Pathway to Japanese Literature

The stage was before a black curtain, with simple devices on the left and right suggesting rooms.
The center was a street.
By means of changes in lighting, these three areas were utilized in sequence.

At first, there were two human figures on the central street.

“You’re all alone now.”

“Old man, what have you been doing all this time?”

Old Man: “I’m not doing anything.”
“Just walking.”
“Same as you standing there.”

Young Girl: “We’re not just standing here.”
“We’ve got business with someone.”

Old Man: “I see. All those companions of yours have gone off with someone.”
“Why’re you still here?”

“You know already.”
“It’s because no one wants to go with me.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I was alone.”
“But I didn’t want to.”
“Because he seemed like a scary man.”

“Of course you can’t just go with anyone.”
“Isn’t everyone searching for what they think is right for themselves?”
“Hits and misses—that’s just how it goes.”
“The one you picked, unfortunately, says it’s you.”

“That’s just how it works.”
“I’m not really the picky type.”
“Depends on the day.”

"You don't mind being with an old man like me?"

"No."
"Old man, are you thinking that way?"
"You're such a strange old man."
"You've been pacing back and forth around here forever—I kept thinking how strange it was."
"Why don't you just find someone you like sooner?"
"You should just say what you have to say and get it over with."
"There are people who'd say you're just fine, old man."

Old Man: “Is that so? Those’d be fortyish grannies, I suppose.”

“You know a lot about that, don’t you?” said the young girl. “There was a forty-six-year-old here, you know. She stayed until just moments ago. But the one who likes you, old man, is someone else—a young person. She’s only twenty-five.”

“Never mind that,” said the old man. “Earlier back there—I was approached first by that pair we passed. When I looked back, one of them said, ‘What—it’s just you, old man?’ There was no mistaking it, but I felt slightly uneasy.”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”
“It was mistaken.”
“I thought it was pointless.”

“There are probably pointless things too,” said the old man. “There are things that aren’t pointless.”

“Old man,” said the girl, “so will you keep me company tonight?”

“If you understand how far this can go, I’ll go along,” he replied. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before.” He paused. “How much would be enough, I wonder? I only have five thousand yen.”

“It doesn’t cost that much.”

Walking together like this,” he mused, “it feels like I’m taking home a runaway granddaughter.” Then he asked directly: “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”
“Old man, how about you?”

“Well, let’s just leave it at a certain number.”
“Are we going to your house?”

“My house is off-limits.”
“We can get a room at the hotel right there.”
“Here.”
“Wait a moment.”
“Alright, you can go in now.”

“I see.”

“What’s there to be impressed about?”
“Want a beer?”

“I see.”
“I’ll drink.”

“Hand over the money.”

“How much for the beer?”

“I’ll handle the room fee too.”

“Here, make do with this.”

“Here’s your change.”
“Give the woman a tip.”

“Alright, settle it with this.”

“Old man, what do you do for a living?”

“Even if I told you, it’s not a business you’d understand.”

“A business that’s awkward to explain to people, huh?”

“You shouldn’t blurt out things like that so bluntly.
You look sleepy.
Come here. I’ll let you sleep on my lap.”

“I’ll get naked because it’s hot.”

“That’s enough, that’s enough.
That’s enough about that.”
The wind was growing colder.
“You said your home was off-limits, but given how you stay out every night like this, your father and mother are keeping quiet about it.”

"My dad isn’t around, and my mom usually doesn’t come home at night anyway."

"Don't you have any siblings?"

"I have two younger brothers."
"Sending younger brothers to school costs money."

"Aren't your brothers old enough to work yet?"

"The thing about having brothers—that’s actually a lie."
"I have an older sister and a younger sister."
"My older sister is a war widow."
"She does paid work at a maternity clinic or something."

"If we’re going to talk, let’s talk about real things."
"Because it’s boring."

“The real thing’s even more boring.”
“People ask me about my family all the time, but whenever they do, I just tell them some made-up story.”
“It’s all the same thing.”

“To those not truly asking,” said the old man, “any answer amounts to the same.” He leaned forward slightly. “Tell me your name.” The beer bottle clicked against his ring as he gestured vaguely. “Truth or lie—either will do.”

