father, Mother, and all of you may devote yourselves wholly to preserving your health. The violet upon my desk droops delicately, ceaselessly swaying in faint tremors.

May 17th. Farewell.

From Yukie

Honorable Father

Honorable Mother

To Both Honorable Parents,

To Kindaichi Kyōsuke (Tokyo City, Hongō Ward, Morikawa-chō 1)

June 24, Taishō 9 (Sent from Asahikawa) Professor, I offer my deepest gratitude for your having so kindly sent me such beautiful postcards time and again. Though I received your postcards last Saturday, as the parcel arrived only today, I have unfortunately delayed in writing. Regarding my illness, these days I am living without any particular suffering, so please rest assured. Since Romanization was not taught at my school, I can read it but am unable to write. Thus I have been practicing since some days ago, yet still cannot write it well. Once I become able to write a little better after some more time, I shall immediately begin writing in the Ainu language. I cannot even conceive of grand gestures like leaving gifts for future scholars, but it truly breaks our hearts that these heaps of ancient legends—all such things—are vanishing along with us Ainu people, unable to endure survival's cruel competition. Therefore, we hold profound gratitude for teachers like yourself who engage in such research. If even one of the Yukar tales I write could aid your research in some small way, nothing would bring me greater joy. With this resolve, I intend to write down everything I know—be it Oina or Yukar or anything else—and practice Roman letters daily in happy anticipation. Though I know not how many months it will take to fill that notebook completely, I shall surely write on.

As for changes here, Mr. Taniheisuke, whom you know well, Professor, passed away in the latter part of last month. He had been at Horobetsu Church, but left behind his wife and many children when he departed—truly heartbreaking. Furthermore, it is said Mr. Mukaiyama Yū married on April twenty-fifth.

Since then, there have been no changes here, and Fuchi remains in excellent health, reciting Yukar for us every evening. When we received that beautiful picture postcard at graduation time and all looked at it together—words could not express how overjoyed we were. Might it be that you will not be coming this year? Please do take good care of your health—both Fuchi and Mother pray earnestly for this.

To Kindaichi Kyōsuke

September 8, Taishō 9 (Sent from Asahikawa) Professor, despite the intense heat, you have kindly sent us letters time and again, for which I express my deepest gratitude. Each day I resolved to send my reply without delay, yet here I have let the days pass without writing until today, and I find myself at a loss for words to properly apologize. I humbly and earnestly beg your kind forgiveness. In truth, my grandmother fell ill after my graduation. As Fuchi is already elderly, for a time we worried what might become of her. She lingered between life and death but has finally recovered now. However, this time Mother lost control of her body due to her chronic rheumatism and collapsed into bed all at once. I too have been continuously taking medicine since graduation. My own condition also fluctuated due to the fatigue of nursing Grandmother, but since the autumn winds began blowing, Grandmother has regained her vigor, and I too have come to feel better. I believe Mother will likely be able to rise from her bed before long. I have grown somewhat accustomed to Roman letters. Through your letter, I have come to fully realize the gravity of my responsibility. Once I complete my winter preparations this time, I intend to devote myself wholeheartedly to fulfilling my mission. First and foremost, I hasten to convey my apologies for this prolonged silence while informing you of my recent circumstances. Both Fuchi and Mother asked me to convey their regards to Poronno-sensei.

To Kindaichi Kyōsuke

June 17, Taishō 10 (Sent from Asahikawa)

Professor, having received your successive beautiful postcards, I was truly delighted. I humbly offer my deepest gratitude. Thank you so very much for reading that Utarikusu with such profound interest and compassion. As for the portions you read, Professor, I would gladly send them to you every month henceforth. It had been published since last December, but the December and January issues were already sold out and reportedly unavailable even in Sapporo, while the February issue was suspended due to certain circumstances. As only the March and April issues remained available, I sent them that day. This was said to be read by elementary school teachers across various regions, government officials, and even temple monks in Usu. Here too, neighboring teachers and four or five Ainu from the village were reading it. Fifteen copies would arrive each time, but with many people disliking Christianity, buyers remained few and surplus copies always accumulated. Mr. Katabira was apparently Mr. Yamao's younger brother who had inherited a relative's household, hence bearing a different surname. He remained a youth of twenty-one years old. I believed various people would henceforth appear within this publication's pages. Both Fuchi and Mother conveyed their regards to you, Professor.

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

April 9, Taishō 11 (Sent from Asahikawa)

It had grown very warm. Dear Father and Mother, I trust you are in good health and engaged in your activities. How are Kōō-san’s examination results? I am worried. Mashibo unfortunately was unable to enter middle school but had safely advanced to the second year of higher school and appeared to be diligently applying herself to her studies without rest. Having been prepared for this outcome, she showed no particular disappointment or despondency over failing the exam and continued to spend her days with the same cheerful smile, briskly going about her tasks. At the time of her promotion, she brought home a special certificate in English reading with first-class honors. In English she was exceptionally skilled; never once had she received anything less than full marks on her exam papers. However, as she showed little interest in mathematics and her results were thoroughly unsatisfactory, I had been worried—but thanks to her preparatory studies for the middle school entrance examination this time, her mind seemed to have been considerably trained, advancing to the point where even somewhat difficult problems could be solved easily; so if this continued, I was delighted that by around the end of this term she would be perfectly fine. Her weight had increased by 1.650 kan compared to this month last year, and her height had grown by one sun and several bu—she was in high spirits. Warmed by the gentle spring breeze, both Mashibo and I had taken on a coppery hue. The snow still lay about two feet deep, yet here and there in the patches where it had melted, pale green grass sprouts emerged from the black soil. From early morning came the beautiful voice of the skylark—musician of the spring sky. From the vaguely herringbone-patterned sky pale snowflakes occasionally fluttered down in wavering drifts, and even these somehow carried a springlike quality. In Noboribetsu might some flowers already be blooming? I was reminded of the spring sea scenery and seized with longing for my hometown.

Dear Father and Mother must surely have been quite busy. The chickens and rabbits were also numerous and lively. Had Misao-chan’s frostbite healed? Here, Mashibo’s frostbite—much like the snow that lingered even with spring’s arrival—still caused her to wince when removing her tabi socks. Yet even those wrinkles from her frowning face steadily diminished day by day. Fuchi, as she was to go to Noboribetsu, was anxiously worrying herself busy.

Regarding the matter of my going to Tokyo that I had previously mentioned, I became terribly disheartened upon hearing Father’s disapproval. I earnestly beseech you—please, Father, grant your approval. Though I speak of going to Tokyo, I hold no grand ambitions. I would go to Professor Kindaichi’s home to assist Madam with sewing or kitchen tasks while keeping the professor company in his Ainu language research. It would not involve strenuous physical labor or mental exertion. I thought I might do some sightseeing in Tokyo to refresh my spirits. With the Peace Exhibition now being held, I wished to make this journey a lifelong memory. Professor Kindaichi assured me that should Tokyo’s climate disagree with my health, I could return after even one month. He added that if all went well, staying longer would be advisable—thus I first wished to assess matters. I could not bear to let this precious opportunity pass.

At present, however, it is said that Hakodate Pier and its vicinity are extraordinarily crowded due to both the cherry blossom viewing season and visitors to the Peace Exhibition, so the journey will be arduous and cause you all much worry—but as this is a place where people come and go, I too intend to proceed with utmost caution and resolutely embark on this trip. Praying that God will watch over me...

Truly being such a weakling, in every matter I become a source of worry for you, dear Father and Mother, and everyone else, only adding further to my filial impiety. Having made such an immense request and caused you distress, I am truly deeply sorry for this. But truly—just this once—I humbly beg you to grant this unfilial daughter’s wish by approving my plea. As Fuchi is said to return this time, I will accompany her to Noboribetsu. Due to certain circumstances, I have changed my departure date from the 30th to the 28th. And I wish to leave for Tokyo directly from home.

I earnestly beseech you, Father, to grant your approval regarding the aforementioned matter; I humbly implore this with utmost reverence. I am now writing what might be called an Ainu Language Folktale Collection. When this manuscript is completed, it will be published as one volume in the so-called Fireside Series through the assistance of Professor Kindaichi, or so I hear. The editor of that Fireside Series is a man called Yanagita Kunio, and I hear he will be leaving for Europe around mid-May. Since the manuscript is required to be completed within this month, I am now writing it every day.

Today, Mashibo went into town to do some shopping and returned. She bought her own arithmetic textbook, paper-like things, miso, herring, and such. And as there was to be a celebration for the recent independence of Hokumon School’s Nishibunkyō branch, she dashed out in great joy to watch the entertainment. She must surely be watching something interesting about now. Is Grandmother Fuchi and everyone else well?

The other day Michio-san came and things became quite lively. He had grown into such a skilled violinist that it proved most entertaining. His photography too showed great proficiency—after returning to Sapporo he promptly sent over our photographs, which had turned out remarkably well. My eyes looked like saucers and the flowers resembled wooden pestles, making them a great source of laughter. Mashibo had been captured beautifully in the photograph. I shall show you next time. I hear Ietsu-san received honors! I humbly ask that you convey my regards to everyone.

Misao-chan must have grown quite big by now. How I longed to see you soon. What ever became of Usu’s older sister after that? There had been no word at all. I prayed that Kōō-san would somehow pass. But even if he were to fail, that was simply fate; it would be better not to indulge in disappointment or discouragement. Someone like Mashibo was the most admirable—she immediately regained her composure and then strove diligently because... A wind that felt somehow bone-chilling was blowing. Even so, the sun shone, making the distant mountain slopes gleam white. Here and there, horse-drawn sleds could be seen struggling due to the poor condition of the roads. The skylark continued to sing without a moment’s rest. So today, I wrote this much to humbly request of you, Father. I earnestly prayed that you, dear Father and Mother, would take good care of yourselves, and that Kōō and Misao too might remain in good health.

