Pathway to Japanese Literature

I Yoshinao was descending the slope path while again thinking about his uncle. This was something he had thought about both when with the woman and on the train—that his uncle would likely be waiting angrily for his late return—but now there was an added sensation that his uncle had come to his house and sat waiting there. Yoshinao found this troubling. (I did go there, but since the priest was out, I decided to go once more early tomorrow morning just to be sure.)

Having fabricated the excuse that he had gone but found [the priest] absent and would go again tomorrow morning, this justification began to seem ineffective. He stopped walking, feeling as though the path he had come along had reached a dead end. (How should I have put it?) The dark, hushed slope path supported his body. Yoshinao looked toward the cliff across. Above the rows of dark roofs towered a building of strange shape. Above the building were three stars. It was a tower that appeared to have a small shrine perched atop a stone lantern. He stared at it with the look of someone who had discovered something strange. It was something built by a landlord who had been a judge, and he had grown accustomed to seeing it over the past two or three years.

(—The Valley's Eerie Tower,) A bluish flickering light emerged from within the tower, glowing like coiling snakes. The tower had one small window on each of its four sides, and Yoshinao remembered that lights could occasionally be seen through those windows. He wondered if someone had installed a searchlight-like contraption at that window for amusement tonight, but now nothing remained visible—only the tower's outline faintly reappearing in a hazy form. (Was it my eyes playing tricks? There don't seem to be any lights visible tonight after all,)

Yoshinao remembered the time. (Is it already ten o'clock?) He thought about when he had parted from the woman and returned home. The woman had taken down the cups they used for their iced drinks on a tray, but when she came back up, she had put on a smile. (It's already past ten minutes.) Since I'm already here—it should be fine to stay until eleven; do stay until eleven.

Since he hadn’t been able to go in the morning, he set out for the suburban temple around two o’clock, but at the train transfer he encountered the woman and was forcibly taken away by her. Though he knew he absolutely had to go for his adoptive father’s first anniversary memorial, he was dragged along until evening came, evening turned into ten o’clock, and even that ten o’clock was now more than ten minutes past. (I have to go back because Uncle will be angry—he must have already sent the maid once or twice by now.)

Even so—while occupied with something or other—about five minutes must have passed; even allowing thirty minutes for the train ride, it was already eleven o'clock. Even if his uncle hadn't come himself to wait, he must have sent the maid with orders to return home immediately—Yoshinao felt certain of this. Then there floated before his eyes that mulberry-paper-complexioned face—the old man who seemed perpetually scheming morning and night yet never revealed his innermost thoughts.

“They say many have been brought to tears because of that master—truly he’s a dreadful man. And besides, you aren’t truly uncle and nephew by blood, are you?”

The words the wet nurse had spoken came floating up. Shinpei—Yoshinao’s father’s cousin—had come to Tokyo with nothing but his own body. While drifting from place to place, he began frequenting the Fujimura household that operated as moneylenders, eventually becoming something like a manager there. When the master died and the house decided to cease business, he received a modest sum of money, married the master’s niece who had become a widow, and established his own household. (With Shinpei, it’s not clear what he did—but by now, he must have prepared a great deal himself.)

(Even if he'd received it, that wasn't anything substantial—he'd prepared it himself, you see. That man had been an unmanageable sort since childhood.) He remembered the rumors about his uncle that his father and acquaintances had spread when he was young. (These days, you mustn't let your guard down even with parents or siblings—so with mere relatives, lowering your vigilance is out of the question.) Yoshinao understood perfectly well what the wet nurse's words meant.

"There's a reason the master ended up this way—it's truly dreadful," His adoptive father had gone mad and was confined in the annex's prison cell.

"I know full well—they say the master's father was a madman too, that it's all bloodline, but that's nonsense! I raised him from when he was a babe in arms—clever he was, and steady-minded. No bloodline business about it!" The Miyahara family were distant relations of the Fujimuras. When Shinpei became guardian to their young master living alone, he brought over his elder brother's child and forced them into marriage. But then the woman ran off without understanding a thing—vanished clean away—and with that, the man went mad.

“Even if there were madness in the bloodline, one doesn’t become a madman without reason—when someone turns mad, there’s sufficient cause for it. To have a wife you cherished so much driven to such a state—anyone would go mad! They claimed villains kidnapped her or that she threw herself into the river—begging the police for help and sending people out to search. But how could such methods uncover the truth? Whenever there was talk of a woman drowning herself at Kawaguchi or a corpse under Eitaibashi, everyone went to look—but she’d never done anything so foolish! I’ve always thought things like the police are downright idiotic.”

Yoshinao felt as though a sinister black hand were pressing down upon his head. He abruptly remembered the words of his maddened adoptive father. It had been a day when pale sunlight filled the garden and small flower petals drifted butterfly-like from nowhere. Clutching a broom and duster in his right hand, he had slipped on garden clogs and walked toward the annex. Fluttering petals brushed like moth wings against his cheek. The annex room had lattice doors instead of shoji. With ceremonial gravity befitting an audience before deities, Yoshinao ascended the engawa and peered through a gap in the latticework. Inside sat a sallow-faced man with sunken cheeks, arms folded toward this direction. This was his adoptive father Noboru. Seeing him, Yoshinao set down his tools beside him and knelt formally on the engawa, planting both palms firmly against the wood.

(I shall clean.) This had been his daily routine since coming here as an adopted child. Meals and daily care had been handled by the wet nurse. The Adoptive Father sat with a maddened face, appearing deep in thought, and did not even glance his way. And so, he spoke again, his voice slightly louder than before. (I shall clean.) The Adoptive Father’s eyes moved. (Who are you?) The Adoptive Father said suspiciously, his eyes gleaming. “I am Yoshinao.”

(Who was this Yoshinao?) "I am someone who has been under your care here." "'Care,' you say? How many people are under care here?" On the thin lower lip that had turned purple, white saliva clung.

