Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The Chuo Line’s Kiso Fukushima!

Merely uttering these words under my breath made my heart leap with joy.
So much had I come to love that town—that seemingly forsaken town—boundlessly.
Human warmth, customs, the forms of mountains and rivers… everything in Fukushima’s town was endearing and pleasing to me.

Even so, I have no intention of ever visiting that town again. What a contradictory thought this is! However, were one to hear the strange love story of the mysterious incident I personally experienced in that town, surely anyone would recognize this contradiction and nod in acknowledgment. Hence, I shall now set pen to paper to recount the outline of that strange romantic tragedy.

×

Thinking to see the Kiso Bon Festival Dance, I went to Fukushima at the end of August.
How the sudden scenery of mountain streams and emerald peaks pressing close together delighted me.
And the grandeur of the Bon Festival Dance left me utterly overwhelmed.
Nearly a thousand people formed an ellipse in the narrow town streets and literally danced ceaselessly from seven or eight in the evening until the following morning.
Sincere phrases, monotonous gestures—the melody was the well-known “Nakanori-san.”
As I watched the dance, my heart leapt with joy.
And the strangest thing was that when the women among the dancers began singing in unison, tears spilled from my eyes.
“How blissfully they were singing!”
The moment I thought this, tears seemed to spring from the corners of my eyes.
And as the tears spilled, I somehow murmured something like this.

"I bless Fukushima!
"No matter what, I simply can't not live in this town!"

And indeed, from that time onward, I came to live in Fukushima.
At that time I was unmarried, and moreover my so-called business—though calling it a business feels presumptuous—consisted of scraping by through writing, and even that through popular novels—so I was free to live wherever I chose.
The more I lived there, the more Fukushima became a town perfectly suited to my tastes—a place I found utterly impossible to leave.
In the midst of this, I came to know various people and grew familiar with restaurants like Bimansuya.

Bimansuya was a restaurant established in Uemachi on the main thoroughfare—a Western-clad proprietor who carried himself unlike a merchant at its helm, coupled with a madame who happened to be a Mino-born vivacious beauty of striking charm—factors that combined to create an improbably thriving business.
Young officials from the county office and tax office, teachers from the forestry school, and fresh-faced members from the Forestry Agency would gather there club-like, keeping the place bustling even during ordinary hours.

Before long I too had become one of Bimansuya’s regular patrons—not that this bears proclaiming aloud—and had even come to nurse secret yearnings for its madame, Osuga-san.

However, the supremely strange romance I intend to recount is by no means the sort of love that fermented between Osuga-san and myself—for the likes of me have always been cast as those excluded from clever affairs of the heart, and even at the height of good fortune could only ever be relegated to supporting roles.

And in truth, even during that incident, I was relegated to a supporting role.

The incident’s beginning lay in Bimansuya restaurant—the very establishment I just described—and one day I slipped through its entrance with casual ease.
Though it was mid-autumn, being Kiso Fukushima in Shinshu's highlands—a place true to its frigid reputation—the cold already approached winter's bite, the kind of chill that made one crave a heated table.
Mr. Nitaro, the proprietor, happened to be away, and only Madame Osuga was sitting before the large keyaki long brazier, but when she saw me, she gave a nod.
Her large marumage hairstyle adorned with purple cords and black-collared meisen silk lined kimono layered beneath a padded jacket created an impossibly chic figure befitting her trade.
I clumsily clambered in and tried to sit on the far side of the long brazier, only to find the spot already occupied.

There sat a youth of such noble beauty, composed as could be.

I sat down beside him but found myself unable to utter even a single word.
It appears that human beauty of extraordinary excellence can even silence voices.
Having once worked as a theater critic for a certain newspaper, I frequently entered backstage areas and had grown accustomed to seeing the unadorned faces of handsome actors like Senjaku, Fukusuke, and Chiyonosuke; yet their forms and features could not compare to that youth.
I decided to refrain from needless elaboration.
Such things would only mar that beauty.
When I gazed upon that youth, what abruptly came to mind was Oscar Wilde’s Dorian Gray—indeed, I even thought how greatly Japan’s own Oscar Wilde, the decadent poet Mr. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, would rejoice were he to see such a sight——

And then Osuga-san said to me,

“This person was waiting for you.”
“Oh my, he’s been here since two hours ago already… You do know this person, don’t you?”
“You must have crossed paths often in the streets.”

