Pathway to Japanese Literature

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko (Horobetsu District, Noboribetsu Village)

Around October 1916 (Sent from Go-sen Minami 2-go, Asahikawa Ward)

Dear Father and Mother, Having heard that Father’s illness had improved considerably, we were finally able to feel relieved. Autumn had already reached its peak, and as the surrounding mountains now stood arrayed in brocade while growing cooler each day, I prayed night and day that your condition would surely recover. I had heard that Mother remained in good health this year, and I earnestly hoped both the harvest and rice crop might be abundantly yielded under favorable conditions. I too was safe and continuing my studies diligently, so please rest assured.

The Joint Exhibition you must have read about in the newspaper opened on the 8th. The Educational Exhibition was also held. Since academic works from schools within the ward and throughout Kamikawa Subprefecture are displayed there, it must be truly splendid. I shall go and see it within two or three days. My composition has also been put on display.

Yesterday, the Ward Elementary Schools Joint Music Festival was held. I performed an organ solo as a graduate of the Fifth Ainu School, but unexpectedly managed it well. The students from other schools sang shōka hymns skillfully, yet we Ainu students proved equally adept. Performing before tens of thousands of spectators must have been quite taxing for them. As for myself—somehow playing without error—the applause and praise left me deeply relieved. Though I make it sound accomplished, Haru would surely deem my performance clumsy indeed. I also heard the solo of Ms. Suzuki—she who graduated from Tokyo Prefecture’s Gymnastics and Music Women’s School, as I once told you, now teaching shōka at Asahikawa Girls’ High School. To hear such a teacher’s voice here in Asahikawa was considered no small honor. Thus concluded the event. Yet how delightful it all was!

When I heard the male teacher’s shakuhachi, I felt as though its sound was soaking into my very being. Isureki’s flute playing seemed slightly better than Uncle Ji’s. With that, let us conclude my account of the music concert. I had been gathering a barrel of sugar to present to you, Father, but upon learning it would not be good for you, I must regrettably send it to Takao and Mashibo instead—please partake of it in Father’s stead. After receiving kiribu to give Habo, I stored it with the sugar, but Fuchi unwittingly left the cupboard open, allowing the cat to nibble at it. Later, Fuchi found the kiribu again and brought it over, only to mistakenly drop it into the aku. Thus it became entirely spoiled. I shall procure more for you.

Farewell, farewell. Father, please take good care of yourself and recover swiftly. Please tend to Habo with equal devotion. Goodbye.

By the window as dusk deepens

Yukie

Mother

Father

To Chiri Takayoshi

April 1, 1917 (Sent from Asahikawa)

Dear Father,

Regarding the entrance examination for Asahikawa Ward Vocational School that you have been concerned about for some time, I am pleased to inform you that I have fortunately passed in fourth place. I humbly ask that you may now set your heart at ease. You will find it in the Times.

Goodbye

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

April 1, 1917 (Sent from Asahikawa)

Dear Father and Mother，I am to enroll at the ward women’s vocational school this time. (Please celebrate me properly!) As we absolutely require the family register extract，I humbly beg you to send it by April 9th despite the inconvenience. Should there be no extract，my fourth-place admission would come to naught. Both enrollment and everything else would collapse—therefore I implore you most earnestly. It will surely appear in the Times around the second，third，or fourth day，so please open your eyes wide and look carefully. First—it states here that “Among them，Chiri Yukie admitted fourth is a former native，” so Habo might roll his eyes back and faint from shock; please take care. If only Fuchi would come soon…

Since I must bring the family register extract on the 9th, I will be in trouble if you are late in sending it—please keep this firmly in mind and dispatch it promptly. Takao, Mashibo, devote yourselves to your studies. I earnestly entreat you. (To place fourth among 110 examinees—this must count as no small feat.)

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Taishō 7th Year, May (Sent from Asahikawa)

It had been some time, so I decided to write another long letter. Tomorrow would bring parcel deliveries, and though Fuchi and Mother both seemed busy preparing many gifts, I had nothing tangible to offer as a souvenir—thus I would present you with this lengthy letter as always. For I truly believed nothing could bring Father and Mother greater joy... Upon returning from school just now, I read your postcard. Tears sprang to my eyes from the happiness it brought me. I prayed earnestly for summer vacation to arrive soon.

If you could go together with Takao and Mashibo... I would know unparalleled happiness. Though there are no souvenirs today, when I return during summer vacation this time, I shall bring plenty of varied gifts... I have been preparing them bit by bit since now. The silver coin purse you ordered, Mother, I have been knitting in spare moments though it remains far from complete. Please wait until summer vacation for that as well. Father’s gifts have mostly been gathered. I shall also bring abundant souvenirs for Mashibo.

Since you all must surely wish to hear about my daily life, I shall now tell you of it. From now until we meet in August, there will likely be no opportunity to write letters, so…

In the morning I woke around four o'clock, and at night I rested while the sun had set but not yet fully hidden. When I opened the window upon waking in the morning, the surroundings were filled with fresh morning air that flowed abundantly; from houses here and there rose no thin smoke, while the sound of the Ishikari River's current, pleasantly carried by the breeze, faintly reached my ears. Asahidake, wearing a white hood, stood nobly as it pierced through the spring haze. Leaving behind Asahi Park's grounds—where azaleas in vivid reds and cherry blossoms in pure whites bloomed in splendid harmony—I hurried briskly toward school, carried along by the pleasant morning spring breeze.

At school, with 380 students and 14 teachers, studies were conducted without any shortage. However, recently a very sad thing occurred. That is, Tsubashi-sensei—our Class 2-A homeroom teacher (sewing)—had lost her father from her hometown of Niigata this time. And immediately, Tsubashi-sensei departed for Niigata. That day was this Monday, and moreover, it was our cooking class time.

Tsubashi-sensei appeared and said, “My father has passed away, so I must urgently return to my hometown.” When she told us, “Though it pains me to leave your side, there is no alternative—please study quietly and avoid troubling the new teacher,” and bid farewell to everyone, we burst into loud sobs. Both Tsubashi-sensei and the cooking teacher... And in the midst of this, the important simmered butterbur scorched, causing a great commotion. For about three weeks afterward, like children whose mother was absent, we had to wait for our teacher with helplessly sad feelings. However, all the teachers showed great sympathy and took care of everything, so I pursued my studies without any difficulties.

The principal continued to kindly care for us as always. He taught us ethics once a week. Vice Principal Matsumaru-sensei also remained an excellent teacher as always, teaching gymnastics twice a week while stroking his red beard. Therefore, we humbly called him Red Beard Sensei. Next was Ishida-sensei, a teacher who had arrived at the start of this semester 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 like a father deep in paternal love. Because he was strict, all the students disliked Ishida-sensei... but on the contrary, I thought I liked him the most. Today there was a mathematics exam, and I received a perfect score.

Next was Harada-sensei. This teacher had recently arrived and was in charge of national language. He was truly a humorous and amusing teacher. During national language class, he would have us listen to shōka hymns, sing poems, recite sutras, or dance about—all to make everyone laugh. And since he made national language class so engaging, we never grew bored and understood it well; thus, everyone’s national language grades were excellent. A short, stout teacher.

Next was Hiraiwa-sensei, a female teacher. She was a grandmotherly woman over fifty and an exceedingly excellent teacher. She taught bag-making. Then there was Honma-sensei, who taught drawing, cooking, and etiquette. Among these, she was particularly skilled in drawing. She was a small and lovely teacher. The other day, my drawing received 'Top Grade'. Since it was first in the class, please rejoice. She graduated from Higher Normal School with honors, I hear. Next was the previously mentioned Tsubashi-sensei.

Then there was Kouta-sensei, head of the Two-Year Specialized Course. Then there was Okamoto-sensei, head of Class 1-A, who taught us knitting. Though plain-featured, she was a truly excellent teacher. Next was Koizumi-sensei, the artificial flower instructor and head of the supplementary course, though she was ill and had been resting for two or three days. She was a graduate of Tokyo’s Kanda Women’s Vocational School, I heard. She was a beautiful and kind teacher.

Next was Bessho-sensei, the homeroom teacher of Class 2-B. She had arrived at the start of this semester. I did not know her well. But she seemed to be a good teacher.

Next was Kobashi-sensei—a truly beautiful teacher who served as homeroom instructor of Class 1-B. She was said to be strict yet kind. We came to learn housekeeping from this teacher. Next was Shimazaki-sensei, who had been our homeroom teacher during first year. Now she taught embroidery for the entire school.

Next was Yoneko-sensei, a teacher with an endearing voice thought to be about forty-five or forty-six years old. In this manner, all our teachers were splendid. Miyamoto Eiji-sensei had taught national language and music until March, yet retired at the month's end. He had been a dark-complexioned teacher of spiritual disposition—truly gentle and admirable. Moreover, he had been an ardent Christian believer. Thus I cherished him most dearly, but upon retiring, he recently departed for Tokyo. He remained there until around August, after which it was said he would cross over to America.

And it was said he was to study music there. Then there were two custodians and one young serving girl, so my school was prospering more and more.

The third anniversary commemorative ceremony was held on the fifteenth of last month. At that day's celebration, I took part in the dialogue performance. As I will be having dinner soon, I have resolved to write again after returning from school tomorrow.

Good night.

Today I returned at four-thirty.

Under perfectly clear skies, the cool spring breeze swiftly brushed against our sleeves with a comfort beyond words. As I walked nearly 1.5 ri each morning and evening, my body remained in excellent health. Today, though there were only five classes, my duties as vice-class leader kept me late—supervising cleaning and running errands for the teachers. Since receiving my vice-class leader appointment dated April 18th for this semester, I became exceedingly busy. Fridays and Saturdays were my designated duty days. Each morning I would go to school early to assign timekeeping and cleaning rotations—writing them on the blackboard before inspecting completed tasks. During lunch breaks and after school hours, students would visit the staff room to submit crafted items or relay messages to their teachers.

The Honorable Class Leader was a person named Date who was truly kind and good. This person had become a special scholarship student upon entering their second year. He was very kind to me. The vice-class leader position was served by myself and a person named Kunimoto. Since the responsibility of us three was exceedingly grave, we consulted to fully recognize that duty and work with all our might, always striving with that resolve. As for students, the supplementary course was entered by those who had graduated from the third year of the regular course. The regular course had both academic subjects and technical arts in equal measure. At that time, the regular course had two first-year classes—A and B—two second-year classes also designated A and B, and a single third-year class. Additionally, there were the Part I Specialized Course and Part II Specialized Course. The Part II Specialized Course was entered by those who had graduated from Part I. Upon completing Part II, one was admitted to the supplementary course. In this way, there were eight grades in total.

These students played in the indoor gymnasium on rainy days，but on sunny days，they went outside to play．In the outdoor grounds，many cherry trees were planted．Surrounding the school，larch trees wrapped in young leaves were verdant，and with the white-petaled cherry blossoms adding their hues，the splendid school building appeared fittingly adorned．To study at such a school fills me with true happiness．For this too，I give thanks for divine grace．

How beautiful the spring in Noboribetsu must be. How tranquil must the spring sea of Noboribetsu be. How beautiful must that scenery be with the spring rain falling softly. As I picture Takao’s figure playing bathed in the bright spring sunlight, I cannot bear how much he must have grown and how dearly I miss him. The figure of Mashibo energetically running about that scenic elementary school playground also comes to mind. How utterly adorable dear Mashibo must be, even as a little bedwetter. Misao! What a wonderful name this is. I love that name dearly.

I looked forward to summer vacation. There were already sixty-seven days left. During that time, I had to truly work diligently and strive earnestly. What kind of grades would be announced at the end of term, I wondered... I had gathered a great many souvenir fairy tales of all kinds, as well as school songs to sing for you. Why, it had been two years since I last did. I prayed that we could eat many gooseberries that year as well. I was unbearably nostalgic for the sea. Surrounded by mountains on all sides, wherever I looked there were nothing but trees, grass, and houses—the Kamikawa Plain stretching endlessly before me was truly a splendid sight, yet somehow the absence of the sea left me feeling a certain lack.

Tomorrow was Sunday and I would conduct a major cleaning. That reminds me—the kittens at home were so adorable it defied description. Yesterday saw Fujin Sekai magazine arrive—the one you enjoy—so it should reach your hands soon. How very busy Mother here was! A five-shaku-five-sun square of velvet pulled taut beneath her hands. And how quickly—how quickly!—it all came together beyond words. Five days had passed since she began sewing. Dazzlingly beautiful—enough to startle one awake!

Fuchi is now preparing a meal while making a great commotion with four cats. Here, the barley has grown remarkably large. The other day, I received noyashito from Italy-sama and ate it. Until recently, there was no sugar for about two months, and every day I wanted to eat nothing but sugar—so I pleaded with Mother until she bought it for me. Now I want to prepare noyashito and eat it, but I can’t find the time to make it. In the midst of this, because I put sugar on my rice every morning and eat it, I worry that the sugar might run out before we can gather noyashito.

And there is still more to tell. A terrible incident occurred the other day. You have likely already heard from Mother, but I will tell you as well. It was that our school nearly burned down. This happened in the early hours of the fourth of this month. Directly across from the vocational school, a miso and soy sauce brewing company called ※ burst into flames. It was just past three in the morning when sparks scattered like fireworks. The uproarious shouting voices seemed to shake heaven and earth. Firefighters rushed in; pumps gathered one after another. Oh, this company stood right beside my school—surrounded by the Fourth and Second Elementary Schools, the middle school, district court, and prison—and being a large two-story building, the flames grew relentlessly larger without mercy. The vocational school principal came thudding with his heavy, corpulent frame just as that company's great building had become fully engulfed. Still sparks fell like snow mingled with burning planks, until our vocational school became wrapped within...

