Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

To the left, the faint outlines of the Miura and Bōsō Peninsulas protruded into the sea.

To the right, the eastern coastline of the Izu Peninsula stretched jaggedly out to sea.

In front, Ōshima appeared floating on the horizon, while far closer, Hatsushima stood out clearly.

Right below, the bustle of Atami Station Square and the voices of children running about the elementary school playground could be heard like the trilling of skylarks.

Ryūnosuke leaned back in the rattan chair on the M Hotel terrace, basking his entire body in the sun with his eyes closed.
Right nearby, the monotonous sound of hotel cooks playing catch with a sponge ball could be heard.
Though it was the end of January, it was unseasonably warm.

When he hazily opened his eyes, Yamano-san stood right beside him.
She appeared to be twenty-two or twenty-three years old - impossible to discern whether she was an unmarried girl or a married woman.
At the hotel too, they seemed unable to determine this woman's identity, maintaining a cautious distance while addressing her simply as "Yamano-san."

“It’s warm today, isn’t it?”

Ryūnosuke said hurriedly.

“It really is warm.”

With that, their conversation ended.
Neither was particularly talkative, nor did they share any common topics to discuss.
Thus whenever their paths crossed—which happened once every five encounters—they would exchange nothing but formulaic pleasantries.
Yet precisely because both suffered such terrible boredom, not a day passed without them meeting five or six times in the parlor or billiard room. After a week of this routine stay, they'd naturally grown acquainted.

“Have you been to the Plum Garden?”

“No, I haven’t been yet.”

“They say it’s exactly at its peak now.”

“Is that so? Perhaps I’ll go have a look then.”

Ryūnosuke had never had much interest in nature, so the idea of visiting some plum garden held no appeal for him.
After all, he reasoned it would just be a grove of plum trees in bloom—hardly worth making a special trip to see.
And even if he had wanted to go, being the type who couldn’t bring himself to ask a woman who was alone—especially when he himself was alone—he’d simply responded in kind with her remark, his tone mimicking the offhand manner of someone talking to themselves.

“If you’re going, please allow me to accompany you.”

“Well, I suppose so.”
Her response took him by surprise.
Still, his profound boredom made even this invitation seem preferable to remaining in the parlor poring over every column of the newspaper yet again.
“Shall we go see it then?”

II

Inside the car, they remained silent.

Even after alighting from the car, the silence continued.

The two of them walked through the plum grove, maintaining a distance of two or three steps between them.

“They’re in full bloom now, aren’t they?”

Ryūnosuke tried to start the conversation.

“They certainly are.”

That was the extent of her response.

Ryūnosuke thought she was a mysterious woman.
Most women, even if they didn’t find it particularly beautiful, would use extravagant phrases like “How lovely!” in such situations.
Yet despite this, the woman remained as unimpressed as if she were walking through some backstreet in Tokyo on an errand.

“Aren’t you going to rest a bit?”

After they had mostly circled through the plum grove in about ten minutes, Ms. Yamano made her way to a bench and said.

“Let’s rest. You must be tired?”

Ryūnosuke took out a handkerchief, brushed the dust off the bench, and offered her a seat.

“Thank you.”

She sat down heavily.
Ryūnosuke also sat down beside her.
A parent and child dog were frolicking in a sunny spot right nearby.

“Hey Mr. Shima, what do you think we look like right now?”

Suddenly she asked this kind of question.

“Well...”
Ryūnosuke faltered, feeling slightly awkward.

“After all, don’t we look like friends?”
“As a married couple or siblings, we’re too formal with each other, and as lovers, we’re too old...”

"But I suppose there are married couples who don't even talk this much?"

"Well, that's not entirely impossible..."

Ryūnosuke was at a loss for a reply.

She reached out and stroked the dog’s neck.
Her face had brightened remarkably in a short while.

“You… I have a request. Would you hear me out?”
She said hesitantly, her gaze still downcast.

