Pathway to Japanese Literature

Sakaki Uichirō: Patented Kitchen Gloves Manufacturing Business

Toma: His Wife

Imada Sueko: A Female Relative
Tsubata Tadashi: Physician
Otake Hokao: Salesman

Kinu: Maid

Miki: Errand Boy

Matsubara Enzō: Physician

Sakaki Uichirō’s combined residence and factory—a two-story Japanese house showing its age. The rental property still bore earthquake damage and had been further worn down by tenants who did little more than hasten its decay; yet its construction remained impressive in scale, with even a single pillar commanding dignified presence. Several downstairs rooms had been allocated as factory space while the two upstairs rooms served as living quarters for the master and his wife. One was a ten-mat formal room carpeted and furnished entirely in Western-style parlor fashion with tables and chairs, though containing in one corner a sofa that doubled as a bed—the very piece upon which Sakaki Uichirō now lay. Adjoining this stood an eight-mat room of purely Japanese design. A chest of drawers, dressing table, long hibachi, and other standard furnishings occupied the space. Amidst the stylistic discord, it somehow exuded an air of lived-in comfort.

The setting was this second floor.
The far front was partitioned by sliding paper doors into an engawa.

In early winter, around 2 PM, the sky was clear.

“Ugh, it hurts, it hurts!”
“See there? Even if no one’s around, it hurts when it hurts!”
“Exaggerating about an illness—that’s not in my nature.”
“Hey Wife—sorry—but give me another two minutes of rubbing.”
“Wife—aren’t you there?”
(He pressed the call bell)

The maid Kinu came upstairs.

“Is there something you require?”

(Sniffing) “You’ve been messing with raw fish.”
“Let me make this clear—I hate that smell more than anything.”
“I’ve told my wife countless times already, but you’re still new here and haven’t been properly trained. Hurry up and go downstairs.”
“What’s my wife doing?”

Kinu: Madam is doing the laundry.

Uichirō: What?
"My wife is doing the laundry?"
"Fine."
"Put that aside for later and tell her to come here immediately."
(The maid exited.) Hmm, my lower back pain has subsided quite a bit.
But my heart remains just as unsettling as ever.
Thump-thump... thud... thump-thump... thud... thump-thump-thump.
It certainly is unsettling.

Toma, his wife, appeared.

Toma: “Weren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“Anyway, right now as you see, I’m wide awake waiting for you,” Uichirō said. “When I’m ill, you could at least stay by my side more. You don’t need to do laundry yourself. And did you put on the gloves?” He took his wife’s hand.

Toma: “You say that, but... I just can’t bring myself to use those kitchen gloves.”

Uichirō: “If it were other products, there’d be no need to go out of your way to use them.
Isn’t this the flawless product I patented and spread far and wide?
If you say such things, first of all, it doesn’t sound good to others.
‘No slipping, no tearing, no coming off.’
These kitchen gloves equipped with three major features—there’s nothing else like them on the market right now, you know.
That’s precisely why Senuma Shōkai has even gone so far as to propose buying the rights for 50,000 yen.
I won’t sell—not for that much money….
Even if we do nothing, we still have annual sales exceeding eighteen thousand yen.
Since the raw materials are cheaply obtained as you know, the profit margin ends up being roughly sixty percent—a pitiful rate indeed.
For a modern-day businessman to let twenty-six thousand yen sit idle in the bank—now that’s the stuff of dreams.
Ugh, I’m in pain.
My heart’s about to stop!
I'm sorry, but try rubbing it like that for me.”

Toma slid her right hand under the blanket. “Around here?”
“Goodness—you’re sweating.”

“It’s not from heat,” Uichirō snapped. “Lighter… Listen—I can’t trust that quack anymore.”
“Declaring it’s nothing after one glance? Peak irresponsibility.”
“My heart needs a proper physician.”

Toma pressed her palms flat against his ribs. “Switching doctors every week won’t help.”
“They say you need years treating someone to understand their constitution—or don’t you know?”

“That’s exactly why I want to settle on one doctor—but I still haven’t found one who fits the bill. Among those who’ve examined me so far, there were three so-called physicians, but not a single one was someone I felt I could entrust my life to. First off, their diagnoses are unreliable. They claim they’ll cure you in a week, yet even after a month they don’t fix it. From the start, they must’ve been making me take ineffective medicine.”

“That’s not how it is at all,” said Toma. “Your illness stumps most doctors, you know. After all, there’s not a single condition here that even qualifies as an actual illness.”

“That’s your go-to line,” Uichirō said. It could have been taken as criticism or consolation. Either way, he didn’t need that. “Listen—let me say this one last time. When I tell you I’m ill, you at least ought to show me a little more sympathy. When I say it hurts, you should gauge how much! That’s what makes us husband and wife, isn’t it? No—that’s my stomach. Higher. My heart is…”

Toma laughed. “After being made to rub your belly day in and day out lately, the habit stuck.”

“It’s not a laughing matter.”
“Ugh, I’m in agony.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Lower the pillow.”
“It seems someone’s come downstairs.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“Water… Give me water…”

The maid entered.

The maid said, “A Ms. Imada has arrived.”
Toma asked, “A man or a woman?”
The maid replied, “It is a lady.”
Toma said, “It’s Sueko—you may show her in here.”

“A visit at this hour?”

“Well, here will do.”
(The maid exited.) “Let’s tidy up a bit now.”

“Keep the room ready for guests anytime they might come.”
“A room should be tidy by default.”
“Only cleaning when needed turns it into a storage shed or trash pit.”
“Hand me that document.”
“What? You’ve already rolled it up?”

Imada Sueko came up.
A woman who appeared to be two or three years older than Toma.
She was carrying a gift box of sweets.

Toma: “My, it’s been a while...”

