Pathway to Japanese Literature

Chapter I

When he left the hotel, it was raining.

To perform a surgical operation on the woman from Room 421 instead of the one from Room 352. When they left the Daiichi Hotel side by side, it was raining. From how wet the pavement was, they realized it had been raining for over an hour already. It was a midsummer afternoon when even a light rain would dry up almost immediately.

The fact that it had been raining for over an hour already suddenly gripped Nobuyoshi with melancholy. But what was this loneliness…?

That it was raining held no particular meaning. If this were the protagonist of a Chekhov play, "It’s raining—what meaning does this have? It doesn't mean a damn thing." would likely say something to that effect.

It was raining... It was nothing more than an utterly commonplace natural phenomenon.

However, the fact that this commonplace phenomenon had occurred without his knowledge struck Nobuyoshi as a fresh surprise.

Why? During the hour when rain soaked the pavement, Nobuyoshi had been soaking the body of a woman he didn't know—a passing stranger—on the bed in Room 453 of the hotel.

The girl was called Nakasuji Itsuko. She was nineteen years old, but her many freckles made her look twenty-two. She was slightly cross-eyed and had underarm odor. Until an hour ago, Nobuyoshi and Itsuko had been complete strangers. To Nobuyoshi, Itsuko had been nothing more than an existence akin to a station passed by an express train. But when they left the hotel side by side an hour later, Nobuyoshi already knew every inch of Itsuko’s body. He had come to know it with the speed of an express train passing by.

Even though the woman had been the one to approach and throw herself against Nobuyoshi’s chest, the sheer abruptness of it had inevitably turned into regret. But this wasn’t the loneliness born of regret. Nor was it even the poignant sentiment of "Ah, it's raining..."

It was a melancholy sensation born from these facts: that rain had fallen unrelated to their being there while Nobuyoshi and Itsuko were in the room; that he had remained unaware of it; that the hotel chamber and rain-drenched outdoors had existed as entirely separate worlds. But this sensation was something Nobuyoshi couldn't explain. Could this be what loneliness is? Nobuyoshi suddenly furrowed his brows, raised those habitually vacant eyes of his perpetually distracted gaze, and stared blankly at the white streaks of rain. But Nobuyoshi—incapable of lingering long in any single mood—immediately wrapped himself in a frivolous laugh.

“I’m such a rain-bringing man—whenever I travel, it always rains. You hate the rain…?” Then Itsuko,

"I hate the rain, but I like rain-bringing men." "Why...?" "Because a man who can't even make it rain a little wouldn't be worth my time."

Having said that, Itsuko laughed with a raucous voice unbecoming of her age, but when they reached the subway entrance, she suddenly put on a dead-serious face,

“Well then, I’ll be going to Nihonbashi from here, so…” “I’ll come by tonight at ten.”

No sooner had she said this than, without waiting for Nobuyoshi’s reply, she descended the stairs while fussing with the back of her skirt.

"I’ll come by tonight at ten" meant that she would be sneaking into Nobuyoshi’s room that evening. Nobuyoshi suddenly recalled the smell of Itsuko’s underarm odor.

And getting wet in the rain, he walked toward Ginza. Both Nobuyoshi and Itsuko had business they needed to attend to by four-thirty. So being mindful of the time, they had hurriedly rushed out of the room.

Itsuko’s business was to purchase a typewriter at a certain trading company in Nihonbashi. Nobuyoshi’s business was to attend the full rehearsal of his own script that would be performed starting tomorrow at Tokyo Theater. It was for this purpose that Itsuko had come from Kyushu and Nobuyoshi from Osaka, each arriving in the capital where they happened to take lodging at the Daiichi Hotel. The fact that he had made a special trip to the capital to see his own script performed meant nothing other than that Nobuyoshi was still an up-and-coming playwright. When playwrights become seasoned veterans accustomed to productions, even watching their own plays becomes a chore. There might also be the reason that seeing the images conceived in one’s study being distorted on stage was unbearable. Nobuyoshi, with his exceptionally strong self-esteem, was well aware of this fact, and inwardly looked down on himself for having eagerly rushed to the capital, yet he still couldn’t remain idle in Osaka because in truth, this play marked Nobuyoshi’s very first production. To put it bluntly, it was a script that had been selected through the theater troupe’s playwriting competition. Until yesterday, he had been nothing more than a complete unknown.

Of course, he had fabricated a pretext for this trip to the capital. It wasn’t that he had come to Tokyo in a state of ecstasy over his play’s production. Because the entire script was written in Kansai dialect, his pretext had been that he needed to teach it to the actors of the Theater Troupe who would perform it. Was being able to talk with famous actors really that thrilling? While mocking himself like this，Nobuyoshi woke up in Room 453 well past noon.

After finishing his meal at the basement grill, Nobuyoshi went to the lobby to get a newspaper. But there were no newspapers at all. Five earlier guests were each spreading out newspapers and reading them. There was no sign of them freeing up anytime soon. Nobuyoshi grew irritated. He wanted to see the Tokyo Theater advertisement.

Nobuyoshi sat down beside the middle-aged man, "If you’re done with it, please go ahead." he said.

“The newspaper?” “Huh?” “What’s the point of looking at newspapers?”

“Huh…?”

He was surprised.

“There’s no point reading newspapers. They’re nothing but lies these days.” “I couldn’t agree more, but aren’t you reading one yourself?” “I’m not reading the articles. I’m reading a cipher.” “Huh…? Cipher...?” “In the second section of this newspaper, there are characters marked with pencil. If you trace those characters…”

He smirked slyly. "What happens then?"

“If you trace them,” he said, “you’ll find the numbers 352 for the room and 3:00 PM. This cipher means a beauty will welcome whoever visits Room 352 at three o’clock.” “Does it matter who goes?” “It could be me.” He smirked. “Or you.” “Do you plan to go?” “What about you?” “Who knows? There’s some thrill in it.” Nobuyoshi tapped his cigarette. “Though it’d be awkward if we crossed paths.” “Don’t worry. That won’t happen.” “Why…?” “By three o’clock, either you or I—one of us—will inevitably be... indisposed.” “Are you a fatalist?” “I wouldn’t tell you this otherwise. Ha ha…”

“Why…?” “By three o’clock, either you or I—one of us two—will surely encounter some mishap.”

“Are you a fatalist?” “Otherwise I wouldn’t tell you such things.” “Ahaha...”

He laughed in an eerie voice,

“There we go—it’s free now.”

With that, he handed the newspaper to Nobuyoshi and briskly walked out to the entrance.

Nobuyoshi looked at the Tokyo Theater advertisement. The author Nobuyoshi’s name had been misprinted as Shinzō. At the numeral "three," Nobuyoshi was startled.

“Three o’clock...”

When he looked at his watch, it was 2:30 PM. "Half an hour left."

Nobuyoshi entered the café.

He sat down on an empty chair and waited for the waiter to come, when a young woman holding a room key and wallet sat down across from Nobuyoshi, giving a slight bow. Just then, the waiter arrived. “Coffee!”

When Nobuyoshi placed his order, the young woman also,

“Soda water!” Without looking at Nobuyoshi’s face, she ordered.

She had many freckles, but her eyes were wide-open, and her lower lip protruded slightly. She seemed fidgety and restless. Nobuyoshi suddenly looked at the number on the girl’s room key. Room 421!

“Not Room 352.” Just as he muttered this, the waiter arrived with their orders but placed soda water before Nobuyoshi and coffee before the girl. Nobuyoshi and the girl suddenly exchanged glances and smiled. Nobuyoshi placed the soda water in front of the girl. The girl placed the coffee before Nobuyoshi.

For a while, they drank in silence, and then the girl, as if mustering her resolve, “Excuse me, but aren’t you staying here?”

Nobuyoshi also had a key dangling. “I see. You’re staying here too.” “Oh… It’s my first time at a hotel and I’m so dreadfully bored.” “My room feels stifling too…” “Can’t you go out?” “The daytime heat…”

“I see…”

Nobuyoshi thought about inviting this bored girl to watch a stage rehearsal.

“In the evening, it should cool down. How about coming to see a rehearsal of my play?” “Do you appear in plays?”

“No, I’m not an actor.” “Oh. Then the script…” “Oh, well…” “About what time is that rehearsal?” “At four-thirty.”

“Oh, what a shame. I have to be at Nihonbashi by four-thirty.” “I see. Then please attend tomorrow’s opening night. I’ll reserve tickets for you.” “I’m leaving tomorrow morning already. That’s a shame.” “I see. Well…” Nobuyoshi lost all enthusiasm.

The coffee room was crowded. Beside Nobuyoshi and his companion’s table stood a customer searching for vacant seats.

Nobuyoshi grabbed the check and stood up. The girl also stood up simultaneously. The girl had no check. The waiter must have thought they were together.

Nobuyoshi paid both bills.

“Oh, but I was…” “No, it’s too much trouble—let’s just do it together.” “Thank you for the meal.” When Nobuyoshi went to the sofa in the lobby, the girl followed and sat down beside him. That this seemed perfectly natural was likely because of the check situation.

Sunlight streamed onto the sofa. The girl kept using her handkerchief. "It's hot, isn't it?"

“Shall we go to your room and talk?” Nobuyoshi involuntarily looked at the girl’s face. Nobuyoshi was the one who blushed. Nobuyoshi said flusteredly.

“Is your room cool?” “Very…” “But entering a woman’s room seems rather…” “Then I’ll visit your room.”

Nobuyoshi suddenly felt his chest stir.

“My room is hot.” “But it’s probably better than here.”

He said in a flustered rush, stood up, and got into the elevator, “Don’t I have to be there by four-thirty?” Nobuyoshi spoke in a timid voice. “But I can talk until four-thirty.”

The girl checked her wristwatch. It was three o'clock.

“Ah, damn it! At three o’clock—was Room 352 finally taken by that man?” Nobuyoshi muttered.

They got off on the fourth floor and walked down the long hallway separately.

“Here it is. Please.”

Letting the girl enter first, Nobuyoshi closed the door but refrained from locking it. They deliberately separated their chairs and sat down at the small table by the window. "You smoke quite a lot, don't you?" "A hundred a day.—Don't you smoke?" "I do smoke, you know." Pulling one out from Nobuyoshi's case, she lit it and skillfully blew smoke rings. "I'm such a delinquent, aren't I…?"

The smoke rings drifted out through the window.

As he watched them drift away, his eyes suddenly caught sight of a man staring intently from an office in the building across the way. Nobuyoshi pointed in that direction. “Oh dear, we’ve been caught in the act of underage smoking. “How rude.” “That man.” She said flirtatiously and laughed, but suddenly her face turned half-tearful, and

“Shall we close the curtains?”

Nobuyoshi silently stood up and drew the curtains. Suddenly, the room became dark. Nobuyoshi involuntarily swallowed his saliva. As he started to return to his chair, Nobuyoshi abruptly placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder. The girl remained perfectly still and closed her eyes. Nobuyoshi abruptly yanked the girl’s shoulder. The girl stood up and suddenly opened her eyes, but then closed them again and thrust out her lips. With their lips joined, they fell onto the bed.

“Ah, please—not that...” “Why…?”

“This is my first time doing something like this.” However, perhaps her writhing movements had numbed her body instead, for the girl had now become completely yielding to Nobuyoshi’s advances. And then, “I won’t regret it. Because it’s you, I won’t regret it. Because I like you. Liking you isn’t wrong.” He had been shouting in a frenzy, but when he suddenly looked up, “You won’t laugh at me…?”

“I won’t laugh.” “Then that’s fine—tell me your name!” “Suga Nobuyoshi…” “Mr. Suga! Mr. Suga!” “Huh? What…?” “It’s nothing. Oh, Mr. Suga—Mr. Suga!”

and she continued calling Nobuyoshi’s name.

Eventually, Nobuyoshi struck a match in the darkness and checked his watch. It was four o'clock.

He turned on the light, “I have to go.”

The girl nodded while shrinking into the corner of the bed. When she finished getting ready, the girl started to leave first, but suddenly turned around and thrust out her lips. Lightly touching them, the two left the room. And then, when they stepped out of the hotel side by side, it was raining.……

As he walked along Ginza Street, Nobuyoshi,

"If you call it ordinary, it’s ordinary—but if you say it’s not ordinary, then it’s not ordinary."

he muttered. The phrase "surgical operation" suddenly floated up. Nobuyoshi's expression twisted.

"What I did resembles a surgical operation!" There was no religious or moral remorse amounting to a sense of guilt - yet sensory remorse remained. It was the cruelty of a doctor wielding a scalpel. "Still - when people fall ill, they'll risk death itself to undergo surgery. That girl too had actively sought my surgical operation. I removed that woman's illness."

When he thought that, he felt relieved.

But what exactly had that woman's illness been...? That's right—it might have been curiosity. Or perhaps ennui.

Nobuyoshi grinned slyly and turned the corner at Owaricho intersection toward Tsukiji.

Chapter Two

A love scene had been added to one act.

The urge to flee upon seeing it.

Yet the reason he stayed. When Nobuyoshi arrived at the theater, the rehearsal of the first act had finished, and the set decoration for the second act was about to begin.

Nobuyoshi was introduced by the manager of "Theatrical Troupe" to all the company members, then sat down in the audience seats alongside a senior executive from the company who had hurried in right at that moment.

“I’m surprised you’re so young. If I may ask—how old are you?”

the senior executive addressed him. “Thirty.” He was twenty-eight, but fearing he’d be underestimated, he added two years to his age.

“Thirty…?” “You’re just getting started.” “Please keep writing away.” “There aren’t many people writing scripts these days—how about films? Any interest?”

“When you say ‘interest’...?” “At the studio, they read your script and raised some issues.” “They mentioned something about commissioning a screenplay...”

Nobuyoshi flushed. He found it strange that he himself, who had been unknown until yesterday, was being made such a big deal of. He suddenly felt lonely. But why did he feel lonely? Shouldn't this have been the moment for elation?

“I’m no good. I can’t write propaganda pieces, you see…” “No, it’s better if they’re not full-fledged propaganda pieces. After all, sentimental pieces are what please people. Works that get labeled as ‘Information Bureau recommended’ actually tend to be less popular. Since your current script as it stood lacked allure, we’ve added a love scene to one act.” “Huh...?” Nobuyoshi made a face as if he’d bitten into a caterpillar. “This act here is the one. Well, just watch it.”

……

Nobuyoshi bristled with anger and watched as the rehearsal of that act began, but before his very eyes he turned deathly pale. Indeed, that act was not something Nobuyoshi had written but something that had been added afterward. As they had said to add allure, it was a shallow love scene completely unrelated to the overall progression of the play. That such an act had been added without the author’s permission—this was clearly an insult to the author.

When Nobuyoshi thought that, he pushed back his chair with a bang and stood up.

At the sound, the senior executive started and looked up at Nobuyoshi. Nobuyoshi, facing that face, “You will remove this scene. Otherwise, I will have you cancel the performance.” he tried to hurl those words. If he angered the senior executive here, he might lose this hard-won opportunity, but enduring this insult in silence would be worse than letting the chance slip away.

What was more important than his fate as a playwright was self-respect.

However, Nobuyoshi was quick-tempered but fundamentally timid. The timidity of a city dweller had become ingrained in him.

“This scene...” He started to say, then abruptly averted his gaze. The instant he did, his eyes collided with those of an actress sitting in the auditorium—still clad in her gaudy dressing-room yukata.

Eguchi Saeko, though part of the general dressing room, had left the strongest impression among the actresses introduced earlier. She had a more vivacious charm than the lead actress, and above all, her eyelashes were long. It was exactly to Nobuyoshi’s taste. Moreover, when he had been introduced earlier, it was only this actress whose eyes had momentarily locked with his in a glare. Saeko seemed to have been watching Nobuyoshi for some time.

“Won’t you come over here?”

Saeko’s eyes suddenly enticed Nobuyoshi.

"If I quarrel with the senior executive and leave now, I’ll lose any chance to speak with that actress." Nobuyoshi suddenly thought this. "I’ll postpone the fight for later."

Nobuyoshi moved closer to Saeko. Saeko, who had been sitting on the edge chair, briskly moved one seat over. On stage, the lead actress was, “Don’t say such embarrassing things. I just want to run away.” She was delivering cloyingly sweet lines that Nobuyoshi had never written. “The one who wants to run away is me.” Nobuyoshi said this and sat down in the chair Saeko had opened up next to her. Whether she understood the meaning or not, Saeko smiled,

“You must have been quite shocked. To have such a scene inserted… It’s truly awful.”

“I’d like to have them stop the performance.—But well, I suppose I should act like a novice and stay quiet. After all, it was wrong of me to write for a commercial theater troupe in the first place.” “Director Tamura was sympathizing too. He said it’s such a shame for the author’s debut.” The “Director Tamura” referred to Tamura Reisuke, the theater director. Tamura had formerly been a director for a leftist theater troupe who wrote novels alongside plays, becoming more famous in literary circles than theatrical ones, but after being arrested on suspicion of ideological activities and released on bail, he had been forbidden from writing and now directed anonymously for “Theatrical Collective.” Though he had debased himself by directing for a commercial troupe to put food on the table, his work remained meticulous, and perhaps it was precisely because of Tamura’s direction that Nobuyoshi had felt motivated to submit his script to this troupe.

"But Director Tamura listens to what the senior executive says too．He’s changed quite a lot．" "Is Mr．Tamura always like that？"

Tamura's direction was strangely negligent, with crude execution.

“No.” “He’s usually meticulous.” “But it seems the verdict in Director Tamura’s trial will be handed down tomorrow.” “I think the Director must be terribly on edge.”

Nobuyoshi felt wretched. To think the opening night of my debut play would coincide with the day of the director’s trial verdict… Yet simultaneously, he found himself sympathizing with Tamura. Making a scene here now would only add to Tamura’s burdens, he thought. The melancholy from his wounded pride found meager solace in this Saeko. ——Suddenly,

“Tomorrow…” As Nobuyoshi began to say—“Won’t you come to the hotel for lunch?”—but Saeko, “I need to go put on my costume…” had already stood up.

