Pathway to Japanese Literature

A flower-patterned rush mat spread across an eight-tatami Japanese-style room; a bed, a mirrored cabinet, a table, chairs—all cheap Western furniture.
The bed stripped of its quilt, leaving only the mattress; a single chair upturned on the table—these details declared that this room now lay unused.

As for decorations, there was only a New Year’s supplement beauty print tacked to the wall with thumbtacks, and if one were to seek something “historic,” a calendar showing the date April 17th hung from one of the pillars.

The front was shoji screens.
To the left were a one-bay tokonoma alcove and a one-bay closet.

A cloudy day past four in the afternoon.

Footsteps clattered in the hallway.

The shoji opened.
The woman appeared.

Gaudy serge.
An out-of-fashion shawl.
Dirty tabi socks.

After surveying the entire room once over, she muttered.

"It’s true."
"...It’s true... after all... it’s true..."

She paced around the room, here and there. She sat down on the bed.

If he’d moved somewhere else, he should’ve taken these things with him… After all, these are all necessities—I don’t know what price the landlady paid for them, but if she’d told me, there would’ve been a way to work something out…

She suddenly stood up.

But he’s truly awful… sneaking off without even telling me…
No matter how I look at it… that’s not how it is…

She leaned against the chair and teared up.

"Well, a month was perhaps too long, but he truly had been a patient I couldn't let go of..."
"There was a time I'd thought of asking someone to take over for just one night."
"But still, I'd felt guilty..."
"At times like those, not being able to exchange letters really was the hardest thing."
"If we met, even if we couldn't communicate properly, it hadn't mattered."
"Western men... are they all like that?"
"He would immediately sense what I was thinking—I could stay silent without feeling awkward..."
"He'd mutter things to himself while I paid no mind—if something seemed funny I'd laugh freely—and since he wouldn't understand anyway, I'd sometimes tease him by calling him an 'idiot' or 'blockhead.'"
"Then finally he seemed to grasp their meaning."
"'I am an idiot,'"
"he said while—ah how nice...I'd never been teased so much..."

Suddenly, she threw herself face down on the bed—in a tearful voice—

"Why did you have to leave so suddenly? I wanted you to tease me—really tease me—today too..."

She sat up and remained seated.

How strange.
How many times have we met since then, I wonder…
It started last March.
Once a week, once every ten days—at longest we went twenty days without meeting…
Each time I finished a hospital shift we’d arranged for him to come without fail—that person would always amiably place his hand on my shoulder and say “YOKU KIMASHITA.”
That alone made me happy.

She stood up, went to the mirrored cabinet, and while gazing at her own figure—

"If I’d known from the start it would come to this…"
"That’s right—when I think about that time, it’s utterly bewildering."
"When the doctor told me directly, 'You—this time’s patient care might be a bit different from what you’re used to, but take special care,' I wondered what he meant."
"Then I realized—it was him."
"When she entered the hospital room, a man nearby suddenly said, 'Can you speak English?'"
"It’s not like he asked that himself—someone must’ve said something careless…"
"I stayed silent and kept laughing."
"The hospital said it was their first time having a Western patient, and it was my first time attending to a Westerner too…"
"Indeed, the way things worked was so different that if I went to ask the doctor about every little thing, I’d get scolded."

She pulled the chair closer, rattling its legs as she—

That night when I measured his temperature—40.2 degrees...
He was breathing laboriously.
When I approached his side, he would open his eyes and look like he wanted to say something.
When I looked closely, it wasn't such a scary face, but...what should I have said...it still felt creepy.
His nose resembled a bird's beak with red veins visible all over, his irises had an odd silvery hue, and his hair wasn't particularly curly—though that was mostly because he was going bald.

There, she burst out laughing.

Ah, that was so funny.
When I saw his head and thought he looked practically ancient, there it was on the chart—twenty-nine years old.
To call it a mistake wouldn’t be quite right.
But thinking about it now, there were parts that did seem youthful—the head nurse and I shared a good laugh over it.
He was supposed to be some scholar here to study Japanese customs, but there wasn’t a scholarly thing about him.
And though they said he’d only just arrived in Japan, he’d sometimes use broken Japanese—who on earth taught him that?
That only made him seem all the more dim-witted.