April 9th Farewell From Yukie

Beloved Father and Mother,

To:

To: Itō Motoko (Nayoro, Hokkaido)

Around May 1922 (Taishō 11) (Sent from Tokyo)

I am truly grateful for your gracious letter. I was truly delighted. I trust everyone remains in good health. I had heard Hokkaido was terribly cold. Therefore, the crops must not be doing well. Tokyo had seen not a single drop of rain this entire month, nor any wind, with each day burning in such heat that I had already grown somewhat exhausted. They say even Tokyo's outskirts are hot, but this year was especially so—the worst in about thirty-five years. When I visited your home recently, you were terribly ill, and I was ultimately unable to meet you, which I deeply regretted. Within this year, I will return to the Ainu village, but as I will come up again thereafter, I humbly ask for your kind consideration.

To: Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

May 17, 1922 (Taishō 11) (Dated and sent from Tokyo)

May 17

To my beloved Father and Mother…….

May 17, 8:30 a.m., From Yukie

I have been terribly remiss in writing.

How worried Fuchi and the others, along with you, Father and Mother, must be as you wait.

Had I written immediately upon arriving, I could have written endlessly—but in my eagerness, thinking that if I spent two or three more days here I might better understand my circumstances and be able to inform you of every little detail, it ended up being drawn out. But even after those two or three days, it still seemed difficult to express my fully settled feelings. Is everything well with you since then? That day, did Mother manage to board the six o'clock train? How worried Fuchi and the others must be for me, fretting over things like my dreams.

Tokyo! What were my feelings when I first set foot upon this land of Tokyo, capital of the Great Japanese Empire? Even if asked, I still cannot give any different answer. For truly, there seem to be no houses differing from those in Hokkaido, nor any different sorts of people passing by... In a little while longer, I should be able to write some proper reflections.

First, I shall set down the events of my journey. Standing on the stern deck of the Keijō-maru, watching Mother in the small boat grow gradually more distant as she waved that white cloth in farewell—what words could describe my feelings at that moment? Even now, remembering makes tears spill forth. When the ship weighed anchor with a clattering sound and set sail, leaving black smoke in its wake, I felt unbearably lonely. I kept wondering whether Mother might still be watching from some spot along the receding shore, but no matter how I strained my eyes, I could see nothing. As we grew steadily more distant, Muroran town shifted from directly behind the ship to the right side, then to the left, and when we swung around past Daikoku Island with its lighthouse, I found myself distracted by passengers chatting cheerfully nearby—and in that moment, completely regained my composure. Having no one to talk to, I clung to the ship’s railing gazing at distant scenery or watching waves shimmering green until I became thoroughly accustomed to the vessel. The steamship Sachi-maru must have departed just after the Keijō-maru. That ship had been lagging bit by bit, following steadily from behind, but before long it too vanished from sight; bathed in crimson sunset light, our vessel pressed onward through a beautiful seascape where scarlet and emerald waves drifted, leaving white wakes like footprints as it advanced alongside undulating swells. There was a beautiful lady who entered the cabin exclaiming “Oh my stars!”, and a gentleman who pulled his mantle tight against the chilly wind, but I felt neither cold nor troubled by dizziness. Still, after about two hours when twilight fell, everyone disappeared somewhere, leaving me alone. Then a crew member in white work clothes approached asking “Where are you headed?” and “Where have you come from?” and “You must be lonely,” until his excessive kindness grew unsettling; I dashed into the cabin, imitated others by removing my haori jacket, and lay flat on my back. Having settled my stomach with two boiled eggs and feeling no fatigue whatsoever, I soon fell sound asleep. When I suddenly awoke, the electric lamp cast a bluish-white light through the narrow cabin, illuminating the college student sharing the room and that gentleman with the adorable child—all stretched out and snoring loudly as they slept.

I crawled out of bed, went to the toilet, and when I looked out the window, the ship was still gliding smoothly across the sea as if over spilled oil. When I had been gazing for a while and sensed someone’s presence, I started and stepped out to look—only to find an old man with a white beard who had been waiting for me all along. Then, when I went out to check the dining area, the clock had just struck twelve. I flipped through the pages of Taikan and Chūō Kōron magazines that were there, skimmed some meal ticket notices posted around, then covered myself with the blanket and went back to sleep.

When I started awake at a sudden noise and looked around, to my astonishment, all the people in the same room were up putting on their shoes and coats. I too rose, prepared myself, and went outside to find we seemed to have entered Aomori Port—the Keijō-maru bellowed out a loud "Good morning!" In the predawn-lit cabin, a moon as round as on the sixteenth night cast silvery light upon the waves while the calm sea—carrying dawn's refreshing breeze—mirrored Aomori Port's beautiful flickering lantern lights in the distance. In dim whitish light lay three or five black shadows of great steamships stretched across the water. The Keijō-maru leisurely lowered its anchor.

As I watched，the surroundings gradually brightened. When I spotted the blue-black triangular and rounded mountains visible on both sides，I was once again overwhelmed by a longing for home. As I slept，I became aware that we had already left our Hokkaido behind and come to another island separated by the sea...

Before I knew it, the moon’s shadow had vanished entirely and everything had grown completely bright when from ahead came a boat of curious shape, puffing white smoke from its small funnel and letting out a thin, rasping whistle as it approached us. Ah, so this is what they call a 'Welcome,' I thought, and a smile rose unbidden to my lips. And connected to the stern of that boat were two more vessels, linked by a long rope. And when the Keijō-maru’s bow turned around the stern with a deep rumble and came before us, the small boat that had been connected to its tail was nowhere to be found—it had arrived with just a single vessel. Then they lowered a gangway about two shaku wide from that landing area, and I handed my landing pass—exchanged last night for the boarding ticket (later upgraded to second class)—to a man with a red beard standing stiffly upright, wearing clothes with red stripes, before descending using my umbrella as a cane. Below, there were sailors who, whenever I swayed unsteadily and my footing seemed precarious, would support me in an almost embracing manner. When the lady was told, "Please go inside," and I peered in, there in the dimly lit small space of the ship's hold sat pale-faced women passengers, crammed so tightly that their knees nearly touched each other. When I saw that, I found it so unpleasant that I stood outside with another woman who had a child on her back, clinging to a pillar. Rather than remaining in such a dim place that seemed likely to harbor unpleasant odors, it felt infinitely more agreeable to stand outside and let the wind buffet me. After passing alongside a large steamship called the Tamura-maru and cutting through the waves with white crests shattering, our boat drew up alongside a plank bridge jutting out into the sea so closely that it nearly collided. Unlike the perilous boarding of barges back in Muroran, here we disembarked by simply walking across a flat surface from the boat, without even needing to climb a ladder.

The Keijō-maru that had carried me this far—if only this ship departing today and bound for Muroran by tomorrow's dawn could somehow bear word of my safe arrival to our beloved ones back home…… Cradling infinite thoughts within my breast, I turned once more to look upon the Keijō-maru, offered silent farewell, and carried my steps away from the wharf. No sooner had I disembarked than my legs grew unsteady beneath me, while within my chest arose a sensation like some strange itch.

On both sides of the road stretched mountains of large red apples piled high by men whose eyes gleamed with merchant zeal. Though no one had declared their destinations, these vendors called out with gazes that seemed to read intentions etched on faces—"Miss! Ma'am! Buy these apples! Tokyo souvenirs!"—their voices rising in chorus: "Delicious they are! Tokyo folk will rejoice!" A gentleman recoiled when a vendor thrust an apple bag at his face. Upon disembarking, swarms of rickshaw pullers bowed to each ascending passenger while entreating, "Won't you ride?" Finding this oppressive, I kept veering aside until encountering a man in a happi coat on my detoured path. When he inquired about my destination and I tried slipping past silently, he ventured: "To Ueno?" "If you say 'yes,' what time might you depart?" "The first train." "The express proves more convenient than the first." "What time runs the express?" "At one o'clock." "Reaching yonder shores at seven tomorrow morn—just two hours' difference from the first train—yet far more comfortable." "Take the express." "But waiting here till one would prove burdensome." "Not at all—I'll ensure against tedium." "I shall provide guidance." "Oh dear—what temptation... 'Thank you kindly—unnecessary,' I declared before wheeling about briskly.

“Oh dear, this is troublesome—such temptation….” “Thank you, but that’s quite unnecessary,” I said, turning sharply around and briskly making my way off.

At Aomori Station, I rested a while inside the station, then wandered about outside. Since there happened to be a small post office right beside it, I sent a telegram to Kindaichi-sensei there. The apples looked so temptingly delicious that my throat grew parched; taking out sixty-eight sen, I bought a bag containing fifteen large ones and came back swinging it at my side. Then I was accosted again by someone in a happi coat—likely a lodging tout—so I said, “No, I’m taking the first train now,” and briskly turned away. When the 6:15 departure for Ueno on the Tōhoku Main Line began moving, I was peeling an apple with that small fork and munching away.

Having boarded early and secured a favorable seat where I sat firmly without moving, by departure time so many people had crowded in afterward that the car became packed tightly—but pretending not to notice the commotion, I kept savoring the sweet taste of the apple.

There were quite a lot of rather interesting place names around there. I had completely forgotten, but there seemed to be some that closely resembled the Ainu language—Asamushi and others as well. The sea lay calm, creating a beautiful scene. I found the seaside pines that looked like something from a painting particularly remarkable. The shapes of the mountains and rocks all made me feel I had truly arrived on the mainland. I also thought the way of speaking among the women who boarded at those stations was quite interesting—their voices almost cloyingly sweet...

I also saw cherry blossoms in full bloom. Across the green grasslands bloomed flowers with flame-like red hues—these must be azaleas. Those as white as snow were likely plums, I supposed. As we drew gradually closer, apple and peach blossoms came into view. Through passengers exclaiming "That's cherry!" and "This is peach!" I too came to understand. The places where peach blossoms clustered in abundance were truly splendid. I devoured all three remaining eggs in one go. They tasted so exquisite I found myself wishing for just one more. As we progressed, passengers dwindled and comfort increased. I stretched out my legs, reclined at will, and settled into ease. Yet at times an inexplicable restlessness would seize me. Initially I delighted in gazing at passing scenery, but gradually grew weary and did nothing but sleep. Though alternating between dozing and waking brought no true rest, I deemed it a reasonably comfortable journey. Having bought both sushi and a boxed meal, I consumed the sushi that day and divided the bento between midnight and four o'clock next morning. Around Morioka I believe it was, two men sat before and beside me—horse traders by their endless equine chatter. They spoke of bringing three horses to some place near nightfall when the beasts panicked, leaping wildly until one man caught his hand on a branch and bandaged the injury. A two-year-old had apparently trapped its leg somewhere, they said. They lamented their buckskin mount—two white legs and a star marking—finally finding a buyer only to sustain injuries that cost them six hundred yen.