"It is I," "Who is this 'I'?" "This is Yoshinao." "What are you doing here? What business brings you here?" The adoptive father’s voice grew sharper. "I have come to clean." "You liar! Spit out all the lies you want—I know full well! You’ve come to kill me, haven’t you? Shinpei put you up to it—sent you here to kill me!" Knowing he must not engage, he remained silent without saying a word.

“They killed my wife and now want to kill me too to take my property! You villain! You think I’d be fooled by someone like you? You bastard!” The adoptive father sprang to his feet as if leaping and thrust out his clenched right hand. “I won’t let the likes of you kill me! Try coming in—I’ll kill you myself!” It was a pleasantly chilly day that had been raining since morning. The adoptive father had stood up and was walking around the room.

(I shall clean.) The Adoptive Father glanced this way before walking silently to stand in the right corner. He took a small key from his sleeve, unlocked the lobster-shaped lock on the lattice door, gathered the broom and dustpan left nearby, and entered inside. After firmly closing it behind him to keep the patient from escaping, he began dusting from the lattice door up to the lintel.

“Hey, hey,” A voice called as though summoning him for urgent business, so he stopped dusting and turned around. The Adoptive Father showed his thin, bony right palm and beckoned. “Come here and see. Come here and see.” Wondering what this could be, he approached. (Yes.)

"There's something I must tell only you. A secret—you must never tell anyone." "Yes, I'll never breathe a word of it." (You mustn't tell—this is a grave secret.) (Yes.) "Come closer." An inexplicable unease crept through him, but having no choice, he leaned his face toward his adoptive father's. "Do you know where my wife is? No, you couldn't. This is something none know but me. You must never speak of it. If you do, there'll be an uproar—the Police Commissioner himself would lose his post. Understand?"

(Yes.) "This is a grave secret, but I'll tell only you. My wife is right here nearby—she hasn't been killed or abducted! Right here nearby! In this—valley stands a house called Akazu House. You wouldn't understand, but my eyes see it clear as day—a mansion sealed long ago by Christian priests who once dwelled there, made invisible to mortal eyes. My wife is in that place."

(Yes.) "That villain schemed to embezzle my family's fortune by driving me mad—he planted a rogue with my wife! Poor deluded woman—while sneaking off for nightly trysts with that man, she stumbled into that mansion one evening and remains trapped there! A place you may enter freely, but once inside... No escape possible—none whatsoever!"……

In Yoshinao’s mind, along with his adoptive father’s bizarre words, the scene from that time rose vividly. He considered his adoptive family's assets. When combined, the land, government bonds, rental properties, and such came to nearly a hundred thousand yen. (It wasn't impossible that Uncle had his eye on this inheritance.) If he had his eye on this, what would he do to me? Yoshinao wondered.

“Good evening,”

A man wearing zōri sandals 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. That was a man wearing a billowing white cotton underrobe—the proprietor of the barber shop at the right corner of the slope's descent. “Ah, Mr. Barber,” “Isn’t it delightfully cool this evening? Have you been out somewhere?” “Ah, I went toward Nakano, you see… Just taking a walk, I suppose.”

“I thought I’d take a turn about the neighborhood, you see,” “Well then, good evening,”

II

Yoshinao descended the slope path.

The gate lamp of a house with a high wooden fence on the left side of the road was glowing. Beside the round electric lamp cover, blue maple leaves were visible. Yoshinao had just reached that spot when he remembered his uncle again. (He’s probably sent some message. Even if he hasn’t come himself, he must have made the maid come to say something.) Yoshinao acted as though trying to find something from the things looming over his head. He cast his eyes toward the cliff across the way without really looking. On the roof of the dormitory that had become part of the cliff, his tower sank low, revealing only the shrine section. Then, from what seemed to be the tower’s window, a blue flickering light was visible, just as before.

"Oh, it flashed again—looks like someone's playing tricks at his window," he thought. A small black creature fluttered right before his eyes as if borne aloft by that light. It was a large-winged thing that might have been a black butterfly or a bat. (A bat perhaps?)

In the Yamate valley town there were many butterflies, but seeing them fly at night gave him an uncanny feeling. A small creature entered the gate lamp's light on the left side and fluttered within it. It was indeed a large butterfly.

(A butterfly.) The thought of Uncle surfaced again in his mind. Even if Uncle hadn't come himself, he must have sent word that Yoshinao should come immediately upon his return—so if he had indeed returned, Yoshinao would have to go. If he went and found the priest was out, he could say he'd return tomorrow morning just to be thorough; if the message hadn't been delivered, he could visit the temple first thing in the morning. Having done that, he thought he might feel more resolute when facing Uncle. Moreover, unless he took these steps, asking to be reimbursed for the expenses two days hence would prove difficult.

(He probably wouldn't refuse to lend it.) Since my fixed allowance from spring had become insufficient, I had borrowed ten or twenty yen at a time until it totaled a hundred fifty or sixty yen; however, since the day after tomorrow's funds weren't from internal reserves and had to be arranged based on our existing relationship. (If I borrow two hundred yen of that—since about twenty or thirty would remain—I'll buy her a kimono.)

Beyond the second-floor window lay a small park, its fresh green leaves stirring in the gentle breeze.

The two of them were lying down talking. "Why don't you stay somewhere overnight?" I could go. Since his adoptive father's first anniversary memorial had not yet been observed, he couldn't afford such an extravagant trip.

Where would be good? Somewhere with lush green mountains, or rivers... And wouldn't there be a place with the sea? Izusān or Atami would be good—they have hot springs too. Well then, which shall I go to? What about the hospital—would that be acceptable? It’s fine—anyway, I can get two weeks’ leave next month, I see. So it’s all right if I go then,

(I should go—... But you—) If it were merely a day trip—going in the morning and returning by evening—he could manage somehow. But when it came to staying overnight, he realized some pretext would be necessary; yet try as he might, he found himself unable to devise one. Since my adoptive father’s first anniversary memorial hasn’t been observed yet, I can’t exactly go flaunting it—though if I make arrangements, it should be manageable. (But if such circumstances were to arise, wouldn’t that be improper? Shouldn’t we wait until after the memorial service? It’s not as though I’m particularly eager to go either.)