“I’ll do anything within my power.”

Ryūnosuke said, feeling pleased that the young woman had asked him for a favor.

“Will you forgive me no matter how rude my request might be?”

“Not at all. What is it?”

“Will you be staying here for some time yet?”
“Yes, I plan to remain about ten more days.”
“Must it necessarily be here?”

"That’s not necessarily the case. It’s just that I have urgent work, so I don’t want anyone knowing my whereabouts for a while."

“In that case, it’s all the more convenient.”
“I have a rather strange request—would you make me your wife and take me somewhere?”
“I’ll make sure not to be a bother in the slightest.”
“Don’t ask anything about me—just let me be called your wife while you’re staying somewhere, that’s all I ask…”

III

Ryūnosuke found it difficult to take her words seriously—they were far too unexpected.
He didn't know how to respond.
But she was serious.

"You must have been shocked by my sudden request."
"There are profound circumstances behind this."
"But I'm afraid I can't explain it now."
"But you see, I have to stay hidden for a while."
"They're searching desperately for me back home right now."
"I'm staying at that hotel under a false name, but I'm constantly on edge worrying they'll find me any moment now."
"Besides, if a woman stays alone in a place like that, all sorts of rumors will start circulating."
"At the hotel, they must think I'm some Yokohama brothel girl or something."
"If you could let me be known as your wife, I could truly feel at ease..."

Ryūnosuke inwardly thought this would be an interesting aventure.

However, it wasn't the kind of request one could accept so lightly.

"In any case, unless you tell me a bit more about your circumstances..."
He replied, his tone stiffening slightly.

"That's precisely what I can't explain right now. It's terribly selfish of me, but could you trust me completely and grant this request?"

Ryūnosuke had intuitively trusted the other party from the beginning.
Therefore he believed no particular trouble would arise.
Yet his curiosity made him want to probe a bit more into her background.

“Well, I do trust you. The fact that you would ask such a thing of a complete stranger like me—that’s precisely what dishonest people nowadays couldn’t bring themselves to do, you see. Moreover, though you seem deeply gloomy at times, there are moments when your face becomes as clear and bright as a cloudless blue sky. That is a face that cannot be seen unless one is a sincere person at heart. Since you’ve placed your trust in me, I can hardly avoid trusting you in return, can I? But since you’ve trusted me this far, couldn’t you take one more step and share even the slightest bit about your circumstances?”

The woman hesitated for a moment, gazing into space as if wrestling with some inner conflict.

“Since I know your profession, I still can’t tell you.”

“Ah, so it’s because I’m a journalist that you say you can’t trust me?”

Ryūnosuke said rapidly.
He was slightly surprised that the other party knew his profession.
The reason was that he himself had forgotten his own profession.
And when he remembered his profession, the thought simultaneously occurred to him that this might potentially be material with news value.
Selling secrets wasn’t unethical for journalists.
And if he tried to uncover the secret with his full awareness as a journalist, she was merely a woman.
There was no secret he couldn’t uncover.
But—he thought—the other party had known his profession and yet asked such a thing of him.
If that were the case, as a human being, he had an obligation to repay her trust.
But—within his heart, professional duty and humanitarian conscience began to clash fiercely.

IV

The woman said with a faint smile.

“Yes, even when journalists try their utmost to keep secrets themselves, they inevitably succumb to professional instincts.”
“And journalists simply must be that way—”

“Well then, I’ll refrain from asking anything.”
“And I’ll do as you say.”
“But becoming a married couple—how exactly does one go about it?”

Ryūnosuke had not yet completely abandoned his professional mindset.
But with an all-or-nothing resolve encapsulated in the adage “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he decided to throw himself into this sudden, strange aventure that had fallen into his lap.

“Well, what should we do?”

Yamano-san (for there was no alternative but to keep addressing her thus for the time being) appeared to have no clear plan in mind.

