Pathway to Japanese Literature

Now, everyone.

I tried calling out like that, but I have absolutely no idea who might be listening or what expressions they might have.

Though there was an audience, it was as if there were none—making it truly difficult for me to find the right rhythm in speaking, but—

From nowhere in particular, only a voice could be heard.
That was the story created by a certain someone of some sort, it was said.

The mysteries of this world are also but a diversion on a Showa spring night.

Looking around, there are no particularly interesting stories to be found around the author at present.

It seems to me that one characteristic of modern culture lies in bringing distant things near, so if you will indulge me, I shall choose a time and place that are somewhat remote.

As for the title, in desperation, I tried calling it "Smoke". Would this be considered a pun—going against radio, having form without sound—or not…?

First, please recall an era from fifteen or sixteen years ago—immediately after the curtain fell on the Great European War—a time when both land and sea still bore countless bloodstained impressions.

Musical performance (Italian-style march)

The spring of 1920 had climbed up from the southern tip of the Italian Peninsula and was beginning to approach the distant northern border.

It was Tyrol—a mountainous land that, as a result of the Treaty of Versailles, had been newly wrested from enemy nation Austria.

This region, forming the southern slopes of the Alps,

Old history, beautiful nature, and simple life maintained a splendid harmony there.

Nearby, the peaks of white mountains shone.
From their midslopes, green pastures showed gentle undulations as they extended toward the valley, bringing into relief for the first time a small cluster of gray-shadowed villages.

Let us descend the cypress-covered foothill path.
We encountered a flock of sheep with bells around their necks.
If it were evening, the shepherd boy would frantically blow his horn.
A dog chased after the lamb climbing up the cliff from behind.
When they came to a crossroad**,** **the** **boy** **stopped**.
Because a crucifix of Christ stood there against the sunset sky.
The boy knelt before it.
At that very moment, the prayer bell from the village church would have been resounding.

Now he had to hurry back.
Taking a shortcut, he cut through the apple orchard.
Apple blossoms were already beginning to bloom here and there.

It was the village entrance.

A girl carrying a milk bucket walked alone through the hushed town.

"Eliza!"

The shepherd boy shouted like this.

The girl turned around.
She probably laughed instead of replying.

Her back was already crossing the square and ascending the steps of a certain shabby house.

“What were you dawdling around for?”

From the back, her father’s frantic voice greeted her.

“But…”

As the daughter tried to say something in return, he cut her off—

“Hurry up and get ready.
The pickup from Brenner Hotel has come.”

“Brenner Hotel… Oh, at this hour…?”

“They’re important guests.
They’re something called a Border Delimitation Committee—you know, that thing—apparently a group of twenty or more people.
They’re supposed to stay about a month.
Go help out.”

“They’re all foreigners, I suppose.”

“Of course.”
“England, France, Japan…”
“Are there macaronis too?”
“Italians, huh… Yeah…”

That evening, Eliza was put on the pickup carriage and went out to the nearby Brenner Hotel as a temporary maid.
Even now, recalling that time sends shivers down one’s spine—from morning till night, ceaseless gunshots, the clatter of horse hooves, stretchers ferrying wounded soldiers back and forth, the shadows of airplane wings skimming past windows… .
Before long, the Austrian allies were relentlessly driven north, and Italian soldiers sternly secured every crossroads with their bayonets.

Even today, a year after that, Eliza’s chest still sometimes trembles with fear and anger.

However, as the carriage jostled along the mountain path at night, Eliza’s spirits gradually brightened.

From the monotony of her daily life, merely imagining the lively atmosphere of the hotel made the seventeen-year-old girl’s heart leap without reason.

(Music if required)

The next morning, five military vehicles, each flying a different national flag, arrived at the hotel’s entrance.

The lead vehicle flew the Italian flag.
From that vehicle descended an eccentric old general and his seemingly dutiful adjutant.

Next came the French Tricolor: two dashing officers in sky-blue uniforms, followed by a middle-aged woman with two children.

Next came England: a gaunt, spiteful-looking officer in a khaki uniform and his entourage.

The fourth vehicle bore the Hinomaru flag.
A first-seen Easterner—a military man who looked fiercely formidable at a glance—and a youth in a European-style coat with a woolen scarf around his neck.

Last came dear Austria… they deliberately dressed in plain clothes, concealing themselves as representatives of a defeated nation.

The group soon took their positions in the salon and began chatting in various languages.
The manager was going around greeting each person one by one.

The room assignments were completed.

“Don’t just stand there dawdling; get the dining room ready.”

Until yesterday, this Jewish manager—who had held German nationality—now efficiently issued commands.

Eliza was instructed by the head waiter of the dining room to decorate the tables with flowers.

She brought pots of geraniums and primroses from the frame at the back.

