Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

"Ah, it burned down..." One morning, B muttered to himself as he read the newspaper.
When speaking of Honcho district, it was indeed near that inn; but according to the article, it had been more this way—the tax offices and county office had burned down, while they had barely managed to extinguish flames threatening to engulf an old-fashioned two-story building with its large gate and front garden that stood before them.
"Then perhaps that inn escaped unscathed through some fortunate balance." Simultaneously there arose before his eyes a vivid image of the port’s people thrown into turmoil by the fire.
That aged little pier.
Those ships clustered thickly at anchor.
That sea seemingly hemmed in on three sides by cliffs.
That cramped town lane jammed tight with houses roofed in wooden shingles and tiles.
And since it had occurred past midnight—those great flames whipped by raging northern winds must have rained such embers upon moored vessels that none could have remained anchored there.

B felt lonely.
There could be no doubt that restaurant had burned down.
From that street—winding through kitchen spaces and accounts offices into shadowed depths—there had been an entrance opening onto a broad staircase; climbing up to its eight-mat room revealed that place where sea vistas once spread boundless before diners.
Ah—all was finished now.
Though my love had vanished without remnant,I'd believed its traces lingered there; convinced those very walls endured—yet now even they were gone.
Gone—every last vestige consumed by flames!

Still—was she too seeing this somewhere? Was she reading the article stating most of this port’s bustling areas had burned down? If she were reading it, The Woman would surely recall various things without fail. Even if her thoughts didn’t mirror B’s, she would remember that restaurant’s mistress. She would recall Honcho Inn’s proprietress and her daughter. That modern, refined girl. Yet she likely hadn’t even noticed the article. “She isn’t one to dwell on such distant memories now,” B said aloud, his expression growing dejected.

II

At that moment, B said this to The Woman.

“Wait around here for a bit.
“Even in the countryside, it’s still a government office.
“It’d be odd to bring you along, don’t you think?”

“It won’t take long, will it?
“You won’t be too terribly slow?”

“It’ll be quick...
“We’re strangers here, after all.
“If we had a guidebook we could manage, but there’s nothing...
“I’ll just go ask over there—”
With this, B passed through the large gate facing the street, hurried across the broad front garden, reached the entrance, and pressed the white bell button.
After a moment, a man in hakama descended from the second floor.

B was immediately shown to the second floor.
There, seven or eight county office officials were handling administrative duties.
All of them stared fixedly at B.
B was led to where a young clerk in a suit sat at the far end.
There, B heard various accounts.
Stories of the region’s history, tales of imperial bells preserved since antiquity at a certain shrine, accounts of how few visited this remote area due to poor transportation, descriptions of winters spent entirely isolated by the sea and cut off from mainland culture—though these narratives seemed endless and showed no sign of concluding, and though the clerk, contrary to bureaucratic decorum, eagerly elaborated on every detail out of fascination with a city traveler like B—B, now preoccupied with The Woman’s whereabouts, accepted a statistical report with maps and a crude guidebook-style pamphlet produced by the office, thanked them, and hurried back outside.

Though B believed he had concluded his business with unusual haste for himself, it still seemed to have taken thirty or forty minutes of this and that. When he surveyed the town’s streets, there was no sign of The Woman anywhere. What should he do? Could she have gone that way? Thinking this, B hurriedly walked along the town’s streets. Before long, he reached the corner. From there, the town stretched far ahead, curving to the right. B first looked in that direction. However, even in that long street, he couldn’t find The Woman’s showy figure. What should he do? Had she grown angry as usual over the delay and left? When he abruptly glanced to the left, there across the way was a river. He could see the bridge spanning the rain-swollen muddy river. No—it wasn’t just that. Continuing straight ahead beyond that river and bridge stood what appeared to be a small shrine-like structure with torii gates visible. Beyond that lay congestion and trees, but catching a sudden flash of gaudy color amidst them, B hurriedly started walking in that direction. Reaching the bridge’s midpoint confirmed it was indeed The Woman—that flash being her obi—as she busily engaged fishing village children near what resembled a shrine’s edge. He found himself smiling involuntarily. Even so—what was she doing? Engaging with so many children—The scene at that shrine’s edge appeared before him with silent-film clarity, floating distinctly in the cloudy early-summer air. Even as B walked across the bridge, he never once looked away from it. The Woman was eagerly talking about something with the children.