And without giving Nobuyoshi a chance to speak, she swiftly left.

He felt let down, but when Saeko, now in costume, appeared on stage, Nobuyoshi’s eyes blazed intensely.

If I can’t get that woman to come to the hotel tomorrow, my self-esteem will be twice wounded. The moment he muttered something odd, however, Nobuyoshi suddenly assumed a lonely expression. On stage, Saeko was desperately rehearsing her typecast minor role with an intensity that verged on painful.

Nobuyoshi suddenly felt tears welling up. His own ambition to seduce Saeko was despicable. However, Nobuyoshi’s ambition would not be extinguished by such things.

Nobuyoshi abruptly stood up, went out into the hallway, and looked out the window. The rain was still falling. The town lights were hazy.

Nobuyoshi was gazing pensively when suddenly, for some reason, he smirked.

Chapter Three

Even when the promised ten o'clock arrived, the rehearsal still hadn't ended.

Regarding Nobuyoshi's crematorium worker-like expression.

The realization that the matches had run out.

Rhetoric!

It was ten o'clock. It was the time when Itsuko from Room 421—the girl—had promised to sneak into Nobuyoshi's Room 453. However, the stage rehearsal still hadn't ended. The stage setup was taking time, leaving the rehearsal for the final act still unfinished. Some of the actors were worried about missing the last train. There were those who insisted they should only rehearse this act tomorrow morning. However, since Director Tamura would be having his verdict announced at the prosecutor's office tomorrow, he probably wouldn't be able to come. In the end, they decided to continue rehearsals. The senior-level actors, to their credit, did not voice complaints. They wore expressions of enjoying rehearsal, as if to say, "Alright, let's do this!" It was the minor actors from the common dressing room who clicked their tongues in irritation. Eguchi Saeko's face showed neither enjoyment of rehearsal nor discontent. Aloof, as cold and sharp as a mask.

Nobuyoshi had already lost interest in the rehearsals themselves. Rather, he was even experiencing an unbearable feeling of watching his own creation's imagery being distorted. But as long as Eguchi Saeko remained in that remaining act, he thought he couldn't leave the theater. The curtain remained, but Nobuyoshi too still had the task of inviting Saeko to lunch at the hotel tomorrow.

Saeko had not spoken a single word since then. No, it might be more accurate to say she had deliberately refrained from speaking. However, Saeko herself had already begun ignoring Nobuyoshi and made no attempt to speak to him. One might say that being ignored was, for a man like Nobuyoshi, rather an unexpected boon. Had she spoken to him familiarly or shown him fawning behavior, Nobuyoshi might have already lost interest in Saeko. Such a woman should be waiting somewhere closer at hand—at the hotel, for instance—for Nobuyoshi’s return. Nobuyoshi remembered his promise with that woman and thought he should just hurry back to the hotel. For a man to feel curiosity toward a woman and stir desire is already a sin. Why on earth would he seek to commit a double sin? Though he was the man with the least sense of guilt...

By nature, Nobuyoshi was a man whose very being was composed of self-esteem, so even this perceived slight of being ignored by Saeko—though it was merely his own conviction—left him feeling his pride had already been wounded. To begin with, his self-esteem had already been wounded by the unauthorized revisions made to his own work. He had nearly reached the point of demanding the performance be banned. But what ultimately stayed his hand was a weakness of spirit he possessed more than most, despite his strong self-esteem—and partly his interest in Eguchi Saeko. Moreover, that very Eguchi Saeko was now ignoring him. Nobuyoshi's self-esteem had been doubly wounded, so to speak. To heal this wound,

"I'll make Eguchi Saeko fall for me!" For that very reason, he believed it was more worthwhile if she first left him ignored—this was Nobuyoshi's firm conviction. He was a strange man.

The rehearsal ended at 10:30. It was unexpectedly early. The actors who had been worried about missing the last train sighed in relief and went to the dressing rooms to take off their makeup. The senior actors,

“How was it…? We’ll do better tomorrow,” they said to Nobuyoshi.

“No, that was sufficient. I look forward to tomorrow.” While giving a perfunctory reply, Nobuyoshi watched Saeko’s retreating figure as she withdrew to the dressing room without a word of greeting.

Director Tamura, perhaps finally feeling self-conscious about having finished the rehearsal so quickly himself, met Nobuyoshi’s gaze and suddenly offered a wry smile. Recalling Saeko’s words that Tamura had sympathized with him over the script revisions, Nobuyoshi approached. However, Tamura put the script into his briefcase and, “Well—” “Good work today.”

With just those words, he left briskly like a man whose wife was approaching childbirth. Nobuyoshi felt disappointed, but he didn’t get angry. The fact that no one had suggested they walk home together struck him as an unexpected boon instead.

Nobuyoshi went up on stage and smoked a cigarette. The stage devoid of actors reeked of paint that smelled exactly like the corpse of his own creation. The spectatorless auditorium was as silent as a nighttime crematorium. And Nobuyoshi on stage had a face as cruel as a crematorium worker’s.

What on earth was this cruel face? Nobuyoshi was calculating the time it would take for Saeko to return to the dressing room, remove her makeup, change her costume, and come out through the back entrance. He was not a man who could bring himself to lie in wait, even if it meant staking his self-esteem. While being pelted by rain, waiting for Saeko to emerge—such an act lay utterly beyond Nobuyoshi’s capabilities. Entering the stage manager’s room by the actors’ geta box to chat idly while awaiting lighter rainfall—even this pathetic approach proved beyond him. Nobuyoshi exiting backstage and Saeko descending via the dressing room elevator had to occur nearly simultaneously. Nobuyoshi was engineering that very coincidence. His sensibility instinctively abhorred artifice. Therefore he sought to fabricate naturalness himself. Am I an artist? It might perhaps be termed a species of dandyism.

The expression of dandyism was inherently cruel. Thus Nobuyoshi wore a cruel face.

But how was he supposed to create naturalness? When Nobuyoshi went out through the backstage exit, it had to be timed like a leading actor's entrance—neither too late nor too early. If he were too late, all would be lost; if too early, it would seem unnatural—this calculation ultimately came down to a leading actor's intuition. Timing how long it took Saeko to return to the dressing room, remove her greasepaint, change her costume, and come down in the elevator relied on nothing but intuition. However, Nobuyoshi did not particularly have confidence in this intuition. He was leaving it to luck. In that sense, he was a fatalist. For Nobuyoshi, life was an accumulation of coincidences. Nobuyoshi believed in the luck that created these coincidences.

Nobuyoshi slowly finished his cigarette. And when he stubbed it out, he wanted to smoke another one. However, the matchbox had not a single match left. However, in Nobuyoshi’s experience, there was often one left in his pocket. While calculating the time, Nobuyoshi slowly searched through his pockets. But when he finally realized none could be found, Nobuyoshi involuntarily smirked. It was an uncanny smile.

"Now was the moment!"

Nobuyoshi exited backstage toward the dressing room entrance like a man heading to the betting window at a racetrack. The moment he did so, Nobuyoshi was startled. Saeko was taking her shoes out from the geta box and changing out of her slippers into them.

If Nobuyoshi were to walk away now, that would be the end of it. In such moments, Nobuyoshi was not a man who could stroll slowly waiting for Saeko to catch up; thus while she laced her shoes, the distance between them would inevitably widen. Yet he couldn’t simply stand idly by her side as she put them on. One might say his exit had been slightly premature. However, for Nobuyoshi himself, it wasn’t premature in the least. Because he still had time to enter the head’s room and borrow a light for his cigarette. And there was nothing unnatural about this.

Nobuyoshi entered the head’s room, “Excuse me, but could I trouble you for a light?”

he said.

The head stood up, retrieved a matchbox from the coat hanging in the corner of the room, and brought it over.

“Thank you.” As he struck the match, “Good work today—” Saeko’s voice reached him from behind. The way she said “Good work today”—with that upward inflection on the final “ma”—struck Nobuyoshi as indifferent, as though she were already leaving. But such things were irrelevant now.

Nobuyoshi returned the matches and went out into the rain.

Ahead, Saeko was walking alone. She was holding an umbrella. Everything had unfolded exactly as Nobuyoshi had anticipated. The sight of Saeko trudging home alone through the late-night rainy streets under her umbrella had all the air of a supporting actress returning from rehearsal. Admittedly, if this were a large dressing room, one might expect there to be friends returning home together. Was walking home alone in such a desolate manner an expression of loneliness? A misanthrope? Because Nobuyoshi was drenched from the rain, he walked past Saeko in the long strides of a man who appeared soaked by the rain. The moment he did,

“Oh, Mr. Suga!” Saeko’s voice came. It had come after all. “—Wouldn’t you like to come in?”

This too was exactly as expected. But that everything had unfolded precisely as anticipated suddenly filled Nobuyoshi with loneliness. I felt disgusted with myself to an unbearable degree. I felt wretched.

When he stepped into the umbrella,

“I hear this play is being made into a movie.” “Oh? Is that right?” He deliberately feigned surprise.

“Haven’t you heard?” “No, there was some talk about that earlier… By the way, how far are you…?” “It’s Hongo, you know.” “So that means you’ll let me accompany you as far as Miharabashi, then. As for me, I’m headed to Shinbashi, so at Miharabashi…” “The Daiichi Hotel, is it...?” “Yes. You’re quite well-informed.”

“It’s the talk of the dressing room!”

“What?” Nobuyoshi’s heart jolted. Had they discovered everything about the hotel? “Mr. Suga, those old ladies in the dressing room were absolutely obsessed with finding out where you’ve been staying.”

Nobuyoshi felt relieved. “—They’ve even given you a nickname already, you know.”

“Chimney…?” It was “Beanpole.”

“No, Ryunosuke Akutagawa.” “Oh—?” “Young, talented, with a good figure... No—it’s the eyes, the eyes.” “It’s the eyes that resemble his, you see.”

“In any case, if Ryunosuke Akutagawa were alive, he’d probably challenge me to a duel.”

Laughing, they came to the Miharabashi tram stop. The tram was slow to arrive. “Please—” “It wouldn’t be good to be late…” “Yes. But until the tram comes…”

Saeko was holding the umbrella for him.

“You know, waiting for the tram on a rainy night really is lonely. I may have suddenly become famous compared to yesterday, but standing here soaked through and dejected in the rain while waiting for the tram—it makes me think humans really are surprisingly lonely creatures after all.”

Nobuyoshi abruptly voiced this thought. It was a genuine feeling. Saeko merely looked up at Nobuyoshi’s face in silence. Her eyelashes were astonishingly long. He thought they were beautiful.

Nobuyoshi said. “You don’t happen to have any matches, do you? If I go back to the hotel and can’t even smoke…” “I don’t have any now… but I’ll bring some to the dressing room tomorrow.” “What time do you enter the dressing room…?” “Three o’clock…”

“Three o’clock… is it?” “It’s wretched that I can’t get matches until three.” “They don’t sell them here, you see.”

Putting on an intentionally troubled expression, “You come into town earlier than that, don’t you? If you could show me the kindness of delivering them to the hotel reception then, I’d be eternally grateful.” “Oh, that many matches…” “I’m a terrible nicotine addict, you see.” “Well then, I’ll deliver them for you, I suppose.”

“About what time…?” “Well… I’ll have lunch before heading out, so around one o’clock, I suppose?” She spoke somewhat like a boy. That gave Nobuyoshi confidence. “If you’d like, you could come without eating lunch. “Of course, I can’t let you starve over matches, so even though it’s not particularly good, I’ll treat you to lunch at the hotel. “In other words, it’s my thanks for the matches.”

Nobuyoshi said quickly, laughing.

“In return, you’re saying one box of matches won’t be enough?” “If I take out too many， Mom will scold me… Heehee…”

Nobuyoshi laughed emptily for some reason, and in the same way, their promise was made.

Just then, the tram arrived. “Thank you. Well then, I’ll be waiting tomorrow.” “In the lobby…” “What time…?” “Is noon alright…?” “Yes. Well then, tomorrow at noon.”

Nobuyoshi boarded the tram.

As the tram began moving, Saeko crossed the tracks and walked toward the Shibuya-bound stop, but her figure soon disappeared from view. Perhaps because she had thrown on a raincoat, her figure looked quite petite, and for some reason, that image lingered behind Nobuyoshi’s eyelids. And that suddenly weighed on Nobuyoshi’s spirits.

The tram was empty, but his reason for not attempting to sit down stemmed less from restlessness over excessive success than from sheer despondency. Yet why this despondency? Nobuyoshi stared vacantly at the white rain-streaks beyond the window.

Chapter Four

About the Midnight Phone Call.

About the strange breakfast.

About the Even More Bizarre Mastermind Behind the Death Notice.

Eleven o'clock.

Nobuyoshi stopped by his hotel room, glanced at his wristwatch, and removed the telephone receiver. He tried to call Itsuko’s room.

At that moment, a knocking sound came at the door.

“Come in!”

Since the door wasn’t locked, it opened immediately when pushed, and the one who entered was indeed Itsuko.

Pursing her lips, she stood demurely, smiling with a tearful expression. She must have just emerged from the bath, for her hair was still wet. With what thoughts had she washed her body, which she had entrusted to a man during the day? Nobuyoshi, too,

"……" No words came to him in that instant; he moved closer in silence. As he tried to embrace her, Itsuko parted her tightly closed lips.

“Ah—” While uttering a faint sound, she stretched both hands toward Nobuyoshi’s back. Then rose onto her tiptoes. The sensation of mandarin segments melting on his tongue, breath carrying carnal musk from her throat’s depths, bath-steam freshness laced with underarm pungency—this was the desperate living scent of a girl straining at existence’s edge. Nobuyoshi immediately pulled away from her chest. Then they both sat down side by side at the edge of the bed. “I tried coming earlier. It was locked.”

Itsuko looked embarrassed. Despite her bold behavior, she was still just a girl. “Sorry about that. Rehearsal ran late, you see. I just got back and was about to call your room.”

When Nobuyoshi said that, Itsuko's complexion changed. “Did the call go through?” “No, because I canceled it right away…” Itsuko let out a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank goodness. If the call had gone through, Uncle would’ve woken up.”

It seemed she had come to Tokyo with her uncle and they were staying in the same room. "But he's passed out drunk, so maybe the phone ringing wouldn't even wake him up." Itsuko said she had come out taking advantage of her uncle being asleep.

“Uncle’s behavior is absolutely disgraceful.” “He’s the principal of a typing school, but he causes scandals with students, you know.” “He also seems to be involved with the woman at this hotel’s front desk.” "Well, you see..." “Uncle does bad things too, after all…” As if declaring “I’ll do it too,” Itsuko suddenly pressed her lips against his. Then, taking Nobuyoshi’s hand, she pressed it against her own chest. Because she wasn’t wearing a bra, the swell of her chest had a slack softness.

Exhaling fiery breaths, the two collapsed in a tangled heap. Itsuko was naked beneath her chemise, wearing nothing underneath.

“I washed them in the bath, you see. I didn’t bring any replacements.”

Nobuyoshi's face flushed red.

……… “No one will come…?” “No one will come…?”

“They won’t come. It’s okay.” When he said that, Itsuko began burning frantically as if relieved. Nobuyoshi was left aghast, thinking: Is this what a girl was like? Eventually, unsure how much time had passed, they slumped down and turned their wretched faces away from each other. “I feel ashamed. This feels wretched. Just like animals... Are all humans like this?”

However, Itsuko kept holding Nobuyoshi’s hand and made no move to let go. Nobuyoshi’s hands were white and delicate. “Your hand is just like a woman’s.” “I may not have any other merits, but at least my hands are beautiful.” “I’ll remember these hands.”

Itsuko seemed happy to have her body touched by Nobuyoshi's hands. She stayed until around four o'clock,

“Oh, it’s already so late... Uncle should be sobering up by now.”

With that, she hurriedly left. The fact that Itsuko knew exactly when her uncle would sober up struck Nobuyoshi as strange. As she was leaving, Itsuko,

“Tomorrow we say goodbye.” “I won’t regret it.” “Would you have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?” “Breakfast is until nine, right? Do you think I can make it?” “I’m a late riser, you see…” “I’ll wake you by phone.”

On the bed where Itsuko's scent still lingered, Nobuyoshi slept soundly. When he opened his eyes, the bell was ringing. As he picked up the receiver, “Hello? Is this Mr. Suga?”

Itsuko's voice, perhaps because of the telephone, sounded older and stiffly earnest. Addressed as "Mr. Suga," Nobuyoshi gave a wry smile. “Won’t you… come to breakfast…?”

“Ah, thank you.”

When he went down to the lobby, Itsuko was standing dejectedly at the entrance to the dining room.

When they sat facing each other, Nobuyoshi looked around the dining room. Then he spotted a young man smoking a cigarette and borrowed a light. The man lent him a light with a sullen face, glaring at Nobuyoshi. Nobuyoshi's self-esteem was wounded. Was it all because he didn't have a match that he had to endure such feelings?

When he returned, Itsuko,

“The man you borrowed a light from just now is my fiancé.”

she said. Nobuyoshi gasped in surprise. "That man is in business with Uncle." "Uncle wants to marry me off to that man for strategic reasons." "I don't want that man..."

However, Uncle had apparently told that man that Itsuko had already consented. So if Itsuko kept opposing it to the end, he would lose face before that man. He had brought Itsuko to Tokyo intending to force her into marriage. The man had deliberately reserved his own room right across from Itsuko’s. Uncle seemed to be urging Itsuko to visit that room. “I never went there for him. He’s putting on airs as my fiancé—flaunting it like he owns me. But I’ll have to marry him anyway out of duty to Uncle. I couldn’t bear giving my virginity to a man like that. That’s why I… chose you…”

Hearing Itsuko's words that she had given her virginity, Nobuyoshi groaned.