Sueko: “How is your condition...?”
“Though I keep thinking ‘tomorrow, tomorrow,’ you know how it is with children around.”
(Lowering her voice abruptly) “Oh my, is it truly serious?”

Toma (winking one eye): “Ah, who can say? Nothing’s certain yet.”

Sueko: “Stomach illnesses—even once they seem better, the aftereffects can be truly troublesome, you know.”

Uichirō cleared his throat.

Toma: “His stomach has completely recovered. This time it’s neuralgia, though…”

Uichirō (clears his throat again)

Toma: “Plus his heart seems a bit weak—he has these fits of suffering sometimes.”

Uichirō (in a breathless-sounding voice)

Sueko: “He truly does.”
“Are you giving him cold compresses or heat treatments?”

“Sueko… Welcome.”
“It’s nothing… really.” (Heaving a great sigh) “Just… just a little… Incidentally, how’s business at your place?”
(Smiling toward Sueko) “And how’s the little one? Not caught a cold, I hope?”

“You really shouldn’t talk so much, should you?”

“He was talking nonstop by himself until just now.”

“Hoh, hoh—it comes on paroxysmally, you know.”
“I’m feeling better now.”
“It seems they can’t tell.”
“This—this is definitely what they call valvular disease, you know.”
“Your father passed away from that, wasn’t it?”

“It was his heart,” Sueko affirmed.

“In the human body,” Uichirō declared, “the heart appears most vital.”
“Yet paradoxically fragile.”
“This thing called life—it dwells right beside the heart.”
“Sueko—this wife of mine resents my very illness.”

“Well naturally,” Toma countered.

“What’s ‘natural’ to you lies beyond Sueko’s comprehension.”
“Fundamentally ignorant of true sickness.”
“Not so for you.”
“Hospitalized twice—thrice was it?—your constitution weaker than your husband’s.”
“Yet fortunate in Shigeshichi’s devotion.”
“Daily hospital visits after work—I’ve heard tell.”
“Should he take ill next—you’d never grimace like this wife here.”

“Oh, when did I ever make a displeased face? Sueko really would do that.”

“Exactly. Who do you think I’m taking care of my body for? No children—parents who might as well be nowhere even if they exist—this me, who remained single past forty…”

Toma: “Hey… Must you be so loud…?”

Uichirō (smiling triumphantly at Sueko): “Seeing your face has suddenly revived me! But when you return home, do tell Shigeshichi this: ‘Sakaki Uichirō too has grown markedly weary of late—feels somehow unmoored. With no proper relatives to speak of, busy though you must be, you ought to visit sometimes and regale me with that hearty laugh of yours.’ So…”

“That’s exactly what we’ve been saying at home too.”
“Since we think of you like real siblings, we feel bad if we don’t visit often, but…”
“That’s because of that reluctant one, I suppose.”
“If I don’t practically push him out, he won’t even take a bath, you know…”
“Well then—hey, Toma-san, I have a favor to ask.”
“Hey, about these gloves here—could I possibly get just one pair at cost…?”
“The ones we received here are still perfectly usable, but the neighbor’s wife said that if that’s the case, you’d surely give us some special discount—I told them it’d be an easy favor….”

Uichirō: “Ah, yes, of course… I wouldn’t mind giving it for free…”

Sueko: “Oh no, that would be inconvenient.”

“Since it’s more convenient for me this way, let’s make it fifty percent off—half price,” said Uichirō. “Wrap it up for her.” He nodded curtly. “That should suffice.”

“I was told to check on you just once,” said Sueko. “I really can’t linger today.” She fussed with her gloves. “Well then… Take care… What should I tell him?” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “If I say it’s nothing serious… he’ll grow complacent again…”

Uichirō waved a dismissive hand. “Why not say it’s not yet a matter of days?”
“That would do nicely.”
“Ah… My apologies…”

(He heaved a deep sigh.)

Sueko and Toma went downstairs.

Eventually, Uichirō sat up on the sickbed.

What did they mean by 'come check on Uichirō's condition'? If I were dying on my deathbed, do they expect me to visit myself? Ill-intentioned wretches... Ah! The pain returns... This won't do... (Lies down) If calling a doctor—which one should I choose?

(Ringing the call bell) “Hey, my wife… My wife…”

Toma slowly came upstairs.

Uichirō: “What are you dawdling around for?”
“You wouldn’t go sending her off by car or anything now, would you?”
“Hey—quickly... Call a doctor... Call a doctor!”

Toma: “Who should I call?”
“That previous Dr.Yumoto won’t do though.”

“That quack won’t do!”
“Call that one—the tall fellow we’ve summoned four times already... You know! The one who came barging in late that night!”
“The internal medicine specialist... The one you called before... The arrogant bastard I complained about...”

“You mean Dr. Tsubata?”

“That’s him!”
“Tsubata! Get Dr. Tsubata here now!”

“Are you sure about him?”
“He doesn’t strike me as particularly competent.”

“Bah! Honeyed words won’t cure anything.”
“Flattery doesn’t mend broken bodies.”
“Tell them to come immediately... Make sure they know it’s my heart!”
“It hurts.”
“It hurts like hell.”

Toma left.
Eventually, the sound of a phone call could be heard.

“Hello? Is this Dr. Tsubata’s residence? Yes, this is Sakaki—the one who troubled you the other day… Yes, Sakaki Uichirō… Yes, that’s correct.”
“Is the doctor available now… Ah, I see… Actually, we’d like to request another examination… Yes, it’s rather urgent… No, it’s not exactly critical… He was fine until just now… No, perhaps that isn’t entirely accurate… What?”
“Ah, in that case, let’s proceed immediately… Regarding transportation… It would suffice if you could arrange that… Well then, thank you…”

Toma came upstairs.

Uichirō: “What’s taking so long?”