The principal, like a man possessed, shouted “Pump! Pump!” at the top of his voice as he called for them. However, since all pumps were already fully engaged in firefighting, not a single one came to assist. Amidst this chaos, someone suddenly screamed: “The vocational school’s roof is on fire!” Another voice cried out, “Ah, it’s hopeless now,” while desperate shouts of “Help us! Help us!” pierced the air.

The teacher who rushed over still in nightclothes and the teachers who came flying with disheveled hair raised their voices in unison to call for help. However, given that it was a high second-floor roof with an extremely steep slope, the people could do nothing but shout "Look there! Look there!" and scream... The flames on the roof writhed like a demon’s tongue, threatening to devour the southern side entirely. The people could not rest easy. Danger drew nearer with each passing moment.

Is this where the vocational school’s fate would meet its end? Oh! At that moment, a dark silhouette appeared atop the ridge of the burning roof. The crowd drew a collective breath with an “Ah!” The teachers pressed their hands together and cried, “Ah, gods!” The figure on the roof gradually drew closer to the flames, attempting to plant one foot near where it blazed. Then a new anxiety gripped the teachers’ hearts. “If that person were to slip even one step on that steeply sloped roof, what would become of their life?” Yet though the figure seemed to hesitate at first, they steadied themselves with resolve and calmly moved near the raging flames to extinguish them unharmed. When this brave soul clambered back onto the ridge, the people shouted “Banzai!” in unison. The teachers sighed deeply and patted their chests in relief. But this respite proved fleeting when a voice cried out from somewhere: “The roof fire’s out, but flames have reached the ceiling!” “Oh! The schoolyard roof is alight!” someone yelled.

The teachers were once again plunged into the abyss, scarcely feeling alive... At that moment, another hero appeared. A hero with one foot bare and the other clad in white tabi socks... Next, four or five young people emerged. The fire in the schoolyard was extinguished. Amidst this, the pumps arrived. With heavy thudding sounds, water cascaded onto the roof. The flames in the attic were quelled. The company’s fire had also subsided, leaving no remaining danger... This was said to have occurred around half past four. What must have been the state of the teachers’ anxiety until then? As for the brave soul who initially risked life to douse the roof fire—despite repeated inquiries, their name remains unknown. Who could that person have been—the one who extinguished the schoolyard fire while wearing a white tabi sock on one foot? That very person was Professor Miyamoto, whom I previously mentioned. Among the other four or five youths, one sustained injuries—though these were exceedingly minor and healed promptly. On Monday, the teachers took turns recounting the tale of the fire.

Such a disaster occurred at my school. The beginning of this major incident was something extremely trivial—it was said to be because an eighteen-year-old youth who had been serving as the company's night watchman neglected his duties and fell asleep. The story of the fire became quite long.

I likely won’t need to write any letters from now until summer vacation. I’m still gathering plenty of souvenirs and stories about them to save up, so please look forward to summer vacation (text breaks off here).

Addressed to Chiri Namiko

May 17, Taishō 9 (Sent from Asahikawa)

I have been terribly remiss in writing for a very long time. Please forgive me. Though I have been wanting so very much to hear how things have progressed since then—and about the stallion as well—sadly, as my body has not been well enough to act freely, it has ended up being delayed until today.

How is Father’s health? From today’s letter I understand that Mother is suffering from a headache; please, please take good care of yourself. I am overjoyed that everyone else remains in good health as ever.

I offer my deepest apologies for having caused you great trouble during my recent visit, and moreover, for making you worry about me in various ways due to my strained voice. It truly disheartens me to think when I might finally become a truly healthy person and allow you, my parents, along with everyone else, to feel at ease—but now, as I am feeling quite well and even see in the mirror that my complexion has improved, I earnestly beg you not to worry in the slightest, for the time when I can put your minds entirely at rest will surely arrive before long.

When Dr. Taniguchi examined me, he said it was chronic bronchitis... "Is there no pleurisy?" When I asked this, he replied: "Ah, there are traces of pleurisy remaining, but currently no active symptoms whatsoever." He explained in detail: "There's absolutely no need to worry about the heart condition—it's congenital and can't be fundamentally cured. Though it's quite severe, you'll be perfectly fine as long as you avoid overexertion." I did have a considerable fever recently, but now there's nothing amiss. Having become somewhat weakened, the doctor advised me to build strength and refrain from bathing, so Grandmother Fuchi and I have eaten about twenty eggs between us these past days. They bought me shokupan bread, jam, and all manner of nourishing things in abundance—truly, I'm devoting myself wholeheartedly to recuperation. I'm not nearly as frail-spirited as you imagine, dearest Mother—please rest assured without any worry.

Fuchi had also been in critical condition, but by God’s divine grace, she was in high spirits these past two days, energetically playing with a kitten, so please rest assured.

Dear Noboribetsu! The departure from that hometown land was on the 28th of last month, yet nearly a month has already passed. Yes indeed—since I arrived here, the plum blossoms have bloomed, and the irises have flowered too...

On that day when I departed from my home, I was truly struck by an indescribable feeling. That house of ours—where circumstances different from usual had grown dimly tangled—when I thought of it, my chest seemed to tighten... Mashibo’s dear smiling face, standing there with a grin, vanished from sight; as I ran several paces alongside the departing steam train, Takao’s beloved voice calling “Goodbye, sister!” too faded into the wind—and before I knew it, once we had passed through that dark tunnel, even Noboribetsu’s streets had dissolved into mountain shadows.

When I parted ways with Mary-san—who had ridden alongside me and pressed into my hand a pin she offered as a keepsake—at Shikifu Station, I later realized how achingly I yearned for my homeland’s skies in their impermanence, my lashes dampened by helpless sorrow as I thought: Ah, now at last I am truly traveling alone. As I leaned back and gazed absently out the window, at Tomakomai Station, Nishipa’s white beard fluttering silver in the wind caught my eye. Then the one who boarded was Uncle Kaisawa Hisanosuke from Hidaka.

Since I couldn't speak even when trying, and as Nishipa happened to be in the second-class car, that uncle kindly suggested having him offer a prayer might help, and so I was able to meet Nishipa.

"As it would be inconvenient on the train tonight," Nishipa said graciously. And so I alighted at Sapporo Station—a place I had never even dreamed of visiting. That day passed with me reading letters, writing them out hastily between errands. After being carefully examined by him and receiving prayers for my health along with kind hospitality from all present that evening found me lodging in an elderly cook’s room—a woman named Maruyama Korimise. Having drunk sugared water before lying down she began snoring peacefully almost immediately her face contented. Yet when I stretched my exhausted body across bedding laid out for me counting breaths heartbeats nothing worked sleep refused me entirely. The clock’s ticking clung to my ears sharpening wakefulness whenever she broke into hacking coughs I considered rising perhaps conversation might help but stayed motionless instead. Outside moonlight must have bathed streets yet within our room hung pitch blackness save electric lamp’s white shade upon which gaze fixed until drowsiness took me fitfully. Then from behind came clear call—“Yukie-san! Yukie-san!”—and turning found boy seven eight years old grinning coarse-patterned kimono dimpled cheeks aglow startling me into asking “Who are you?” “You know” he answered “I am Waldengarā’s child.” “Oh?” replied though puzzled—Waldengarā being horse bid farewell at stable that very morning one deemed unfit for stud—how then this beautiful child? Head tilted confusion reigned. “Strange” thought peering closer—what now? That boy-child bore stallion’s head eyes blazing light transfixing my being forehead star-mark sunken crater-like crimson maw agape poised devour me whole—Ah! Terror struck yet legs log-stiff voice choked silent struggle ensued. Just as apparition seemed advancing step-step-step backward crashed pillar dong!—sound jolted me awake darkness enveloping room revealing myself still beside snoring cook. Testing legs found movement restored thankfully. Listening intently heard dog’s mournful howl distant unknown origin. Wiping sweat with bedside towel attempted sleep again futilely clock tolled two solemn bongs. Resolved against dwelling thoughts flowed water-like past-present merging destination obscure. Thus night passed dawn breaking four-thirty rising cook’s side leaving bed together. Couldn’t help but rue absurdity—sleepless night wasted trivial dream!

Strange though it was, my voice flowed out effortlessly—so I deeply thanked God’s great divine power and had Nishipa offer prayers once more, then departed the house around six o'clock after expressing profound gratitude to both Nishipa and Kakkemat for their grace. I boarded the 6:35 train and arrived in Chikabumi after twelve o'clock. Unusually, the train car was sparsely crowded, and so I was able to sit comfortably and continue my meditations as I made my way here without incident. Both Grandmother Fuchi and Mother were greatly delighted by the souvenir Shikototsu. As Fuchi was laid up in bed, after resting my body for a short while, I set out again and retrieved the luggage.

Thanks to your kindness, distributing them here and there brought delight to all. I had intended to write a letter immediately the following day, but whether from exhaustion or something else, I couldn’t even go to the doctor. Amidst all this, before I knew it, four shades of green began to appear vividly before my eyes. The other day in this village, an eighteen-year-old girl passed away. During our time in elementary school together, she had been a truly gentle soul—yet she died not long after marrying into another household. At eighteen—an age when a flower is but a bud beginning to open—how profound must be the grief of dear Kane-sama’s mothers, whose blossom scattered while spring still lingered in its early chill. On a day when misty rain fell in droplets, the plain wood coffin holding her remains was carried slowly and solemnly to a lush green hilltop cemetery. When I saw her younger sister—who seemed unaware of anything—wearing a white kimono with perhaps innocent delight, her cheerful face as she busily walked about beside the coffin, I could not hold back my tears. Alas, my gentle friend’s spirit must now be continuing its peaceful slumber in the land of Yomi.

After that, how has Professor Tani been faring? We are constantly praying that you may recover fully.

In Noboribetsu too these days, the rain has continued—it must surely be quite oppressive. Yet even so, Noboribetsu’s scenery on rainy days must surely be exceptionally beautiful. Ah yes—how deeply I yearn for my hometown. The sound of waves heard all night by one’s pillow—that cannot even be heard in dreams here... The spring of this vast wilderness too brims with its own charms. On fine days when I move my desk to the room’s center and lean against it silently pondering matters, the spring breeze visiting through the open window flutters my haori’s hem and flips through pages of books on the desk before departing somewhere.

While gazing up at the ultramarine sky, I reminisced about Ayako’s lovely visage; when I listened carefully, hoping to hear that adorable voice, the sound of a skylark singing cheerfully in the bosom of a pure white cloud floating in the sky reached my ears.

Yesterday was a day of constant rain, and by afternoon, the wind had risen as well, turning it into a dark and chilly day. After Mother had laid out her bedding and gone to sleep around three o'clock, I found myself leaning against this desk once more, gazing outside where the emerald leaves seemed to drip endlessly, and the pouring rain looked like green dew. Thinking I shouldn’t stay cooped up inside the house too much, the other day I walked through the rice paddies there and picked as many white violets blooming along the ridges as my hand could hold. These small, lovely flowers still release their delicate fragrance from my desk. If it were possible, I would bottle the scent of these flowers I picked into a small vial and send it to you and Father.

When these white violets bloom in abundance along that ridge around this time next year, I too shall have become a healthy person, so lively that I can bustle about energetically—this was the solemn vow I made to these small flowers.

The fields must certainly be keeping you quite busy. Have the peas I planted when I was still there already begun to sprout? If you haven't tended to the other crops yet, won't their timing be delayed? Here, it seems most tasks have been completed. Our field has still not been plowed by anyone. Has the stud horse arrived? I have completely forgotten the name. Was it Hebokonideru? The other day, through a postcard from Mr. Michio, I heard Uncle went to Sapporo regarding the stud horse, but I worry about how matters progressed. Even if you worry—I’m not such a weakling that I’d harm my health over it—so please don’t trouble yourself…

Ah, and then, please rest assured that the other day when I was feeling somewhat better, I carefully wrote and sent a letter of thanks to Madam of the hot springs.

At my school, I heard that Vice-Principal Matsumaru Otochika had previously been transferred to Hakodate Normal School, but the other day, Ms. Honma Shige—a senior female teacher from the Higher Normal School—retired and kindly sent me a long get-well letter from her home in Otaru. Startled by this, I sent a reply together with Madam of the hot springs—yet the very next day, another postcard arrived for me. When I looked, it was from Tsubashi-sensei, as you may know, our homeroom teacher from my second year until graduation and the instructor next in seniority to Honma-sensei, who had resigned and written this on the train while returning to her hometown of Niigata Prefecture.

I had thought how lonesome my alma mater must have become with all its wonderful teachers departing one after another—but when I went to the hospital recently, I encountered a vocational school student, someone in their second or third year whose name I didn’t know, and from them I learned that three teachers had resigned and been replaced by five splendid new teachers referred to as something-or-other of great distinction. 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. Even if one’s abilities are inferior to others’, even if laughed at or disparaged, to express everything one has—this is truly the most important thing, and to do so is not for gaining money nor for obtaining honor, but to strive to fulfill humanity’s mission. However, she wrote extensively: when one falls ill and cannot perform the duties one ought to as intended, this fails to align with God’s divine will—it becomes a sin of leaving one’s mission unfulfilled—so Ms. Chiri, you must regain your health soon.