B passed through the torii gate and proceeded into the shrine.

“What were you doing?”

When he called out like this, The Woman glanced briefly this way but, without answering B,
“Listen here—then we’ll divide it equally for everyone.”
“We’ll give the same to this littlest one too.”

After instructing the five or six fishing village children gathered there, she descended from the veranda edge with a gentle smile and made her way over to B.

"What were you doing?"

"No, you see—right now, there were five or six kids there, so I said I’d give them some coins, but their teacher told them not to accept money, so they said they didn’t want any! So then I thought—if not coins…"
"So I said, ‘How about sweets instead?’ and they went ‘Uh-huh,’ so I gave fifty sen to the biggest one—since that one could go buy sweets—and made them get bread and such to divide."
"How carefree these children are—"
"Back in the mainland, no matter how deep into the countryside you go, you’d never find such innocent children…"

“That was amusing…”
“So, did they have a guidebook?”
“I got it.”
B showed The Woman the book he was holding.
“Is it any good?”

“It’s not that great… but it’ll still be useful.”

“So, how...?
“Did you give them your business card?”
“They didn’t find out, did they?”

“It’s all right.”

While sharing The Woman’s delight in distributing sweets to the fishing village children, B slowly walked toward the bridge.

The river, swollen by days of storms, had turned a violent brown and now threatened to overflow its banks and bridges.
The ships had mostly been pulled up onto the shore.

Walking side by side, she said, "It's as if the whole world were different here. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we spent our whole lives just the two of us in a place like this?"

"Well..."

“Can’t you do that?”

“It would be lonely, don’t you think? And boring too. For you, that’s utterly impossible.”

“I don’t think so. I believe I could. In fact, if you could embrace such feelings starting today, even I might become able to.”

“It’s complicated…”

“You’re the complicated one, aren’t you? You couldn’t possibly manage it.”
“Look there.”

“Human beings aren’t built so simply, you know.”
“You have your mother and your father…”

“But if you were to become that way, I would surely do the same.”
“Parents can manage somehow, you know…”
“In my view, men are such half-hearted creatures.”
“Especially you are like that, right?”
“You can’t make up your mind, right?”

“Oh, that’s enough of that…”
“Do men think it’s enough to just treat women as playthings?”

“That’s not true.”

Even having come this far, B found himself unable to avoid thinking that women could never truly understand a man’s heart.
They walked in silence across the bridge spanning the turbid stream.

III

The inn stood on a narrow street.
On this side were the entrance, accounts office, and bathhouse; but the better guest rooms typically lay across the way in a separate building.
From the high window of the street-facing room, one could look directly down upon where both the Mistress of T Inn and her daughter resided.

B and his companions arrived at that port on a rainy day at dusk.
The mournful blast of a steamship’s whistle—drenched in rain—resounded utterly forlorn through the air.
The rain fell so heavily that they couldn’t even remain under the covered docks; though S Port—which they had wandered from afar to reach—lay right before them, all they could dimly make out through the rain’s streaking veil were roofs, white walls, second-story windows, and verandas.

Bwoooom—the steamship’s whistle once more echoed mournfully through the dusk sky.

They had already seen the port half-lit by lamps.
They saw before them the port crowded with people—the port where five or six girls holding large oil-paper umbrellas inscribed with shop names and wearing merino sashes had come out to greet them.
However, they could not easily get out.
By the time over half the third-class passengers had disembarked from the moored steamship, they were finally able to call over the inn’s male attendant and maids who had come bearing their name.
The Woman rolled up her kimono hem, her showy underrobe standing out against the twilight air as she boldly opened her equally gaudy parasol—too fine to get wet in the rain—and began descending the gangway step by step. Just then, the inn’s maid happened to be there, swiftly holding an oil-paper umbrella over her to save it from being drenched in the downpour.
“My, what a terrible downpour!” The Woman said as if finally relieved, watching B disembark from the ship.