Suddenly, in a serious tone, she continued—

Bronchitis—that was his illness...
So I had to change the compresses every day.
It was strange at first... When I opened his chest, the hair was all matted.
Despite that, his skin was pure white and glossy—so much so you’d think he was a woman.
Strange thing, that...

Gradually, solemnly,

The fever had completely subsided in about a week.
His appetite returned and his vigor came back.
When he wanted milk, there was none.
But he would eat any food with eager curiosity.
He never even had specially prepared Western meals.
He'd try holding chopsticks with such an unsteady grip.
I was the one who taught him.
Watching him felt more pitiful than amusing.
Coming from a distant, different country to end up sick like this... Thinking such thoughts while tending to him nearby, I couldn't help wanting to care for him like family.

Before she knew it, she was sitting on the chair.

And… that’s right…
Back then, I too had hardships I couldn’t put into words…
I had just parted ways with a man I’d lived with for three years under such circumstances, and driven by the resolve that from now on I’d have to support myself alone—it was when I’d started throwing myself into my work with renewed vigor…
Whenever I heard even the slightest cough in the night, no matter how sleepy I was, I’d immediately leap up and give him a spoonful of syrup…
That person would say “Arigatau” each time he thanked me.
That sort of patient is rare.
That was his way of saying it.
Did he think words alone weren’t enough? With his expressions, he’d skillfully convey such feelings.
Part of it was growing accustomed to him, but those eyes—whether you’d call them kind or filled with emotion—were the sort even we women couldn’t imitate.
And that sigh… That’s right—the way he’d sigh as if delighted—that’s what it was.
Westerners—they properly understand such things.

She stood up, then settled back onto the bed.

"It was the morning when he'd been told he could leave in two or three days.
Thinking he was still asleep, I quietly reached my hand beneath the quilt.
I meant to check his pulse.
That person had folded both hands over his chest.
Keeping his left wrist in position like that, I counted the pulse while watching the clock's hands.
Seventy-four...
When I tried to withdraw my hand, his right suddenly gripped mine tight and refused to let go.
I didn't understand what it meant.
No—I wasn't feigning ignorance.
Truthfully, I'd forgotten he was a man.
They can laugh all they want...
But if I hadn't seen his eyes then, I might still have thought it a joke.
There—those eyes again.
I startled and shook my hand free with all my strength.
Then fled the room."

Abruptly, she stood up again and went to the mirror-fronted cupboard.
Her body remained facing forward as she leaned only her face toward the mirror.

That night too, the same kind of thing happened again.
This time, I kept laughing nonchalantly.
But then, the next morning—what came over me?—I ended up gripping that person’s hand in return…
Half-intending it as mischief…

While saying that, she ran her hand through her hair and fixed the disheveled strands.
And then, this time, she turned to face front with a faint smile,

And so, it was finally decided he would be discharged.
After just this single night, this person would already be gone somewhere...
When I thought about it that way—parting like this felt... calling it painful sounds strange—but well, I felt something like lingering attachment.
He of course felt it even more intensely...

Suddenly, she began pacing around the area.

Tch, who cares...
No one could possibly find out.

Eventually, she collapsed exhaustedly onto the bed.

Ah, that night feels like a dream.
The fact that I had intended to cleanly forget everything by the next morning ended up becoming the very seed that tormented me after that person was gone.

Suddenly, she lifted her head.

I couldn't even wait ten days—on around the eighth day, I ended up trudging off to that Kanda hotel where he was staying...
Without even considering what expression he might make...
But... it turned out well...
That person beamed at me, said "YOKU KIMASHITA," and hugged me so tightly I thought my spine might snap...

She stood up and started walking.

