Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Yoshinao thought of his uncle again while descending the slope road. This was something he had thought about both when with the woman and on the train—the idea that his uncle was likely waiting angrily for his late return—but now there was an added sense that this uncle had come to his house and was sitting there. Yoshinao felt troubled.

(I went there, but since the priest was out, I decided to go again early tomorrow morning just to be sure.) The excuse I had prepared—that I went but found him out, and thus planned to go again tomorrow morning—was beginning to seem useless. He stopped walking, feeling as if the road he had come along had reached a dead end. (What should I have said?) The dark, deserted slope road supported his body. Yoshinao directed his gaze at the cliff across from him. Above the rows of dark roofs towered a building of strange shape. Above the building were three stars. It was a tower that looked like a stone lantern with a shrine placed on top. He stared at it with a look as if he had discovered something strange. It was something built by a former judge turned landowner, something he had grown accustomed to seeing over the past two or three years.

(—Strange Tower in the Valley,) A glaring blue light emanated from within the tower, writhing like serpents as it shone. The tower had one small window on each of its four sides, and Yoshinao remembered occasionally seeing light from those windows. He wondered if someone might have set up something like a searchlight on those windows tonight to play with them, but now nothing was visible anymore, and the tower’s outline had once again become faint and blurry.

(Was it my eyes playing tricks? There doesn’t seem to be any light visible tonight.)

Yoshinao remembered the time.

(Is it already ten o'clock?) He thought about the time when he had parted from the woman and returned home. The woman took the ice cups they had drunk from together, placed them on a tray, and carried them down, but when she came back up, she broke into a smile.

(It's already more than ten minutes past. In that case, it should be acceptable until eleven. Please do stay until eleven.) Since he couldn't go in the morning, he had set out for the suburban temple around two o'clock, but at the train transfer station ran into a woman and been forcibly taken away. Though he thought he absolutely had to go for his foster father's first death anniversary, he was dragged along until evening came—evening turned into ten o'clock—and that ten o'clock was now more than ten minutes past.

(I have to go back because Uncle will scold me—he must've already sent the maid once or twice by now.) Even while occupied with whatever he was doing—about five minutes must have passed—so even accounting for a thirty-minute train ride, it would already be eleven o'clock. Even if I hadn't come to wait here, he'd surely have sent the maid to tell me to come home immediately upon returning—that much was certain, he thought. Then there surfaced before him the sallow, paper-like face of an old man—one who seemed constantly scheming morning and night while never revealing his true intentions.

"I hear many were driven to tears because of that master—truly a dreadful man he was. And besides, you two aren’t truly uncle and nephew by blood." The words the wet nurse had spoken came floating back. Shinpei—a cousin of Yoshinao’s father—had come to Tokyo alone and, after wandering from place to place, began frequenting the household of a moneylender named Fujimura, eventually becoming something like the steward there. When the master died and the household ceased its business, he received a modest sum of money, married the master’s widowed niece, and established his own household.

(With Shinpei, no one could have known what he'd been doing—by now he must have fabricated plenty on his own.) (Even if he did receive something, it wasn't much—he cooked it up himself. That man had been impossible to handle straightforwardly since childhood.) He remembered the rumors his father and acquaintances had spread about his uncle when young. "In these times—you can't let your guard down even between parent and child or siblings. With mere relatives? You mustn't relax your vigilance at all."

Yoshinao fully understood the meaning of the wet nurse's words. "There's a reason the Master ended up like this—it's truly dreadful."

The foster father had gone mad and was confined in the prison room of the detached house. "I know it well—yes, the Master’s father was a madman too, and everyone says it’s the bloodline, but that’s not true at all. I raised you from infancy, and you were such a clever, steady child—it’s nothing to do with bloodline."

The Miyahara family was distantly related to the Fujimuras. Having become guardian to their household's young sole heir, Shinpei brought his own elder brother's child and arranged their marriage. However, the woman—without comprehending her circumstances—fled home and vanished, whereupon the man went mad around that same time.

“Even if there were a bloodline, one doesn’t become a madman without cause—there must be reasons for madness. To have his beloved wife brought to such a state… why, anyone would go mad! They claimed she’d been snatched by villains or drowned herself—pleaded with the police, sent out search parties—but how could such methods uncover anything? When they said a drowned woman was found at Kawaguchi or a corpse beneath Eitaibashi Bridge, everyone went to look… but she’d never do anything so foolish! I’ve always thought the police utterly ridiculous.”

Yoshinao felt as though the hand of a black, noxious thing was looming over his head. He suddenly recalled the words of his foster father, who had been mad. It was a day when the white sun hung in the garden, and small petals fluttered like butterflies, seemingly from nowhere. He held a broom and a duster in his right hand, put on his garden clogs, and headed toward the detached house. The small flying petals fluttered against his cheek.

The room of the detached house had lattice doors installed instead of shoji screens. Yoshinao stepped up onto the veranda with a solemn attitude as if standing before a deity and peered through the gap in the lattice door. There sat a man with a sallow face and sunken cheeks, his arms crossed, facing this direction. That was his foster father, Tooru. When Yoshinao saw this, he put down what he was holding beside him, sat on the veranda, and planted both hands firmly. (I shall clean now.) This had been his daily task since becoming part of this household as the adopted son. The wet nurse handled his meals and daily care. The foster father wore a maddened expression, seemingly deep in thought, and didn't so much as glance his way. Then he spoke again, slightly louder than before.

(I shall clean now.) The foster father’s eyes moved. “Who are you...”

The foster father said suspiciously, his eyes gleaming. (I am Yoshinao.) “Who is this Yoshinao?” “I am someone who has been under your care here.” “‘Your care,’ you say? How many people are being looked after here?” On his thin lower lip, which had turned purple, white saliva clung. (It is I,) “Who do you think you are?” (I am Yoshinao.) “What are you doing here, huh? What business brings you here—tell me.”

The foster father’s voice took on a sharp edge.

