Pathway to Japanese Literature

Characters

Kakurai Norishige

Fuyuna

Shimon

Nerako

Masashige

Fuyuna's mother

Dr. Hayami

Kemuri (Attending Physician)

Associate Professor Hosoki

Professor Osato

Ura (Proprietor of Gyokusekido)

Tsumaru (Journalist)

Nurse

I

Kakurai Norishige, a philosophy professor at a certain university, was known as a Kant scholar—though in recent years he had taken to inserting names like Heidegger into his lectures—until he became the subject of an anecdote where a student who asked about Sartre was left perplexed when he replied that it lay beyond his expertise.
At times he published essays akin to cultural criticism or personal musings in two or three magazines, but that their pedantic affectations plagued many readers remained something he himself could hardly have known.
Yet he was—in a word—a beloved old professor whose scholarly bearing at times commanded society's respect and whose frank disposition touched with a hint of childishness sufficed at others to garner the sympathy of those around him.

Retirement age was drawing near.
Despite the considerable number of books he had published being far from favorably received, just as he was agonizing over his post-retirement livelihood, a trivial bout of common cold triggered a collapse in his once-boasted robust health.

No sooner had the relapse of pneumonia finally subsided than the onset of acute nephritis triggered such prolific proliferation of duodenal worms that it first drew the doctors' attention—and now the side effects of medication administered to treat them caused gastrointestinal distress accompanied by excruciating pain.

Weakness grew day by day.
The sight of their local attending physician in a fluster left Fuyuna, his wife, beside herself with worry; overriding her husband’s hesitation, she decided to call in Dr. Hayami—an internal medicine specialist and professor at the same university’s medical school—to conduct a joint examination.

Dr. Hayami and he had only crossed paths once or twice at university gatherings—hardly close enough to be on a first-name basis. Nevertheless, whether out of collegial courtesy or respect for Kakurai’s scholarly reputation, the doctor conducted his examination with meticulous thoroughness.

Dr. Hayami: “Appetite?”

Kakurai: “None.”

Fuyuna: “He hasn’t had any appetite at all for about two weeks now.”

Dr. Hayami: “Does it hurt here?”

Kakurai: “It hurts.”

Fuyuna: “He says his entire body hurts everywhere.”
“But truly—he’s someone who endures things so well—and yet…”

Dr. Hayami: “How are you feeling?”

Kakurai: “Of course…it’s not that there’s nothing wrong… I’m extremely fatigued…or perhaps restless…”

“He says he’s extremely fatigued,” said Fuyuna. “There must be some particularly painful spot, but he won’t clearly tell us where it is.”

“It’s the breathing,” said Dr. Hayami. “Your breathing… must be labored… with this heart… And with your eyes open like this—isn’t it too bright?”

Kakurai closed his eyes.

“It was this morning,” said Fuyuna. “He told us to close the storm shutters because it’s too bright. He suddenly said such a thing. From daytime onward, thinking it would be too gloomy otherwise, I tried setting up a screen by his pillow like this, but…”

“Then please consult closely with the attending physician. If necessary, I’ll write out a prescription.”

Thus, Dr. Hayami nodded to the patient, rose from his seat, and was guided by Fuyuna into an adjoining room.

Before the attending physician Kemuri and his wife Fuyuna, Dr. Hayami maintained silence for a while.

Dr. Kemuri: “I would like your frank assessment…”

Whether candor was needed or not—the situation was glaringly obvious.

He slightly lowered his voice and began his trademark technical jargon peppered with German terms.
After repeatedly invoking “Russell” and casting what seemed a cold glance at Dr. Kemuri’s thoroughly perplexed expression,

Dr. Hayami: “Mrs. Kakurai—I deeply regret this—but I must inform you there’s nothing more to be done.
“Beyond this point, only waiting for a miracle remains—if such things exist.
“To state plainly: The professor has entered critical condition.
“However… whether we should disclose this directly to him… I defer to your judgment.
“I believe now would be appropriate to summon close relatives.”

“I rather thought that might be the case,” said Dr. Kemuri.
“As suspected, both lungs have been completely compromised.”

“But his lungs—they were supposed to have fully healed?” Fuyuna interjected. “Yet Dr. Hayami, my husband has long deeply contemplated the matter of death.”
“It was just four or five days ago—though of course he said it jokingly—that he told us if doctors determined his life couldn’t be saved, they should inform him immediately.”
“Given his usual way of thinking, he must surely be prepared for this outcome. I believe he may wish to know in advance so he can leave behind some important words.”

“If I may ask—does the Professor have any religious faith?”

“He isn’t particularly affiliated with any religion, but I believe he must have something akin to a philosopher’s convictions.”

“As a philosopher… Ah, I see. Then, would you like to be the one to suggest it, Mrs. Kakurai? Or perhaps someone else…?”

“If it comes from me, I fear it might only be taken as unnecessary worry.”

“However, such a pronouncement shouldn’t come directly from a doctor’s mouth…”
“What do you think, Dr. Kemuri?”

“Well, I’ve long been on good terms with Professor Kakurai here. Logically speaking, even if I could do it, emotionally I find it unbearable.”

“I’m not engaging in humanitarian arguments here,” said Dr. Hayami. “I merely question whether this falls within a doctor’s professional purview. To put it plainly—since this requires interpersonal skills and specialized techniques—I must decline responsibility. However, should you explicitly order me to proceed, I will comply.”

“No, I’ll find the right moment to bring it up myself.”
“Even trusting my husband completely… I feel the outcome remains entirely unpredictable…”
“Well then, Dr. Hayami… thank you.”
“If we accept it’s hopeless… how much time… remains…?”