“He’d just come back from a house call while I was on the phone,” said Toma. “Perfect timing.”

Uichirō shot back: “With a wishy-washy request like that, they’re probably dawdling over there! What’s this about you telling them it wasn’t serious?”

“They ask if you’re in pain,” Toma retorted.

“Do you even comprehend what ‘not serious’ means?” Uichirō snapped. “Stop spouting irresponsible nonsense. Call them again! Tell them I’m suffering terribly...”

“That should’ve sufficed if I told them that much.”

“It didn’t! Then you went and said ‘it might not be the case’—what nonsense was that...?”

“They said there’s no pulse interruption—that nurse! Asking such impertinent questions—”

“Asking is only natural,” Uichirō snapped. “Not only is that not the case—look here, thud... thud-thud... thud... It’s clearly skipping beats! Go tell them that right away!”

“Enough already,” Toma retorted. “The doctor must’ve left by now. There’s no need to fuss—you’ll be fine. Last time too, you claimed your stomach was about to burst, but nothing came of it, did it?”

“The stomach and the heart are different.”
“Hey! At least pretend to stay by a patient’s bedside! Don’t just stand there motionless—pull the chair over here or something! If you can’t manage something thoughtful like taking my pulse, at least put on an anxious face!”
“Even strangers could manage putting a hand to someone’s forehead without issue.”
“If I were you, I’d have the oxygen inhalation ready before the doctor arrives.”

“That’s just a joke,” said Toma. “You can’t possibly be dying if you’re able to enunciate so clearly. Your complexion looks perfectly normal too…”

“Complexion?” Uichirō shot back. “I can’t help having healthy coloring. Fifteen years under the South Seas sun did that. Are you mocking me for speaking plainly? If I don’t spell things out, you’d never grasp anything! Twenty-eight years old and still can’t read a man’s expressions?”

“Here we go again,” Toma sighed. “Yes, yes—I’m an idiot. A clueless, tactless, scatterbrained dimwit.”

“They’re all the same damn routine.”

“That’s right—same to you! I’ve got a headache too,” Toma shot back. “I’m freezing cold. My toes are like ice.”

“Tch,” Uichirō spat. “There you go again.”

“What’s ‘again’ supposed to mean? Think you’ve patented being sick?” With an exaggerated huff, she flounced out only to materialize in the next room, yanking bedding from the closet. Sheets snapped open like battle standards before she shed her haori coat, tossed aside her obi sash, and collapsed onto the futon in nothing but her underrobe.

Uichirō (softening his tone): "Hey, my wife—I was wrong."
"I'm begging you—spare me that trick."
"It's utterly unbearable."
"When I fall ill, that part about you making a displeased face—that's exactly what I mean."
"You—every time I get sick—claim you're feeling unwell too and take to bed."
"How many times has this been now?"
"You who're usually so robust have no reason to be exhausted from a day or two of nursing."
"If you'd stayed up all night chipping ice or such, that'd be different—but when have you ever done any real nursing worth the name?"
"This doesn't mean I doubt your affection at all."
"As proof—when I'm perfectly fine, don't you show me wifely devotion rare in this world?"
"As I started saying earlier—having reached my forties and finally taken a young wife, can I really make her a widow so hastily?"
"The reason I fear illness is solely that."
"As I often say—I left the country at twenty and wandered from island to island in the South Seas."
"When I was diving seabeds as a pearl diver or living among natives in rubber groves—illness meant less than shit to me."
"But returning to Japan—the work I stumbled into went surprisingly well, and the wife I ended up with turned out a perfect match—so I started clinging desperately to life."
"You listening, my wife?"
"So if you'd just care for me properly and treat me like a real patient when I'm ill—ironically—I'd feel like saying 'to hell with it all.'"
"If told 'It must hurt'—I'd endure whatever pain there was."
"If asked 'Are you suffering?'—even if in pain—I'd say it once instead of thrice."
"If told 'Stay abed'—I'd want to rise; if told 'Call a doctor'—'No, I'm fine,' I'd say."

“Just think about that.”
“Right now even, depending on how you act, I’ll show you I can prepare to go out and take orders.”
“Since you’ll just stop me anyway.”
“He’s here—the doctor must’ve come.”
“Well now, ah—it hurts. Worse than earlier.”
“Getting more painful by the minute.”

The maid guided Dr. Tsubata Tadashi into the room.

Dr. Tsubata: "How are you feeling?"

Uichirō: "My heart... feels odd..."

Dr. Tsubata: "What about your stomach...?"
(He took Uichirō's pulse)

Uichirō: "Ah, that's been perfectly fine since then.
"For two or three days I'd been bedridden with neuralgia,
but last night my heart suddenly..."

Dr. Tsubata: "You've never experienced this before?"

Uichirō: "Never.
"I thought at least my heart was sound."

“Let me examine you,” said Dr. Tsubata.
He applied the stethoscope.

A faint moan drifted from the adjacent room.
Of course, it came from his wife Toma.

Dr. Tsubata finished his examination. “There’s nothing abnormal here.”

“Is that so?”
“But everyone’s heart works this way.”

Uichirō: “Anyone’s heart?”
“Indeed, it seems to be beating normally now.”
“My breathing has also eased up.”
“It seems to come on in attacks.”

Tsubata: “That’s probably the case.”
“However, if that’s so, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Well—that’s what any doctor would say.”
“Of course, having said that, I can’t guarantee there won’t be a sudden turn for the worse tonight.”
“Still, that’s not something we can predict with our capabilities.”

Uichirō: “Something like medicine...”

“Probably unnecessary.”
“If you insist on having it though—hypothetically speaking—I suppose I could give you something.”

“Then—hypothetically speaking—if another attack were to occur… what course of action would prove advisable?”

“You should simply wait for it to pass.”