Entrusting their luggage to the clerk who had remained there, they made their way from the pier through what seemed to be a shipping agent’s office and emerged onto the narrow street leading toward the inn.

“What terrible rain, don’t you think?”

“It really is terrible.
But it was good that we arrived here—”

“I suppose so.”

The first place they were shown was the area above the inn’s accounts office, but after the Mistress came out and filled in the guest register, she said that the rooms on the far side would be quieter and more suitable, and leading the way, she guided them to the rooms located across the street.
As they crossed the narrow street to the other side, the rain struck their oil-paper umbrellas with forceful horizontal gusts.

“Ah, this side is better…”

When they climbed the stairs and entered the anteroom, she spoke.
They inspected every corner of the second-floor rooms.

"There's no one here," she said upon arrival.
"Completely deserted."
"This will do perfectly."
They remembered how last night's neighboring room—separated only by thin sliding doors—had hosted a guest with a young geisha whose clamor left them sleepless till dawn.

When she descended the stairs and returned from the restroom at the end of the lower corridor, she said, “But there’s a guest downstairs, isn’t there? I heard someone talking with the maid about something…” The Woman uttered this in a low voice and laughed.

The desolation around them—everywhere the storm shutters were tightly shut, under a dimly glowing ten-candlepower electric bulb whose light couldn’t reach every corner of the room—when they quietly drank a bottle of sake with dishes of raw squid and salt-grilled sea bream before them, they couldn’t help but feel at ease.
To the woman’s vocal shamisen accompaniment, B softly sang a short ballad suited to the mood of having distanced himself from the floating world.

When the maid came to clear the meal trays, The Woman asked.

“There’s a daughter here, right?”

“Uh……………………”

“I suppose so.”
“The one who was over there earlier?”

“Yes, that’s right—”

“She’s quite exceptional, isn’t she?
“Has her fiancé already been decided?”

“We haven’t held the ceremony yet, though…”
The innocent maid—no different from the local girls—said this while clutching the trays, staring fixedly at The Woman, who was unfamiliar to this place.

“That’s wonderful~.”
“How old is she?”

“The young mistress?”
“She’s twenty…”

“She’s young.”
“She doesn’t look a day over eighteen or nineteen…”

After the maid went downstairs,

“That’s beautiful.”

“There was someone like that?”

“When I came out from the bathhouse wearing my kimono earlier, that daughter was clearly watching me.”
“With dove-like eyes…”
“It’s nice how innocent she is, don’t you think?”

“So this place is run by that Mistress and her daughter, then.”
“So that daughter is getting a son-in-law, then?”

“That seems to be the case…” The Woman said, then continued, “Shall we go tomorrow? To that Old Master U’s mistress’s place?”

“Indeed, what that Old Master said was true.”
“So there truly is such a person?”

“I suppose so.”
“Ever since we talked about that.”
“The reason the Mistress here began guiding us this way is—”

“Seems so.”

“As that Old Master said—the Mistress here has been treating that kept woman like a sister, hasn’t she? How intriguing.”

“Truly intriguing.”
“Did we say Kobayashi?”

“Yes—Kobayashi Hide.”

B and his companion recalled that about three days prior, at a coastal hot spring inn called U, they had spoken with its old master about this port.
At that moment, the Old Master—now said to be seventy-three—suddenly leaned forward and said, "If I may speak of shameful things—" before beginning his tale of bygone days.
He had been a sailor—one who could claim to have visited every port in Japan—but in the harbor where B and his companion were headed, there lived a mistress named Kobayashi Hide, whom he had once taken care of and who now ran a geisha house.
And he recalled how that woman was on intimate terms with the Mistress of T Inn—reputed to be the finest lodging there—maintaining a sisterly bond, and how he had even written her name on a paper scrap, telling them to rely on her for everything when they went there.
And he recalled that the Old Master had said: "Having grown so old now, no matter how longingly I might feel, I cannot possibly go there myself. But should you ever go and meet her, please tell her that Old Man U from U Hot Spring said so."