“In any case, we can’t remain at that hotel.”
“Having lived separately under different names until now, suddenly declaring ourselves husband and wife from today would seem rather strange.”
“Moreover, the staff at that hotel know me too well.”

“You’re right... We absolutely must relocate from that hotel...”

“Then, what about the name?”
“Shall we use my name, or should we both change ours?”

“Wouldn’t it cause trouble if the pseudonym gets found out?”
“I’m worried about that too.”
“I was worried the police might come investigating.”

“That might not be the case, but let’s leave my name as it is and just change yours.”

“If you would do that…”

“What should we do about the name... How about Michiko? Doesn’t Shima Michiko sound like a perfectly plausible name?”

“Yes, as long as you decide on a name…”

“Now that’s settled, next comes our destination. Where shall we go?”

“Well—”

“How about the A Hotel here?”

“I know that place, you see.”

“Then, how about the K Hotel in Kamakura?”

“I know that place quite well too, you see.”
“Then how about N Hotel in Zushi?”

“I’ve been there before too.”

“Then shall we try a Japanese inn instead?”

“...”

For some reason, Michiko—we’ll call her that from now on—seemed disinclined toward Japanese inns.

“Then shall we just go to Tokyo?”

“If you have no objections, that would suit me best though.”
“I think Tokyo would be best for hiding.”
“In cramped areas like this, we can’t help but stand out.”
“If we happened to meet someone we know, that would be the end of it.”
“But since you’ve come all the way to this warm place, having you return to Tokyo would be such a pity.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.”
“After all, it’s not work that requires using my brain anyway.”
“Then, although it’s a bit noisy, let’s go with the M Hotel.”
“Because S Hotel and T Hotel would tend to attract too much attention.”

“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
“Thank you very much.”
“I truly feel as if I’ve been saved.”

Five

“Shall we start heading back? It may seem warm, but it’s actually chilly outside.”

The two rose from the bench.

As they walked side by side, Ryūnosuke felt an odd, almost ticklish sensation.

Even when photographers offered to take their picture or vendors hawking mandarin oranges still on the branch suggested, “How about a souvenir, ma’am?” he felt an oddly cloying sensation.

The two of them got into the car where the driver stood holding the door open.
Even sitting in the car seat had a different feeling than before.
Was it possible in the real world—something that might happen in novels—to be asked by a woman whose background he didn’t even know to enter into a marriage in name only?
He felt as though he had become the protagonist of a romantic novel.
And when he thought about what adventures might unfold from here on, his heart soared inexplicably.

When the car started moving, Michiko, who had been silent for a while, suddenly spoke.

“If we’re supposed to be a married couple, would separate rooms seem strange?”
“I’ve been worrying about that very thing all this time.”

Ryūnosuke had not yet noticed that either, but of course it went without saying that a married couple taking separate rooms would be odd.
Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to say it was strange.

“Yes, that might be strange.”
“Does the room at the M Hotel have two beds?”

“If it’s a room for two people, there are two beds—”

However, for an unmarried man and woman, even with separate beds, locking the door and sleeping in the same room was far from easy.
If Michiko were someone’s wife and they were discovered together in the same room by her husband—Ryūnosuke now realized he had gotten himself into something serious.
Yet having already agreed to it, he couldn’t very well refuse now that they would be sharing a room.

“I think if we call ourselves a married couple yet stay in separate rooms, it would only draw the hotel staff’s attention and make them suspicious.”

“That’s true too. Well then, who cares? Let’s just take one room.”

“If you’re truly all right with it, I couldn’t ask for anything better though.”
“But you must find this unpleasant.”
“For a woman to be the one asking something like this…”

“As long as we trust each other, it’s no problem at all.”
“Because my conscience is clear and open-hearted.”

Though Ryūnosuke had said this, his heart was far from being clear and open-hearted.
When he considered that two people who were barely acquainted would be living together in a single bedroom for ten days, he felt a premonition that things would not end peacefully.