“Isn’t there any way to prevent these attacks?”

“Are you proposing we remove the cause? Causes aren’t so easily identified. If it’s nervous in nature, we could try calming your nerves—but if merely seeing a doctor’s face can quell the attacks that much, you’d be better off without our meddling. Fundamentally, what percentage of illnesses do you think doctors truly cure? Even if we perfectly identify the pathogen and apply textbook treatments, we can’t claim 100% effectiveness. To take a pessimistic view, you must accept that in five out of ten cases, what we call ‘treatment’ actually worsens the patient’s condition.”

“Five out of ten... That’s quite an unexpected account.”
“Indeed, there may be doctors who—due to lack of skill, shall we say—cannot treat certain illnesses, but is medical science itself truly so imperfect?”

“I can’t speak to medical science itself, but ultimately, it’s the humans employing it—those very humans are inherently flawed, so there’s simply no remedy.”

“In other words, what are you saying—lack of dedication or lack of compassion…?”

“That too,” said Tsubata. “But what exactly constitutes ‘unenthusiastic’ or ‘inconsiderate’? Taking one’s time to arrive when summoned—is that what you call inconsiderate? Even doctors grow weary and crave amusement. Besides, I’ve at least some grasp of business affairs. I don’t deliberately pursue unprofitable ventures.”

“Take the other day—a family contacted me in panic over their child’s worsening condition, demanding immediate attention. As it happened, I was escorting my wife to the theater that evening. After their call came through, I watched a single act before hurrying over.”

“The child was beyond saving. The parents claimed they’d waited two hours in anguish—but let me tell you, that infant had already been hopeless two hours prior. Arriving sooner would’ve changed nothing. The delay was the parents’ failing, not mine.”

“Yet such matters remain delicate. Consider another case—a sixty-five-year-old woman under my care. Suspected dysentery, though no bacilli were ever found. She withered away before our eyes until all hope vanished.”

“Knowing it futile, I administered a final saline injection and advised them to summon any relatives. Then left.” Tsubata leaned forward, voice sharpening. “Would you believe it? By next morning she’d rallied spectacularly—still alive and kicking today.”

Uichirō: How do you explain such a thing?

Tsubata: You’d call it lifespan.
“From these two real-life examples, I’ve come to despise this medical profession.”
“Once you take responsibility for a patient, unless you’re by their side day and night, you can’t possibly provide what’s considered complete treatment.”
“You can never leave it to others at any time.”
“In cases like tuberculosis, you’d need to live and sleep alongside the patient for two years—that’s my opinion.”
“Can such a thing even be done?”

“That can’t be done.”

Tsubata: If it can’t be done, then it amounts to the same thing.
“The title of doctor is just a name.”
“Doctors are just there to comfort the patient.”
“Speaking of which, there’s an amusing story.”

“Excuse the interruption, but my wife is resting in the next room—she’s been complaining of headaches and chills for some time now. Perhaps while you’re here…”

“Ah, this way?” Tsubata entered the adjacent room and sat beside Toma, who lay resting. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Oh... It’s just...”

He checked her pulse. “Any nausea...?”

“A little...”

“There’s some.” He moved his fingers across her temples. “Is the headache around here?”

“Yes... There... And all through here...”

“No other changes, I see.” He leaned closer. “Stick out your tongue, please.”
“Good.” Placing the stethoscope against her chest, he instructed, “Take a deep breath...”
“Hmm.” He listened intently before removing the device. “There does seem to be something amiss.”
“Though I can’t pinpoint exactly where.” He folded his arms. “It might resolve on its own.”
“If you feel hungry,” he added while packing his bag, “try eating whatever stays down.”
“The same goes for your husband.”

(Returning to Uichirō’s side) “Well now, there’s an interesting story.”
“You see—even we doctors are feeling the recession these days.”
“Patient numbers have dropped sharply everywhere.”
“Of course there are more practitioners now, but that doesn’t nearly account for it.”
“Ask anyone—they’ll tell you doctors can’t keep going like this.”
“Even famous hospitals aren’t operating as smoothly as before, so they say.”
“Which means fewer people are seeing doctors—that’s the logic of it. Follow?”
“It’s perfectly natural—with hard times, people economize on doctor fees when they can.”
“Now that’s all fine, but recessions don’t stop folks from getting sick.”
“More must be using patent medicines instead of proper consultations.”
“Meaning druggists should be lining their pockets.”
“Thinking so, I actually looked into it.”
“Would you believe it? All the druggists are moaning about losses!”
“Blaming the recession.”
“Without doctors or medicine, countless must be dying from curable diseases.”
“So I figured funeral directors were profiting.”
“Checked that too—wouldn’t you know? The slump’s hit even there.”
“You’d expect more mid-range coffins instead of fancy ones—but no—total coffin orders have plunged.”
“Can’t very well bury people in homemade boxes.”
“Suspicious, I checked mortality stats at the ward office—last two-three years.”
“They’ve definitely decreased.”

“When I consider the relationship between economic recession and mortality rates from every angle, I can only think of one reason.”
“Admittedly, it stands to reason that during prosperous times, overindulgence and other unhealthy behaviors lead to health deterioration—but how does this compare to deaths hastened by poor diets from scrimping and heartsick overwork during hard times?”
“First, these factors offset each other—the true reason lies elsewhere.”
“Following my analysis, we must conclude mortality decreases in recessions precisely because people avoid medicines indiscriminately—and crucially—stop seeing doctors.”
“What do you think—isn’t that an intriguing phenomenon?”

“Now that’s interesting…”
“Especially amusing to hear that from a doctor like you.”
(Sitting up and pressing the call button) “I too have long had my doubts about doctors.”
“I’ve been wondering just how far they can be trusted.”
“Now I see everything clearly.”
“No, truly—fascinating.”
“You’re quite the entertainer.”
(The maid came upstairs.) “Ah—you there! Anything edible around?”
“Make some tea.”
“Open that confectionery box and bring it here.”