Then, she wiped the windows.

The snow had melted, and parts of the mountainside, hazy with a purple tint, could be seen through the glass, evoking the gentle breath of spring.
When she lowered her eyes to the lawn, here and there, saffron sprouts were stretching up.
A wagtail shook its long tail as it flitted from branch to branch of the white birch trees.

Just then, suddenly, from behind—

“Can’t you make something to eat?”

The moment she heard such a voice in accented German, there already stood two Italian officers who had arrived that morning right beside her.
The older man was Colonel Novis of the Engineer Corps attached to the General Staff, and the young officer who appeared to be his adjutant was a Jaeger Cavalry Lieutenant named Lunato Parlyaani.
He was probably just around twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
The features of his face, now that he had removed his hat, were far calmer than the impression he had given earlier.
But perhaps that was also because the eyes turned toward her were laughing cheerfully.

Eliza started and unconsciously pulled down her green apron with both hands.

"I'm starving—anything will do—just make something quick..."

The young officer pressed further.

"Well then, I'll go ask about it."

Having answered thus, she ran to the head waiter’s station, but along the way, Eliza found herself growing somewhat wretched at the thought that those were enemy officers.
She realized she should have given a much more curt reply as was proper.

After delivering the ordered cheese omelet, she stood as far away from the table as possible.

The two officers were utterly engrossed in eating and talking, as if they had completely forgotten her presence.
Since Eliza hardly understood Italian, she couldn’t grasp the meaning, but she thought they were likely discussing something unfavorable to Austria.

When the meal was finished, she took the bill and went,

“Were you born in this land?”

the young officer asked.

When she nodded silently, this time,

“Is there no one—your father or brother—who died in the war?”
“Do you wish to remain Austrian forever?”
“Do you know that South Tyrol was once Italian territory?”
“Italy’s military may be strong in war, but they would never act violently,”

He initiated various other conversations.

Pointing at the old castle visible in the distant mountains through the window, he asked, “Who lives there now?” When she answered as she knew—“The Marquis Garmont family”—he said, “You see? That name has been passed down since Roman times.”

He tapped her shoulder with evident pride.
With a feeling that was a strangely intermingled mix of familiarity and defiance, Eliza was at a loss where to look.

No matter what he said, she had resolved not to speak a word—but the officer paid no heed, and in the end, chattering away to himself with remarks like, “What’s your name? How old are you? …Oh, my apologies… I suppose I don’t need to ask,” he left the dining room.

That evening, a dinner party was held by invitation of the garrison commander.
Local dignitaries, several groups accompanied by their wives and daughters, also attended the gathering.

It was a splendid night—the likes of which had not been seen at this hotel since the war.

A Tyrolean band began to play a waltz.

In the hall, black enamel boots and silver-embroidered sandals were already treading light steps.

Eliza had been watching this scene from behind the dining room door, holding her breath for some time now, but suddenly, reflecting on her own appearance, she left the spot as if in shame.

From the kitchen, she slipped out quietly to the back door.

She passed through the greenhouse, reached a corner of the garden that served as an open-air dining area, pressed the back of one hand against her flushed cheek, and let out a heavy sigh.

This was what her own country, now defeated in war, was actually doing.
Could such a strange thing be possible?
If Father saw this, what would he say...
Where had Austria’s sorrow gone?
Where were people swallowing their tears and clenching their teeth...?

She fixed her gaze and stared up at the sky.
Then, under the starlight, a face floated dimly into view... but when she noticed it, it vanished instantly...
It was indeed the smiling face of the young Italian officer who had spoken to her that morning.

Music (a Central European composer’s waltz)

Lieutenant Lunato Parlyaani, upon returning to his room that evening, promptly spread out a military map of the Brenner region, drew a red line along the Alpine watershed tentatively determined by the treaty, measured the distances between key points with a compass, and selected the automobile road leading to tomorrow’s assembly point at Mendell Pass.

When that was done, he knocked on the door of the adjacent room,

“Colonel Novis, have you already retired for the night?”

“No, you’re still up too?”
“Well, come in.”

The two men discussed tomorrow’s field survey. They were to call together representatives of the residents and hear the economic conditions of this region. In addition, among the committee members, they would study and debate various political and military conditions, weigh the ever-conflicting interests of Austria and Italy, and then the committee would finalize the border—such was the procedure.

Therefore, both the Austrian and Italian sides were employing every means possible to win over the residents and have them submit proposals advantageous to their respective countries.

However, given that the region was already under Italian military control, open military interference was carried out.
They were also free to entice with money and valuables.
Therefore, each time the committee convened, Austria’s claims were betrayed, and its representatives had to exchange anguished telegrams with their home government.

Five automobiles carrying representatives from various nations solemnly passed through the mountain road connecting the hotel and Mendell Pass twice daily—morning and evening—and this spectacle was watched by many eyes.