In Tsubashi-sensei’s postcard, it was written that when ill, one must remain calm and recuperate; Ms. Chiri would surely recover quickly if she kept her resolve strong and focused on recuperation without fretting needlessly over external matters. As each teacher prepared to leave Asahikawa, they did not forget someone as insignificant as me and kindly sent me letters—for this, I offered my heartfelt thanks with tears. The other day, a male teacher called Mr. Kamada came by, asking how my illness was and saying, "The fifteenth is a memorial day, so please do come," but I was unable to go the day before yesterday. On the seventeenth day, as there was to be a cleanliness inspection, I spent that time pulling weeds in front of our house while gazing up at the distant school sky; then I sang the "Banzai! Banzai!" commemorative day school song and celebrated my alma mater’s auspicious birthday from the heart, praying that it would flourish for a thousand and eight thousand generations to come.

Mr. Kamada was our Japanese language teacher - a man who detested literary styles and sōrōbun, the formal epistolary style ending in -sōrō. No one you met on the street would utter such stiff phrases as “I humbly offer my deepest gratitude for your continued kindness,” he declared, so henceforth all writing must adopt colloquial forms. In this busy age, brush calligraphy would inevitably fall into disuse, he insisted, replaced entirely by penmanship. Unless this happened, Japan’s civilization could not truly be called advanced. As you know, Ms. Honma was that teacher of lofty ideals - refined and gentle, exceptionally skilled in drawing. From her I learned not only art and knitting but proper etiquette too. For two years Ms. Tsubashi treated me as her own child, caring for me with maternal devotion.

Because Tsubashi-sensei was truly such a kind person, my class was said to have the shyest, quietest, and gentlest people in the entire school. She too was a graduate of the Higher Normal School, next in seniority to Honma-sensei.

At our farewell, Honma-sensei spoke to us in a solemn tone about various matters, and Tsubashi-sensei saw us graduates off by singing a farewell song. I can no longer hear their kind words, nor can I hear their beautiful voices. Ever since then, even when I try to sing, my voice remains faint as a mosquito's hum, making it truly unbearable. I have now nearly recovered my former condition, though I still keep my neck bandaged and constantly use cough medicine. My bronchial tubes must have worsened considerably. Has there been any word from Sister since then? "How has Tsuyasan been faring?"

Please convey my many regards to Grandmother Fuchi by the shore, Ms. Ietsu’s mother, our neighboring uncle and aunt, Hatsue-chan, and everyone else. When I came by, Aunt was still asleep, so I left without saying anything.

When I recall walking with Micchan to gather tamapiru, I cannot help but smile by myself. Please give my warmest regards to Takao and Mashibo as well. Our small plum tree must have bloomed quite beautifully. Takao always said, "Since Sister is here, they’ll surely bloom—go and see them," but in the end, I never got to look. Mother, please pickle plums again this year. When ill, umeboshi are truly the most beneficial.

The happy times when I walked with Takao and Mashibo to gather hakkuri yudo now come unbidden to mind.

That day, clouds hung low and the wind was cold, with rain occasionally pouring down in sudden showers before stopping. From the direction of the shooting range, the sound of gunfire boomed… incessantly. Occasionally, a cannon would let out a booming sound, making my already large eyes widen even more like plates. With that, I put down my pen. I would have much more to say again after this.

Though it may be improper to mention at the end, please convey my regards to Mr. Hirose. I pray with all my heart that Father and Mother—and all of you—will devote yourselves fully to self-care. The violets on the desk bow their delicate heads, ceaselessly trembling with faint quivers.

May 17 Farewell.

From Yukie Father

Mother

To Both of You

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

June 24, Taishō 9 (Sent from Asahikawa)

Professor Kindaichi, I remain profoundly grateful for the beautiful postcards you continue to send me. Though your postcard arrived last Saturday, I delayed responding until today when your package came. My health these days brings no particular distress; please set your mind at ease. Having never learned Romanization in school, I can read it but cannot write it. Thus I practice daily since last week, though progress comes slowly. When I gain minimal proficiency through sustained effort, I shall immediately commence writing Ainu. Though grand concepts like bequeathing gifts to future scholars lie beyond my imagination, our vanishing Ainu race's ancient legends—countless as mountains—perishing alongside us under survival's cruel competition fills me with profound sorrow. To scholars like yourself who research these matters with such dedication, we feel bottomless gratitude. Should even one uepekere I transcribe prove marginally useful to your work, no greater joy could exist. With this resolve burning within me—to record every oina chant and yukar epic I know—I practice Romanization daily with mounting anticipation. The months required to fill this notebook remain unknown to me now...yet fill it I shall.

As for changes here, Mr. Tanihira Suke, whom you also know, passed away at the end of last month. He had been at Noboribetsu Church, but to have left behind his wife and many children was truly pitiable. Furthermore, it was said that Mr. Mukaiyama Yū married on April 25. Since then, we have had no changes in our circumstances, and Grandmother Fuchi remains quite well, sharing yukar with us every evening. At graduation time when we received those beautiful picture postcards from you and all looked upon them together, we were beyond measure delighted. Does this mean you will not be coming this year, Professor? Please take good care of your health; Grandmother Fuchi and Mother pray earnestly for this.

Addressed to Kindaichi Kyōsuke

September 8, Taishō 9 (Sent from Asahikawa) Professor, I am truly and deeply grateful that you sent your letter despite the intense heat. Though I thought each day of replying at once, I let days pass without writing until now, finding myself at a loss for how to properly apologize. I earnestly beseech you to grant me your forgiveness. The truth is, after my graduation, Grandmother fell ill. As Fuchi is already advanced in years, I worried what might become of her. After hovering between life and death, she has now improved. However, Mother this time lost control of her body from that rheumatism and suddenly took to bed. I too had been taking medicine continuously since graduation. My own health fluctuated between improvement and relapse from exhaustion in nursing Grandmother—but once autumn winds began blowing through Asahikawa's birches like whispered yukar verses from home—Grandmother regained vitality beneath those crisp skies...and I too started feeling better. I think Mother will soon be able to leave her sickbed. I have grown somewhat accustomed to Romanization. Through your letter, I came to fully realize my responsibility's gravity. Once winter preparations conclude this time, I intend to devote myself wholeheartedly to fulfilling my mission. First, I hasten to convey current circumstances while apologizing for prolonged silence. Both Fuchi and Mother asked me to convey regards to Professor Poronno.

Addressed to Kindaichi Kyōsuke

June 17, Taishō 10 (Sent from Asahikawa) Professor, I was truly delighted to have received your continued beautiful postcards. I offered my deepest gratitude. I was truly grateful that you had kindly read that Utarikusu with such great interest and sympathy. As for the portion you would read, Professor, I would gladly send it to you every month from then on. It had begun publication from last December, but the December and January issues had already sold out—I heard they were not even available in Sapporo—while the February issue was suspended due to some circumstances. As only the March and April issues were available, I sent them that day. This was apparently being read by elementary school teachers in various regions, officials, and even a Buddhist monk at the temple in Usu. Here as well, the neighboring teachers and four or five Ainu from the village were reading it. Fifteen copies arrived, but as there were many people who disliked Christianity, buyers were few and there always ended up being a surplus. Mr. Katahira was Mr. Yamao’s younger brother, and it was said that because he had inherited a relative’s household, his surname differed. He was still a young person of twenty-one years. I believed that from then on, various people would appear in the pages of this journal. Fuchi and Mother also sent their regards to you, Professor.

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi and Chiri Namiko

April 9, Taishō 11 (Sent from Asahikawa)

It has become quite warm. I trust that you, dear Father and Mother, are in good health and active as ever. How did Takao fare in his entrance examinations? I am worried.

Mashibo was unfortunately not able to enter middle school but was safely promoted to the second year of higher school and diligently applied herself to her studies with unflagging dedication. As she had prepared herself for this outcome, failing did not particularly lead to disappointment or despondency, and she continued to spend her days with the same refreshing smile, briskly going about her tasks. At the time of her promotion, she achieved top honors in one division and brought home a special certificate in English reading. As for English, she was exceptionally skilled—in her examination papers, she never received a score other than one hundred points. However, regarding mathematics—perhaps because she held little interest in it—her performance had been thoroughly unsatisfactory, which worried me; but thanks to this preparatory study for the middle school entrance exams, her mind was considerably trained, and she seemed to have progressed to the point where even slightly difficult problems could be solved with ease. Thus, with this progress, I was delighted that from around the end of this semester onward, she would be just fine. Her weight had also increased by 1.650 kan compared to this month last year, her height had grown by one sun and several bu, and she was in high spirits. Blown by the warm spring wind, both Mashibo and I took on a coppery hue. The snow still lay about two shaku deep, yet here and there where it had melted, pale green grass sprouts were pushing up through the black soil. From early morning, the spring sky’s musician—the skylark’s beautiful voice—could be heard. From the vaguely herringbone-patterned sky, the occasional light snowflakes fluttering down also somehow felt springlike. In Noboribetsu, I wondered if some flowers were already blooming. The sight of the spring sea came to mind, and I was seized by nostalgia for my hometown.

Dear Father and Mother must be exceedingly occupied. The chickens and rabbits are plentiful and lively. Has Misao-chan's chilblains healed? Here, Mashibo's chilblains—like snow lingering even after spring's arrival—still make her grimace when removing her tabi. Yet even those furrows on her frowning face grow shallower with each passing day. Fuchi frets busily over preparations for departing to Noboribetsu.

Regarding the matter of my going to Tokyo that I mentioned earlier, I became very anxious upon hearing Father disapproves of it. I earnestly beseech you—as this is a plea touching upon my very afterlife—to please grant your approval, Father. When I speak of going to Tokyo, I do not harbor any grand ambitions. I would go to Professor Kindaichi’s home, assist his wife with sewing or kitchen tasks under her direction, while keeping Professor Kindaichi company in his Ainu language research. It would not involve strenuous physical exertion or undue mental strain. I thought I might do some sightseeing in Tokyo to refresh my spirits. With the Peace Exposition now being held, I wanted to travel there to create a lifelong memory. Professor Kindaichi also said that should Tokyo’s climate disagree with me, I could return after even a month. And since it seems I may stay as long as proves suitable, I wished first to go and see for myself. I could not bear to let this rare opportunity slip away.

However, at present—being both cherry blossom season and crowded with Peace Exposition visitors—it was said that Hakodate Pier area had become unprecedentedly hectic, making the journey arduous enough to cause everyone concern; but since it was a place where people came and went, I resolved to take every possible precaution and steel myself to embark on this trip. I prayed that the gods would protect me... Truly being such a weakling, I became a source of worry for you, Father and Mother, in every matter—compounding my unfilial conduct. Having stirred up such grand hopes and caused you distress, it was truly inexcusable. But truly—just this once—I beg you to grant this request and allow your unfilial daughter’s wish to be fulfilled. As Fuchi was said to be returning this time, I decided to see her off and go to Noboribetsu. Due to certain circumstances, I changed my departure date from the 30th to the 28th. And I wished to set out for Tokyo from home.

I humbly beseech you, Father, to grant your approval regarding the aforementioned matter. I am currently writing what I am calling an Ainu folktale collection. When this manuscript is completed, it is said that through Professor Kindaichi’s assistance, it will be published as one volume in what is called the Hearthside Anthology. The editor of this Hearthside Anthology is a man called Yanagita Kunio, who is said to be leaving for Europe around mid-May, and since the manuscript must be completed within this month, I am now writing it every day.

Today Mashibo went to town and did some shopping. She bought an arithmetic textbook and brought back things like paper, miso, and herring. Then she rushed out in great excitement to see the entertainment at the celebration for Kitamon School’s Nishi Branch becoming independent. She must have been watching something quite amusing by now. I trust Hama no Fuchi and everyone there remain well? The other day Mr. Michio visited us and brought much cheer. He proved quite an accomplished violinist—most delightful. His photography skills were equally impressive; after returning to Sapporo he promptly sent the photographs he took of us, which turned out remarkably well. My eyes looked like plates and the flowers resembled wooden pestles—we laughed heartily at how they came out. Mashibo’s photo captured her beautifully. I shall show you when next we meet. I heard Ietsu-san earned top honors. Please convey my warm regards to all.

Misao-chan must have grown quite big by now. How I wish to meet her soon. I wonder what has become of Sister Usu since then. There has been no word from her at all. I pray with all my heart that Takao-san might pass. Yet even should he fail, that being fate's design, it would be wisest not to yield to disappointment or despair. Those like Mashibo are truly admirable. They straightaway regain their spirits and set themselves diligently to what follows... A wind blows that chills one to the marrow. Still the sun shines, whitely gleaming upon the distant mountains' flanks. Here and there one sees horse-drawn sleds laboring over the wretched roads. The skylark sings on without ceasing. Thus have I written these things today to humbly make my entreaty to you, Father. I earnestly pray that you, dear Father and Mother, will take good care of yourselves, and that Takao and Misao may keep in health.

April 9th. Farewell. From Yukie.

Beloved Father and Mother,

To

To Motoko Ito (Hokkaido, Nayoro)

Around May, the 11th year of Taishō (1922) (Sent from Tokyo)

I am truly grateful for your kind correspondence. I am genuinely delighted. I trust everyone dear to you remains well without changes. I have heard Hokkaido is bitterly cold. Thus, the field crops must fare poorly. In Tokyo, this entire month brings neither rain nor wind—each day burns so fiercely I already stand at collapse’s edge. They say even Tokyo’s outskirts swelter, but this year surpasses all, said to be the hottest in thirty-five years. When last I visited your family home, my wretched health prevented our meeting—how I regret it. Though I shall return to kotan within this year, I will come again—please keep me kindly in your thoughts.