When the car arrived at the hotel porch, the two of them walked into the hall almost brushing against each other.

**Six**

The next day, Michiko wore a black velvet dress, Ryūnosuke wore a brown suit, and the two of them arrived at the station in a single car.

After the car carrying the two had departed, the hotel’s young clerks who had seen them off to the entrance said resentfully.

“Tch, making fools of us! Cozying up in just one day—that bastard’s planning to shamelessly whisk her off somewhere.”

“Talk about hypocrisy! That guy who was supposed to be our headache all month had his prize snatched by a kite after six lousy days.”

“Just like I pegged from the start—high-class whore through and through. No ordinary dame, I tell ya.”
“Nothing but a black widow sitting pretty in her web.”
“Then that dimwit reporter goes and sticks his nose right in.”
“He’ll get chewed to the bone soon enough.”

“Damn right, damn right—”

The two bought blue tickets for Tokyo and took facing seats.

Michiko wore her hat pulled low, kept her gaze lowered, and remained nearly silent until they passed Ōfuna.
Ryūnosuke also leaned his upper body against the seat back and kept his eyes closed.

“What kind of work do you do?”

Abruptly, she asked in a low voice.

“It’s trivial work really—the company gave me two weeks’ leave and I’ve been made to write these articles called ‘Parliamentary Yajimanda’ [political satire]. Though I do have the materials here—just need to get them written down.”

As he said this, he pointed at the suitcase on the luggage rack.

“I’ll help you. If you dictate, I’ll transcribe. Being idle would be tedious, and we can’t risk going out carelessly—”

“It’s not work worth your assistance—just nonsensical drafts really. You have to act the fool to write newspaper articles anyway.”
“As long as you write foolishness, it gets accepted by readers—and even more so by the executives than the readers.”
“It’s the same everywhere—even at newspaper companies, those with the least brains are the executives.”

“That’s probably true, because young people these days are generally quite sharp-minded.”

“By the way—” Ryūnosuke suddenly recalled and said.

“If we’re going to maintain this married couple pretense, we must modify our speech patterns.”
“For instance, me addressing you as ‘Michiko-san’ feels overly formal, and you calling me ‘Mr. Shima’ would seem strange.”

“Indeed… Even a makeshift marriage requires considerable preparation.”
“What adjustments should we make?”

“In any case, you must address me as ‘dear’ or ‘you,’ and when needing to refer to me before others, you’ll call me simply ‘Shima’ without honorifics.”

“And how will you address me?”

“Well now, Mii-chan feels overly sweet, and Michiko too formal. Shall we go with Mitchi-chan?”

“I love it! The name Mitchi-chan for me!”

“Is that acceptable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then our arrangements are completely settled.”
“I feel rather strange about this.”
“Suddenly you don’t feel like a stranger anymore—I sense a certain closeness.”

Michiko said laughingly, as if joking.

“Isn’t that what they call love?”

“No, this isn’t love.”

Ryūnosuke regretted earnestly denying her joke.
His face reddened slightly.

7

"Shichiroku, Nishiookubo, outside the city; Shima Ryūnosuke; journalist; 35 years old; wife Michiko 28 years old."

Ryūnosuke effortlessly filled out the register in one go and, guided by the bellboy, entered the elevator.

“Eighth floor.”

The room they were shown into had a writing desk at the front, two shabby chairs flanking a central table, and two beds placed askew near opposite walls.

It was just as well the beds weren’t lined up, Ryūnosuke thought.
Michiko also seemed to think so.

When the bellboy had left after setting down Michiko’s large suitcase and Ryūnosuke’s bag, Michiko sat on the edge of one bed and spoke.

“You must have been relieved the beds weren’t aligned, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”
Ryūnosuke answered with a laugh.

“What would you have done if they had been lined up?”
Michiko said bluntly, as if seeing through his thoughts.

“That would’ve put me in quite a predicament.”

“Then were you planning to drag them apart despite being neatly arranged?”

