Pathway to Japanese Literature

Characters

Husband: Shibuya Yaosoi

Wife:

Poet: Toba

Wife's Mother:

君い女 かも子

Husband's Friend: Chaki

Greengrocer:

Act One

The stage showed a completely shuttered house interior.
At the front elevation stood a small frosted-glass window framed by iron bars.
Outside light filtered through this window, faintly illuminating part of the living room.

A knock sounded at the front door.

Voice: "Is anyone home? It's me."
"Hey! It's me, Mrs.—I'm telling you, it's Toba..."

Eventually, the small front window opens.
A long-haired man peers into the house.

The man clicked his tongue. “Leaving the house open at this hour... How careless can they be?”
He sighed dramatically. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done about that now—but when the master returns, this’ll cause quite the stir.”
Toba scratched his chin, eyes narrowing. Could they have seized my trip back home as an opportunity to play happy couple in Asakusa today?
If that were true... His hand patted empty pockets. No key meant no entry.
“Right then!” He hoisted his travel bag with false cheer. “Under the eaves you go! Time to pay Miss Kamoko a visit.”
The glass door clicked shut behind him as he vanished into the twilight.

At this moment, a man in Western clothes holding a folded bag emerged quietly from the kitchen entrance into the room, crossed the living room, and headed toward the tatami room.
After a while, another man in an Inverness coat carrying a handbag similarly entered from the kitchen entrance.
The man who entered later stopped there and peered into the back.

Man: (Half-fearfully) “Who’s there?”

Voice from the back: “You’re the one who should answer—who are you?”

Even if he gave his name, the man probably wouldn’t recognize it.

“What business brings you here?” called the voice from the darkness.

“That’s what *I* should be asking *you*,” retorted the man.

“I am the master of this house,” declared the voice.

“Don’t play dumb,” snapped the man. “*I’m* the lodger here.”

“If you’re Mr. Toba,” countered the voice icily, “you should’ve returned to your hometown by now.”

“Oh! So you know my name, huh?”
“Have you ever read my poetry?”

“There were times I was forced to read them, but since they weren’t interesting, I just pretended to have read them.”

“But even if you put on such an act, it won’t amount to anything,” he said. “I’m only ever given your scribbles to read anyway. Anyway, where’s your wife?”

“She hasn’t been home for a while,” came the voice from within. “Have you changed your plans?”

He began opening the storm shutters. The inside of the house suddenly brightened.

“Oh! Just got here.”
“I’ve finally cut ties with the old man.”
“Though since my mother’s supposed to keep sending funds discreetly like before, there’s no need to panic.”
“Is the house this awfully messy because your wife’s away?”
“Is someone meant to clean a place like my room?”

“Of course no one will,” said the husband.
(He removed his Western clothes and changed into a *dotera* work coat) “However, my wife should have returned by the time you come back.”

“Since I was supposed to stay for a week... Then how many days remain now?”

“That was the sixteenth,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow... She should be back by the end of shiasatte.”

“Then what am I supposed to do until then? How will you handle my meals?”

“We’ll manage something.”
“I don’t mind recalling her via telegram.”

“Is she distant?”

“Yes… merely gone briefly to her family home…”

“When you say ‘hometown,’ would that be Yotsuya or somewhere else?”

“That’s correct.”

“You’re being unusually calm about this. Surely your wife hasn’t run off on you?”

“If my wife were the type to run away, even I would’ve devised a different method by now.”

“Then an even more serious problem has occurred, I take it?”

“Well, please don’t ask me any more about that. It’s a matter between just the two of us…”

“That’s right,” said the poet. “As a lodger, I’m simply concerned about my own affairs. Should I move elsewhere if you wish?”

“In any case,” replied the husband, “please defer this until my wife returns. I’ll send a telegram right away…”

The husband stuffed the pouch into his coat and went out.
The poet headed up to the second floor just as he was, but soon,

The poet’s voice (reciting): Married couple—a bound pair of man and woman. Mornings bring the husband’s scowling face, nights the wife’s sighs. Ten years passing as one day—all their own doing. Faces grown weary of each other’s gaze.

The wife entered from the entranceway carrying a furoshiki bundle.
She scrutinized the interior of the house.
Suddenly hearing a voice from upstairs,
she climbed halfway up the stairs and called out: “Mr. Toba—have you already returned?”