(I have come to clean.) (Stop lying! I know exactly what you’re doing—you came here to kill me! Shinpei put you up to this, didn’t he? You came to murder me!) Knowing he mustn’t engage, he kept silent without uttering a word. (First you killed my wife, now you’re after me too—trying to steal my fortune, you villain! You think I’d fall for your tricks? Not a chance, you bastard!)

The foster father stood up as if leaping into the air and thrust out his clenched right hand.

(Do you think I’ll let myself be killed by the likes of you? Just try coming in—I’ll kill you myself!)

It was a cold, crisp, and pleasant day that had been raining since morning. The foster father stood up and was walking around the room.

(I shall clean now.)

The foster father glanced this way, then silently walked to the right corner and stood there. Then he took out a small key from his sleeve, unlocked the padlock fastened to the lattice door, picked up the broom and dustpan left nearby, and entered inside. To ensure the patient couldn’t get out, he firmly closed the door behind him, then began dusting from the lattice door up to the lintel.

(Hey, hey,)

Hearing a voice that seemed to call him with purpose, he stopped dusting and turned around. The foster father showed his emaciated, bony right palm and beckoned.

“Come here and see. Come here and see.” Wondering what it could be, he approached. _Yes._ “I have something to tell only you. It’s a secret. You must never speak of it to anyone.” _Yes—I will never breathe a word of it._ _I must never speak of this—it’s a tremendous secret._ _Yes—_ “Come a bit closer.” It felt somehow eerie, but he had no choice but to comply—so he brought his own face closer to his foster father’s.

“Do you know where my wife is? No—you probably don’t. This is something no one knows but me. You must never speak of this—if you tell a soul, it’ll cause an uproar so great even the Superintendent-General will lose his post. Understand?”

(Yes—) "This is a grave secret—but I’ll tell only you. My wife is right here beside us. She hasn’t died or been abducted—she’s right here! In this—this valley, there’s a house called the Endless House. You lot can’t perceive it, but my eyes see it plain—a mansion sealed long ago by padres who once dwelled in Christian mansions, made never to open again and vanish from human sight! That’s where my wife is."

(Yes—) "That villain—to embezzle my family’s wealth—tried to brand me a madman by setting a wicked man upon my wife! Poor dear—while sneaking about with him behind my back, one night on her way to meet that man, she strayed into that mansion and remains trapped there! A place you may enter freely—but once inside, escape becomes impossible—)……"

In Yoshinao’s mind, alongside his foster father’s bizarre words, the scene from that time began to surface. He thought about his foster family’s assets. When combined, the land, government bonds, houses, and other assets amounted to nearly ¥100,000. (It’s not impossible Uncle has his eye on these assets.) If he were focusing on this—what would become of him?—Yoshinao wondered.

“Good evening,”

A man wearing geta who had come up from below called out. Yoshinao was startled, but recognized the voice. He looked at the face of the person he was about to pass by. It was a man wearing a billowy white cotton undergarment—the owner of the barber shop at the right corner of the slope's exit. “Ah, Mr. Barber?” “Cool evening, isn’t it? Returning from somewhere?” “Ah, I went to Nakano, you see… Out for a walk?”

“I thought I’d take a stroll around, you see,” “Well then, goodbye—”

Two

Yoshinao descended the slope road. The gate lantern of a house with a high wooden fence on the left side of the road shone. Beside the round electric cover, blue maple leaves were visible. Yoshinao had just reached that spot when he remembered his uncle again.

(He’s sent some message—even if he himself doesn’t come, he’s had the maid relay something.) Yoshinao acted as though trying to find something amidst the things looming over him. He cast his eyes toward the cliff opposite without truly looking. On the roof of the dormitory that had become part of the cliff, his tower sank low, revealing only the shrine. And then, from what appeared to be the tower’s window, a blue flickering light could be seen—just as before.

(Oh—it’s lit up again—clearly someone’s playing tricks at his window.) A small black creature fluttered before his eyes as if riding that light’s current. It was a large-winged thing that made one think it might be a black butterfly—or perhaps a bat.

*A bat, perhaps?* In the valley town of Yamanote, there were plenty of butterflies, but he found it strange that they would fly at night. The figure of the small animal entered the light of the gate lantern visible on the left side and fluttered about within it. It was indeed a large butterfly. *A butterfly indeed.* The thought of his uncle surfaced again. Even if he hadn’t come himself, he must have sent word that Yoshinao should come immediately upon returning—so if he had returned, he must go. And if he went and found the priest was out, he would say he’d come again tomorrow morning just to be safe; if he hadn’t informed them yet, he’d go to the temple early first thing; having done that, he thought he could stand his ground when meeting his uncle. He thought that unless he did so, it would be difficult to ask his uncle to cover the expenses for the day after tomorrow.

(He’d probably lend it.) Since the fixed monthly allowance he’d received since spring had become insufficient，he borrowed ten or twenty yen at a time until it totaled around a hundred and fifty or sixty yen．But the funds needed for the day after tomorrow weren’t from the household coffers，and given their longstanding arrangement，his uncle would have to accommodate this sum． (If I borrow two hundred yen—twenty or thirty would remain—so I’ll buy her a kimono．)

...Beyond the second-floor window was a small park, its covering of fresh green leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. The two of them lay sprawled out talking.

(Why don't we stay overnight somewhere?) (It's fine to go.) Since the first anniversary of the foster father's death had not yet been observed, extravagant trips and such were out of the question.

(Where would be good? Somewhere with verdant mountains, flowing rivers—and wouldn’t there be a place with the sea?) (Izusan or Atami would be nice—they have hot springs too.)

(Well then, should I go to one of them?) (Is the hospital matter acceptable with you?) (It doesn't matter—after all, I'll be able to get a two-week vacation next month.) (I see. Then it's all right to go.) (I'll go...... You—)

If it were just a day trip—leaving in the morning and returning by evening—I could manage somehow, but when it came to staying overnight, I thought some pretext would be necessary yet found myself unable to devise one. (Since the first anniversary of my foster father’s death hasn’t been observed yet, I can’t go putting on airs—though arranging to go should still be permissible.) (But if we were to do such a thing—wouldn’t that be improper? Shouldn’t we wait until after the first anniversary? I don’t particularly want to go anyway.)