“About my phone call this morning—Uncle was listening, you know. “Since he asked who you were, I told him you’re a writer—then he said he wants an introduction.” “He’s such a show-off—Uncle.” “He was surprised, saying 'When did you two get acquainted?' you know.” “I want to show you off to Uncle and that man.” And then Itsuko exchanged glances, “Over there—the one sitting across from that man—that’s Uncle.” “He’s looking this way.”

However, Nobuyoshi did not turn around. He was just looking at the freckles on Itsuko’s face. They somehow seemed like stains of misfortune. “You don’t have parents, is that right?” Nobuyoshi had tried out blunt phrases like “I suppose” and polite ones like “wouldn’t you say,” using both rough and courteous speech with Itsuko, but now it was already half an hour before they would part.

He used polite speech.

“Yes.” “I don’t have parents either.” This was their last conversation, Nobuyoshi thought. And in that instant, he felt their hearts connected.

When they finished eating, Itsuko prepared to leave and went up to the fourth floor.

Nobuyoshi went to the lobby to read the newspaper. When he picked up the same newspaper bundle as yesterday, there were indeed red pencil marks on the printed text. As he traced them,

8 PM, Room 333…. It had been decoded. "Another three? "Alright, today I’ll definitely go and visit that mysterious woman in Room 333 at 8 PM." As Nobuyoshi muttered this, “When the newspaper becomes available, please…” He was addressed.

When he looked up, the same middle-aged gentleman as yesterday was standing there with a smirk.

“Here you go.” He said and handed it over. “—It’s 8 PM， Room 333.”

Having said that, the gentleman,

“Ah, is that so? Well then, there’s no need to read it anymore.”

he said. "I agree—because there's not a single truthful line in newspapers these days except the death notices…"

“Ahaha….” “How cleverly put.” “But you still place too much faith.”

“Why…?” Then, in a solemn tone, the gentleman said:

“Even death notices contain lies.”

“For example…?”

“For example, you ask?” “Ahaha… Good question.”

The gentleman pointed to the newspaper's death notice section and, "Here—Hachiya Jūkichi's death notice appears here." "Yes."

"Former Member of the House of Representatives Hachiya Jūkichi passed away last July 31st. It says here... doesn't it? Do you know a Diet member called Hachiya?"

“No, I’ve never heard of him.” “That’s right—I’ve never heard of him either. The man called Hachiya Jūkichi isn’t a Diet member.” “Then who are you?” “I am no one, but Hachiya Jūkichi is none other than myself.” “What?” “According to this newspaper, Hachiya Jūkichi is supposed to have died yesterday. However, as you can see, I am very much alive. Newspapers are utter nonsense.” “I see. So you’re the one who placed this death notice, aren’t you?”

When Nobuyoshi promptly asked, the gentleman didn’t show a single smile,

“That’s correct.”

he answered.

Chapter Five.

About the Meaning of Dandy.

The trivial explanation that Nobuyoshi had charm for women. The fact that Saeko came wearing a hat.

The man named Suga Nobuyoshi had a face where two expressions intertwined—what women called a neurotic look, and a childish quality evident from his vacant, dazed eyes and the wrinkles at his eye corners when he smiled. Moreover, true to urbanite form, he was bashful yet sociable, appearing timid yet capable of sudden cruelty; one moment buoyant enough to seem shallow, the next sealed in profound melancholy; seeming guileless only to then come across as a consummate womanizer... With expressions that whirled through changes depending on time and situation, he held modest charm for women tired of ordinary, unremarkable men.

He was tall and slender, his manner of speaking to women blending brusque tones with an almost unctuous politeness. In short, he was what you might call a man who naturally drew women’s interest. Though not classically handsome, he carried a refined charm.

Therefore, he was by no means a dandy (a man of style). ...I'm just too unpolished.

He had been half-serious when he said it. His clothing was not stylish either. He was too much of a slacker to bother with his appearance. However, Nobuyoshi,

_I’m a dandy in spirit,_ he had thought. In other words, it was a matter of differing interpretations of the word "dandy." For Nobuyoshi, a dandy was what Baudelaire called—

_To surprise others without being surprised oneself—that was the precept a dandy must uphold._ That was it. Therefore, Nobuyoshi had always resolved never to be surprised by anything, no matter the circumstances. However, even Nobuyoshi could not help but be somewhat surprised by this strange man called Hachiya Jūkichi. “Former Member of the House of Representatives Hachiya Jūkichi passed away on July 31st.”

A man who proudly declares that the advertiser of this death notice is none other than himself!

There was a Meiji-era writer—a man who had placed his own death notice under his own name—but when that notice was published，naturally，that writer had already died. However，this man called Hachiya Jūkichi was currently alive before Nobuyoshi’s very eyes. Moreover，when questioned about the veracity of his self-proclaimed title as a former member of the House of Representatives，he declared with perfect composure， “It’s all nonsense.” He was a strange man.

Admittedly, before Nobuyoshi could ask that man Hachiya himself, he had already— “The advertiser is you... isn’t it?” Since he had posed the question, “That’s correct.” he could claim he hadn’t been particularly surprised when answered thus. However, to state this outright would be a lie. The surprise had merely passed through him swiftly; at any rate, he had indeed been momentarily startled. —At least Nobuyoshi admitted that. For a dandy, this was rather excruciating.

However, Nobuyoshi had been defeated by that man. He had no choice but to concede. Nobuyoshi detested everything that was commonplace and ordinary. He despised them all—the principle of testing every stone bridge before crossing, the common sense of social maneuvering, the petit-bourgeois instinct for self-preservation, thrift, the mentality that recoiled from waste. What aligned with Nobuyoshi’s tastes was strictly limited to reckless abandon, audaciousness, defiance of conventions, transgressions of norms, breaches of propriety, and revealing one’s true nature—in other words, only those things substantiated by what might be called an anti-establishment spirit.

Therefore, Nobuyoshi’s desire had never lain in worldly success, but rather in fully becoming a truly distinctive individual. And though he had intended to carry himself in that manner, Nobuyoshi’s own distinctiveness now seemed nothing but a cheap imitation before Hachiya Jūkichi. Nobuyoshi asked frankly. “Why would you place such an ad?”

Then Hachiya retorted bluntly, “Why...? “Why would you ask such a question?” “There’s no point explaining the reason to someone who asks such questions.”

When he said that, he suddenly stood up,

“Eight PM, Room 333.”

After confirming this, he slipped out toward the entrance and was gone.

“Alright, eight PM, Room 333.” “Today I won’t let that man outdo me.” As he muttered this, Itsuko descended from the elevator carrying a suitcase. Her uncle and fiancé were with her.

With a face half in tears, Itsuko smiled, gave a slight bow, and went out into the rain with her two companions. Nobuyoshi, too, simply bowed his head in silence. When pushing the revolving door, Itsuko glanced back briefly. Nobuyoshi tried to bow again, but just then, Itsuko’s fiancé glared fiercely at him. Nobuyoshi suddenly averted his gaze. And when he looked again, Itsuko was gone. The fiancé’s gaze pricked Nobuyoshi’s chest, stirring fresh regret.

Yet when he suddenly imagined that man eventually becoming Itsuko’s husband and embracing her body with its troubling underarm odor, there vividly surfaced memories of Itsuko’s various poses on Room 453’s bed, her fiery caresses, her breathless voice endlessly crying “Mr. Suga! Mr. Suga!”— “I’ll probably never see that girl again…” The irrevocable thought—rather than summoning regret—left behind only a lingering sweetness, and Nobuyoshi suddenly brought his right hand to his nose.

And as he sniffed the lingering trace of Itsuko's scent—or rather, the faint remnant of humans' wretched interactions—the woman's pitifulness had already seized Nobuyoshi with a sense of melancholy.

And yet, Nobuyoshi was waiting for Eguchi Saeko—with whom he had made plans the night before—to arrive.

What in the world was this?

Women cannot understand this kind of man’s feelings. No, they refuse to understand. For example, even geisha and prostitutes who nonchalantly engage in such acts view such a man’s feelings as mere fickleness and condemn him.

“Men are all like that.”

Indeed, that must be how it was. Fickle and superficial—in other words, insincere.

However, in Nobuyoshi’s case, this was unmistakably decadence. But as proof it wasn’t entirely decadence, he suddenly found himself feeling pathetic about such a self. And he felt even more pathetic for feeling pathetic about himself. “He’s not a bad person, but…” A man who prefaces his actions with disclaimers only to be condemned! In short, he was the sort of man commonly found among modern youth—one who falls for women yet becomes so consumed by passion that he loses himself, rendering him incapable of genuine romance. But what made Nobuyoshi more dangerous to women than those multitudes of young men was this single point: he possessed charm.

However, women dislike the phrase "a man’s charm" and are reluctant to acknowledge such a thing, so,

“He’s a good person.” They would tell themselves in this manner. For instance, even a woman like Eguchi Saeko... No—Saeko had still not appeared in the hotel lobby. The reader had no choice but to wait alongside Nobuyoshi for her arrival. In what might at least be considered a gratifying turn, Saeko arrived forty minutes past the appointed time. This meant Saeko had not been miserable. One could say she had fully exercised that feminine privilege of tardiness.

However, Saeko's delayed arrival was in a sense something Nobuyoshi could take some satisfaction in. Because being kept waiting had given him—or so Nobuyoshi thought—a renewed pretext for seducing Saeko. His pride had been wounded. Though Saeko had arrived late, she sauntered in with an air that seemed indifferent to whether Nobuyoshi might have grown angry and left. Yet her eyes betrayed her by actively searching for him. Whether due to mild nearsightedness or because his figure in the lobby corner escaped immediate notice, she briefly furrowed her brows in a troubled manner.

That expression saved Nobuyoshi, who had been kept waiting endlessly. He nearly thought hiding further like a spoiled child might prove amusing. No—perhaps it would have been more satisfying had he vanished completely from the lobby. Yet Nobuyoshi— "Ah—" immediately stood up and went over.

"Oh—" He immediately stood up and approached her. "Did I wait long...?"

Without answering that, “The matches…?” She wore an expression that suggested she had only been waiting for the matches.

Saeko faintly smiled, “Later…”

They entered the basement grill room and sat facing each other. “...I brought two boxes.” “I got scolded by Mom.” “‘What are you doing taking out so many matches?’ she said...” “When I told her I was giving them to the author, she said ‘Then just take three!’...” “Ahaha...”

Laughing, he struck the match and lit his cigarette. It was satisfying. "I don’t much care for being asked out to meals." Nobuyoshi bristled, but his mood lifted at Saeko’s next words.

“—I’ve been asked out many times before, but I usually refuse.” “So today’s an exception, then?” “Well… I suppose so.”

“Why didn’t you refuse…?”

He said casually and cast a quick glance at Saeko’s face. “Why…?” “Yeah.” He thought she’d be at a loss for how to respond. But Saeko,

"But I brought you the matches, didn’t I?" she said without missing a beat.

“Ah, right.”

He said flippantly while thinking Saeko was rather clever.

Then, Nobuyoshi found it difficult to carry out his plan of taking Saeko to his room after they finished eating. Moreover, Saeko was boldly wearing a wide-brimmed hat like a promotional staff member from some Ginza hat shop. Even though it was raining… In Osaka, there were no girls bold enough to wear such an enormous hat. That, too, somewhat intimidated Nobuyoshi. Or rather, it exasperated him—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it made him recoil. In any case, Saeko didn’t have the air of the unexpectedly vulnerable supporting actress from last night. Today’s Saeko was undeniably a Ginza girl.

"I can’t treat her like some Kyushu woman—" Nobuyoshi found himself uncharacteristically cowed by Saeko’s "Ginza style." Was this the melancholy of an Osaka man? Though—

“Women are all the same.” This was Nobuyoshi’s desperate conviction—forged through experience—that “women were all the same.” It was merely a difference in etiquette. Therefore, caution was required.

However, he couldn’t employ techniques he didn’t truly believe in. Not truly believing in them—in other words, it meant being unnatural.

The meal ended.

“What should we do now…? There’s still quite some time before we need to go to the dressing room…? Walk around Ginza…?” This was natural. “In the rain…?” This response too had been accounted for in his calculations. “Then maybe we’ll chat in the lobby?” “Talking with a man in some hotel lobby… I can’t stand that. It’d start rumors…” It was such an actress-like thing to say. “Then what should we do…?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Nobuyoshi was disappointed. The same line as Itsuko!

Though disillusioned by how abrupt it was, Nobuyoshi nevertheless got into the elevator with Saeko. ...with the look of someone carrying out a scheduled action.

Chapter VI

That Saeko was shy.

The reason they didn’t kiss. A bizarre message.

The Emergence of an Even More Bizarre Man.

As usual, room 453—Nobuyoshi’s room. The lingering scent of Itsuko from last night should have still lingered, but the smell of cigarettes had overpowered it. “Instead of burning incense, you’re lighting cigarettes, aren’t you?” Saeko made a somewhat witty remark. They sat facing each other by the window.

Saeko took off her hat. When she took off her hat, Saeko now appeared as merely a woman. The hat placed on the desk didn’t look any more luxurious than a cheap salaryman’s hat. Should I say it resembled a discarded revue girl’s costume, or perhaps a leftover stick rouge in a handbag? Even if she put on airs of luxury, she was merely a Japanese girl. There was a wretchedness wearied by the long war. Yet this very wretchedness wasn’t entirely displeasing to Nobuyoshi. It was as if he had felt sudden relief that she had taken off her hat.

“You smoke so much.” “A hundred a day—” Nobuyoshi gave a wry smile. He thought it was the same as yesterday. “Is tobacco really that good…?” “You don’t smoke…?”

“Shall I try smoking…?”

“No, you’d better not.”

Nobuyoshi said hurriedly. He smoked. They could be seen from the building’s windows. Closing the curtains—and then… Nobuyoshi was not so unrefined a man as to repeat that same course from yesterday all over again. “Tobacco isn’t something you smoke out of curiosity, you know. Cigarettes being smoked would weep. Speaking of crying... I have a habit of drinking coffee before bed. I have to drink coffee, or I can’t sleep. As for coffee, having its pride so thoroughly sullied, it must be wanting to cry.”

“What about alcohol…?”

“No, let’s drop this conversation. ‘Do you like cigarettes? Do you like alcohol? What do you like? I like them too.’ How trivial. Asking each other about our preferences, sharing our tastes—even if we found we matched perfectly, it’d still be meaningless. It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.”

"Why don't you get married...?" "With you...?" "Oh!" "My apologies, my apologies.—Well, reasons for not marrying...?" "Well..." "Because I hate having my freedom restricted." "Thanks to this damn war starting up, we're already boxed in from every direction—I don't need marriage tightening the screws any further." "And love...?" "I'm not involved in any right now." "And you...?" "........" "Somehow...you seem to be involved in one."

Nobuyoshi found his own patience exhausted at this absurdly absurd question. “If you were to fall in love, what kind would you want?” “Well… Platonic love, I suppose.” He thought all women say that. That must be the nostalgia of ephemeral women. “Do you really think Platonic love alone would suffice?” “Physical intimacy…?” “I think physical intimacy is rather foolish.” “Don’t you think so…?” “Well, I suppose so.” Nobuyoshi reluctantly responded in agreement. That had been such an empty response. In this state, he couldn’t even lunge forward to kiss her.

The conversation broke off.

Nobuyoshi was staring fixedly at Saeko’s face.

Saeko looked up at the painting on the wall and smirked. “Why are you smirking…?”

“Why…?” She grinned and fluttered her eyes. “—I don’t know why. I just can’t help wanting to laugh for some reason.” “You’re blushing, aren’t you…?” “That’s right. I’m terribly shy, you know.—This is just too much.”

She really burst out laughing. “Is it because I’m staring too much…?” “That’s right. Whenever someone looks at my face, I get embarrassed right away.”

“And yet you became an actress?” “I’m perfectly fine on stage, but…”

And when she started laughing again,

“I’ll be taking my leave now.”

And she stood up. Nobuyoshi felt he'd been outmaneuvered. Yet he didn't feel like stopping her.

However, he didn’t feel like stopping her.

“Then I’ll walk you down.” Saeko put on her hat. “Thank you for the matches.” “Huh…? Oh...” She gave a faint laugh, “—I’d love to talk more, but I really must go today. I can’t bear getting embarrassed like this. I’m sorry.” “I don’t mind if you’re leaving because you’re embarrassed… But if you’re leaving because you dislike me, that’s painful. You didn’t come to loathe me as if I were some snake or scorpion…?” “If I disliked you, I wouldn’t have come.” “Then I was relieved…”

Nobuyoshi started to open the door but, suddenly turning around, stared intently at Saeko.

Saeko was standing so close to Nobuyoshi’s body that they were almost touching.

Their eyes met. Nobuyoshi suddenly extended both hands and placed them on Saeko’s shoulders. Saeko remained still. “Do I look like a bad man…?”

“Why…? You’re a good person. You…” “A good person, you say…?” Nobuyoshi laughed and, “—Then I’ll stop trying for physical intimacy. I’ll be a good boy.” And removed the hands that had been resting on her shoulders. “Not pursuing physical intimacy is what makes someone good…”

“That’s right. In other words, I’m a womanizer, you see. After all, it’d be wrong to go through with that.” “You don’t look like a womanizer.”

“Then what would you do if I tried to get physical with you...? Would you hit me?” “Let’s change the subject.” “Let’s drop it.”

Nobuyoshi said deliberately in a loud voice and opened the door. After escorting her to the entrance and parting ways with Saeko, Nobuyoshi entered the café.

While drinking coffee, "I should've just kissed her at the door. In other words, I was trying to be a good boy."

Nobuyoshi muttered. "'If I tried to get physical, would you hit me?'—that was a terrible line." "That ruined everything." "If not for that line, I could have kissed her." "However, in that situation, kissing her without that line would make the direction too rough." "Because it would be too abrupt." "But why is being too abrupt considered wrong...?" "In other words, actions without passion mustn't be abrupt, I suppose."