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

May 17, 1922 (Sent from Tokyo)

May 17

To my beloved Father and Mother... May 17th, 8:30 AM, from Yukie

It has been quite some time since I last wrote. How worried Fuchi and all of you must have been as you anxiously awaited my letter.

If I had written immediately upon arriving, I could have written endlessly, but in my overeagerness to spend two or three more days here to better understand the situation and provide detailed updates, it ended up being delayed again and again. However, even after those two or three days had passed, it still seemed difficult to express my feelings in any settled manner. I trust there have been no changes since then? On that day, did Mother manage to board the six o'clock train? How pitifully Fuchi and the others must be worrying about me, fretting over things like my dreams.

Tokyo! What was the feeling when I first set foot upon this land of Tokyo, the capital of the Great Japanese Empire? Even if asked, I still could not give any different answer. For there seemed to be no houses different from those in Hokkaido, nor did any different kinds of people pass by... After a little more time had passed, I would be able to write some coherent impressions.

First, I began by writing down the various matters from my journey. Standing on the stern deck of the Keijōmaru, as Mother in the small boat gradually grew distant and we parted with her waving a white cloth—how can I describe what I felt then? Even now when I think of it, tears spill forth.

When the ship clattered as it raised its anchor and departed, leaving behind black smoke, I felt unbearably lonely. Wondering if Mother might still be watching from some spot along the receding shore, I kept searching intently with my eyes but saw nothing. As we grew steadily more distant, the town of Muroran shifted from directly behind the ship to the right side, then to the left, and when we swung around Daikokujima Island with its lighthouse, I found myself distracted by passengers chatting cheerfully nearby—and just like that, I completely returned to my usual self. Since I had no one to talk to, I ended up holding onto the ship’s edge to gaze at distant scenery or watch the green waves swaying—until I’d grown thoroughly friendly with the vessel itself. The Kōmaru, a steamship called something like that, must have departed just after the Keijōmaru. That one gradually fell behind, appearing to follow steadily from the rear, but eventually it too vanished from sight. Bathed in crimson sunset light across a beautiful expanse of sea where crimson and emerald waves drifted, our ship advanced little by little through thick swells that marked our path, leaving white wake trails in its stead. There was a beautiful lady who entered the cabin saying something like "My eyes are getting blurry," and a gentleman who pulled his cloak tight against the cold wind, but I felt neither cold nor the slightest dizziness. Even so, when about two hours had passed and it grew dim, everyone went off somewhere, leaving me alone. Then a sailor in white work clothes came over and started asking things like “Where are you headed?” and “Where are you from?” and saying “You must be lonely,” until his kindness grew frightening, so I dashed into the cabin, imitated everyone by taking off my haori, and lay flat on my back. Since I had filled my stomach with two boiled eggs, there was no fatigue or anything, and before I knew it, I had fallen soundly asleep. When I suddenly awoke, the electric light cast a pale glow over the narrow cabin, illuminating the university students sharing the room and that gentleman with the adorable child, all sprawled out with limbs stretched, snoring loudly as they slept.

Crawling out of my berth and heading to the restroom, I looked out the window to find the ship still gliding smoothly across the sea as though oil had been poured over it. As I stood gazing, I sensed someone’s presence and startled—only to discover a white-bearded old man who had been waiting for me since earlier. When I went out to the dining area, the clock showed exactly twelve. I flipped through pages of Taikan and Chūō Kōron magazines there, glanced at posted meal prices around the room, then covered myself with the blanket again and fell asleep. Awaking abruptly to a sudden noise, I found all my cabinmates up and dressing—putting on shoes and coats in haste. I too rose, readied myself, and stepped outside to see we had likely entered Aomori Port; the Keijōmaru let out a booming “Good morning!” In the lingering predawn light, a moon as full as on the sixteenth night cast silvery glimmers upon waves that calmly reflected Aomori’s distant twinkling harbor lights through the crisp dawn breeze. The pale dimness revealed scattered black silhouettes of great steamships lying still across the water. With unhurried grace, the Keijōmaru lowered its anchor.

As I watched, the surroundings gradually grew brighter. When I spotted the bluish-black triangular and rounded mountains visible on both sides, I was once again overwhelmed by a longing for home. While I slept, [the ship] had already left my Hokkaido behind and arrived at another island separated by the sea—when this realization came to me... Before I knew it, the moon's shadow had vanished completely and full daylight emerged, when from ahead came a curiously shaped boat emitting white smoke from its small funnel and producing a thin, rasping *poo* sound as it approached us. Ah, so this was their welcome ("uekamu"), I thought, and I involuntarily let a smile surface. At the stern of that boat trailed two more vessels connected by long ropes. When the Keijōmaru's bow swung around its own stern with a deep rumble to face us, there remained no trace of the small boat that had been tethered there earlier—it arrived bearing only a single craft. Then they lowered a gangway roughly two shaku wide from that landing platform, and I surrendered my landing ticket—exchanged the previous night for my boarding pass (later upgraded to second class)—to a man with sharply groomed red whiskers wearing a red-striped uniform before descending using my umbrella as a cane. Below stood sailors(?) who supported me with near-embraces whenever I staggered and my footing grew precarious. When Madam was urged to go inside and I peered within, I found female passengers with pallid faces packed knee-to-knee in the dim hold's cramped space. Disliking this sight, I stood outside gripping a pillar alongside another woman carrying a child on her back. Far preferable to linger where wind whipped my face than endure that gloomy space reeking of unknown odors. After passing alongside a large steamship called Tamura Maru and advancing through waves that shattered white against our prow, our boat drew alongside a plank bridge jutting seaward so closely we nearly collided with it. Unlike Muroran's perilous barge transfers earlier, here we disembarked safely without ladder-climbing—simply walking across flat boards to shore.

The Keijōmaru that had brought me this far—if only this ship departing today and likely reaching Muroran by tomorrow morning could somehow convey news of my safe landing to my beloved ones back home…… Holding infinite thoughts within my heart, I turned to look back at the Keijōmaru once more, bid silent farewell, and walked away from the wharf. When I disembarked, my legs felt strangely unsteady, and an odd itching sensation rose in my chest. On both sides of the road—here and there—men with gleaming merchant's eyes piled mountains of large red apples, calling out: "Miss! Ma'am! Buy these apples! Perfect Tokyo souvenirs!" Though no one had mentioned their destinations, these men scrutinized faces as if reading them, clamoring with phrases like "They're delicious! Even Tokyoites love them!" One gentleman started when a bag of apples was thrust before his face. As we disembarked, countless rickshaw drivers bowed to each boarding passenger, urging "Need a ride? Need a ride?" Disliking this, I kept veering away until—on the roadside I'd moved to avoid them—a man in a happi coat stood asking: "To Ueno?" when I tried to pass silently. "If so, what time would that be?" "The first train." "The express would be more convenient than the regular." "When's the express?" "One o'clock." "You'd arrive at seven tomorrow morning—only two hours later than the first train—but far more comfortably." "Take the express." "But waiting here until one would be dreadful!" "Not at all—I'll ensure you're entertained." "I'll give you a tour." Oh dear—this was becoming troublesome! Such temptation...

“Thank you, but no need,” I said, then spun sharply around and briskly walked away.

After resting awhile inside Aomori Station, I strolled around outside. Since there was a small post office right nearby, I sent a telegram to Professor Kindaichi’s address from there. The apples looked so irresistibly delicious and my throat had grown parched, so I took out sixty-eight sen to buy a bag containing fifteen large apples, swinging it carelessly as I walked back. Then another man in a happi coat—some sort of lodging tout—stopped me, but I said, “No thank you, I’m taking the first train now,” and deftly brushed past him. When the 6:15 departure on the Tōhoku Main Line bound for Ueno began moving, I was already peeling an apple with that little fork and taking hearty bites.

Having boarded early and secured a favorable seat, I remained composed without moving, so by departure time a great many people had filed in one after another until the car was packed tight—but I feigned ignorance and savored the delicious apple with relish. There were many rather intriguing place names there. Though I've completely forgotten them now, some seemed to bear a striking resemblance to Ainu words. Morning insects too. The sea lay calm beneath a beautiful vista. I found the seaside pines resembling those in painted scenes quite extraordinary. The shapes of mountains and rocks alike gave me the impression they'd journeyed here from the mainland. The manner of speech among women boarding from that station also struck me as curious. In voices almost cloyingly sweet...

I also saw cherry blossoms in full bloom. On the green grasslands, flowers with red hues that seemed to burn in scattered dots must have been azaleas. Was the one as white as snow a plum? As we gradually came this way, apple blossoms and peach blossoms came into view. The passengers were discussing—"That's cherry," "This is peach"—so I came to understand too. The place where peach blossoms bloomed abundantly was quite a splendid sight. I ate up the remaining three eggs all at once. They were so delicious that I wished I'd eaten one more. As we proceeded, passengers decreased and it became much easier. I stretched my legs, lay down, and made myself comfortable as I pleased. But there were times when it became unreasonably crowded. At first, gazing at the scenery outside was pleasant, but gradually I grew tired of that too and did nothing but sleep. Though I drifted in and out of restlessness, I thought it was quite a comfortable journey. I bought sushi and a bento—ate the sushi that day, then had the bento twice: once around midnight and again at four o'clock next morning. Around Morioka, I think, two men came to sit before and beside me; they seemed to be horse traders, talking of nothing but horses. They said when bringing three horses somewhere at nightfall, the animals panicked and thrashed about wildly—one man caught his hand on a tree branch and injured it, hence his bandage. They said a two-year-old had gotten stuck somewhere and hurt its leg too. Grumbling about finally finding a buyer for a bay horse with two white socks and some star marking—only for things to go wrong—they'd lost six hundred yen. There truly are people with wretched luck.

Please take good care of our dear horses at home.

As we gradually came this way, the ears of wheat had fully emerged. In the rice paddies, the seedlings in the seedbeds had grown considerably. When darkness fell until nothing could be seen, the passengers dwindled sharply, and I grew utterly weary of the train journey—even keeping my eyes open felt burdensome. Having secured a seat near the restroom and washbasin—which proved convenient—I washed my face whenever feeling unwell. Around four o'clock, I rose and prepared myself, enduring the interminable wait for dawn. Even when light finally came, we still hadn't reached Ueno, making the train's progress feel agonizingly slow. Without waiting for the conductor's "Nippori, next stop Ueno—mind your belongings," I gripped my umbrella and furoshiki bundle ready, until we finally arrived at Ueno. After everyone disembarked and I lingered to leave, this train—lengthened by two added cars—seemed endlessly long as it kept moving out, quite a spectacle indeed. I emerged at the ticket gate through slow-paced marching, clack-clack stepping across stone pavement. Until producing my ticket from pocket, I kept staring at my feet—my eyes were tired; looking around too much would appear unseemly, and I feared making my small eyes appear large.

And when I recalled Mr. Yunotaki’s sketch map and suddenly looked up, there stood Professor Kindaichi Kyōsuke, smiling warmly. When he kindly said, "You must be tired," I was so happy tears came to my eyes. When I handed over the baggage tag, he went to the handling office and retrieved it for me. Then, after buying two rickshaw tickets, I rode in the rickshaw with the professor in high spirits but ended up going ahead of him, which made me feel terribly embarrassed. Since we arrived at five o'clock, there were few people about, and the road being thoroughly dampened felt pleasant. There were houses lined up that were far larger than those in Asahikawa or Muroran. The people walking along the street were not from Tokyo but had probably come from the countryside. They all had such faces. Then, turning right and left, we entered a narrow street. At most houses, the doors were closed. They say that in Tokyo, since nights are late, mornings are late too. Then we emerged onto the main tram street again—though I’m not quite sure how we came—passed in front of the university, entered a narrow alleyway, and thus arrived here. There, I once again offered my greetings to Professor Kindaichi and paid my respects to Madam, whom I was meeting for the first time. Then, I was also introduced to a man named Mr. Jirō, Professor Kindaichi’s younger brother, who had come from Morioka to visit Heihaku. Professor Kindaichi’s kindness was no different from when he had come to Hokkaido four or five years prior, and Madam was a tall woman of stately bearing who seemed exceedingly kind. Recently, when the two of us are together, they kindly tell me about various things. I shall defer that story to a later letter. There is also a third-year student named Haruhiko-san, a young master.

He invited me last Sunday to go to the university, so we went out together, but since the tram line ran right before us, crossing it took considerable time. Haruhiko-san went ahead and kept beckoning me over, but whenever I tried to go, a streetcar would come; just when I thought it had passed, another would arrive from behind; three or four automobiles approached from both directions; rickshaws rolled by; bicycles streamed past—my goodness, I truly realized Tokyo was a fearsome place. At the university, I gathered various flowers with Haruhiko-san while resting by a lovely pond, and we watched university students play tennis on the athletic field. The large red-brick buildings—adorned with vivid young leaves of early summer trees—I couldn’t tell how many there were, but their mere existence left me no choice but to marvel. Signs stood separately marked “College of Engineering,” “College of Liberal Arts,” “College of Medicine,” and such.

Walking on the soft lawn was a pleasant feeling. The pond was full of koi, and the sight of them occasionally leaping up was quite delightful. And then we played and returned.

There was a baby about to turn two named Wakaba-san who had been ill of late. I heard Lady Fuyumi had fallen ill and lost her milk supply. When they tried raising the child solely on cow's milk, the quantity proved excessive and caused indigestion, then on top of that she caught a chill—they say even now, over twenty days later, she still hasn't recovered. They were seeing a pediatrician called Utsuno, reputedly Tokyo's finest. Madam appeared to be visiting the doctor every other day with the maid. Because of this, Madam wasn't sleeping at night either and reportedly suffered dreadful headaches. I heard she had previously lost three daughters. Due to her frail constitution, she'd apparently been battling neurasthenia these past three years. Recently there had been many visitors from home coming to see the Heihaku exhibition, I was told. Unarabe of Hidaka had stayed about twenty days with two girls—her granddaughter and niece, I believe—but had returned home two or three days before my arrival, they said. That old woman was making her seventh trip to Tokyo this time, I heard.