The woman, who gave the impression of a flower blooming in some fragile patch of shade, rarely attempted to assert her own words. This was both somewhat unsatisfying and endearing. (If I can come up with some pretext, it would be all right to go.) (That’s wrong—if we do such a thing, please take me after the first anniversary. I’ll be able to manage next month.) (Alright then, let’s make it next month. I’ll buy you something—what would you like?)

I felt compelled to buy her something as compensation. (Well...I was thinking I might need a set of summer undergarments...) (Undergarments—I'll get them for you.) Even if I promised to buy them, I couldn't spare five yen for pocket money at that moment—but I thought ten or twenty yen would somehow materialize by month's end. What's more, with the first death anniversary approaching, I felt certain I could arrange twenty or thirty yen by then.

“Wait until around the 21st or 22nd—I’ll buy it for you when you come.” The twentieth day marked the first death anniversary. “Yes, thank you… but you needn’t force yourself to buy it for me.” “It’s fine. Uncle still meddles with my finances—I can’t act freely—but this much I can manage.” “Until you take a wife, Uncle will remain your guardian… When will that be?”

The woman smiled. The inner corner of her right eye was red and congested.……

When the whine of a mosquito reached his right ear, Yoshinao absently waved a hand to brush it away. He had already descended the slope road and stood poised to turn the corner at the barbershop—the same barber’s house where he’d once met someone at the slope’s base. His gaze drifted toward it. Behind the glass door hung a white curtain, faint light seeping through its fabric. Dense darkness pressed heavily in every direction while muddy ditchwater gurgled noisily along both sides of the road. This was a street where stormwater regularly overflowed during downpours. Houses lining it—some thrusting their entrances boldly forward, others shrinking deep into shadow—stood like broken teeth with sporadic gate lanterns glinting between them. Most appeared asleep, no human voices breaking the stillness. Among them, one house on the left blazed with light across its entire entrance. This was the ice shop now neighboring Yoshinao’s home.

(If I ask at the ice shop, I can find out whether Uncle has come or not.)

Yoshinao felt as though the old woman and her daughter at the ice shop were keeping watch on his uncle for his sake. His legs quickened involuntarily.

A young man’s laughter could be heard. It must be a student visiting the ice shop. It was a carefree, clear voice.

(―He must be a school student,)

From between the white curtains came the crimson and yellow hues of fruits displayed on the right side of the shop’s entrance. The young man’s laughter ceased, and his high-pitched voice could be heard speaking.

“Oh, good evening. Are you just returning now?”

Beneath the entrance curtain appeared the elongated face of a woman. That was the ice shop’s daughter. "I went to Nakano around two o’clock, and since I took a detour on my way back, I ended up being late." Yoshinao stopped walking. "Oh, going all the way to Nakano—that must have been quite an ordeal. And it must have been terribly hot." "It’s hot, isn’t it? Though I’d say tonight feels rather cool."

Inside the shop, an elderly woman’s voice sounded. The daughter responded to that. “It’s Young Mr. Miyahara.”

The daughter once again turned her dark eyes toward Yoshinao. "It's rather cool today, isn't it? Please do sit for a moment." "Thank you... Has my uncle not come this evening?" "You mean Master Yamamoto? It seems he hasn't appeared, though..."

The daughter's face turned diagonally inward. "Mother, do you know if Master Yamamoto visited Mr. Miyahara's place this evening?"

The old woman’s voice came through hoarsely. “Doesn’t look like Master Yamamoto came around... As for the maid—did she come by this evening? I caught a glimpse of her heading back, but...” “Right,” The daughter turned this way again. “It seems only the maid was seen, but...” In that case, he had indeed sent for the maid after all, Yoshinao thought. “Is that so? You see, since the day after tomorrow is the first anniversary of his death, I had gone to Nakano temple.”

“Is that so? The first anniversary already—how quickly it’s come.” “It’s gone by quickly. Since I took a detour on my way back from visiting the temple today and returning in the evening, Uncle must have grown impatient waiting for me and thought I’d come—so instead of coming himself, he probably sent the maid.” He must have told her to come immediately if I returned, he thought. He thought he should try to return home quickly.

The daughter exclaimed in surprise. “A butterfly! Oh my—such a large butterfly!” Her body shuddered violently. “What’s all the commotion? No need to get so worked up,”

The young man said with a laugh. “What a pitch-black one. Should I take it to that natural history teacher?”

That was a different young man's voice. "How creepy! Mr. Sugiura, please do something about it! Look how it's flying around the lamp like that—doesn't it seem like it's plotting something?"

The daughter spoke in a voice dripping with disgust. (A black butterfly... There was one earlier too.) Yoshinao suddenly thought of the butterfly. "Don't kill it! The powder will come off. Please chase it away without killing it!" "Damn beast! Won't you get out of here?! Hey! Hey! Hey!" "Oh, it's gone! It's disappeared, hasn't it? Where could it have gone? Isn't it strange?" ...while watching the wet nurse place the lunch tray on top of the rice tub and go along the corridor, he had the girl from next door who had come to play stand on the veranda and was sketching her face. It was a hot, windless day, and the shrill cries of grape cicadas from the cliff behind seared through the air.

(I can’t draw it yet.) The girl listened with eager anticipation. (Just a bit more... Just a bit more now...) Determined to capture every detail of the child’s face—its distinctive double-lidded eyes above all—he moved his pencil with intense focus.

(Come on, just a bit more. Keep at it just a little longer.)

From the direction of the detached house, the flustered voice of the wet nurse could be heard. “...You mustn’t... What are you doing?” Wondering what his foster father had started, he set down his pencil and looked across the inner garden toward the detached house. The detached house, which jutted out with a small eave at a right-angled bend from the main house, was connected to the main house by a single end plate.

“Master, you mustn’t do such things—it will harm your health!” The wet nurse’s voice was one that seemed barely able to restrain her master as he attempted something.

