Pathway to Japanese Literature

I When Kikuko hurried down the corridor to retrieve Father’s forgotten glasses cloth from the living room bookshelf, the telephone rang shrilly. Picking up the receiver, she heard the voice of her elder sister from Azabu saying she would arrive before noon. Ending the call abruptly with “Father has just left,” Kikuko took the glasses cloth and went to the entrance. There stood Father on the shoe-removal step, leaning forward on his cane while scolding Fuku the maid about footwear. Sensing Kikuko’s approach, he reached a hand behind his back without turning,

“What are you dawdling for? Hurry up!” he barked.

As usual, when Kikuko and Fuku saw him off to the gate where the car waited, Father gave what might have been a nod of acknowledgment to the driver holding open the door and got in. And Kikuko— When she called out “Safe travels,” Father neither nodded in response nor acknowledged it, instead resting one elbow on his cane’s grip and leaning slightly forward as he turned his face toward the opposite window before departing. Father’s difficult temperament was not something that had only now begun. That said, even when described as difficult-tempered during Mother’s lifetime, he had never actually scolded the maid or anything of the sort; he always seemed to compress whatever dissatisfaction he felt into those vertical wrinkles between his eyebrows. But since Mother’s death, his difficult temperament had become exacerbated by heightened irritability, and he now even displayed an oddly restless demeanor. The household members would whisper among themselves in corners—things like “Father’s grown short-tempered in his old age, hasn’t he?”—but in reality, they all seemed to think there was more to Father’s recent behavior than just age; something else must be at play.

As Kikuko was folding Father’s shed everyday clothes, the sound of her elder sister’s voice came from the inner entrance, and soon she entered the tea room, chatting casually with the maids. After prefacing that she couldn’t stay long today since she’d left her children behind, she peered into the tea shelf and took out the bowl containing yōkan herself while— “Where’s Iio-san?” she asked. She was the elderly woman—her deceased mother’s childhood friend—who had long resided in the household. “She left early this morning to visit Mother’s grave.”

“I see.” “That’s a good thing.” For some reason, the Elder Sister smiled faintly. For Elder Sister, the talkative Iio-san seemed difficult to handle. Upon hearing that Iio-san was out, the Elder Sister’s demeanor brightened. “How has Father been lately?”

When Kikuko silently showed a strained smile, “I do wish he would regain his good humor soon.”

At this, the elder sister’s expression turned serious. “If his mood doesn’t improve, it’s a nuisance for everyone else. Fuku’s been scolded nonstop lately—she worries herself so much she can’t even sleep properly at night.”

“Now that you mention it, that girl did look pale.” “She’s so timid that she dwells on the thought of being scolded.” “Father too…”

At that very moment, Fuku came to ask what should be prepared for lunch, so Elder Sister broke off her words. And taking a piece of yōkan from the bowl, she offered it to Fuku, who was kneeling at the threshold with her hands pressed to the floor. “Here, have some,” she said, offering it. Fuku raised her lusterless, puffy face slightly, “Thank you very much,” she said. She received the yōkan in her cupped palms and immediately bowed her head, but perhaps this sudden kindness struck her sleep-deprived, weary heart, for she suddenly pressed her sleeve to her face and began to cry.

“That’s enough now. Enough.” “You’re simply too worn out. Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” The elder sister patted Fuku’s shoulder as if soothing a child.

“I beg your pardon,” Fuku said, pressing her hands—still holding the yōkan—to the threshold as she bowed. When Fuku withdrew, the elder sister—

“I came here today to discuss something.”

[She] pushed aside the tea bowl beside her knees and moved closer to the brazier. Prompted by this, Kikuko edged her knees forward. "I thought we should invite someone to look after Father." "What about you, Kikuko?" her elder sister probed, though without seeming to expect an answer, and immediately continued. "The other day, when Seinosuke came, I tried bringing it up." "After all, that would suit Father best."

The elder sister’s tone carried a pretense of consulting Kikuko while simultaneously exuding an obstinate determination to impose her own views. In this sister who had always been simply kind-hearted and no different from any ordinary woman, Kikuko sensed something faintly uncharacteristic today, leaving her momentarily disconcerted. “Did Brother consent to this too?” Kikuko did not believe her brother Seinosuke had earnestly approved of the matter. But before she could question it, she recalled her brother’s rigid, conflicted expression when he had first faced this issue—and suddenly realizing she now wore that same expression herself, as though they had both donned identical masks—she found their mirrored absurdity faintly ludicrous, her cheeks prickling with discomfort.

“Whether one agrees or not, there’s no better way to restore Father’s good humor than that.” Elder Sister’s tone became insistent. To this, a strange defiance welled up inside Kikuko. “But that isn’t just your own decision—” “No, that’s simply how it is.” “You’ll come to understand in time.” Under her elder sister’s resolutely forceful manner of speaking, Kikuko found herself momentarily overwhelmed. She felt vexed by her own continued silence but, knowing she couldn’t win against someone older through words alone, secretly stuck out her tongue—a petty act of rebellion that brought her childish satisfaction.

The elder sister spoke about Okie-san from Niigata. “Okie-san is Father’s favorite after all—” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Kikuko flushed slightly. She continued while glancing toward the window. “Father has such a difficult temperament that even if we try to find someone ourselves, it’s quite impossible to find a suitable person.” “Since Okie-san has long been acquainted with our family and thoroughly understands Father’s disposition, I think there could be no better arrangement for everyone.” The elder sister quietly spoke words to this effect. Her words were restrained, yet one could sense a fervor arising solely from a child’s concern for her aging father. Kikuko was moved. But after a moment, she realized it was only her own face that had been moved.