The woman, who gave the impression of a flower blooming in some fragile shaded spot, rarely tried to insist on her own way. That trait was as frustrating as it was endearing. If I were to create some pretext, it would be all right to go. "That’s not right—if you do such a thing, wait until after the memorial service; please take me then. I’ll be able to manage more leisurely next month too—" Well then—let’s make it next month; I’ll buy you something—what would you like?

He felt compelled to buy something compensatory—that matters wouldn't settle otherwise. (Well... I was thinking I'd like a single undergarment for changing into...) (An undergarment—I'll buy you one.) Even saying he'd buy it for her, he couldn't purchase it immediately—struggling as he was with even five yen for pocket money—but he thought ten or twenty yen might somehow materialize by month's end. Moreover, with the first anniversary memorial approaching, he felt certain twenty or thirty yen would become available then.

"Please wait until around the 21st or 22nd; I'll buy it for you."

The twentieth day coincided with the first anniversary memorial. (Yes, that's very kind—but you needn't trouble yourself to buy it for me.) (It's fine. Uncle may still interfere with money matters, but I can manage something like that.) (Until you take a wife, Uncle will remain your guardian. When do you intend to marry?) The woman showed a smile. The inner corner of her right eye was red and congested......

When Yoshinao heard a mosquito buzzing by his right ear, he waved a hand as if to swat it away. He had already descended the slope and was about to turn the barber shop's corner. That was the barber shop he had encountered at the foot of the slope. Yoshinao directed his gaze there. Inside the glass door hung a white curtain with a dim light shining behind it. Thick darkness spread densely around them while water plinked noisily in mud ditches flowing along both sides. It was a street where groundwater overflowed during heavy rains. Houses either pressed directly against the road or sat far back lined up like missing teeth, their gate lamps flickering here and there, but most appeared asleep with no human voices audible. Among them stood a single house on the left where light flooded brightly across its entrance. That was the ice shop now situated next to Yoshinao's house.

"If I ask at the ice shop, I can find out whether Uncle has come or not," he thought. He felt as though the old woman and her daughter from the ice shop were keeping watch on Uncle for his sake. His legs quickened their pace naturally. The sound of a young man's laughter reached him. "He must be a student visiting the ice shop," Yoshinao deduced. That voice held a carefree clarity.

He must be a school student.

The crimson and yellows of the fruit ices displayed on the right side of the shop entrance appeared through gaps in the white curtains. The young man's laughter stopped, replaced by the sound of someone speaking in a high-pitched voice.

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

Beneath the entrance curtain appeared the oval face of a woman. That was the ice shop owner’s daughter.

"I went to Nakano around two o'clock and stopped by some places on my way back, which made me late." Yoshinao had stopped walking. "Oh, Nakano—that must have been quite trying. And in this dreadful heat too!"

“It’s hot, isn’t it? Even so, isn’t tonight rather cool?”

In the store, an elderly woman’s voice was heard. The daughter replied to it. “It’s Young Master Miyahara.” The daughter once again turned black eyes toward Yoshinao.

“It’s rather cool today, isn’t it? Please do come in for a moment.” “Thank you... Did Uncle not come by this evening?” “Are you referring to Mr. Yamamoto? It seems he did not appear, but—”

The daughter’s face turned obliquely inward. “Mother, do you know whether Mr. Yamamoto visited the Miyaharas this evening?” The old woman’s voice came hoarsely.

"...It seems Mr. Yamamoto hasn't come. As for the maid—I wonder if she came in the evening... I did catch a glimpse of her returning..." "Yes,"

The daughter turned this way again. “It seems only the maid was seen, but...” So Uncle had indeed sent the maid to summon him after all, Yoshinao thought. “Is that so? Well, since the day after tomorrow is the first anniversary memorial service, I went to the temple in Nakano,” he said.

“Is that so? The first anniversary has already come—how time flies.” “Time does fly. Since I went to the temple today and took a detour on my way back this evening, Uncle must have grown impatient waiting—I thought he might come himself. But instead of coming, he probably sent the maid.” He thought that if she had returned, Uncle must have told her to come immediately. He wanted to hurry home. The daughter exclaimed in surprise.

"A butterfly—oh, such a large butterfly!"

The daughter’s body trembled violently. “What’s this? You’re startled, aren’t you?” The young man said with a laugh. “What a pitch-black creature. Should I take it to that natural history teacher?”

It was a different young man's voice. "How eerie! Mr. Sugiura, please do something! Look how it keeps circling around the electric light like that—as if it's thinking about something!"

The daughter said in a voice thick with revulsion. (A black butterfly... There had been a black butterfly earlier too.) Yoshinao abruptly recalled the butterfly. “Don’t kill it! The wing dust will scatter. Just chase it away without killing!” “Damned creature! Won’t you leave? Hey! Hey! Hey!” “Oh—it’s vanished! It disappeared completely! Where could it have gone? Isn’t this bizarre?” ...he had been sketching the neighbor girl standing on the veranda—she’d come over to play—while watching the wet nurse carry the lunch tray atop the rice tub along the corridor. It was a sweltering, airless day, the shrill cries of aburazemi cicadas scorching through the air from the cliff behind.

(Still can't capture it...) The girl waited with eager anticipation. (Just a little more... Almost there...) Determined to render without fail the child's face with those distinctive eyes that had become its hallmark, he moved his pencil with single-minded focus.

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

From the detached room came the sound of the wet nurse's voice, sounding flustered. (...This won't do... What are you doing?)