"It wasn’t long after that… that person moved here…"
"I think he went out of his way to rent this amateur boardinghouse because he said hotels were uneconomical."
"For all that, he’s quite the tight-fisted one."
"The reason he took me along when buying these furnishings was as a means to purchase cheap goods."
"This bed was thirty-eight yen, the cupboard nineteen yen, and the chair and table twenty-two yen, I think…"
"For a Westerner, that’s unusual—certainly…"
"Of course I didn’t get involved with that person for money—that’s not the issue—but the thought that people might assume I’m receiving some generous allowance irritates me to no end."
"Now that I think of it, aside from the nursing fee, I only ever accepted a two-yen tip—right up until the end, I never even let him pay for a single tram fare…"
"That’s one thing I can really boast about."
"Ah, the items…?"
"That’s different."
"Last summer, when he went to Kyoto, he gave me a doll as a souvenir, didn’t he…"
"And then, this New Year’s, he bought about six feet of merino fabric scraps from some shop and presented them with such ceremony that I was rather taken aback."
"Oh right—when it came to treats, there was that one time we went to eat Takeha’s eel, but otherwise, having soba or donburi at this house was the most we ever did."
"But such things don’t matter at all."
"Since we couldn’t set meeting dates anyway, and he’d just show up unexpectedly—if I could be by his side for a day or two, that was enough for me……."
"Looking back now, it’s amazing we lasted this long being like that."
"We never established anything beyond our names, never gave a single thought to the future—yet simply meeting was enough for us to love each other so… so deeply. No one could possibly imagine such a thing…."

She opened the mirror-fronted cupboard.

"Oh... It doesn't look like they've even cleaned yet......"

She pulled out the cardboard box.

"There they are—there they are—all sorts of things…."

From within she plucked out the empty eau de cologne bottle and sniffed it.

Ah, this scent...

Next came an old toothbrush.

He used this until it was completely worn out…

She put that into her handbag, then took out a single button.

"What button is this from…?"
"Ah, this must be from that coat…"

She put this one in the handbag too.
And next extracted a broken pen shaft.

"If I could read his letters, this would also make a good memento…"

While murmuring this, she began to put it into her handbag but abruptly stopped herself.
Then—tattered slippers, a safety razor blade, cigarette silver paper—she picked up each item one by one.

Every single one of these… they’re all just things that could be thrown away….

She put those things back into the cardboard box and stored it in the cupboard.
And then, this time, she took out a straw hat covered in stains.
My, this color….
She placed it lightly on her head and looked in the mirror.
When that person put on a hat—why, he looked younger.

Suddenly, she threw herself onto the chair, covered her face with her elbows, and cried—

"It’s too much… it’s just too much……."
"That’s… That’s not how it works…"
"He could have at least told me beforehand—he should have."
"If that were the case, I could have properly steeled myself…"
"However much it may be, there must be a way to resign oneself."
"In this state, no matter what I do, I can’t bring myself to give up—can I?"
"If he comes next time… I feel like we could meet again, you know…."
"So many times… I should’ve kept coming until we could meet…"

She raised her face and looked around.

But what promises did we ever make?
How much did we truly understand each other’s feelings……
When it comes to things that person said or did that remain deeply in my heart… what could there possibly be……
Even as we met occasionally like this… was there ever a time when parting felt harder than it does today…?
As for when we’d meet again next—he never asked, and I never wanted to be asked……
Every time we parted, not knowing whether we’d meet again was actually a relief for me—and because of that, I could become quite bold……

She got up.

If that were truly how things stood, then days like these might well have arrived far sooner—so why… why now… why must I thrash about like this?

She stood before the large beauty portrait pasted on the wall.

"That person said this painting looks like me…"
"He compared me to this painting and said something like 'This is you.'"
"Does it really look that way…?"
"Well, if a Japanese man said that, I wouldn’t believe him for a second."
"Such transparent flattery—how ridiculous! It’d just make me furious…"
"But when he says it… it doesn’t feel like mere flattery."
"I’m not being vain or anything."
"To Western eyes, maybe that’s how it appears—and isn’t that what’s interesting?"
"So if I brought an Okame mask now, he’d probably say 'Oh! This one looks more like you!'"
"It’s harmless enough, isn’t it?"
"In other words—that’s exactly the kind of thing."

She turned toward the mirror.