Tsubata (stood up) “Well then, given that’s how things stand, I’ll take my leave now.”

“I’ll have tea prepared now.”

“No—I’m rather pressed for time at present… Perhaps another occasion.”

Tsubata departed.
Uichirō got down from the bed and, while seeing him out,

“I see… Then I won’t detain you any further…”
“Ah—is someone there? Have them escort the Doctor out…”
“Well then… if you’ll excuse me…”

(Returning to his room and suddenly seeming to feel chest pains again, he scrambled onto the bedstead and fixed his gaze as he battled anxiety.) “Hey—my wife—come here… It’s painful.”
“It’s painful.”
“Ah… To be honest, it’s painful…”
“Hey… my wife… stay with me.”
“Just… being here… is enough….”
(In the meantime, Toma began making faint moans.)
(As Uichirō’s voice grew louder, her moans intensified.) “What’s that now?”
“Where exactly does it hurt?”
“Even if you make such a noise, no one will care a bit.”
“I’m the one who’ll end up exhausted.”
“Ah—is there even air in this room?”
“Open the shoji screen.”
“Let in air.”
“I’m perfectly fine even if it’s this cold.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea.”
“No one’s saying I’m about to die.”
“My life’s still perfectly safe!”
“There’s no need to call any doctors.”
“If I’m carelessly given any treatment, that’d be nothing but trouble.”

“Even if the pain subsides, being killed would render it all pointless.”

Outside the shoji screen: “May I enter?”
“I’ve just returned.”
“It’s me—Otake,” came the voice.

“What?”
“Otake?”
“You’ve just returned? Come in, then…”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Hurry up—give me your answer.”
“How did it go?”

Salesman Otake Hokao, a man with a mustache, stepped forward courteously.

Otake: “To come straight to the point—regarding the Imperial Household Ministry matter, while nothing has been finalized yet, there appear to be quite promising prospects.”
“We’ve reached the stage requiring one final push.”
“As for Tsuzuki Home Economics and Culinary Academy—the instructors’ reception seems generally favorable overall. I believe we may secure a consolidated order around next week.”
“However, one instructor raised this particular opinion.”
“Those protrusions added to the palm area were an ingenious idea for preventing slippage. But they rather resemble warts or something similar, creating an unpleasant visual impression. The instructor proposed changing them to horizontal ridges instead.”

Uichirō: “That’s already been tested.”
“When made with horizontal ridges, they do look rather like zebra stripes and are visually appealing, but the grip just isn’t right.”
“Cracks form along the indented lines.”
“There’s no need to address every amateur opinion.”
“Well then—regarding the Imperial Household Ministry matter—do your utmost to press forward with it.”
“Even if the numbers are small, this here functions like a professional credential.”
“I don’t mind covering some expenses.”
“And then… wait a moment…”
“It’s painful.”
“Step back further.”
“If you keep panting like that over there, I won’t be able to tell which of us is actually breathing.”

“Your condition seems quite poor, I see.”

“Does it look that way to you? Well, this one I can’t exactly hide. The illness itself isn’t serious, but the attacks are vicious. Nah, nothing to worry about. Is that all? Ah, right. About your bonus—since your performance has been rather lackluster, I’ll be withholding this year’s payment. Earn your keep through commissions. You’ve still got other places to visit today, I suppose. Days are short.”

Otake: (Attempts to speak)

“Understood.”
“Endure it for one more year.”

Otake bowed politely and left.

“My wife, still in pain? I’ve already recovered.”
“It’s just as Dr. Tsubata said.”
“Waiting for it to pass—that’s not something ordinary doctors can say.”
“Modern medicine must sever all ties with superstition.”
“There was an era when doctors made people believe they’d cured what healed naturally.”
“It was an era when parents boasted of their children’s success.”
“Hey, my wife, you can’t keep sulking forever.”
“As you can see, I’m talking to you in a good mood, aren’t I?”
“If you really have a headache, go take a look at the company signboard for a bit.”
“If your feet are cold, I could warm them up for you as part of our little negotiation.”
“Even though you’re staying silent like that, I have a pretty good idea what you’re thinking right now.”
“You probably think a husband who does nothing but get sick might as well not exist at all.”

“Is that really the same thing? I’d be better off without you.”

“Is that so?”
“Setting aside the twenty-six thousand yen in savings.”
“But even if I die, that won’t fall into your hands.”
“It’s because there are no children.”
“You didn’t know that, did you?”
“How about that?”
“The law’s a clever thing.”
“A wife who doesn’t bear children has no right to inherit her husband’s property.”
“Unless I write a will, my entire fortune will remain as is and end up entirely in the hands of my sole cousin, Imada Shichishichi.”
“You declared you’d absolutely never bear children—stated you didn’t want such a troublesome thing.”
“Despite my earnest wish, you persisted for four years.”
“I’ll tell you now since it’s come to this—my consideration as a husband had anticipated even that sort of outcome.”
“Come on, give me an answer.”

“Don’t you go misjudging me.”
“What does twenty or thirty thousand yen matter?”
“Just give it to someone who wants it.”
“I’m still young, you know.”

“Well, whether twenty-eight counts as young—people might have differing opinions.”
“Even if you are young—what does that signify?”
“Are you suggesting a forty-six-year-old like me can’t keep pace with you?”
“Don’t start saying such things now.”
(Clambered down from the sickbed and paced the room) “It’s not like I’m the only one aging two years at a time.”
“Has there ever been a single soul who walked beside us outdoors and didn’t stifle laughter?”

“People don’t laugh because they think we’re father and daughter.”