There are indeed people with such wretched luck.

"Please take good care of our dear horses at home."

As we gradually drew nearer, the barley ears were already fully out. The rice paddies too—the seedlings in the nursery beds had grown considerably. When darkness fell and nothing remained visible, passengers had dwindled markedly, and I grew thoroughly weary of the train journey—even keeping my eyes open became burdensome. Having secured a seat near the restroom and washroom—which proved most convenient—I washed my face whenever discomfort arose. Waking around four o'clock to prepare myself, I endured the interminable wait for dawn. Yet even when light finally came, Ueno remained distant still, making the train's progress feel excruciatingly slow. Nevertheless—without awaiting the conductor's call of "Nippori next, then Ueno; mind your belongings"—I clutched my umbrella and cloth bundle, poised in readiness until at last we reached Ueno. After all others disembarked, I lingered before stepping out myself; with two extra cars added en route, the train's departure took an eternity—truly remarkable. With my habitual plodding gait, I tramped steadily across stone pavement to reach the ticket gate. Until extracting my ticket from pocket, I kept eyes fixed firmly on my feet. For though my eyes strained with fatigue, excessive glancing would appear unseemly—and I dared not let my small eyes widen unbecomingly. Then recalling Yunotaki-san's diagram, I abruptly looked up—to find Kindaichi-sensei standing there with gentle smile. When he tenderly said, "You must be exhausted," such joy welled within me that tears sprang forth. Upon handing him my baggage claim ticket, he retrieved my luggage from the office. Then purchasing two rickshaw tickets, I rode proudly alongside him—only to arrive first by accident, leaving me utterly abashed. Our five o'clock arrival meant sparse foot traffic; rain-slicked streets felt pleasantly refreshing. Houses far grander than Asahikawa or Muroran's buildings stood row upon row. The passersby likely hailed from countryside rather than Tokyo proper—their countenances all bearing that telltale aspect. We turned right then left repeatedly before entering narrow lanes.

In most houses, the doors were closed. In Tokyo, they say that because the nights are late, the mornings are late too. Then we emerged onto the streetcar thoroughfare again—though I wasn't quite sure how we had come that way—passed before the university, entered a narrow side alley, and thus arrived here. There I once again paid my respects to Professor Kindaichi and offered greetings to his wife, whom I was meeting for the first time. I was also introduced to Jirō-san—Professor Kindaichi's younger brother who had come from Morioka to visit the Hirahaku exhibition. Professor Kindaichi's kindness remained unchanged from when he had visited Hokkaido four or five years prior, and his wife was an impressively tall woman who seemed exceedingly kind. Lately, whenever I am with them, they tell me about all manner of things. I shall save those stories for a later letter. There is also Haruhiko-san—a third-year student addressed as young master.

This person invited me last Sunday to go to the university together, so we set out, but since there was a tram line right before us, crossing it took considerable time. The young master went ahead beckoning me onward, but whenever I tried to follow—a tram would come; just when I thought one had passed—another arrived; then more following behind; three or four automobiles approaching from both directions; rickshaws passing through; bicycles whizzing past—my goodness! I truly came to understand how fearsome Tokyo could be. After reaching the university, while gathering various flowers with the young master, we rested by a lovely pond and watched university students playing tennis on the athletic field. Adorned with the vivid young leaves of early summer trees—I cannot say how many large red brick buildings stood there—their very existence left me no choice but to marvel. The College of Engineering, College of Liberal Arts, and College of Medicine each bore their own posted signs.

Walking on the soft lawn felt pleasant. The pond teemed with carp whose occasional leaps amused me. After enjoying ourselves thusly, we returned. A two-year-old child named Wakaba-san had fallen ill here. They said her milk had dried up from sickness, so when they tried feeding her solely cow's milk, the excessive quantity caused indigestion, then a chill compounded it— even now after twenty-odd days she remained unwell. They were seeing Tokyo's foremost pediatrician Dr. Utsuno, with Mrs. Kindaichi visiting his clinic every other day accompanied by their maid. This left Mrs. Kindaichi sleepless and plagued by headaches. They mentioned she'd previously lost three daughters, leaving her constitution frail and neurasthenic these three years past. During this period many visitors from home had apparently come touring Hirahaku. Unarabe from Hidaka—whether with granddaughter and niece or two daughters none could say—stayed twenty days, departing two days before my arrival. That elder woman had made her seventh Tokyo visit this time, they said.

The house was a single-story home that wasn’t spacious. There was one drawing room—Professor Kindaichi’s six-tatami study, a six-tatami dining area, a kitchen measuring approximately half a ken by half a ken—and a garden about two and a half ken wide. People said such a spacious garden was quite rare. At night, I slept in the dining area with Kikuya, a kind seventeen- or eighteen-year-old maid from Morioka. I wore Mother’s shawl and a large night robe. There was a large desk in Professor Kindaichi’s study that no one used, and when he told me, “Let us decide this shall be your desk,” I wrote this letter at that very desk. Professor Kindaichi left a little past seven since school began at eight and returned around four o’clock. Not only did he work at the university, but he apparently oversaw two or three girls’ schools as well. Goodness—the sheer number of books astonished me. Mrs. Kindaichi laughed and said, “We may not have much in our home, but our books are our treasure.” Archaeology, history, geography, and other literary works filled every inch of a large bookshelf that held countless volumes. “Please read whatever you like,” Mrs. Kindaichi told me. As soon as I arrived, Professor Kindaichi had brought out old and new Ainu dictionaries along with numerous research materials about the Ainu—until my desk became completely covered with them.

Since coming here, I read about three books. At night, Professor Kindaichi would often ask me questions about the Ainu language. When he inquired about matters I had thoroughly retained and posed academic queries, I found myself considering things I had never contemplated before and learning complex grammar through this process. He explained that we must academically analyze and explain even the most ordinary words we use—like dissecting the "a" in Aokai or the "ko" in Komakunatara. Last night, he taught me grammatical concepts unfamiliar from school—verbs and nouns, first and second person, genitive and nominative cases. Now I must devote myself again to writing in Ainu. With a maid handling household matters, my role became something akin to a conversational partner and consultant on Ainu language matters. As for my health, I cannot tell whether it will improve unless I stay another month to observe. Should I remain that long, I should likely grow accustomed to this place and find my spirits settling.

The day before yesterday, I went out to the streetcar line to do some shopping. As expected, there were things I needed, and I ended up spending quite a bit. Setting aside the money entrusted by Michio-san, I now have only three yen and some change remaining. The money I received from Mother—how truly grateful I was to have received it. I express my deepest gratitude to my dear parents. I am also deeply thankful for all that I received from Fuchi. I will keep and not forget a single thing Fuchi has said, so please convey to both Fuchi and Hama no Fuchi that they must not worry in the slightest. (Kamui Shikuttsu is also inside the box.)

She said that once Wakaba-san got better they would take me somewhere... Mrs. Kindaichi... The climate was not much different from Noboribetsu. Today was an unreasonably cold day，and we were all wearing haori. I also read *Shufu no Tomo* and home magazines. Father and Mother must both have been as busy as ever. The chicks must have grown bigger. Mitchhan’s busy yet endearing demeanor also seemed visible before my eyes. I wondered if Usu’s older sister had arrived safely.

Please kindly convey my regards to everyone. I shall explain in greater detail at another time. Today I believe I have done my utmost to inform you of all I can. I fear I have prattled on rather excessively. Therefore I earnestly pray that Father and Mother—and indeed all of you—will safeguard your health while continuing your labors.

May 17, 1:30 p.m.

Farewell

Honored Father and Mother,

Respectfully to your care,

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi

June 9, 1922 (Sent from Tokyo)

Honored Father and Mother, I am overjoyed to finally be able to write you a letter after so long. Thank you ever so much for kindly taking the time to send me a letter amid your busy schedule the other day. The news that Father’s illness has fully recovered so swiftly was, above all else, a source of profound joy to me. I have heard various matters and found it all quite delightful. Mother, I hear you have yet to sow the fields as of June 2—that is quite delayed, isn’t it. The cause of this likely lies greatly with me as well. Every single year, things always end up delayed—it truly is a bother, isn’t it? At the sports day, Misao-chan’s treasure was taken, and it must have been quite the ordeal, wasn’t it. Fuchi and everyone else are in good health, which is most splendid. I remain in good health as always. Please rest assured. I have come to feel quite busy myself. But every night I study five English lessons (National 1), and since I’m quite unable to memorize it all at once, I have to review them. And also, since I’m still writing down that yukar Achabo performed the other day…

The baby had grown much sturdier of late. Today, while the maid carried [the baby] and Mrs. Kindaichi accompanied [them] to the doctor’s visit, it seems [the infant] had already largely recovered. With the baby now well, both Mr. Kindaichi and Mrs. Kindaichi slept soundly through the nights—their faces appearing vividly refreshed.

On Tuesday the 30th, since Professor Kindaichi was absent due to a cold, we left the baby, Professor Kindaichi, and the young master at home, and Mrs. Kindaichi, Okiku-san, and I—the three of us—went out for an excursion. Professor Kindaichi went out to give lectures on linguistics at six schools in total—the university, middle schools, and girls' schools—so he needed his voice, you see. The other day, he had caught a cold and lost his voice, so he took a rest.