“No—you mustn’t! That—you mustn’t! Someone—quickly!” No sooner had the lattice door rattled open than the Foster Father emerged from within and stood on the veranda. Immediately after, the Wet Nurse came out.

(I messed up.)

His left hand grasping the sketchbook and his right hand holding the pencil, he stood up as he was.

“Master, you mustn’t do such things—it’s troubling!” The wet nurse spoke angrily and tried to seize the foster father’s hand. The foster father brushed her aside with one hand while thrusting his other toward the garden, glaring at his fingertips as though deciphering some invisible script as he muttered something. (I have to get him inside.)

After tossing down the sketchbook and pencil as if throwing them aside, he started down the corridor—but even as he moved, he walked with utmost care, tiptoeing to avoid making any sound. (Look! Look! Look at that!)

The foster father spoke as if even raising his voice were a terrifying prospect.

(What could you possibly be seeing? There’s nothing there, is there?) The wet nurse wore a troubled expression, as if to say she couldn’t forcibly restrain her non-maddened master. (Can’t see… That… You can’t see that?) The foster father’s index finger was trembling. "There’s nothing there at all, sir—it’s just your nerves acting up. Please return to your room and have your meal. There’s truly nothing here."

(How could it not be there? That—can’t you see that black butterfly? That butterfly—)

"I can't see any butterfly. That's just your nerves acting up, Master." (How could you not see it? That black butterfly—what do you think that butterfly is? That thing—it's a dangerous creature!)

Having said that, the Foster Father was looking around with his terrifying white eyes when he suddenly jumped down into the garden.

(Oh—Master!) The wet nurse, startled, descended into the garden, and when he followed by jumping down after her, the Foster Father—weaving through the glaring sunlight—scurried in quick little steps toward the wooden fence. There, he yanked out one of the bamboo stakes supporting the morning glories in the flower bed. The wilted purple flowers that had been entwined around the bamboo flew off together with their vines bearing a couple of leaves. (Master... Master...)

The wet nurse chased after him in that direction. The Foster Father glared at the wet nurse. “Don’t interfere! If you interfere, I won’t have it! What do you mean by leaving this as it is? Idiot!”

The wet nurse could not approach any closer. Having followed after the wet nurse, he stood there anxiously watching, utterly powerless to intervene. The foster father fixed his terrifying eyes on empty space, peering at the shadow of something suspicious, until—perhaps having locked onto it—he swung up the bamboo stick in his hand and struck.

(Take that!)

Whether the shadow of something suspicious had flown away because of that, the Foster Father raised his bamboo stick once more and peered into empty space. (Take that!) The shadow of something suspicious appeared to have shifted again. (Damn it, bastard!)

The foster father took a step or two forward and struck empty space once more. (This time for sure—!) The foster father glanced at the spot he had struck but made a frustrated face. (He got away again, damn it! I won’t let you escape!) The bamboo flashed again.

(Take this! Take this! Hey! Take this!)

The Foster Father walked around recklessly, striking at everything in sight.

(Take this! Take this! Damn it! Take this!) The foster father’s screams sounded terribly loud. "Young Master, there’s no other way. We must force him into his room."

The wet nurse turned toward him and spoke with resolve. (Right. There's no other choice—we'll have to restrain him.)

He too had thought there was no other choice but to proceed that way. Damn it—I won't let you escape! I can't let you get away, you fiend!

The Foster Father was in a frenzied state.

"I'll restrain him, so please lend me your hands." The wet nurse suddenly ran over and pressed down on the frenzied Foster Father from behind, as if embracing him.

(What are you doing? What are you doing? Let go! Don't interfere! That bastard's here to take my life! Fool! Do you want him to kill me?!) The Foster Father struggled to break free, but weakened by illness, he could not shake off the wet nurse's hands pressing down on him with all her might.

"Young Master—quickly! Hurry!" Having gone near and hesitated, he was spurred by that voice and frantically grabbed his foster father’s legs from the side. Blood glistened at the foster father’s mouth. (Let go! What are you doing? Leaving that bastard be—are you trying to kill me?!)

The emaciated body of the sick man, like a husk, was effortlessly carried toward the detached room. (Let go! You bastards—are you trying to kill me? What do you mean by leaving that Black Butterfly as it is?…) The foster father died about ten days later. Yoshinao felt disgust as he thought about it.

When he crossed the stone bridge spanning the muddy ditch, there was a latticed gate with a dimly lit gate lantern. Yoshinao unconsciously opened the door of that gate and entered. There was a narrow, dark garden planted with kōyamaki pines and aoki laurels where insects chirped faintly. The entrance to the residence was at the back. Yoshinao passed through that dark area and opened the lattice door of the entrance. “Is that you, Young Master?” A woman’s voice, as though she had been waiting impatiently, sounded. “It’s me. What time is it now?”

“Welcome back. It is exactly eleven o’clock,”

A small-statured, thin-haired woman came out to the entrance.

“Is that so? I stopped by a friend’s place for a bit and got delayed. Did anything come from Uncle?”

Yoshinao was at the point where he had stepped up onto the entranceway’s veranda. “The maid from Uncle’s house came by this evening and said that preparations for the day after tomorrow are in order. It must have been hot,” she said. “It wasn’t particularly hot today. I went to the temple, but since the priest was out, I decided to go again tomorrow morning. I did mention it when I visited the grave before, so perhaps I don’t need to go—but Uncle’s being insistent, so I’ll make a quick trip. Was that all from Uncle?”

“That was all.” “In that case, you should visit the temple once more tomorrow as well—that would be most proper. If you meet with the priest directly without delay, it will prevent any mishaps—that would be most proper.” “Right, I’ll go tomorrow morning. Then—wait—what about Uogiku’s husband?”

Yoshinao felt relieved, as his uncle did not seem to be waiting for his return—contrary to how much he had worried along the way.

“The master came once in the evening and again at night，but since you were not back，he said he would return in the morning and left.” “Since I have informed them about the number of people as you instructed，it will be perfectly acceptable in the morning.” “Hmm，did you say eighteen?” “That is correct，” “Did you mention the ceremonial arrangements as well?” “I did mention it，” “About how much did you say?” “You must have said around six yen in total. I informed them that you had mentioned about this much.”