The Woman had brought up that story earlier with the Mistress of T Inn.
B remained silent, yet he could not help but ponder deeply—profoundly—about that old master’s love.
As they were having this conversation, it seemed the maid from earlier had already brought the bedding—the clinking of mosquito net rings could be heard clattering near the staircase.

Outside, the rain was falling torrentially.

IV

Waking at dawn, B and his companion had this conversation.

“What a terrible storm this is. In this weather, the steamship couldn’t possibly have made it all the way across. It must have stopped somewhere along the way, don’t you think?”

“Well…”

“Or could it have gone through?”

“If it had encountered this squall before reaching G Port, it would’ve naturally dropped anchor there—but since the storm only grew this fierce past midnight, mightn’t it have been struck after traveling well beyond G Port?”

“If that’s true, things must be terribly rough out there.”

The Woman half-rose, sat up on the bedding, and strained her ears. The sounds of waves and wind merged, tangled into chaos, striking roof corners and demon-faced tiles and verandas with ferocious intensity. The rain made a violent rushing sound as it poured down like scattered water.

"What would happen if you were caught in this squall? In the middle of the sea?" The Woman strained her ears again. "Speaking of which—when we disembarked earlier, there was still a student aboard, wasn't he? He said he was going all the way to S, didn't he? What do you suppose happened?"

“Is that true?”

“It won’t capsize, will it?”

“Well…”

“That’s why I hate the sea! Coming to a place like this is risking one’s life!”

When she suggested going to the lavatory, B got up as he was, struck a match to a candle that was there, and holding it, went down together with her—but what with wind and rain pouring in from every direction, parts of the hallway were left sopping wet, causing even the candle’s flame to flicker fitfully.

“What terrible rain this is.”

“This is terrible! It’s completely intruding now!”

They somehow managed to take care of their needs and came back this way, but it was still too early to rise—there was nothing to do but crawl back into bed and sleep again.
“We can get in another nap, can’t we?” The Woman said while moving her pillow and letting her slightly disheveled hair fall toward him.

B stared intently at it—at that chignon... at that tabo... at that white nape... He remained motionless like that for some time, watching her sleep soundly with an air of contentment, but when sleep eluded him this time, B rose in his nightclothes and went to the adjacent room, quietly sliding open one of the south-facing doors.

Night had completely given way to dawn. The rain had lightened considerably compared to when they had gone down earlier, and though it still fell, it was no longer heavy enough to prevent going outside. Just as he was, B stepped out into the bright morning air. There he saw the beautiful port lying washed clean and spread out quietly. He saw that some of the anchored ships were covered with tarpaulins while others sat soaked through, driven against the shore by wind and rain. The spot where he stood resembled a Japanese-style veranda, its entire surface covered with corrugated iron, where roof planks, tile fragments, and a lone sock blown in from somewhere lay scattered haphazardly about. Beyond the cliffs that gripped the harbor entrance like pincers, ferocious waves churned white across the surface like a boiling cauldron.

V

“Is that truly the case?
“That’s really…”
Having said this, the woman—who had been the kept woman of the Old Master of U Hot Spring Inn—laughed awkwardly.
She was forty-five or forty-six—a woman who likely had never been considered particularly beautiful even in her youth—yet being from Niigata, as they said, B and his companion observed that she retained somewhere a gentle, lustrous charm.
And even when spoken to in that manner by the Old Master of U, the woman did not seem to mind in the least.

Just as the house was compact and cozy, so too were its furnishings and personal effects neat and tidy—everything about it felt pleasant. Everything spoke of her sincerity. There, descending from the second floor came a young geisha so beautiful one would scarcely expect to find such a beautiful young hostess in this countryside—she greeted them with refined politeness, her cheeks faintly flushed.

"Oh!"

The Woman opened her eyes wide in surprise. “What a beautiful hostess!”

“Oh no, she’s just a country girl—”

“Are there really so many lovely children here?”

“Oh no, she’s nothing special—”
She said modestly, “I had her accompany me from my hometown last year—”

“Ah, from Niigata…
“That explains why I thought she was beautiful.”
“I thought there were so many such children here…?”

“I haven’t done anything special.”