Now, that day began with fine weather and we prepared to go out, but unfortunately the arrival of guests threatened to cancel our plans completely. However, after the guests departed following lunch, we set out around three o'clock. I recognized our passage through the university’s Red Gate and route past the university hospital, but beyond that, I remained quite lost regarding our path. The Red Gate—a crimson structure set apart from the main entrance—had been constructed some five hundred years prior, according to Mrs.Kindaichi. We then reached the banks of Ueno’s pond. Though custom dictated wearing flannel during the spring-summer transition, lacking such fabric myself, I vacillated between choosing a lined kimono before settling on an unlined one. When Mrs.Kindaichi appeared in flannel and Okiku-san in lined layers—our trio forming a graduated ensemble—we found most Tokyo residents clad in summer-weight kimonos. Mrs.Kindaichi chuckled that I must be the most fashion-forward among us, though the pond’s brisk air left my thin garment regrettably inadequate. The water stretched sea-like before us, a seaplane droning across its surface. Beyond lay the famed Exhibition Hall complex, its right flank dominated by the so-called Peace Tower piercing azure skies. The venue buildings—daubed in postcard-perfect reds and blues—appeared lifted from an artist’s canvas. The breeze-ruffled waters and lapping wavelets inexplicably recalled seascapes from my Muroran-Aomori crossing. Passing slender bamboo poles glistening with dew-fresh droplets near the rest area, we entered to find benches swathed in red blankets facing cerulean waters. Across the pond rose Hokkaido Pavilion’s whimsical architecture, flanked by regional merchandise stalls and eateries—a composition of singular charm. There we three—Mrs.Kindaichi, Okiku-san, and I—settled on a shared bench to rest, whereupon our benefactor purchased three servings of strawberry carbonated water and mitsumame for one yen twenty sen. The crimson beverage filled its glass to bursting, accompanied by a chopstick-like kaya reed. Finding this utensil pairing curious, I remarked as much to Mrs.Kindaichi, who laughingly explained: “Gulping it down all at once would appear uncouth—one sips delicately through the kaya.” Following her advice proved delightful; the liquid flowed smoothly down my throat, bestowing unaccustomed refinement. Pursing my lips demurely, I fancied myself transformed into a proper young lady. Midway through this genteel exercise, habit nearly betrayed me—my lips instinctively gravitating toward the glass rim before self-consciousness intervened, leaving me mentally kicking myself. The mitsumame offered cooling respite with its agar-jelly cubes and ruby-hued confections—a Tokyo specialty whose sweetness defied description. While Okiku-san’s dental woes barred her from enjoying the treats and carbonation unsettled her stomach, I partook with unbridled enthusiasm. “You truly are an admirable soul,” Mrs.Kindaichi commended me.

By eating many delicious things and thereby becoming a good person, I considered it quite advantageous.

After that, we walked around all the stalls lined up in rows, but there was nothing particularly different from Hokkaido. With Mrs. Kindaichi choosing the pattern for my unlined kimono fabric, I purchased one tan at two yen and fifty sen (last month I had Mother in Asahikawa send me five yen). I now have one yen and forty-one sen remaining). At that time, both Mrs. Kindaichi and the maid bought items of the same price. The maid's fabric had the same pattern as mine. Mrs. Kindaichi truly appears to be the sort of person who prefers modest things that suit me well. The kimono she wears is completely plain in style. When I heard her talking with Professor Kindaichi, someone remarked, "Lately she looks ever so much younger than when she first came as a bride." The one I bought previously was indeed a pattern that would look good on me too. Then I bought a beautiful pale pink silk crepe obi cord. The maid's was bright red. After that, passing under the Peace Tower and climbing the stone-paved slope—probably that was Ueno Park—we walked along the path beneath a hill-like area where fresh green grass grew pleasantly, circled around somewhere, and came out onto Ueno's tram street. Since the exhibition closed at 5:30, we couldn't view it.

I asked Mrs. Kindaichi to help search for what Michio-san had requested, but we simply couldn’t find it anywhere. I thought about sending back the one yen, but since it was suggested that we search again when we went to Mitsukoshi next time, I was still keeping that money. Then we entered a store called Matsuzakaya, went up to the fourth floor, and saw all sorts of things, but I was left utterly astonished and completely at a loss for words. Riding the elevator felt pleasant as we ascended, but when it stopped and suddenly dropped downward, I involuntarily gasped in surprise—whereupon Mrs. Kindaichi smiled gently. Whether they were kimonos or obis or bolts of fabric or shirts, looking at them made my head spin. It felt more frightening than tempting. I couldn’t speak or do anything else. Mitsukoshi was said to be three times the size of that Matsuzakaya. Then, passing by the university hospital once more, we exited through the Red Gate and made our way back. I had already seen enough; I thought it would be fine not to view anything more. I was looking forward to English more than that. When crossing tram streets, my small eyes would involuntarily grow wide.

In Tokyo homes, there are no wood-shingled houses. They are all tile-roofed. When I observe how different Tokyo people passing through the streets appear from us, first I still think they remain exactly the same humans with not the slightest difference. Only those as sluggish as myself prove rare—with everyone moving briskly and nimbly, eyes darting busily about—this seeming to characterize urbanites. They say city dwellers grow oversensitive from lacking breathing room. Plunging into such bustling spaces truly suits me ill—being but a sluggish old woman...

"Since you’ve come all the way to Tokyo, I’d like to take you to hear a lecture by some distinguished person," Professor Kindaichi said. Yet I felt my time at home had been equally worthwhile. For when one listens to a scholar like the Professor speak, it becomes scholarship itself. Through casual conversation on any topic, I found myself learning myriad things. Mrs. Kindaichi would pose questions to her husband about various matters, allowing me to hear his explanations alongside her. Two days prior, we had been treated to political discourse. She listened with student-like earnestness—serious and reverent—to his meticulous explanations of governance. Last night in the study, the three of us—the Professor, Mrs. Kindaichi, and I—unexpectedly lingered in discussion until past eleven. It became a discourse on religion. What might be called the religious psychology of an educated mind—I deemed it profoundly instructive to hear such an accomplished man speak of faith, and listened with rapt attention. Mrs. Kindaichi’s spirit had grown twisted through repeated misfortunes, breeding ailments like neurasthenia. Though she sought healing through religion and the Professor encouraged it—despite numerous encounters with clergy—nothing had yet brought her peace…… To my surprise, I found myself wholly resonating with the Professor’s religious observations. Thus did last night unfold as an unbroken chain of edifying conversations. Even in ordinary times, not a single word spoken here is wasted. All becomes grist for my scholarly mill. Hearing of Hongō Christ Church’s proximity, I visited on the fourth evening only to marvel at twelve congregants—all but two or three drowsing through the service. The pastor’s sermon proved so soporific I marveled that Tokyo harbored such churches. With countless churches hereabout, I now intend to visit them one by one.

From now on, Tokyo will enter the rainy season, so everyone keeps saying how much they dislike it. I don’t find the rainy season itself particularly daunting, but what follows it fills me with dread. They say after about twenty days of alternating rain and dry spells comes the true ordeal—days upon days of relentless scorching heat. Professor Kindaichi had expressed concern: "I worry whether Yukie-san will endure Tokyo’s summer heat." While I know the heat will severely weaken my heart, fretting over what I’ve yet to experience seems futile—I shall let matters take their course. In accordance with God’s divine will... The greatest misfortune in this world truly lies in physical ill health. For in all endeavors, health forms our foundation... Though we cannot know how much anxiety and discomfort might burden those around us, even illness must be God’s gift bestowed with sacred intent. This must be God’s chastening rod—meant to humble the arrogance of those who trust only in themselves. And His guidance urging us to cling to divine love. Therefore I resolve—this weakened body and soul now entrusted to God—to move forward with peace, greeting others through joy and gratitude, engaging all with love as I navigate life’s path. When we fixate on personal happiness alone, despair and troubles multiply; but by setting self aside to strive for others’ good, I believe all sorrows dissolve. Since arriving here—through books read and the Professor’s teachings—my spirit feels somehow lighter. How I wish I could fully convey this transformed heart for you, Father and Mother, to rejoice in—yet since words fail me, please simply take joy in knowing some change has taken root. Thus I pledge never again to wallow in gloom or bitterness, nor let displeasure cloud my face toward you or any soul.

I talked at great length. Next time, if anything new happens, I shall write at length. Regarding the haori, I will inform you after seeing whether it can endure the summer. I earnestly pray that you, dear Father and Mother, will take good care of your health. I was delighted to receive a letter from Mashibo and hear she won first prize, but there has been no word from Kōō. As long as you remain in good health, it matters not if you send no letters. But since you’re busy and it’s such a bother, I feel bad making you write letters... I did send a picture postcard to Aunt in Shikifu before—I wonder why it never arrived. This time I sent it to Noboribetsu instead; please deliver it to her. How could I ever forget to write Aunt? As for Sister in Usu, I haven’t yet sent hers. Though postage costs are quite high, thank you ever so much for sending me stamps.

Please give my regards to Fuchi and the others, and to Misao-chan as well. Please give my regards to everyone else. The other day, I had a dream of Minau Narape and Asae. It’s already time for English class, so I will put down my pen here. Goodbye. From Yukie, 9th

Beloved

Dear Father

Dear Mother

To Both My Parents

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Dated July 4, Taisho 11 (1922) (Sent from Tokyo)

Beloved Father and Mother, I sincerely thank you for your letter the other day. That my dear Father and Mother, along with Fuchi and all the others, remain free from any afflictions is a matter of utmost joy. I too, by divine grace, am living safely under God’s protection, so please rest assured.