“I don’t know.”
“I can’t say definitively.”
“Perhaps within twenty-four hours at earliest—three days at most.”
“I must attend a clinical lecture now—inform me immediately of any sudden changes.”
“Administer only the cardiotonic every hour or two…”

After Dr. Hayami left, the attending physician Kemuri remained vacantly in the reception room, and Fuyuna returned alone to her husband’s sickroom.

“Your talk went on too long!”
“I was hearing about the examination results in detail.”
“Is that the kind of explanation even a layman can understand?”
“There were parts I understood and parts I didn’t.”
“But the conclusion was…”
“They’re saying it’s hopeless, I suppose.”
“Oh my, they wouldn’t put it that way.”
“There’s no way they’d say something like that.”
“It’s just… They only said that since the weakening is quite severe, we need to be extremely careful.”
“You yourself must understand that much, don’t you?”

“There’s no need to tell doctors what I can figure out myself,” Kakurai said. “So where exactly are they saying it’s bad?”

“That—I was so startled,” Fuyuna replied. “They said... both lungs...”

“Enough. I understand.” His voice hardened. “If you start crying now, it’ll do no good at all.” He shifted against the pillows. “When’s Hayami coming back?”

“He said he’ll come whenever needed—just say the word.”

Kakurai: “If necessary, huh?”

Fuyuna: “It seems he’s still being considerate of the attending physician after all.”

Kakurai: “What about Dr. Kemuri?”

Fuyuna: “He is in the reception room.”

Kakurai: “Call him over.”

“But you shouldn’t say too many things that miss the mark.”

“I see.”
“Is it difficult for him to come now?”

However, I do want to see his face a little.
No—I’ll sleep for a while.

Fuyuna adjusted her husband’s nightclothes, slipped out quietly, and called her son and daughter at their respective locations. Their son Shimon was employed at a bank in Marunouchi. Their daughter Nerako was attending the English literature department at a certain women’s university. To their son, she simply told him to hurry home; for their daughter, since she was in class, she decided to have the academic affairs office relay the message. She took every precaution to ensure her husband did not hear the voices on the phone.

However, she couldn’t help but entertain a sly thought: if those voices did reach her husband’s ears and he realized she was hastily summoning their son and daughter, then in that very scenario, her objective would ironically be achieved naturally.

Having come to think that far, she grew bolder and called Kakurai Masashige, her husband’s older brother.

“Regarding the other day… I’ve been meaning to express my gratitude, but things haven’t been well since then…”
“Yes, today we had Dr. Hayami from the university come.”
“Well, Brother, it seems we still can’t be optimistic about that.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Would you be so kind as to come today?”
“Yes, there’s no need to go out of your way, but still… if you could give me some encouragement… That’s right… I would be delighted.”

With this, she thought her intended message had generally gotten through to the other party.
“Oh, is that so?”
What followed were the remarks they had arbitrarily spoken on their side despite the other party not having said anything.

Shimon, their son, came rushing back, gasping for breath.
This was because she had immediately realized what that meant.

After consulting with her son, Fuyuna first decided to notify—via telegram or telephone—Associate Professor Hosoki, her husband Norishige’s direct disciple at his university laboratory; next, Professor Ōsato of ethics, who was closest to him in private relations rather than academic ones; and finally, Mr. Ura, proprietor of Gyokusekidō, who had published nearly all of her husband’s works, about his critical condition. Her son took charge of this task.

Before long, their daughter Nerako also returned.

II

In the hospital room, the nurse was preparing an injection.

Kakurai would occasionally open his eyes, appearing concerned about the noises within the house.

“Once that injection is finished, please call my wife.”

Fuyuna entered.

Kakurai: It seems quite a few people have been coming since earlier. If they’re visitors, you mustn’t pass them along one by one.
“Because there are people I need to meet…”

Fuyuna: But I thought it wouldn’t do for you to overexert yourself…
“Nurse, would you mind going over there for a while?”

“That’s right—it’s better if it’s just the two of us,” Kakurai said. “Who exactly is here now? You tell me.”

“Brother in Harajuku, Mr. Hosoki, Professor Ōsato, Mr. Ura of Gyokusekidō…” Fuyuna replied. “And Mother as well.”

“What about Shimon and Nerako?”

“They’ve already returned.”

“They’re all gathered here, aren’t they? Fuyuna, you needn’t worry yourself. I already know everything.” He paused, correcting himself with academic precision. “No—to say ‘know’ would be inaccurate. I’ve inferred it. I’m beyond saving now. Life draws to its close.”

“You…”

“Well, if that’s how it is, then that’s fine,” said Kakurai. “I too have several matters I must settle while I still breathe. I want them resolved quickly. Did Dr. Hayami truly say there’s no hope left?”

“If I may trust your judgment—then I shall tell you,” Fuyuna replied. “The deeper meaning escapes my understanding. We simply had to prepare for contingencies…”

“You mean those who must bid farewell to Kakurai should be summoned posthaste?”

“Just in case...”

“I’ve understood about the critical condition.”
“In other words, it’s a critical condition.”
“That may be the case.”
“No—it must be so.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”
“Dr. Hayami—how many days did he say I have left? No—how many hours?”

“He didn’t go so far as to say that.”
“Really, such a thing…”

“There’s no arguing that.”
“That’s what I call unkindness.”
“At the very least, I am different from an ordinary human.”
“If you think I’m the kind of person who can’t calmly contemplate matters of life and death, that’s a grave mistake.”
“Listen, Fuyuna—you alone must closely observe how I meet my final moment.”
“I don’t mean to posture like Montaigne, but I want to die in a peaceful manner befitting a philosopher.”
“Even if I trust in posterity, at life’s end I want to close my eyes with the satisfaction of having joyfully accomplished what must be done.”