The house was a single-story home, not particularly spacious. There was one guest room—the professor’s six-tatami study—a six-tatami family dining area, a kitchen measuring approximately one-and-a-half ken by one-and-a-half ken, and a garden about two-and-a-half ken wide; they said such a spacious garden was seldom seen. At night, I slept in the family dining area with a kind-hearted maid named Kikuya—a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old from Morioka. I wore Mother’s tsunomaki and a large night robe. When told by him—"Let us designate this as your desk"—about an unused large desk in his study upon my arrival, I wrote this very letter at that desk. As school began at eight o'clock, he departed a little past seven and returned around four. He apparently oversaw not only university duties but also two or three girls’ schools. My goodness—the sheer number of books left me astonished. Madam laughed and said: “We have nothing at home save these books—they alone are our treasure.” Archaeology texts along with historical records and geographical studies crammed every shelf. She told me I might read whatever pleased me. Soon after my arrival he produced stacks of Ainu dictionaries—old editions alongside new—filling my desk with volumes on Ainu research until no space remained.

Since coming here, I read about three books. And then, from time to time in the evenings, I was asked questions about the Ainu language. When Professor Kindaichi asked questions, he had thoroughly memorized the material and posed them academically—thanks to that, I too found myself pondering things I had never considered before and learning difficult grammar. It was said that we had to academically analyze and explain words we ordinarily used—things like the “A” in Aokai and the “Ko” in Komakunatara. Last night, I was taught grammar—verbs and nouns, first person and second person, genitive case and nominative case—that we hadn’t learned in school. From then on, I had to again apply myself diligently to writing Ainu. Since there was a maid here handling household matters, my role became something like a conversational partner and advisor on Ainu language matters. As for my health—I wouldn’t know whether it would improve unless I stayed another month. If I stayed another month though—I thought—I would likely come to understand this area better and find my feelings settling too.

The day before yesterday, I went out to the tram street and did some shopping. As expected, there were things I needed, and I ended up spending quite a bit. If I set aside the money entrusted by Mr. Michio, I have only about three yen and some change remaining. The money I received from Mother was truly good to have received. I offer my heartfelt gratitude from the depths of my heart to my dear Father and Mother. I am deeply grateful to have received so much from Fuchi as well. I will keep and not forget a single thing Fuchi said, so please do not worry at all—I humbly request that you convey this to both Fuchi and Hama no Fuchi. (Kamui Shiktotsu is also inside the box.)

I heard that once Aka-san recovers, they will take her somewhere…… Madam said…… The climate here differs little from Noboribetsu’s. Today proved unreasonably cold—we all wore haori over our clothes. I read through Shufu no Tomo and Katei Zasshi too. Dear Father and Mother must remain as busy as ever. The chicks must have grown considerably by now. Mitchchan’s diligent bustle seems to materialize before my eyes—how earnest she appears! Has Sister Usu arrived safely, I wonder?

Please kindly convey my regards to everyone. I shall explain in detail at a later time. Today, I believe I have informed you as much as possible even through this. I have spoken at great length. Therefore, I humbly pray that Father and Mother first and foremost—along with everyone—will please take good care of your health as you work.

May 17, 1:30 PM

Goodbye

Dear Father and Mother

To your care,

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi

June 9, Taishō 11 (Sent from Tokyo)

Dear Father and Mother, I was truly happy to be able to write a letter after such a long time. Thank you very much for kindly sending me a letter amidst your busyness the other day. I was overjoyed beyond measure to hear of Father’s illness having made a swift recovery. I had heard about various matters, and it was altogether most interesting. Mother had not yet sown the fields as of June 2nd, which was quite delayed, wasn’t it. The cause of this likely lay greatly with me as well. Every single year it was nothing but delays—how truly troublesome. At the sports day, Misao-chan’s treasure was taken, and it was quite the ordeal, wasn’t it. Fuchi and all dear ones being in good health was most splendid indeed. I remained in good health as ever. Please rest assured. I too had come to feel rather busy of late. But you see, every night I studied five lessons of English (National 1), but since I simply could not memorize them all at once, I had to review them. Moreover, I was still writing down that yukar that Achabo had performed the other day, so...

The baby became very healthy lately. Today, the maid carried it on her back while Madam accompanied her to take it to the doctor, though it seemed it had mostly recovered already. As the baby was well, both Professor Kindaichi and Madam consequently slept soundly at night, their faces appearing lively.

On Tuesday the 30th, since Professor Kindaichi was resting due to a cold, we left the baby, the Professor, and the young master in charge of the house, and Madam, Okiku-san, and I—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 couldn’t manage without his voice, I heard. The other day, he had caught a cold and lost his voice, so he took a rest.

Now, that day had been fine since morning, and we had prepared to go out, but unfortunately, with guests arriving, it seemed our plans would be entirely canceled; however, after the guests left following lunch, we ended up departing around three o’clock. I knew we had passed through the university’s Akamon and gone by the university hospital, but beyond that, I had no notion of where or how we walked afterward. Akamon was a red gate set a short distance from the main entrance, and according to Madam’s account, it had been built approximately five hundred years prior. Then we reached the edge of Ueno’s pond. It was said one ought to wear flannel when transitioning from spring to summer, but as I had none on hand, I considered wearing a lined kimono before resolutely choosing an unlined one instead. When Madam wore flannel, the maid a lined kimono, and I an unlined one—three layers of attire—we set out to find most Tokyoites in unlined kimonos; Madam laughed and remarked that I seemed the most progressive among us as we walked, though the pond’s edge proved so cool my unlined kimono felt almost too brisk. The pond resembled the sea itself, where a seaplane buzzed loudly while skimming across the water. Across the pond lay the famed exposition venue, with the so-called Peace Tower soaring high into the blue sky on our right. The exposition buildings, painted in reds and blues just as they appeared on postcards, truly looked like something out of a painting. The gentle breeze over the pond’s surface and the lapping small waves somehow brought back memories of the seascape I had seen when crossing from Muroran to Aomori.

Passing by the slender blue bamboo at the central rest area where dewdrops glistened like freshly sprinkled water, we entered to find red-blanketed benches lined up in rows—a blue pond ahead, the intriguing Hokkaido Pavilion across the shore, and behind and beside us regional product stalls and eateries—altogether forming a most splendid view. There, the three of us—Madam, Okiku-san, and I—sat down on the same bench to rest for a while, and Madam kindly paid one yen and twenty sen for three servings of carbonated water and mitsumame. The carbonated water was strawberry-flavored, with vivid red liquid filling the glass to the brim, accompanied by a kaya stick resembling chopsticks. Thinking how amusing it was for a drink to come with chopsticks, when I mentioned this to Madam, she laughed and explained, “Guzzling it all at once with that kaya straw wouldn’t look proper—one should sip through it little by little.” Indeed, when I tried sipping through the kaya straw, the drink flowed smoothly down my throat in just the right way, making me feel as though I had become a proper young lady; I pursed my lips and drank as demurely as possible. While setting the drink down and picking it up to sip, I momentarily forgot myself and nearly pressed the cup directly to my mouth for my usual large gulp—only to catch myself and mentally scratch my head in chagrin. Mitsumame was a cool-looking treat containing sweet confections resembling tokoroten jelly and red-and-white morsels like fu gluten cakes, said to be a Tokyo specialty. If I were to say it was sweet—sweet hardly sufficed. Whereas Okiku-san of our group could not eat mitsumame well due to tooth decay and found carbonated water disagreeable to her stomach, I on my part gladly partook of any treat offered. Madam praised me, saying, “You’re truly a good person.” By eating many delicious things and thereby becoming a good person, I thought I had struck an excellent bargain. Afterward, we walked around looking at the shops arrayed in rows, but there was nothing particularly different from Hokkaido. I had Madam select and approve the pattern for my unlined kimono fabric, buying it at two yen fifty sen per bolt (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 Madam and the maid bought items of the same price. The maid’s pattern matched mine. Madam seemed precisely the sort who preferred subdued patterns that suited me. The kimono she wore was thoroughly subdued. When I overheard Professor Kindaichi conversing with her, he remarked, “Lately you’ve become far more youthfully made up than when you first came as a bride.” The one I bought recently was indeed a pattern even I could wear.

Then I purchased a beautiful pale pink silk crepe obi cord. The maid’s was bright red. Then we passed beneath the Peace Tower and climbed the stone-paved slope—likely that was Ueno Park—walked along the path under a hill-like area where green grass grew pleasantly, circled around somewhere, and emerged onto Ueno’s tram street. Since the exposition was only until 5:30, we couldn’t see it.

I asked Madam to help search for what Mr. Michio had requested, but we couldn’t find it no matter how hard we tried. I had thought about sending back the one yen, but since it was decided we would search again when going to Mitsukoshi next time, I was still keeping that money. Then we entered a store called Matsuzakaya, went up to the fourth floor, and looked at various items, but I was left utterly astonished and at a loss for words. When riding the elevator, the ascent felt pleasant enough, but upon stopping, it would suddenly drop downward slightly, making me gasp involuntarily; when I exclaimed in surprise, Madam smiled gently. Whether they were kimonos, obis, fabric bolts, or shirts—gazing at them all made my eyes spin. I found myself growing more frightened than desirous. I found myself unable to speak or do anything at all. Mitsukoshi was said to be three times larger than that Matsuzakaya. Then, passing by the university hospital once more, we exited through Akamon. I already thought that was plenty; I didn’t need to see anything more. But I looked forward to English more than that. When crossing the tram street, even my small eyes would grow large without me realizing it, you see.

In Tokyo homes, there were no houses with wood-shingled roofs. All were tile-roofed. When I observed how different the people of Tokyo passing through the streets were from us, first and foremost, I still thought they were exactly the same as us humans and not different in the slightest. However，slowpokes like myself were a rare sight，and everyone moved briskly with their eyes darting about busily—a characteristic that seemed to define city dwellers. Because they lacked composure，city dwellers were high-strung，people said. Entering such a lively place was truly unsuitable for me—after all，I was just a slowpoke granny…

To make my coming to Tokyo worthwhile, the Professor said he would take me to hear speeches by distinguished individuals. Yet I think staying home has been sufficiently rewarding. Since the master of this house is a scholar, listening to his conversations equates to scholarly study itself. Through incidental discussions, I learn various things. Madam frequently asks him questions too, allowing me to hear his explanations alongside her. Several days ago, I was treated to a political discourse. As he expounded on politics in detail, Madam listened with the earnest, solemn devotion of a pupil. Last night in the study, we three—the Professor, Madam, and I—unexpectedly conversed past eleven o'clock. It became a religious discussion. Perhaps one might term it the religious psychology of an academic—in any case, I deemed such talks by eminent persons truly valuable and listened intently. Madam's spirit had grown thoroughly distorted through repeated misfortunes, leading her to contract neurasthenia; believing religious faith would cure her, she pursued it herself with the Professor's encouragement. Though she'd had ample opportunity to associate with religious figures until now, it seems she still hasn't found satisfactory solace... Somehow I found myself wholly resonating with the Professor's religious discourse. Thus last night I heard nothing but edifying talk from start to finish. Even ordinarily, there's not a single frivolous conversation here. All are seeds of learning for me. Hearing there was a Hongo Christ Church nearby, I went on the fourth evening and marveled to find merely twelve congregants—all but two or three dozing off. The pastor's sermon proved equally soporific; I was astounded Tokyo contained such churches. With so many churches here, I intend henceforth to visit them one by one.

As Tokyo was about to enter the rainy season, everyone kept saying how much they disliked it. I did not find the rainy season itself particularly dreadful, but what came after it was truly terrifying. About twenty days of alternating rain and dry spells would continue, and this time it was supposed to be terrible—so very hot, with daily scorching heat persisting, they said. "I do worry whether Ms. Yukie can endure Tokyo's heat," Professor Kindaichi had expressed concern. The heat would severely weaken the heart, which was concerning, but since it would be pointless to worry without having faced it yet, I resolved to leave it to how things unfolded. In accordance with God's divine will... Truly, the greatest misfortune in this world was physical ill-health. In all endeavors, health formed the foundation one must build upon... Though it remained unclear how much anxiety and discomfort might affect those around us, illness too must have been something God bestowed with divine purpose. It must have been the whip of God, given to humble the arrogance of those who relied only on themselves and the hearts of the presumptuous. And it must have been God's guidance that made us cling to His love. Therefore, entrusting both this weakened body and soul to God, from then on I intended to interact with people with peace of mind, joy, and gratitude, engage with them through love, and thus make my way through life. When one thought only of their own happiness, there was pessimism and troubles, but if one resolved to set oneself aside and strive their utmost for others, I believed all sadness would vanish. Since coming there, through reading various books and listening to the Professor's talks, I somehow felt as though my heart had grown lighter. I wished I could put into words all my current feelings to bring joy to you, dear Father and Mother, but since I found myself utterly unable to do so, I asked you simply to rejoice in knowing that my heart had undergone some change up to then. Therefore, from that time onward I certainly intended never to do such things as be pessimistic or twisted, make unpleasant faces, or impart unpleasant feelings not only to Father and Mother but to anyone.