I received your letter on the first, but due to a grave incident, I have unwittingly neglected to write until today. The major incident I speak of refers to the calamity that occurred on Sunday the second. It was around ten in the morning. While I was answering the professor’s questions in his study, Master Haruhiko had been playing outside with his friends. However, one of those friends came rushing frantically from the gate direction and called out from behind the study’s shoji screen: “Uncle! Master Haruhiko has fallen into the well!” “Uncle! Haruhiko-san has fallen into the well!” he cried. At that moment, Professor Kindaichi let out a gasp and darted from the entranceway as though propelled backward. In the parlor where Mrs. Kindaichi had been soothing the baby, her loud cry caused the infant to burst into tears. Outside was a deafening clamor of voices that left me feeling utterly disoriented. When I rushed out, the front of the house swarmed with people. I caught sight of the professor’s retreating figure sprinting toward the police box. Amidst this chaos, a voice from the well’s direction shouted “Hold on tight!”—hearing this, I felt some relief knowing he must still be alive. Policemen arrived, ladders came, and people scrambled about in commotion around the well. The professor turned toward where Mrs. Kindaichi, the maid, and I stood clustered together and barked: “We need a ladder! “Bring a hammer!” His face as he spoke was pallid as grass blades. Mrs. Kindaichi stood pale-faced, biting her lip fiercely. As I watched breathlessly, over the shoulder of a burly youth pushing through the crowd appeared Young Master’s face—ashen with wide black eyes. His kimono was smeared with mud and blood. The man ran straight to the hospital without pause. Mrs. Kindaichi handed the baby to the maid and raced after them.

The professor also... The maid rushed back and forth fetching kimonos and obi sashes, while I, still holding the baby, could do nothing to stop my ceaseless tears. Neighborhood wives and landladies came pouring in, errand boys darting about in commotion. Amidst it all, the one who entered with a smile was Master Haruhiko’s uncle—the professor’s younger brother who had visited once before during the exhibition. He bowed politely and strode inside briskly, but when Master Haruhiko whispered something indistinct, he exclaimed, “Oh! I thought they were digging up the well again! I came to take Haru-chan’s photograph, but—” His face paled as he turned and dashed out—the whole scene felt like a dream. When Master Haruhiko returned home later, he appeared surprisingly well. For an entire day, Professor Kindaichi stayed constantly by his side. I later heard his head bore several small wounds filled with glass shards and debris. A gash on his leg—two inches long and half an inch deep—had required six or seven stitches. Last night when the professor and Mrs. Kindaichi went to the doctor’s, I accompanied them with the baby to perform an isere-maksi ritual. Seeing those injuries truly shocked me.

Late Sunday night, Professor Kindaichi bought the harmonica that Haruhiko had repeatedly asked for, so both yesterday and today he was happily passing the time without a moment’s boredom. While Professor Kindaichi was away at school, I kept the young master company. Mrs. Kindaichi had remained composed in the immediate aftermath, but given her preexisting frail health and the accumulated strain, today she was resting in bed. At night, the young master tossed and turned, and until around midnight, the professor and Mrs. Kindaichi comforted him from both sides—soothing, stroking, and patting him. That well was an old one located beside the house across the way, and even a brief glance into it gave an eerie feeling. At the bottom, over two ken deep, there was mud and water, and it was filled with debris along with fragments of glass and bottles. That Master Haruhiko fell into that place and survived was entirely due to divine blessing, and the crowd marveled that even an adult who fell in there would have ninety-nine parts out of a hundred no hope of being saved.

When Professor Kindaichi rushed over and peered into the well, Haruhiko was apparently clinging to something with both hands, looking upward as he cried out, “Father!”…… Because he had been chasing butterflies with his friends without glancing downward, the decayed well lid gave way, sending him tumbling in. He possessed what might be called a genius-level intellect—always top of his class, serving as student council president—with clever-seeming large black eyes. Given his delicate frame and quiet demeanor, such incidents had never occurred before now. Being their only son, his parents now fussed over him with redoubled anxiety and coddling. Even now, recalling that scene makes me shudder. Merely witnessing the pallor on Professor and Mrs. Kindaichi’s faces was enough to chill one’s blood.

First, I shall stop here for now. How has the land matter been resolved since then? Though reassured by your assurance that all was well, I pray daily for its swift conclusion. Thank you most sincerely for informing me in such detail despite your pressing duties. When I fully explained matters to Professor Kindaichi as well, he reacted with shock and anger before settling into relief. Truly he proves himself a man of profound compassion. Regarding souvenirs from Hokkaido—once seen here in Tokyo, nothing appears particularly remarkable. Legumes fare best among such offerings. The adzuki beans I brought were received with notable delight. Yet given Professor Kindaichi’s close ties with the Ainu of Hidaka region, the sheer abundance of beans here verges on astonishing. Even so, by fortunate chance, among all these my own beans and adzuki proved superior in quality. This effect was heightened further by their containers—those beautiful bags…

Then, since the old woman from Hidaka sent us shiitake mushrooms year-round, we never ran out of them. In Tokyo, they were said to be exorbitantly expensive. As for beans and adzuki beans there—the grains were small, the skins hard, and not tasty at all... So when autumn arrived and even a modest harvest became possible, if you could find any fine-looking, delicious ones, please do send them. Though if it proved too troublesome, there was no need. Moreover, having found no Ainu crafts whatsoever here, I had thought perhaps the professor didn’t want any—but this turned out to be why. Others simply purchase handicrafts to study past lifestyles, but since the professor researches language rather than buying artifacts—finding it challenging and becoming wholly absorbed—he apparently had no leisure to consider crafts or treasures. Finances being strained... And by the time he noticed, it was too late; the authentic old pieces had vanished, replaced entirely by tenugui hangers and geta made for Wajin tastes—nothing could be done. He did possess about ten ikupasuy and one inaw received from the Ainu Utara as mementos. Though not useful for academic study, Ainu-made items brought such nostalgic joy that he gladly accepted a tenugui hanger—but found it too precious to use, storing it away instead. "What a waste," he lamented, "for the Ainu to expend their exquisite carving skills on tenugui hangers." Somehow he seemed keen on practical items like nima—Ainu daily implements.

Father, if you should find yourself with spare time, might I ask you to craft something of that nature? As I know your days are full, please take all the time you require. Whether it be a tenugui hanger, chopsticks, a pera tray, a kashuppu cup, a chiponnima container, or a makiri sheath—any of these would surely bring him joy. There is also a matter regarding Fuchi. Would you kindly fashion and send items such as nipeshi—be they tara, muri, or utokiatsu? Again, there is no urgency whatsoever in this request. Whether kanauuntara or arashinukatara would be entirely suitable. Fuchi's saranipe has given him particular delight.

I am living without want or hardship in perfect contentment, so I earnestly beg you not to worry about me. I pray with all my heart that you, dear Father and Mother, will guard your health diligently as you labor. Please convey my warmest thoughts to Misao-chan. And to those dwelling by the mountain's edge and those along the shore's edge - give them my abundant regards.

When Michio-san's musical score proved utterly unavailable and I relayed this to him, he sent back word saying, "In that case, please purchase something else instead." When I suggested he place the order himself if he knew the publishers or vendors, he replied, "Then I shall order it myself—please keep the money for your own use, Sister." Though I thought it pitiful—after he had gone through the trouble of making the request—I returned the funds. I found myself quite unable to voice my customary "Thank you ever so much." They say Hokkaido's climate grows increasingly harsh these days—is this true? How fare the crops? That Takeno-san inquired after me fills me with nostalgia. Please convey my warmest regards when next you meet. I wait in anticipation. Even Takeno-san hasn't seen the exposition—how then could someone like me have visited? At this rate, I may never behold it. I detest venturing outdoors. The press of bodies in those chaotic crowds leaves one breathless. My sole pleasure lies in morning or evening strolls with the baby. Further along lies an area called Komagome— so thickly wooded it strikes one as vaguely ominous. I've always favored viewing things from heights. Through hedges surrounding splendid homes bloom flowers of every sort— hydrangeas of surpassing beauty, pomegranate blossoms crimson as flame. Our own residence too boasts pomegranate flowers in bloom. Pear trees and maples grow here, alongside what might be palms or sago palms—I've forgotten the name—their leaves clinging to stems of astonishing length like rods. The dahlias that stood barely a foot tall when I arrived now tower seven feet high, said soon to overtop the veranda's eaves.

A single bright red flower had bloomed and grown quite large, but it was broken by the strong winds on the day of Haruhiko-san’s injury. The Professor and his wife looked despondent, pitifully murmuring how it seemed to have become a substitute for their young master. The remaining ones were tied to a thick pole but had yet to bloom. When I was writing about Michio-san, the Professor came in and kept writing something intently—this turned out to be another letter addressed to Minister Hattori of the Interior Ministry. Since there had been no reply to his previous letter, he explained he was writing again. Such matters being public affairs rather than personal ones must by all means reach such people’s ears, he said. It is now around seven o'clock. I began writing after finishing supper. Though I meant to write about various things, my constant fidgeting left this letter quite disjointed—yet trusting you will read it joyfully, dear Father and Mother, I lay down my brush with a smile.

With this, I bid you farewell.

I earnestly pray for everyone’s good health.

From Yukie

Beloved

Dearest Father

Dearest Mother

(The following two letters)

I sent another letter to Kōō but received no reply; thinking he must be well regardless, I find myself content even without an answer. He must be terribly busy with examinations now. How pitiful that summer vacation lasts barely ten days! The chickens have multiplied—what wonderful news! And how splendid that the fields are fully prepared! How fares the baby from Sanbonshira □? Do carriages still cut through our fields these days? When shall this land dispute find resolution? It remains most vexing indeed.

Mr. Fusene’s son—it was truly regrettable. When I heard that news, all manner of thoughts came flooding back, and I grew so sorrowful I wept. From now on, a sound constitution will be of utmost importance, will it not? I am fortunate to suffer no particular hardships myself. Though I may call it hot, it is nothing worth making a fuss over—please do not trouble yourselves with worry on my account. As we remain in the rainy season, there are spells of oppressive humidity and mugginess, but they amount to nothing at all. Once the rains clear and true summer heat arrives, should it grow truly unbearable, I shall certainly voice my concerns... Come evening, Madam rose as well and appeared much improved in spirits. She shows such gratitude for my tending the baby morning and night—yesterday she even had tears glistening in her eyes, leaving me quite abashed. “If only you would sometimes wear a slightly careworn expression, Yukie-san—you always keep precisely the same countenance,” she remarked. Resolving to adopt such a look, I ended up forgetting entirely and spent today laughing heartily at play with the infant once more. When one is sent far away alone, all self-will drains away—thus does it stand to reason that a cherished child ought never be dispatched on journeys.