The elder sister’s reasoning made sense. She wasn’t entirely unable to understand Father’s feelings either. But for some reason she felt she couldn’t bring herself to accept it wholeheartedly. Father had wanted to bring Okie-san into the house from the very start. The elder sister—who had grasped Father’s intentions—would soon come to persuade them. Such expectations had solidified within Kikuko since her mother’s death. In her imagination Father was always sullen and indecisive sulking with an air of displeasure.

“I’ve got this temperament of mine—can’t seem to get along proper with youngsters,” he said. “Seems an old man’s heart ain’t made to sit right with the young,” he added.

Having grasped Father’s unspoken intentions, Elder Sister suggested inviting Okie-san into the household.

“That’s impossible,” Father said, exaggerating a displeased expression as he restlessly gazed off into the distance. His demeanor seemed to say, “If you’re so concerned about me, why don’t you try to settle things with your own words?” —and he appeared to be observing his elder sister as if to add, “Well?” For Kikuko, who had long been conditioned to such imaginings, this was no longer mere conjecture. She felt strongly that her elder sister’s visit had been compelled by Father’s displeased demeanor. And feeling as though she were being persuaded by Father—who spoke through her elder sister’s voice—she simply couldn’t bring herself to nod in agreement.

“Father is getting on in years, and he wants someone quiet to talk to.”

Perhaps from speaking with such intensity, Elder Sister began to look tired. Watching this, her earlier forceful remarks now felt increasingly artificial, and Kikuko couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pity for her sister. And so, “If it’s a conversation partner you’re after, there’s Iio-san.” “Though she is a bit lively.”

She said with a smile, “If it’s Iio-san, Father would be pitiable.” The elder sister laughed in response.

Fuku brought in a sushi platter.

“I’ll speak to Father about it myself in due time.”

Elder Sister finished eating the sushi and, while keeping an eye on the clock, returned home after saying this.

Two

Before long, Iio-san returned, saying she had met the Mistress of Azabu on the main street there. After placing the cut flowers she held before the Buddhist altar and sitting before it for a long time with her hands pressed together in prayer, she settled down beside the brazier with a neat expression that seemed to say her duty was now done. "Did the Mistress of Azabu come by on some errand? She returned remarkably early." Iio-san drank the tea Kikuko had brewed with an air of modest reception while saying this. Kikuko remained silent, thinking There goes her nosiness again. Then Iio-san began cleaning her pipe’s bowl with fire tongs as if distracted by the clogged tobacco, casually shifting the conversation: "Today there happened to be fine bellflowers at the florist’s—since Mother was fond of them, I promptly offered them at her grave."

“Well, Mother must be pleased.”

As she spoke, Kikuko suddenly felt it might be acceptable to tell Iio-san about her elder sister’s earlier proposal. This was because she sensed in Iio-san an emotional closeness akin to what she had felt toward her mother. Now that her mother had come up in conversation, Kikuko had noticed this unexpectedly. A childish urge to tattle to Iio-san about what she had heard from her sister was stirring within her heart. “Hurry, hurry,” it pressed. Since it was a matter that would inevitably come to light anyway—she thought—,

“Oh, right—I was meaning to tell you, Iio-san, but…”

When she began to speak, Iio-san—who had been bending over the brazier to light her cigarette—looked up at Kikuko with a somewhat tense expression, squinting her eyes slightly. That gaze had been Mother’s mannerism. For some reason, since Mother’s passing, traits resembling her had begun to emerge in Iio-san. Not only her posture and demeanor, but even her hair—which she had previously pulled back into a small, tight bun at the nape—was now styled with a forelock and loop-shaped chignon in Mother’s elegant manner. Moreover, the way she modestly rested her hands—adorned with a small black diamond ring that was Mother’s memento—on her lap and listened with her head slightly bowed was exactly like Mother.

“Iio-san, you’re dolled up like a fool—don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for the old man?” One day, when Brother had spotted Iio-san—her face oddly pale despite the cream she’d applied—serving Father his late supper after her bath, he caught Kikuko bringing soup through the back corridor and laughed in amusement. Until then, Kikuko had gone about her days without giving it much thought, but the moment her brother uttered those words, she felt an inexplicable revulsion toward Iio-san. “No way,” she denied to Brother, but the aftertaste remained unpleasant. From then on, she became strangely preoccupied with Iio-san. And now too, seeing Iio-san’s gaze that carried Mother’s mannerism, Kikuko felt a disagreeable sensation. Speaking grew increasingly burdensome. Moreover, broaching the subject would only lead to hearing more criticism of Okie-san. Since Mother’s passing, any mention of Okie-san made Iio-san grow all the more vehement.

At such times, Iio-san’s expression would grow hysterically tense, and the way she droned on in an oddly parched voice made one sense how deep her obsession ran. It was not born from any simple sense of duty—like disparaging Father’s mistress out of loyalty to her deceased mother—but rather felt as though something profoundly personal festered beneath. Suddenly picturing Iio-san—her face lightly powdered and posture carefully composed as she served Father his meal—Kikuko felt heat rise within her own body as if it were her own shame. All that came was a repulsion so intense she wanted to cover her eyes. Yet whenever she looked at Iio-san before her, she found herself absurdly fixated on this old woman—imagining how coquettish that face might appear, her curiosity unwittingly inflamed by such fancies. With her thoughts thus diverted, Kikuko found speaking even more burdensome. And with a flustered air—as though suddenly remembering an errand—she abruptly rose from her seat.