Speaking of passionless actions, suddenly visiting Room 333 at eight tonight wasn’t an act done with passion either. Therefore, if it were abrupt, it would be unsightly. So how could he make it not seem abrupt? After exiting the café, Nobuyoshi went to the reception desk. Then, after receiving a message form,

I will certainly call on you at eight o'clock. Room 453　　　Suga Nobuyoshi (Without falling into either frivolity or weariness, we cannot escape one of them.) To Room 333 Guest Having scribbled that, "Could you pass this along for me?"

Then, after ascending to his fourth-floor room and preparing, he headed out to the Tokyo Theater.

When he boarded the streetcar, the man sitting next to him—

“Oh, it’s been a while…”

called out. He was a pale-complexioned man around forty. He wore a wrinkled raincoat. Nobuyoshi had no recollection of him at all. "What perfect timing to meet you here." "Excuse me, but you are...?" "You are...?" "Ahaha..." "You of all people..."

He laughed. “In Bunkyū 3, there was a whale named ‘you’ caught off Shinagawa Bay. A whale named ‘you,’ I tell you… Ahaha…” He was laughing but suddenly made a serious face, “Where are you…”

“To Tokyo Theater…” “Then you’re the same as me.” “Let’s go together.”

“Excuse me, but who are you?” “I can’t reveal my name…” “Huh?” “No, I’m telling you I can’t reveal my name.”

“Why can’t you reveal it?” “If I tell you, you’ll have to kowtow.” “Huh…?” Nobuyoshi involuntarily asked.

Then, the man suddenly burst out laughing.

The passengers were startled and turned their gaze toward the man.

Nobuyoshi, embarrassed, tried to stand up when, “Are you running away?”

The man suddenly grabbed Nobuyoshi's arm.

Chapter Seven

Engaging in futile debates about the psychology of converts.

Falling in love. Feeling as if in love. When he arrived at Tokyo Theater, Nobuyoshi’s play was just about to begin. Nobuyoshi entered the monitoring room and decided to watch the premiere of the play he had written. The monitoring room was a space constructed behind the first-floor auditorium seats—in a position analogous to a movie theater’s projection booth—with a window facing the stage that allowed viewing of the performance from within. The space was a special room where theater executives and directors could watch while chatting or jotting down notes about acting and effects, so entering such a room and putting on airs as the playwright didn’t suit Nobuyoshi’s tastes; however, the fact that he could watch while smoking was a godsend to Nobuyoshi, who loved his cigarettes.

Part of his reasoning was to shake off the middle-aged man in the wrinkled raincoat who had suddenly accosted him on the train and doggedly followed him all the way to the theater. In the director’s booth sat Tamura Reisuke. The moment Nobuyoshi saw his face, he thought, “The verdict must have been favorable.”

During yesterday’s dress rehearsal, the roughness in Tamura’s direction had been due to his agitation over today’s impending verdict announcement. Tamura had been arrested on suspicion of leftist activities at the outbreak of the war but had been released on bail. “How did it go…?” Nobuyoshi asked instead of greeting. “Huh…?” He casually returned the question but, “Ah, the trial?” Seeming to immediately understand, while borrowing Nobuyoshi’s cigarette,

“It was a suspended sentence.” “Yamagami-san—the troupe leader—testified for me. In his usual unassuming way, he said, ‘I don’t understand anything about ideology, but Tamura-kun is invaluable to Japanese theater.’ That really helped.” “If things had gone badly, I might have been thrown in prison during the war.” “That’s fortunate.” After saying this formally as a courtesy, Nobuyoshi asked, “Of course, you were made to pledge conversion, weren’t you?”

Nobuyoshi ventured to ask. “Well, you see...”

Tamura gave a wry smile and, “If you don’t convert, you’ll never get out. Those who are out have all converted.” “I see. But are they truly converting?” Though his name was Nobuyoshi (“Faithful Luck”), this Nobuyoshi who had never believed in any ideology could not comprehend the psychology of converts, and had wanted to ask—not out of irony, but from naive curiosity. “Well, that’s not…” “For example, what about you, Mr. Tamura?”

“—”

Tamura's cold, clear eyes suddenly showed a look of astonishment as he looked at Nobuyoshi's face but did not respond. “Speaking of conversion—doesn’t that mean acknowledging the errors of one’s former leftist ideology…?” “Well—essentially.” “If you admit those mistakes and swear cooperation with the war effort—does that make you right-wing? Can someone truly shift from left-wing to right-wing so easily?” “Being right-wing proves more convenient when waging war—I suppose.”

“So it’s opportunism, then?” “Well, that’s about the size of it.”

“Then, were even the left-wing just opportunists during their heyday?”

Nobuyoshi needled. “No, the left-wing wasn’t about opportunism. They did have passion, after all.” “But when it comes to passion, those right-wing fools have just as much. It’s more fanaticism than passion.”

As he spoke, an unexpected thought—or rather, an idea that developed not from the thoughts he was articulating but from the very words themselves—began to flow through Nobuyoshi’s mind. “So it’s about passion, then? Isn't it precisely because left-wingers share a common passion with right-wingers that they convert so easily to the right wing, or that former leftists swarm within the Taisei Yokusankai putting on such earnest right-wing airs?” Nobuyoshi suddenly recalled that the topical play Tamura was directing had an agitational atmosphere similar to that of leftist theater. The agitational elocution and collective staging methods that were hallmarks of leftist theater had been directly incorporated into topical plays, and moreover, within those confines, this transition felt entirely natural.

Wondering what on earth was going on, Nobuyoshi reached the following conclusion. “—Left-wing and right-wing are ultimately polar opposites, but these two extremes share a point of agreement somewhere.” “So when former leftists convert to the right wing and take up work with organizations like the Imperial Rule Assistance Association, don’t they find unexpected motivation in how the movement to build organizations—what they used to do in the past—can be carried out just the same within the Assistance Association?” “In other words, the actual content of the ideology doesn’t matter at all.” “As long as the form of their work remains similar, isn’t that sufficient?” “It’s less about form and more about sensation.” “In other words, it’s sensation over ideology…”

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

Tamura, without removing the cigarette he had been holding in his mouth, smiled from behind his glasses. “So ideology turns out to be quite a fragile thing after all.” Nobuyoshi, who harbored a passive distrust toward ideologies and systems, found himself unable to resist the urge to somehow dismantle ideology itself. “No, it’s not that ideology is fragile. “It’s the people clinging to ideologies who are fragile.”

Tamura was still more mature than Nobuyoshi.

“I see. Then what about people who can’t hold ideologies?”

“You’re the one who claims you can’t hold any ideology, aren’t you?” “That’s correct.”

Nobuyoshi declared haughtily. “However，decadence remains a proper ideology.” Tamura had already seen through Nobuyoshi’s decadence. “That’s right，you know.” “Decadence is sophisticated，you know.” “Japanese art hasn’t even reached decadence’s domain yet，you know.”

Nobuyoshi said smugly. Then Tamura suddenly grinned slyly and, “However, what you call decadent ideology often becomes little more than self-justification for one’s actions. Achieving true decadence is a truly difficult thing,” he said.

Nobuyoshi was startled. He felt he'd been blindsided. He had meant to challenge Tamura about political converts' psychology, but instead felt himself deftly parried by him. Flustered, "…………"

He tried to say something, fumbling for words, but just then the theater curtain rose, so he turned his gaze toward the stage. And, “The Japanese sure do love their debates.” “Meddlesome, aren’t they?” “People’s affairs shouldn’t matter at all, should they…” Muttering to himself as if in soliloquy, he watched the play he had written.

The first act fell completely flat. But the added second-act love scene—perhaps because audiences had been starved for this sort of thing lately—elicited an unexpectedly strong reaction from the crowd. Not only was the dialogue clumsy, but above all, the fact that this act—utterly disconnected from the play’s overall progression—was being well received must have been galling to Nobuyoshi. However, as Nobuyoshi basked in the audience’s response, he grew so carelessly intoxicated that he momentarily forgot this act had been surreptitiously added by someone else’s hand—deluding himself into believing its success was entirely his own.

What in the world was this?

Wasn't it simply because it was a love scene? A cloyingly sweet love scene that set one's teeth on edge—combined with being an utterly nonsensical act despite being a modern play—had traditional nagauta recitation piped in from the offstage musicians' pit; the Nobuyoshi of old would have either flown into a rage at this incongruity or burst out laughing. Yet now, Nobuyoshi—alongside the audience, no, more than the audience—became entranced by the nagauta recitation's melody. Strange.

"Theater is such a strange thing. No, music—that thing is strange. How can this utterly unartistic, half-baked play—just because it has some musical effects—make me feel so intoxicated like this? Moreover, the music itself isn’t even particularly sophisticated. It’s just nagauta, isn’t it? Critics will tear this act to shreds. Of course, even I don’t exactly think it’s good. However, in any case, it does intoxicate me. What in the world..."

He wondered what was happening, but Nobuyoshi couldn't understand it.

Yet when Nobuyoshi saw Saeko appear in a minor role during the next act, he started—his chest growing warm as an unexpected wave of nostalgia overwhelmed him. “Am I in love with Saeko?”

This discovery surprised Nobuyoshi.

“No way...” Though he tried to deny it, he could no longer deny that his own eyes watching Saeko on stage were burning in a different way from yesterday’s merely curious gaze.

Saeko was disguised as a country girl, showing her white calves from beneath the hem of her kasuri-patterned kimono. It was an utterly stereotypical country girl’s costume, but no matter how one looked at her, Saeko couldn’t pass as a country girl. Her eyes were too keenly intellectual. Though not specified in the script, Saeko had devised a new approach where the girl had caught a cold, coughing hoarsely throughout her silent time on stage. However, it only appeared as if a schoolgirl were deliberately feigning a cold in hopes of being comforted by her S.

Her efforts were earnest, but her execution was clumsy. She had wit but no talent as an actress. Yet that very thing held its charm for Nobuyoshi. Suddenly, it struck him as poignantly endearing. "Was she really this charming a woman?"

And Nobuyoshi found himself flustered by something.

A woman with a job (and men too, for that matter) is at her most beautiful when she’s working. A bus conductress is at her most beautiful when she’s on the bus. A barmaid loses her charm when met outside the bar. A dancer who isn't dancing has no charm whatsoever. An actress is at her best when seen on stage. A man who visits an actress in her dressing room doesn’t understand the true nature of her charm. It's what those foolish hangers-on do. In this sense, readers might think Nobuyoshi now felt an unexpected new charm in Saeko because he had seen her for the first time as an actress on opening night—but at that moment, Nobuyoshi was simultaneously recalling Saeko’s figure in her dressing room yukata during yesterday’s dress rehearsal, her lonely walk home through the rain after practice ended, and her brisk arrival at First Hotel wearing a large hat.

While looking at a woman and simultaneously recalling her various appearances across different environments—what could this be if not proof that he already felt inescapable affection for her? "—Have I fallen for her?" The instant Nobuyoshi murmured this again, he realized his careless intoxication—no, his utter self-abandonment—to the mood of that love scene, or rather to the nagauta recitation’s atmosphere, must have stemmed from hidden nostalgia for Saeko quietly lurking in his heart’s depths.

He didn’t give a bitter smile. Rather than a bitter aftertaste, what lingered was something sweet—like after listening to lyrical music—and Saeko’s habit of slightly sticking out her tongue between her lips while talking, shyly smiling up at the ceiling or walls as she spoke, now seemed utterly irreplaceable to him.

—I’ve fallen. I’ve certainly fallen for her.

While muttering this over and over, Nobuyoshi failed to notice for some time that he was merely feeling as though he were in love. In other words, he hadn’t realized that the very reason he was so drawn to Saeko was precisely because he hadn’t even touched her lips yet.

The reason I hadn’t kissed her during the day was that actions devoid of passion must not be abrupt—because I had thought that way. Saeko had no passion, after all. Even now, could I really claim there was still passion…? Love is an act of passion that consumes one until they lose themselves—but could I truly lose myself in passion for a woman? No—does such a man even exist among modern youth? Moreover, when a man listens to music,

“I’m in love.” He wants to believe. He wants to convince himself. He wants to tell her too.

A pitiable affliction of modern humanity. However, only those who had fallen ill could truly yearn for genuine health. Only those acquainted with the glow of noctiluca could yearn for the sun’s rays. One must pass through the night before the sun would rise. After all, even Nobuyoshi might not have been immune to yearning for that intense passion which consumed one completely.

But none of that mattered now. What mattered now was meeting Saeko again tomorrow. As the curtain fell, Nobuyoshi restlessly stepped out into the corridor outside the supervisor’s office.

Chapter Eight

Strange Nagauta Recitation and an Unexpected Encounter in the Theater Basement.

Nagauta as Decadent Music: A Superficial Debate

Creak… Nobuyoshi, intending to meet Saeko in the dressing room, opened the door behind the hanamichi and descended the staircase leading to the basement. From there, one could reach the dressing room by passing through the naraku (as theater people called it—the space beneath the stage).

As he walked through the dim naraku—oppressively low-ceilinged, illuminated by the dull glow of bare light bulbs— “Well, well.”

when a man approaching from ahead called out to him. Nobuyoshi was startled. It was that unidentifiable middle-aged man who had approached him on the train while he was coming from the First Hotel to this theater earlier. Even on the train, he had been addressed in exactly this manner— “Well, well.” Recalling how he had been spoken to in that same way just then, Nobuyoshi felt a creeping unease. At that time, Nobuyoshi had no recollection of the man whatsoever, so he remained silent, but the man—

“What a perfect place to meet you here,” he said.

When he asked, “Excuse me, but who are you…?” “You…?” “Ahaha…” “To think it’s you…”

and burst into laughter.

“……” “In Bunkyū 3, they caught a whale named ‘you’ off Shinagawa Bay. A whale actually named ‘you’.” “Ahaha…”

He had been laughing but suddenly adopted a serious expression, “—How far…?” “To Tokyo Theater…” “Then I’m going the same way as you. Let’s go together.”

“Excuse me, but who are you?” “I can’t reveal my name…” “Huh…?” “No, I’m telling you I can’t reveal my name.” “Why can’t you reveal it?” “If I reveal it, you’ll have to prostrate yourself.” “Huh…?”

When he inadvertently asked this, the man suddenly burst into laughter.

The passengers were startled and looked toward the man. Nobuyoshi, embarrassed, tried to stand up when— “Are you running away?” Then, the man suddenly grabbed Nobuyoshi’s arm. And so they ended up coming all the way to Tokyo Theater together, but Nobuyoshi abruptly entered the supervisor’s office and shook off the man.

But to encounter him again here, of all places—he hadn't expected... For one thing, it was suspicious that he had come from the direction of the dressing room. Who was he? In any case, because it was creepy—partly because the man’s complexion was sickly pale, exuding a morbid gloom—Nobuyoshi,

“Well, we do keep running into each other.”

As he said this and tried to brush past him,

“Are you running away?”

Just as in the train, his arm was grabbed again.

Before irritation could take hold, Nobuyoshi let out a bitter smile. "I'm not running away." "Of course not. It's not like I'm lending you any money."

The man smirked. “Even if you tell me to borrow it, I won’t!”

Nobuyoshi promptly countered.

“I see…” The man nodded,

“However, even if you tell me to lend it, I don’t have any money.” “Money or—” “……” “I don’t have any money.” The man suddenly peered into Nobuyoshi’s face and said in a hoarse voice. “I don’t care about any of that money business. Anyway, could you let go of my arm? I’m in a hurry.” “What are you going to the dressing room to do?” “In such a hurry…” “I’m going to meet an actress.”

Nobuyoshi declared proudly.

“Ah, but it’s eight o’clock. You mustn’t forget.” “What… are you talking about?”

“Eight o’clock, Room 333!” It was a voice as blunt and decisive as a lance taking a pawn in shogi. “……”

Huh…… He couldn’t even muster a response. Nobuyoshi stared blankly at the man’s face while—

"How does this man know about the cipher in the First Hotel lobby’s newspaper?" he inwardly groaned without artistic pretense. "You’re going at eight o’clock, aren’t you?" The man let out a high-pitched laugh that resembled suppressed weeping. "Well, perhaps." As Nobuyoshi left the First Hotel—on a message slip,

I will certainly call on you at eight o'clock.

Room 453　　　　 Suga Nobuyoshi (We cannot escape one of frivolity or ennui without falling into either.) Room 333-sama

he said, recalling how he had written that and left the message at reception. Having left such an affected message, I suppose there’s nothing for it but to go. “Aren’t you going?”

When Nobuyoshi asked that, the man suddenly burst into laughter. “Me…?” “Aha ha….” “Why on earth should I have to go? Don’t be ridiculous.” “Me… go?” “Aha ha….” “Don’t make me laugh.” Nobuyoshi thought this guy might be a madman. “Who exactly are you?” “Me...?”

“You said you couldn’t reveal your name, didn’t you?” “If I revealed it, you’d have to grovel…? “That was a joke. “Well then, I could deign to reveal it.”

Then, lowering his voice, the man— “—In the second act, there’s a man who was reciting nagauta in the shadows, right?” He grinned slyly. “So, you’re the one…” Nobuyoshi realized. “That’s right. I was the one reciting it.” “Is that so? I had no idea at all, so I just…” “Well, no—by the way, do you like nagauta?” “I do like it.” “Why...?”

“Nagauta is a cry, you know.” “It’s an art that makes you throw your whole body into it, you know.” “Decadent music has already reached its zenith in nagauta.”

After saying that, the man suddenly reached out and grabbed Nobuyoshi's hand. “Th-that’s it! You’ve got it! Nagauta is decadence.” “In other words, it’s the blues.”

The man’s eyes shone with an unusual intensity.