I fell in love after all…
Though there were parts I couldn’t quite claim came from the heart—if it was an affair, you’d expect there to be more of a proper partner involved.
How a woman like me could thoughtlessly give her body to a man—I myself didn’t even begin to understand, and to others, it must have seemed like a fabrication.
But up until then, even though there had been so many opportunities like that, I had managed to get through them so splendidly...
As a woman, if I had to say which way I leaned, I was the cold type.
That was clear even from the relationship with the previous man.
After all, I was the one who had silently endured that three-year life of being trampled upon.
How many women had experienced being dragged into the same house with some strange girl and forced to perform even the raising and lowering of bedding morning and night…
But if you thought I was weak-willed, you were mistaken.
If I had truly wanted to discard that man, I could have done so at any time.
But then again, it was pride—really….
On one hand, I thought that someday the man would come to his senses, but on the other hand, it turned into something like a battle of endurance with that woman.
And so, in the end, I did lose—but those three years of endurance deserved some praise….

She sat down on the chair.
And then immediately stood up again.

At twenty-five—until last year—I’d been free and unattached, never even glancing at what people called men.
It wasn’t that I found them hateful or frightening.
Somehow all I ever felt was this hollow disappointment.
How had it come to this…?
No—that wasn’t something I’d say to just any man.
Only that person.
Only toward that person…
If I didn’t see him, it ached; if I did see him, my mind went blank.

She pressed her cheeks with both hands and put on an affectedly coquettish air.

"Oh my, he's laughing somewhere."
"Surely it's not about me... right?"

She plopped down onto the bed, bouncing her body on the springs while—

As she did this: I just can’t bring myself to believe that person has returned to his country.
I get this feeling he’s hiding somewhere around here—behind the cupboard or something.
But there were times like that.
He was that kind of playful trickster.
Another time too—while I went to place an order at the back—he secretly hid under the bed and made me fret for ages.
Thirty whole minutes!
When he crawled out—I hit him with a slipper so hard you could’ve called it hatred.
Come to think of it—he really loved it when I got rough.
That sort of thing… maybe he’s a pervert…

She covered her face with both hands.

—Anything's fine.
I want to see him again—just once would be enough...
Even if I truly resolve that we'll never meet again after this—I want to see him one last time, deeply...
Until now, no matter what I did, I couldn't muster such feelings.
As long as I didn't clearly understand it as such, there was a part of me that carelessly assumed there was still time ahead—that I'd been too nonchalant about it all.
That's what's so galling—I...

This time, she propped her cheek on one hand.

If that person had said he'd take me to France—what would I have answered...? That—I wouldn't have refused or anything. But until now, I'd never once considered such a thing. That—I had properly understood what sort of person he was. After all, he couldn't have had any serious intentions to begin with. Especially at first—he'd been capricious, and I'd been capricious too. It's just that there was a slight difference from saying he treated me as a plaything. That's precisely why I could become genuine. Neither of us had harbored intentions to entice or deceive. There was no obligation or duty, but in exchange, no secrets or pretenses either. We never bound each other, yet never grew tired... So if only he'd remained in Japan, it should have continued endlessly—forever, no matter what might have occurred...

Suddenly twisted her body around.

“Ah—”
Did that person have a wife…?
That too—I kept meaning to ask, but ended up forgetting to bring it up…
Even if he did have one, it wouldn’t matter…
No—he shouldn’t have one.
They say Westerners always keep photos of their wives pressed against their skin when they travel…
And also—was he wearing a ring…?
He was wearing something, but I never noticed whether it was an engagement ring or not…
When we met, there was never time to dwell on such things…
Right, right—he told me to show him how to write my name, so I wrote it for him, but he said he’d memorize those characters.
Has he learned to write it on his own by now…?
A name like Fujioka Yaeko is rather difficult.

She stood up.

“Ra... oul... Rich... ten... Mec... kel.”
This name—if there ever was one that’s hard to say, this was it.
It had been such a hassle that I’d ended up calling him Raoul-chan.
Because it sounded like Mr. Rauya’s shop—easy to remember...
“Me as a parent, Raoul-chan as a child...?”
Then he’d been bound to say, “Watashi, udon.”

She leaned against a pillar.

"Setting aside the banter... I wonder if Raoul-chan has really gone for good..."
That signature nasal humming of his still lingered in her ears.

She mimicked it—the rhythm and tone alike.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm... hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm... hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm..."

Again, tears gradually welled up.