“I might have done just that.”

“But if our feelings are truly clear and open-hearted, it wouldn’t matter if the beds were lined up, would it?”
“Didn’t you say that yourself yesterday?”

Ryūnosuke felt cornered by Michiko’s manner of speaking, which seemed to anticipate his psychological moves step by step.
This is getting unbearable, he thought.
At the same time, he secretly felt a certain allure in that bold, intellectually sparkling, refined conversation.
He thought that if this woman had been single and free, he would have fallen in love with her.
Her manner of speaking to him grew increasingly intimate, almost moment by moment, until before he knew it, it had become downright familiar.

He tried to adopt a matching way of speaking, but found himself tending toward awkwardness.

“What would you do if I were to fall for you?”

Ryūnosuke, thinking to counter Michiko’s nearly overbearing words, said with the intent to shock her.

“You’re already in love with me now, aren’t you? Isn’t that so?”

“Then what if I were to fall in love with you?”

“That’s perfectly fine! I simply adore being loved. Please do go ahead and love me.”

“Then would you love me too?”

“That I couldn’t say—you’d have to be God.”
“Love is inspiration, isn’t it? Something that comes suddenly, before you’ve even realized it yourself.”
“Once that happens, even if you tried to stop yourself from loving someone, you couldn’t completely prevent it, could you?”

Ryūnosuke felt ashamed of having said something foolish. And he secretly resolved not to love a woman like this.

“You’ve started to find me frightening, haven’t you? That must be it. But I’m not such a frightening woman, you know.”

Ryūnosuke, having had his secret fear exposed, now genuinely found this woman unsettling. And as he reflected on himself about to lead this strange, temporary cohabitation with a woman of unknown background and name, he felt like he'd been tricked by a fox.

8

That night, Ryūnosuke lay sprawled on the bed reading a newspaper, wearing nothing but his dress shirt.
He felt vaguely unsettled and couldn't bring himself to work.

Below in the streets, the ceaseless noise of trams and automobiles persisted.
Along the elevated railway line extending from Tokyo Station, trains were constantly coming and going.

The room temperature hovered near eighty degrees Fahrenheit, and since Ryūnosuke wore a woolen shirt, his skin grew clammy with sweat.

"Is it all right if I change into a yukata? Why don't you get changed as well?"
Ryūnosuke threw down the newspaper, sat up, and said.

“Please do.”

Michiko remained seated, smoking a cigarette.
She had been smoking cigarettes openly and continuously since arriving at this hotel.

“Why don’t you get changed and go to bed?
“It’s already past eleven.”

“Yes, please go ahead.”

Ryūnosuke left his Western clothes in a crumpled heap on the chair and changed into the hotel yukata.
The room temperature was just right.

“You, as a gentleman, I’d like you to at least wear freshly pressed pants every morning.”

Michiko began folding the clothes Ryūnosuke had discarded.

“It’s fine, please just leave them as they are.”

“That won’t do. Even if you’re fine with it, I can’t accept it as your wife.”

When he heard the word "wife," Ryūnosuke felt as though his body were wrapped in something soft.
In truth, the sight of her organizing his discarded, crumpled clothes made her look every bit the housewife.

After finishing putting away Ryūnosuke’s Western clothes, Michiko began removing her own robe.
She folded the discarded robe into the clothes hamper, now wearing only her combination and chemise, and as she sat on the edge of the bed removing her silk stockings, he watched through narrowed eyes.

Then she slipped on slippers over bare feet and stood before the dressing mirror.
Then she lightly plucked her eyebrows and applied rouge.
Ryūnosuke couldn’t help but occasionally glance her way through slitted eyes.
Beneath the thin chemise, the rounded contours of flesh moved with vivid life, he could feel.

Ryūnosuke closed his eyes, tormented.
Yet the afterimage remained vividly etched behind his eyelids.
He felt something slithering across his skin - a viscous sensation crawling where no touch existed.