I have written at such length. Next time, should anything change, I shall write plenty. Regarding the haori, I will report after seeing whether it can endure through summer. I earnestly pray that both Father and Mother will take good care of your health. I was delighted to receive a letter from Mashibo informing me she won first prize, though there has been no word from Takao. If he remains well, there is no need for letters. Given his busy schedule and the bothersome nature of correspondence, compelling him to write seemed pitiful... To Aunt in Shikishō—I had indeed sent a postcard previously, though I wonder why it never arrived. This time I have sent it to Noboribetsu; please deliver it. How could I possibly forget to send Aunt a letter? I have not yet sent one to Sister in Usu. Despite postal fees being quite substantial, 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 Minaunarape and Asae. As it is already time for English class, I shall lay down my brush here.

Goodbye.

From Yukie, 9th

Beloved

Honorable Father

Honorable Mother

To Both Honorable Parents

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

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

Beloved Honorable Father and Honorable Mother, I was deeply grateful for your recent letter. That you, Honorable Father and Mother, along with Fuchi and the others, remained free from harm was truly most splendid above all else. I too, by divine grace, was living safely under God’s protection, so you need not worry. Though I received your letter on the first, owing to a grave incident, I had regrettably neglected to write until today. This “grave incident” refers to the calamity that occurred on Sunday the second. It was around ten in the morning. While I was responding to the Professor’s questions in his study, Young Master Haruhiko had been playing outside with his friends. However, that friend’s child came running frantically from the gate direction and cried out from behind the study’s shoji screen, “Uncle! Young Master Haruhiko has fallen into the well!” At that moment, the Professor flew out through the entrance with a “Haa” sound, as if propelled backward. In the sitting room where Madam had been soothing the baby, her sudden cry caused the infant to burst into tears. Outside roared such a cacophony of voices that I felt my senses deserting me. When I rushed out, a black mass of people filled the house’s front. I glimpsed the Professor’s retreating figure sprinting toward the police box. Amidst this chaos, a voice from the well’s direction shouted “Hold fast!”—hearing this, I felt some relief knowing he still lived. Police came, ladders came, people scrambled chaotically about the well’s edge. Within the crowd where Madam, the maid and I stood clustered together, he turned toward us and barked, “A ladder won’t do! Fetch a hammer!” The Professor’s face had turned the very hue of grass blades. Madam stood pale-faced, lips tightly compressed. As I watched breathlessly, a sturdy youth emerged through the throng—upon his back lay visible the Young Master’s ashen face, black eyes wide open.

The kimono was covered in mud and blood. The man dashed straight to the hospital as he was. Madam handed the baby to the maid and chased after him. The Professor too…. The maid went back and forth to fetch the kimono and obi, and I, holding the baby, could do nothing about the ceaselessly flowing tears. Neighborhood wives and mistresses rushed in, and errand boys came running. Amidst them, the one who entered with a beaming smile was Young Master Haruhiko’s uncle (the Professor’s younger brother— the one who had come to visit the exposition). After bowing politely and briskly entering, when Young Master Haruhiko chattered away, he exclaimed, “Oh! I thought they were digging up the well again. “I came to take Haru’s photo, but…” he exclaimed, turning pale as he dashed out—it all felt like a dream. Eventually, the Young Master returned in relatively good spirits. For the entire day, the Professor remained constantly by his side attending to him. Later, when I heard about it, there were several small wounds on his head as well, and it was said that fragments of glass and such had filled them. On his leg was a wound approximately six centimeters long and one and a half centimeters deep, which had been stitched with six or seven sutures. Last night, when the Professor and Madam went to the doctor, I also accompanied them with the baby to perform iseremakusi. And when I saw those wounds, I was truly shocked.

On Sunday late at night, the Professor bought the harmonica that the Young Master had been persistently asking for, so both yesterday and today he has been spending his time enjoyably without a moment’s boredom. When the Professor went to school during his absence, I kept him company. Madam had been holding herself together in that moment, but being fundamentally unwell, all her fatigue came to a head at once, and today she is resting in bed. At night, the Young Master would toss and moan in his sleep, and until around midnight, the Professor and Madam would comfort him from both sides, rubbing and stroking him. That well was an old one located beside the house across the street—an eerie thing that unsettled you even if you just peered into it briefly. At the bottom over two ken deep, there was mud and water filled with trash, glass, and fragments of pots. That the Young Master survived after falling into that place was nothing short of divine blessing, and the crowd marveled that even an adult would have had virtually no hope of being saved were they to tumble in there.

When the Professor rushed over and peered in, Haruhiko was somehow holding on with both hands, looking up, and cried out "Father!"... or so I was told. He had been chasing butterflies with his friends without looking down when the rotten well cover gave way beneath him. That boy possessed what one might call a genius-level intellect - always top of his class at school, serving as class president with those large, intelligent-looking black eyes. Given his delicate frame and quiet disposition, they said there had never been such an incident before. Being their precious only child through and through, his parents apparently worried over him with every fiber of their being. Even now when I recall that scene, I shudder. Just seeing the Professor and Madam's ashen complexions was enough to make anyone feel utterly distraught.

First, I shall leave it at that for now; how has the land matter progressed since then? Since Father assured me all was well, I remain relieved yet pray daily for an early resolution. Thank you for informing me in such detail despite your busy schedule. When I had fully informed the Professor about it, he reacted with astonishment, then anger, and finally relief. He truly is a compassionate person.

As for souvenirs from Hokkaido, once they arrive here, there’s truly nothing particularly special among them. Beans fare best. The azuki beans I brought were warmly received. But given that the Professor maintains close ties with the Hidaka Ainu, the sheer abundance of beans here verges on astonishing. Yet somehow, among them all, my beans and azuki were deemed the finest. Moreover, with their container—a bag—being so lovely, they stood out all the more…

Moreover, since the old woman from Hidaka sent over shiitake mushrooms, we never ran out of them throughout the year, or so I heard. In Tokyo, they were apparently exorbitantly expensive, or so I heard. As for beans and azuki beans, those from Tokyo had small grains, hard skins, and were not tasty at all, or so I heard……. So once autumn came and even a small amount of azuki beans became available, if there were any beautiful, delicious ones, please do send them. If it was too much trouble, you needn’t send them, you know. Moreover, since Ainu crafts were nowhere to be found, I thought perhaps the Professor didn’t want any, but it turned out that this was the reason, or so I heard. Other people simply bought crafts to study past living conditions, but since the Professor was researching language rather than purchasing crafts—it being difficult and him being solely devoted to that—he apparently had no time to spare for considering crafts or treasures. Financial circumstances were unfavorable, and... And by the time people realized it, it was already too late—the things made in the old ways had vanished, and now there remained only towel racks and geta-like items crafted for mainland Japanese tastes, so there was nothing they could do about it, or so it was said. It was said that he had about ten or so ikupasuy prayer sticks received from the Ainu people as mementos, along with one inaw ritual wood carving. Even if they did not serve as academic materials, things called Ainu Karape were both delightful and nostalgic; thus, he gladly received a towel rack and such, but it was said that he found them too precious to use and had stored them away. "It is a waste for the Ainu’s precious carving techniques to be expended on things like towel racks," remarked the Professor. Somehow, he seemed to want things like nima and other such Ainu practical items.

If Father has the time, please make one such item. Since you have no free time, please take your time. Whether it be a towel rack, chopsticks, a pera, a kashuppu, a chipon-nima, or a makiri sheath, [he] will surely be delighted. Fuchi also has a request. Please prepare and send items like Nipeshi—whether they be Tara, Muri, Utokiatsu, or anything similar—and send them to me. Please take your time with those as well. Whether it be Kanau n Tara or Arashinu Katara, either would be fine. He is greatly pleased with Fuchi’s Saranipe.

I was living comfortably and happily without any want, so please do not worry about me. I prayed that you would take good care of your bodies while working. Please give my regards to Misao-chan. Please extend my warmest wishes to everyone at mountain edges and shore edges. When I informed Michio-san that his sheet music was absolutely unavailable，he sent money saying，＂In that case，please buy something else instead．＂ When I suggested，＂If you know publishers or stores，you should order directly，＂ he replied，＂Then I'll place orders myself—please keep this money．＂ Though I found it regrettable—his having specifically sent funds for this purpose—I returned his money． To think he couldn't even utter his usual＂Thank you ever so much．＂ They say Hokkaido's climate remains quite unfavorable． How were your crops？ That Takeno-san had inquired after me—how nostalgic that felt． Please convey my greetings when opportunity arises． I await． Even Takeno-san hadn't seen exposition；thus my own lack was natural． At this rate，I might never see it． I greatly disliked going out． The crowds felt suffocatingly chaotic． My sole joy became taking morning or evening walks with baby． Further back lay Komagome． Dense groves felt eerily oppressive． I preferred viewing from heights． Through fences of splendid homes bloomed varied flowers． Hydrangeas shone particularly radiant．

The pomegranate flowers were bright red like fire. Pomegranate flowers were blooming here as well. There were pear trees and maples, and whether it had been a palm or a sago palm—I had forgotten the name—there was a tree with leaves attached to stems that were frighteningly long like sticks. The dahlia that had been only about one shaku tall when I arrived had now grown to around seven shaku and was said to soon surpass the eaves of the veranda. A bright red flower that had bloomed as a single blossom and grown quite large had been broken by the strong winds on the day Young Master Haruhiko was injured. Professor Kindaichi, sorrowfully remarking something like “the young master’s substitute,” had been with Madam, the two of them looking despondent. The remaining ones were tied to a thick stake and had not yet bloomed. When I was writing about Michio-san, Professor Kindaichi came in and kept writing something himself—it turned out to be another letter addressed to Minister Hattori of the Home Affairs Ministry. Since there had been no reply to the letter he had sent earlier, he was writing again, or so I heard. As such matters were not private affairs, they apparently had to be brought to the attention of those people without fail. It was currently around seven o'clock. It was after finishing the meal that I began writing. I had intended to write about various things, but what with all the getting up and sitting back down without settling properly, this letter had turned out quite disjointed. Still, believing that Father and Mother would be pleased to read it, I set down my brush with a smile.

With this, farewell.

I pray for the health of all esteemed ones.

From Yukie Beloved

Father

Mother (The following two letters)

I sent another letter to Takao but received no reply; assuming he remains well, I am content even without response. He must be terribly busy with examinations now. How pitiful that his summer vacation lasts barely ten days. How splendid your chickens have multiplied. I rejoice that the fields too are fully tended. How fares Sanbonjira and her chicks? Do carriages still trespass through our fields? When shall our land dispute find resolution? This vexation grows unbearable.

Fusene-san's son—it was truly a regrettable matter. When I heard that, all sorts of things came to mind and I grew so sad I wept. From now on, a healthy body would be of utmost importance. I was fortunately not suffering from anything painful. Though I said it was hot, there was nothing so extreme as to cause alarm, so I begged you not to worry in the slightest. Since it was the rainy season, there were times of relentless humidity and sultriness, but it amounted to nothing. Once the rainy season cleared up and the real heat arrived, should it become unbearably hot, I promised to let you know... When evening came, Madam too rose from bed, and her condition seemed much improved. When she saw me caring for the baby morning and evening—how grateful she must have been—yesterday she even had tears in her eyes, leaving me quite overwhelmed. "If only you would make a slightly troubled face now and then, Ms. Yukie, but you always keep the same expression," she remarked. So I resolved to put on such a face, but ended up completely forgetting and spent today laughing and playing with the baby again. When a child is sent far away alone, they lose their self-will; thus, it stands to reason that one should send a beloved child on a journey.

Takao and Mashibo will surely become distinguished. I had a dream the other day where two imposing figures came to this house. When I bowed at the entrance with both hands pressed to the floor and looked up, there was Takao sporting a full beard that even covered his chin, wearing an indigo-dyed kasuri kimono, while Mashibo stood swaggering in nothing but a gym shirt and holding a folding fan, his face exactly as it always is. Oh! When I exclaimed that and rose to my feet, I awoke—what a disappointment.

At last, farewell.

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Dated July 17, Taishō 11 (1922) (From Tokyo)

Beloved Father and Mother, I have gratefully received your letter. I am overjoyed to hear of your continued good health; nothing could bring me greater happiness. How fare Grandmother Fuchi of the Shore and Grandmother Fuchi of the Mountain since their ailments? We received word yesterday from Michio-san that Grandmother Fuchi of the Shore has fully recovered through his homecoming, yet I remain anxious about Grandmother Fuchi of the Mountain's condition. She must have strained her shoulders again from working too diligently.

Fortunately, the Young Master’s injury was not serious and had been steadily improving. Since the day before yesterday, he had been overjoyed at being permitted to wear straw sandals and walk outside, and whenever he had a spare moment, he went outdoors to catch insects. The stitches from the wound had now been removed. It was truly fortunate that the Young Master had not developed an infection. I too continued with my healthy complexion—telling stories and keeping the Young Master company by reading fairy tale books and turning the pages of picture books—living joyfully each day. Please rest assured. As it had grown quite hot and baths were now prepared at home, allowing me to bathe daily, I was able to sleep comfortably each night.

Yesterday, the Professor’s younger brother suddenly came by, making last night quite lively, and he has just now departed. With this, I have now met three of the Professor’s younger brothers. I hear 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 taken over the household.

As for the younger brothers, each and every one still appeared to resemble the Professor in being warm-hearted individuals. Last night with those guests making the guest room cramped, Madam entered my mosquito net. Since we began hanging mosquito nets, I have been sleeping in the study. By turning off the electric light before bed, I am able to rest comfortably. It seems Fusene-san’s son has finally passed away. It was truly a regrettable matter. Fusene-san’s sorrow can well be imagined. They had never made their son study with any intention of killing him. I hear Kuriyama-san too has developed heart disease—it’s truly pitiful.