"Even though I feel this intensely... was he truly unaffected?"
"Was he truly unbothered when he left...?"
"I wonder... did he never even think of me...?"
"That can’t be right."
"He must have at least once considered I might visit after he left..."
"They say he didn’t leave a single word about me to the landlady—but then again, something like ‘If she comes, please look after her’ would’ve felt even hollower..."
"Now that it’s come to this—precisely because he isn’t Japanese—I can’t get a handle on it."
"Anyway, over there, they have this way of doing things."

Suddenly noticing the calendar hanging on the pillar, she tried to take it down.

April 17th… The last time I came here was… April 6th, in the evening…
Until the 17th, he was certainly here…
That’s right… I just heard from Ms. Kami that he left on the 18th…
And so today was May 9th…
So that’s why… Even if I’d come then, it wouldn’t have mattered… Because that had been the twentieth of last month…
Enough… Enough of this…

Tearing off the calendar pages one by one.

People can think whatever they want...
Even if we part ways like this, there's nothing unnatural about it at all.
One of us would vanish without warning... We never discussed such things beforehand... It was just a matter of which one would act first.
If I stopped going to him, that would be the end of it... He must have understood that much.
The two of us haven't changed at all.
It's just that time has passed...

Unconsciously rolling each torn calendar page into a ball while—

To leave behind not a single unpleasant memory—to detach myself so cleanly from another person—such a thing doesn’t happen even once in a lifetime.
And… and… why do I… why do I want to cry this much…?

She collapsed onto the chair and cried out loud.
Eventually, while wiping her tears,

Ah, I feel cleansed.
This should be enough now...
No matter how long I keep doing this, there's no end to it.
Come on, I should go back before Ms. Kami comes peeking.
Maybe there's already an offer waiting somewhere...

She stood up and looked around the room once more.

Maybe I should find some regular work and rent this room…
It comes furnished; they plan to rent it out as-is.
If only I could manage that… then maybe I could muster the will to wait… for something… anything…

She leaned limply against the chair.

When I think of returning to that place again as I am… with no idea what will become of me, there’s no point in shaking a thermometer every day anyway.

A long silence.

"Oh... Why on earth did I have such lingering attachment to this room...?
If he truly wanted to part ways, he could have done it much more cleanly.
That’s right—if only that person were here now, I could walk away without a second thought.
If I told myself we’d never meet again, I could march out of here with even greater bravado…
Yet here I was, unable to move from this hollow room where that person no longer remained… My legs refused to obey…
Even if my feelings were stirred up, my body wouldn’t comply….
So heavy… so heavy… I couldn’t take it…."

She quietly stood up and lay facedown on the bed.

Ah, this hurts...

She violently shook her shoulders.

That’s not it.
It’s not like I want to see you…
It’s fine for everything to end now…
Just...

Suddenly, she raised her face.

"Huh?
Just... what’s wrong with me…?"

Again, her voice turned tearful.

"Just... there are so many things I want to say... Things I wanted to tell that person... Now, at last... they’ve become clear to me....
All this time, I’d resigned myself... thinking that anyway, no matter what I said, my words wouldn’t reach him...
No—more than that, I never even tried to think about what I wanted to say...
In other words... I had nothing I wanted to say...."

Gradually being dragged into a world of fantasy—

"Hey... would you understand me?"
"Would you listen?"
Even if I couldn't comprehend a word you said when hearing your voice before me—if only you'd remember me just a little while being apart like this... surely... surely you'd grasp what I'm trying to say.
First of all... I want to thank you from my heart... Whatever I say, I was happy.
That I could obtain happiness as a woman—without burdens—so easily... it was because you differed from other men somehow.
But in return... you should praise me a little.
What part should I try to put into words?
The part where I didn't hinder you...

She stood up, somewhat cheerfully.

"I don't think I'll ever meet another man like you again."
"That's fine as it is."
"But with any man, I intend never to make promises for the next day…"

She began walking slowly when she suddenly stopped before the mirror and smoothed out the wrinkles in her kimono.
Then placing her hand on the shoji, she opened it just enough for her body to pass through and glanced back once more.

Goodbye, Raoul... I don’t know when I’ll be back.