Uichirō: “That might be true.”
“Let those who think that way keep thinking it.”
“Facts speak for themselves.”
“As you can see, I’m discussing your interests as my wife in my capacity as a husband.”
“I’m not saying anything bad, so get up already.”
“Get up and go prepare dinner or something.”
“Hmm, my legs feel wobbly.”
“It’s because I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.”
“Ah—when I speak, my eyes go dizzy, I tell you.”
(sat down on the bed) “The human body is a delicate thing.”
“When one’s spirit flags, it’s made to lie down.”
(slipped back into bed) “If this were reversed, it’d certainly be inconvenient.”

“Please keep quiet when you don’t have anything to say.”
“Dinner is set for six o’clock right?”
“I’m Uichirō—the one who sets these rules!”
“Then serve lunch.”

“Lunch was finished long ago,” Toma said. “Wasn’t it you who refused to eat of your own accord?”

“That’s why I’m saying I’ll eat now,” Uichirō countered.

“Wasn’t there a rule that meals outside designated hours are strictly prohibited?”

“Normally that’s the rule,” Uichirō said.
“To keep things from getting sloppy.”
“Because there are idiots who cling to this moronic idea that eating between meals lets you stuff down more food.”

Toma heaved herself up and began quietly opening the chest of drawers to retrieve clothes.

“My face burns hot without any fever… What could be causing this?”
“Wife—where did you put the home medical dictionary?”

Toma (while putting on her kimono): “It should be there by the pillow.”

Uichirō (taking the medical dictionary from under his pillow and flipping through the pages): Heart… heart… heart paralysis… heart valve… valve… where is it….
Hmm, this isn’t right….
Then I’ll try looking under ‘nerve’… shi… shi….

Toma (finishing putting on her kimono and quickly adjusting her makeup in the meantime)

Neurotic... what... Haa...
No—not this one either...

Toma finished her makeup, picked up her handbag threw a shawl over her shoulders and left the room.

Maybe it's the congestion section.
Congestion... Conges...
Hmm, makes sense...
Exhibiting facial flushing...?
Now then... nasal passages... (he blew his nose with a handkerchief)... since there's no accompanying bleeding makes this questionable too.

“Hey Wife—your old man did die of a cerebral hemorrhage, didn’t he? What was his condition like just before that…? You probably don’t remember.”
Right.
Right.
Being told such half-baked theories would only complicate things.
(Moving his head forward, back, left, and right) This slight pain at the base of my neck—could it be unrelated…?
It’s awfully quiet in here.
“You’re pretending to be asleep.”

At this moment, the maid came up from below carrying a meal tray.

Maid: “We also have porridge, but would you prefer regular rice?”

Uichirō—oh! When did I start talking like that?
“Hey, Wife, regular rice should be fine by now.”
“First of all—the side dish is konnyaku!”
“Just put it there.”
(Sitting up) “Don’t you have something a bit more substantial?”

Maid: “Because Madam said this would be acceptable...”

Uichirō: “Wife, is that true?”
“Come here for a moment.”
“Haven’t you forgotten something?”
“Or are you going to make an omelet now?”
“Hey, Wife...”

The maid laughed. "Madam went out earlier."

"Went out?" Uichirō retorted. "Don't talk nonsense—she's lying right there."

"But truly, Madam just left this moment," the maid insisted.

Uichirō reached out to slide open the paper door without particular surprise. "Serve the meal quickly. When serving food, you remain seated. Remember that etiquette." As his chopsticks touched the rice bowl, he grimaced. "No good... Still no good..." He set down the bowl and chopsticks. "Take it away. Later."

Lying down again, he ordered: "When it comes to it, call a doctor. Call Tsubata."
I'm in real pain now.
No—not yet...
"When phoning a doctor, say it like this: 'We'd like to consult you.'"
"..."
"What? I'll handle that part myself."
"Just say 'Come urgently.' That's enough."
In short—placebo nonsense.
If they say I'm fine, that's all I need.
The rest is my affair.

"Yeah," he groaned inwardly,"it keeps getting worse by the minute."
No need to panic.
"Is the phone line free now?"
"Don't let anyone use it."
"Where did my wife go?"
"No—no point searching."
"This... this is..."
"Worse than earlier... No comparison."
"Wait—wait."
"If it passes—good... If not—still good..."
"Guh... guh... Can't..."
"Still... Still..."
"Hey! Where're you going?"
"Stay still... Ahhh—can't take this..."

“There, go! Hurry….”
“The phone!”
“Call a doctor!”
“Dr. Tsubata.”
(The maid scampered off.) Is he in, Doc…?
If this were a play, waiting two hours would be fine.
If they hadn’t made it in time, then that would be that.
It wasn’t the doctor’s fault.
It wasn’t my fault either—not in the slightest.

The sound of a telephone being dialed.
“Huh?”
“Hello—isn’t the Doctor available?”
“Ah... In that case... Please wait just one moment.”

Alright… alright—if he’s not there… another doctor then.
Anyone will do.
Call the nearest one.
No need for treatment.
It’s just reassurance.
Just seeing their face would be enough.

The maid came upstairs.

Uichirō understood.
“Call the doctor on the corner.”
“Matsubara—send someone running.”
“As for Tsubata—if you learn his whereabouts, have him recalled.”
“Without that man, it’s pointless.”
(The maid exited.)

The sound of a telephone.
“Hello? Hello? Would you happen to know where the Doctor has gone?”
“In that case, I apologize for the inconvenience, but please come here at once… Yes, this is Sakaki… Regarding the earlier matter… Yes, please…”

Uichirō pressed the call bell. It was too late.
No—it’s not too late.
Anyone will do.
Stay by my side.

The errand boy Miki came upstairs.