“Names don’t multiply,” she replied without meeting his eyes. A moth batted against the lampshade behind her. “Hisako.”

He tested each syllable like unfamiliar currency: “Hisako... Hisabō... Chā-chan...” The names dissolved into cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. “Any way I call you makes no difference now?”

"What's the point in remembering a name?"

"A girl's face comes floating up before my eyes along with her name," said the old man. "I figure I've only got two or three years left myself, but meeting you tonight counts as a major event for me too." He stared at the ceiling beams. "No need to tell you this really, but in my whole life, you're the only woman I've ever felt at ease beside."

Hisako, huh?

A tender, womanly name.

“What happened to your wife, old man?”

“Now we’re getting into my life story? That’s exactly the kind of thing that wouldn’t interest someone like you.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep? Old man.”

Old Man: “Hmm.”
“Go to sleep first.”
I took my time finishing what was left of the beer.

“Money? That’s all?”
“Maybe I’ll take this instead?”

“Well then—I’ll keep tomorrow’s train fare and give you everything else.”

“That’s too much,” said the girl. “But since it’s a special occasion, get me a handbag. With this much, I could buy a proper one.”

“Of course, of course,” replied the old man. “Buy whatever you like. Now hurry up and get in bed. Doesn’t matter if you fall asleep right away.”

“Good night.”
“Maybe I’ll skip the handbag and get white leather sandals instead?”

“There must be countless things you want,” said the old man.
“But what you truly want shouldn’t be such immediate things.”
“Even at my age, I still don’t know what it is I want most.”
“No—I have a sense that I do understand, but I can’t put this into clear words.”
I’d certainly seen it with these very eyes.
There were times when reaching out seemed enough to grasp it.
But that never came to pass.
Nothing worked.
“It might be too soon to tell you this, but you should think about it sometimes.”
“The thing they say would suffice if you just had it—where in the world does that even exist?”

“What are you even talking about, old man?”
“Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“If I think I can sleep whenever I want, I don’t feel like hurrying to bed.”
“Half the pleasure of being old lies in putting things off.”
“But more importantly, you must be exhausted.”
“You don’t have to listen to me chatter on.”
“But I’ll shut up since I’m being a bother.”

“You’re not being noisy.”
“Your voice is somehow soothingly calm.”

“I’m not saying this just because you praised me,” said the old man, “but there was a time when I was completely engrossed in singing.”
“If there’d been amateur singing contests back then, I might’ve been first in line to sign up.”
“Being able to lose yourself in something like that is truly wonderful.”
“The real question is whether it lasts.”
“When I was a boy, I wanted to become a ship captain—devoured every book about the sea I could find.”
“But just because I failed the merchant marine school exam, I gave up on that dream entirely.”
“Why didn’t it occur to me to work my way up from deckhand?”
“Seems absurd now, but that possibility never crossed my mind.”
“That’s how circumstances had shaped me back then.”
“Then I became obsessed with singing.”
“Which naturally led to music school.”
“This time, my father wouldn’t hear of it.”
“No—he forced me into becoming a lawyer’s apprentice instead.”
“Since it was a criminal law practice, I saw rogues’ faces daily until they sickened me.”
“Yet when I look closely, every one of those scoundrels resembled me somehow.”
I grew terrified of myself.
The dread crept in—that I might do something unspeakable at any moment.
And then there was Mother—this capricious woman who’d casually drop ice-cold remarks.
She wasn’t cruel exactly, but she’d suddenly put up this impenetrable front when least expected.
There I’d be, wanting to act like any son craving maternal warmth, only to be rebuffed by that hollow metallic clang—as if she’d parried me with a rusted sword.

Nothing set my teeth on edge like being dismissed with that 'I've no business with the likes of you' manner. Ah—already asleep? Hisako. Peacefully—she was sleeping soundly. Ever since gaining awareness of the world, I never truly felt any longing for my mother. There was indeed a part of her that was normally like a doting parent. However, she simply never felt inclined to speak like a mother. First off, when begging for pocket money, I wouldn't look at my mother's face but instead look at my father's and make indirect requests. When that didn’t work, I would simply pilfer from the shop’s earnings. The business was a toy shop. I still remember it clearly. I always envied other people’s mothers. It wasn’t because they bought me toys. Because I could see right through what mothers really were. I don’t know how many times I glared at that child who kept crying and making excuses.