“Um, Elder Sister said she’d like you to handle that fabric matter we discussed the other day, Iio-san.” “Oh, if it’s about that matter, I already looked into it earlier on the street.” Iio-san’s face took on a slightly deflated look. To Kikuko, who was exiting the tearoom while scratching her cheek with a pipe,

"If it's preparations for Master's journey, may I assist you?" she asked. And so, remembering Father's trip to Niigata tomorrow morning, Kikuko paused mid-step as she was about to head to the annex. And then, "As it's the usual routine, I can manage alone."

After calling out from the hallway, she entered her father’s study and took down the suitcase from the built-in closet. To inspect the ironworks factory in Niigata, Father would make such trips two or three times a month. Even calling it a journey required no real preparations; it sufficed to simply set aside two or three extra towels and handkerchiefs for use on the train. That had been the custom since Mother’s time. “If you don’t bring a change of clothes for such a long trip, won’t you be inconvenienced?”

Kikuko had once asked her mother, who was preparing Father’s travel items as usual. “Far from being inconvenienced, everything from Father’s undergarments to his tabi socks has been fully prepared at his lodgings in Niigata.”

Having said this, Mother looked up from the suitcase and cast a casual glance toward the garden, but whether imagined or not, a sardonic glint seemed to linger in her narrowed eyes. "It’s just like a home." "In that case, Father can take his time." When Kikuko innocently responded to Mother’s words, she noticed Mother’s previously relaxed face suddenly tense with irritation, and her hands resting on her lap grew oddly restless. Then, when Mother noticed Fuku passing through the corridor on some errand, she sharply raised her face and called her to a halt. Pointing at the undone clasps that revealed a glimpse of red skin on her heels, she reprimanded shrilly, "What is the meaning of this way of wearing your tabi?"

Fuku hurriedly knelt in the corridor, fastened the clasps of her tabi socks, and pressed her hands to the floor in a deep bow. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said. Having always known Mother’s quiet nature, Kikuko was startled by this abrupt display of severity. Yet after a moment, an odd fascination stirred within her, and she began stealing furtive glances at Mother’s face.

It was only much later, when Elder Sister told me about Okie-san, that Mother’s nerves had first struck painfully at my chest—that Mother’s anguish felt implanted directly into this very flesh—and rather than hating Okie-san, it was my own thoughtless, inexplicably careless remark that filled me with bitter, stomach-churning resentment.

The first time Kikuko caught sight of Okie-san was around her fourth year of girls' school—during spring break, if she recalled correctly—when she saw Father off as he departed for Niigata that morning, went to a nearby florist to order flower arrangements, and upon returning home encountered Mother at the gate, dressed for an outing and clutching a bundle wrapped in purple furoshiki cloth. Busily placing one foot on the waiting automobile, Mother seemed to reconsider and called out to Kikuko. “Father has forgotten something important.” “Since you’re faster, please handle this.”

Mother thrust the furoshiki-wrapped bundle at Kikuko, then stressed to the driver, “The train is the nine o’clock express, so please hurry.” Despite being self-conscious about still wearing her everyday clothes, she got into the car regardless, and when she looked back through the rear window, she saw Mother’s retreating figure entering the gate. It seemed she had tied her obi in a great hurry, the small drum-shaped bow sitting askew. When she arrived at the station and rushed to the platform, she immediately spotted Father in the rear second-class car. After calling out, “Father, you forgot something,” she startled and involuntarily held her breath. Because she had noticed a woman with an unfamiliar bobbed hairstyle sitting beside Father. In that instant, Kikuko realized it was Okie-san—the woman her sister had told her about.

Father turned around, “You didn’t have to go out of your way to bring it. Having it sent would’ve sufficed,” he said. Father’s eyes did not look at Kikuko’s face; they seemed fixed somewhere around her shoulders. There was still a minute or two before the train would depart. Kikuko was perplexed as to whether she should leave the place immediately. Wouldn’t leaving this place as soon as possible be what would spare Father’s feelings? As she vaguely sensed this and began to move her feet, Father—who had been reading with the newspaper spread wide across his chest—turned only his face toward her,

“You may return now,” he said. At these words, Kikuko’s heart unexpectedly rebelled. As if I’d go back! And then, standing close to the train window, she began to gaze at Okie-san. Okie-san had her back turned toward her. The smooth nape of her neck—framed by a violet half-collar in the pulled-back collar style—lay directly before Kikuko’s eyes. The back of Okie-san’s haori coat—worn over tea-striped omeshi silk—appeared elegant with its indigo-shaded embroidery on black fine-patterned brocade, but when Kikuko suddenly recognized that crest as the family’s hemp leaf wheel, her face paled from surging humiliation. She felt an impulse to reach out and tear away that crest. Amidst such intensity, Kikuko found Father’s calm profile—absorbed in his newspaper—somehow shameless, and seeing him seated beside Okie-san with their shared family crest fanned an uncanny jealousy within her.

When the train began moving, Okie-san made a show of straightening her posture and glanced fleetingly at Kikuko. When their eyes met, Okie-san pressed a handkerchief to one cheek as if flustered and looked downward, but since the gesture somehow resembled a bow, Kikuko inclined her head slightly in return. In the car during the return trip, Kikuko found herself dwelling aimlessly on thoughts of Okie-san. The hemp leaf wheel crest kept flickering before her eyes, an insistent nuisance. Suddenly imagining what Mother would have thought upon seeing it sent a tremor of dread through her chest. How fortunate it wasn’t Mother—this relief washed over her, then all at once her strength drained away and she slumped limply.