Uichirō: “Oh, it’s you—Miki? Perfect timing.”
“Sit there.”
“Have you finished the deliveries yet?”
“You’ve worked hard.”
“I’ll raise your wages soon.”
“Where all are you going tomorrow?”
“There’s no need to answer.”
“What are you staring around at?”
“Calm down more and listen to what I’m saying.”
“Alright, next year we’re going to expand the factory significantly.”
“I’ll assign rooms for you all too.”
“They don’t need to be spacious.”
“For three people, four-and-a-half tatami mats would be plenty.”
“We’ll triple the number of female factory workers too.”
“We’ll hire one competent office clerk.”
“Even a woman would be acceptable.”
“If only they could write letters...”
“Right—we’ll get one used motorcycle. For deliveries, of course.”
“You—learn how to ride it.”
Oh, my legs are going numb.

"Is the doctor still not here?
I don't need to get up.
Try pinching the legs.
'Here—the legs...'
(The errand boy slid his hand under the blanket.) 'That's right—there—squeeze hard... Never mind propriety—no need to hold back.'
'Is that your full strength?'
'Can't you make it hurt more?'"

“Is this not the right spot?”

Uichirō: “It hurts!”
“What are you doing?”

Miki (startled and pulled back his hand)

“Hah... The pain... that’s just what I needed.”
“When I was your age—where do you think I was and what do you think I was doing?”

Miki tilted his head, making a face that said he didn’t know.

“You probably don’t know,” said Uichirō. “I used to steal vegetables from people’s fields and sell them in town. That was back in the old days. I wouldn’t do such a thing now. In town there were two kind souls. One was a well-off sort who’d buy all my vegetables and give me a two-sen coin as a tip. The other was a poor one who’d tell me to just leave a daikon and instead serve me hot amazake. I still remember both their faces clearly. They say my mother vanished not long after I was born—well, those two were like mothers to me, you might say. Do you remember drinking your mother’s milk?”

Miki (laughing): Heh.

Uichirō: "Don’t use that babyish voice."
(Beat) He grew drowsy.
Am I losing consciousness?
"Pull yourself together."
"Ah, the doctor’s here."
"You don’t need to stay."

Sure enough, Dr. Matsubara Enzō was guided in by the maid.

“The other day…” Uichirō began.

“Still unwell?” Matsubara cut in.

“This time… it appears to be the heart.” Uichirō’s voice wavered. “The attacks come intermittently—quite unbearable…”

Matsubara pressed fingers to the wrist pulse point. “Onset time?”

Uichirō: “Since this morning… suddenly… my breath feels constricted…”
Matsubara: “Hmm…”
(Took out a stethoscope and placed it against his chest)

“I generally understand my own condition, but...”
“Quiet...”
“I’ll act after hearing your professional assessment...”
“Be silent...”

“Not particularly… about the treatment…” Uichirō began before hurriedly closing his mouth.

Matsubara: “Indeed...”
“Is there someone?”
“From your household...”

Uichirō: “I... someone from my household...”

Matsubara: “No—your wife, or someone else...”

Uichirō: “Doctor, please don’t tell my wife anything.”
“Is it dangerous?”

Matsubara: “Oh no—there’s absolutely no cause for concern.”
“However, regarding treatment...”

Uichirō: “When you say treatment...”

Matsubara: “There are various approaches, but first I’d have you apply a cold compress to your heart area.”
“Then place a hot water bottle at your feet...”

“I see… If it’s just a hot water bottle… I suppose I won’t object…”

Matsubara: “Do you dislike injections?”
“I’d like to give you one shot as a precaution.”

“As a precaution...”
“Ah…”
“As a precaution, you said…”
“Well, let’s hold off on that for now.”
“I’m afraid injections don’t seem suitable for my body…”

“That’s not the case.”
“It’s just a standard cardiac stimulant…”

“Well, as for the treatment, taking it slowly will suffice.”
“If you say there’s nothing to worry about, then I can manage the rest on my own.”

“However...”

“However... if it truly can’t be helped... then there’s no choice...”

“Whether you recover or not is a matter to consider after administering treatment.”

“I’m much obliged… After all, there are cases where people couldn’t be saved precisely because they received treatment.”

“If you say such things, there will be no need for physicians.”

Uichirō had largely grasped his argument.

“Though I may sound tedious, as a physician...”

At this moment, Dr. Tsubata Tadashi once again entered without being announced.
The two physicians exchanged glances in surprise.

Dr. Tsubata: “Well, well.”

Matsubara: “Well, well... My apologies... Were you the one examining him?”

Tsubata: “It’s not exactly like that…”

“Ah, Dr. Tsubata… I’m terribly obliged.”
“When I tried calling earlier…”

“Ah yes... I’d stepped out for a house call earlier,” said Dr. Tsubata.
“Well then, I’ll take my leave.”

Dr. Matsubara countered, “No—I’ll leave this to you.”

“Now now,” interjected Sakaki Uichirō, “let’s not speak like that—please confer properly and handle this...”

“I’ve already completed my examination,” Matsubara dismissed.
“Never mind that—just check his pulse.”

Tsubata took Uichirō's pulse. "Hmm..." This wasn't good. He placed the stethoscope on the chest. "Hmm... This won't do..." He hurriedly opened his bag.

Uichirō asked apprehensively, yet forcing a smile, "Is it... bad?"

“It’s too late,” said Dr. Tsubata. “I’m afraid there’s no hope left.”

Uichirō maintained his skeptical smile. “Too late? No hope…?” He let out an unnaturally forced laugh. “This isn’t some joke, Doctor…”

“At best, you’ll last until tomorrow morning.”
“Possibly even tonight…”

“Tonight?”
“Ha! Who are you talking about?”
“Some other patient of yours?”
“In that case, they probably can’t even speak anymore.”
“They probably can’t even recognize people’s faces anymore, can they?”