“If you can accomplish that, it would be splendid.”
“You will certainly be able to achieve that.”

“I can do it.”
“There’s no reason I can’t.”
“Call Shimon and Nerako here.”

Their son Shimon and daughter Nerako timidly entered and approached their father’s bedside.
Both of them kept their heads bowed low, as though unable to meet their father’s gaze.

“Father has received a hopeless diagnosis from the doctor,” Kakurai said. “I myself can indeed feel it. What I want to tell you two now—though it’s utterly commonplace—are these two things: never rely on others, and be wary of all hopeful judgments. I don’t have time for detailed explanations. Think carefully and make sure you convince yourselves.”

“And then,” he continued, “I need to tell your mother. As I’ve always said—I have ultimately failed to produce a work of significance. In material terms, I have nothing to leave to my children. However, put only this house in your mother’s name and make sure it doesn’t hinder the young ones from building their own lives.”

“So, Shimon and Nerako, you mustn’t let your mother feel lonely.”

“Fuyuna, what should we do? Shall we have everyone come through here together?”

“Is it acceptable if we’re all together?”

“Ah, that would be better.”
“It’s not like there are any secrets to discuss anyway.”

Before long, Fuyuna’s mother—a nearly seventy-year-old woman—Kakurai’s brother Masashige, a former navy vice admiral; Associate Professor Hosoki; Professor Osato; and Ura, the proprietor of Gyokusekido filed in one after another, tensely.
The group fell silent.

Suddenly, Hosoki, overcome with emotion, edged closer to Kakurai and placed his hands on the floor.

Hosoki: “Professor, please stay strong.
I will not allow anyone to take you away.”

Taking this as his cue, his brother Masashige spoke up.

Masashige: “Hey, Norishige.”
“Stay strong.”
“No matter what the doctors say, human life is governed by heaven.”
“There are plenty of cases where wounded soldiers whom army doctors gave up on made splendid recoveries.”

“Now, now—please listen quietly to what I have to say. Everyone, I do not fear death. Indeed, the declaration of death is a harsh and chilling thing. However, apart from any religious enlightenment, I have my own way of thinking, and I can contemplate the fact that my life is now ending without such pain. There is no pretense in my sorrow over our eternal parting, but what overcomes that grief is the grateful memory of how I have been sustained until today by your love and trust.”

“Mother, it seems I’ll be taking my leave ahead of you—but for Fuyuna’s sake, please live as long as you can in my stead.”

“Brother, there’s nothing formal I need to say to you.”
“We already said our farewells once, years ago, didn’t we?”
“I thought you would go first then, but it’s turned out the opposite.”
“You don’t need to worry about anything that comes after.”
“Though we share the same blood, you’ve seemed deeply troubled lately by how fate has driven us down entirely separate paths—but I don’t see you as being so far away.”
“Brother, your beauty—however—is something my children cannot understand.”
“It’s the fault of the times.”
“Lend me your hand.”

“And Professor Osato—if only there were time, there are matters I’d want to discuss with you at length. Not that talking would change anything, but I suppose I can’t rest without saying them. In both my public and private life, I’ve been greatly indebted to you. I may have been something of a burden myself, but all that was only possible because it was mutual between us. If you consider expressions of gratitude to be cold formalities, I’ll stop. But setting that aside—I expect the role of my funeral chairman will fall to you, so I must ask you to take this on despite the inconvenience. Please keep it as simple as possible—non-religious—and if there’s a venue, play some Bach from a record there. That would be nice.”

“Next, Hosoki—generally speaking, you have far too high an opinion of me. If you only follow in my footsteps like this, you’ll never amount to anything as a scholar. My mediocrity is something I know better than anyone else. A philosopher who can barely manage to serve as a university professor and can only just produce shaky journal papers no longer needs to emerge from now on. Now that it’s come to this, I’ll say it plainly—when I recommended you for associate professor, it was because I felt you would stay by my side more than anyone else. In other words, it was because I thought you were my most loyal disciple above all others. My judgment wasn’t wrong. However, I feel that I too bear responsibility for having made you into just that kind of person. I will no longer be here. As for the successor professor, they will likely bring someone in from elsewhere, but you must decide whether to remain at the university or leave, regardless of such matters. It’s entirely for your own academic pursuits, you know. Become a true philosopher. Not as a philosopher like me…”

“Finally, Mr. Ura—I know Gyokusekido has been struggling hard lately, but please arrange what remains of my royalties as soon as possible.”
“As for future matters, there’s no need for you to make any promises.”
“Selling unsellable books endlessly must be harder than wringing water from stone.”
“Still, just because they won’t sell doesn’t mean you should let them fade unjustly into obscurity.”
“‘The True Meaning of Kantian Philosophy’ alone—place ads for it occasionally.”
“No, better not do even that.”
“When someone remembers it and comes searching to your shop, keep copies ready to hand over—one or two will suffice.”
“Then regarding my current lectures—the notes are complete. I’d appreciate if you had Hosoki organize them for publication.”
“The title would be ‘Modern German Philosophy: Key Issues and Their Historical Significance’—a rather singular study, I think.”
“Well, this too—if you deem it worthwhile on your end.”
“Naturally, from that journalistic angle of yours.”
“And one more request.”
“There’s a particularly able graduate this year—could you take him into your editorial department?”
“Do consider this.”
“Ah—direct your reply through Hosoki.”
“Hosoki—you understand?”
“Ah—now I’ve said my farewells to everyone.”
“Well then—nothing remains unsaid.”
“I can close my eyes at peace.”
“Thank you for your time.”