Amidst the swirling dust, a dog with a shattered spine wailed.

At last, the on-site surveys were completed, and a final meeting convened in one of the hotel rooms.
As usual, the Austrian concession was declared.
Among the tense faces emerging from the room, the one showing particular weariness was—needless to say—Major Gerber, the Austrian representative.
In response to this, Colonel Novis, the Italian representative, prompted his adjutant Lieutenant Parlyaani to immediately begin organizing the survey team.
This was to drive stakes into the newly decided border.

The next day, the survey team began their work.
Colonel Novis announced one day that he would go out to inspect the work.

“Ah, never mind that. I’m going to see the famous pottery instead.”
“They apparently make interesting things there.”
“Four or five plates wouldn’t be much luggage.”
“You come too.”
“If you’ve got a wife, dishes are the first thing you need to get in order.”

He grabbed his adjutant Lieutenant Parlyaani and made such a quip.

“Well then, my apologies for the trouble, but have them prepare the car.”

Casually seizing his service cap adorned with hawk feathers, the Colonel had already risen to his feet.

Lieutenant Parlyaani went to the drivers’ waiting area there and,

“Hey! The car…”
“Colonel Novis will be visiting Mendell’s pottery factory.”

At that precise moment, Eliza—who had been passing casually behind the lieutenant—suddenly pricked up her ears at those words.

She clearly understood its meaning.

An irrepressible emotion spread through the chest, and with that, she turned back toward the rear and retrieved a small bundle of wire from the storage shed.

She hid it beneath her apron, stealthily hugged the building’s shadow, and darted out toward the main road.
After that, she acted in a frenzy.
Treading through the dew-soaked pasture grass and brushing aside spiderwebs and thorns, she appeared at a certain curve along the automobile road leading to Mendell Pass.
From there onward, the road became a slightly flat straight line.
It was a stretch where cars would accelerate to their maximum speed.
There, a row of thickly leafed cypress trees formed an avenue, and through their gaps, the hotel gate could be seen.

She kept running straight along the road at a steady pace.
After some deliberation, she securely fastened one end of the wire around a nearby tree at what she judged to be neck height.
Then she loosely coiled the other end around a tree across the road, positioning it to snap taut when pulled.
Now she sought a hiding spot nearby.
A patch of grass left ungrazed by cows would serve well enough.
At last she found it.

When she looked, there it was—the familiar open-top car with the Italian flag mounted at the front had already left the hotel gate behind and came speeding at full throttle.

Will it work?

While thinking this, she pulled the wire with all her strength and, with her entire body, spun round and round the tree.

The growling engine sound bored into her ears.

She closed her eyes and crawled out of the road.
She groped through the grass from earlier and found it by feel.
She quietly raised her face.

At that instant, slicing through the wind, the dark green vehicle grazed past before her eyes.

“Ah—”

She had cried out involuntarily—
And with face still covered by both hands, collapsed there.

Music.

How much time had passed? When she came to her senses, she found herself held in the arms of a sturdy man.

Her eyes—narrow yet wide open—what had they seen?
It was Lieutenant Parlyaani’s face, brows furrowed and lips pressed tight.

The lieutenant remained silent, staring into her eyes.
Rather than reproach, his gaze held something closer to pity; he quietly lifted her body and motioned with his chin toward the side.

There lay Colonel Novis’s mangled corpse, collapsed like a drunkard.

The car soon arrived at the hotel.

In the solemn chaos, Colonel Novis was carried to a bed, and Eliza was led to Lieutenant Parlyaani’s room.

There, without delay, the interrogation began.

The lieutenant had to report the full details of the incident to the authorities and dispose of the custody of this beautiful culprit.
Eliza was given a chair.

Her slightly pale cheeks were unlike her usual self, but her round black eyes—accentuated by their rapid blinking—and her faintly trembling innocent lips already bore a hue as though she were remorseful for her crime.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Even so, the lieutenant began speaking, weighing each word with gravity.

“Who told you to do such a thing?”

“...”

“If you stay silent, I’ll have your father brought here.”

“Oh…
“I wasn’t told by anyone.”
“Father doesn’t know anything.”
“I swear to God.”

“Alright then—what were you thinking when you did such a thing?
“Answer me clearly.”

“For Austria.”

“Hmm, you’re still a child—you likely understand nothing—”
“Listen well. What you’ve done isn’t for Austria’s sake. Quite the opposite.”
“Starting tomorrow, Austria will be placed in an even more disadvantageous position.”
“They’ll have to pay enormous reparations.”
“This might reignite the war—Italy could seize Vienna itself.”

“No—there’s no law permitting that.”
“Austria is already on the verge of losing half of Tyrol.”
“Who tore us away from Austria?”
“You did.”
“You Italians.”
“Ah—would God ever allow such a thing?”