III According to Elder Sister’s account, Okie-san was a quintessential Niigata beauty who had been taken out of the geisha quarters by Father when she was still working in the old district. After establishing a house in the quiet Futaba-cho neighborhood near the coast, she began teaching nagauta traditional ballads to daughters under the guise of keeping them occupied—though it was ultimately just a way to stave off boredom, so she never seriously took on disciples and seemed to freely cancel lessons whenever Father was present. When Father had been bedridden for an extended period at his mistress’s residence in Niigata due to a stomach ulcer, Elder Sister went there in Mother’s stead—ostensibly because Mother was immobilized by rheumatism—and stayed for over ten days. It seemed Elder Sister and Okie-san’s relationship began to thaw after that. When Okie-san accompanied Father to Tokyo, it became customary for her to visit Elder Sister’s house with various gifts, and Elder Sister, for her part, seemed to be discreetly looking after Okie-san in all sorts of ways while keeping it hidden from Mother. However, Elder Sister’s consideration had been compelled more by obligation to Father than by any genuine regard for Okie-san. For Father, whose relationship with Mother had grown distant, Elder Sister—with her gentle disposition, having grown up as a devoted “daddy’s girl”—was his most trusted confidant above all others, and she knew this well. And it seemed that her resolve not to let Father’s trust fall to the ground had come to function as this “duty” toward Okie-san.

One day, when Kikuko stopped by Elder Sister’s house on her way back from school, Elder Sister—who was preparing to go out—appeared somewhat uncomfortable and tentatively invited her: “I’m going to Kabuki now—I’ll manage to arrange seats somehow, so why don’t you come too?” Yet the unnatural invitation struck Kikuko as oddly rejecting her, so she declined, saying it would be too much trouble to go home and change. “Well, let’s make it another time then.” “And besides, I’m accompanying Okie-san today, you see,” Elder Sister said hesitantly, as if making an excuse. And when Kikuko began to leave, Elder Sister clung after her to emphasize, “Keep this a secret from Mother.” Elder Sister would tell Kikuko everything about Okie-san without reservation, but afterward would routinely add, “Keep this a secret from Mother.” This remark could be interpreted either as stemming from Elder Sister’s simple, kind-hearted consideration for Mother or as words of caution born of her habitual fidelity to Father—a fear that the matter might reach Mother’s ears. Every time she was told this, Kikuko had doubted her elder sister’s ambiguous state of mind. And before she knew it, she realized that she, too, was constantly gauging Father and Mother’s moods with an ambiguous, wavering heart. Suddenly, she wondered if this hadn’t been a long-standing habit since she first became aware of the world around her. We siblings, raised in the dark, cold air saturated with Father and Mother’s discord, shared this constant gauging of our parents—hadn’t it become ingrained into our very temperaments by now? As she dwelled on this, the bond between them as parent and child began to seem like something inescapably fated, and she was assaulted by a dark mood.

The discord between Father and Mother seemed to stem primarily from their close blood relation as cousins. That discord had continued to smolder sullenly under the old custom of “for the sake of the household.” Where Mother was present, Father would fall silent. Before Father, Mother did not speak much. It had become customary for Kikuko to take care of Father’s personal needs in her stead. While Father was home, it had become customary for Mother to retire early under the pretext of her rheumatism, but once she had withdrawn, an oddly relaxed mood would settle over the tearoom, and they would engage in lively conversation for a time. Father, who had been writing in the living room, occasionally made a face that seemed to want tea,

“It’s damn lively in here,” he would say as he entered. On rare occasions, he would nibble on rakugan sweets while letting out a laugh at Brother’s foolish stories, but seeing Father so untroubled in those moments made his usual difficult, solitary demeanor feel achingly poignant—and within that shadow, Mother’s averted eyes seemed to take on a spiteful chill. One night when the tearoom conversation flowed like this, Kikuko—who had started toward the kitchen to fetch fruit or something—noticed Mother standing in the corridor of the detached wing. When she tried to call out to her, Mother flusteredly gestured as if to stop her with a hand and slipped into the kitchen. Mother’s figure remained indistinct in the corridor’s dim light, but there was a sense she leaned forward, peering toward them.

That night, late, Kikuko entered the detached bedroom. Worried about Mother’s body, which had grown noticeably weaker, Kikuko rested beside her and would wake multiple times during the night to check on her.

Mother, who seemed to have grown tired of sleeping, sat up on the futon and rubbed her legs. “When it’s this cold, the need to relieve oneself becomes so frequent.” Mother said as if to herself. Kikuko, who had moved to the foot of the futon and was checking the hot-water bottle, responded with a “Huh?”

“Oh, no—given how things are going, Mother won’t last much longer either.”

Mother said this in a lifeless voice and then lay down wearily, borrowing Kikuko’s hand for support. Often, Mother would say such things when she felt slighted. That sounded so much like Mother herself being forced upon her that Kikuko had grown accustomed to adopting a strangely spiteful mood and letting the words wash over her. Even now, if Kikuko remained silent, Mother would do something like smoothing her wrinkled face with her hand repeatedly, as if pondering something,

“When I’m gone, the people of this house will finally be able to make as much noise as they please, you know.” “Truly… I’m sorry for having made you endure such stifling feelings all this time.” she said to no one in particular. Because her voice had taken on an odd moistness, when Kikuko quietly glanced at her face, a veiny hand was covering the area around her eyes. “What should I say?” Kikuko hesitated slightly. And then, “That’s just your overthinking,” she blurted out in an attempt to comfort her—but immediately realized this wouldn’t do. What Mother was waiting for was a different response. Once she realized this, speaking grew burdensome. As usual, when she sat by Mother’s pillow and gently combed her hair, before long Mother let her hand fall from her face and began breathing quietly in sleep. As she gazed at the white, glistening teardrops pooled in the hollows of Mother’s eyes*, an indescribable sadness welled up within her. She seemed to want to cry. But within that emotion was mingled something dry and desiccated, and this prevented Kikuko’s heart from weeping. And while staring intently at her mother’s white, glistening tears, she found herself envying them.