“Please take your leave.”

The group, each lost in their own thoughts, turned back toward Kakurai as they began to leave the room.
Hosoki alone remained behind for some time; then, as if overwhelmed, he called out in a low voice through a sob—“Professor…”—and sat down right there.

III

Kakurai Norishige had his attending physician, Dr. Kemuri, take his pulse, while the nurse, showing the temperature chart beside them, reported the subsequent course of events to Kemuri.

Nurse: “This morning’s coughing fit lasted a bit longer than usual, but there are no other abnormalities.”

Dr. Kemuri: “Is his consciousness still clear?”

Nurse: "He hasn’t said a word since last night and has been dozing off."
"He seems to understand well what I’m telling him."

Dr. Kemuri: "What has he ingested since then?"

Nurse: "Huh?"

Dr. Kemuri: "Intake... food..."

Nurse: "Even when I try to offer him something, he won’t eat a thing—but when Mrs. Kakurai insists on giving it to him despite that, he still manages a little…"

“What kind of things, and how much?”

Nurse: "Well... things like something between ice cream and savory custard..."

“Hmm... Pudding, I suppose.”

Nurse: “Oh, about half a glass of apple juice, and then a full bowl of sashimi placed in rice with hot tea poured over it…”

Dr. Kemuri: “Hmm—sea bream over rice with tea.”
“Can he eat such things?”
“So there’s nothing else after that?”

Nurse: “There are occasional pulse irregularities.”

The lamp—that probably had no connection.

His wife Fuyuna, at that moment guiding Dr. Hayami, entered.
Dr. Kemuri exchanged a nod with Dr. Hayami.
Dr. Hayami took over for Dr. Kemuri and took the patient’s pulse.
He took out a stethoscope and placed it against the chest.
He touched the fingers and toes to check them.

Kakurai opened his eyes.

“Ah, Dr. Hayami… Thank you for coming again…”

“How is his condition…?” Kemuri asked Hayami.

“He’s holding up remarkably well,” Hayami replied. “It’s as if we’re witnessing the very threshold between life and death.”

Hayami noted that his willpower was making itself heard.

“It must be quite a rare case,” said Kemuri.

“Is there any chance his condition might improve?”

Dr. Hayami folded his arms. “When you speak of ‘possibility’—as a doctor, I have no choice but to walk both paths simultaneously: accurately observing the facts and never abandoning hope…”

“I believe critical condition begins when those two paths diverge so widely that one can no longer walk them both—wouldn’t you agree?”

“Strictly speaking, that’s correct.”

“Scholars prize precision above all. Don’t feed me half-truths. Tell me plainly—is there truly no hope left? I’ve been ready for this outcome for some time now. All preparations are complete. I’ve met those I needed to meet. Said what required saying. No loose ends remain. Let’s bring this to a swift conclusion.”

“But, you—the fact that Dr. Hayami still comes like this doesn’t that mean it’s not completely…”

Kakurai: “I understand what you want to say.”
“That’s something even I could say.”
“I want Dr. Hayami to declare once again, clearly, that it’s hopeless.”

“Professor Kakurai—when you make such unreasonable demands, you’re putting me in an impossible position. I firmly believe that, regardless of circumstances, I cannot—and have no need to—do more than issue warnings, whether out of professional duty or personal conscience.”

Kakurai: “Then let me ask—has the degree of danger changed between yesterday and today?”

Dr. Hayami: “It has not.”

Kakurai: “Has there been any advancement—a further step—since last evening?”

“There are such points,” said Dr. Hayami, “and others where that doesn’t apply.”

“From a comprehensive standpoint?” asked Kakurai.

Dr. Hayami: "The danger remains unchanged—we must still consider the possibility of a critical turn."

Kakurai: "If the worst should happen... I detest that."
"'Critical turn' presumably means such an event has a one-in-ten-thousand probability of occurring."
"Doesn't 'critical condition' conversely signify a nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine out of ten thousand probability that life will end?"
"No—rather, isn't it an expression anticipating death's impact with one hundred percent efficiency?"
"That is precisely why I've conveyed my final words to those around me."

Dr. Hayami: “That is your prerogative, Professor.”
“And that is simply societal custom.”
“I believe your actions are correct and there is absolutely nothing to regret…”

Kakurai: “There is nothing to regret… Yes, I understand perfectly.”
With that, I felt at ease.
Moment by moment, I watched intently like this—the peaceful form of my own life as it approached the boundary of death.
The fact that a completely unknown world lay before my eyes—this was an immense temptation for me.
Of course, it was not something like an afterlife.
The chance to clearly apprehend with this body the phenomenon of sensory extinction—a phenomenon guaranteed for me to encounter in a certain instant—was by any measure precious and alluring.
I was longing for that instant.
Ah, how I longed for it!

“Dr. Hayami—could it be that I’m speaking nonsense?”
“Whether it’s nonsense or not nonsense, the result remains the same.”
“Dr. Kemuri, a moment...”

Dr. Hayami pulled Dr. Kemuri to a corner of the room and gave him some instructions in a low voice.
Dr. Kemuri nodded repeatedly.

“Hey, is Fuyuna here?”

“Yes, I am here.”
“Is there something you need?”

“Try putting on Bach’s Fugue again for me.”

“Let me see… That record…”

Fuyuna stood before the electric phonograph and put on the record.