The poet’s voice called out, “Please serve my meal quickly.”

“When did you return?”

“A while ago…” (He appeared) “I missed my meal—my stomach’s growling empty. I meant to buy a bento on the train but dozed off… Woke up just as it started moving—terrible timing.”

“Where’s my husband? What could have happened?”

“He went out to send a telegram.”

“A telegram? Where to?”

“To the post office.”

“That’s not it! Who’s it addressed to?”

“He said it was addressed to your place.”
“Then didn’t you return because you saw the telegram?”

“He went out, and it’s already come to this.”

“He might be turning into a poet.”
“Did you have a fight or something?”

“Did he say anything?”

“In my imagination, I thought you had finally grown tired of Mr. Shibuya and returned to your hometown.”

“It’s not that there’s no such meaning.”
“I’ll confide this precisely because it’s you.”
“Well, this is how matters stand.”
“Do listen.”

“You may sit and listen.”
(The two sat beside the long hibachi.)

“I don’t know if you people would understand,” said the Wife, “but we’re in a period of marital ennui right now.”

“Marital ennui...” The Poet tilted his head. “How many years into your marriage?”

“The seventh year.”

“Then yours came rather late.”
“The way these periods arrive...”

“But this is our fourth time! It’s what you’d call an unbearable phase.”

“Fourth time... So they come about every two years?”

“And so, we finally discussed it—the two of us—to take a breather from each other…”

“Only while I’m away.”

“Yes, just one week—in other words, a Household Suspension.”
“It is a vacation from married life.”

At this moment, the husband returned.
Upon seeing his wife, he showed no particular surprise and gave a slight nod.

Poet: “I’ve heard everything from Mrs. Shibuya.
They’re currently on hiatus, you know.”

Husband: “But that has nothing to do with you.”

Wife: “That’s right—you can remain perfectly unperturbed.”

Poet: “Then what would happen, I wonder?
Who’s going to take care of all my various matters?
Do you consider that separate from the household?”

“Of course it is.”

“But I won’t do anything. In the first place, my returning today was entirely accidental, you know.”

“Whether it was accidental or not, taking care of Mr. Toba is your responsibility.”

“You must be joking. Keeping a lodger—who is that for? It’s not solely for my sake.”

“It’s not solely for my sake either.”

“It’s for the household’s sake.”

“That’s right,” said the Wife. “Therefore, that person must also be suspended.”

“Now hold on,” retorted the Husband. “Whoever heard of such absurdity?”

“What do you mean?” she countered. “To whom are those words directed? Under our agreement’s terms, I was not to receive spousal treatment from you during this period.”

“That and this are different matters.”

“No, they are not different. As long as the contractual provisions remain unchanged, I have no obligations whatsoever.”

“Fine then,” said the Husband. “Though I regret to impose, Mr. Toba, we must ask you to return to your hometown a while longer.”

“I must protest this homecoming,” replied the Poet. “In that case, I shall seek lodgings elsewhere. But tell me—what exactly do these agreement clauses entail? If you’d be so kind as to explain them... Depending on interpretation, matters might not prove as troublesome as Mrs. Shibuya claims.”

Husband: "Well, actually, it's like this. We may appear no different from any other married couple at first glance, but if you thoroughly examine our relationship and current state, we are a truly one-of-a-kind, peculiar couple in this world."
(Pause.) "We have entered into a marriage that began from love."

Poet: "What I, the poet, wish to inquire about is not its origins, but rather the provisions of the agreement concerning your current relationship as of today—that is, the Household Suspension."

“That is to say…” (He opened the desk drawer and took out a piece of paper.)

“First, we as a married couple…”

“Wait a moment. I’ll read it.”

We, the married couple, hereby exclude all mental and material burdens arising from our marital relationship for one week based on the following provisions of the agreement.

1. The married couple shall mutually ignore each other’s existence and shall maintain freedom of action.

2. When residing at their current address, the married couple shall completely abolish all previous customs regarding conversations, interactions, and other such matters, and shall receive treatment as complete strangers.

3. The married couple shall not provide assistance, interference, commands, consultations, orders, or similar actions regarding matters of mutual free will or household management in general under any circumstances.