There’s nothing as troublesome as illness, is there? With the Crown Prince’s visit, Hokkaido must be quite lively—did you and Mother have the honor of attending? Did His Highness grace the hot springs with a visit? As Tokyo has no particular changes to speak of, I find myself with nothing to write about. It’s just that the fine weather continues day after day. The other day—I may have mentioned this before—I met a gentleman called Mr. Okamura Chiaki. A photographer accompanying him took my photo, though I was somewhat flustered.

I am sure it turned out splendidly. My Hearthside Anthology remains unfinished. The key contributor Viscount Shibusawa, Doctor of Laws, has apparently been delayed by his marriage preparations. Organizer Mr. Yanagita Kunio is currently overseas, I hear.

With the heat lately, Madam has been suffering from terrible headaches, and I cannot help but feel sorry. The Professor said he had received a letter from Father and was delighted. Takao-san remains as ever, with no news to report. Mashibo's manga will arrive without delay.

Lately, it has become quite lively with airplanes flying at night. I have been going out to enjoy the evening cool with Madam and the Young Master to view them. They soar through the lofty sky adorned with red and blue lights. Last night—or perhaps I should say—they launched fireworks from airplanes; no, maybe dropped them instead. When stars twinkled in every corner of the clear evening sky came a faint boom—a golden orb indistinguishable from starlight suddenly flared—before one could gasp 'Ah!', it burst into red and blue radiance that lit heaven like sunlight only to vanish instantly—a beauty beyond words.

Even without airplanes, fireworks were often launched those days. They said they were launched in the Ueno area. While the days were hot, there were such enjoyments at night to compensate. The area remained quiet despite its favorable location, and as there were no factories nearby, the air did not become polluted by soot.

Moreover, as there were many trees at the university, one could even catch glimpses of birds. In the evenings, holding the baby and sitting on a bench beneath the university's ginkgo tree, I found myself recalling those times when I had been in Penaisaki-Penai or Okachipe.

It was now around eleven o’clock，and sweat streamed down my face as I wrote this letter. The heat lingered at eighty-four or eighty-five degrees—nothing unbearable yet. I shall take my leave here for today. Pray convey my regards to all at Shore Fuchi. Urge Mountain Fuchi to rest her weary shoulders when you can. They say Mitchchan has grown into such an endearing，quiet child—Sister rejoices beyond measure. I earnestly entreat your continued kindness. Farewell.

Honorable Father

Honorable Mother

To the Esteemed Household of:

Addressed to: Chiri Takayoshi, Namiko

August 1, Taishō 11 (1922) (From Tokyo)

(The opening several lines are missing.) Learning that Mashibo too was to return home, I could not help but smile alone as I imagined from afar how great must have been the joy—not only for Mashibo herself, but for Grandmother Fuchi and all of you, Honorable Parents. When Takao, Mashibo, and Misao were all gathered together, I spent my days envisioning just how delightfully enjoyable those days must have been for you, Honorable Parents—as though I were there at home with you.

Oh, how could such misfortunes keep befalling Terauchi-san? I heard that the son who had been enjoying himself so very much had died. Chimabil-san too was in such a pitiable state. Even in Asahikawa, upon hearing that that seemingly robust child who showed no sign of passing had died, I was made to feel profoundly the impermanence of human life. Seeing that someone as weak and incapable as I had survived while those who were vigorous were swiftly called away, I came to think that people do not necessarily live long just because they are strong. Even those who appear weak and incapable must surely possess some mission; it is precisely because there is something they must accomplish in this world that God deigns to keep them alive.

Here in Tokyo, Madam has one elder sister. I have heard there is another elder sister residing in Moji. The elder sister in Tokyo has three daughters; the eldest ones married off, the youngest inherited the household, and this past spring she reportedly took in a son-in-law. That daughter came on the thirteenth of last month, and I met her. She was a young lady of doll-like beauty and such gentleness that calling her "Madam" felt almost pitiable—though said to be twenty this year, she appeared no older than sixteen or seventeen. As the Professor was absent, the four of us—Madam, the Young Master, myself, and the visiting daughter—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—that day too found me reading at around half past four when frantic footsteps sounded near the gate. No sooner had I registered this than came urgent knocks—thud-thud—against the locked gate, accompanied by a woman’s voice crying “Professor Kindaichi! Professor Kindaichi!” With no one else awake, I called “Coming!” and rushed to open it, finding there the elder sister of Mii-chan, our former maidservant. Breathless, she begged me to fetch the Professor. I dashed to the main hall only for both Professor and Madam to come stumbling out in their nightclothes. Clinging to Madam’s side, I followed to listen, but the sister stood speechless, choked with emotion. When Madam offered water, she finally gasped out: “It’s about Mitsu—last night she... threw herself before a train.” We all froze in shock. As Madam wept, I too found myself weeping. That day saw both Professor and Madam depart after entrusting the baby to care elsewhere. Alone with the celebratory rice for the Young Master’s recovery, I kept watch over the house and pondered deeply. How fleeting human life proves.

Mii-chan had apparently been suffering from neurasthenia for some time. During the time when Father was alive, they lived quite comfortably, but after his passing, it was said that just Mother and she had been living off the interest from the six thousand yen or so that Father had left behind. This was said to be about twenty-five yen per month. Due to the rising prices of late, they had struggled considerably, working for others to make ends meet until now, but thinking that taking in a son-in-law might make things a bit easier, this time a prospective groom came, I heard. That son-in-law was also an exceedingly good man who got along splendidly with Mii-chan, but being quite the socialite with many guests coming over, money kept getting spent, and the mother became so busy she seemed about to collapse.

And so her mother did nothing but complain, and with their finances always falling short, their situation had become extremely difficult, it was said. Then, when the master had recently been ordered on a business trip to the foothills of Mount Fuji and departed, she discussed with her mother—saying they would sew tomorrow the kimono they had bought for when the master returned and they went sea bathing as planned—and went out intending to cool off a bit, but never returned. Her mother, who had been talking with a neighbor, grew worried and went to search for her. When she arrived to find people rushing about in frantic commotion and asked what had happened, they told her someone had been struck by a train. Startled, she inquired who it was—they described a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old young lady wearing a kimono of such-and-such description with an obi tied thus-and-so, which matched her daughter's attire exactly. At this, her mother collapsed where she stood.

Mii-chan’s corpse was collected as it was and placed in a coffin, but no one came to open it and look—only our household’s Professor Kindaichi did so, I hear. That once-beautiful Mii-chan had become utterly disfigured, it was said. It was said she had been suffering from neurasthenia and had experienced a mental lapse. Because of that incident, Madam became mentally unwell again, but over the past two or three days she had regained her health. After lunch on the 25th, I immediately went out with the Young Master to visit the exposition, being taken by the Professor. We took the streetcar and wound our way through various places to reach the first venue, but it was just a jumbled array that made one’s eyes spin—no different from the Sapporo Kaido Exposition.

We were treated to ice two or three times along with various other refreshments. The South Sea Islanders' opera proved most intriguing. Given it was performed by dark-skinned people, there was perhaps an amusing contrast in its somber aspects. The children of the South Sea Islanders were truly endearing. They bore striking resemblance to the Ainu. When someone suggested we view the second venue while we were out, we learned only seven minutes remained until nine o'clock and thus returned without seeing it - though the night view of that second venue appeared truly splendid. I shall share full details when I return home this time. For our return journey, having obtained Madam's favorite doughnuts as souvenirs, both Young Master and I received permission to purchase two sets of postcards each.

The impressions remaining in my mind from visiting the exposition were: the South Sea Islanders and their fascinating language; the coolness by the fountain; the fountain's beauty under red, blue, and violet-yellow electric lights; tropical plants and pine saplings about 2 shaku 5 sun tall with price tags reading "300 yen"; that second-prize pig painting in the art museum; then on the boulevard—a country-looking old woman who wouldn’t step aside for an oncoming automobile, instead rushing toward its path as it tried to avoid her, her flustered face when we all made a commotion; the delicious Western meals during breaks—cider, strawberry ice, and ham rice; Shinobazu Pond's night view where multicolored venue lights and stars reflected on the water, rippled and broke on small waves; the Peace Tower's grandeur thrusting into the dusky blue sky; people swarming like moving black mountains; the heat; and how pleasantly compact the Culture Village houses felt. Were I to write down everything that came to mind, there would still be so much more, but I shall stop here for now and share the rest when we next meet.

Daily life continued as usual, with the Professor busily studying as he worked on compiling a collection of sacred texts during the summer recess. In that advisory capacity, I engaged daily in what might be called lectures on the Ainu language. I had been sewing a padded garment at Madam’s request, but around two o’clock each afternoon, sitting face-to-face with her, we would lay our work pillows down and nap soundly—usually for about an hour and a half. When evening came, the massage therapist arrived for Madam’s treatment. She was a member of the faithful. I generally retired between nine-thirty and ten each night, sleeping alone under a mosquito net in the study—quite at ease to rise or sleep as I pleased. Upon waking, I would immediately open the storm shutters to find the morning’s refreshing coolness softly caressing my warm cheeks, while courtesan flowers, morning glories, sunflowers, and balsams bloomed in harmony—though nothing brought greater joy than seeing the evening primrose tenderly smiling among them. That night was another dark one beneath a haloed hazy moon, yet the evening primroses bloomed faintly white from the shadows, evoking scenes of home.

Occasionally evening showers came; they were truly pleasant things—the day’s heat was completely swept away，and I felt 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 tall. Two vivid crimson large blooms had opened. "If they hadn’t been broken by the wind，they would have grown a bit taller and bloomed more abundantly…，” Madam remarked. Because the garden was spacious，Young Master Haruhiko collected insects every morning. He put water in a jar and filled it with all sorts of strange insects—flies，pill bugs，what have you—then brought them to me，so I played along with him，roughhousing about. Since I often kept him company by playing the harmonica or reading books，he said he liked Yukie.

I taught English every night without fail. Lately, as it made me sleepy, we did one lesson at a time. I had recently received two English dictionaries from Professor Kindaichi—a small one and a large one. As I continued cultivating myself in this manner—maintaining a sincere heart free of resentment and striving to remain gentle and modest—both the Professor and Madam showed me great kindness. The baby named Wakaba-san had grown remarkably big lately and become round and plump. Having become a perfectly round little baldhead, she constantly wanted to go outside; since everyone in the household took turns carrying her out until she turned quite dark-skinned—so much so that no one meeting her outdoors would believe she was a girl.

I was delighted to learn that you, Father and Mother, had paid your respects to His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince. Though residing in Tokyo myself, I have yet to pay respects to any members of the imperial family. Were I to continue writing, I could fill pages until tomorrow dawns, but as this would require an excessive number of postage stamps, I shall conclude here. Ah—I must add that having received five yen as pocket money from Professor Kindaichi five or six days prior, I no longer face financial difficulties. Therefore, I earnestly entreat you to devote all income from Ikasaki and other sources to my brothers' school fees. You must not concern yourselves about me in the slightest.

As it is nighttime and I write down my thoughts as they come to me, this text has grown quite lengthy—I must apologize for its disarray. Please bear with me as you read through this. When time allows, I humbly request letters in my own modest way. I hear Noboribetsu too has been terribly hot; please devote yourselves fully to self-care, everyone. Takao returns in two or three days—how many days of rest will he have? I pray Takao, Mashibo, and Misao do not catch chills, fall ill, or tumble into rivers. May Yama no Fuchi not overwork herself until her bones ache here and there. Please convey my regards to Hama no Fuchi as well. I pray Fuchi and the others may play together in harmony.

To all others, please convey my regards. I shall take my leave here. I will write much more next time. Even living alone in Tokyo, I do not feel the least bit lonely. No feeling equals the happiness of entrusting myself to God and praying for my household and others. Farewell, and rest well. Please give my warm wishes to Fuchi and the others, Takao, Mashibo, and Misao.

I wonder what has become of Sister Usu.

Beloved Father,

Beloved Mother,

August 1, 11:15 PM - Finished writing

To Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

Dated September 4, Taishō 11 (1922) (Sent from Tokyo)

I am deeply grateful for your recent letter. It brings me heartfelt joy to know everyone remains well as you spend your days. The long summer vacation passed like a dream, and now that your beloved children have scattered back to their studies, you must feel quite lonesome. Though Mashibo's return was delayed by railway troubles, he must now be studying safely in Asahikawa. I did not reply at once, which surely caused you concern. You may have grown cross with me again. It has been about a week since I last wrote. Though my perpetual illnesses make me most unworthy, I read your previous letter on the 28th while confined to bed. Precisely from dawn that day I began suffering, lying without taking meals. I endured a truly dreadful trial. My stomach had turned against me.

When my illness from early August healed and the weather grew slightly cooler, the food became so delicious that I ate heartily every day. Though I say "heartily," it was only two bowls each time. Since there were days with heaping portions, it averaged out to about two and a third bowls. Then three or four days before the relapse, I developed mild constipation and abdominal bloating, but on the evening of the 27th when Madam boiled potatoes—a rare treat—I ate a plateful that must have churned violently in my stomach, for at dawn my upper abdomen began aching. This brought such pain—as if drills were boring through both sides of my chest near the spine and kneading my entire back—that whether lying straight, sideways, face-up, prone, standing or sitting, I found no relief and gasped as though suffocating. But since Madam was sleeping deeply, I tried to stay quiet; what began around two o'clock gradually eased by four, and when I rose at half past four to sit in the study, the pain had subsided considerably. Professor Kindaichi had departed for Morioka at 11 PM on the 25th and returned around 7 AM on the 28th. That whole day I alternated between lying down and sitting up in bed, each breath stabbing my chest, but by the next day I felt much improved. Professor Kindaichi made special efforts to visit Dr. Sakaguchi at the university hospital, but I understand he was absent.