Wondering what his adoptive father had begun, he set down his pencil and looked across the inner garden toward the detached room. The detached room—which jutted out from the main house where it bent at a right angle, its small eave clinging to the structure—was connected to the main house by a single end plate. “Master, if you do such things, it will harm your health.” The wet nurse’s voice sounded as though she was barely restraining her master from attempting something. “No—that’s not allowed! That— No—that’s not allowed! That— Someone—quickly—”

No sooner had the lattice door clattered open than the adoptive father emerged from within and stood on the veranda. Following that, the wet nurse came out. (Damn it.)

Grasping a sketchbook in his left hand and a pencil clutched in his right, he stood up. “Master, you mustn’t do such things!” The wet nurse exclaimed angrily and tried to grab the adoptive father’s hand. The adoptive father brushed it aside with one hand while extending his other hand toward the garden and, glaring at his fingertips as though they held some unseen menace, uttered something. (I have to contain it inside.)

He tossed down the sketchbook and pencil and, while heading down the corridor, walked cautiously on tiptoe to avoid making any noise.

“Can you see? Look! Look! Look at that!” The adoptive father said as though even raising his voice terrified him. (What could you possibly be seeing? There’s nothing there, is there?) The wet nurse wore a troubled expression, as though unable to forcibly restrain her master who wasn’t truly mad. (She can’t see it? That—she can’t see that?) The adoptive father’s index finger trembled at the tip. “There is nothing to see—that is merely your heightened state! Please return to your room and have your meal. There is nothing here at all.”

(How could it not be there? That— Can't she see that black butterfly? That butterfly—) (There's no butterfly here; that's just Master's overwrought nerves.) (How could she not see it? That black butterfly—that butterfly—what do you think you're doing? That thing—it's a dangerous creature, I tell you—)

Having said that, the adoptive father surveyed his surroundings with pale, terrifying eyes—then suddenly leapt down into the garden. (Oh! Master—) When the wet nurse, startled, descended into the garden and he leapt down after her, the adoptive father ducked under the glinting sunlight and scurried to beside the plank fence—where he yanked out one of the bamboo stakes supporting morning glories in the flower bed. The withered purple blossoms entwined around that stake, along with vines bearing a couple of leaves, went flying.

“Master— Master—”

The wet nurse chased after him in that direction. The adoptive father glared at the wet nurse. (Don't interfere! If you interfere, I won't have it! Leaving this as it is—what do you think you're doing? Fool—) The wet nurse couldn't get any closer. I went after the wet nurse but could do nothing but stand there anxiously. The adoptive father fixed terrifying eyes on empty space, peering as though at some suspicious shadow—then perhaps having locked onto it—swung up the bamboo stick in his hand and struck.

(Damn it!) Had the shadow of that suspicious thing flown away because of that? The adoptive father once again raised the bamboo stick and peered into empty space. (Damn it!) It seemed the shadow of that suspicious thing had shifted again. (Damn it—you bastard—) The adoptive father took another step or two forward and struck at empty space again. (Take that!) The adoptive father glanced at where he had struck, but his face took on a frustrated expression. (Ran away again, damn you! I won’t let you escape!)

The bamboo flashed again. (Take this! Take this! Damn it! Take this!) The adoptive father now struck indiscriminately at the surrounding area as he moved about. (Take this! Take this! You bastard! Take this!) The adoptive father’s scream echoed terrifyingly. "Young Master, there's no other way—we must force him into his room."

The wet nurse turned toward me and declared resolutely.

(That's right—there's no other way—we'll have to restrain him.) I too thought there was no choice but to do so. Damn it! I won't let you escape! You won't get away—you demon—

The adoptive father was in a frenzy. “I will grab him—please lend me your hands!” The wet nurse suddenly ran up and pinned down the deranged adoptive father from behind in a crushing embrace. (What are you doing—what are you doing—let go! Don’t interfere! That creature comes to steal my life! Fool! Would you let them take my life—) The adoptive father struggled to break free, but his illness-withered body could not shake off the wet nurse’s desperately restraining hands.

“Young Master—hurry, hurry!”

Having gone right up beside him and fumbling around in hesitation,I—stimulated by that voice—frantically grabbed my adoptive father’s legs from the side. Blood glistened at the corner of the adoptive father’s mouth. "(Let go! What are you doing? Leaving that thing unchecked—do you mean to get me killed?)" The sickly emaciated body of the patient thin as a husk was carried effortlessly toward the detached room. "(Let go! Do you bastards mean to kill me? What do you intend to do leaving that black butterfly unchecked—)"…………

The adoptive father died about ten days later. Yoshinao felt a wave of revulsion as he thought about it.

When he crossed the stone bridge spanning the muddy ditch, there stood a lattice gate with a dimly lit lantern. Yoshinao unconsciously opened that gate's door and stepped through. A narrow dark garden planted with kōyamaki pines and aoki trees stretched before him, where insect chirps whispered faintly. The residence's entrance lay at its farthest depth. Yoshinao moved through the darkness and opened the lattice door of the entrance.

“Young Master, is that you?” A woman’s voice, as though she had been waiting impatiently, sounded.

“It’s me. What time is it now?”

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

A petite woman with thinning hair came out to the entrance. "Oh right... I stopped by a friend's place and got delayed. Did Uncle say anything?"

Yoshinao had just taken a single step up onto the engawa of the entranceway. "The maid from Uncle’s residence came by this evening and said that the preparations for the day after tomorrow are ready. It must have been hot out, I imagine." “It wasn’t that hot today. I went to the temple, but since the priest was out, I decided to go again tomorrow morning. I already mentioned it when I visited the grave before, so it should be fine not to go, but Uncle is being persistent—I’ll just make a quick trip. Was that all from Uncle’s place?”

“That was all. In that case, you should visit the temple once again tomorrow—that would be best. If you meet the priest in person without delay, it will prevent any mishaps—yes, that would be most proper,”

“Right, I’ll go tomorrow morning. Then—wait—what about Uogiku’s husband?”