“No—no.”
“I said no—if I don’t want to, I don’t want to.”

Old Man: What's that—sleep-talking?
Speaking of sleep-talking, I once made a mistake.
At that lawyer's house I mentioned earlier, they gave me a day off for old New Year.
With nowhere else to go, I ended up back at my own house.
That night, I talked in my sleep.
Then my mother went around telling everyone the next morning like she'd found my weak spot.
As proof it wasn't a lie, the woman's name I'd blurted out belonged to a girl working at that lawyer's office.
If she'd brought it up as a joke, that would've been fine—but her way of spreading it was utterly unbearable: vulgar, mean-spirited, dripping with mockery.
At that moment, I thought:
This woman—she's the type who twists everything into something ugly.
Of course, I hadn't experienced love yet.
The office girl—never forget her name—Kurahashi Kimie was a somewhat charmless beauty, older than me too, and it's not like I was properly in love with her.
That fantasy of "what if something happened"—well, I did entertain it.
That's all it was.
To think I'd say such things in my sleep—it's ridiculous even to me.
I didn't try to explain myself.
But what hit me then was how utterly absurd it was for someone like me to get along with a girl.
That's what ruined my youth.

“Hey, so give it a rest already.”
“It’s not just my fault.”

“That’s right… Everyone’s at fault.”
“Don’t dwell on needless things—just rest quietly.”

At that time, I borrowed various books from Miss Kurahashi Kimie and read them.
I simply couldn’t stop singing my favorite songs.
Even at the office, I’d forget clients were there and hum to myself.
Even when scolded repeatedly, I would do it again.
In the end, I was fired for that.
It was the year the Russo-Japanese War began.
Because my vertical and horizontal balance was off, I escaped conscription as a soldier but volunteered to become what they called a military laborer.
And then, I entered a hospital in Mukden.
In the neighboring bed was a newspaper reporter named Kajimura.
This was another person who played a major role in my life.
He’s no longer around now, but this man became famous back then for writing books.
When I returned to Japan, I tagged along behind this man.
Whether I understood or not, I listened attentively to what this man said.
I ran a newspaper distribution business and managed to enjoy a brief period of prosperity thanks to this man.
But then I went and made another irreparable mistake.

“Who would do such a thing…”

“Oh, what’s got you so sad?
You don’t have to cry—you don’t have to…
No—if you want to cry, go ahead and cry.
Cry as much as you want.”
That failure referred to how I’d taken a wife on a mere whim.
What they called a failure was actually something very simple.
Because just as I’d been considering getting married, someone thrust before me—right under my nose—this slightly clever drifter girl with a “How about this?”
As for me—well, did she actually have any real intention?
It wasn’t that she did—she was saying she’d refuse any other suitors.
I was left dumbfounded.
To put it simply, my feelings at the time seemed trivial—but in truth, they’d reached peak complexity.
A half-doubtful sense that something impossible had happened; the conceited thought, “See? Even I have merit”; and the dread that being so overestimated by such a woman would spell trouble—all these swirled through my mind at once.
But happiness—as someone once said—contains within it the very fear of losing it.
After just one arranged meeting, that girl became my bride.
From the wedding night onward, I was turned into what must be history’s most pathetic husband.
The reason? This woman—whether trying to mold me into her ideal man or whatnot—began meddling with my every move.
“Don’t snore.”
“Practice your handwriting—it’s atrocious.”
“Don’t use honorifics with subordinates.”
“Keep entertainment expenses within budget.”