Nobuyoshi listlessly grasped the man’s hand in return, “Do you like decadence?” he asked. “No, it’s not a question of like or dislike.” “I see. You’re saying there’s nothing left for us but decadence in this world.” “In a world like this.” “The world...?” The man shot back scornfully,

“No, let’s drop this talk of 'the world.' Whether Japan’s at war or not—what does any of that matter?” “You mean… it’s not a war we started……?” Nobuyoshi, profoundly intrigued by the bizarre words of this bizarre nagauta recitation, found himself smiling involuntarily.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” “In other words—”

The man hesitated slightly but soon spoke resolutely, "The issue is this—what remains for a man who’s let his wife commit adultery besides decadence?" As Nobuyoshi gasped "Huh—", the man suddenly grabbed his hand.

“What do you suppose that woman from Room 333 is to me?” “You can’t mean she’s your wife.” “Yet—regrettably—she happens to be my wife.”

Whether the next act was beginning or not, the sound of wooden clappers reached the basement passage where the two men stood.

Chapter Nine

The brazen conversation in the basement being more unconventional than the stage dialogue.

About the Magnificent Kokiyu.

On the Snake Being Too Long.

Onstage, the next act seemed to have begun. As for that act, Nobuyoshi held some confidence in its unconventional nature. However, when compared to the unconventionality of the words being spoken by the bizarre nagauta reciter to him in the basement passage below, even that unconventional stage now suddenly seemed like a banal, plausible stereotypical formula—and Nobuyoshi felt wretched. "The implausible words of this man are far more theatrical than the plausible dialogue I wrote."

Nobuyoshi thought so.

However, the people of this country had a tendency to prefer plausible-sounding words and arguments. They preferred ordinary things. They preferred what was most common. They had this habit of finding reassurance in slogan-like conclusions that anyone would arrive at regardless of who thought or said them. In particular—out of a self-preservation instinct—they preferred to listen with certain reassurance to narrowly defined morals: words grounded in the ethos of ethics textbooks, while instinctively furrowing their brows at any bizarre or unconventional language that deviated from this norm.

Therefore, those unconventional words of the nagauta reciter—words that ran counter to good morals and customs—were precisely the sort of thing detested and feared more than germs by refined petit-bourgeois sensibilities. No—such things would never be considered acts of sanity. That a mysterious beauty at the First Hotel’s lobby—who, through newspaper ciphers, waited daily to welcome whichever man deciphered them (yesterday at 3 PM in Room 352, today at 8 PM in Room 333, and so on)—was his wife, and moreover that this wife had previously committed adultery—such words, even if meant as a joke, ought never to be uttered before others. At the very least, these were not words that would come from the mouth of a person of common sense. Too immoral! But Nobuyoshi was neither a conformist nor a fool—he preferred lending his ear to unconventional words, however immoral, over those that pleased moralists.

Therefore, he found paradoxical significance in listening to that man’s words rather than watching the continuation of his own play.

“How about it?” “It’s nearly eight o’clock.” “Don’t you want to go meet my wife? Heh, heh, heh!”

The nagauta reciter forced a strained laugh. “You’re awfully eager to recommend this. Eh-heh-heh…” Nobuyoshi also laughed lightly, “However—before going—I think I’d like some preliminary knowledge.” When he said this, the nagauta reciter grinned slyly, baring a mouthful of teeth, “Like watching some clumsy play—do you want to read a clumsy synopsis before the curtain rises?” “Not at all… Far from being a clumsy synopsis—the synopsis itself might make better theater than the actual performance. At least I’m interested.”

“Ah yes, foreign plays often feature cuckolds, don’t they.” “Cuckold…” “Do you know—that pitiable man whose wife committed adultery?” “In other words—that’s me, isn’t it?” “Heh, heh, heh!” “Just who made you a cuckold?” Nobuyoshi asked. “Hachiya Jūkichi!” The nagauta reciter said this in a tone one might use when mentioning a close friend’s name.

“You know…?” "Yes."

It wasn’t just that he knew—Nobuyoshi had met Hachiya Jūkichi in the hotel lobby that very afternoon. The man who taught me the newspaper cipher! And the one who publishes his own obituary?

The name of such a peculiar man was not something he could forget even if he tried.

But that man’s name—! To think I’d hear that name here, now, in the basement of Tokyo Theatre…? “You were surprised, weren’t you?” The nagauta reciter said in a low voice and licked his gaze over Nobuyoshi’s face.

“I was surprised.”

Nobuyoshi gave that answer, but he was telling himself—No matter what this man says now, I won’t be surprised—

“Ahaha…” “Were you surprised?” “Ahaha…”

The nagauta reciter suddenly burst out laughing.

Nobuyoshi grew sullen. He would say "You must be surprised," and when I answered that I was, he would laugh scornfully—that attitude struck me as rude. “Well, those who write possess a naïve sensitivity that feigns surprise at even the most inconspicuous matters. However, they also possess the audacity not to be shocked by even the most outrageous matters.” “What do you mean by that?” The nagauta reciter asked.

“In other words, take this example— “Women typically yield their bodies on their wedding night to men they’ve only ever seen at arranged meetings.” “Even when they don’t love them.” “This truly demonstrates women’s astonishing passivity!” “This uniquely feminine psychology is a marvel to those of us who write.” “No—not just writers.” “If one discards preconceived notions and directly observes through sensitivity’s naked eye, anyone would be staggered by this reality.”

Before he knew it, Nobuyoshi had grown eloquent.

“—Society’s common sense says wedding ceremonies are happy occasions.” “However, unless the bride is exceptionally lustful—that is, if she’s a virgin—this ritual where she surrenders her body to her husband in a near-comatose state without exception—what could possibly be auspicious about it?” “Rather, it’s a sad ritual.” “I am astonished by this primordial fact—that all women are born burdened with such a sad fate—not uniformly, mind you—or rather, uniformly in a provisional sense—from time immemorial.”

The nagauta reciter’s muddily clouded eyes were, for some reason, filled with a dark, restless shadow.

Nobuyoshi continued his speech. "—Yet I am no longer surprised when such women eventually take initiative over time—suddenly creating another man besides their husband, surrendering themselves to him, willingly yielding themselves." "—Humans will do anything, you see." "But ultimately, all human wisdom amounts to much the same." "In other words, there are limits to what humans can do." "Even madness doesn't invent new forms of insanity." "They go mad strictly within set patterns—within prescribed molds of derangement." "And what sane humans do? That's even more constrained." "No matter how unimaginable an act seems, it ultimately stems from desires lurking within all people—merely taking shapes conceivable by human wisdom." "We can’t create new acts as often as new diseases are discovered." "That’s why there’s nothing left to surprise us."

Nobuyoshi was being slightly contradictory.

He recognized value in things like unconventionality, eccentricity, and deviation from norms. However, according to this argument, all human actions ultimately amounted to minor variations on the same stereotypical patterns—merely primary colors like red, yellow, blue, purple, black, and white and their combinations—meaning true unconventionality could not exist. However, arguments tended to become exaggerated generalizations, and moreover, they easily fell into a sort of monolithic tendency. To articulate complexity in its unadulterated form proved difficult in argumentation.

The futility of words lay in this. “Humans will do anything. So no matter what humans do, I won’t be surprised,” said Nobuyoshi, but that was nothing more than resolve. Because it was resolve, he couldn’t live up to those words.

For example, no sooner had those words left his lips than upon hearing the nagauta reciter’s story, even Nobuyoshi couldn’t help but click his tongue in astonishment.

The nagauta reciter said the following. “Wait, let me speak too. “No, it’s not that I have any major objections.” “Everything you say is exactly right.” “In reality, humans—no, let’s say women—women will do anything.” “If one were to be shocked by every little thing, there’d be no end to it.” “From what I gather, you seem to have resigned yourself to the notion that humans are ultimately like this, but I too have resigned myself to the idea that women are ultimately like that.” “But…”

The nagauta reciter’s voice rasped hoarsely, but as it grew heated, a rusty edge gradually intensified within it. “But…” The nagauta reciter pressed on. “—It took me considerable suffering to reach this resignation. Just like everyone else.—You said you wouldn’t be surprised even if women took men beside their husbands.” “But have you ever actually had your wife commit adultery?”

“I haven’t had anything worth boasting about to others.” “But I do understand jealousy.” Nobuyoshi had never formally married, but he had cohabited with a woman. The woman had been with several men before living with Nobuyoshi. Moreover, while living with him, she had also had relations with another man. Nobuyoshi suffered from jealousy. However, that woman had died about half a year prior. When she died, only her beautiful aspects remained as memories. Her photograph, her posthumous name, and those beautiful memories—when he recalled her through these alone, he could no longer conceive of her as a woman who had been touched by the grime of so many men’s hands. Even his jealousy had faded into something like a distant memory. But still, he understood the pain of jealousy more than most.

“You understand jealousy…?”

The nagauta reciter's eyes gleamed.

“Then you should understand how much I suffered when my wife cheated on me. The man was this Hachiya Jūkichi I mentioned earlier—my close friend since middle school, an eccentric who’s over forty but still stubbornly single.” “Doesn’t womanize.” “‘Women are filthy creatures’—that’s his catchphrase. No interest whatsoever.” “No, he doesn’t care about anything in this world—yet somehow works as a newspaper reporter. That guy’s articles? All fabricated lies.” “Not a single truthful line.” “Only feels alive when shocking people.” “Once went to the races with him—the horse he bet on got just one straight ticket.” “Meaning only he’d picked it. Of course it lost, but he crowed, ‘See? I was the only one who bet on that horse!’” “That’s the kind of guy he is.”

The nagauta reciter seemed thoroughly engrossed in recounting tales of the close friend who had cuckolded him when suddenly his brow clouded, “However, that guy suddenly committed adultery with my wife.” “When I discovered them in the act, I truly doubted my own eyes.” “I wasn’t particularly shocked that my wife had committed adultery, but even as I witnessed it with my own eyes, I couldn’t believe her partner was Hachiya.” “Human beings are so unreliable, aren’t they?” “No—I came to realize Hachiya was human after all.” “I thought I would kill both of them.” “But I reconsidered and decided to torment them even more cruelly—that’s when I devised the cipher in the Daiichi Hotel lobby’s newspaper.”

“I see.”

Nobuyoshi made a face as if he mostly understood. “Under normal circumstances, one would choose between killing her, suing for adultery, divorcing her, or making her repent by swearing never to do it again and cutting ties with Hachiya—but instead of making my wife repent, I adopted the method of tormenting both her and Hachiya by making her commit adultery even more.” “Eh heh heh…” “Could you be more specific…?”

“First, my wife must commit adultery with a different person every day according to the newspaper cipher.” “Hachiya has the obligation to inform people of that cipher.” “However, when no one goes to the room where my wife is waiting, Hachiya must go.” “I see, but it’s quite something that your wife and Mr. Hachiya agreed to that.” “It’s the retribution for their sins.” “Keh, keh, keh...”

The nagauta reciter laughed once more in that ominous voice, "It’s almost eight o’clock."

he pressed the point once more. Nobuyoshi felt his brains itch from within.

How should one describe this nagauta reciter?

"Insolent cuckold!" he thought. Should he say that—or rather... "A magnificent cocu?" Or should he describe him by invoking Crommelynck (Note: French playwright and author of the drama A Magnificent Cuckold)? Should he liken him to that French dramatist who rode the coattails of such themes? If decadence were pursued this thoroughly, even Nobuyoshi could no longer stand against it. He suddenly thought he wanted the honor of declaring this decadence disqualified.

Nobuyoshi suddenly,

"Snake.—It’s far too long." he recalled the words from Rémy de Gourmont’s Natural History.

He didn’t know why he had remembered it—but in any case, the nagauta reciter’s words were: “Too much of anything by half.” For instance, even if there were unconventional elements, they were simply too unconventional by half. “You’ve had sufficient preparatory knowledge by now. Now then—my wife awaits you.” “Well...”

With that, Nobuyoshi parted from the nagauta reciter and began walking—but he did not immediately set off for the Daiichi Hotel.

He had to go to Eguchi Saeko’s dressing room.

Chapter Ten

That Nobuyoshi was shy.

That there was a Bible next to Saeko’s dressing table. That Saeko kicked the pebble of misfortune. When he took the elevator at the stage door entrance up to the third floor, Nobuyoshi went along looking up at each actor’s nameplate one by one.

Eguchi Saeko's room was in the back on the right. Eguchi Saeko’s room—or so one might say, though she didn’t have it all to herself—had four or five other actresses’ nameplates hung beside hers. Yet whether those actresses were out on stage or not became clear when he lifted the noren curtain: there sat Saeko alone in her country girl costume, slumped before what passed for a mirror stand—really just a small mirror perched on a shelf. “Oh!”

"Oh!"—she turned around.

“May I come in?” When he realized Saeko was alone, Nobuyoshi’s voice brightened eagerly. “Please do.”

Nobuyoshi remained standing and took off his shoes without using his hands. He seemed fidgety and agitated, but even after removing his shoes, he couldn’t bring himself to approach Saeko right away. He was so shy. “Please,” she said. “Have a seat—” Saeko flipped over the red zabuton cushion she’d been sitting on and placed it before him, but Nobuyoshi wasn’t yet accustomed enough to dressing rooms to plop down on it. “Oh—thank you.”

He bowed with comical formality and fidgeted awkwardly. For a playwright’s attitude toward an actress from the common dressing room, it was polite—almost excessively so. This politeness might have been the meticulous refinement characteristic of the intellectual class. That said, intellectuals—just when you think they’re oddly well-mannered—will suddenly turn rude. In other words, it wasn’t the kind of well-assimilated politeness one might associate with a student’s good manners. For one thing, the awareness that he too was now engaging in this act of taking pleasure in visiting an actress’s dressing room may have been making Nobuyoshi feel a sense of guilt.

So, unable to meet Saeko’s eyes at all, he found it mortifying to think his aimless scanning of the room might come across as a curiously prying gaze—but he couldn’t have kept the conversation going otherwise.

Admittedly, there had been some conscious deliberation in his act. Perhaps his refusal to look directly at Saeko’s face had also been an attempt to avoid having his interest in her detected. Was this to be called cunning, or was he truly embarrassed?

On the wall hung Saeko’s dress. And, a wide-brimmed hat! Nobuyoshi abruptly recalled what had happened earlier that day.

Saeko had come to the hotel in that outfit. And as they were leaving, Nobuyoshi placed his hand on Saeko’s shoulder. Saeko remained still. “Do I look like a bad man...?”

“Why…?” “You’re a good person. You…”

“A good person, you say...?”

Nobuyoshi laughed, “Then I won’t baiser you. I’ll be a good boy.” With that, he removed his hand from her shoulder. “So not doing baiser makes you a good boy…?”

“That’s right. “So you see, I’m a philanderer.” “After all, it’d be bad if I did it.” “You don’t look like a philanderer.” “Then what would you do if I baisered you…?” “Would you hit me?” “Let’s have this conversation.” “Let’s not.” With that, Nobuyoshi said deliberately in a loud voice and opened the door.

Nobuyoshi, who had acted so boldly during the day—why was he now so fidgety and shy? No—even when posing as a villain and brandishing decadence, he had ultimately been shy all along. He hadn’t truly acted boldly. Though his outward manner suggested otherwise, sending Saeko home with nothing more than a hand placed on her shoulder stemmed from shyness after all. One might say he had tried to behave properly—but his immediate withdrawal of that hand and ultimate failure to create an opportunity to pull her close could only be called the timidity characteristic of an intellectual.

If only given the opportunity, he could calmly become a bad boy. Even if he became a bad boy, he would make some effort to appear good—but depending on the partner, there were times when he showed little meticulousness in maintaining his good-boy act. Take his situation with Itsuko, for instance!

However, with Saeko, things wouldn't proceed so simply. How did Itsuko and Saeko differ? They were both the same kind of woman. Both had been born equally as human beings—both were girls. (Saeko was likely a maiden too.) Their personhoods had to be treated equally. For Nobuyoshi, there should have been no meaningful distinction between a bourgeois girl, a tenement girl—no, even a prostitute.

And yet, when dealing with Itsuko versus Saeko, Nobuyoshi undeniably altered the manner in which he performed himself. While one might simplistically call it the skillful art of a great actor adapting performances to different partners, this explanation fell short—for though fidgety nervousness could be consciously performed, that sudden crimson flush across his cheeks remained a feat beyond even the finest actor’s capabilities.

Moreover, for Nobuyoshi, there was nothing more excruciating than blushing in front of a woman. He even felt humiliated.

That Nobuyoshi was now flushing crimson before Saeko—what on earth was this?

The problem did not lie in determining whether Itsuko or Saeko was superior. The point was which one he was in love with. To put it plainly, he wasn’t in love with either of them. Yet, that he "felt like he was in love" with Saeko was certain. Therefore, for instance, when he saw the Bible beside Saeko’s dressing table, Nobuyoshi panicked. Nobuyoshi’s flaw was that he sometimes exaggerated things in his mind.

When he saw that she kept a Bible there, he thought she might be a Puritan. It was both self-reproach that he must not taint Puritan blood with the blood of Decadence and the calculation that if she were a Puritan, she might prove unexpectedly rigid and difficult to carelessly seduce.

“Are you a Christian…?”

Nobuyoshi asked. “No. This.” Saeko pointed at the Bible, “I borrowed it from a friend.” “They said it was interesting and I should give it a read, so they lent it to me.” “Since there’s nothing else to read, I’ve been reading it.”

Nobuyoshi's eyes sparkled. It wasn't because he had discovered Saeko wasn't a Christian. It was because Saeko's words had suddenly given him an opening.

Nobuyoshi immediately said. “Would you like me to lend you a book? Have you read The Princess of Clèves…?” “Yes.” “Then what about Stendhal?” “Not yet…” “It’s unpardonable that you haven’t read Stendhal. You should at least read The Red and Black—there aren’t many books where not reading them would be a lifelong loss—but with that one alone, your outlook on life completely changes between before and after reading.”