“I see. That’s fine.” Since there was also the matter of money, Yoshinao thought he should go to his uncle’s place immediately. “Should I go to Uncle’s place?” “You must be tired, but it would be best for you to go for a bit.” “Yes, I should go after all—he’ll make a fuss otherwise.” “That would be most proper. Then, shall I prepare your summer kimono?” “No need—I’ll go as I am.”

“Is that so? Then please do go ahead.” “I’ll go.”

Yoshinao handed the straw hat he was holding to the maid, then removed his haori and handed that over as well.

“He’s still awake, I suppose?” “If you mean Master, he is still awake.”

III

Yoshinao stood at the entrance of his uncle’s frosted glass door and gently pressed the bell button on the right-side pillar. That was because he feared the bell might ring loudly. He did so and listened, holding his breath, for the faint ringing of the bell.

Footsteps sounded at the entrance, and after a pause came the clatter of wooden clogs. A hole about five sun square had been opened in the glass door. Yoshinao brought his face to the hole so that the maid would not need to verify the guest’s identity.

“It’s me. I’m sorry for being late.”

The glimpse of a tall, slender figure differed from the plump maid; Yoshinao thought it might be his aunt. “Yoshinao? You’re rather late, aren’t you?”

That was his aunt’s voice. “I’m sorry,”

At the same moment, the glass door slid open with a clatter. "I’m sorry for being late. Is Uncle already resting?"

“He’s awake,” “I see... It’s gotten quite late.” As Yoshinao stepped inside, his aunt closed the door behind him.

“Where is Uncle?” “He’s on the veranda of the sitting room, you know,” “I see,”

Yoshinao entered the entranceway and stepped into the left corridor. The guest room was located on the right side at the corridor's end. The spot faced the inner garden. Before the guest room—its storm shutters left open—a new rattan chair had been placed facing this direction. There lay Uncle in a white yukata, reclining on his back against the chair with a round fan resting near his knees. "Good evening, Uncle." Yoshinao felt his breath constrict painfully.

“Yoshinao?” “I’m sorry for coming so late.” “What time did you get back from the temple?”

“I returned around five, but since I met a friend on the way, I stopped by there and ended up getting so engrossed in talking that it became late.”

Uncle did not respond to that; instead, he heavily raised his body and looked down at Yoshinao, who was crouching there. Then, his aunt came from inside the guest room carrying a hemp futon to that spot. Aunt was wearing an indigo-dotted yukata.

“Why don’t you sit here for now? Since the maid has already gone to bed, I won’t be serving any tea.”

“That’s quite alright—it’s late already.” Yoshinao said as he received the futon and sat down.

“Are you prepared for tomorrow?” Uncle’s cold, stone-like voice cut through the air. “Mostly done, but since the priest was out today, I’ll go once more tomorrow morning just to be sure.” “Around what time did you go?” “It was past three o’clock.” “When you say ‘past three,’ do you mean around half past, or later than that?” “Let me see… It was just about half past three.”

Yoshinao uttered what he had rehearsed in his mind so many times that it had taken on the semblance of truth. "I see. If that settles the temple matter, what about the food arrangements?" "That has also been mostly settled." "The notifications for the people to invite have also been settled, I take it?" "I’ve set it at eighteen." "I see. If that settles the preparations, what about the money? From the food arrangements to the temple offerings—is all of that settled as well?" "Regarding that money—I truly apologize—but I was hoping to ask you for it."

“So this ‘money’—it’s for the expenses the day after tomorrow?” “That’s right.” “If it’s ten or twenty yen, I have that on hand—but I don’t have such a large amount. Just how much do you need in total?” “I think it should cost around two hundred yen.” “Are you telling me to hand over that two hundred yen?”

“I was hoping to ask you for it...” “No good. I don’t have that kind of money. You’ve already had a hundred forty or fifty yen from me—I can’t have you thinking cash just bubbles up from nowhere! Even if the Miyahara property has some assets, you can’t go spending money so indiscriminately! This time it’s for the first anniversary rites—there ought to be some justification for it, but you’re acting like it’s nothing! For starters, if I let an adopted relative like you squander funds without a word, I’d have no face left before Fujimura—no excuse to society at all!”

Yoshinao could not say anything. "You've been growing arrogant lately. You ought to consider your station a bit more. What do you think you're doing? There's one thing I'll ask you: You claim you went to Nakano Temple around three-thirty today, returned around five, met a friend, and stopped by their house—what's this friend's name?"

Yoshinao was startled and quietly looked at his uncle’s face. Yoshinao had no choice but to fabricate a friend’s name. “It’s Mr. Kohara—he lives in Miyanaka, Sugamo. A friend I attended Waseda with.” The round fan in Uncle’s hand flapped noisily. “So when you went—anyone with you?” “There weren’t any.” “This won’t do! Lying’s useless! Today—you—someone saw you! Sleeping slumped against some woman on a park bench! Fool! What disgrace! Chasing women, lying about buying books or painting supplies! Fool! No decency—sleeping shamelessly in daylight! The witness saw it all—a black butterfly came and perched on your hat! Fool! Utter humiliation!”

In Yoshinao’s disordered state, the word “butterfly” struck his ears with crystalline clarity. “A bastard like you—no matter what I think of you—it’s hopeless! Go home and be a peasant! Fool! Sleeping like deadwood even when a butterfly perches on you—you call that acceptable? Fool! Go back to your village and tell your old man! From now on I wash my hands of trash like you—get that through your skull! Fool!”

Yoshinao unsteadily stood up and began walking, letting his feet carry him.

IV

Yoshinao noticed himself climbing the dark slope road. There was neither moonlight nor electric light there, yet a faint radiance like lamplight veiled in gauze enveloped the area, casting a dim glow over the surroundings. Yoshinao wondered where this place could be and looked around carefully. To the right stood a black-painted fence; to the left, a mottled oak hedge—or something like it—had round bamboo poles propped against it to form a boundary, with branches from some unknown tree hanging over both the hedge and fence.