Mother, who knew of the bond between Father and Elder Sister, could not have failed to notice Elder Sister’s dealings with Okie-san. Elder Sister was hiding something. That dissatisfaction was naturally vented to Iio-san. After Elder Sister returned, Mother and Iio-san were often seen huddled close across the brazier, whispering to each other. Even Mother, who was usually quiet, seemed to grow particularly irritated when it came to Okie-san; one could tell her voice took on a harsh edge. On Iio-san’s plausible expression as she listened, a gentle smile—as though pitying Mother and bestowing a kindness upon her—played softly.

“She’s just that upstart woman, isn’t she? Don’t trouble yourself with her,” she said, waving one hand in a gesture that seemed to brush aside Mother’s concerns. Mother’s agitation gradually subsided. In a sense, Mother and Iio-san were like a strange sort of married couple, with Iio-san tenderly attending to Mother’s abundant sorrows. This relationship between the two had continued for nearly twenty years. Iio-san was from Fukushima, Mother’s hometown. After being widowed, she had remained alone, but when her parents passed away and she was left with no relatives, Father had taken her in out of pity, or so it was said. Now, everything concerning the storehouse and kitchen had been left entirely to Iio-san, and when she was away, there were times when finding things became slightly troublesome.

On nights when Father was away in Niigata, Mother would settle into the tearoom with a face as if she had forgotten her usual bedtime. Beside her, Iio-san began recounting stories from Mother’s childhood: “Back then, Ono-bu-san also used to let her bangs hang down and tie them up in a little ring like this,” she demonstrated by forming a ring with her thumbs and index fingers and placing it atop her head like a pair of glasses. “Oh, Iio-san,” Mother said with an embarrassed gesture, nudging her as if in playful reproach. Then, for a while, with Iio-san’s gestures and mannerisms bringing up talk of childhood friends and such, Mother would grow buoyant as if she had returned to those days. As she watched the two of them, it began to seem as though Father had assigned Iio-san to comfort Mother’s loneliness, and she even began to feel that this might be Father’s characteristic way of caring for Mother. And after Mother’s passing, whenever she caught sight of Iio-san sitting idly by the brazier as if at a loss for something to do, she felt that impression all the more strongly.

Four After Mother’s first death anniversary had passed and some time had gone by, Elder Sister departed for Niigata to bring Okie-san home. Though Elder Sister had already discussed preparations for the private celebration with Kikuko repeatedly beforehand, on the day before her departure she summoned her to the phone once more and emphasized that since Okie-san was ostensibly being welcomed solely as someone to care for Father, they should keep the arrangements strictly within the family. It wasn’t that they were formally registering her; rather, Okie-san was apparently being welcomed into the household with the same status she’d always held—as Father’s mistress. Because this seemed to bring an indecently presumptuous atmosphere that she found unpleasant, when she proposed to Elder Sister that they might as well welcome her as a mother instead—

“That’s absurd.” “Okie-san suits the role of a mistress, so that’s just fine.”

She laughed and refused to engage. "If we were to welcome someone as a mother, there are far more suitable candidates out there"—Elder Sister’s laughter seemed to implicitly convey this. Though there was the matter of social appearances, Kikuko felt she now faintly understood Father’s reluctance to formally register Okie-san, and Okie-san’s position began to strike her as pitiable—but when she suddenly noticed herself looking down upon these feelings with self-righteous detachment, she was overcome by a slightly unpleasant mood.

On the night Okie-san arrived, they ordered dishes from their regular caterer and kept the welcoming dinner a private family affair. There had been talk of inviting even close relatives to serve as a kind of announcement at the gathering, but Father vehemently refused such extravagance, raising his voice more than usual. Afterward, he would rise from his seat with apparent discomfort, but later—whenever they glimpsed Father squatting by the sunlit edge of the living room, carelessly teasing the caged canary with his index finger—the Elder Sister and Kikuko in the tearoom would inadvertently exchange wry smiles.

Since welcoming Okie-san, Father’s difficult temperament appeared to have altered in nature. The irritability that had flared up and grated on him vanished as if sucked away into nothingness, leaving only the habitual vertical wrinkles between his eyebrows. At times, these vertical wrinkles would part of their own accord, and a bright smile would waver around his cheeks, which had gained a noticeable luster. Whenever Kikuko caught sight of Father like this, a single thought would always surface within her: If I keep watching Father looking so content like this, from there the lonely figure of my deceased mother ought to come pressing in, and hatred toward Father must well up in my chest now. Yet no matter how long she waited, even when she finally managed to recall her mother’s figure, no poignant emotion accompanied it; not only did no hatred toward her father well up within her, but strangely, from his softened, bright face she instead felt an inexplicably relieved and serene mood. When I realized it, this relieved feeling had persisted ever since Mother’s death. It was a feeling as though her nerves had unwound.

The two-room detached quarters that Mother had been using until now were designated as Okie-san’s living space. “Sutou has devoted herself entirely to the arts until now, so she’s likely unskilled in domestic affairs.” There had been a time when Kikuko overheard Father muttering to himself like this—after finishing his morning bath and stepping out onto the veranda, he leaned against the detached quarters’ railing and watched Okie-san tossing fu to the carp in the pond. Father always called Okie-san Sutou. These muttered words, intended for Kikuko to hear, seemed both to defend Okie-san’s undomestic nature and to tacitly insist that her position be naturally accepted—no, rather, that you all should accept her—a nuance that Kikuko discerned.