Nobuyoshi was no longer embarrassed. His thin lips were moving rapidly. "Do you have it with you now…?" "No, it’s at the hotel. Shall I bring it for you tomorrow?" He had actually wanted to tell her to come to the hotel to get it. After all, he had come all the way to Saeko’s room specifically to invite her there again... "But you must be busy. I shall come to the hotel to borrow it." "When…?"

Nobuyoshi deliberately made a grim face and spoke in a grim voice. “When…?” “—Within four or five days…” “But I have to go back to Osaka the morning after tomorrow.” “Then I shall come tomorrow.” “What time…” “……” Saeko paused to consider. Nobuyoshi quickly cut in,

“Wouldn’t the same time as today be good…?” “Noon…?”

“Yes. If it’s any earlier than that, I’ll still be asleep, and if it’s any later than that, I’ll have to go out at two…”

The part about sleeping until noon wasn't a lie, but the claim about leaving at two was a complete fabrication.

Why had he told such a spur-of-the-moment lie? Was it that he had tried to reassure Saeko by hinting he wouldn’t keep her long tomorrow, or was it that he had placed hope in the lie about leaving at two providing Nobuyoshi himself—when meeting Saeko the next day—with some opportunity or pretext? “Yes, then I shall come at noon.” Saeko said. Nobuyoshi stared at Saeko’s face for the first time.

Saeko’s eyes were clear with a bluish cast. Nobuyoshi suddenly recalled the muddy, turbid eyes of the nagauta reciter. The quagmire-like eyes of decadence and Saeko’s spring-clear eyes!

Nobuyoshi had forgotten that his desire to see Saeko had arisen from hearing that nagauta reciter's performance; now his chest grew warm with the impulse to hurl his body—which had crawled out from the quagmire—suddenly into a spring. Nobuyoshi’s eyes burned with the joy of having met Saeko, licking across her delicate face like flames. Yet though his eyes burned, Nobuyoshi’s entire expression remained somehow cold—cruel as a crematorium worker’s. The flames of his gaze might have drawn half their fire from those very funeral pyres.

“Yes, then I shall come at noon.” Saeko’s words might have been akin to kicking aside herself the pebble of misfortune that lay upon the slope of her life. Once a pebble starts rolling, there’s no stopping it. And of course, the one who knew that fact best was Nobuyoshi.

As planned, having succeeded in inviting Saeko to the hotel once more, a shadow of melancholy already clouded Nobuyoshi’s expression as he left her dressing room.

Chapter 11

A round egg can be cut square.

Itsuko comes to Nobuyoshi’s room again. An aversion to tears.

Smoking a cigarette before that. As planned, having successfully lured Saeko back to the hotel again, Nobuyoshi’s face already bore a shadow of melancholy as he left her dressing room. —And so the author wrote at the end of the previous chapter, but why had this shadow of melancholy fallen across Nobuyoshi’s face? Now then—Nobuyoshi was a man possessing some degree of charm, but ultimately—

“We doubt your character.” That he was precisely the sort of man who would become a target of women’s general public criticism had been clear. He scored failing marks in character. A man society would have been better off erasing. A man not worth considering; in other words, a man not worth taking seriously. What difference could it possibly have made what expression such a man wore when emerging from the dressing room of the actress he intended to seduce, having just succeeded in the first step of that seduction? Was it not an insignificant triviality unworthy of consideration?

However, the reason the author deliberately captures this character's inner fluctuations and shadows of expression—and moreover expends considerable ink on these descriptions and explanations even at the cost of slowing the narrative's tempo—is because within modern youth, to greater or lesser degrees, whether willingly or unwillingly, there resides a Nobuyoshi. At the very least, many of modern youth possess Nobuyoshi-esque elements. While readers may never encounter a man like Nobuyoshi—a failure in character yet remarkably peculiar—they will certainly meet men who possess Nobuyoshi-like elements. Or perhaps, in their lifetime, readers may find themselves not only interacting with men possessing Nobuyoshi-esque elements to some degree—no, perhaps even entrusting their very lives or fates to such dealings.

In such cases, for example, "This man has zero character. At first we thought he was more innocent, but we’ve become completely disillusioned." expressing disappointment, or again, "Not only does this man lack any religious sentiment, but he makes no effort toward the ideals by which people live—there is no truth in him." It is easy to dismiss someone with a single phrase, but the understanding indispensable to human interactions does not arise from such formulaic criticism.

Any human being can indeed be dismissed with a single word if one so chooses—yet every human being also possesses something that cannot be dismissed with a single word. If we liken humans to circles, we often distort this circle into a polygon in our minds. Just as increasing a polygon's sides brings it closer to a circle, one might think that multiplying conceptual words could approach a person's essence—but a polygon becoming a circle remains but a geometric dream. Though a round egg can be cut square depending on how you slice it, fragments will inevitably remain. Any interpretation we make of a person fits them as all polygons fit within circles, yet the circle's area will always exceed that of the polygon. In other words, only the fragments are expansive.

For instance, the shadow of melancholy that fell across Nobuyoshi’s face when he left Saeko’s dressing room—this too was but a fragment. Therefore, knowing the nuance of this expression could be called an indispensable a priori for understanding Nobuyoshi—or modern youth possessing Nobuyoshi-esque elements. Now then, what was the root cause of that expression on Nobuyoshi’s face, and what did it signify? Conceptually speaking, one might attribute this to Nobuyoshi’s pangs of conscience, but… no—come to think of it, the author had perhaps gotten somewhat ahead of himself. The meaning behind Nobuyoshi’s expression would likely become clearer if explained after Saeko visited his hotel tomorrow. —Let us proceed.

On stage, Nobuyoshi’s play was still continuing. In the final act, Saeko would appear once more.

However, Nobuyoshi no longer had any intention of going to the audience seats or supervisor’s room to watch the play. As soon as he left Saeko’s dressing room, he immediately rushed out of the theater. The clock in the Tōdori Room had passed eight o'clock. “Eight o'clock in the evening, Room 333!” In the end, he was late. So even though rushing back would have been futile, when he managed to hail an empty taxi in Kobiki-chō, he went straight back to the First Hotel.

At the front desk of the lobby, when he received the key, “Did you deliver the message to Room 333…?”

When he asked, they replied that it had indeed been delivered to the room. Nobuyoshi was disappointed. "I will call on you at eight o'clock without fail." That was the written message. During the day, when leaving the hotel, he had written it and handed it to the front desk.

Why had he written such a message?—Nobuyoshi regretted it. Firstly, it was pretentious—and what's more, even after leaving such a message, he had ended up being late by eight o'clock. The timid Nobuyoshi found himself slightly troubled by having broken what was, after all, a unilateral promise. Despite casually seducing women, what on earth could account for this conscientiousness?

Whether to visit Room 333 at eight o'clock was entirely Nobuyoshi’s prerogative. No—though he certainly felt curiosity—he could no longer bring himself to barge into the room of a woman who was clearly both the wife of a nagauta reciter and Hachiya Jūkichi’s mistress. But a promise was a promise.

"I'll go back to my room and try calling Room 333."

Nobuyoshi suddenly had that thought while riding the elevator.

When he returned to his fourth-floor room, Nobuyoshi, as usual, first lit a cigarette. As he exhaled smoke and imagined the telephone ringing in Room 333, he found himself unexpectedly stirred by a lewd fantasy.

Of course there was a woman in Room 333. The wife of the nagauta reciter. ...And another man... Was that man the unknown one who had read the newspaper cipher and gone out? Or perhaps—since Nobuyoshi and indeed no one else had gone—was Hachiya Jūkichi, the lover, there as per their arrangement?

What had begun as an attempt to apologize for breaking his promise—the call he was about to place—had abruptly become charged with shameful curiosity. "Hotels are such damnably erotic places." The moment he smiled wryly, Nobuyoshi suddenly recalled Itsuko. Saeko did not enter his thoughts. Nobuyoshi transferred the ember from his shortened cigarette to a fresh one and, while engaged in what might be called "chain-smoking," tried to lift the receiver.

At that moment, a knocking sound was heard at the door. It was a soft, hesitant knock.

"Who could it be…?"

As he thought this and opened the door, a woman suddenly rushed in—Itsuko. “Ah!” Nobuyoshi had no time to wonder why Itsuko—who should have departed Tokyo that morning with her uncle and fiancé—was now visiting him at this hour, as she abruptly spread her arms and clung to his chest. “I wanted to see you. “I wanted to see you, I did.” Shouting this, Itsuko frantically sought Nobuyoshi’s lips.

Itsuko’s mouth tasted salty. The moment Nobuyoshi moved away from her to extinguish his cigarette, he realized her cheeks were wet with tears. Large teardrops were dripping down one after another. What had reached his lips with that salty taste might have been her tears. Or could it have been sweat? Itsuko was prone to sweating. It was a coincidence so deliberate it seemed almost intentional—the moment he thought of Itsuko, she walked in. And then again, just as he was about to make the call, Itsuko knocked.

The previous night too, Itsuko had knocked on Nobuyoshi’s door just as he was about to make a phone call. Such coincidences were to Nobuyoshi’s liking. Moreover, the unexpectedness of Itsuko—who should have parted ways with him in the morning lobby never to meet again—suddenly appearing before him also delighted Nobuyoshi. However, tears were something he couldn't handle. When faced with tears, Nobuyoshi would panic. Perhaps it was self-reproach. Nobuyoshi had caused women considerable suffering up to this point. Every woman who fell for Nobuyoshi suffered. Yet when women concealed their anguish behind a cheerful facade, Nobuyoshi remained surprisingly composed—even when fully aware of their inner torment. But show him even a single tear, and this man would panic outright. Unless it struck him viscerally, he remained utterly incapable of understanding anything. No—even if he understood, he pretended not to.

He understood that women were pitiful creatures. But it was when a woman showed her tears that he felt it most keenly. Because they were sad, they cried. However, there were times when they could not even cry. When crying, women might be surrendering themselves to a surprisingly self-destructive pleasure. The state of crying—what might be called the physiology of tears—was something they might even have been enjoying at times. But Nobuyoshi couldn’t bring himself to consider such things. When injured, he panicked as if startled upon seeing blood.

“What’s wrong…? Why are you crying…?” Nobuyoshi peered into Itsuko’s face and adopted a comforting posture. At times like these, he became flustered—undermined by self-reproach—and found himself unable to settle. Yet what was this cruel shadow that suddenly flickered across his furrowed brows? It was egoism—this desperate urge to escape her tears even a moment sooner.

“No, it’s nothing.” Itsuko’s tears stopped at once. And, “I cried because I was happy to see you. I’m such a crybaby, aren’t I…? Hee hee… But they’re happy tears.”

Nobuyoshi felt relieved. However, he felt relieved because Itsuko had stopped crying so quickly. It was not because he had heard they were happy tears.

Whether they were tears shed from sadness or tears brought forth by joy, to Nobuyoshi, they made no difference. “I cried because I was happy to see you…” If told this, most men would be pleased. Yet Nobuyoshi instead felt the sting of self-reproach prickling at him—. What in the world was this…? Innocence, emotion, beauty, truth—Nobuyoshi perceived such things emanating from her. He perceived it through her tears. And Nobuyoshi found himself bewildered—as though standing before a beautiful landscape or painting, overwhelmed by the emotions they evoked yet uncertain how to respond—truly bewildered. Nobuyoshi panicked at his own ugliness in that moment. The thing compelling emotion and the self that remained unmoved—he grew irritated by the distance between these two. This was loneliness.

Sitting down next to Nobuyoshi at the edge of the bed, Itsuko said.

“I’m the sort who can’t rest until I do whatever I feel like doing. When I was on the train, I suddenly felt this unbearable urge to see you.” “As I thought about having to marry such a disagreeable man and looked at my fiancé’s face, I wanted to see you even more.” “My fiancé’s acting all high and mighty, like he’s already the master of the house.” “He gets jealous about you and keeps badgering me with questions.” “I told him everything—the whole truth.” “He flew into a rage.”

“Well, he’d be furious.” Nobuyoshi said flippantly. “But in the end, he said, ‘What’s done is done—I’ll forgive you.’” “When I heard those words, I felt a surge of anger.” “I don’t want his forgiveness anyway—and besides, none of this is over yet! I’m going to see him right now.’ With that, I got off the train alone in Shizuoka.”

“So… you came back to Tokyo…?”

Nobuyoshi asked the obvious. “Yes—” She nodded with a tear-streaked face, but immediately peered at Nobuyoshi with eyes brimming with coquetry, “Wasn’t it all right…?” “No, there’s nothing wrong with that.” As Nobuyoshi went to light his cigarette and struck a match, he suddenly remembered—ah, these were the matches that woman had given him—and recalled Saeko. Tomorrow Saeko would come. Itsuko was here. Nobuyoshi furrowed his brows at this predicament. What utter egoism!

“Rather than offering my virginity to some detestable fiancé…”

And so yesterday，Itsuko had yielded herself to Nobuyoshi．They met—or rather，within an hour of their first encounter，she already threw herself into his arms．This could hardly be called love．It was nothing more than reckless play sparked by resentment toward her presumptuous fiancé and her own curiosity．Of course，she liked Nobuyoshi．That’s why she surrendered herself，though she lacked presence of mind enough to recognize it as love—yet still，her desire to meet him again made her disembark mid-journey．Nobuyoshi supposed their physical bond drove Itsuko’s actions，finding women’s bodily impulses pitiable．Perhaps this wasn’t love—but would declaring it such truly exaggerate？Even this wayward girl possessed affection suited to her station．Tears！To Nobuyoshi，this suddenly seemed profoundly pathetic．

However, the act of pitying Itsuko and the egoism of finding her presence inconvenient were no great contradiction for a man like Nobuyoshi.

And what was even more astonishing— The moment Nobuyoshi smelled the armpit odor of this woman he pitied yet found inconvenient, he was suddenly seized by an ugly instinct.

However, first he smoked another cigarette.

“Ah, wait—”

Itsuko had said that because she was concerned about her hairpin.

Chapter 12

Not turning off the lamp. What splendid characters! Finding charm in the receptionist's telephone voice. They should have stopped!

The night had deepened. As Nobuyoshi tried to turn off the lamp’s light,

“Don’t turn it off!”

Itsuko said commandingly. Nobuyoshi disliked being ordered around by others. However, “I want to see your face. Because I might not be able to see you anymore, you know.” Even Nobuyoshi found his heart gripped by Itsuko’s words.

“Why…?” "But tomorrow morning, I’m going back after all. So…" "You want to go back…?"

“I don’t want to go back. Besides, I can’t go back. I don’t care if I anger that fiancé, but I’ve gone and upset Uncle. But I have no choice but to go back.”

“Don’t you want to go to Osaka with me…?” “Well, I do think so.” “I do want to go.” “I want to be with you forever.” “I want to be with you.” Itsuko pressed on, but then suddenly lowered her voice and, “But I don’t want to become some uninvited bride.” “Because I haven’t asked you to come…?” “Yes.” With that, Itsuko had finally resigned herself. “If I asked you to come... would you?” “But you aren’t the kind of person who would ask.”

She gave a stifled laugh, her face half in tears. Her freckles stood out. “Well, since things have turned out this way, if I were an ordinary girl, I’d at least demand marriage, you know. They’d assert it as their natural right. A shrewd girl wouldn’t let things end without getting something in return. Since a woman’s lost something precious, they’d demand compensation from you. But as long as women keep making those demands and asserting their rights like that, they’ll never become equals to men. Doesn’t that just end up making them more miserable…? Panicking and claiming you’ve lost something precious only makes it even more wretched. I don’t want to be miserable. Of course I don’t regret anything. Even if I end up marrying someone someday—the idea that I must stay a virgin for his sake—that’d be like making myself a man’s slave. But this is purely about my own feelings. I don’t want to stay beautiful for society or men. I don’t regret it—I chose to stain myself. No, I’m not stained. I’m free! Show me your face properly!”

The next morning, Itsuko left Nobuyoshi’s room.

Nobuyoshi thought he had lost. He felt as if he'd been brushed off. Itsuko had turned Nobuyoshi’s self-reproach, remorse, sympathy, and perplexity into her own solo performance before making a swift exit. What a magnificent character! "I've been had!" Muttering this, however, Nobuyoshi imagined Itsuko’s figure—her sleep-deprived eyes—being jostled during the long train journey to Kyushu. Itsuko had already bought this morning’s ticket at Tokyo Station before coming to Nobuyoshi’s place last night.

Itsuko was a new woman. She had less pathos than an ordinary woman. But new as she was, there must have been a loneliness that lurked beneath the length of that train journey.

Nobuyoshi imagined that expression. It might be the expression of loneliness in living that fleetingly crosses every person’s face.

Eventually, Nobuyoshi fell soundly asleep. He fell asleep like a fool.

How long had he been asleep when the telephone’s ring roused him? He couldn’t reach the receiver from the bed. Nobuyoshi irritably crawled out of bed and, “Hello? Hello…” “Is this Mr. Suga?” The voice on the phone was beautiful. Was it the woman at the front desk?

“Yes?” “Miss Saeko has come to see you—” “Eguchi…?” He thought—but ah—he immediately realized it was Saeko.

“What time is it now?”

“It’s currently twelve thirty.”

“Thank you. I’ll come down to the lobby right away.”

Nobuyoshi blushed and hung up the phone. He hadn’t asked the time because he needed to know. The fact that Saeko had come as promised, and that she had stopped by the front desk to have them call his room when he couldn’t be found in the lobby—this somehow made Nobuyoshi happy. So he was about to eagerly say, "I’ll come down to the lobby right away," but felt somewhat embarrassed. He had asked the time when there was no need to ask. It was as if he had inserted a line—so to speak—that interrupted the rhythm of joy. He was a troublesome man.

He washed his face, hurriedly took the elevator, and went to the reception desk, but Saeko was not there.