II

When told this, I realized I had indeed encountered that youth before. Moreover, we had crossed paths about three times—and on each occasion, he had been accompanied by the so-called "mysterious woman."

As a self-proclaimed realist, I should have rejected such a fanciful epithet outright. Yet for her alone, that preposterous phrase clung with uncanny precision, until I too found myself using it like every gossip in town. What manner of woman warranted such title? They said she was a Kobe merchant’s daughter come for nerve treatments, breathing the highland air since summer with her retinue of student attendants and maidservants. But it was her beauty—that lavish beauty—her whirlwind socializing with men of every stripe that cemented her enigma.

Her mansion stood half a chō from Baron Sakai’s villa at the imperial forest’s edge: an elegant bungalow peppered with narrow windows, its plain exterior belying interiors that reportedly dazzled the eye. This “mysterious woman” bore the name Sonohara Yukie. She would sometimes tear through Kiso’s mountain passes like a gale—Western gown fluttering from her black motorcar’s plush seats—but more often kept male company. One companion sat before me now, that Dorian Gray incarnate; the other being Tadanao, wayward scion of the Sakai barony.

When I said earlier that I had seen this beautiful youth three times, it was because I had spotted him while walking along the street as he went out riding. Now that I mention it, I too had seen this youth once more.
That occurred about half a month ago when I had casually left my inn to head toward the Imperial Forest—it was on that very journey.
When I walked to the side of the bungalow, a rather large greenhouse lay toppled in the center of the spacious rear garden, its glass roof reflecting the setting sun amidst the autumn mist.
Then, the greenhouse door opened and figures emerged.
Yukie and the beautiful youth.
Strangely enough, they were both wearing Chinese-style clothing!
I stopped in my tracks.
However, they seemed utterly unaware of my presence there.

“Crossing water, then crossing water again,” Yukie recited.

Then the youth followed suit.

“Gaze upon flowers, then gaze again upon flowers.”

“Spring breeze along the river’s path.”

“Unwittingly I reach your abode.”

“But it’s not spring yet, is it?” Yukie said with a laugh—a laugh that sounded almost masculine.

“Spring will arrive before long.”
It was the youth who answered thus, but his voice carried an inexpressible tone of sorrow that struck my heart profoundly.
Then Yukie laughed again and ran up to the youth; extending both hands forward, she effortlessly lifted him and carried him into the greenhouse.
They had vanished from sight—but what in the world did the two of them do next!
How should I know?!

Even so, it remains true that I muttered these words as I began to walk.

O greenhouse romance!
O preserved romance!... The youth seemed to be the passive one.
The woman was older.
Given such cloying sweetness, a mere kiss would hardly have sufficed... Yet how astonishing was the strength in that woman’s arms!
What if he were to be crushed in those powerful arms?
Oh, the youth might break.
What did it matter if he broke!
O fragile youth!
O youth like a toy!

However, that beautiful youth—like a fragile toy—was there sitting properly beside me before the long brazier.

“If I may ask—since you waited for me, do you have some business with me?”

Harboring doubts about Osuga-san’s words, I posed this question to the youth.

Then the youth courteously—yet without any trace of obsequiousness—bowed his head toward me, but

“Eh?” he said innocently in a small voice, faltering.
Apparently, even his cheeks were flushed.

“You are a man of letters, Sir.”
The youth, seeming to have suddenly mustered vigor, grew abruptly eloquent: “Therefore I simply must request an audience—there is something I wish to ask—but being a complete stranger, I feared that even if I called at your lodgings, I might never be granted an audience…”

“What utter nonsense!”
I cut him off mid-sentence. “Come anytime at all.
But what manner of business might this concern?”

“That is…” The youth’s demeanor and voice grew so startled and flustered it was almost alarming. “I’m afraid I cannot speak of it here…”

“Ah, I see. Then please come by anytime—by the way, what is your name?”