"I won’t have a child until two years pass."
"Don’t sit with your knees up."
"Trim your nose hairs."
And every single day, back-to-back—do this, don’t do that.
It was utterly unbearable.
When I came home after drinking, she’d ask where I’d been.
At first, I carelessly told the truth.
That turned out to be a mistake.
She disliked gatherings attended by geishas.
I couldn’t keep doing things that pleased my wife forever.
At times, acting on instinct, I’d retaliate.
There were frequent stretches where we wouldn’t speak for days.
Even so, in our third year we finally had a child.
The child died at five.
"There are plenty of proper wives in the world," I’d ponder deeply, "so why does mine alone feel so unlike one?"
Well, she did everything thoroughly enough.
She knew everything a woman should do, leaving no room for complaint.
And then—here’s the crucial point—she abruptly stopped being our guardian deity.
"A woman who’s no proper wife yet keeps her husband on edge like that shouldn’t have taken a husband at all," I’d say repeatedly.
She’d fire back that the mistake was hers rather than mine, so I’d think maybe she was right and stop arguing.

“You’re such an idiot.”
“Hmm-hmm-hmm.”

“Don’t laugh like you’re actually listening,” said the old man. “You’ll give me a shock!”
Of course, it wasn’t as though we did nothing but quarrel for ten or twenty years.
Like an ordinary couple, we mostly ate our meals together, and whenever we received theater tickets, I’d say “You go ahead” and send her out after having her hair done.
I also took out an insurance policy far beyond our social standing with my wife as the beneficiary.
In public, I refrained from using coarse language.
Whenever her chronic heart valve disease acted up, I would nurse her through the night, and whenever laundry piled up, I’d help out with wringing and hanging it to dry.
However, this one instance even left me speechless.
One evening.
There was a wedding in the neighborhood, and both of us had been invited—that very night.
I was approaching fifty at the time—my wife, wait, she was definitely forty-two.
Driven by some competitive spirit against the bride, she had dressed herself up extravagantly that day.
Claiming she’d been forced to drink, she had slightly reddened rims around her eyes.
Well, just that was better—I was in good spirits too.
Now then, having stepped over the threshold of the house and settled heavily in the tearoom, my wife remained there—resting her cheek against the long brazier with no intention of moving.
She would occasionally glance at my face, but her gaze was far from ordinary.
Now that he thought of it, she had been talking normally all the way home before abruptly falling silent.
No matter what I said, she would only give half-hearted responses.
Thinking that in such situations it was best to leave her be, I prepared to sleep alone.
To be honest, I was somewhat drunk.

When my wife eventually showed signs of turning off the light and getting into bed, I tried saying, "Come here for a moment." This was truly something else. She showed no reaction whatsoever. It’s infuriating, but there’s nothing I can do. I took off the helmet. At that moment, my wife coldly said to me: "Since becoming yours, I’ve never truly been yours—not even once." At first, I didn’t understand what she was saying. However, I was clearly hearing every word she said with my own ears. I could only manage a startled "Huh?" and couldn’t utter another word. My wife turned her face away, breathing through her shoulders. "How absurd," I muttered under my breath. In truth, I couldn’t help but think it was a grave matter. What on earth had made my wife utter such an outrageous statement? I no longer had the courage to defiantly ask what part of me she found lacking.

The following year—after nineteen years—their second daughter Tsuneko, who is now twenty-three, was born.
Children have a way of coming along at the most peculiar times.
When this child turned four, my mother—as if declaring she’d outlived her usefulness—promptly departed for the afterlife.
That I raised a daughter alone as a man—I take no pride in that whatsoever.
There were countless other options.
That I didn’t choose those methods wasn’t for anyone else’s sake.
It was for mine alone.

“Old man, are you still muttering over there?”
“Ah, I had such an awful dream.”

“I didn’t think I was speaking loudly enough to wake you, but am I still being a bother?”

“No, you’re not bothering me at all. More importantly, haven’t rats been making a racket in the ceiling since earlier? That’s definitely why I woke up. Old man, aren’t you sleepy staying up like that?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m sleepy.”
“Don’t you worry about me—just get your rest.”
“Simply having you here beside me like this makes me happy.”

What exactly are you to me? Why are you here alone with me in this room? Could there be any fate more sorrowful than this? If you were to become mine to control, I would quit being human before that happens. I'm not saying this to play the moralist. It's not that I suddenly grew weary of such things. When I simply gaze at you like this, you begin to appear as various things to me. Something within you—I don't know what—quenches my parched throat like a fresh spring. I still don't clearly understand what that is. Yet I feel this must be one of the things I've spent my lifetime searching for. From my mother, from my wife, even from the daughter I live with now—I couldn't obtain it. There's something gentle within you—something that seems to forgive all—that mysteriously exists there. You are, above all else, a woman. You who sleep innocently beside this old man you just met—you who make me offer what little I have and then desire nothing more—your entire being appears divinely beautiful to me.