1. When one party of the married couple commits acts contrary to the family’s collective honor and interests, or when said party commits deliberate words or deeds intended to cause suffering to the other party, they shall be deemed to have permanently relinquished all spousal rights henceforth.

1. When either spouse falls ill, the other party shall take on nursing duties as a neighbor; however, in cases of common cold with a fever below 38 degrees Celsius or mere headaches or lower back pain, only the procurement of medication as needed shall suffice.

1. Even during the suspension, monetary expenditures shall not exceed the monthly budget; however, expenses for prepared meals necessitated by cessation of cooking shall be exempt from this restriction.

End.

Poet: “I see. It’s quite stringent indeed. However, since this agreement was created under the assumption of my absence, amending that part slightly should not be entirely impossible.”

Husband: “If we are to make amendments, it would involve adding a proviso to Clause Two—do both parties have any objections?”

“I have substantial objections,” said the Wife. “This proviso would render the entire clause void. Our freedom of action would be entirely compromised.”

“That’s unavoidable,” countered the Husband. “We’re already bound by countless constraints beyond this household. If one tends to the lodger, the other must report to the company. If anything, the current agreement proves inequitable in this regard.”

“I refuse,” declared the Wife, “to revise established terms for such flimsy reasoning.”

“Very well,” said the poet. “Since it would be most disagreeable to interrupt this revolutionary experiment you’re conducting with such grand expectations—all on my solitary account—I shall make a concession here. In return, please assign me some suitable role to ensure this endeavor’s success. Therefore, with your permission, I’d like to make a proposal.”

The husband replied, “I don’t quite grasp your meaning, but go ahead and say it.”

“As it stands, differences in interpreting this agreement have already emerged between you two. If you continue living together for the remaining three days, all sorts of inconveniences will arise until eventually—whether from one side or the other—the agreement gets violated.”
“In such situations, what if I were to make impartial judgments from the sidelines and issue rulings case by case?”
“If either party accidentally breaches the agreement, I’ll call it out right away.”
“This might feel intrusive, but I believe it’s the approach most likely to produce concrete results.”

“I think that would be perfectly acceptable.”
“But I won’t do kitchen work when I don’t feel like it.”

“You needn’t concern yourselves,” said Toba.
“I shall undertake responsibility for kitchen affairs.”

Act Two

In the living room lay a futon, with the wife bundled in her nightclothes and asleep.

The husband, while putting on Western clothes in the tatami room, used his foot to shove the futon into a corner and prepared a space for breakfast.

The poet came from the kitchen carrying a steaming pot.
The husband, wearing only a shirt, hurried to fetch the living room’s low dining table.

“Oh, thank you very much. Did you already add the miso soup ingredients?”

“Since there was about half a block of tofu in the cupboard—who knows when it was bought—I put that in.”

Husband: “When was that bought, I wonder?”
“If it’s the previous batch, that’d be from the day you moved in.”
“It’s already been five days—I wonder if it’s still okay.”
(He went to retrieve the miso soup pot.)
During this interval, the poet transferred flames to the long hibachi and arranged bowls and chopstick boxes.

“Is the timing acceptable?” asked the Poet while heading back to the kitchen.

The Husband sat at the table. “Could you pass me the rice paddle...?”

The Poet brought the rice paddle but stepped on the Wife’s foot while vaulting over her futon.

“Ouch!”

“My apologies—that was careless,” said the Poet.

The Wife declared, “Starting tomorrow, I’ll be sleeping over there.”

“You’re coming to my side?” asked the Husband.

“Ahem.”

Husband: (thinking) To my side?

Wife: “Don’t be absurd—I’ll sleep there alone.”
(Sitting up) “It’s too noisy—I can’t sleep at all.”
(Folded the bedding and put it away in the closet.)

Each time, the wind whipped up dust, disrupting the two men’s meal.

“This is undeniably a violation of the agreement,” declared the husband. “What say you, Mr. Toba?”

“Which provision does this fall under?”
“The provision stating: ‘When one commits words or deeds intending to willfully inflict suffering upon the counterparty, et cetera.’”

Poet: “Well now, I suppose something of this degree can hardly be called suffering.”

During this time, the wife finished putting on her kimono and headed to the kitchen entrance.

Husband: “However, last night when I got into bed and was reading a kodan, my wife said ‘Ehen!’
“I suppose it was her protest against my reading aloud, but what do you say to this?”