Shimon

In the reception room, a crowd of people awaiting Kakurai’s imminent death—some crossing their arms, others leaning against sofas, still others huddling together to whisper—filled the space with an atmosphere of mingled tension and tedium.

Ura: “Well, Professor Osato, what on earth does this mean? Is it possible for a critical condition to persist for two full days?”

Professor Osato: “It wouldn’t be strange at all if there were.”
“It might still continue.”
“I can’t afford to miss my lectures, but I do want to see it through to the end as much as possible.”

Ura: “That’s certainly true. Since you’re his dearest friend, it would be regrettable if you couldn’t be present at his final moments.”

Professor Osato: “You keep popping in so frequently—probably because you can’t stay settled—but there’s often that business of it happening right after you leave…”

“That’s right, Professor… Take my mother—she was in critical condition with a serious illness, so I rushed back to my hometown. The doctors said it was only a matter of time, so I stayed by her side for three days without sleeping or resting.”
“Then it seemed she was recovering this time.”
“Since it seemed nothing sudden would happen—at least for the moment—I returned to Tokyo once more. But no sooner had I arrived home than a telegram came chasing after me.”
“It was ‘Hahaeminsu.’”

“It can’t be helped if you say it can’t be helped,” said Professor Osato, “but I suppose it’s rather difficult to fully resign oneself.”

“Yet in Professor Kakurai’s case,” Saiki replied, “since he delivered such an explicit farewell address, I believe we simply wish to gain a certain satisfaction—how should I put it—from having remained by his side until the end. Even someone like myself lacks the courage to stand before him again and say anything more…”

“Well, if you insist on calling it a formality, then a formality it is. It’s not like it does any good anyway… What exactly can someone do for whom by being there?”

Saiki: “Even if one tries to console the bereaved family, it’s merely words after all.”

Ura: “However, there remain various matters where we must consult with the bereaved family—and first of all, this funeral issue is quite a difficult one.”

Professor Osato: “It’s a procedural matter.”
“Hmm… Well, someone needs to be present to ensure everything proceeds smoothly.”

Saiki: “To tell the truth, that’s something we ought to start considering now, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t this still a bit premature?”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Professor Osato said. “Just handle each situation as it arises.”

“Ah,” Saiki interjected, “Bach’s music has started playing again.”

“For all his faults, Kakurai remains quite the romanticist,” Professor Osato remarked.

“But that very quality of his—” Saiki responded, “—I find rather admirable. It’s certainly not mere sentimentalism.”

“I’m not criticizing it,” Professor Osato countered. “Every person has their own approach. Still… I must confess to feeling somewhat envious of that mindset.”

“There does indeed seem to be some distance between my approach and Professor Osato’s methodology,” Saiki remarked. “What does the Professor seek in death’s immediate presence?”

Professor Osato crossed his arms. “For all that, I remain a Christian.”

“Ah, I see,” Saiki nodded slowly. “God’s forgiveness then.” His gaze drifted toward the sickroom door. “Whereas Professor Kakurai remains thoroughly godless in his convictions.”

The door slid open precisely then. Fuyuna entered with measured steps, her kimono sleeves whispering against the threshold. Every eye in the reception room turned toward her.

“Has the examination concluded?” Professor Osato asked, though the answer hung palpable in Fuyuna’s tightened grip on her obi sash.

She inclined her head slightly. “Dr. Hayami maintains he’s sustaining himself through sheer willpower alone, yet…”

Professor Osato: “Willpower, huh… That’s just like Kakurai.”

Ura: “I do hope he can persevere with that willpower for as long as possible.”

Fuyuna: “Well, that’s right—I think so too. But he himself seems to want to get it over with quickly.”

“After all, isn’t he enduring tremendous pain?”
“He doesn’t look that way, though…”

“Truly, from up close, there are no signs that he’s in any pain.”
“Somehow, it makes me wonder if he’s really in such bad condition.”
“But with his meals, unless we make an effort to push the food into his mouth, he won’t eat a thing, I must say.”
“Ah, Mr. Saiki, there’s something I need to discuss with you…”
“He says there’s something he left unsaid.”
“I’m terribly sorry to ask, but could you please listen to him properly one more time?”

“To me?”
“Is it really acceptable for me to be told so much?”

Saiki left while saying this.

The daughter Nerako entered holding a business card.

“Mother, this person has come to visit and says they’re here to see you… but…”

Fuyuna: “Someone from the magazine, I see.”
“Professor Osato, what should one do with such a person?”
“Should I go out and simply express my gratitude?”

Professor Osato: “That should suffice.”
“It’s not as though they came here seeking an article…”

Fuyuna and Nerako left.

Ura: “Which magazine was it?”
“Ah.”
“I see.”
“This stems from his authorship of Ethnic Consciousness and Pacifism last autumn.”
“I distinctly recall him declaring he’d never write for such a publication again—he was positively livid about it.”

Professor Osato: “Though I must say, that paper represented something of a misstep for Kakurai.”
“In the end, his investigations lacked thoroughness.”

“Well, in a way, it wasn’t exactly within the Professor’s field,” said Ura.

Professor Osato responded, “Scholars must do work worthy of scholars. Kakurai’s weakness lies in his very fondness for writing.”

“But isn’t that a kind of prejudice held by scholars who can’t write or find writing tedious?” Ura challenged.

“Nonsense,” Professor Osato retorted. “Scholars shouldn’t write merely for writing’s sake.”

Ura: “Even if there’s significance in such side work?”

Professor Osato: “That’s an entirely separate matter from your nitpicking.”
“But regardless, Kakurai remains a scholar we still wish to keep productive in every sense.”