“My name is Yūki Yoshiya.”

When he said this, the youth laughed—a laugh that, though meaningless, was astonishingly beautiful.

III

(The following is Yūki Yoshiya’s account)

“……Speaking of my family background, we belong to the daimyo aristocracy. My father became a major general in the reserves—an army officer and indeed a viscount. As I was the youngest child, I was doted on from infancy. Yet owing to my frail constitution and overly gentle disposition, I was considered a disappointment by my father, who favored military men. My mother had truly loved me with all her heart, but she passed away when I turned ten.”

Since I had a natural fondness for painting and talent in that direction, upon graduating from middle school, I abandoned academic pursuits and resolved to devote myself entirely to that path, beginning to attend a training institute.
The Western Painting Study Group at Akasaka Tameike.
That is where I attended.

And the reason I came to Kiso Fukushima two months ago was to paint beautiful scenery—it was a sketching trip.
When I came and saw, I realized that Kiso’s scenery was suited for Japanese-style painting but ill-suited as material for Western-style sketches, and though I was somewhat disappointed, still I went out nearly every day carrying my canvas.

The view of the Imperial Forest from the pass toward Miyakoshi had piqued my interest, so one day I set up my tripod and began sketching it.
It was on the third day thereafter—the work being nearly nine-tenths complete—that I was applying the finishing brushstrokes with some quiet satisfaction when, from the Miyakoshi direction, came the lively clip-clop of hoofbeats. They had reached directly behind me when they abruptly ceased.
And then at once I heard a woman's voice uttering these words.

“What a sensitively rendered painting this is. What a deep green this is… You must think so too, don’t you?”

Then came the sound of a thoroughly languid man’s voice answering thus.

“Indeed, indeed, it’s a fine painting… Though truth be told, I haven’t the faintest understanding of such matters as art. Well, if you say it’s good, then it simply must be a fine painting.”

“Oh my, what a strange way to put it. Mr. Sakai, you’re such a peculiar one… I’ve taken a liking to this painting. The fresh innocence of it is simply splendid.”

“Truly, the fresh innocence of it is simply splendid.”

“Do hush now—how absurd… When you don’t understand a thing.”

“Well then, shall I lapse into silence? Absolutely everything shall be as Your Ladyship commands.”

The man’s voice burst into a hearty laugh that seemed utterly good-natured after saying this. Though I found it irritating, there was nothing I could do, so as I silently kept moving my brush, somehow or other that landscape painting ended up being perfectly completed. And that painting—without exaggeration—belonged among the masterpieces within my works, and as it was truly a sketch with fine sensibility, I could not help but feel pleased.

As I was energetically packing up my tripod and preparing to return to the inn, I was called out by the man and woman who had been watching until then.

“Um… This is terribly rude of me, but…”

The one who had spoken was the woman, dressed in a flamboyant equestrian outfit.

“Is there something you require?”
I said this and came to a halt.

“Um… This is terribly rude of me, but… might I possibly ask you to part with that sketch you’ve drawn?”

I felt surprised yet somewhat proud.

“You mean this crude painting?”

“What are you saying about it being crude… Isn’t this a splendid masterpiece?”

“However,” I hesitated, “it is truly not my intention to part with it.”

“Hey now, you two! What’s all this?”
“Do hand it over without such protests.”
“This would be in your best interest.”

The one who suddenly interjected from the side was a smirking man called Sakai.

“Exactly—this would be in your best interest.”
“I’ll pay any sum required—you clearly don’t recognize us.”
“This is the renowned Miss Sonohara Yukie… And I am one called Sakai.”
“The second son of Baron Sakai, you understand…”

“Huh,” I muttered under my breath upon hearing this, “what an absurd fool!”
“What significance has a baron’s second son?” — At this, I conjured a bitter smile and spoke coldly.

“As I remain but an amateur still, I find it disagreeable to profit through selling paintings... So you are Baron Sakai’s second son—that would make you a young nobleman... Well, I happen to be one myself.”
“My name is Yoshiya Yūki, third son of Viscount Yūki—this painting is not for sale and thus cannot be sold, but given your earnest entreaty, I shall present it to you.”