After seeing Father off in the morning, Okie-san would spend a long time attending to her appearance before sitting vacantly by the long brazier in the detached quarters during her idle hours until his evening return, gazing at the garden. Occasionally, Elder Sister would invite Okie-san out shopping. On such occasions, she invariably layered a black haori with a subdued striped-pattern and embroidered crest over her kimono. She wore her collar loosely arranged and pulled her front hair back more tightly than before, making her appear far older than her thirty-eight years.

“From any angle, she looks every bit the proper lady of a good family.” While watching Okie-san’s retreating figure through the gate, Iio-san offered this barbed remark. When Kikuko continued ignoring her, “No matter how she tries to play the part of a respectable wife, her origins remain what they are.” she pressed on in a hushed whisper, leaning closer. Her demeanor suggested someone ceaselessly gnawed at by some inner demon yet physically paralyzed from acting—a frustration that hung about her like unspent static. Unable to endure it further, Kikuko—

“If Father hears such a thing, it’ll be trouble.” When she admonished her, the other woman immediately fell silent resentfully and, after a while, “If only Mother were here…” she would say such things in a tearful voice. Because she found it unpleasant to witness this, whenever Iio-san began badmouthing Okie-san, Kikuko resolved to always feign ignorance while listening. If she went out, Okie-san grew accustomed to bringing Kikuko a souvenir when she returned. They were things like chocolates in beautiful boxes adorned with ribbons, vermilion-lacquered hand mirrors, and small makie-decorated ring cases.

“To think she’d give me such childish trinkets...” In the shadows, Kikuko would often put on a mocking smile of derision, but this was solely for Iio-san’s sake—who appeared to covet such things—while in truth, Okie-san’s considerate gestures had begun to strike her as somehow pitiable, so that she would occasionally pick up the hand mirror at her vanity and, without realizing it, find herself gazing at her own face reflected there, a faint smile blooming on her lips.

One day, Okie-san, having returned from shopping as usual, hesitantly peeked into Kikuko’s room, “Um, do you have a moment?” she called out. The way she slowly drew out the “no” sounded somewhat coquettish. Kikuko, who had been knitting by the window, started to stand up with a “Please, come in,” then hurriedly knitted the final two stitches. The white yarn ball that had rolled from her slanted knee stopped Okie-san’s bare foot as she entered. The glossy skin—which appeared to have been adorned with foot makeup—combined with the delicate curve of her big toe was ineffably beautiful. Seeing that she did not wear tabi socks even indoors during winter made it clear Okie-san was fully aware of her feet’s beauty and took pride in their exposure to others’ eyes. Kikuko glanced at Okie-san’s bare feet and found herself thinking such thoughts.

Okie-san knelt to pick up the yarn ball and sat at the edge of the veranda in the lower seat, smiling faintly as she said, "You're working so diligently." Even before Elder Sister and Brother, Okie-san always chose the inferior seating position. "There's something I'd like you to look at," she continued.

Having said this, she began to untie the bundle she had set down. They seemed to be fabric bolts she had ordered from her regular department store. “Um, might this pattern be to your liking?”

On a deep purple ground, brocaded silk gauze scattered with maple leaves—she smoothly unfurled it and draped it over her knees.

“I’ve been trying for some time now, but I couldn’t find any good patterns.” “Um, this is merely a small token of gratitude for the kindness you’ve always shown me, so please.” Even saying just that much made her cheeks flush crimson. Whether out of timidity or not, she blinked her well-defined eyelids rapidly while looking up at Kikuko. Then, hesitatingly adding, “And also…” she took out two bolts of fabric from the bundle.

“I want to make this into my everyday clothes, but I thought I would have you decide which would be better.” One had a persimmon-dyed brown base with small crimson accents, and the other was black and mouse-gray with fine horizontal stripes. Since both patterns were too plain and unappealing, when she suggested choosing a more vibrant one instead, “Um, I already think this is rather flashy. From now on, I must make my attire as modest as possible.”

Okie-san bowed her head and, with her slender hands, slowly stroked her knee. She looked as though she were reciting those words to herself. Awkward yet earnest in her attempts to cling to their side—that very desperation had grown pitiable. She was doing her utmost, given who she was. Why couldn’t I accept this wholeheartedly? Okie-san remained bowed, still stroking her knee. As she watched this, an unexpected surge of excitement welled up in her chest. Was this affection toward Okie-san? Or something that dammed up affection? Why did Mother’s face keep flickering through my mind? Such was the nature of Kikuko’s conflicted thoughts—wavering this way and that.

V Father, who had previously been reluctant to go out at night and rarely did so, had recently started frequently attending vaudeville theaters with Okie-san. Occasionally, Iio-san was also invited. At such times, Iio-san—so overjoyed that she lost her usual restraint—would begin making jokes in an oddly buoyant tone to Kikuko and the maids. And even as she walked alongside Okie-san behind Father, she would chatter to herself—*The kimono patterns are too subdued; she ought to choose something more vibrant*, or *Since the color is pale white, a violet-toned half-collar would suit her better*—marveling at her own remarks all the while. Though Iio-san’s persistent pestering could be irritating, Okie-san had developed an odd fixation on inviting her whenever vaudeville was mentioned, pleading with Father through meaningful glances: “Surely it’s all right to ask her along?” Such incidents became the catalyst for a gradual thawing, and whenever shopping was mentioned, Okie-san and Iio-san increasingly went out together.

“Okie-san, being someone who’s truly known hardship, pays such close attention to every little detail.” “She said, ‘You must be struggling with pocket money,’ and gave me all this.”