Suddenly, as he glanced down at his feet, the surface of a natural stone emerging from the soil came into view. It was something buried in the ground, exposed each time it rained. The stones were still visible ahead as well. When he focused his attention, it seemed the surface of that stone lay beneath his clogs too. Yoshinao thought, I am climbing his slope.

……In the oden shop, there were six or seven customers. Behind the confectionery counter on the right side of the entrance—partitioned off by shoji screens where two tatami mats had been laid out—sat a tipsy old man with sideburns, known in the area as a teacher, who had brought along two students and was drinking sake. In the dirt-floored area, their backs to the shelves on the left, four people sat facing the table positioned at the center. They were students from a nearby dormitory.

“That’s enough—this side’s all set.” The oval-faced woman who was in front of the oden counter on the left side of the entrance peered through a gap in the small noren toward the room where customers were seated. “We’re done over here too.” Near the long brazier at the entrance to the room, facing an elderly woman who presented only her plump face toward this side, a woman showing the back of her waterfall-striped meisen haori briefly revealed one cheek. That was the shop’s older sister. “Let’s get going now, no dilly-dallying,”

“The dilly-dallying isn’t on our side, you know.” “It’s not on our side either, you know.” One of the students near the oden counter cut in.

“It’s both...” The shop was filled with laughter. Into the midst of those smiling faces, the younger sister who had been at the oden counter came out holding a tiered food box. “Quit harping on the dilly-dallying,” “That’s right—quit harping on the dilly-dallying,”

The older sister who had been by the brazier came down holding the Masamune two-gō bottle around which steam coiled.

“A hot sake delivery, I see. This one’s nice—it’s better to have it brought to your home. Though of course, the delivery fee will be higher.” The teacher looked toward the younger sister and laughed.

“That’s not true at all—it’s exactly the same price.” “Well then—alright! It’s better to stay home and have it delivered. Makes me envy single folk at times like this.” “Why would anyone envy someone who’s single?” “Because you can have a beauty come bringing food and drink along with it, you see.” “That’s right, isn’t it?” “I’ll rent myself a second-floor room somewhere from now on too—then at night I’ll pick just the right time to come place an order.” “Then by all means rent it—I’ll bring everything up for you.”

“How nice—with just one two-gō bottle of Masamune and a plate of oden, you can get yourself a beauty,” “Isn’t that a bargain?” said the younger sister teasingly, switching the okamochi basket to her right hand. “Well then, take your time... I’ll be on my way.”

When the younger sister went out, the older sister followed after her. Outside the single open glass door hung a red lantern, its light faintly staining her profile a pale red—but soon both figures vanished from sight. “One two-gō bottle and one plate of oden…” One of the students said this and laughed while looking toward the teacher. “How about that—the old man comes up with clever ideas, doesn’t he?”

“Clever, isn’t it?”

The elderly woman’s voice was heard. “Teacher, you mustn’t go teaching such things to young people.” “That’s true—I really shouldn’t be teaching such things to young people.” The Teacher turned slightly to the right and looked at the elderly woman who had leaned her face out near the brazier. “That’s certainly true—it’s quite troubling.” The Teacher noticed that the cups of the students who had come with him were empty, so he took up the sake flask and poured for them. “Go ahead and drink heartily—you’re not even slightly drunk, are you?”

Between the student sitting on the earthen floor and the elderly woman, another round of jokes began. The Teacher, engaging with the two students beside him, laughed while talking about this and that.

The sound of geta clattering against the entrance’s drainage board echoed, and several people came in. It was the moment when the younger sister entered, making a strange face while tightly gripping her left fingertips with her right hand. “What’s wrong?”

The younger sister, still directing a somewhat cold gaze, walked resolutely toward the doma near Mitsuke without saying a word.

“Ah, you’re back already.”

The teacher raised his face, but the younger sister, without saying anything in response, resolutely stepped up onto the small edge of Mitsuke. The teacher was taken aback. “What’s wrong?”

The elderly woman’s voice was heard asking suspiciously. “Ah,”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I cut my palm a little on that slope…”

“You fell, didn’t you?” “That’s right.” “How did you manage to cut it?”

“When I fell, I put my hand on a protruding stone… I’m going to Dr. Okazaki’s now.” The younger sister, saying this, went to hide behind the right shoji screen and made a box or something clatter, but soon returned with her tightly gripped hand bound in something like a white handkerchief. “Did you cut it?”

The younger sister seemed somewhat composed this time and gave a faintly lonely laugh. "Just a little," "That won't do,"

“I’ll just be going to Dr. Okazaki’s. Please take your time.”

The younger sister started to leave.

“That’s no good,” The teacher made a face as though he couldn’t possibly crack a joke and uttered something that could have been either a mutter to himself or words directed at the woman.

“I’ll be right back,”

The younger sister left just like that.

“Granny, where did the young lady cut herself?”

The teacher turned around and looked at the elderly woman’s face.

“It’s the slope by his dormitory. That place is a bad spot.” The elderly woman spoke as if her words carried some deeper meaning. “What kind of place is it?” “What do you mean, ‘what kind of place’? They’ve been saying all sorts of things about that spot since way back.” “All sorts of things, you say? What kind of things?”

“That place, you see—Mr. Endo’s grand estate once stood there. The road was built when I was a child, so about fifty years back. They say that’s where Mr. Endo executed a maid for disobedience. All sorts of tales followed—his wife died there, horses collapsed, you name it. I keep quiet about it because telling the young’uns would frighten them, but it’s a strange place indeed.”

“Is that so… Hmm,”

“Even when it’s not raining, if you pass beneath that spot, rain comes pattering down, and even when there’s no wind, sometimes a breeze will blow, you know…”

Yoshinao, while conjuring a momentary scene before his eyes, suddenly turned his gaze to the tree branch hanging above his head. The tree branches and leaves hung motionlessly, not making a sound. The road curved to the right. Yoshinao walked, stepping on the surfaces of stones that jutted out here and there as if counting them. However, he himself did not understand for what purpose he was walking there or where he intended to go. It was as though his legs, dominated by some invisible force, were eternally compelled to move forward—such was the state of things.