Poet: “Mrs. Shibuya has already retired for the night, hasn’t she?”

Husband: “She shouldn’t be asleep.”

Poet: “We’ll look into that later.”
Poet: “There are no pickles.”
Husband: “There aren’t any.”

The wife washed her face and came out.
She faced the dressing table.

Poet: “Mrs. Shibuya, according to what I heard last night, your husband is due for a raise starting next month.
I’ll report it on his behalf.”

Wife: “How delightful.
Is it another five yen?”

Husband: “Better a small raise than none at all.
And pocket money will become somewhat more abundant…”

Poet: “Ahem.”

Husband: “Is this also prohibited?”

Wife: “Why has the face powder diminished so drastically? Surely there couldn’t have been anyone using it while I was away.”

Husband: (looked at the poet’s face)

Poet: “If evening makeup is a woman’s armament, then morning makeup becomes her triumphal fanfare.”

“I want to see a movie today—won’t you come with me, Mr. Toba?”

Toba: (looking at the Husband’s face) “I shall accompany you.”

“Since getting married, I’ve only been taken to the movies three times.”
“It seems to be his policy not to show others what he himself dislikes.”

“Ahem.”
“What’s with your ‘Ahem’? There’s nothing in the agreement about… such things.”
“When one commits words or deeds intending to willfully inflict suffering upon the counterparty...”

“Who’s suffering?”
“Which of us is suffering?”
“Unfair, you…”

“Let us refrain from lodging complaints with the Judge.”
“Because it can’t be settled.”

“It’s better to keep quiet, I suppose.”

“That’s advantageous.”

“Ahem.”

A voice at the kitchen entrance said, “Good day... It’s the greengrocer. Do you require anything?”
No one answered.
“Good day. It’s the greengrocer again. Do you require anything?”

Wife: “Mr. Toba, if there’s anything you need, please place an order.”

Poet: “Today’s will suffice.”

Husband: “What about this evening?”

“Hey, greengrocer,” said the poet.
“Bring some vegetables.”

The greengrocer’s voice asked, “What vegetables shall I prepare?”

“Anything’s fine—potatoes, daikon…,” replied the poet.

“About how much…” came the greengrocer’s voice.

“Potatoes for fifty sen, daikon for fifty sen...”

“There’s no use in bringing so much,” interjected the wife.

“In that case, hey—potatoes and daikon together for fifty sen…”

The greengrocer’s voice trailed off: “Thank you as always…”

“Half that would have sufficed.”

“Even half is too much.”

“Ahem, ahem.
Mrs. Shibuya, if you don’t eat quickly, the miso soup will be nothing but dregs.”

“Oh, I’ll prepare and eat my own, so that’s fine.”

“Huh—even though I went through the trouble of making it…”

“You need only concern yourself with your own portion.”
“Everyone can just eat whatever they like on their own.”

Why must women poets be so narrow-minded?

At this moment, a woman’s voice saying “Excuse me” came from the entrance, and the wife stood up to go out.

“Oh Mother!” came the wife’s voice.
“What do you mean coming so early… Oh my… Why… Wait right there.”
“Oh, I was just about to leave now.”

The wife led the way, and her mother entered.

Husband: (Straightening his posture) “Please come in. It’s been a while.”

Mother: “Are you having a meal now? Coming so early in the morning… Well, the thing is…”

Wife: “Oh, please have a seat, Mother.”

Mother: “Since you must be busy preparing to go out, don’t mind me… Tea can wait until later. You go ahead and serve them.”

Wife: “It’s fine—let them eat on their own… Oh, this person here—the one we’re taking care of at home. This is Mr. Toba, the poet I mentioned. This is my mother…”

“How do you do… Please, go ahead…”

“Oh, do come over here,” said the Wife. “What on earth is this about? You can take your time explaining it.”

Mother: “Oh, well… It’s about Uncle in Moji. They say he’s critical now.”

Wife: “He was critically ill?”

Mother: “It seems to have happened suddenly.”
“I’d like to visit him once myself, but given the circumstances… After you left last night, a letter arrived.”
(Taking out the letter from her obi and showing it) “When they say he’s critical—the fact that he can write like this means his mind’s still sound.”
“Anyway, as it says here, he has no children…”

Wife: (Reading the letter) “Wait… I’m looking at it now… So he’s dividing his property with us?”
(The husband suddenly raised his head and looked toward his wife)

Mother: "Even if they call her a niece, there are only three siblings in our family. It must mean Sister, you, and Atsu would each get fifty thousand yen."