One night near the end of the month, Kikuko—who had been entrusted with the household accounts by her father—was examining the ledger when Iio-san entered restlessly. Then she showed the banknotes she had tucked into her obi, made a brief prayer-like gesture, and—after carefully folding them into quarters—slipped them into her clasp purse. When Mother was alive, it seemed she would give Iio-san a portion of her monthly allowance; however, since Iio-san had originally possessed a considerable sum when she closed her household, Mother would say that simply providing her with meals without hardship was more than sufficient. Therefore, since Kikuko had taken over managing the household, she had never given Iio-san anything resembling an allowance. This was not only because she was adhering to her mother’s words, but also because Kikuko knew that Iio-san had a habit of skimming small change from shopping errands—so she spitefully assumed Iio-san hardly lacked daily spending money—and above all, because she detested the pettiness of Iio-san, who never touched her savings yet perpetually peered into others’ wallets with covetous eyes.

In Kikuko’s household, for the past five or six years, it had become customary that on New Year’s Day, her elder sister and her husband, her brother, and Kikuko herself would be summoned to their father’s sitting room, where he would inform them of matters resembling a will regarding the distribution of his assets. This was likely Father’s preparation for contingencies, made out of awareness of his own advancing age. Over the past year or two, Father’s ironworks had been performing well due to the wartime boom, so the amounts distributed to the children had gradually increased. Father had long hinted to Elder Sister that he wanted to leave thirty thousand yen to whoever would care for him, but this year, along with the children, Okie-san too was summoned and heard this directly from Father for the first time. How this information had reached Iio-san’s ears was unclear, but she began approaching Elder Sister and Kikuko with remarks like “Okie-san is such a fortunate woman” in a probing manner. Even under normal circumstances, this New Year’s moment likely marked the peak of tension for Iio-san throughout the entire year. She seemed somehow unable to settle, purposefully shuttling between the tea room and kitchen while straining to catch any sounds from the sitting room. And with eyes filled with unspoken questions, she kept darting glances at Elder Sister and Kikuko as they emerged from Father’s sitting room. From Iio-san’s perspective, it was only natural that she should expect some form of acknowledgment for herself—she who was practically a family member by now—and thus her eager anticipation was hardly unreasonable. As Iio-san aged and her loneliness from having no relatives grew more pressing, her attachment to money deepened—a sentiment Kikuko could not claim not to understand. Yet she found herself helplessly unable to muster any sympathy for it. And so, even now, faced with Iio-san—who had come to show her that she had received spending money from Okie-san—Kikuko could not simply rejoice with a pure heart; even that showy gesture began to seem like a kind of demonstration against herself.

“Even though you must understand Okie-san’s true feelings, Kikuko-chan, you show far too little effort.” Some time ago, Elder Sister had spoken to Kikuko in this reproachful manner. It seemed Okie-san had overheard Kikuko repeatedly disparaging the gifts she had given her—calling them “childish trifles” or “provincial-looking patterns”—and had tearfully explained to Elder Sister that she had done it all solely hoping to please Kikuko, never realizing how deeply hurt she had been. Kikuko knew it had leaked from Iio-san but remained silent, seeing no need to explain herself to her sister. Lately, when Okie-san went out, she no longer brought back souvenirs as before, and Kikuko felt a pang of loneliness imagining her state of mind.

Thus, as Iio-san drew closer to Okie-san, Okie-san seemed to gradually drift away from Kikuko. From this sensation, she would imagine the two of them whispering in places beyond her sight, and then catch herself watching them with an oddly irritated, surveilling gaze.

One day, when Kikuko returned from outside, Iio-san—who normally sat rooted in the tea room—was nowhere to be seen. When she asked Fuku, she was told they were in the storehouse. Going to investigate, she found Okie-san and Iio-san together tidying items inside a long chest. There was no need to deliberately do this while I’m away, she thought. As she made a slightly sour face, Okie-san looked apologetic. “I merely wished to humbly store a few of my belongings,” she implored with a deferential nod. Though the storehouse key had been left in Iio-san’s care, family members had always accompanied anyone entering for any purpose since Mother’s time. Yet here was Iio-san using the key freely. She’s grown presumptuous—it’s intolerable. From Iio-san’s perspective, of course, accompanying a household member like Okie-san required no special consideration—there she was, tending to the luggage with her usual efficient expression.

That night, Kikuko was summoned to her father’s sitting room.

“Kikuko will soon be of marriageable age and will likely be busy with various preparations from now on. How about entrusting household matters to Sutou?” “No—it’s problematic for Sutou to remain as she is indefinitely. She must gradually learn household matters.”

The words were unexpected. As Kikuko floundered, remaining silent without a response, Father added—as if just remembering—“I’ve been considering this for some time now…” That sounded as if it were somehow excusing his previous words.

“As you say, Father, that would be perfectly fine.” After a moment, Kikuko spoke these words, yet found herself vaguely pondering why her father’s figure before her eyes felt so coldly distant. When Father, Okie-san, and Iio-san began merging into a single remote mass in her perception, Kikuko’s heart turned increasingly toward her brother. In all this world, only my brother feels truly near me. How heartbreaking to realize I’m straining to believe this—to see myself clinging to him. Perhaps he stands even further from me than Father does. At times, this sorrow claws at my chest.

One dusk, when Kikuko went up to the second-floor room, her brother was reclining in a dimly lit rattan chair by the unlit window. “Brother!” she called out, but he merely answered “Yeah” lazily without turning around. When she approached the window and peered in, his eyes seemed fixedly focused on something in the distance. When she followed his gaze, it fell upon the window of the detached room beyond the garden. From that window, Okie-san—appearing fresh from the bath—could be seen undoing her garments before the dressing table. Her brother’s eyes were apparently fixated on that scene. Under the bright electric light, Okie-san’s abundant white skin appeared radiantly vivid. Perhaps having finished her makeup, she raised her hand high to comb her hair. As her hands moved, her full breasts seemed to provoke a raw, freshly exposed sensation.