Yoshinao felt relieved; though he had worried all along the way that Uncle might be waiting for his return, this did not appear to be the case. "He came once in the evening and again at night," said the maid, "but since you were not back, he said he would return in the morning and left." "I have already informed them about the number of people as you instructed," she continued, "so morning will be perfectly acceptable." "Hmm—did you say eighteen?" "That’s correct."

“Did you mention the arrangements too?” “I did.” “About how much did you say?”

“You did say it would be about six yen in total, did you not? I informed them that you had specified this amount.” “I see. That’s fine then.” Yoshinao, as there was also the matter of the money, decided he should go to Uncle’s place right away. “Shall I go to Uncle’s place?” “You must be tired, but it would be best if you were to go for a short while.” “Yeah, I should go after all. He’s being persistent.”

“That would be best. Now, shall I prepare a yukata for you?”

“Fine, I’ll go as I am.” “Very well. Then, please go ahead for a short while.” “I’ll go.” Yoshinao handed the straw hat he was holding to the maid, then took off his haori and handed that over as well. “He’s probably still awake,” “If you mean the master, he is still awake.”

III

Yoshinao stood before the frosted glass door at the entrance of his uncle’s house and quietly pressed the bell button on the right-hand pillar. This was because he found the loud sound of the bell terrifying. He stood there like that, holding his breath as he listened for the faint sound of the bell. Footsteps sounded at the entrance, and after a pause came the clack of geta. A hole about five sun square had been made in the glass door. Yoshinao brought his face to that spot so that the maid would not need to verify the guest’s appearance.

“It’s me. I’m sorry for being late.” The glimpse of a slim figure differed from the plump maid; Yoshinao wondered if 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 time, the glass door swung open.

“I’m sorry for being late. Is Uncle already asleep?” “He’s awake,” “Is that so? Since it got quite late,” When Yoshinao entered inside, Aunt closed the door behind him. “Where is Uncle?” “He’s on the veranda of the sitting room.” “I see,” Yoshinao stepped up into the entrance and emerged into the left corridor. The guest room was on the right side of that dead end. That place faced the inner garden, where in the corridor before the guest room with its storm shutters left open, a new rattan chair had been placed facing this direction, and Uncle in a white yukata lay on his back with his limbs splayed out, a fan placed near his knees.

“Uncle, good evening,” Yoshinao felt as though he were suffocating, his breath painfully tight. “Yoshinao?”

“I’m sorry for coming in so late.”

“What time did you return from the temple?” “I returned around five, but as I met a friend along the way, I stopped by there and ended up talking so long that it got late.” Uncle did not respond to that; instead, he heaved himself up and looked down at Yoshinao, who was hunkered there. Just then, Aunt came carrying a linen futon from the guest room to that spot. Aunt was wearing an indigo-speckled yukata. “Please sit here. Since the maid has already gone to bed, I won’t serve tea.”

“That’s quite alright. It’s late already,” Yoshinao received the futon as he said this and sat down. “Are your preparations for tomorrow in order?”

Uncle’s cold, stone-like voice sounded. “They’re mostly done, but since the priest was out today, tomorrow morning—just to be thorough—I’ll go once more.” “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 said what he had rehearsed countless times in his mind until it felt like truth. “I see. As for the temple matters, that was acceptable. What about the food arrangements?” “That has mostly been settled.” “The notifications for the people to invite are also in order, I trust?” “I’ve set it at eighteen.” “Very well. If the preparations are settled with that, what about the money? From the food to the temple offering—is all of that also in order?” “As for the money, I truly apologize, but I was hoping to ask you for it,”

“That money—is it for the day after tomorrow’s expenses?” “That’s correct.” “If it’s ten or twenty yen, I have that on hand, but I don’t have such a large sum. Just how much do you need?” “I think it will cost around two hundred yen...” “Are you telling me to cough up that two hundred yen?” “I was hoping to ask you for that...” “Impossible! There’s no such money! You’ve already taken 140 or 150 yen—do you think money just materializes from nothing? Even if the Miyahara inheritance has some funds, you can’t squander them so recklessly! This money’s for the first anniversary memorial service—there must be proper accountability! You can’t treat it lightly! To begin with, letting an adopted relative like you waste money unchecked—I’d be failing Fujimura and losing all credibility with society!”

Yoshinao could not say anything. "You’ve been getting above yourself lately—you ought to consider your station for once! What do you take yourself for? Let me ask you this: you claim you went to Nakano Temple around half past three today, returned around five, met a friend, and stopped by their house—what’s this friend’s name?" Yoshinao was startled and stealthily looked at Uncle’s face. Yoshinao had no choice but to blurt out a friend’s name.

“Kohara-kun. He lives in Miyanaka, Sugamo. A friend I attended Waseda with.” The fan Uncle had been holding flapped noisily. “So when you went, did you have anyone with you?” “There weren’t any.” “It’s no use! Lying like that won’t work! Today, you—there’s someone who saw you dozing off on a park bench, leaning against some strange woman! You idiot! What a disgraceful sight! You’ve been lying to me about buying books and oil painting supplies while getting tangled up with women! Fool! Have you no shame? Sleeping in broad daylight, clinging to some woman for all to see! The one who witnessed your disgrace even saw a huge black butterfly come and perch on your hat! Idiot! What an utter humiliation!”

The word "butterfly" struck the ear of the distraught Yoshinao with crystalline clarity. "A wretch like you—my opinion means nothing! Go home and play farmer, you idiot! You think someone sleeps so dead they wouldn't notice a butterfly perching on them? Idiot! Try spouting that nonsense to the old man back in the sticks! From now on I want nothing to do with trash like you—get that through your skull, idiot!"

Yoshinao staggered to his feet and began walking wherever his legs took him.