Wife: "This feels like some kind of lie."

“This whole thing sounds exactly like a plot from a novel or play.”
“But he managed to leave behind that much, I must say.”
“But even so, look at your usual self.”
“Whether it was Sister’s occasion or yours, the congratulatory gift was just a two-yen money order.”

“If one were to speak of fifty thousand yen – how many multiples of a hundred would that be?”
“Five thousandfold, I should think.”

“I wonder if that’s really how it works,” said the Wife, looking at her husband.

“Then calculate it yourself,” retorted the Husband, deliberately turning away.

Mother: “Either way, it’s not a small amount of money.”
“This daughter is quite fortunate too.”

Wife: (casually to her husband) “With that much, we could live a bit more cheerfully.”

Toba: (hurriedly) “Ehem! Mr. Shibuya, it’s already twenty minutes past.”

“Well then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave…”

“But there might still be something to discuss.”
“It might be better to stay a bit longer.”

Husband: (after standing up) That holds true too.
"Today, even should I arrive an hour behind schedule, permissible remains permissible."

Toba: (also standing up) *Ehem! Ehem!*
(while saying so, jabbed the husband’s back)

Husband: (reluctantly starting to walk) “Still… since this barely concerns me, you ought to…”

Toba: (still shoving him along) *Ehem… Ehem.*

The husband headed to the entrance without even a proper greeting.
The Wife’s Mother tried to see him out, but the Wife grabbed her hem and wouldn’t let go.

Act Three

That evening, the husband and wife stood talking in a corner of the tatami room.

“It’s not that I distrust Mother, but I don’t understand what purpose there is in having her take care of it for us.”

“If she says she’ll take care of it, then you should just leave it with her, shouldn’t you?”
“I can’t meddle in such things.”

“So it’s acceptable precisely because I’m the one saying it.”
“Just come with me, please.”
“I’m worried about receiving such a large sum all by myself, and anyway, if I’m the one receiving it, it belongs to both of us, you know.”

“I understand your feelings perfectly,” said the husband. “But when it comes to Mother, she probably doesn’t want me touching it. She must feel like she’d be letting some complete stranger take all the sweet advantages.”

“There’s no such rule,” countered the wife. “If we’re husband and wife, then we’re husband and wife through and through.”

At this moment, hearing footsteps descending the stairs, the two hurriedly started pretending to be occupied with other matters.
The poet appeared.

“The fire’s gone out,” said the poet.
“I’ll take a bit with me then.”

“I don’t want you taking that one there,” said the wife.
“Since it’ll start right away, just light it with gas.”

The poet reluctantly headed to the kitchen.

The husband began reading a novel aloud: “When Ogen, the wife of Yatagorō Genshichi—the influential gang boss who held sway in Yoshichō—saw the letter her husband had sent from his outpost via underling, her face turned pale…” He added casually, “So about our earlier discussion—if you’re worried, I’ll just see you off and meet you upon return.”

“All the way to Moji.”

“He summoned several key underlings who were nearby”—(to Wife) “That’s fine by me.”

“When shall we depart?
The letter says to come immediately.”
(In a low voice)

“Thank you all for coming so promptly.
The truth is, the boss sent word from his outpost saying such a thing.
Well, take a look at this!”—(to Wife) “Tomorrow would be fine too.”

“Which kimono should I wear... I wonder...”

Poet: (sticking his head out from the kitchen) “Ehem!”
(The wife hurriedly lowered the iron kettle from the long hibachi.)

Husband: (reads) “When the underlings gathered around to read through the brief letter…”

In the meantime, the poet appeared holding a fire shovel.

Poet: "Mrs. Shibuya, look—I'm asking you as my friend's wife.
The futon's lining has gradually come undone, and the cotton batting has started spilling out.
I absolutely need that thing fixed tonight…"

Wife: "What's all this about a friend's wife? Who exactly is this 'friend' of yours?"

Poet: "This person here.
Your husband."

“As for the existence of such a person,” said the Wife, “I do not acknowledge it.”

“Is that so?” replied the Poet. “Then how about this—if you were directly my friend instead, Mrs. Shibuya?”