Then came the thirtieth—it must have been around five in the morning when my heart began acting up this time, leaving me unable to breathe. Madam rushed to call a doctor, the maid went to buy ice, Professor Kindaichi cooled me with water and made me drink it, and Young Master Haruhiko rubbed my back—the entire household attended to me. Thanks to their care, the palpitations subsided in about five minutes. Doctors named Okamura and Okazaki came to examine me. At that time, it was quite hot—a period when stomachs grew sensitive; even healthy people would develop stomach troubles if they ate their usual portions, I hear. Yet because my heart is weak, even slight stomach swelling immediately affects it, they say. I had become utterly worn out and for three days ate practically nothing—just half a bowl of milk daily while taking digestive medicine from the doctors—but since two days ago I had fully recovered. Though it would have been fine to rise earlier, I remained abed out of caution until yesterday. Today I am up. The reason I worsened on the thirtieth was that—having felt quite well the previous day—I ate nearly a full bowl of rice porridge and an egg, which proved ill-advised. If only I had been prudent then and eaten nothing. It seems poor Mr. Stomach—already weakened by summer's heat—had more forced into him daily, while Mr. Intestines became a warehouse brimming with matter that produced toxic gas. Pressed from both sides, Mr. Heart struggled in agony day and night until—driven beyond endurance—he erupted in death-throes fury. Still, having improved this much fills me with deepest gratitude. I sincerely apologize for dwelling so long on my ailments. For me too—this being such a precious opportunity—I have mountains of things I wish to learn by staying another year or two without letting time slip away; yet now returning home in such sickly state brings sorrow enough to draw tears. But dear Father and Mother—what does God mean for me to achieve by granting this illness? I ponder deeply. Is it due to my sinful nature—this death that could transcend all grief and joy, wrath and desire! Even as I recall this thought, I pass days in gratitude—believing God must intend even someone as sin-burdened and frail as myself to accomplish some purpose.

I wished to become a young child once more and return to the side of my dear parents. Contemplating what I ought to do, I sought your guidance, Father and Mother. Half a year or a year... The mother in Asahikawa would surely permit it. We had decided with the Professor and Madam to depart on the twenty-fifth of this month. Might this be too soon? The Professor had suggested the Muroran route would still be preferable. Before then, arrangements had been made for him to take me to the university hospital once. I was to be examined by Dr. Sakaguchi and receive detailed instructions regarding future convalescence methods. Young Master Haruhiko had been attending school since the first, while the Professor apparently went out today to Jissen Women's School. Just when one thought the baby was doing well, his stool had softened again, becoming a source of worry for Madam. Even so, he seemed to have grown much sturdier lately. Madam, while the Professor was away visiting his hometown, had slept soundly—her headaches improving somewhat as I took his place in nighttime baby care—but recently she did not appear well again. They said she would fly into a rage and wish to die whenever she heard the baby cry. I felt deeply apologetic for being among the causes of her headaches. When somewhat recovered, her spirits rose remarkably—she would lament her quick temper and offer admirable thoughts on self-cultivation—but during relapses, they said she became filled with such anger that she simply wished to perish, unable to endure her own fury. Neurasthenia struck me as a truly terrifying illness. The Professor's patience remained astounding beyond measure. Yet both he and Madam claimed that among all who had lived with them before, none had shown patience equal to mine. Though I held no anger toward anything, lying ill in bed left me feeling pitiful beyond endurance.

I could not even hold the baby when it cried; Madam was left alone fretting and nearly in tears; the maid was doing laundry; the Professor was busy with his studies—and there I lay alone in bed, having them prepare porridge for me. But I had improved by then, so it was alright.

I do not know what I have written today, but I sincerely apologize for this haphazard composition. I shall return on the 25th, and beg your kind indulgence. As Mother in Asahikawa will send the train fare, I humbly entreat you to provide only the wicker trunk and bento expenses at your convenience. Should my body continue failing thus frequently, it would prove most burdensome; wishing to avoid troubling others with my frailty, I desire to return before becoming a hindrance. The journey itself holds no peril. I suffer no seasickness aboard ships nor trains...

I had come to feel quite autumnal. At night, the plaintive sound of insects resonated through every hour. The Professor had been meant to complete the oina during summer break but finished only half; now he was overwhelmed between schoolwork and that task. Young Master Haruhiko made daily visits to the study upon hearing of my impending return, clamoring to give me keepsakes like flower seeds and Nanjing jade pieces, while Madam declared she waited each day to share the manju and yōkan confections the Professor had brought from Morioka. They said there would be sweet red bean soup for me once I recovered this time. When Madam and I last spoke privately about my departure—she urging me to return next year—she too wept.

If only my heart were well and Madam’s head were better, we could live joyfully every day—as the saying goes about fellow sufferers commiserating, we too shared a heartfelt conversation. Then she said, “I’m truly sorry—if only I were more clear-headed myself, I wouldn’t have to make you worry or feel burdened at all. Yet sending you back without anything pleasant to remember is genuinely painful.” According to what the Professor and Madam said, I heard that a grant for Ainu research would be provided by the university. The one that was supposed to be awarded this year had not been, so I heard it would definitely be awarded next year or so, and if that happened, they said they would summon me back to learn flower arrangement or something else I might like. They had lamented that what they truly believed would be completed this year had not come to pass. Ah well, I shall discuss all manner of things in detail after returning home. In any case, I will return on the 25th.

Regarding the funds from Asahikawa, they say the money will be sent on the 15th, but as I need a wicker trunk, I must apologize for my selfishness and humbly request that you might kindly send only its cost beforehand if possible. Should I receive a farewell gift from Professor Kindaichi, I shall purchase books or such with it for my return home. As cooler weather stirs appetites yet makes stomachs prone to trouble, I beg everyone at home to take utmost care. Please give my warm regards to Misao. Convey my deepest respects to Fuchi and all there. A letter arrived during my illness stating that Michio-san too had been hospitalized. What an utterly trying situation this is. If illness must come, how glad I would be if all ailments of other bright young souls might gather here to me instead, leaving none else afflicted. I have yet to send that person a get-well note either—he must surely resent me for it.

Well then, I shall take my leave here. Farewell.

From Yukie Beloved

Father

Mother

Addressed to Chiri Takayoshi and Namiko

September 14, Taishō 11 (1922) (Sent from Tokyo)

Beloved Father and Mother, I was truly grateful that you sent me a letter amidst your busyness. I was truly at a loss for how to express my gratitude for your having kindly sent such a large sum of money. I was truly grateful that I made such a request during your inconvenient time. I had been scheduled to return on the 25th, but as the doctor advised me to stay a little longer, I decided to depart on the 10th of October. I had become unusually thin, so I resolved to return once I had fully recovered. But lately I had mostly returned to my original plumpness. There remained approximately one month still. Young Master Haruhiko was absolutely delighted. It seemed my Kamuy Kara book would also be completed soon. Yesterday, Viscount Shibusawa’s grandson specially brought that manuscript; after correcting errors, it would be sent to Mr. Okamura’s place and then to the printing office. Shibusawa-san had been supposed to invite the Professor and me to his residence, but it seemed that this time, having been suddenly ordered to be stationed in London, he had become too busy. He had been an impressive person.

Young Master Haruhiko was stung by a poisonous insect, causing the tip [of his penis] to become swollen like a penis, so he went to the doctor and missed two days of school. Today, he has completely recovered and went to school in good spirits. The baby was well; Madam, as always, alternated between better and worse, her mood improving and deteriorating. The Professor was busy commuting to school.

I helped Madam with her sewing, kept company with the Professor for Ainu language matters, wrote yukar epics, and did as I pleased.

It seemed I spent much time keeping Young Master Haruhiko company and caring for the baby. The baby had plumped up lately and become very heavy.

The news of Mr. Kanematsu’s passing—how dreadful. He has finally passed away, hasn’t he? How everyone must be grieving. I can scarcely bear the sympathy.

On the 7th, I received a diagnosis from an eminent physician. The day before that, the Professor had attended an alumni gathering somewhere, and during that occasion, he made the request. On that seventh day came Dr. Onozora—a man from the same hometown as the Professor and his middle school classmate, now a medical professor at Kyushu Imperial University who single-handedly managed Kyushu University Hospital, which spoke to his formidable capability—a large, stout man resembling Mr. Iwane with smooth skin. He examined me thoroughly in the parlor. After speaking at length with the Professor about something, he prepared a medical certificate. Madam also had herself examined. Madam has nothing physically wrong; it seems she will recover through mental fortitude alone. As for me, it remains mitral stenosis—that heart condition—with no other illnesses present. My respiratory system also appears sound. And just as Dr. Sakaguchi had previously stated, overexertion risks one's life while quiet rest prolongs it. The medical certificate explicitly stated marriage was inadvisable. Please rest assured.

I knew better than anyone that my body was weak. I also knew full well that with this body, I lacked the qualifications for marriage. Even so, I was still human. The same lifeblood that courses through any human body flowed from this damaged, imperfect heart of mine, yet still I harbored in my breast the myriad fantasies and ideals that any child of man might possess, and something akin to a longing for family life. Truly, just as my flesh was weak, so too was my heart. While believing it impossible for myself, even so, it was so... Though I had fully prepared myself for it, when I received the final verdict, the pain was unbearable. No matter how I sought self-improvement, this heart I had been steeling would not obey. Though I had long anticipated this outcome, I who could do nothing about these bitter tears that threatened to crush me—please do not laugh at me. I am truly foolish...

But it was a struggle in the deepest depths of my heart—one that ultimately had to be conquered. I clearly recognized the radiant light of hope shining before me. As I, in my past sin-laden and timorous self, was surely meant to taste this anguish as my due, I offer my true repentance. And from 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 accomplish—to write down and preserve the literary works our beloved people have passed down through thousands of years. For this work is the most suitable and noble undertaking for me. The twenty years of illness, the anguish of repentance for my sins—all these things must have been the whip of love that God bestowed upon me. All these experiences have tempered and refined me, making me realize that my mission is truly singular... After writhing in torment, I resolved to cast aside all worldly desires and trivial things, enter a new life, and live purely with penitence, gratitude, and love. Before God—having betrayed my dear parents and all people—I, this deeply sinful daughter Yukie, thus resolve to be reborn. I earnestly beseech both Father and Mother to forgive my past self. I earnestly beg your forgiveness. Please nurture and guide Yukie from now on. I will return to your side.

I wish to spend my entire life in Noboribetsu. With but a single pen as my capital, I am beginning this new endeavor. For a human life that knows not even tomorrow - if one lives each granted day purely, beautifully, and faithfully, passing them ever ready to answer the call whenever it may come, then that suffices. I intend to live embracing greater love born of smaller loves. My present state of mind is peaceful to the point of tears. Without resentment or bitterness, I am filled with naught but gratitude.

I cannot possibly express all my feelings. Yet what Murai of Nayoro will feel about this matter strikes my heart. However, I earnestly pray that he may truly love me in a better and higher way, consider our mutual happiness, and render an understanding judgment upon this matter.

Truly, I was a sinful being. I earnestly beseech you to please forgive me. Shamelessly writing such things to my parents, I can only imagine how displeased you must be. I will maintain silence for the rest of my life from this point onward. I will live in true silence. However, before entering that life, I must convey to you, Father and Mother, how my heart has transformed through the suffering and lamentation bestowed upon me as a human in this world, and through the great love and awareness of my mission that were granted to me in the end. Please understand.

Yesterday I notified those in Nayoro. What manner of reply may come I cannot know. Should any occasion arise through your benevolence to speak some word to him, my happiness would know no greater measure. Pray convey my respects to Fuchi and all others. I shall be able to meet you around October twelfth. Your coming as far as Muroran would weigh too heavily upon me. My deepest gratitude. Please set aside some pumpkins and potatoes. I find myself desiring oil-rich kinaohau and endosayo. It seems before returning I shall again go somewhere with Madam. By a letter from Asahikawa I heard something of Sister Usu being in turmoil – what has transpired? Though Hokkaido appears much distressed by floods here and there making times hard, rice must be dear there now.

A letter came from Mr. Michio saying he was still hospitalized, but since he seemed to have improved considerably, I was relieved. Poor Mashibo—she went through such hardship to go to Asahikawa. As for Takao, no matter how many letters I sent, I still hadn't received a single reply. I was sure he was in good health. Please give my regards to Misao-chan.

It must be the busy farming season, and everyone must be occupied. Tokyo had grown hot again of late. Yet still an autumnal atmosphere was richly filling both the crisp blue sky and the wind that swayed the leaves. Hokkaido must have turned cool by now. While wondering whether my postcard would reach Unarape in Tonkeshi, I sent it off some days prior—when the reply arrived yesterday, I found myself laughing alone. The child of Professor's younger brother Mr. Naoe had recently passed away from meningitis; memorial sweets sent for the service had arrived, and we were eating these delicious confections. Tonight I had done nothing but list trivial matters. I earnestly beseech you to forgive me.

The other day, I truly caused you worry. This time, I shall be perfectly well until my return. Now I am filled with a peaceful, peaceful feeling of gratitude, such that I feel I could love everyone—anyone at all. I most earnestly beg you both to please take good care of your health. Farewell. From Yukie

Beloved Father

Beloved Mother