The young girl: "Mmm, mmm. Mumble mumble mumble."

Old Man: She was having another nightmare.
Well now, I should slip out quietly while I can.
I wonder how that Tsune-bo's doing.
By now she must have locked the door and gone to bed.
Well well—where should I wander until morning?
But if I walked around town at this hour, the police might give me trouble again.
Either way, now that things have come to this, I might as well spend the night here.
It'd be easier to return home after Tsune-bo has left.
Ah... ah... My eyes stayed wide awake—no chance of sleeping at all.
Well, I might as well let out a yawn.
There were rats—there were.
They were making an awful racket.

In a scene from a movie I saw when young, there had certainly been such a moment.
The image remained of a man who let his companion sleep on the bed while he himself slept alone on the sofa—his strangely stiff expression lingering in my mind.
Of course, that man had been a youth full of reckless vigor.
Without that element, there would have been nothing noteworthy about it at all.

A long time.

“Oh, old man, why are you sleeping in a place like that?”
“Is it time already?”

“Ah, I slept soundly,” said the old man. “What? It’s already light outside.”

“My watch stopped,” said the girl. “No matter how much I adjust it, it stops again right away.”

“Even stopped, a watch remains a watch,” he replied. “Mine was a top-notch imported piece, but once you let something go, you can’t even claim it’s stopped anymore.” He paused. “I don’t particularly regret it—the trouble is I can’t pawn it again.”

“I think I’ll get up now.”

Old Man: “It’s still early, I suppose.”
“The sun’s position suggests it’s barely seven o’clock.”
“At your age, you need to sleep nine hours.”
“What do you all do during the day?”

Young Girl: “We... well, I go straight home and help my mother.”
“I go to see movies sometimes too.”

“Do you really have a mother?”
“I can’t believe it.”

“Don’t mock me.”
“Don’t you have any children?”

“I have a daughter.”
“Hearing that from you pains me.”

“Why?”
“So you do think of me like a daughter.”
“Now I get it.”

“No, I don’t think of you as any daughter.”
“You’re nothing like that.”
“That’s something else entirely.”

“What do you mean by that?”
“Because she’s mature for her age.”

“She’s not mature at all. But you—compared to my daughter—how should I put it—being with you feels comfortable. I don’t have to walk on eggshells around you.”

“Is your daughter really that frightening?”

“It’s not exactly that... but I just can’t handle her well.”
“I feel like I’m always watching her mood.”
“You never know what she might do next.”
“I can’t just pretend not to notice.”
“I end up saying something.”
“Then she turns around and lashes out at me.”

“Does she hit you?”

“No.”
“She doesn’t hit me, but cuts back with cruel words.”
“Every single time.”
“I do bear some responsibility for spoiling her.”
“But it’s not like she acts this way with everyone—how many daughters do you find mercilessly attacking their only living father like this? They aren’t exactly common, are they?”

“It’s because you’re too soft, old man.”
“You show too much weakness.”
“It’s not like you need to scold her harshly or anything.”
“So you can’t do that, can you.”

“I suppose you’re right.”
“But I can’t just suddenly change.”
“It’s not like I need to start shouting at her or anything.”
“But then again, it depends on how she acts.”
“Her mother was a strong-willed woman to begin with, and my daughter inherited that blood.”
“On top of that, I have no idea how to handle women.”

"That's right.
Women get carried away, you know. I’ve got that streak too."

“There, that’s it,” said the old man. “You might be right about that, but you can’t understand something so profound in just one night.” He shifted on the creaking floorboards. “No use lingering here.” The beer bottle clinked against the windowsill as he stood. “I’m leaving now.”

The old man walked across the stage from right to left.

“Hey, it’s me. Your dad.”
“Open up.”

“What was your daughter doing all this time?”

“Well, never mind that—just open up.”
“We’ll talk about it properly later.”

“Your daughter waited up without locking the door until one in the morning last night.”
“That’s careless.”