Kōō and Mashibo will both surely become accomplished. The other day I had a dream where two fearsome, imposing figures came to this house. Pressing both hands to the entranceway floor and bowing deeply, when I looked up there was Kōō wearing a thick mustache and beard in an indigo kasuri kimono, while Mashibo stood proudly holding a fan in nothing but a sports shirt, her face unchanged from usual. "Oh!" When I stood up with that exclamation, I awoke and was disappointed.

Now, at last, farewell.

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Dated July 17, Taisho 11 (1922) (Sent from Tokyo)

Dearest Father and Dearest Mother, I have most gratefully received your letter. I am overjoyed to hear that you both remain in good health. How fare Grandmother Fuchi of the Shore and Grandmother Fuchi of the Mountain since their recent indispositions? Yesterday brought word from Michio-san that Grandmother Fuchi of the Shore has fully recovered upon his return home, yet I find myself anxious regarding Grandmother Fuchi of the Mountain's condition. This persistent shoulder ache likely stems from my overzealous work habits.

Fortunately, Haruhiko’s injury proved not serious and steadily improved. Around two days prior, he was permitted to go outside wearing zori sandals—whenever free time allowed, he would venture out insect-catching. The stitches from his wound had since been removed. As Young Master developed no infection, matters concluded most favorably. I too remained unchanged—my unpale face humming Ainu airs while keeping Young Master company through fairy tale readings and picture book perusals—living joyfully each day; pray rest assured. With considerable heat increase prompting home-brewed baths now possible daily nights brought comfortable slumber.

Yesterday, the professor’s younger brother suddenly appeared, making last night quite lively, and he has just now departed. With this, I have now met three of the professor’s younger brothers. There are twelve siblings in total, with the professor being the eldest son, I hear. The professor’s older sister has adopted an heir and now oversees the household, I understand.

As for Professor’s younger brothers, each one resembled him and appeared warm-hearted in disposition. Last night’s guest made the parlor cramped, so Madam entered my mosquito net. Since we began hanging mosquito nets, I have been sleeping in the study. Turning off the lights when I sleep allows me to rest comfortably. It seems Mr. Fusene’s son has finally passed away. It was truly regrettable. One can well imagine Mr. Fusene’s grief. He hadn’t made his son study with any intention of causing harm. I hear Kuriyama-san too has developed heart disease—how pitiful that is.

Truly, there is nothing as troublesome as illness. With the Crown Prince’s official visit, Hokkaido must have been quite lively—did you and Mother have the honor of attending? Might His Imperial Highness have graced the hot springs with his presence as well?

In Tokyo there was nothing particularly changed to speak of, so there remained no material for letters. Each day brought nothing but continued fine weather. The other day—though I may have mentioned this before—I met a gentleman by the name of Mr. Okamura Chiaki. The photographer and his companion took my photograph then departed; I found myself somewhat flustered by it all. Yet I felt certain they had captured me splendidly.

My Fireside Series had not yet been completed. It seemed the crucial Shibusawa Hogakushi had been slightly delayed due to his marriage. The editor-in-chief Mr. Yanagita Kunio was currently abroad, I heard. Lately, as the heat persisted, Madam had been suffering from severe headaches, and I felt terribly sorry for her. The professor remarked that he had received a letter from Father and was delighted. As for Kōō-san, there remained no word as usual. Mashibo’s comics arrived without fail.

Lately, nights had grown quite lively with airplanes flying about. Madam, Young Master, and I would go out to enjoy the evening cool and watch them soar through the lofty sky adorned with red and blue lights. Last night they set off fireworks from the aircrafts—or perhaps lowered them instead, I couldn’t quite tell. When two or three stars twinkled in a flawlessly clear dusk sky, a golden orb easily mistaken for a celestial body suddenly appeared with a faint thud. Before one could gasp “Ah!”, it burst apart, staining the heavens crimson and azure like some ephemeral sun, only to vanish completely in an instant—a beauty beyond all words.

Even without airplanes, fireworks were often set off these days. It was said they went up in the Ueno area. While the days were hot, the nights offered these diversions. This place was quiet despite its favorable location, and since there were no factories nearby, the air did not become polluted by smoke. Moreover, as there were many trees at the university, even birds could be glimpsed. In the evenings, when I sat on the bench under the ginkgo tree holding the baby, I found myself remembering my time in Penaisaki Penai or Okachipe.

It is now around eleven o'clock, and as I write this letter, sweat streams down my face in rivulets. Though it's still only eighty-four or eighty-five degrees, I wouldn't call it particularly hot. Today I must take my leave and conclude with this. Please kindly give my regards to Fuchi of Hama and all the others. Would you tell Yama no Fuchi to rest her shoulders as much as possible? I hear Mitchhan has grown into an utterly adorable, well-behaved child—Older Sister must be overjoyed. I earnestly beg your kind consideration. Farewell.

Dear Father

Dear Mother

To your esteemed abode

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Dated August 1, Taisho 11 (1922) (Sent from Tokyo)

(The opening several lines are missing.)

I hear that Mashibo, too, will be returning home. While this is naturally a delight to her, when I imagine from afar how overjoyed Fuchi and the others along with our parents must be, I cannot help but smile to myself. When Kōō, Mashibo, and Misao are all gathered together, I spend my days imagining just how delightful and joyful days our parents must be having—as though I were at home.

Terauchi-san—my, how can such misfortunes keep occurring? I heard that her son, who had been so full of life, has passed away. Chimabiru-san also seems so pitiable. In Asahikawa as well, upon hearing that a child who had seemed so robust and showed no sign of impending death had passed away, I was made to feel profoundly the impermanence of human life. When I, weak and incapable as I am, survive while seeing hale and hearty people being swiftly taken away, I came to think that it is not necessarily true that those who are strong live long. Even those who appear weak and incapable must surely bear some mission; it is precisely because there is work they must accomplish in this world that God keeps them alive.

Here in this area there was one elder sister of Madam. I had heard there was another elder sister residing in Moji. The elder sister in Tokyo had three daughters; the eldest ones married off while the youngest inherited the household and took in a son-in-law this spring. That young lady came on the thirteenth of last month and I met her. She possessed such doll-like beauty paired with indescribable gentleness—to address her as “Madam” felt unbearably pitiful despite being told she was twenty years old that year. As Professor Kindaichi was absent we four—Madam Young Master myself and she—ate lunch together played awhile then she departed.

However, on the morning of the 26th—as I customarily slept alone in the study and always rose early to study by myself—I was reading a book around four-thirty when frantic footsteps sounded near the gate. No sooner had I noticed this than someone began pounding on the locked gate with repeated thuds, a woman’s voice crying “Mr. Kindaichi! Mr. Kindaichi!” With no one else awake, I called out “Coming!” and rushed to open it, finding Mii-chan’s elder sister standing there. Breathlessly urging me to fetch the professor, she had me hurry to the main room—where both the professor and Madam came running out in their nightclothes. Clinging behind Madam, I went to hear what was happening, but the elder sister choked so severely she could not speak. When Madam offered her water, she finally gasped out: “The truth is—last night Mitsu met with a terrible incident… She took her own life on that train.” We were all shocked, and as Madam wept, I too found myself crying. That day, after entrusting me with the baby, both the professor and Madam went out for the entire day. While eating the celebratory rice for Young Master’s full recovery and keeping house alone, I thought deeply. “There is nothing as fleeting as human life,” I reflected.

Mii-chan had apparently been suffering from neurasthenia for some time. When her father was alive, they had lived quite comfortably, but after his passing, it seems her mother and she were left to subsist on the interest from the six thousand yen or so he had left behind. The monthly interest amounted to about twenty-five yen. With prices rising at the time, they had struggled considerably—taking on odd jobs here and there to make ends meet—until finally deciding that bringing in a son-in-law might ease their burdens somewhat; this was how the current son-in-law came to join them, I hear. Though this son-in-law was an exceedingly kind man who got along splendidly with Mii-chan, his being such a socialite meant guests were constantly visiting. Money kept vanishing, and her mother became so harried with work she seemed ready to collapse—or so people said.

And so her mother kept complaining incessantly, while financially there were always shortages as well—things had become extremely difficult, or so it was said. Then, the master had recently been ordered on a business trip to the foothills of Mount Fuji and had departed, whereupon she and her mother were talking about how, since they had made plans to go to the seaside once the master returned this time, they would sew tomorrow the clothes they had bought for that occasion; but when they went out intending to take a brief stroll to cool off, they never returned—or so it was said. Her mother, who had been speaking with a neighbor, grew worried and went to search for her. Upon arriving where people were rushing about in frantic commotion, she asked if something had happened. When told someone had been struck by a train, she startled and inquired who it was. They described a girl of seventeen or eighteen—her kimono patterned thusly, her obi tied so—and when her mother realized the description matched her daughter’s attire perfectly, her legs gave way beneath her, or so it was said.

Mii-chan’s corpse was picked up as it was and placed into a coffin, but no one opened it to look inside—it was said that only Professor Kindaichi from our household did so. That once-beautiful Mii-chan had apparently become completely mangled. They said she had experienced a mental lapse due to her neurasthenia. Because of this incident, Madam’s mental state deteriorated again, but these past two or three days she had regained her vigor.

On the afternoon of the 25th, immediately after lunch, I was taken by Professor Kindaichi along with Young Master Haruhiko to visit the exposition. We rode the streetcar through various districts and went to see the First Exhibition Hall, but with everything arranged in such a chaotic jumble that made one's head spin, it proved no different from the Sapporo Development Exposition I remembered. We were treated to shaved ice two or three times along with various refreshments. The South Seas islanders' opera performance proved quite fascinating. Since it was performed by dark-skinned people, there was something vaguely unsettling about it—though their children were truly adorable. They bore a striking resemblance to our Ainu people.