Four

Yoshinao became aware of himself climbing the dark slope. There was neither moonlight nor electric light in that place, yet a faint radiance wrapped in gauze dimly illuminated the surroundings. Yoshinao wondered where this place was and paid closer attention. The right side formed a black-painted fence, while the left had a hedge of oak or some mottled shrubbery reinforced with round bamboo poles to make a barrier—over both this hedge and the fence hung branches from some unidentified tree.

When he suddenly looked down at his feet, he saw the surface of a natural stone protruding from the soil. It was something buried that had been exposed each time it rained. More stones were visible ahead as well. As he focused his attention, the stone's surface seemed to lie beneath his wooden geta too. Yoshinao thought, I am climbing his slope.

……There were six or seven customers in the oden shop. In the space behind the confectionery counter on the right side of the entrance—partitioned by shoji screens with two tatami mats laid out—a drunken old man with sideburns, known as the teacher in the neighborhood, had brought two students and was drinking sake. In the earthen-floored area, with their backs to the shelves on the left, four people were facing the table set in the center. They were students from a nearby boarding house. "That's enough. This side is done."

At the oden counter positioned to the left of the entrance, an oval-faced woman peered through a gap in the small noren curtain toward the customer seating area. "This side's finished too," By the long brazier at the room's entrance step, an old woman revealing only her plump face toward them faced a woman whose waterfall-striped meisen haori showed its back - this woman briefly turned her cheek. She was the shop's elder sister. "Let's go now, no dawdling," "The dawdling isn't on this side,"

“It’s not this side either,” One of the students near the oden counter interjected. “Both sides…” The shop was filled with laughter. Amidst those smiling faces, the younger sister who had been at the oden counter came out holding a lacquerware container. “Quit your dawdling already,” “That’s right, quit your dawdling already,”

The older sister who had been by the hibachi came down carrying the Masamune two-gō flask with steam coiling around it. "A hot sake delivery order, eh? This is good—better to have someone bring it to you at home. Though naturally, the delivery charge gets steeper that way." The Teacher looked at the younger sister and laughed. "That’s not true at all. It’s the same price."

“Well then, it’s really better to stay home and have someone bring it to you. Makes a bachelor like me envious, I tell you.” “Why on earth would a single person be enviable?” “Because then I can have a beauty bring me sake and snacks,” “Is that so…” “I’ll rent a second-floor room somewhere myself from now on, and then, once I find a good time at night, I’ll come place an order, I tell you.” “Then please go ahead and rent it. I’ll bring it up for you.” “How splendid! With just one two-gō flask of Masamune and a plate of oden, you can obtain a beauty, I tell you.”

“Isn’t that a bargain?” the younger sister said teasingly, switching the lacquerware container to her right hand. “Well then, take your time… I’ll be going now.”

When the younger sister went out, the elder sister followed after her. Outside the single glass door left ajar hung a red lantern, its light faintly tinting the younger sister's profile pale crimson, but soon their figures vanished from sight. “One two-gō flask and one plate of oden…” One of the students said this and looked toward the Teacher as he laughed. “How about this? The old man shall devise something clever.” “That’s ingenious.”

The old woman’s voice could be heard. “Teacher, you really mustn’t teach young people such things,” “That’s right—it’s not something you should teach young people,”

The Teacher turned slightly to the right and looked at the old woman showing her face before the hibachi. “Indeed it is. It’s 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 a bit drunk yet, are you?”

Between the student sitting on the earthen floor and the old woman, another funny story began. The Teacher, engaging with the two students beside him, was laughing as he kept saying something.

The clattering sound of geta clogs hastily stepping on the entrance-drainage board echoed, and several people came in. It was the moment when the younger sister entered with an odd expression on her face, tightly gripping the fingertips of her left hand with her right.

“What’s wrong?” The younger sister continued to cast a cold glance as she wordlessly stomped her way across the earthen floor toward the entrance. “Oh, leaving already?”

The Teacher raised his face, but the younger sister said nothing in response and stomped up onto the small entrance ledge. The Teacher was left dumbfounded.

“What happened?” The old woman’s voice asked suspiciously.

“Ah,” “What’s wrong with you?”

“I cut my palm a little on that slope...” "You fell, didn't you?" “Yeah,” “How did you get cut?” “When I fell, I ended up thrusting my hand onto a protruding stone... I’ll go see Dr. Okazaki now.”

The younger sister said this and retreated behind the shoji screen on the right side, rummaging through what sounded like a box with clattering noises, then soon returned with her tightly clenched hand wrapped in something resembling a white handkerchief. "Did you cut yourself?" The younger sister, now appearing somewhat composed, gave a faintly lonely laugh.

“Just a little,” “That won’t do,” “I’ll just go see Dr. Okazaki now. Please take your time.”

The younger sister started to leave. "That’s no good," The Teacher made a face as if he couldn’t even joke and uttered something unclear—whether 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 old woman’s face. “It’s the slope by his dormitory—that place is a bad spot.”

The old woman spoke as if there were some deeper meaning.

“What kind of place is it?” “What do you mean, ‘what kind’? Folks’ve been talkin’ ’bout that spot since way back, you know.” “What sort of talk?” “That place—Mr. Endo’s grand estate it was—used to be part of his mansion grounds. The road got built when I was a girl, must’ve been fifty years past? They say that’s where Mr. Endo cut down a maid for disobeyin’ him—then his wife died there, horses keelin’ over, all manner of tales. I don’t tell the girls—scare ’em silly—but it’s an odd place right enough,”

“Hmm, I see...” “Even when it isn’t raining, if you pass beneath that place, rain will suddenly come pattering down, and even when there’s no wind, somehow a breeze will start blowing…” Yoshinao, while conjuring a momentary scene before his eyes, suddenly looked up at the tree branch hanging overhead. The tree branches and leaves hung motionless, making no sound at all.

The road curved to the right. Yoshinao stepped on the stone surfaces protruding here and there as though counting them. But why he was walking there, where he intended to go—even he himself did not know. It was as if his legs, being controlled by something invisible, carried the sensation of eternally marching forward—such was the state of things.