“I know.”
“It’s because you said I was noisy that I left.”

“Because I was chattering away next to my daughter while she was reading a book.”

“Chattering”? You—there are things even I wouldn’t say.

“Your daughter’s already finished breakfast.”
“I haven’t yet.”
My daughter was really getting on my nerves.
“The soup’s already gone cold.”

“It’s fine that it’s cold,” said the old man. “Probably time for you to leave now.”

“Your daughter’s being perfectly reasonable—what time do you think this is?”

“I don’t know what time it is, but I do know it’s time for you to leave.”

“The company’s closed today.”
“Everyone’s going to Kamakura.”

“You don’t have to get so worked up just because I mentioned Kamakura.”

“The rice I cooked this morning goes in your lunchbox—eat that cold stuff over there.”

“The cold rice will do.”
“There’s a suspicious amount left, isn’t there?”

“That’s three meals’ worth, Dad.”
“I don’t have time to fix lunch and dinner sides anymore.”

“It’s fine—I’ll manage somehow.”
“What’re you putting in my lunchbox?”

“Simmered meat and rolled omelette.”

“Now that’s stylish.”
“Don’t forget the pickled plums.”

“You know I hate pickled plums.”

“Even if you hate them, it’s better to put them in as a preservative.”

“That’s outdated,” Tsuneko said.

“Kamakura?” he asked. “Did you finally learn to swim properly?”

“Where on earth did you stay last night?”

“I’m trying to decide whether to tell you or not.”

“If you don’t want to say it, then don’t. It’s not like it was anywhere decent anyway.”

The old man was surprised.

“Do you think of your dad as that kind of man?”

“With any man, you never know what they’re up to.”

“I don’t know who taught you to say such things, but viewing all men that way isn’t good. And what exactly are you trying to say by cornering this old man?”

“That was just a joke. Dad couldn’t possibly do such a thing.”

“I c-could…”

“That’d be absurd if you actually could.”

“Fine,” said the old man. “Everything you think is wrong. What’s this ‘absurd if you actually could’ nonsense? You mock me at every turn, but what’s so ridiculous about me not being able to go anywhere decent?”

“You don’t need to take it so seriously,” she replied. “There’s such a thing as being too honest for your own good. It’s only natural for men to fool around with women. There’s no right or wrong about it. If you just pretend it’s something bad on the surface, society will play along. ‘We don’t womanize because it’s improper’—nobody actually says that with a straight face. And men who want to but can’t are rather ridiculous.”

“You’re talking like some expert on life now, but that’s completely contradictory to what you said earlier. You’re claiming it’s absurd when men can’t do it, aren’t you? Didn’t you just tell Dad earlier that it’d be ridiculous if someone actually could?”

“That’s exactly why,” Tsuneko said. “Trying to force what you can’t do just makes you more ridiculous.” She shifted her grip on the rice paddle. “You went to Auntie’s place in Shibuya, didn’t you? It’s obvious.”

“That’s wrong.”

“You don’t have anywhere else to go, do you?”
“The retired master of Sagamiya’s been bedridden for ages.”

“That’s wrong.”

“Look! Look!” The rice grains scattered messily about her.
“Don’t go stepping on them again.”

The old man found her so stubborn.
"Listen here—last night Dad went and stayed at a decent place."
"Now that it's you, I don't think it's too soon to tell."
"Your dad met a truly kind woman for the first time in his life."

"That's quite a claim."
"A woman who'd be with Dad? I can't even imagine."

"See? You can't picture it."
"I couldn't have imagined it either."

“You probably picked up some streetwalker in the dark, didn’t you?”

The room was dimly lit.
She wasn't some brazen streetwalker.

“Disgusting.”

“I could technically say that. But in reality, I can’t dismiss it so easily. I gave her the money. But I merely talked with that woman for a while in a hotel room. Letting her sleep alone, I leaned against the sofa and was lost in thought. At dawn, I only managed to doze off fitfully.”

“I don’t want to hear such talk. Either way, you’ve got some nerve saying such things in front of your own daughter. How old is that woman?”

“Nineteen.”

“Unbelievable.”
“Dad, have you lost your mind?”