“I have no use for male friends.”

“Your husband would surely be delighted to hear that,” said the Poet. “Though of course, I’m only saying this because he’s listening over there…”

The Husband resumed reading aloud: “Itarō the renowned rōnin of Kōzuke chose the cover of darkness to steal away quietly.” His voice carried clearly through the room. “To the right lay Ryōgoku Bridge spanning ninety-six *ken* [approx. 175 meters], while to the left stretched Shin-Ōhashi Bridge—one hundred eight *ken* across—arching over the river before the boat warehouses.”

The poet had been listening intently to this but suddenly approached the wife and said in a slightly hushed voice,
“Please read one of the poems I composed during my travels today. I’ll bring a clean copy later.”

(With that, he headed upstairs.)

Husband: (continuing to read) "Beneath breezes caressing the river's surface on a late night when none remained to mind the faint chill at their collars, two shadows drew near sporadically until merging snugly into one."
(to Wife) Go fix that torn part of the futon.

Wife: "No need."
"It's because you sleep so roughly..."

Husband: (reading while) "There, where stars gleamed yet earth lay dark along the riverside—from before the boat warehouse to the Mito family's stone depot—the black shadow of two figures drawing together was indeed man and woman..."
"I wonder what a one-way ticket would cost."
"Third class for the trip there."

Wife: (sidling up to her husband) “Hey, you.”
“Once that money comes in, let’s move to a slightly better house.”
“Even if it’s not spacious, as long as there’s at least a proper bathroom.”

Husband: “That’s fine too, but first and foremost, I’d like to experience an ideal Household Suspension.”
“Even you—if your allowance were sufficient—wouldn’t consider fluttering back to my side in just three or four days.”

Wife: “Even at Mother’s place, we can only stay precisely two days—from the third day onward, we’ll no longer be treated as guests.”

“Look, if you get tired of your parents’ home, there’s no law saying you have to come back here.”
“We’re still stuck seeing each other’s faces in the same house.”
“No matter how many Agreement Clauses we draft, we can’t achieve a complete Household Suspension.”
“I can stay like this just fine, but if you say you’ll go off to hot springs or invite friends out to plays or movies every day, then one week would pass like a dream.”

“One week just isn’t nearly enough.”

“Right. In that case, I too have my own way of exercising free action,” said the husband. “Even if you don’t come straight home from the office, I can take as many detours as I please. Staying out until one or two o’clock—without enough cash on hand—would be quite the ordeal.”

“But if we had money,” countered the wife, “there’d be no need for something like a Household Suspension. We wouldn’t have to feel awkward around each other, you know.”

“No—that won’t do,” said the Husband. “That matter and this are entirely separate. At any rate, temporarily freeing ourselves from the bonds of matrimony—this breather during long-term married life—is something everyone needs.”

“But with money,” countered the Wife, “we could lead more varied lives… There’d be more things to enjoy too.”

“Your grumbling would decrease too.”

“That’s right. When the money comes in, the first thing we should do is go somewhere along the coast. I’d like to try living in a hotel.”

“You can do as you please.”
“If you get lonely alone, you’ll just take along some convenient companion, I suppose.”

“Well then, you’re saying you’ll go dragging in some suitable companion yourself.”
“Well, I’ll have you leave that matter to me.”

“That’s fine,” said the wife, “but when money comes in, I feel everything will become completely new. Don’t you feel that way too?”

“I still have no right to say anything about it,” replied the husband. “Well then, just handle things properly.”

The poet came downstairs again.
He was holding manuscript paper.

Husband: (feigning ignorance) “Had there been a wind to stir this woman’s hair at her temples, the heady fragrance of powder and alluring sheen of hair oil would surely have revealed her youth.”

Poet: (sitting beside the Wife) “This is it.”
“It’s brief.”

Husband: (ignoring him) “But since none other than Itaro stood there, the scent that set men’s hearts racing would merely drift vainly through darkness and be extinguished—save for him alone.”

“Poet—a little quieter…”

Husband: (after continuing to read silently for a while, gradually raising his voice) “…‘The woman, unable to endure it, whispered “If only—” and choked on tears.
“Though it was spring, the moon shone as coldly as tonight’s…”

“Mr. Toba—you’re deliberately interfering.”