Having said this, I handed the sketch to the person called Yukie and briskly descended the mountain pass.

IV

By the time I returned to the inn, I found myself unable to even think about that painting or her—let alone Sakai.
I was preoccupied with planning the next sketch I would draw.

However, early the next morning, a maidservant from her residence came to summon me, saying: “She wishes to express her gratitude for yesterday’s painting, and as there are many recently arrived reproductions of famous paintings from France, she would like to show them to you.”
“If they’re reproductions of famous paintings, I would like to see them.”
Having thought this, I followed the maid and went to her house.
As one would expect from being invited to show off her collection, all the reproductions of famous paintings she possessed were splendid pieces, and thanks to that, I spent the entire day treating my eyes to a feast.

Before long, I was guided into the greenhouse—Chinese flowers had been collected there in such abundance that I couldn’t help but marvel at how such a collection had been amassed. The greenhouse’s decorations too were Chinese in style. And then, strangely enough, she herself remarked on this Chinese aesthetic.

“China and I have been inseparable companions since ancient times…”
“You dislike it—the Chinese style?”
“It would undoubtedly suit you—if you were to wear Chinese-style clothing.”—she said these very words.

In the midst of this, Sakai too appeared, and the three of us conversed pleasantly—but contrary to my initial imaginings, the man called Sakai turned out to be good-natured, and what’s more, an utter joker who did nothing but crack jokes.
Yet at heart he was a passionate man who truly loved her, but his habitual flippancy proved his undoing, rendering him unable to voice his feelings—a man who, in one respect, seemed the very picture of a pitiable modern man. This endeared him to me, and we grew close at once.

From that day onward, day after day, I came to spend my time at her house.
As we gradually grew closer, the inner workings of her household began to unravel before me.
But most of all, what appeared uncannily to my eyes was the cook Ji-san.
He was a pure Guangdongese who always wore dirty Chinese-style clothing and even maintained a queue hairstyle, yet for some reason, he held the most influence in her household.
Even the mistress of the household would sometimes be scolded by Ji-san to such an extent.

And yet another thing that struck me as utterly mysterious was that, all the while I was inside the greenhouse, I could hear a sound as if someone were digging somewhere in the earth beneath us.

“Where could it be coming from—that sound like someone digging in the earth?”
One day, I casually asked her this.

“Huh?
“A sound, you say?”
“What sound?—I don’t hear anything at all!”

“No, I do hear it—a sound like someone digging beneath the earth.”

“Shh!” she suddenly cautioned me in a sharp voice.
When I looked at her face in surprise, what should I see but her eyes—filled with terror and burning intensity—fixed through the glass wall upon a corner of the garden.
And there, where her gaze fell, the cook Ji-san was pacing back and forth with his arms crossed.

One day, she caught me and forced me into Chinese-style clothing.

“Now, be a good boy and put it on.
“Because it will please Ji-san, the cook.”

So I did put it on，but it was by no means pleasant.
"Why must we cater to the whims of a mere cook like that?" This struck me as strange.
Speaking of strange things，the fact that Sakai had recently grown markedly less jovial and become sullen and melancholy was indeed strange in its own way.

However，one day，Sakai，wearing a sullen expression，silently handed a letter to me.

The wording of the letter was as follows.

“Beware the cursed kiss—will you obtain it today?
Once—yes, in times past, that kiss was mine!”

At first, I could not comprehend what this meant—but when afternoon came that day, I understood.
I was kissed by her in the greenhouse.
And it was a passionate kiss.

From that day onward, the Chinese-style greenhouse became our most delightful hideaway.
A lovers’ refuge, a place of kisses—it had transformed into a site of secret trysts.

And so she would seize precarious moments to lead me into the greenhouse, all while fearing detection by Ji-san the cook.
As though Ji-san were her husband and we were stealing moments from his watchful eye to indulge in illicit pleasure, we would lose ourselves in that pleasure.