“I might be somewhat like that.”
It wasn’t something I’d normally do.
I simply have no recollection of ever being spoken to with what you might call kind words—not from my mother, not from my wife, not even from my daughter.
Well, even if that’s somewhat colored by resentment—after all, to truly let down one’s guard from the heart…

“Don’t say such strange things.”
“You claim you can relax more with some streetwalker than your real daughter—what kind of logic is that?”
“There’s no comparison to even make in the first place.”

“They can’t be compared.”
“I’m not making a comparison.”
“My phrasing was poor.”

“I don’t know anything about Grandma or Mom.”
“I’m just the woman I am.”
“As your daughter—if I may say so—I believe I’ve done what’s expected of your daughter.”

“So what—are you saying I haven’t done what’s expected of a father?”

“How should I know? I’ve never been taught what fathers ought to do—never even thought about it.”

“That’s just fine by me. I don’t want you learning it or thinking about it. So you’re saying you’ve done everything expected of a daughter?”

“Well, I suppose that’s not wrong.”

“If I’m being honest though—I wish there was a bit more softness.”

“I want there to be tenderness.”

“Even if it’s fake—show affection like it’s real. Through your eyes and face.”

“Well, strangers are gentler in their treatment,” said the daughter. “Otherwise you’d be at a disadvantage.”

“There’s truth in what you’re saying,” replied the old man. “But I find it questionable that you treat me harshly just to avoid losing out.”

“I’m not treating you harshly at all,” she retorted. “You say such scandalous things.”

“Now, now—what’s the point of raising your voice like that?” he countered. “That’s coercion, you know. Coercion means acting that way because there’s something to gain. It’s not merely about avoiding disadvantage. You’re being harsh because you’re trying to gain something from it somewhere, aren’t you?”

“I’m not gaining anything at all.”

“That’s how it turned out,” said the Old Man.
“You’re just demanding what doesn’t exist.”
“But I can’t help feeling there’s some advantage in it.”

“Ugh, what a nuisance,” said the Daughter.
“Old folks are more endearing when they keep quiet.”

Old Man: “It’s not like I never stay silent.”
“You never once call me endearing, do you?”

Daughter: “To begin with, Dad, you’re just so annoying.”
“Always meddling in unnecessary things.”
“Harping on stuff everyone already knows.”

Old Man: “An old man’s common vice.”

“You’ve surpassed common faults.”
“A special case!”

“Huh? Special case?”

“Special—an exception!”

“It’s not that extreme.”

“You don’t even understand yourself.”
“Go ask anyone.”

“Am I a special case?”

“And Dad, you don’t know nearly enough about this so-called new era.”
“Even girls don’t keep obediently listening to everything their parents say forever.”

Old Man: “That’s a different matter altogether.”
“I have absolutely no intention of making you say ‘yes’ to everything.”
“I’ve never once told you to be filial.”
“You’re free.”
“On that point—Dad here’s been open about it.”
“Just that your old man’s still alive and kicking before your eyes, and that you don’t go insulting him needlessly—if you’d just keep these two things in mind, I won’t have any complaints.”

Daughter: “I don’t mean to insult you, but the fact remains I can’t respect you either.”
“Well, at school they taught us to respect our parents and all.”
“Even if I wanted to respect you, Dad, if you don’t have those qualities to begin with, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“Well, that can’t be helped.”
“So I’m not telling you to respect me or anything.”

“First off, Dad—what’s so great about you? You don’t even think you’re great yourself, do you?”
“That’s right.”

“That’s the only good thing about you, Dad.”

“You said something nice to me there.”

“And you getting money from somewhere—it’s impressive how that keeps up.”

“There’s no telling how long it’ll last.”

“You’re not overexerting yourself that much, are you?”

Old Man: “An antique business without capital is tough work. It’s just that having somewhat better discernment than others allows me to occasionally find worthwhile items.”

“If only my salary were doubled—then maybe we could get by on our own.”

“Well now, isn’t it about time? Have you finished your preparations?”

“The gathering’s at nine o'clock at Tokyo Station, so we’re still fine.”

“If you keep that up, you’ll end up late all the time. Making people fret isn’t good.”