“Even if it’s futile, let’s at least administer treatment.”
(takes out a syringe from his bag)

“Treatment?” Uichirō asked.

“Is your wife out?” Tsubata inquired.

“No—it’s fine that my wife isn’t here,” Uichirō replied. “There’s no need for treatment. Medicine is absolutely prohibited.”

“However, just as a precaution…” Tsubata began.
(pulled back the blanket)

Uichirō: “There’s no ‘first consideration’ or ‘second consideration’ needed! I detest injections.” (recoils)

Tsubata: “Are you absolutely opposed? It’s a cardiac stimulant.”

Uichirō: “I categorically refuse.”

Tsubata: “At least permit me to discharge my medical responsibility.”

Uichirō: “Leave decisions to the patient’s free will.”

Tsubata: “Miracles do occasionally occur.”

Uichirō: “If we’re relying on miracles, I wouldn’t request them from you. Since when do physicians speak of miracles? I must decline this ambiguous diagnosis.”

“Whether Tsubata was being vague would become clear by tomorrow morning.”

Uichirō: “Much obliged.”
“I shall see you again tomorrow morning.”

Tsubata: “Very well.”
“I will go prepare the death certificate.”

Uichirō: “Leave the spaces for the name and date blank.”
“It may come in handy somewhere again someday.”
“Well now! So this is modern medicine?”
“I won’t have you handling human life so carelessly!”
“What do any of you actually know?”
“What’s written in books doesn’t work on living creatures!”
“Is that clear? Do you understand?”
“See here! I’m alive!”
One doctor says I’m fine; another says I’m done for.
“Both are just empty comforts!”
“Could you lot possibly grasp such things?”
“The proof’s right there—you’re both giving the same damn injection!”
“A death-dealing injection!”
“Get out! Get out!”
“The money I’ll pay later.”

The two physicians exchanged glances, signaled something to each other, and then made to leave as they were.

Uichirō: Wait, Doctor... Dr. Tsubata... What if you tried giving that injection more vigorously?
"Administer it until it takes effect..."

Tsubata: Ah... Well then, shall we attempt it?

Uichirō: Not a miracle—is there truly no hope?

Tsubata: To begin with, there is no hope.
"To claim otherwise would be a lie."

“It becomes a lie?”
“If we agree that even a lie is acceptable…?”

Tsubata: “That’s your prerogative…”
“Well, what will you do?”
“I have the next patient waiting...”

“Let’s stop.”
“For the dignity of physicians, let us cease futile treatments.”
“However, please don’t tell anyone at all that my life will last only until tomorrow morning.”
Ah, truly, I feel wonderful.
“Goodbye, everyone….”

The two doctors left.

Uichirō tried to rise but immediately collapsed.
Even when trying to press the call bell, his hand couldn't reach.
(And then his hand dropped limply downward.) "My... legs... where have they gone..."
"O... O... Madam... Madam..."
"I... I... can't breathe..."

A long silence.

Uichirō: Ah... I was dreaming...
Oh... my hands... my hands are gone... my hands...

The maid Kinu stealthily entered.
She seemed to have heard everything from the doctors.

Kinu: "Master..."

Uichirō (apparently unable to hear the voice, thrashing about frantically)

Kinu (peering in): "Master..."
Uichirō: "Who's... Ah... You... I'm fine..."
"Don't worry..."
"R... rub... rub my chest..."
(Kinu began to rub Uichirō's chest.)

At that moment, his wife Toma returned.

Toma observed from her room: "You were here? Well, that's enough now—I'll take over..."
"Instead of that, go check how the laundry's doing."
"They've all been blown away by the wind..."
(The maid tried to whisper something into Toma's ear.) "That's enough, that's enough."
"I know."
"I said enough already—what's with that exaggerated face? It's about Master, right? I know perfectly well..."
(The maid reluctantly left.) "There, it's started again."
"Right now, okay?"
"I'll just change my kimono first, okay?"
"You can wait that long, right?"
"Guess where I went."
(began changing her kimono) Good thing...
"I brought back a souvenir for you!"
"You have to guess that too."
"I'll just tell you the story from along the way first, okay?"
"Today I splurged on a taxi."
"Don't go getting angry now, okay?"
"It was a splendid car."
"It had a family crest."
"That's the village crest."

“Exactly…”
“It’s an ascending wisteria.”
“That driver looks a bit like you too.”

Uichirō jerked his head up and, just like that, turned face up again.

"I had such a strange feeling..."
"You listening...?"
"Boring... this kind of talk...?"
"Fine, I'll stop."
"And then—oh right. I didn't have any small change..."
"I was so flustered, I asked the driver if he had any change."
"Then what do you think happened...?"
"'If it's about a hundred yen, I'd have it,' he said..."
(Having finished changing her kimono, she approaches Uichirō) "Oh you awful man—you were listening with that face?"
"Hey quit it already—that creepy look in your eyes..."
"What's that—pretending to be dead?"
"Prayers for the dead—that's exactly what this is..."
"It doesn't hurt anymore does it?"
(peering into his face) "This isn't a joke—you're breathing so...?"
"Well I'm shocked."
"You're really pretending to be dead."
"You're so good at this... I'm impressed."
"But you managed to remember all sorts of things so well..."
"After all you've been reading nothing but doctor's books all this time."

“Alright, that’s quite enough now.”
“Come back to life already.”
“Hey, when you come back to life, how are you going to do it?”
“How exactly are you going to gasp back to life?”
“Try doing it like it’s real.”
“Come on, hurry up already….”
(shook him) “Ugh, you're impossible—I'm actually feeling kind of sad here, you know.”
“I might just burst into loud sobs, you know.”

Thereupon, she deliberately—though in truth—filled her eyes to the brim with tears and burst into loud, exaggerated sobs.

Curtain.