Five

I was supremely happy.
To be loved by a beautiful woman!
Could any happiness surpass this?
Truly, she cherished me from the depths of her heart.
As for me, I adored her with lunatic intensity.
All I desired now was that Ji-san might cease his eerie surveillance, and that Sakai would refrain from wearing that heartbroken expression of unbearable anguish.

However, these two selfish wishes of mine both came to naught. Ji-san watched our every move with eyes brimming hatred, never allowing himself even a moment’s lapse in vigilance. As for Sakai, he too would darken his haggard, lifeless face and stare fixedly at us from afar.

“Oh, poor Mr. Sakai.”
She laughed airily once and said, “That man will soon find himself in a state far more pitiable than this.”

“Even so, you loved that man before me, didn’t you?”

With a touch of jealousy, I pressed further.

“No, I did not love him.”
“I may have put on such airs as though truly in love... but that was merely my role.”
“Yes—I had been ordered to behave that way.”

“Who gave such orders?”
I asked in astonishment.

“You see, it was...” she started to say, then abruptly faltered.
When I looked over, there in the shadows by the greenhouse door—Ji-san’s silhouette flickered momentarily before disappearing. Without question, he had been listening to our conversation.

It was the following day when I went to her house—what should I find but her with half of her face bandaged.

“What happened to that bandage?”

Waving her hand to stop my startled reaction, she laughed mournfully.

“I was struck by that man… But never mind—such trifles… Come, let us go to the greenhouse.”
“If I may but be surrounded by beautiful flowers and speak with your beautiful self—that alone would content me.”

Thereupon, the two of them entered the greenhouse in the backyard.
We immediately embraced, kissed to our hearts' content, and sat down side by side on chairs.
A suffocating floral scent!
Glittering sunlight streamed in!
And then came that strange noise—like earth being dug—echoing ceaselessly from somewhere nearby.
Somehow entranced, I rested the back of my head against her chest and remained silent for who knows how long.

Then, did I not hear the sound of gentle sobs? And then a hot drop fell onto my forehead. She was crying.

It must have been some sort of sudden fit. She embraced me with a crushingly tight, violent grip, yet did she not continue to speak in an endless stream of delirious words?

“Let’s die—let’s die—let’s die… I might be killed! Let him kill me if he wants! Even slaughtered I won’t leave you! How could this terror let me love like this! …You—you—oh Yoshiya-san! I simply can’t be parted from you! How divinely beautiful you are! And yours isn’t some tawdry beauty—angelic perfection! Since meeting you—since knowing your beauty—my heart transformed completely. This transformation terrifies that man. That’s why he threatens me—tries to separate us! But nothing will make me leave you! I’d sooner cut ties with them all—take you anywhere—to world’s end—live just us two! Don’t you see? Through your beauty I cleanse my soiled past! But then they’ll never let me live. Not just me—they’ll surely kill you too. Then you’ll be the pitiable one. Speaking of pity—poor Mr. Sakai! Targeted by villains for his wealth while you—too beautiful—ensnared by a wretch like me—oh damn!”

“That bastard is watching us again—from over there!”

Indeed, in the shadow of the greenhouse doorway, Ji-san stood.

What a ferocious face that was!

She clutched me once more with a hysterical cry, prattling endlessly about such matters as she rained kisses upon my forehead, my neck—everywhere.

“Let’s throw it in their faces—who cares!”
“And let’s truly go as far as we can go!”
“Let’s drink down to the bitter dregs of our pleasure!”
“Our lives are so short, aren’t they!”

And so it was that on that day—in truth—for the first time within that greenhouse enveloped by countless flowers, we drained to the last bitter dregs love’s sweet ferment…

VI

Though Yūki Yoshiya’s tale did indeed continue at length, in essence it amounted to nothing more than antipathy toward the cook Ji-san and needless anxiety.
It appeared there had been poison in the black tea Ji-san brought—on the night he drank it, he had vomited—such was the tale.

“Yukie and I will likely be murdered by that man before long.”
“That is how it seems to me.”
“This may be an impertinent request, but should you hear I have been killed—might you inform my father of today’s conversation?”
“It was to make this entreaty that I came to see you, but...”