Ura: “That’s certainly true…”
“The Professor’s true value lies in what he’ll demonstrate from this point onward.”

Midway through this conversation, magazine reporter Tsumaru entered following Fuyuna, bringing a photographer along.

Fuyuna: “Professor Osato… This person is from the magazine earlier, but they say they’d very much like to hear your thoughts regarding Kakurai…”

Tsumaru: “Is that Professor Osato?”
“I’m from *Thought and Action*.”
“I’ve just been informed that Professor Kakurai’s condition is now beyond hope, but it’s truly regrettable that we’ll ultimately be unable to receive the manuscript we had requested.”
“However—though it may be presumptuous to mention this now—in commemoration of Professor Kakurai as our era’s most active philosopher, might we ask you, Professor Osato, his close friend, to compile his achievements into a memorial piece of about twenty pages in the form of recollections of the deceased?”

“I am not suited for that task. Our fields of expertise are entirely different.”

“But…”

“But what is it? First of all, Kakurai is not yet deceased.”

“Ah, but it’s just a matter of time now…”

“Even so—you cannot treat someone who is still alive as if they were already dead.”

“If I may suggest—perhaps approach it as you would write a New Year’s card at year’s end…”

“I will state this clearly: I write New Year’s cards on the morning of January 1st.”

Saiki entered with his head hung.

Professor Osato: "Are you still holding up?"

“There’s something truly unusual,” Saiki said. “His mind appears to be growing clearer by the moment. From memory alone, he’s precisely indicating which sections of the lecture notes require additional material and which parts need correction.” He lowered his voice. “It astonished me.”

“Ah, Dr. Saiki...” Tsumaru interjected hesitantly.

“If it’s about the manuscript, please wait a little longer.”

“No—actually, I just asked Professor Osato to write about Professor Kakurai’s achievements during his lifetime, but he absolutely refused. So I thought of approaching you instead, Dr. Saiki…”

“The Professor’s achievements are certainly achievements,” Saiki said, “but what I admire most is rather the greatness of Kakurai Norishige as a human being confronting death. This—no matter how much you publicize it, you can’t overdo it. You—can’t you hear that music…? It’s at the Professor’s request that we’re playing the record. It’s the very moment when death looms before one’s eyes. However, the music doesn’t tell the whole story. The Professor’s serenely clear state of mind is but one piece of evidence of that. The most crucial thing is what ideas are being formed within that state of mind… Ah, I forgot.” He turned abruptly. “Professor Osato—the Professor says he’d like you to show your face once more.”

“Me?”
“Well…”

Tsumaru: “That’s a fascinating account, but could you perhaps condense that into about twenty pages…”

Dr. Saiki: “You mustn’t make light of this.”
“How could someone like me possibly write that?”
“I believe there is no one other than the Professor himself who can clearly grasp the thoughts now welling up like a rainbow in his mind.”

“With a title like ‘Confronting Death’…”

I was simply moved.
To contemplate the end of his own life in such fashion—quietly, lucidly, as an intriguing phenomenon—what extraordinary character this must signify.
That was no longer mere thought or concept.
It was personality itself.

“Even ordinary people like us are said to utter quite admirable words when death finally draws near, but for a philosopher, it must be all the more pronounced.”

Tsumaru: “That’s it.”
“If we publish this not as mere fragments but at substantial length, it would make for quite a compelling read.”
“And besides—isn’t it downright sensational?”

Ura: “The last words addressed to everyone yesterday were rather admirable.”
“Dr. Saiki.”

“I suppose so,” said Saiki. “Today’s was nothing like that.”

“Huh? You mean he’s already given each of you his last words…?” asked Tsumaru.

“He gave parting words to us close associates,” replied Saiki. “With ordinary, everyday words… Today’s was directed at me alone—he earnestly expounded the path of academic research.” There had been the bearing of a great philosopher.

When it came to the relationship between Ura and his disciple, that was another matter entirely.

“Is he still able to speak freely?” inquired Tsumaru.

“He’s speaking fairly well,” said Saiki. “It makes you wonder how his breathing continues like that when his heart’s already so extremely weak.”

“His consciousness is still clear too, of course.”

“If I may say, it’s clear,” said Dr. Saiki. “I’d go so far as to say there’s never been such clarity before.”

“What do you say, Dr. Saiki… Wouldn’t you consider arranging something special—a dialogue between the two of you for *Thought and Action*?”

“Between me and the Professor?”
“Hmm, it’s an interesting idea, but there’s no time for that anymore.”

Professor Osato returned.
Wiping his glasses with a handkerchief, he lowered his face, approached the window, and stared fixedly outside.

“Dr. Saiki, the Professor seems rather agitated. Can’t you do something about this?”

“Hmm... Is that so? I actually thought he seemed excessively calm... Could there have been some reason—something that suddenly provoked his emotions toward you, Professor Osato?”

“When I entered, he suddenly pressed his head with one hand like this,” Professor Osato demonstrated, “and made a gesture as if tearing at his hair.”

“Then, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know. But then he said there was something he needed to apologize to me for. It’s directed at me. When I asked him what on earth it was... Well, there’s no need to go into that here—in the end, it’s all trivial. Well, it’s not like it matters if I say it out loud—essentially, he felt that I was constantly scrutinizing his work and actions. In other words, I was keeping a critical eye on him. That was painful,’ he said. That much is fine, but after that, it’s rather strange. According to him, he found my very existence so irksome that somewhere in his consciousness, he was constantly wishing for my death—well, that’s the gist of it. Such an absurd thing couldn’t possibly exist, and I absolutely refuse to believe it—but for him to blurt out such delusional things must indicate some form of derangement, or at least a state of agitation.”