“Sutou-san is beautiful.” Brother muttered. The words seemed to have slipped out unintentionally. “Oh, Brother, you’ve always been gazing in admiration from here,” she said, unable to resist a sarcastic edge. “What a fool you are.”

Her brother abruptly rose to his feet and turned on the light. Her brother’s face—flustered yet etched with vertical wrinkles of a difficult temperament between his brows—suddenly reminded Kikuko of her father from some time ago. When Kikuko, who had gotten up to use the restroom late at night, finished her business and was about to return to her room, she encountered Okie-san—who had also risen to use the restroom—in the corridor of the detached building. Okie-san’s figure—clad in a yuzen-patterned underkimono dyed with large peonies on a scarlet deerskin ground and fastened with a single silk sash—appeared alluring, strikingly different from her daytime self. Her disheveled hair from sleep tangled around her white nape, and for some reason, her face looked slightly swollen. Gathering her hem in a fluster, she entered the restroom with a slight bow toward Kikuko. Her eyes were strangely drawn to Okie-san’s vibrant colors, following them until she stopped at the restroom door. From there, as if peering into the detached room, she held her breath for a moment. It seemed she could faintly hear her father’s sleeping breath escaping. But perhaps that was just the sound of her own ragged breathing.

Urged by the chill in her soles, Kikuko entered her room. Suddenly, I realized Father and Okie-san were resting in the very room I had slept in until recently—I became strangely fixated on this and simply couldn’t sleep. Imaginings emerged one after another from the depths of my head, dull as lead. And though I found myself detestable for surrendering to these rampaging visions, I remained utterly unable to escape them.

The next morning, I felt strangely like avoiding Father. And yet, I also felt like staring at him brazenly without restraint. As she was preparing for Father’s outing as usual, he came in after finishing his morning bath and asked, “The newspaper?” Her tongue stiffened，leaving her momentarily unable to speak，and she remained silent，staring at Father.

“What is it?” Father deepened the vertical wrinkles between his brows into his usual difficult expression. Today she sensed none of Father’s usual severity in those vertical wrinkles; instead, she thought she detected something lecherous stirring beneath them. Father left the spot with displeasure, but Kikuko suddenly became aware of her own narrowed eyes watching him and felt a wave of disgust. Because she thought she had seen her mother within herself. And she began to think this mother had been living inside her since time immemorial. Then she began to feel that perhaps Father had noticed the mother within her before she herself had.

Because there was to be a small banquet doubling as Father’s birthday celebration and Okie-san’s formal introduction, Elder Sister began busily coming and going from the house again. This time, she worried they could not afford to make it too shabby. She would call a caterer and discuss the menu. Entrusted with shopping, Iio-san went out. Since Okie-san began handling household affairs, Iio-san had assumed the role of advisor in all matters. A vigorous, almost joyful energy brimmed ceaselessly in Iio-san’s expression.

When Kikuko, who had been asked to tidy up the tatami room, entered the storehouse with Fuku to retrieve the gold-leaf screen, Fuku tripped over the brazier and fell, perhaps unable to see her footing in the dim light. Kikuko, who had been halfway up the narrow stairs, called out, “Are you all right?” and rushed down. Fuku, who seemed to have scraped her knee, had been facing away and applying saliva to it, but at the sound of Kikuko’s voice, she suddenly pressed her sleeve to her face and began to cry. “Oh, Fuku, you’re crying like this…” Kikuko squatted down and began to help her up,

“What’s wrong? I was reminded of the deceased mistress…” Fuku hunched her shoulders and cried even harder. The tearful voice struck her heart without warning. For the first time, she found herself sorrowfully recalling the teardrops that had pooled in her mother’s sunken eye sockets. Why hadn’t she been able to cry until now? While marveling at this strangeness, she now wept without reason—simply thinking of her mother.

The day of Father’s birthday arrived. More than a dozen relatives had been invited. Father in his crested haori over hakama and Okie-san, resplendent in a kimono adorned with vibrant hem patterns, sat formally side by side. Brother briefly introduced Okie-san as the new mother. Kikuko thought, *This is strange*. When she quietly poked her elder sister sitting next to her and asked,

“Well… It seems Father wants to register Okie-san in the family registry.”

Elder Sister also wore an unhappy expression. As the sake flowed, the gathering gradually grew disorderly. Okie-san, holding a sake decanter, moved around pouring for each guest with practiced ease. Okie-san, her ears flushed—perhaps from the alcohol—looked youthfully innocent. When she came before Kikuko, “Here, have one,” said Okie-san as she picked up the cup and urged her, but after a moment’s hesitation, she set down the sake decanter and leaned her upper body over the tray toward Kikuko.

“Well, I would like you to point out my flaws without hesitation,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I will listen to anything you tell me, Kikuko-san.” Her voice trembled slightly. When she slowly raised her eyes to look at Kikuko—who thought she glimpsed tears within them—Kikuko felt an unexpected pang. “Madam! The drinks!”

From across the seats, an elderly relative called out loudly, so Okie-san bowed politely to Kikuko and stood to leave. There was something in that bow that seemed to beg for pity, to plead for affection. “Isn’t there going to be any entertainment?” Amid the commotion, a drunken someone shouted. “How about it, Father? Why don’t we have Sutou-san sing for us?”

Brother leaned toward Father beside him and spoke. Father pushed Brother back with his elbow,

“Don’t be absurd!” he rebuked in a low voice.