The slope ended, and he came to a slightly wider path. At the same time, the blackboard fence on the right vanished, transforming into a hedge reinforced with bamboo ties like its counterpart on the left. Gate lanterns stood scattered along that passage. The retreating figure of a young woman materialized directly before his eyes. She wore a long-sleeved kimono - light blue ground crossed by navy checkered patterns - fastened with a glossy mouse-gray obi. The woman paused mid-step and glanced back over her shoulder. A white oval face framed limpid black eyes. Pale crimson lips appeared to radiate warmth toward him. Yoshinao felt this impression permeate his consciousness like ink soaking through paper.

Yoshinao found himself able to consider approaching the woman without any sense of awkwardness. The woman turned forward and began walking. Yoshinao started walking to catch up with her, but as the woman's pace was comparatively fast, he couldn't close the distance in one breath. Yoshinao grew impatient, but since he felt guilty about running and thought he mustn't frighten her by doing so, he hurried with small steps while maintaining the appearance of walking calmly.

The woman's feet stopped again, and she turned her pale face toward him. Her black eyes gazed fixedly at him, their gaze holding an expression at her lips that could not quite be called a smile. Yoshinao resolved that this time he would catch up to her. When he was about three and a half meters away, the woman started walking again. She had styled her abundant hair in an S-shaped chignon, fastening a brown ribbon around its base as if to envelop it. From her came wafting the pungent scent of intensely stimulating spices. The aroma soaked into Yoshinao's nostrils until they overflowed with it.

The woman’s figure from behind began to seem reminiscent of several people. Yoshinao wondered who she might be, but he couldn’t think beyond that.

Her face turned back toward him again, and seemed to be waiting for him to approach. Indeed, at her pale red lips, there was a smile. Yoshinao strode forward. The distance narrowed to about six feet. And then, the woman started walking again, and in an instant, the distance between them grew to three and a half to five meters. Yoshinao walked with such intense focus that he began to sweat again. The woman disappeared around the corner of the right hedge. There was a small path there. The narrow cement-paved path had already lost its coating and turned muddy.

The distance between him and the woman narrowed again to about six feet. Yoshinao resolved to call out. “Excuse me, excuse me.” The woman turned around, a smile playing at her lips. Yoshinao approached. And then, the woman’s figure vanished. Yoshinao found it strange. However, that was because they had reached the end of that path, and it became clear that the woman had turned right. Yoshinao also turned right and followed.

The woman's white face looked this way with an expression that seemed to be waiting for him to catch up; Yoshinao smiled back. “Excuse me, excuse me.” The woman started walking as though she hadn’t heard it. Yoshinao began walking briskly, determined to catch up to her this time. Yet her pace remained swift, and still he couldn’t close the distance.

The woman turned right at the corner of a house visible on the right side and proceeded. It appeared to be the entrance to some recessed dwelling, where the right side opened into a square overgrown with grass. To the right stood the wall of a house. Yoshinao tried to catch up. A five-story tower loomed hazily on the right. Yoshinao felt a constriction in his chest. The woman stood pressed against that tower's wall. Sensing something supporting his chest area, he found he could not walk.

A small black shadow-like thing emerged furtively from the wall beside the woman, then suddenly lunged at her. Yoshinao assumed it must be a delinquent boy and resolved to dash over and pry them apart. An indistinct cry—neither fully human nor animal—rang out. The shadowy figure that had attacked the woman then scurried up the wall with the fluid ease of a fleeing monkey or cat, clambered onto the second-story roof, scaled higher still, and promptly disappeared from view.

Yoshinao, startled, looked toward the woman. A glaring light fell from the fifth-story window of the tower. Under that light, the woman’s figure vanished, and in its place was a single black butterfly that fluttered away.

Yoshinao's head grew hazy.

V

Yoshinao walked in a frenzy. He descended dark slopes, passed through narrow one-sided streets, made his way through areas with clamorous automobile traffic - yet couldn't grasp his location or direction.

A house resembling a bar, with yellowish curtains hanging from the eaves and light shining from within, came into view on the right side of the road. At that moment, Yoshinao’s throat was extremely dry, so he thought of drinking some soda water. He stopped and peered briefly inside. The four-panel glass doors were slid open to both sides, with a mirror-like glossy folding screen erected at the center; from its right edge, he could see the pale blue Western-style garment worn by a woman standing beneath the visible shelf. When he looked toward the left wall, a young man stood with his back to the wall, holding a cup in his hand.

Yoshinao entered from beside the door on the right. Near the right wall stood two black circular tables, and at the table across from them sat a man in a blue outfit reminiscent of what might be worn by a Chinese person with a prominent nose, facing this direction. To the right of this blue-clad figure, a white staircase resembling stone leading to the second floor of the establishment came into view. Along the left wall were arranged three rectangular tables. At one of these sat both the young man he had glimpsed earlier from outside and another man facing him - this latter figure displaying a reddish profile while wearing Western-style clothing and sporting long hair that defied conventional Japanese appearances.

“Welcome,”

Under the visible shelf were two women. One was the woman in the light blue Western-style dress he had seen from outside; the other was a girl who looked no more than sixteen or seventeen, her hair arranged in a Shimada-style updo and wearing a white apron. Yoshinao briefly wondered where he should sit, but feeling that the table by the right entrance seemed suitable, he took a seat facing the staircase while glancing sideways at the man with the prominent nose. When he saw that, the woman in the light blue Western-style dress came over. The sound of footsteps in half-boots made no noise whatsoever.

“Welcome, what may I get for you?”

Yoshinao thought he'd rather try drinking draft beer than soda water. "Do you have draft?" "We do." "Then I'll take a glass of draft." "Certainly."