Having said such things, she stood up and instructed the geisha to fetch sweets from the neighborhood.

When the conversation turned to the master of U Hot Spring Inn’s lodge, the woman—no matter how much time had passed—spoke in a low voice as if ill at ease.
“I was originally in S.”
“It has been twenty-five or twenty-six years since I left Niigata.”
“During that time I did return twice, but as it still seemed better here, I soon came back.”
“The old master has grown quite elderly now—I can’t help but think he must be terribly lonely—but crossing the sea is simply unavoidable…”
“The other day I even went to T, so I thought perhaps I should make the effort to go all the way there—”
She spoke at length in this manner.
B too could not help being deeply moved.
In those difficult relationships between men and women where jealousy and conflict always hold sway—where even the closest bonds struggle to endure intact—the fact that they had maintained theirs this far must have been a rare thing indeed in this wide world.
That must also owe to that old man’s admirable qualities.
Yet had this woman been ordinary, she certainly could not have come to feel that way.

“Truly, you’ve managed to maintain such a state of mind.”
“It’s not something one can easily become.”
“Most things end up broken though...” The Woman said as if deeply moved by it.

“Oh, it’s nothing…”

The woman remained endlessly modest.
And having had someone specify the best restaurant to hear songs unique to this region, having had someone select a geisha skilled in singing, and deciding to call two or three geishas under her care, [they said]: “Please do come yourself. We’ve also arranged for the Mistress of T Inn to attend...”
“Oh no, it’s not that much trouble at all—if you could just come for a bit, that would be fine.”
Persuading her by saying such things when the woman declined having been invited to that restaurant, B and his companion left just like that from there.

As they walked side by side,

“As expected, that old man from U is quite admirable too…”
“That’s true…”
“Besides, isn’t that person someone with such a pleasant demeanor?
“After all, in the end it’ll come to that, won’t it? When I think of that, I feel so uneasy…”
“…………”

B did not say what he had tried to say and simply continued walking quietly.

VI

That restaurant—the one you pass through by the kitchen and accounts office from the street, going deep into the back—that restaurant. That was indeed burned down. That room was gone. That nostalgic room—where you could see the sea cutting into the port in a triangular shape, its deep blue waves beneath a single passing sail, that quiet lake-like sea—was gone. It would likely be restored someday. The same room would likely be recreated. They would likely create such a room with a fine view as well. However, that room—with its fine old wooden framework and tranquil air perpetually swirling in comma-shaped eddies—was gone. B could still vividly recall that time even now. An old shamisen—played with a sweeping plectrum, though monotonous like that performed by blind female musicians—a mysterious sequence of notes that seemed preserved unchanged since primitive times. A phrasing where one couldn’t discern where the song ended and the instrumental interludes began—a drawn-out, meandering rhythm one might call formless—yet one that inevitably evoked pathos in its listeners; indeed, B thought, this must be why travelers who chanced upon this region could never easily transplant what they wished to carry elsewhere.

It had come true.

It came true.

It came true.

Cranes at the imperial gate
Built their nest.

Love came true, and
Built their nest.

In the scroll of romance he had lived through, there must have been various elements—scenes where one might lie listening all night to a plain’s murmuring river by one’s pillow; scenes where two might be discovered quietly withdrawn from the world at an inn nestled in a deep valley between mountains—countless such scenes there must have been. Yet B reiterated: never once until now had there been a scene like this—in an old-fashioned, quiet room facing the sea—that evoked such unexpected primitive pathos.
He felt an indescribable loneliness as he considered how that scene, much like his love that had vanished into ashes, had also been burned away by fire and completely erased from this world.
B thought that this illusion now remained entirely within his mind alone.
A quiet evening sea where a single sail drifts white like a great swan.
The sound of the shamisen came continuously, one after another, as if welling up—.

VII

There, B and his companion stayed for at least ten days.
The more he recalled, the more scenes there were.
There were various scenes.
If I were to write them all out one by one, there would be no end.
And now, it was painful.
Now that love and everything had perished, it was painful.
Just one more thing to write, and with that, I wanted to bring it to a close.