Finally, when he said this, I laughed and agreed.

I was watching his figure depart cheerfully through the gate when I believe I muttered something like this:

"When love grows too blissful, one can't help but feel uneasy."
"That beautiful youth is doing nothing but casting shadows of anxiety over his own romance."

It seemed my suspicions had been correct, for in the peaceful town of Kiso Fukushima, autumn passed into winter came, that winter ended and spring arrived, yet no incident worth mentioning occurred.

The beauty of Fukushima’s spring!
Cherry blossoms bloomed, birds sang, water flowed—I wanted to call it a dream, yet it surpassed even dreams in beauty.
The townspeople would take geisha to Myoken Mountain, hold banquets with pale pink cherry blossoms blooming across peaks and valleys as their drinking accompaniment, then impatiently await nightfall to descend the mountain with lanterns lit, parading merrily through the streets before heading off to restaurants.
Thanks to this, Bimansuya prospered, and Madam Osuga’s proprietorship naturally gained a vivid luster.

I was the lonely one.
It seemed my affection had finally reached Osuga-san’s heart—since winter I had received one or two firm handshakes filled with emotion and two or three sweet glances—yet now, when cherry blossom viewers crowd in endlessly, Osuga-san gives none of these things, as if she had forgotten.
Shouldn’t I be lonely?—so I muttered to myself.

"I shall not bless Fukushima."
"I think I shall leave Fukushima."
"Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!" I said.

Yet still I could only mutter these words without acting decisively.
Perhaps because lingering attachments remained.

And so several days passed.
The cherry blossoms had scattered at some point, and green hues began to sprout across the fields and mountains.

I sighed needlessly in admiration.

A hollow heart wandering the Kiso Road again today

Akebia flowers in the thicket's shade I saw,

Alone I came and alone return—the mountain at noon

Voicing aloud as I muttered to myself

The fact that I composed such clumsy verses was also due to loneliness.

At this time, in peaceful Fukushima, a strange theft occurred that astonished the townspeople. Baron Sakai’s villa—standing at the foot of the Imperial forest—was the sole victim, where nearly all stolen goods appraised at hundreds of thousands of yen—antiques, precious metals, cash, and clothing—had vanished completely, as if they had sunk into the bowels of the earth.

When investigators announced that a tunnel had been dug beneath its foundations connecting unexpectedly to the Sonohara family’s greenhouse, people gasped in shock—but when I learned how within that very greenhouse, surrounded entirely by countless flowers as beautiful as a rainbow, a beautiful young man and woman lay dead clinging to each other, how much more than the townspeople did my heart plummet!

“So that story from that time… was it all true after all?”

I inadvertently muttered something like this, but it was all too late to be of any use.

I was struck by infinite emotions and even tormented by conscience, but in an effort to at least fulfill my promise, I began writing a lengthy letter addressed to Mr. Yūki Yoshiya’s strict father.

I recalled having written words to this effect within that letter.

"(Omitted)... Your son Yoshiya-sama was an admirable man."
His admirable character had even moved the heart of that wayward woman—Sonohara Yukie, who was said to be both the Guangdongese Ji-san’s mistress and partner in crime—to such an extent.
And that woman’s change of heart was indeed a grievous blow to the true villain Ji-san.
Thus, Ji-san resolved to eliminate the two of them and smeared potent poison on several of the flowers in the greenhouse… The thieves who assailed the Sakai household were, of course, none other than Ji-san.
In order to seize the vast wealth of the Sakai family, it is said that Ji-san’s gang of thieves deliberately relocated to this area and had schemed to use Yukie’s beauty as a decoy to lure the Sakai family’s scion.
"As for the Sakai family’s property and Ji-san, their whereabouts remain unknown to this day, but the local police stated that they had finally managed to extract only this much information from a thief who had been left behind and captured…… (omitted)."

I left Fukushima not long after that.

Without even a glance at the rickshaw’s canopy, I turned my eyes away.

There was no figure to be seen there.

This was my song of parting, but when at last I was about to board the rickshaw and leave Fukushima Town behind, Madam Osuga did not come to see me off.