The slope road ended, and he came to a slightly wider path. At the same moment, the black plank fence on the right side vanished, transforming into a hedge-bound bamboo fence identical to the left side. In that pathway, gate lanterns were sparsely placed. The figure of a young woman’s back was right before his eyes. She wore a long-sleeved kimono with a light blue base and navy checkered pattern, and had fastened a mouse-gray obi with a glossy sheen. The woman came to a halt and turned to look behind her. On her white, oval face were clear black eyes. Her pale red lips seemed to send a sense of familiarity toward him. Yoshinao felt it seep into his head.

Yoshinao found he could think of approaching the woman without any sense of awkwardness. The woman turned forward and started walking. Yoshinao began walking with the intention of catching up to her, but since her pace was relatively fast, he couldn't close the distance in a single breath. Yoshinao grew impatient, but feeling that running would weigh on his conscience and thinking he mustn't frighten her by breaking into a run, he hurried with small, quick steps while maintaining the appearance of walking calmly.

The woman’s feet stopped again as she turned her white face toward him. Her black eyes stared fixedly this way, her lips bearing an expression that was neither a smile nor anything else. Yoshinao resolved to catch up to her this time. When the distance had narrowed to about two ken, the woman began walking once more. She had arranged her abundant hair into an S-shaped coil and fastened a brown ribbon around its base as if binding it. From there came wafting an intensely pungent spice-laden aroma. The scent permeated Yoshinao’s nostrils until they overflowed with it.

The woman’s retreating figure began to seem reminiscent of several people he knew. Yoshinao wondered who she might resemble, but he couldn’t think of anyone specific. Her face turned toward him again, appearing to wait for his approach. Undeniably, there was a smile playing about those pale red lips. Yoshinao strode forward resolutely. The distance between them had narrowed to about one ken. But then the woman started walking, and in an instant two to three ken opened up again. Yoshinao walked with such concentrated effort that beads of sweat formed on his brow.

The woman’s figure disappeared around the corner of the hedge to the right. There was a small path. The narrow path that had been cemented was now peeling and mottled with mud.

The distance between him and the woman had narrowed again to about one ken. Yoshinao resolutely called out. “Excuse me, excuse me,” The woman turned around, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Yoshinao approached. And then, the woman vanished from sight. Yoshinao found it strange. However, that was the end of the path, and he realized it was because the woman had turned right. Yoshinao also turned right there and proceeded. The woman’s white face looked toward him, showing an expression as if waiting for him to catch up; Yoshinao smiled in return.

“Excuse me, excuse me,”

The woman started walking as if she hadn't heard him. Yoshinao resolved to catch up this time and began moving at a half-run. Yet her strides remained too swift - he still couldn't close the gap. She turned right at a house corner visible on her flank. The spot resembled a recessed entranceway, its right side opening into a square blanketed with wild grass. A house wall rose on the right. Yoshinao strained toward it. A five-storied tower materialized hazily to his right. Yoshinao's chest tightened as if bound. There she stood pressed against the tower's wall. Something seemed to brace his sternum, rooting him in place.

A small black shadow-like thing emerged furtively from the wall beside the woman, and it suddenly pounced on her. Yoshinao thought it must be a delinquent, so he resolved to dash over and separate them.

A sound rang out—he couldn’t tell whether it was a human’s scream or a beast’s. Then, the shadowy black figure that had lunged at the woman scrambled up the wall as smoothly as a fleeing monkey or cat, climbed onto the second-floor roof, ascended further upward from there, and promptly vanished from sight.

Yoshinao looked toward the woman in surprise. A glaring light fell from the five-story building’s window. Under that light, the woman’s figure vanished, and there was a single black butterfly, which fluttered away.

Yoshinao's head grew foggy.

V

Yoshinao walked in a frenzy. He descended dark slope roads, passed through narrow places where one side had become lined with buildings, went through areas where automobiles clamorously came and went—but he couldn’t grasp his location or direction.

On the right side of the road appeared a bar-like house with yellowish curtains hanging from its eaves and light shining from within. Yoshinao, his throat terribly parched at that moment, thought of drinking soda water. He stopped and peered inside briefly. The four-paned glass doors had been slid open to both sides, with a glossy folding screen like a mirror standing at the center; from its right edge could be seen the light blue Western-style dress of a woman standing beneath a visible shelf. When he looked toward the left wall, a young man stood with his back against it, holding a cup.

Yoshinao entered from beside the door on the right side. Near the right wall were two black round tables placed, and at the table across sat a high-nosed man dressed in a blue garment like those worn by Chinese people, facing this way. To the right of the blue garment, a white staircase as if made of stone could be seen leading up to the second floor.

Along the left wall were three rectangular tables placed, and at one of them sat a young man who had been seen from outside and a man facing him—the latter with a ruddy profile and un-Japanese-like long hair—wearing Western clothes. “Please come in,”

Under the shelf in view were two women. One was the woman in the light blue Western-style dress he had seen from outside, and the other was a girl who appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, her hair done up in a shimada style and wearing a white apron. Yoshinao briefly considered where to sit, but sensing the table by the right entrance seemed suitable, he sat facing the staircase while slanting his gaze toward the high-nosed man.

When he saw that, the woman in the light blue Western-style dress came over. The sound of her half-booted footsteps made no noise at all.

“Welcome, what would you like to order?” Yoshinao found himself wanting to try draft beer rather than soda water. “Do you have draft beer?”

“We do,” “Then, I’ll have a draft beer,” “Yes,” The woman in Western clothes turned back exactly as she was and went to the window near the left wall, peering in as though—

“One draft beer,”

When she said this, a damp, echoing voice responded as if emerging from deep within a cave. As Yoshinao thought what a peculiar voice that was, the woman in Western clothes soon arrived carrying a cup filled with beer that glowed translucent amber.

“Here you go,” “Thank you,” Yoshinao immediately took the cup to his lips. Finding it cool and refreshing, he drained it almost in one gulp before setting it down while looking toward the customers before him. The high-nosed man sat properly with his hands on his knees, but his eyes were closed as though asleep. He suddenly thought that he must have dozed off because it was late. What time could it be now, I wonder.