“I know that already. I wonder if this’ll be too hot today. A sleeveless dress would be better, don’t you think?”

“Instead of saying such things now, if you’re going to change clothes, hurry up and do it already.”

“So I’m asking if this’ll be too hot.”

“If you yourself don’t think it’s hot, then that’s fine, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I’m asking about.”

“The sleeveless dress would likely be better.”

“That’s enough already.”
“A sleeveless dress doesn’t suit me.”

Old Man: “Ah, I see.”

“Ahh, there’s no point in me putting on makeup anyway.”
“These lips—there’s no way to put lipstick on them.”

“Let me see,” said the old man.

“It’s not a ‘let me see’ situation,” she countered. “They’re exactly like your lips, Dad. The lower lip juts out too far, and the upper one might as well not exist.”

“I don’t think it’s that pronounced,” he replied.

“What an utterly hopeless face this is.”
“I have to say, I’m rather impressed with myself.”

“If only you’d taken after your mother.”

“That’s not it at all.”
“If Dad were someone else’s dad, that would’ve been better.”

“Hmm.”

“Since there’s no one who’d want me as a bride anyway, I might as well become a nun.”

“You take things to extremes too much.”
“You’re not nearly as plain as you think you are.”
“Walk around town and you’ll find plenty of young women at your level.”

“See what I mean?”
“The ones you find everywhere are the unattractive ones.”

“No—I meant average.”
“Well, that too—if I were to put it modestly within the family.”
“A woman’s charm ultimately seeps out from within.”
“Kindness of temperament, intelligence.”
“And allure in the proper sense.”

“Ahh, enough already, enough,” Tsuneko said. “When I have a daughter with someone someday, I’ll make sure to properly pass on all those qualities you mentioned.”

“Now listen,” the old man retorted. “Quit joking around. You’re spouting nonsense.”

“It’s not impossible though.”

“Even if you thought that way, who actually says such things out loud? This is just hysterics.”

“Hahaha! Hysterics? Ah, how absurd.”
“The absurd one here is me.”
“Since we’re both like that, isn’t it fine?”

Old Man: “Ah, if you say that, then I say this.”
Daughter: “If you say this, then I’ll say that.”

“This could go on forever.”

“Truth is, Dad must find me such a burden.”

The old man’s response defied mere reply.

“You look so burdened.”

Old Man: There are matters where being seen that way can’t be helped.

“What would you do if I ran away from home?”

“Don’t torment me like that.”

“I’m not tormenting you. Just checking to be sure.”

“That itself becomes torment. You’re impossible to understand.”

“But today, I’ve come to understand Dad as a person.”

“I too, on this very day, have come to understand you as my daughter.”

“You must be so disappointed.”
“What about you?”
“Same here.”
“It’s not like anything’s gotten better or worse.”
“I’m the same way.”
“Just that I realized my perspective had been a bit narrow.”
“I realized I’d been thinking of Dad solely as Dad a bit too much.”
“Dad, I’d forgotten that you’re still a man after all.”
“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”
“When you say ‘I’m sorry’ like that to me, I just get all flustered.”
“It’s fine—don’t hold back, keep nagging me like you always do.”
“I’ve learned to sniff out your affection between the scoldings.”
“Now hurry up and get ready.”

“Well then, I’m off,” Tsuneko said. “If anyone comes while I’m out, don’t go detaining them for pointless chatter like last time.”

“Did that ever happen?” the old man asked.

“You’re so forgetful. Wasn’t there that man who got fired from Shiraki’s shop who came last Sunday? Because Dad went blabbing about me going to Subaru-za, he followed me and caused all that trouble.”

“But they already knew the basics and asked me about it.”

“Even if they heard, no idiot would fall for such an obvious trick.”
“You’ll just embarrass yourself.”

Old Man: “I’ll be more careful from now on.”

Daughter: “Even if you try to be careful, it’s no use—because you’re senile.”

Old Man: “Well then, I’ll figure something out about that too. What time will you be back?”

Tsuneko: “How should I know? That’s my prerogative.”

Old Man: “Much obliged. The doyo waves at Yuigahama are dangerous if you let your guard down. I’ll say my piece too.”

Curtain.