Husband: “There’s no point making her read something like poetry. It’s because you’re putting on airs of understanding too, Professor, that things keep escalating…”

The poet grew increasingly agitated. “First and foremost—that’s an *Ehen!*”

“What do you mean by *Ehen*?”

Poet: “That’s an *Ehen* situation.”
“When either of you two violates the Agreement Clauses, it’s been decided that I’ll say *Ehen*.”
“That was clearly your violation of the Agreement Clauses.”
“The married couple shall not, under any circumstances, provide assistance, interfere, issue commands, consult, place orders, or engage in similar acts regarding matters of mutual free will or general household management.”

Husband: “Which of those does this current one fall under?”

Poet: “They include interference, commands, and orders—all three.”

“Rather, I consider it assistance.”

Wife: “I agree!”

Poet: “Huh?”

“I said I agree.”
“With whom are you agreeing?”
“With me.”
“You stay quiet... (to the wife) With whom?”
“With that person.”
“Who is ‘that person’?”

“That’s the person over there wearing glasses and reading a book.”
“The person reading the book—who is that?”
“(Amusedly) Shibuya Yaosoi.”
“(Persistently) What is Shibuya Yaosoi to you?”
“Starting the day after tomorrow, he’ll be my husband again.”
“Alright then! Please read my poem quickly. How far have you read?”

“I’ve finished reading it to the end.”

“To the very end…?”
“That’s a lie.”
“You’re merely feigning having read it too.”

At this moment, the lattice door at the entrance opened, and a woman’s voice called out, “Excuse me.”

“Ah, Miss Kamoko!”
“She’s my angel.”
“She’s the only reader of my poetry.”
“Please come in.”

(Exited, then returned pulling a young woman by the hand.)

Young Woman: (placing her hands on the floor) “Good evening…”

Wife: (amiably) “Good evening…”
“Now please go upstairs.”

Young Woman: “Um… today I’ve come to ask a small favor of you…”

Poet: “May I remain here?”

Young Woman: “No, it’ll be a problem if you stay—this is a private matter.”

Poet: “Then come upstairs later.”
(The poet went upstairs.)

“What’s this about exactly?”

“Um... it must seem strange for me to ask you something like this, Mrs. Shibuya, but I’m truly at my wit’s end...” She glanced around nervously. “Do you think anyone might hear us...?”

“It’s all right.”
“Then come closer over here.”

Sidling nearer to the wife, she confessed, “You see... at first I thought Mr. Toba was a much more distinguished poet.”
“That’s why I ended up admiring him a little.”
“Please don’t laugh at me.”
“But lately I’ve finally come to understand the truth.”
“And besides... that person keeps coming over to our house sometimes.”
“No matter how many times I say it’s a problem, he just doesn’t understand.”
“Father makes such an unpleasant face every time it happens, you see.”
“‘What’s that—some beggar from who knows where?’ he says afterward.”
“I’m so troubled by it all.”
“Though it might be rude to mention... he wears such terribly shabby clogs too.”

“Those clogs, I suppose?”
“That’s all there are available, you see.”

“If it were just that clogs matter, it would be tolerable,” said the young woman, “but he speaks in such an overly familiar manner at our house that even Mother has grown angry.”

“So in short,” concluded the wife, “your mother wishes me to tell him not to visit your household anymore—is that what she requests?”

“Yes.”
“And also—since I won’t be visiting for a while either—if I tell him directly myself, that would be bothersome again—so could you please convey this from Mrs. Shibuya as well…”

“Goodness, what a troublesome task.”

The poet revealed half his body from atop the stairs.

“Aren’t you done yet?”

Wife: “Not yet.”

Poet: “Miss Kamoko. You’ve talked enough—come over here now.”

Wife: “You shouldn’t be poking your face out like that from there.”
(The poet withdrew.)

Young Woman: “Somehow even seeing that person’s face has become frightening to me.”

Wife: (moving toward her husband) “Hey, you—listen... It’s about Miss Kamoko.”

Husband: “I’ve already heard most of it.”

Wife: “What should we do?”

Husband: “A consultation? If it’s a consultation, per the agreement clauses, I must decline.”

“Anyway, putting that jest aside—if we say such things, I wonder if it might actually make them angry instead.”

“Well, if you think you can do it, go ahead and try.”
(The poet made loud throat-clearing noises.)