“Is this Mr. Suga?” The woman at the front desk called out. He recognized that voice. It was the voice from the telephone. She was a fair-skinned girl with large, clear eyes. “Oh, there was such a neat girl at the front desk?” Nobuyoshi widened his eyes in surprise. “Yes?”

“The visitor is in the coffee lounge.”

“Thank you.” “No.” Their eyes met briefly across the front desk. Nobuyoshi felt a sudden, piercing nostalgia—would this surprise the reader? Could having heard her voice before seeing her face—could that alone be making him feel this wistful? Or had he been struck by the exquisite resonance of that single word—“No”?

Nobuyoshi wanted to say something.

But if he were to speak here, this piercing nostalgia might vanish.

To keep a woman’s beauty in your heart forever, you must never become involved with her!

Nobuyoshi walked toward the coffee lounge. ...toward the coffee lounge where Saeko—with whom he was about to become involved—waited... Why did you have to go and do it!

Chapter 13

On How Grand Hotels Make People Pretentious.

Nobuyoshi let out an elaborate yawn.

Encounter of Second-Rate Souls!

A hotel, in proportion to its size, either makes people lustful or turns them pretentious. In other words, small hotels in the outskirts or back alleys exude a sensual atmosphere, while grand hotels like the Daiichi Hotel—with their corridors that feel like extensions of the street—make people act affected. Here, people found it difficult to walk normally. Some walked restlessly like chief secretaries, others strode like court ladies, while still others—merely because porters existed—felt such superiority as those entering castle gates that their pace quickened like silver screen characters. Some adopted the deliberately weary gait of visitors to hot spring resorts. Some walked while fussing with their necktie knots, others deliberately left theirs undone. Even in a second-rate hotel like the Daiichi Hotel, people couldn't walk as they would on their own home's tatami mats.

However, such things were trivial matters. Trivial matters—as Nobuyoshi entered the hotel’s coffee lounge where Saeko waited, he thought: Oh, I’m putting on airs. If there had been music playing, he might have put on even more airs. He might have acted pretentiously, like a man who had just checked his hat and general-interest magazine at the dance hall entrance. Admittedly, there was music playing. However, it was a military march.

(Let me clarify—this novel does not recount events from 1945 or 1946 [Showa 20 or 21]. This story takes place in August 1942 [Showa 17]. Some have criticized the author of Night Composition for committing a grave oversight in using the Daiichi Hotel as a setting, but I should remind readers that this novel does not take place in the postwar period—a fact established in Chapter Two. Just to be clear.) He hadn't been particularly pretentious, but at any rate, Nobuyoshi realized he was putting on airs in his own way.

Nobuyoshi hurriedly yawned. Dogs yawn too. After all, there’s nothing strange about humans yawning. But a dog couldn’t manage a yawn like Nobuyoshi’s. That being said, it wasn’t that Nobuyoshi’s yawn was some refined gesture—but at least it was performed with deliberate care. There was no passion, yet Nobuyoshi wasn’t particularly bored either. Therefore, his yawn carried an unnatural quality akin to garish paint daubed over his pretentious demeanor. It wasn’t instinctive. However, midway through, last night’s sleep deprivation naturally surfaced. And just as he was physiologically transitioning into a genuine yawn, Nobuyoshi spotted Saeko talking to a stranger in the crowded coffee lounge. His yawn abruptly threatened to cease. Passion had ignited. Passion—jealousy! This was unexpected. Nobuyoshi had never felt jealous over this girl before. But now— Jealousy might be felt even without love. For instance, self-respect could summon jealousy. Yet once jealousy arises, people convince themselves they’re in love even with those they no longer care for. That’s how violent a passion it was. It might be humanity’s most violent passion.

The yawn instantly died away. But Nobuyoshi resumed the yawn that had nearly died away—you truly had to call him a man of formidable self-respect. To hide his embarrassment at feeling jealous—and to conceal that very jealousy… While making an exaggerated, unpleasant yawn, Nobuyoshi approached Saeko’s table. Saeko looked up just then, smirking as she moved her head. She was doing her usual blushing act. This was Saeko’s appeal. The fact that she was displaying this charm to others besides himself made Nobuyoshi’s yawn grow even more exaggerated.

Saeko introduced the man beside her to Nobuyoshi. “Mr. Usui from Toto Shimbun!” The business card identified him as an entertainment reporter.

“I ended up meeting him in the lobby,” she said. “He said he wanted an introduction to Mr. Suga, so...” The man had apparently been waiting in the coffee lounge for Nobuyoshi to appear. He was a dark-complexioned youth who at first glance seemed dashingly handsome, but his very confidence in his looks somehow clouded both his attire and the corners of his mouth—that was the impression he gave. In such situations, Nobuyoshi would typically either fuss nervously to be pleasant or retreat into sullenness—but Usui’s self-assured appearance compelled him to choose the latter.

Nobuyoshi lit a cigarette. Usui also lit a cigarette with his own match. For a while, they remained silent, their prides clashing and sending sparks flying, but eventually Usui broke the silence. “Did you see today’s paper—?” “No, not yet.”

Nobuyoshi recalled Hachiya Jūkichi’s face. “There’s a review out about your play…” Usui was around thirty but had never used honorifics with people in the theater world. “Good thing I didn’t read it.” Nobuyoshi took the initiative. “Well, I did pan it, you know.”

Usui grinned slyly.

“That’s awful.” “Mr. Usui.” “It’s a good play, isn’t it?” Before Nobuyoshi could feel pleased that Saeko had defended his play, he found himself irritated by how familiarly she was speaking to Usui.

“However, there’s nothing in that play that moves people’s hearts. Mayama Seika’s plays move people’s hearts after all. They have moral substance.” “That’s correct. However, I’m trying to write plays without morals.” “I see your point, but one doesn’t sense any universal human experience or grand ideas in it, you see. Your play…” “What kind of play makes you feel universal human experience or grand ideas?” “All the great foreign plays are like that. For example—”

Usui listed two or three foreign-sounding names in katakana.

Nobuyoshi could do nothing but remain silent. But thinking perpetual silence would betray artistic bankruptcy, “Those people are all geniuses. I’m no genius. I’m simply a second-rate playwright. Even standing on my head won’t make me first-rate. Because I lack genius. Yet genius emerges only once per century. Is it my fault for being born during Japan’s hundred-year drought? This country has no geniuses. We’re all second-rate. The difference is I alone dare declare myself mediocre. Unaware of their ordinariness, they mimic greatness—pathetic non-geniuses. True refinement lies in embracing your limitations. Second-raters fill both literary and theatrical spheres. Critics too dwell in mediocrity. These middling minds devour masterpieces until deluded of their own brilliance—then scorn fellow mediocrities for lacking genius they themselves lack! Thus flounder our arts beneath their contempt. Isn’t this Japan’s truth?”

Nobuyoshi was not a talkative man, but whenever he challenged what was called "authority," he unwittingly became animated. "Authority"—or perhaps "fashion" would be a better term. Authoritative ideas and sacred concepts were in vogue. Everyone without exception either submitted to this or wielded it as a shield. Individuality became submerged within ideology. To protect his own individuality that refused to conform, Nobuyoshi deliberately challenged what was deemed "sacred." Of course, he believed in the concept of first-rate literature. However, he did not trust those who preached that concept. He would detect their lack of first-rate quality—sometimes comically, sometimes unpleasantly. Therefore, he deliberately promoted his second-rate theory; yet such claims would likely be socially ostracized. Moreover, it was a futile effort. It was as futile as preaching to fools striving to become wise—or putting on airs of doing so—that they should abandon such efforts precisely because they were fools.

The reason Nobuyoshi kept blathering such futile chatter was actually born of pure contrariness—a desire to drag Usui down to his own level of mediocrity. “Or perhaps—do you consider yourself first-rate?” Nobuyoshi, who had been talking nonstop, finally delivered that line with brutal directness. It was a thoroughly malicious remark, but since Nobuyoshi had already declared himself second-rate beforehand, it couldn’t be considered tax evasion.

Therefore, Usui too found himself momentarily at a loss for rebuttal, his face contorting as if he’d discovered a maggot in his dried banana, but— “So even when you fall in love, you only manage second-rate romances.”

While saying that, he glanced at Saeko’s face. Nobuyoshi noticed that Usui had factored Saeko into his calculations and escalated the argument. When Usui happened to encounter Saeko at the hotel reception and realized she had likely come to visit Nobuyoshi, he assumed that a provincial literary youth—unaccustomed to actresses—was naively attempting to approach her out of novelty. Partly to interfere and partly to mock, he had asked for an introduction. But now, meeting him face-to-face and detecting Nobuyoshi’s seemingly decadent audacity, he suddenly felt threatened. That was why he had resolved to make Nobuyoshi expose his own decadent views on love through his own words in Saeko’s presence.

“What exactly constitutes first-rate love?” “That’s Platonic love where you mutually elevate each other. First-rate love spiritually unites people to elevate romance into life’s sublime purpose of human perfection.” “Well, that’s rather beyond me. At best, I can only achieve second-rate love.” “Then any woman who loves you is unfortunate. In the end, you’ll just seduce her. It’s not love. It’s a game.”

Usui glanced at Saeko’s face again. “If you think so, then you may think so.” “Since you’re someone capable of first-rate love, that’s truly impressive.”

Nobuyoshi deliberately fell into Usui’s trap.

“You’re a dangerous man!”

Usui stood up while saying that. And tapped Saeko on the shoulder, “―Well then, I’ll see you later. Don’t let yourself be seduced by that second-rate lover now.” “Well.”

Usui left the coffee room without looking back. Before Nobuyoshi could grow sullen, he formed a creepy grin, "Making this woman mine was now my assigned mission!"

he muttered.

As usual, they finished their meal at the grill, “Will you come to my room to get The Red and the Black…?” “…………” “Or if you’d prefer to wait here, I can go fetch it.” “I’ll go!”

Saeko answered clearly.

Chapter Fourteen

On the Distorted Interpretation of The Red and Black.

Nobuyoshi becoming a fake Julien.

Saeko appeared as a cynic. Saeko's hand tensed.

Room 453—Nobuyoshi’s room.

As they sat facing each other just like yesterday, Nobuyoshi checked the clock. "1:30. Only thirty minutes left."

Yesterday, Nobuyoshi was in Saeko’s dressing room. “If you come before noon, I’ll still be asleep, and if it’s any later, I have to leave by two…”

he said. Of course, the claim about leaving at two o'clock had been a lie. But having said it, Nobuyoshi now thought two o'clock would serve as a tentative cutoff. Nobuyoshi handed Saeko both volumes of the Iwanami Bunko paperback edition of The Red and Black.

“Thank you.” Saeko began reading the preface. Nobuyoshi suddenly—what he was thinking—

“Let me have that for a second.”

He took it back from Saeko and flipped roughly through the pages. Page ninety-five—he immediately found the passage he was looking for. Exactly as ten o'clock strikes tonight, I'll carry out what I've sworn to do all day long. If I can’t do it, I’ll run up to my room and put a pistol to my head!

After that fleeting moment of anticipation and anxiety—when Julien, overcome with excitement, seemed to forget his shame—the great clock overhead struck ten. Each fate-deciding toll of the bell reverberated in his chest, making him feel something akin to a physical shock. Finally, just as the last stroke of ten was still ringing out, he reached out and took Madame de Rênal’s hand. The hand was immediately withdrawn. Julien, without fully understanding what he was doing, grasped her hand once more. Though he himself was deeply moved, he was stunned by the icy coldness of the hand he had seized. He gripped it with such force that it trembled. She made one last attempt to pull away, but at last her hand was surrendered to him.

His heart overflowed with joy. It was not because he loved Madame de Rênal. It was because the dreadful torment had now ended. When it came to Saeko, Nobuyoshi had until now been unable to resolve a certain lingering ambiguity. When Nobuyoshi first saw Saeko during a stage rehearsal, he resolved to seduce her to restore his wounded pride. Yet he couldn’t fully become a demon—his feelings twisted and turned depending on time and circumstance. However, now, having just met Usui and then read the passage where Julien from *The Red and Black* conceived the idea of taking Madame de Rênal’s hand for the first time, imposed it upon himself, and carried it out—this had made Nobuyoshi resolute.

Nobuyoshi had been so absorbed in reading that he had nearly forgotten Saeko’s presence, but when he suddenly looked up, there before him sat the very woman he intended to seduce. “When two o’clock comes, I’ll execute it!” Nobuyoshi muttered, using the bleak word “execute.” “What kind of novel is *The Red and Black*...?” Saeko asked. “Well—what kind of novel? It’s not something you can explain in a single breath.” “A novel that can be summed up in one breath isn’t a novel at all.” “This may sound like an evasion, but if *The Red and Black* spans nine hundred and one pages, then all I can say is that it’s a novel spanning those nine hundred and one pages.” “When we read novels, we immediately want to summarize their plots or themes or philosophies.” “At worst, there are fools who make categorizing its ‘-ism’ their foremost concern.” “But isn’t the very resistance to easy summarization where a novel’s appeal lies?”

Saeko nodded at each of Nobuyoshi’s unvarnished replies, but she didn’t abandon her planned line of questioning. "You said yesterday that it’s a novel that completely changes your life before and after reading it..." “Of course it does. “No, it doesn’t just change your outlook on life. “Borrowing *The Red and Black* might completely change your life.” Nobuyoshi smirked a ghastly smile.

“Oh…?” “That sounds terrifying!” Saeko suddenly stuck out her tongue and spoke with deliberate provocation.

“Am I frightening…?” “Not at all…” “I’m a second-rate lover. I…” “Since you’re the one declaring that about yourself, I’m not scared. I’ve never once found men frightening.” “That you’ve been mistaken—you may yet realize it.”

“Mmm…”

Saeko laughed in a way whose meaning eluded Nobuyoshi, “I’ve never fallen in love with anyone before. I couldn’t even make a single friend.”

"You must find it all dreary." "Everything... With soldiers swarming everywhere and this wretched war having started, there's nothing I can do that I want to do. If I say this, I'll sound unpatriotic, but... I just can't get caught up in it all like everyone else." "What sort of things... do you want to do?" "I suppose I've never really thought about it. I don't particularly care for acting either. No talent means no good. Someone recommended I become an actress, but I'll never amount to a great one anyway."

"But aren’t you working hard on stage…?"

To Nobuyoshi, it truly did appear that way.

“It’s like participating in a school festival. At school festivals, everyone has sweat beading on their noses. That’s all there is to it. Maybe I should give up on being an actress. Life is so dreary, isn’t it?” “It’ll change in time.”

He had already lit five cigarettes. “Do you think so?” “Don’t use such a timid voice. Shall I change that for you?” “Oh my, oh my.” “You sounded like a bad girl just now.” “I am a bad girl.”

“Have you ever been seduced…?” “No.” “Absolutely not.” “My hands and legs are smaller than most people’s.” “I have a childlike body.” “No one ever seduces me.” “What would you do if I seduced you…?” “Seduce…?” “What would you do…?” “For example, I’ll kiss you.”

“Can you…?” “I can! What’ll you do then?!”

“I’ll burst into tears!” Now appearing like a cynic flaunting her vices, now seeming delinquent, now looking childish—Nobuyoshi could no longer comprehend Saeko.

Five minutes before two o'clock—

Nobuyoshi said abruptly. “The protagonist of The Red and the Black, you see—when he thinks about taking a woman’s hand at two o’clock—he ends up convincing himself it’s his solemn duty.” “If by two o’clock he can’t take her hand, he’s the sort who’d blow his brains out with a pistol—that’s how fiercely loyal he is to this duty he’s imposed on himself.” “Is that alright…?” “Just like that protagonist—when two o’clock comes—I’ll kiss you.” “Three minutes left…” Nobuyoshi stared fixedly at Saeko. This wasn’t just bad taste—it was utter madness. It sounded like the reckless vow of a man cornered. But by cloaking himself in cynicism, Nobuyoshi sought to engineer an opening.

“Are you serious…?” Saeko began to smile, but sensing Nobuyoshi’s tense expression that had surfaced on his pale face, she hastily averted her gaze and rapidly stiffened her posture.

Nobuyoshi kept his gaze fixed unwaveringly. And: *Does this woman like me? If she hated me, she would have run away...* *But if she doesn't dislike me, that doesn't necessarily mean she likes me.* *First of all, I don't possess any qualities that would make women like me.* *The one this woman loves might be Usui.* *She's been quite friendly with Usui.* *No, there might be another man besides Usui that she loves.* *To me, she might just be associating as nothing more than a playwright.* *If I kiss this woman, I'll surely end up humiliated.* *If I fail to kiss her, I'll leave Tokyo immediately.* *However, even if successful, it can't be after two o'clock.* *I have to do it at two o'clock or it's all for nothing.*

As he was thinking this, 180 seconds passed.

*Two o'clock!* Nobuyoshi muttered to himself and simultaneously felt a hollow emptiness.

But suddenly, Nobuyoshi stood up. Saeko gasped. Nobuyoshi abruptly placed his hand on Saeko’s shoulder. Saeko,

“No!” “No!” she said, turning her face away. Nobuyoshi, while conscious of his own face—pale with animalistic excitement and suddenly wearing a half-tearful expression—tried to pull her close once more.

Saeko stood up from the chair and fled to the corner of the room.

And, like a salamander, she clung to the wall, her back turned.

However, that back showed no expression of hatred or terror.

“What’s wrong…?” Nobuyoshi placed a hand on her back and whirled her around. “Are you embarrassed…?” Saeko seemed to nod faintly. “How silly.” With a brief smile, Nobuyoshi suddenly brought his face closer, and Saeko sagged heavily against his chest.

Nobuyoshi felt in his back the momentary force that had entered Saeko’s hand. That was somehow sad.

Chapter 15

On the Length of a Kiss!

Wit determines its length. Whether there was any merit in complicating what could simply be called 'philanderer'.

——The kiss continued.