We went out saying we might as well see the Second Exhibition Hall too, but upon being told there were only seven minutes left until nine o'clock, we returned without viewing it—though the Second Exhibition Hall's nightscape was truly magnificent. When I return home this time, I shall share all manner of stories with you. On our way back, we brought doughnuts that Madam particularly likes as souvenirs, and both Young Master and I were graciously allowed to buy two sets of picture postcards each. The impressions lingering in my mind from the exposition visit include: the intriguing speech of the South Seas islanders; the refreshing coolness near the fountain; how beautifully the fountain sparkled under red, blue, violet-yellow electric lights; tropical plants and pine saplings about two shaku five sun tall labeled at three hundred yen apiece; what appeared to be a second-prize-winning painting of a pig at the art museum; then on the main avenue, an old countrywoman who—instead of stepping aside for an approaching automobile—darted into its path as it swerved to avoid her, her flustered face when we all cried out in alarm; the delicious Western foods like cider, strawberry ice, and ham rice we enjoyed during breaks; Shinobazu Pond's nighttime scenery where the exposition's multicolored lights and starlight rippled across gentle waves; the Peace Tower's imposing form thrusting into the dusky blue sky; crowds moving like dark shifting mountains; the sweltering heat; and Culture Village's cozy, inviting houses. Were I to write down every memory that surfaces, there would still be more and more to recount—but I shall stop here for now and save the rest to tell you in person when next we meet.

Daily life remained unchanged, and the professor was busily engaged in studying as he worked to compile a collection of sacred texts during the summer recess. In that advisory role, I spent each day engaged in what might be called lecturing on the Ainu language.

Madam had asked me to sew a padded garment, but around two o'clock each afternoon, I would end up facing her and dozing off on my sewing pillow, usually napping for an hour and a half. When evening came, the massage therapist would arrive for Madam's treatment—a fellow believer from their congregation. I typically retired between half past nine and ten, sleeping alone under a mosquito net in the study where I could wake and sleep as I pleased, finding great comfort in this autonomy. Upon waking, I would quietly open the rain shutters to let the crisp morning air caress my flushed cheeks, delighting most in seeing spider lilies, morning glories, sunflowers and garden balsams blooming together—the evening primroses smiling tenderly among them. That night too hung dark under a haloed moon, yet those same primroses glowed faintly white through the gloom, summoning visions of home.

Occasionally evening showers came，and they were indeed a pleasant thing；the day’s heat was completely swept away，leaving one feeling utterly revived．Every evening a bath was prepared at home，so I could thoroughly wash away the day’s sweat and feel refreshed．The dahlias had already grown over eight shaku．Two vivid red large blooms had opened．“If they hadn’t snapped in the wind，they might have grown a bit taller and bloomed more abundantly…” Madam remarked．Because the garden was spacious，Young Master Haruhiko went insect collecting every morning．He filled jars with water and gathered all sorts of strange insects—flies，pill bugs，you name it—then brought them to me，and I played along with great enthusiasm．I often kept him company by playing the harmonica or reading books，so he said he liked Yukie．

I taught English every night without fail. Lately, as it made me drowsy, I did just one lesson at a time. Recently I received from the professor two English dictionaries—one small and one large. By continuing to cultivate myself with a sincere heart free of resentment and maintaining a calm, modest demeanor, the professor and Madam were exceedingly kind to me. The baby, named Wakaba-san, had recently grown remarkably and become plump and round. Having become completely round-headed and wanting only to go outside, everyone in the house took turns carrying her out until she became so tanned that no one who met her outside believed she was a girl.

I am delighted to hear that you, Dear Parents, have had the honor of paying respects to His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince. Even in Tokyo, I have yet to pay respects to any members of the imperial family. Were I to continue writing, I could fill pages until tomorrow, but as this would require too many postage stamps, I shall conclude here. Ah—I received five yen in pocket money from the Professor five or six days ago and thus have no financial difficulties, so I earnestly beg you to devote any income from Ikasaki and other sources entirely to my siblings' school fees. Please do not trouble yourselves worrying about me.

As it was nighttime and I wrote things down as they came to mind, my words have become rather disorderly, for which I sincerely apologize. Please bear with me in reading this. When time permits, I humbly ask that you might indulge me with a letter in return. I hear Noboribetsu too suffers intense heat; please devote yourselves fully to maintaining your health. When Kōō returns in two or three days’ time, how many days of rest will he have? I pray Kōō, Mashibo, and Misao do not catch colds, fall ill, or tumble into rivers. I pray Yama no Fuchi does not overwork herself and end up aching in her bones and joints. Please convey my regards to Hama no Fuchi as well. I pray that Fuchi and the others may play together harmoniously.

Please give my regards to all others. With that, I shall take my leave. I shall write much more next time. Even living alone in Tokyo, I did not feel the least bit lonely. Entrusting myself to God, there was no feeling as blissful as praying for my family and others.

Farewell, and I bid you good night.

Please give my regards to Fuchi and the others, Kōō, Mashibo, and Misao.

What has become of Sister in Usu?

Beloved Father,

Beloved Mother,

Completed writing at 11:15 PM on August 1st. To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Dated September 4, Taisho 11 (1922) (Dispatched from Tokyo)

I sincerely appreciated your recent letter. I was overjoyed to hear you all remain in good health. The long summer vacation passed like a dream, and now that my beloved siblings have all returned to their studies, you must feel quite lonely. I understand Mashibo's return was delayed due to railway troubles, but she must now be studying safely in Asahikawa. I deeply apologize for not replying sooner - you must have worried. You might even have been cross with me. Exactly a week had passed since my last writing. Though I remain ever the useless invalid, I did receive your letter on the 28th while bedridden. From dawn that very day, I began suffering terribly without eating a morsel. It was truly dreadful. My stomach had turned against me. When my early August illness abated and cooler days came, meals became so delicious I always ate heartily. Though when I say "heartily," I mean two bowls at most. With some portions heaped high, perhaps two and a third bowls on average. Then three days before relapsing, my bowels grew sluggish and belly distended - until Madam boiled potatoes on the 27th evening. Rare treat though they were, that plateful must have rebelled in my stomach. From daybreak came stabbing epigastric pain spreading through my chest and back like an auger's twist - whether lying prone or supine, standing or sitting, no position brought relief as breath came in gasps. Yet Madam slept soundly, so I stifled my moans. What began at two o'clock gradually eased by four, and when I rose at half past to sit in the study, I appeared quite composed. The Professor had departed for Morioka at eleven on the 25th night, returning by seven on the 28th morning.

That entire day found me lying down or sitting up in bed, enduring stabbing chest pains with every breath, but by the following day I had improved considerably. The Professor had gone out of his way to visit Dr. Sakaguchi at the university hospital, only to find him absent. Then came the thirtieth—around five in the morning, my heart began raging until breathing became impossible. Madam rushed to summon doctors while the maid fetched ice, the Professor cooled me with water and made me drink it, and the young master rubbed my back—the entire household tending to me through the crisis. Their care quieted the palpitations within five minutes. Doctors named Okamura and Okazaki came to examine me. Those were days of fierce heat when even robust stomachs faltered if one ate normally—or so I was told. With my weak heart, even slight gastric swelling brought immediate consequences. I became utterly spent, surviving three days on half-bowls of milk and digestive tonics until recovering enough to rise cautiously yesterday. Today I sit upright once more. My relapse on the thirtieth stemmed from eating eight-tenths a bowl of porridge and an egg during a brief respite—a fatal miscalculation. Had I abstained entirely! Poor Stomach-san—already heat-weakened—endured daily overstuffing while Intestine-san's storehouse swelled with backlogged cargo spewing poison vapors. Heart-san, crushed between them, writhed night and day until rebelling in mortal frenzy. Yet here I stand improved—for this mercy I give thanks. Forgive my dwelling on ailments. This rare chance to study another year or two—mountains of knowledge awaiting—makes the thought of retreating home over sickness pierce like weeping needles. But Father, Mother—what divine purpose guides this affliction? I ponder deeply. Is this death that transcends joy and sorrow my penalty for sin? Yet believing even this sin-stained invalid might serve some holy design—this thought alone lets me greet each dawn with gratitude.

I wish to become a young child once more and return to your side, Father and Mother. And so I solemnly ponder what I ought to do, wishing to humbly seek your guidance. Half a year or a year... The Mother in Asahikawa will surely forgive me.

We had decided with the Professor and Madam to depart on the twenty-fifth of this month. Was it too soon, I wondered? The Professor had suggested that the Muroran route would likely be better. Before then, arrangements had been made for him to take me to the university hospital once. There I would be examined by Dr. Sakaguchi and receive detailed instructions regarding future recuperation methods. Young Master Haruhiko had been attending school since the first, and I heard the Professor was going to Jissen Women’s School today. Just when we thought the baby was doing well today, her stool had softened again, becoming a source of worry for Madam. Even so, she seemed to have grown much sturdier lately. During the Professor’s recent home visit, Madam had been able to sleep peacefully and saw some improvement in her headaches because I had taken over nighttime baby care in his stead; however, she did not seem well again of late. Apparently, whenever she heard the baby’s crying, she would fly into a rage and wish to die. I felt deeply apologetic that I too contributed to the cause of these headaches. In her better moments, she was in excellent spirits—lamenting why she must be so short-tempered—and her various opinions on self-cultivation were admirable. But when things turned bad, she apparently became overwhelmed by the desire to die, with tantrums arising and anger becoming unbearable. I had come to think neurasthenia was truly a dreadful illness. The Professor’s patience remained something else—it was simply astounding. Even so, both he and Madam said that among all who had lived with them until now, none had been as patient as I. I had nothing to be angry about, but when lying sick in bed, I simply felt unbearably pitiful. Even when the baby cried, I could not hold her; Madam fretted alone and seemed on the verge of tears; the maid did the laundry; the Professor busied himself with studies; and there I lay alone, having someone cook porridge for me. But I had already improved, so all was well.

I scarcely know what I have written today—please forgive this disordered account. We have settled upon my return this twenty-fifth day; your kind indulgence would oblige me greatly. As Mother in Asahikawa shall provide my rail fare, I most humbly entreat you to grant funds solely for the wicker trunk and journey provisions when convenient. Should these bodily afflictions persist so frequently—oh how keenly I feel their imposition—this frail vessel thinks it wisest to withdraw ere becoming burdensome. The road holds no terrors. Neither wave nor wheel disturbs me...