Yoshinao suddenly thought about the clock. And he wondered how he had come to be here but couldn't recall.

"Just where in the world was this place?"

Yoshinao tried thinking again, but that too remained unclear. He grew restless and rhythmically knocked his head with a fist. “Shall I bring you another draft beer?”

The woman in Western clothes came and stood there. “Yeah, maybe I’ll have another.” Yoshinao then unconsciously took hold of the previous cup and, while sipping the slightly remaining beer, looked toward the left table. The long-haired man who had shown a reddish profile was leaning forward over the table just as before, and the young man across from him also remained as he had initially been, with his cup held to the edge of his mouth. He wondered in puzzlement and directed his gaze at the young man’s face. They showed black eyes but did not move like a doll’s.

“Here you go,”

The woman in Western clothes brought a cup. Yoshinao pointed toward the young man when she set down the cup. “Miss, is your customer asleep? He’s been holding his cup like that since earlier, hasn’t he?”

The woman turned around, “That’s right, isn’t it?”

After saying this, she looked toward the woman in the shimada hairstyle sitting motionless under the shelf. The woman in the shimada hairstyle’s eyes snapped open, and laughter welled up within them. “Miss, just where in the world is this place?”

The woman in Western clothes turned her face toward him. “Haven’t you realized?” “I don’t know,”

“It seems you’re about to realize it any moment now,” “I don’t know—I don’t know where this place is, and I don’t know what time it is,” “What you’re doing like this,”

“I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t even know that,” “What in the world have you done,”

“I don’t know—tell me, tell me quickly the place and time—if I know that, I’ll probably remember.” “Does it matter if you don’t understand such trivial things—isn’t that fine?” “It’s not trivial—it’s crucial! Tell me quickly where this place is and what time it is—just where am I, and what hour is this?”

The woman in the shimada hairstyle sat up. “The butterfly has come,”

Yoshinao raised his face and looked toward the ceiling. On the ceiling burned about three gas lamps with a yellowish glow. “You,” A woman’s voice that sounded familiar came from behind. Yoshinao turned around hurriedly upon hearing it.

That was the woman wearing a light blue kimono with a navy grid pattern against her white skin. “Ah, it’s you.” “When did you come here?” “I just arrived a moment ago. Seriously—what time is it now?” “Well now, what time could it be? Oh, such things aren’t important, are they?” “If I don’t know the time and place, I can’t make heads or tails of anything anymore. Please tell me.” “Why don’t you let that go? I came here to have some soda water since I couldn’t sleep.”

The woman said this and sat down on the chair next to Yoshinao. “Isn’t tonight a bit rushed for you? Shall I bring you some soda water?” The woman in Western clothes who had been standing nearby spoke in a kind-sounding manner.

“Ah, please bring it with lemon.” When the woman in Western clothes went toward the other side, the woman looked at Yoshinao’s face. “Why don’t you have some soda water as well?” Yoshinao was frustrated by her saying such things. “I’ve had beer already—never mind that! More importantly—where is this place? I can’t figure it out no matter what! Please tell me! If I don’t know the place and time, my mind can’t recall anything at all!”

“Why don’t you stop worrying about such trivial things?”

The woman laughed. The woman in Western clothes holding a cup of soda water had come near him. “This gentleman has been saying such things for a while now—aren’t they trivial matters?” The cup of soda water was placed in front of the woman. “That’s right—it really is a trivial matter.”

Yoshinao was at a loss. “It’s not a trivial matter—for me, it’s something important. Please tell me.” “Even if I don’t tell you now, you’ll know soon enough—just stay still.” “It’s no use! Why won’t you tell me even though I’m begging you like this?” The woman was drinking soda water. “You shouldn’t make such unreasonable demands. If you push too hard, I’ll leave.”

“So you absolutely refuse to tell me?” “That’s impossible—please stay still.”

Yoshinao’s voice had now taken on a tone that seemed on the verge of tears.

“Why won’t you tell me? I only understand you—nothing else makes sense to me.” “Then come to the third floor. I’ll make you understand.”

Yoshinao was glad.

“Then let’s go to the third floor right away.” “Let us go,”

Yoshinao stood up, and the woman rose alongside him. Yoshinao passed by the table where a man in a blue suit was sitting and proceeded up the calcite staircase visible there. That staircase was spiral-shaped. Yoshinao lowered his eyes to the hair of the woman ascending behind him. It was styled like an S-shaped roll, with a ribbon tied beneath it that spread out like bat wings or something of the sort. In the second-floor room, a round table was set up there, but no people were visible. Yoshinao glanced around the room and proceeded up the staircase leading to the third floor.

The third-floor room was a pale-yellowish spacious chamber. Within it stood tables placed here and there, shadowy figures indistinguishable as men or women appearing sporadically—a few here, a few there. Yoshinao hesitated briefly, uncertain where to seat himself. "Please come this way."

The person at the front table raised a hand and beckoned. Yoshinao wondered if there might be someone he knew as he took a step or two forward and peered. She was a small, beautiful woman who appeared to be twenty-three or twenty-four. “Come here, won’t we be friends from now on?”

Yoshinao thought the woman looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t recall who she was.

“You must have figured it out by now—it’s me.” The woman laughed, but Yoshinao didn’t understand. “Yoshinao-san, you don’t recognize me? You haven’t even seen me in a photo.”

Something flickered through Yoshinao’s mind.

“I’m your aunt!” This referred to the foster mother whom his deceased foster father had claimed resided in the mysterious house nearby. Startled, Yoshinao rushed down the stairs and tried to bolt through the entrance without even slipping on his geta. But the glass doors that had stood open until then suddenly slammed shut from both sides with a sharp clack. Flustered, he tried prying them open, but they refused to give. He attempted shifting each of the four glass panes back and forth, but they remained sealed tight like a single solid sheet, utterly immovable.

From that night onward, Yoshinao’s whereabouts became unknown.