“Is that so.”
“If you say that, I can’t recall any such instances.”
“However, from my perspective, he spoke of everything in an extremely composed manner—even with a smile—so while there were elements resembling abnormal confessions, I rather perceived it as him being overly calm.”

“Haha—did he make some sort of confession to you as well?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss the details, but it certainly qualifies as a confession. Of course, that is merely a matter of the Professor’s innermost thoughts.”

“It’s a shame—burying that from shadow to shadow…”
“Ah, right—now it’s your turn, Ura. Go quickly and hear another confession.”

V

In a halting manner—as if searching for each word one by one while enduring labored breathing—Kakurai Norishige addressed his brother Masashige, who sat at his bedside.
Masashige sat with arms tightly crossed, closing his eyes at times before suddenly snapping them wide open—his posture forcibly suppressing emotional turmoil as he listened.

“But Brother—that’s what male vanity amounts to.”
“When you brought Fuyuna from Japan to Munich... When I glimpsed your faces on that station platform... I thought: ‘This won’t do.’”
“A sharp intuition struck me—‘Something’s wrong here.’”
“What would you say?”
“Three months later... I left Fuyuna in your care in Paris... and flew to London.”
“Because she said she didn’t want to leave Paris yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve already understood that story.”
“So in the end, nothing came of it—that’s what you’re saying?”

“It was twenty-five years ago.”
“The fact that nothing happened simply means we avoided troublesome consequences because of it.”
“I don’t consider jealousy some twisted form of love.”
“I believe it’s undoubtedly one of those contemptible vices.”
“Even if I call Fuyuna a faithful wife, that’s just my goodwill talking—for twenty-five years now, present excluded, I’ve felt jealousy toward you and kept fighting it. Today I want to plant this fact in your ears.”

“Indeed, these ears heard it,” said Masashige.
The revelation struck him as both startling and perfectly logical.
For he was Kakurai’s only brother—the kind of man who’d sooner put a bullet through his own skull than betray his younger sibling.
Yet twenty-five years prior, Fuyuna had been renowned as the very image of Japanese beauty aboard their transatlantic voyage—had he been her husband back then, he’d likely have stewed in such anxiety that peaceful naps became impossible.

“At our age, speaking of such matters may seem improper—but please listen without misunderstanding.
As I always say, I do hold considerable respect for you, Brother.
I even consider you an exceptional case among military men.
Having come to speak of such shameful things before a brother like yourself—all I ask is that you properly discern the motive behind it.
I simply want to become light... light...”

“I understand,” said Masashige. “Unload every burden—all of them.”

“Ah, I feel unburdened,” said Kakurai.
“Now that I’ve cleared my conscience like this... I’d like to just close my eyes and slip away.”
The shoji screen above his head glared harshly.
“Please tell them to hang a curtain or something.”

Masashige stood up and called out toward the back.

The nurse hurriedly rushed in.
Fuyuna followed suit.

“What is it, Brother…?”

“That shoji screen seems too bright…”

“Yes, right away… I’ll adjust it properly.”

“Brother, you must be quite tired as well? Wouldn’t you like to rest a little? A bed has been prepared in the guest room.”

“No, I’m quite all right. More importantly, you were up all last night, weren’t you?”

“Even if I lie down, I can’t sleep, you know.”

“What about the children?”

“They’re in the back,” Fuyuna said. “Shimon mentioned he’d like to play shogi with you, Uncle.”

Masashige muttered, “If only he keeps improving like this…”

Masashige muttered so and retreated to the back.
The nurse hung a black curtain over part of the shoji screen, so the patient’s bedside darkened.
Fuyuna: “I wonder if the hot water bottle has already cooled down?”

“Fuyuna…”
“Are you alone now… you…?”

Fuyuna: “Yes.”

“What’s happening, I wonder… The so-called ‘final moment’ just won’t arrive.”

“Such a thing doesn’t need to come. Can’t I be the only one to stay by your side all along?”

“It’s not like anyone’s forbidden from leaving. You’re the one who might end up having some sort of errand and leaving, aren’t you? I would like only you to administer the final rites. The children—it would be better if they weren’t here at that time. It’s an unnecessary shock.”

“Are you already unable to think of anything but that?”

“If I knew clearly when that time would come—don’t you think that until that moment arrives, I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else? But ‘that moment’ is now the biggest problem. My head won’t let go of ‘that moment’.”

“I’ve done something utterly pointless,” said Fuyuna. “Couldn’t you at least hold onto some doubt one more time? If it’s hope, then all the better. If only I had the power to pull you back from there…”

“It’s too late, Fuyuna…”
“It’s too late.”
“Even if Dr. Hayami were to retract his earlier statement now, I wouldn’t believe him anymore.”

“That’s odd,” said Fuyuna.
“Dr. Hayami hasn’t stated anything definitively.”

“Did you take it that way?” Kakurai retorted.
“Isn’t that itself strange?”
“Do you think someone as eminent as Dr. Hayami would casually use a term like ‘critical condition’?”

“You’re the one not interpreting ‘critical condition’ literally, aren’t you?”

“Why?”
“Isn’t critical condition critical condition?”
“Isn’t it the definitive precursor to death?”
“Doesn’t it describe a fated state where everything stands prepared for death, with nothing left but waiting?”

“I don’t think so,” said Fuyuna. “I consider it merely a warning sign that life is in danger. There are dangers one can avoid beforehand and those impossible to evade no matter what. Yet some dangers defy clear categorization as either.”