A distinctly autumnal mood had settled in. At night, the plaintive sound of insects resonated through until dawn. The Professor, who had been supposed to complete the Oina during summer vacation but had only finished half, was now swamped with both schoolwork and that task. Young Master Haruhiko, upon hearing I was to return, came daily to the study clamoring to give me keepsakes like flower seeds and Nankin beads, while Madam waited each day intending to share the manju sweets and yokan confections the Professor had brought from Morioka. Once I recovered this time, it seemed they would be able to treat me to oshiruko. They told me to come again next year—when Madam and I had spoken of parting the other day, she had even wept for me.

If only my heart were better and Madam’s head were better—how we could live joyfully every day—we spoke earnestly, invoking the saying about fellow sufferers pitying each other. And then she said, “I’m truly sorry—if only I were in better health myself, I wouldn’t have to make you worry or feel obliged like this. But having to send you back without anything enjoyable to offer is truly painful.” According to what Professor and Madam said, it seemed a research grant for Ainu studies would be provided by the university. The one meant to be issued this year had not materialized, so they were certain it would come next year or thereabouts—and if it did, they said they would summon me back to learn flower arrangement or whatever I wished. They had actually believed it possible this year but failed to secure it, which they regretted. Well, I shall relate all these matters in detail once I return home. In any case, I will return on the 25th.

Regarding the money to be sent from Asahikawa on the 15th—though I must apologize for my selfishness in asking—I humbly request that if possible, you might kindly send only the amount needed for the wicker trunk beforehand. Should I receive a farewell gift from the Professor, I shall purchase some books to bring home. With the cooling weather stimulating appetites, this is precisely when digestive troubles tend to arise—please everyone take utmost care of yourselves. My warmest regards to Misao-chan. And to Fuchi and all the others as well. Following what happened with Michio-san’s case, a letter arrived for me too during my illness insisting I be hospitalized. What an impossible situation. If I must fall ill, how glad I would be if all the ailments of other vibrant young people could gather here within me instead—so that no one else need suffer sickness. I’ve yet to send that person a proper get-well note either—they must resent me terribly. With that, I shall take my leave. Farewell.

From Yukie

Beloved

Honorable Father Honorable Mother

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Dated September 14, Taisho 11 (1922) (Sent from Tokyo)

Beloved Honorable Father and Mother, I am truly grateful that you kindly sent me a letter amid your busyness. Moreover, you have kindly sent me a great sum of money, and I find myself at a loss for words to express my gratitude. I truly apologize for making such a request during your time of inconvenience and am deeply grateful. I was scheduled to return on the 25th, but as the doctor advised staying a bit longer, I decided to depart on October 10th. As I had become unusually thin, I resolved to return home only after making a full recovery. But lately, I have mostly regained my original plumpness. There still remains about a month. The young master is overjoyed. It seems my Kamuykar book will be completed shortly. Yesterday, Viscount Shibusawa’s grandson specially came to bring the manuscript to us; after correcting errors, it will next be sent to Mr. Okamura’s office before proceeding to the printing house. Mr. Shibusawa had been supposed to invite the Professor and me to his residence, but it seems he has now suddenly been ordered to take up a post in London and thus become too busy. He was an impressive gentleman.

The young master was stung by a poisonous insect, with the tip of his penis swelling up like a pimple, leading him to visit the doctor and miss two days of school. Today he has fully recovered and went off to school in high spirits. The baby remains healthy, while Madam continues her pattern of fluctuating between improvement and relapse, her moods brightening and darkening as ever. The Professor stays occupied with his daily commute to school. I spend my days helping Madam with her sewing, assisting the Professor in his Ainu language studies, transcribing Yukar epics, and attending to whatever tasks I please.

It seemed most of my time was spent keeping the young master company and tending to the baby. The baby had grown quite plump recently and become terribly heavy.

I am deeply sorry to hear of Kanematsu-san’s passing. So he has finally passed away, then. I can only imagine how deeply everyone must be grieving. My heart aches with sympathy.

On the 7th of this month, I received a diagnosis from an eminent doctor. The day before, the Professor had attended an alumni gathering somewhere, and it was then that he made the request on my behalf. On the appointed day came Dr. Onozora—a fellow townsman of the Professor’s and his middle school classmate, now a medical professor at Kyushu Imperial University whose remarkable capabilities single-handedly sustained Kyushu University Hospital—a stout man with smooth skin reminiscent of someone like Mr. Iwane. He examined me meticulously in the sitting room. After thoroughly discussing my condition with the Professor, he prepared a medical certificate. Madam too received an examination. Her ailment was deemed nonexistent in any physical form, said to heal through mental fortitude alone. As for myself, it remained that heart condition called mitral stenosis, with no other illnesses present. My respiratory system also appeared sound. And just as Dr. Sakaguchi had stated before—that even slight overexertion would endanger my life, while tranquility might prolong it—so too did this diagnosis confirm. Upon the medical certificate was written: marriage not permitted. I earnestly beg you to set your hearts at ease.

I knew better than anyone else the weakness of my own body. I was also well aware that with this body, I was unqualified to marry. Even so, I remained human. The same blood that courses through human bodies flowed from this damaged, imperfect heart of mine, yet still I carried within my breast the myriad fancies and ideals any child of man might possess—something akin to a yearning for domestic life. Truly, just as my flesh was weak, so too was my heart. Though convinced of its impossibility for myself, still this truth persists... Though fully resolved, still when I received that final verdict, the pain proved unbearable. This heart I had steeled through self-cultivation—this heart that must not harbor such thoughts, no matter how much I refined myself. Long had I anticipated this outcome, yet could do nothing to stem the crushing bitterness of the tears—pray do not mock me. How foolish I am...

But that was a secret struggle in the deepest depths of my heart—something that ultimately had to be conquered. Clearly, I recognized the radiant beacon of hope illuminating the path ahead. I, burdened by sins of the past and timidity, was surely meant to taste this anguish as my due; therefore, I offer my true repentance. And amidst those tears, I recognized God’s great love. And I keenly felt that I had been entrusted with a great mission that only I could fulfill. It is to transcribe and preserve the literary heritage that my beloved people have passed down over thousands of years. For this work is the most suitable and noble undertaking for me. The suffering from illness over the past twenty years, the anguish of repentance for my sins—all these things must have been the whip of love that God had bestowed upon me. For all those experiences have tempered and refined me, and made me realize that my mission is singular… After writhing in agony through torment, I have deeply resolved to cast aside all present loves and desires, every trivial thing, enter a new life, and live in purity with repentance, gratitude, and love. Before God, having betrayed my dear parents and all people, I, Yukie, your deeply sinful daughter, thus intend to be reborn. I earnestly beg that both Father and Mother will forgive Yukie of the past. I earnestly beg you to forgive me. And please nurture and guide Yukie hereafter. I will return to your side.

I wish to spend my entire life in Noboribetsu. With only a single pen as my capital, I intend to embark on this new undertaking. For a human life that knows not tomorrow, if I simply live each given day purely, beautifully, and faithfully—spending my hours in such readiness that whenever the summons comes, it may be met—then that is sufficient. I intend to live with great love born of small affections.

My present state of mind is peaceful to the point of being tearfully moving. I harbor neither resentment nor grudges, but am filled solely with gratitude.

I cannot possibly put all my feelings into words. However, regarding this matter, what sort of feelings Murai of Nayoro might harbor—this strikes my heart. Yet I earnestly pray that he may consider our mutual happiness and render an understanding judgment on this matter, so that he may truly love me better and more nobly. I was truly deeply sinful. I earnestly beg you to forgive me. I have had the audacity to write such things to you, my parents, and you must surely find this displeasing. From this point onward, I will remain silent for the rest of my life. I will live in true silence. Yet before entering into that life, I must convey to you, dear Father and Mother, how my heart has transformed through the suffering and lamentation granted to me as a human in this world, and through the great love and awakening to my mission that were bestowed upon me at last. Please understand.

Yesterday, I informed him in Nayoro. I know not what manner of reply may come. If you would but show him mercy through some timely word—no greater blessing could grace me. Pray give my warm regards to Grandmother Fuchi and all our kin. Around the twelfth of October shall I behold your faces again. Your coming to meet me at Muroran weighs heavy on my conscience. My deepest gratitude. Pray keep back some pumpkins and potatoes for me. A craving has taken me for oily kinauhou and endosayo. Before my return, it seems I must go out somewhere again with Madam.

Through a letter from Asahikawa, I heard there seemed to be some sort of commotion involving Sister in Usu—what happened? I hear Hokkaido has been suffering economically due to floods in various areas—rice must be expensive there now? A letter came from Michio-san saying he was still hospitalized, but since he seemed to have improved considerably, I felt relieved. Poor Mashibo had such a hard time going to Asahikawa—how difficult that must have been for her! As for Kōō—even when I send letters—not a single reply do I receive from him! He must be keeping well at least? Please give my regards to Misao-chan.

It must be the busy farming season, and everyone must be occupied. Tokyo had grown hot again lately. Yet still, the essence of autumn richly filled both the clear blue sky and the wind that rustled the leaves. Hokkaido must have turned cooler by now. While wondering whether my postcard would reach Tonkeshi no Unarape, I sent it off some days ago—when the reply arrived yesterday, I laughed alone in my room. The child of Mr. Naoe, Professor Kindaichi’s younger brother, recently passed from meningitis. I have been eating the memorial sweets sent for the funeral rites—they are quite delicious. Tonight I did nothing but recount trifling matters. I earnestly beg your forgiveness.

I have truly caused you undue concern through my recent conduct. This time, I will be fine until I return. At this moment, I am filled with a profoundly peaceful sense of gratitude, and I feel as though I could love everyone—all people. I earnestly beg that you, dear Father and Mother, will take good care of your health. Goodbye.

From Yukie

Beloved Father

Beloved Mother