“Stop talking nonsense… Italians bear no blame here.”
“That’s simply how war works.”
“You Austrians must have suffered your share of grief.”
“We endure equal hardships.”
“Did you mean to kill me too?”

Here，Eliza，in the depths of teary eyes，unknowingly let a smile surface，

“But I didn’t think you’d be riding in it today.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than she rolled up that green apron with both hands and held it like a folding screen before her face.

Lieutenant Parlyaani flinched.
And, unintentionally averting his eyes from her, he thought about what position he now held.

This won’t do.
I’m not myself.
If I let the conversation continue like this, matters will grow troublesome.
Having realized this, he steadied his tone once more,

“In any case—you hate Italians, don’t you? Therefore you resolved to take revenge. Very well. So you installed that contraption to kill us. An ingenious idea—but who instructed you in making such a device?”

“I thought of it myself.”

“Liar!”

This single word indeed carried a cold, sharp resonance.
Eliza widened her eyes.
For the first time, she felt her fate was in terrifying hands.
Her shoulders trembled violently.

“How the court-martial will judge you—that’s something even I don’t know.”
“But you must have been prepared for all of this.”
“However, the one thing I want to ask is whether you regret what you’ve done.”
“I want to clearly document that in the report.”
“I consider this my duty.”
“How about it?”
“Even if you were ordered to do it again, you couldn’t, could you?”

Then Eliza suddenly lowered her face and began spilling tears copiously.

On the table lay a cigarette case adorned with gold lacquer. The lieutenant toyed with it using his fingertips as he waited intently for Eliza's response. Now that he thought of it, this cigarette case had saved his life—for at that very moment, he had leaned forward to light his cigarette, which coincidentally caused him to pass beneath the wire. When he recalled this, the lieutenant repeated in his heart those words Eliza had spoken earlier: "I didn’t think you’d be in the car."

I surely should not have concerned myself with this girl.
I have no real memory of ever speaking to her in a friendly manner.
Of course, it was true that at first, I was somewhat drawn to her as a cute girl. But between being busy and her rather unfriendly demeanor, I never developed any further interest in her.
However, today, with this unimaginable event having occurred—and for me, who now sits facing this girl, attempting to probe every corner of her heart—her earlier confession carries a meaning far too cruel.

No matter how much he tried to drive it away, the sprout of sympathy that had been cruelly planted continued to spread within the lieutenant’s chest.

“Then, I’ll stop questioning you any further.”

And with that, Lieutenant Parlyaani abruptly stood up from his chair.

“Even if you’re still a child, and even if I see no responsibility in you, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I will now send you to military headquarters.”
“Goodbye, Eliza.”

An escort was dispatched from the Brenner garrison, and within that same day, Eliza was sent to the military headquarters in VeloOna.

The lunchtime dining hall was abuzz with talk of this incident.

The Austrian committee members did not show themselves for some reason.
The French and British committee members both let their thoughts drift to their own countries’ histories.
From someone among them, the name Gianduac was mentioned.

This rumor instantly spread throughout the entire village.

Of course, it could not help but reach even the ears of the father as he dug in the vineyard.

He clenched his fist and thrust it into the air.

“She did it!”

The people surrounded this father and lavished praise on his daughter’s heroic act.
Their voices could not be too loud.

An ominous premonition coursed through the ground.

Sure enough, one week later, a proclamation was issued by order of the Italian military commander sentencing Eliza to execution by firing squad.

At the same time, an ominous commotion welled up in the villages across South Tyrol, and along the border, it seemed as though another storm was about to descend.

Armed forces were deployed.

(If necessary, play music.)

One morning, like lightning streaking through dense clouds, a troop of cavalrymen passed through Brenner’s main street.

After that, a car transporting Eliza approached the town square.

The crowd wordlessly watched it pass.
In front of the church, the car stopped.

The people watched through clouded eyes as Eliza, drained of color, staggered forward.
Eliza knelt on the paving stones.

A flock of pigeons that had been pecking at feed startled and took flight.

At that exact moment, Lieutenant Parlyaani was gazing at the sky from a window in a room of the Brenner Hotel.

The sky was crisply clear.

On the slender, pointed steeple, a flock of pigeons were tracing a circle.

Lieutenant Parlyaani looked at the wristwatch.
And,

"Two minutes left."

Lieutenant Parlyaani murmured under his breath.

Eliza's end was drawing near.

"In the name of nations, even virtue becomes tragedy," the lieutenant suddenly thought at that moment.

He made the sign of the cross.

And at that moment, the gunshot echoed.
The echo reverberated through the valleys.
The pigeons scattered in all directions.
A wisp of smoke rose faintly afterward.

Music played.
The bells tolled.