To Kakurai, this was obvious. Even informing the patient of peril would achieve nothing—they needed only administer treatment quietly. What truly mattered, at least for him, was being made to recognize—one step before the end—that danger signals had come too late and this truly marked the conclusion. That had been his intent all along. She must have shared that intent too. He still maintained it now. She opposed it. What cosmic joke was this? He couldn’t comprehend anything anymore.

“No, no—I didn’t mean to start such an argument.”
“It’s just that through my intuition, I feel that danger has already long since passed.”
“You will surely recover.”
“Indeed… You aren’t in such poor health anymore… Your complexion has regained its luster… Your mind remains so sharp… You can speak endlessly…”
“Please—I beg you—eat more of the food heartily…”
“I’ll make whatever you like, as much as you want…”
“Darling…”

“No,” said Kakurai.
“Then you’ll have to steel yourself anew.”
“Enough of this. Even without your hollow reassurances, I remain composed—as you see.”
I might be speaking excessively, but this alone tethers me to life.
This mere awareness of breath serves only to confirm my continued existence.
His knees were cold.

“Yes,” replied Fuyuna. “I’ll change the hot water bottle now.”
“I’ll add another.”

“Kakurai—here, give me your hand for a moment.”

“Oh!” Fuyuna exclaimed.
Kakurai supposed she found him cold.
There—little by little—the end had come into view.
“Because you’re extending your hand out too much,” she said.

“This hand too—see how it’s like this.”
“Oh… It’s like ice…”
“The numbness has reached my arms now.”
“Your pulse feels so strong… Are you uncomfortable?”
“I’m not in pain.”
Lethargic.

Fuyuna: “Shall we have Dr. Hayami come?”
Kakurai: “There’s no need for that anymore. It’s just a matter of whether I’ll last until midnight tonight.”

“No, no—you can’t say such a thing…”
“Anyway, let’s have another injection administered.”

Fuyuna called toward the back room, "Karu-san, a moment."
The nurse entered.
The two of them exchanged glances.

Fuyuna left the room.
The nurse prepared the injection.

VI

It is midnight.

In the dimly lit hospital room where the direct light of the electric lamp was blocked with a cloth, several familiar faces now gathered to watch over Dr. Kakurai’s final moments.

Dr. Hayami and Dr. Kemuri alternately took the patient’s pulse.

Kakurai: “What do turtle-like quacks like you know?
Look at this—I’m not dying at all!”

The group exchanged glances and fidgeted uneasily.

Kakurai: “In the first place, do you all think you understand something like philosophy?
Huh?
What I can’t even comprehend—how could you all possibly understand?”

The group could no longer lift their faces.

Kakurai: “What on earth is a human being?”
“In other words—nothing more than an animal trying to understand.”
“Don’t make that knowing face.”

Fuyuna finally could no longer bear it and left the room.

Kakurai: “That useless lump Hosoki had the gall to ask for my daughter’s hand. Appalling.”

Hosoki, startled, also rose from his seat and quietly slipped away.

Kakurai: “Everything is falsehood.
“Love is falsehood, politics is falsehood, schools, teachers, students—all falsehood… no—the very Earth itself is a clump of falsehood…”
“Ah, filthy yet truthful falsehood…”
“Fortunate indeed….”

A faint wry smile appeared on Professor Osato’s face.
And when that gaze met Dr. Hayami’s, Osato gently brought his mouth to Hayami’s ear.

Osato: “What is this?”
“To some extent—has it reached this point?”

Hayami: “To some extent.”
“It’s probably less rather than more.”

Osato: “The words were indeed consciously chosen.”
“However, as a conceptual framework, they’re incoherent.”

It was a manifestation of a habitual tendency.
Half a lifetime spent obsessing over his prose, as if to say...

Osato: “I see….”

Kakurai: “Ah—Osato’s here too.”

Osato: “Oh.”

“What did you come here for?”
“It’s not too late even after the death notice is sent, you sly moralist.”

Osato looked around and grinned slyly.

“Hey, Dr. Hayami... I’ve thought of a good idea,” said Kakurai. “This is precisely a hormonal imbalance… Do you understand? A hormonal imbalance… Tell my brother that.”

Hayami reluctantly nodded several times. He exchanged glances with the nurse and grinned slyly. Masashige, his brother, grimaced in frustration and shifted his weight from side to side.

“To lag behind Kant... jit... ka...” Kakurai muttered. “No... can’t... it’s really over...”
The heart had grown numb.

Dr. Kemuri hurriedly took the pulse.
He signaled to Dr. Hayami with his eyes.
Hayami took over.

Kakurai: “Hmm... I can’t see a thing...”
“Fuyuna… Fuyuna… You’ve never been there when needed.”
“Look—countless bullet holes… flexible worm-like protrusions… don’t mess with me...”

Ura hurried to the back.
Fuyuna appeared.
She rushed to her husband’s side.

“You... It’s me... Can you understand?”

There was no reply.
Dr. Hayami gazed at the watch for a moment and pondered—then with utmost solemnity—

“He has passed... everyone...”

Everyone adjusted their posture and bowed their heads.

Suddenly, a voice—as if welling up from the floor—sounded.

Kakurai: “D-d-d-d-d—shut up….”
“Cartilage monster， drop dead!”

Dr. Hayami, aghast, took a step back.

Kakurai Norishige quietly, just like that, entered the world of insensibility.

As Fuyuna sobbed, the assembled people lowered their heads even more deeply, and the universal hue of sorrow enveloped the entire room.

—Curtain—