The chapter had changed, but he did not alter their embracing position. It was a long kiss. Even Nobuyoshi, "Too long! Way too long!" Whether he had thought this or simply grown short of breath, he separated his mouth from Saeko’s. Saeko was embarrassed, but Nobuyoshi was even more so. Why had he blushed? Nobuyoshi possessed elements of Julien Sorel. However, he was not Julien, nor could he become Julien. He had neither Julien's noble spirit nor passion. He was not a first-class man like Julien. Therefore, likening himself to Julien was absurd, and imitating Julien was nothing but pitiful aping. Nobuyoshi himself understood the recent circumstances—that Julien Sorel was noble, while the Sorlians (Sorel's derivatives) were vulgar.

Yet, having deliberately acted in Julien’s style—if he had to draw a line regardless— “Saeko came to borrow The Red and the Black!” he had thought that drawing a straight line by latching onto this arbitrary point—that Saeko had come to borrow The Red and the Black—would be the most direct shortcut. In other words, he had used Julien as a pretext. But upon using him as a pretext, he realized he did possess certain Julien-like qualities from the start—what Nobuyoshi felt during the kiss was first and foremost a satisfaction of his self-esteem. In that regard, he was thoroughly devilish.

And as far as such devilish expressions went, there should have been no reason for embarrassment—yet even the devil occasionally betrays its intoxication. During the long kiss, Nobuyoshi—convincingly enraptured—found a humble sentiment welling up within him: that of a pure-hearted young man earnestly engaging in a kiss as an expression of love. In other words, he had abruptly taken on a romanticist air. When he closed his eyes, Realism departed, and a sweet kiss seemed to wander through the garden of Sentimentalism.

Nobuyoshi abruptly opened his eyes. Then he suddenly became acutely aware of the strained awkwardness of their kissing posture, finding it somehow absurd. The world of Realism returned, and Nobuyoshi flushed with embarrassment. "How sloppy to keep kissing this long without even realizing it!" He detested unnatural acts for their abruptness, yet found unconscious ones equally intolerable. In short, he concluded there was no wit.

Every human being kisses. Even fools do it. Some are brief, others prolonged. However long it may be, there is a limit. Acts more intense than kissing have a definitive conclusion, but kissing lacks a physiological course that dictates when it should end. However, since one cannot kiss forever, one must eventually stop. While where one stops varies by person, for Nobuyoshi to have his motive for separating from her lips be the realization that he lacked wit was somewhat unusual. At the very least, it would be disrespectful to the woman.

However, Saeko had no room in her mind to consider such things. Saeko was on the verge of fainting. The hands clutching Nobuyoshi’s back tightened—because had she not clung to him like that, she might have collapsed.

Saeko tried to wipe her lips. The moment she tried, her hands burst into tremors, and she couldn’t wipe them. Not just her hands. Her entire body was shaking violently. Her teeth chattered.

Was it shock, fear, or excitement? Saeko couldn’t tell, but she trembled violently as though struck by some pathological seizure.

Nobuyoshi was startled. Because it was the first time he had seen a woman tremble so violently after a kiss, Nobuyoshi couldn't understand why she was shaking—but the way her body trembled felt more viscerally real to him than any tears. “What’s wrong...?” With that, Nobuyoshi gently embraced her shoulders and guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. “—Why... am I trembling...?” “I don’t know. “This is my first time… experiencing something like this.”

“The trembling…?” Nobuyoshi had meant to ask if this was her first time trembling after a kiss—having kissed many times before—but it was truly an unforgivable question. For Saeko, this kiss was the first experience of her life. “Are you cold…?” Nobuyoshi was saying whatever came to mind. Far from being cold, it was midsummer. “No…”

With that, Saeko, of course, shook her head.

Nobuyoshi didn't know what to do. How could he stop Saeko's trembling? Having no other choice, he rambled while peering at her face held gently in his hands: "Are you angry...? Were you surprised...? Do you... dislike me...? Are you ending things already...?"

As he rambled on aimlessly, he peered into Saeko’s face and held her gently. "Why would you say such a thing...?" “……”

Nobuyoshi remained silent for a time, but then, “So… you like me…?” he had finally found the words.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” “You don’t even know whether you like or dislike me…?” “I like you. If I didn’t like you… I wouldn’t have done that… I’ve never... done anything like that before...” With a choked “I’ve never done that before,” Saeko abruptly collapsed onto the bed in tears. But when Nobuyoshi lifted her up, the tears stopped immediately. “Really your first time...?”

"I’ve acted the cynic before - strutted around Ginza surrounded by boys like some delinquent girl. But this... this is my first time." Then, as if remembering anew, she began trembling again.

Nobuyoshi was struck by the realization. A woman’s moral conduct is more disordered than men imagine, yet at the same time, more chaste than they could ever conceive. Before joining the theater troupe, Saeko had worked at a film studio and had been living as an actress for years—an environment rife with such opportunities—yet it was strange that she had remained so untouched. Was this sensation akin to hitting an air pocket—this sudden pang of anguish—ultimately stemming from his awareness that he himself had given Saeko her first kiss, an awareness that felt almost criminal?

“You’ve never even had a romance…?” “No.” “Why…?” “Let me see...”

With that, Saeko considered earnestly, “I just... never met anyone I liked.” “There were certainly men I thought were good.” “I also felt some fondness.” “But nothing beyond that ever really clicked for me.”

“The one I came to like was...”

Even he faltered slightly, “Just me…?”

Saeko nodded frankly. Had she been able to say "You're so full of yourself," it would have meant happiness—but though that happiness had already been lost, Saeko didn't notice its disappearance. No, poor thing—she had convinced herself she was happy now. At the very least, she was telling herself that.

Because,

“To be capable of loving another is happiness.” Because she knew the phrase. However, did Saeko truly understand what kind of man she was falling for now?

This was the kind of man he was.

—

“What part of me do you like…?” A man who delighted in such verbal games after kissing her. And then, as a response, “I like you because you’re talented,” or “I like you because you’re charming,” and in extreme cases even,

“A man who anticipates hearing phrases like ‘I like you because of your beauty.’ Narcissus. Nobuyoshi’s seduction of women stemmed not from lust but ultimately from a need to satisfy his self-esteem; as a Narcissus, he wanted women to admire his virtues—and thus desired their affection. However, Saeko’s reply was not what he had expected. ‘You know, that time at Miharabashi tram stop—you said something then, didn’t you? ‘You know, waiting for the tram on a rainy night feels so lonely.’ ‘Even though I’ve somehow become famous overnight compared to yesterday, standing here all dejected in the lashing rain waiting for the tram makes me realize—people are surprisingly lonely creatures, aren’t they?—you said.’ ‘When I heard that—that’s when I fell for you.’ ‘That’s why I brought you matches.’”

At that Miharabashi tram stop, when Nobuyoshi spoke those words, Saeko looked up at him in surprise—just as Nobuyoshi himself had once been startled and peered at Saeko’s profile. He grew fond of Saeko’s esprit—the way she could answer like that. This woman was unexpectedly contemplating life with depth—Nobuyoshi, who had always viewed existence superficially, found himself astonished. Still, Nobuyoshi secretly wondered—perhaps Saeko’s words were merely affectation. Perhaps she was merely uttering clever phrases and nothing more.

When asked what part of him she liked,

“I’ve never once thought about such a thing.” “From the top of your head to the tips of your toes—I love every part of you.”

The woman who answered that way might have been more honest than Saeko.

However, in the end, they were all just words. If we're speaking of honesty—

"It’s because I kissed you that you fell for me." That fact might have been more honest and closer to piercing the truth. Nobuyoshi knew this deep down. He knew it as an undeniable realism. More than words, more than anything—in the end, it was physical connection that drastically transformed a woman’s feelings toward a man. This was women’s weakness—their pitiful vulnerability. No matter how equal a standing women might achieve with men, they ultimately bore the fate of losing their virginity through men—and the shock this act inflicted on the female psyche, its sensory cruelty—ignoring these facts rendered any discussion of women’s issues meaningless. For both men and women, this fact wasn’t something solvable through sermons about sex education or axioms of human reproduction. But precisely because these matters concerned hidden bedroom acts, touching upon them became equated with vulgarity and sensationalism—ultimately dismissed as taboo subjects—when in truth it constituted one of life’s universal problems. It was a sensation too visceral to be neatly divided by moralistic terms like chastity. It was akin to the sensation of "death." For women, there existed no sensation as bizarre as losing their virginity, and no bond as harshly inescapable as the physical connection they couldn’t control.

And if it was men who imparted those sensations, who forged those bonds, then demons dwelled within men. What manner of man was this Nobuyoshi, who so easily took women’s virginity while fully aware of this fact? In other words, he was a philanderer. Simply put, he was nothing more than a philanderer. And by now, there was likely no point in elaborating on how he differed from the world’s other womanizers.

Everything proceeded smoothly. “Hmm. “So, that’s when you fell for me…?” “Yes.” “So… you still like me now…?” “Yes.” “Well…”

With that, Nobuyoshi kissed her again. He couldn’t grasp what his own “Well…” had meant. Saeko no longer refused. She had believed this was proof of Nobuyoshi’s passion. While kissing her, Nobuyoshi became conscious of how meaningless it felt—this repetition of pressing his lips to hers a second time. Simultaneously, he remembered the calculated intent behind making Saeko perch at the bed’s edge.

Nobuyoshi quietly laid Saeko down. And, to prevent Saeko from realizing the significance of that act, he continued kissing her passionately, as if driven by some compulsion.

Chapter Sixteen

A Soliloquy on How the Relationship Between Marriage and Sexual Acts Between Men and Women Resembles That Between War and Murder

Platon was the name of an ink.

Saeko’s travel bag looked cheap.

Saeko left Nobuyoshi’s room at four o’clock. And then she went to the theater. Nobuyoshi saw her off to the hotel entrance, sat down on the lobby sofa, and smoked a cigarette.

The cigarette carried the scent of Saeko's mouth. The tip of the cigarette had lipstick on it. Nobuyoshi hurriedly wiped his lips, "What I just did wasn’t a big deal to me, but whether for better or worse, it was a major problem for that girl." "No—this might become a major problem for me too."

he muttered.

He had such a foreboding. He couldn’t imagine this problem passing as briskly and anticlimactically as it had with Itsuko.

If only I had just kissed her and promptly fled back to Osaka, things would have been fine. There had been no need to proceed any further than that. Both psychologically and physiologically... But that's what everyone does. That's just how humans are. And those who want to get married do so with that as their motive. Even those who don’t want to get married end up doing so once they’ve gone through with it. And once they get married, they no longer feel guilty or regretful. The institution of marriage is damn convenient. Marriage serves both as compensation for having subjected women to terrible ordeals and as a legitimate means to subject them to terrible ordeals henceforth through the institution of matrimony. What on earth was marriage...? Under married life, no one condemns sexual acts between men and women. Is marriage a hypocritical institution?

From the café, the gramophone continued to blare military songs. “—Murder is the most immoral act among all human behaviors. “But the military brass are encouraging murder in the name of war.” “The relationship between sexual acts and marriage is much like that between murder and war.”

Just then, Hachiya Jūkichi arrived, floating in as usual in his morning coat.

“Ah, did you see today’s newspaper?” “No, I don’t read them!” Nobuyoshi said flatly.

“Why…?” “It seems there’s a theater review in there trashing my play.” “I don’t want to read newspapers.” “Ah, I see.” “But codes are a different matter, aren’t they?” “No, I don’t want to see it.” “I see….” “You don’t want to see it.” “You are truly wise.”

“……? ……”

“First of all, even if you wanted to see them, the codes can’t be found anymore.” “They’re not being published anymore? Did you stop them?” “There were unavoidable circumstances, you see. The truth is, the woman ran away. She fabricated a lover, you see.”

“Oh…? “And the partner…?” “Does it concern you?”

“Don’t be absurd.” “I merely inquired out of courtesy.” “Even if the man were Tojo, I wouldn’t bat an eye.” “Tojo himself chases skirts too, doesn’t he?”

“However—unfortunately—it’s not the Prime Minister.” “He’s a student, you know.” “That woman’s cousin.” “Young men are the sort who immediately want to sympathize with women.” “According to their farewell note, they’re apparently engaging in Platonic love on both sides.” “Can you believe it?”

“What do you think?” “Well, they went out of their way to specify it’s Platonic, you know.” “If anything, that makes it more suspicious…?” “But well, women and students are idealists, you know. They go ninety-nine percent of the way, leave just a hair’s breadth remaining, then indulge to their heart’s content—and still have the gall to call it Platonic. There’s no shortage of that sort.” “It’s a form of sexual aberration, I tell you.” “But either way, it doesn’t matter.” “Plato is the name of an ink.” “Anyway, she ran away.” “That’s all there is to it.” “There’s no point in struggling now.” “Well, I’m off!”

In the blink of an eye, Hachiya Jūkichi vanished from sight.

That night, after the performance ended, Saeko came to Nobuyoshi’s room.

“I’m quitting acting.” “Why…?”

Nobuyoshi wasn't particularly surprised—he had already known what Saeko would say next. "I can't think of anything except you," she said. "I can't immerse myself in acting anymore. What I said earlier about having nothing I want to do... it's true. I don't want to do anything at all. I just want to spend my days thinking about you and drifting through life." "Is mere thinking enough...?" "I want to get married." "With whom...?" "You're so composed."

“Is that so?” He was slightly flustered.

“Hey. Won’t you take me to Osaka?” “No!”

“Why…?” Saeko’s face twisted into a half-sob. “If you come, you’ll be unhappy.” “I don’t mind being unhappy. No matter how terrible a time I have, I don’t care. I want to go with you. I want to be by your side. That’s all I need.—Hey, can’t I…?” “Let me be clear. I’m not someone who can swear to anything.” “Do you... dislike me...?” “I never said I disliked you. I’m not the sort who can easily come to dislike others. I may get angry, but I can’t bring myself to dislike you. I can’t hate you. So even if I seduce a woman, I can’t abandon her. But I can’t swear I’ll never abandon you for life.”

It seemed like sophistry yet also genuine conviction.

Though Nobuyoshi used terms like "abandoning" or "not abandoning," the real issue was that even romance—a matter of lifelong consequence for women—held no particularly important place within this man called Nobuyoshi. Thus women were bound to become a burden to him. Women were pure-hearted and perpetually aflame. Moreover, Nobuyoshi never slept love’s customary slumber of gradual disillusionment—he had been wide awake from the very beginning. To this man who saw through love’s ephemeral nature yet was told to slumber anyway, to intoxicate himself—to love with the ideal that even in something prone to fading, he alone might remain eternally unawakened—Nobuyoshi proved far too much a man who had turned his back on ideals. This very aloofness of his only inflamed women more. The burden grew heavier still. The mere awareness that women burned with passion while he himself could not burn likewise already constituted a burden. At such times he found women unbearably pitiable. What on earth was this contradiction—that while he himself ultimately caused women’s suffering, he pitied those suffering women?

Speaking of contradictions—ultimately, while knowing full well that getting involved with women would make them unhappy, he still proceeded to become involved through the form of seduction. What on earth was this? Knowing this only deepened his guilt.

Nobuyoshi, who could not burn, was lonely. Unable to bear that loneliness, he would eventually draw near to women. Women remained unaware of Nobuyoshi’s toxicity. They found charm in the sorrowful expression born from loneliness.

This lamentable state of affairs, more or less peculiar to modern people—how long would this state persist?

However, for the present, Nobuyoshi could only speak in this manner. “After all, I’m just a womanizer.” “Don’t come along.”

“Then why did you seduce me?” “That’s why I’m telling you I’m a womanizer, aren’t I?” “A real womanizer wouldn’t say it like that.” “In other words, it’s proof I’m trying to be a good boy.” Such words themselves were an attempt to be a good boy.

“Whether you’re a womanizer or a good boy or whatever—hey, can’t I come along…?”

No matter what anyone said, Saeko refused to be dissuaded from coming along. “Then come along.” “But don’t expect me to care what happens to you!”

Nobuyoshi finally said this when he could bear it no longer. Saeko had reached a state where no words from anyone would reach her ears. And so the timid Nobuyoshi could no longer bring himself to refuse.

Saeko returned home late that night. And within that night, she somehow managed to persuade her mother and spent all night packing her belongings. She decided to take everything—all her personal effects, winter kimonos, bedding, even the shoes and hats she’d stockpiled—and had them checked as luggage. Alone, she managed everything in half a day: farewells to the theater troupe, goodbyes to friends, filing her relocation notice with the neighborhood association. She even made by hand the lunch box she and Nobuyoshi would eat on the train before rushing to the station.

And together with Nobuyoshi, they boarded the night train bound for Osaka. Nobuyoshi was struck by how earnestly Saeko had accomplished everything in half a day, but what startled him more was the shabbiness of the bag she carried. She couldn’t exactly be called the daughter of a poor family, yet she was by no means from a wealthy one. The lunchbox she had made was so meager that even Saeko had apologized for it. Yet Nobuyoshi praised it as quite a feast. But then he suddenly stopped mid-bite.

“What are you thinking about…?” “Women—peel back one layer and they’re all antiquated things—that’s what I was idly thinking.” “What do you mean…?” Saeko asked, but Nobuyoshi couldn’t answer.

Nobuyoshi was thinking such things.

"...When I seduced this woman, I never imagined we’d end up riding the train together like this. But after she went through the trouble of making such a shabby lunchbox, I could no longer send her back to Tokyo. This woman might stay by my side for life. I’d probably think every day about driving her away. Yet being weak-willed, I’d never voice it aloud. And so she’d remain beside me forever—anxious each moment whether today or tomorrow would bring rejection, yet ultimately staying a lifetime through. This is life," he thought.

To call this 'life' was an exaggeration, but the shabbiness of Saeko’s travel bag felt far more emblematic of life than any newspaper cipher. And this sensation grew increasingly stronger as the train drew closer to Osaka.