(Calmly) “You’re being noisy.”
“Interrupting people’s conversations with your coughing like that.”

At that moment, the lattice door of the entrance opened again,

“Shibuya-kun, are you there? It’s me.”
“It’s Chaki.”

Husband: (rising energetically) I'm here. Please do come up.

The guest came clomping up.

Chaki (mimicking playing mahjong with both hands): “How about a round?”
Husband: “Sounds good.”

“It’s been a while.”
“How about you, Miss Kamoko?”

Everyone gathered around the table and began a lively game of mahjong.
Their antics were anything but ordinary—the wife pinched her husband’s arm, and he yelped, “Ouch, you damn bastard!”, their playful harmony on full display.
From upstairs came Toba’s incessant “Ahem, ahem.”
“Miss Kamoko—ahem.”
“—Miss Kamoko—” and finally, a frayed comforter with cotton spilling out came rolling down beside the mahjong table.

Everyone looked somewhat startled for a moment, but then, as though nothing had occurred, they became engrossed in sorting the tiles.
Before long, the poet, wearing a hat and carrying a bag, came downstairs and tried to head toward the entrance.

“Mr. Toba, are you going somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Take care on your way.”

The poet suddenly turned back. “Do you know where I’m going?”

“Are you moving out?”

“Oh, is that true, Mr. Toba? How regrettable,” said the husband.

“Ha ha ha!” The poet laughed. “I see—I hadn’t even realized it was a full relocation myself. Well, since you put it that way, I do indeed intend to proceed with the relocation. Miss Kamoko, you should say something too.”

“Oh, is that true?” Kamoko replied. “Well then, goodbye.” She added softly: “Sensei.”

“Is that all?”
“Very well.”
“I am a poet.”
“As long as I make people remember what they’ve forgotten, my duty ends there.”
“I’ll come for my luggage once I’ve found new lodgings.”

“I’ll keep it safe for certain.”
“This time, we’ll take responsibility as husband and wife.”

“I’ll mend the frayed part of the futon by then.”

“Please do take at least the bookmark I gave you.”

“Good—those words,” said Toba. “However, you’d do well to refrain from using such words too often.”
“Well then, everyone—I’ve been a burden for quite some time.”
“No, no—please, let things remain as they are.”

(No one made any move to see him off.)
The poet headed toward the entrance.

Kamoko: “Is he really moving out?”
Wife: “He’s good-hearted at his core—just a bit bothersome.”

“But when it comes to grasping things, he’s sharp,” remarked the husband. “The things he notices are downright startling.”

“He’s really leaving just like that?” said Chaki. “How about it—should I move in instead?”

The husband met his wife’s gaze and declared in unison: “Taking in lodgers is already a worn-out business.”

“Having people stay over is already a worn-out business,” said the Wife.

“Somehow, I’ve started feeling sorry,” Kamoko murmured.

Suddenly, Toba appeared and flung down a letter.

“The mail has arrived,” said Toba.
(He examined the two pairs of soiled geta through narrowed eyes)

The entrance was too dark to see clearly.

Wife (looking at the envelope’s address): “It’s addressed to me.”

Chaki (looking toward Toba): “Ah, that—one pair is mine.”

Wife (turning the envelope over): “Oh, it’s from Aunt in Moji.”
Had it finally fallen through, I wonder.
(She opened and read silently.)

Toba and Chaki alternately exchanged and compared the geta.

Wife (suddenly): “He’s making fools of everyone!”
(Everyone startled.)

Wife (to husband): “Look at this. It says Uncle has gone mad—so whatever he says, don’t take it seriously.”

“What’s this—according to this, it’s not just some rich person’s fuss, is it?”

“It seems he gives fifty thousand yen to anyone he lays eyes on.”
“I see—in that case, he’s truly ill!”

Toba, Chaki, and Kamoko were all listening to this story in stunned silence.

Toba (smirking): "At least that kind of illness isn't painful—small mercies."

“That’s exactly right.”

“And there we are—back to square one again,” said Toba.
(He began ascending the stairs)

Husband: (awkwardly) Well, Mr. Toba—as you can see, the household has resumed operations, so... do bear with us.

Toba: “Oh, it’s nothing—please, don’t stand on ceremony.”
(With those words, he briskly headed up to the second floor.)

―Curtain―