The woman in Western clothes turned back and went to the window near the left wall, peering in as if looking inside. “One draft beer,” When she said this, a response came from within in a clammy voice that echoed as though from a cavern. As Yoshinao thought this voice strange, the woman in Western clothes soon brought a cup filled with beer that appeared amber-colored and translucent. “Thank you for waiting,”

“Thank you,” Yoshinao immediately took the cup to his lips. The icy coldness felt utterly refreshing, so he drank it nearly dry in one gulp. Setting it down, he looked toward the customer seated before him. The man with the prominent nose sat properly with his hands on his knees, but his eyes were closed as if he were asleep. He briefly thought that since it was late, the man was probably asleep. *How late could it be now?* Yoshinao suddenly thought of the clock. And he wondered how he had come to be here, but couldn’t recall.

"Just where is this place?" Yoshinao tried thinking again, but even that remained unclear to him. He grew irritated and tapped his head with one fist. "Shall I bring you another draft beer?"

The woman in Western clothes came and stood there. "Well then, I'll have another one." After that, Yoshinao unconsciously took his previous cup and, while drinking the dregs of beer, looked toward the left table. The long-haired man showing a reddish profile leaned forward over the table just as before, while the young man opposite him remained exactly as he had been with his cup held to his lips. He wondered curiously and turned his gaze to the young man's face. The black eyes showed no movement, like those of a doll.

“Here you are.” The woman in Western clothes brought a cup. When the woman set down the cup, Yoshinao pointed slightly toward the young man. “Miss, is that customer asleep? He’s been holding his cup like that for some time now, hasn’t he?”

The woman turned around, "That's right, isn't it?" After saying this, she looked toward the Shimada-style woman sitting motionless under the shelf. Then the Shimada-style woman's eyes snapped open, and a smile welled up in them. "Miss, just where in the world is this place?"

The woman in Western clothes turned her face toward him. “Can’t you tell?” “I can’t tell.” “You should realize it any moment now,” “I don’t know. I don’t know where this is, and I don’t know what time it is either.” “You seem to be acting rather strangely.” “I don’t know if I’m acting strangely—I don’t even know that.” “What in the world has happened to you?” “I can’t figure that out—tell me, just tell me where this is and what time it is! If I knew that, I should be able to remember.”

“What does it matter if you don’t know such trivial things?” "It’s not trivial—it’s vital! Tell me at once where this is and what time it is! Just where am I, and what hour is this?"

The Shimada-style woman sat up.

"The butterfly's here."

Yoshinao raised his face and looked up at the ceiling. On the ceiling burned about three gas lamps glowing yellow. "You," From behind came a woman's voice he recognized. Hearing this, Yoshinao hurriedly turned around. There stood the woman wearing a light blue kimono with a navy grid pattern against white skin.

“Ah… It’s you.” “What time did you come here?”

"I just arrived moments ago! What in the world is the time now?" "Hmm, what time could it be? Oh, that hardly matters now, does it really?" "If I don't know the time and place, I can't make sense of anything at all! You must tell me." "Why dwell on such things? I simply came for soda water—I couldn't sleep." The woman spoke these words and settled into the chair beside Yoshinao.

“Wouldn’t you like to take your time tonight? Shall I bring some soda water?” The woman in Western clothes who was standing nearby spoke up kindly. “Ah, please bring it with lemon.” When the woman in Western clothes went toward the opposite side, the woman looked at Yoshinao’s face. “How about you also have some soda water?” Yoshinao grew frustrated at the woman saying such things. “I’ve had beer already—never mind that. Where is this place? I simply can’t figure it out. Please tell me! Unless I know the location and time, my mind can’t recall anything at all.”

“Why don’t we let such trivial matters be?”

The woman laughed. The woman in Western clothes holding a soda water cup came to his side.

“This gentleman has been saying such things since earlier—isn’t it all so trivial?” The soda water cup was placed before the woman. “That’s right—it truly is a trivial matter.” Yoshinao found himself at a loss.

“It’s not trivial—for me, it’s crucial! Please tell me,” “Even if I don’t tell you, you’ll find out soon enough. Just stay still.” “It’s no good! Why won’t you tell me when I’m pleading like this?” The woman was drinking soda water. “You mustn’t make such unreasonable demands. If you press too hard, I’ll leave.” “Then you absolutely refuse to tell me?”

“That’s impossible. Just stay still,” Yoshinao's voice had 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,” “Then, go up to the third floor. I'll make sure you understand.” Yoshinao was happy.

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

Along with Yoshinao, the woman also rose to her feet. Yoshinao passed by the table where a man in blue sat and ascended the visible alabaster stairs. The staircase spiraled upward. Yoshinao lowered his gaze to the hair of the woman climbing behind him. A ribbon coiled in an S-shape lay there, its underside spread like bat wings. In the second-floor room stood a round table, yet no people could be seen. Yoshinao continued up the stairs leading to the third floor while surveying the space.

The third-floor room was a pale yellowish expanse of space. Tables stood scattered about the chamber, and shadowy figures that defied gender distinction appeared here and there like isolated points of darkness. Yoshinao paused briefly, uncertain where to take his seat. “Come here,”

The person at the front table raised a hand and beckoned. Yoshinao, wondering whether it might be someone he knew, took a step or two forward and peered. She was a petite, beautiful woman who appeared to be twenty-three or twenty-four.

“Come on over. Aren’t we going to become friends from now on?” Yoshinao thought she seemed like someone he had seen somewhere, 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, you don’t recognize me? You haven’t even seen a photo of me.” Something flickered through Yoshinao’s mind. “I’m your aunt.” That was the adoptive mother his deceased adoptive father had said lived in the mysterious house nearby. Yoshinao, startled, rushed down the stairs and tried to exit through the entranceway without even putting on his geta. Then the glass doors that had been open until now suddenly began closing from both sides and snapped shut with a bang. Yoshinao, flustered, tried to open them but they wouldn’t budge. He tried moving each of the four glass doors back and forth, but they had stuck fast like a single solid panel and wouldn’t move.

Yoshinao vanished without a trace from that night onward.