In front of B and his companion flowed a small stream, twisting and turning. At times it would form small rapids as it tumbled downward, while at other times it flowed so calmly, pooling as if someone had laid a mirror upon its surface. And running alongside it—wherever the river curved, it curved; wherever it straightened, it straightened; wherever it turned sideways, it turned sideways—a relatively wide road stretched long into the distance. And this was the sole national highway in this region, extending straight through to the distant sea. Ordinarily, automobiles used to traverse this five-ri stretch.

However, after days of rain had damaged the road in places—and though repairs were underway, no one could say when vehicles might pass again—B and his companion had no choice but to walk the remaining distance of about one and a half ri.
The Woman walked briskly.
Without concern for white tabi socks getting covered in mud or the kimono’s hem getting torn...
No—saying her chignon, middle finger, and hairpins stood out too much, she tied the inn’s new hand towel into an older-sister-style headscarf and walked briskly as if native to the land.
“How’s this?
“It suits me well, doesn’t it!” she declared.
However, no matter how she concealed herself or what she tried, she never resembled a woman of this region.
Fair-skinned cheeks.
Luminous eyes.
“Is that so? However I try, I can’t become a country woman?”
“Then I’ve flunked completely—”
While voicing these thoughts aloud, The Woman kept walking.

About one ri into their walk, The Woman noticed round logs and cut lumber flowing abundantly down the small stream.

“What happened here? These must have owners, right?”

“That’s how it is—”

“There aren’t many thieves around here, are there?”

“That’s because it’s the countryside—”

“In Tokyo, such a thing couldn’t be done. If even one log came floating down—‘what a good find’—they’d snatch it up right away, wouldn’t they?”

“That’s right—”

The logs and timber moved with the current—sometimes swift, sometimes slow. Some caught awkwardly against earlier stranded logs, forming small rapids that held them stagnant. Others surged vigorously down the channel’s very heart.

“How amusing. When you watch them, the posts come bobbing their heads along like this, don’t they?”

“That’s right.”

The Woman, seeming somewhat tired, frequently stopped under the pretext of observing the driftwood.

“Where in the world could they be bringing these from?”
“Is it far away?”

“Who knows?”

Having said this, B looked into the distance.
A range of low mountains thick with trees came into view, bathed in the dazzling morning light after the rain had cleared, their whole expanse shining beautifully.
In the deeply folded areas where ridges crowded together, shadows that seemed closer to green than black lay heavily over them.

“So what will they do with these propped-up ones?
They won’t just leave them like this, will they?”

“That’s probably not how it works, right?
They’ll likely take care of them eventually, don’t you think?”

“How carefree the countryside is—”
“I want to stay here forever…”

“We can stay.”

“Shall we stay? Shall we abandon returning to Tokyo?”

The woman’s tone—declaring she’d endure any hardship if they remained two unmarried individuals—left B desolate.
Once again, they were delving into something utterly impossible.
To that mental precipice where one step forward meant destruction or death—?

B and his companion quickly tried to steer away from it,

“We’re exhausted now, aren’t we?”
“Not at all.”

The Woman laughed.

"Well—seems you're worn out after all."

“I’m not that worn out yet.
We haven’t even come a couple miles yet, have we?”

“We’ve already come further than that.”

“Is that so?”

Suddenly noticing a bear bamboo thicket ahead and five or six laborers busily working at something on the road,

“Ah, that’s where it’s broken.”

“Ah, that’s right—”

When passing by the working laborers, even with her headscarf and tucked-up sleeves meant to appear rural, it seemed her being an unfamiliar woman here was immediately noticeable—B and his companion saw them frequently stopping their hands to look this way.

After they had come a little this way,

“However, the laborers here are kind, aren’t they? If this were countryside near Tokyo, they’d never let us pass through so peacefully—”

“That’s true.”

“With that many people around, they’re bound to say something, you know.”

“That’s how it is, isn’t it?”

"This place has such good vibes, doesn’t it? Shall we really settle here?"

Having said this earnestly, The Woman looked at B.

At the river’s bend where rapids ran swift and driftwood raced downstream, they lingered watching this spectacle for a long while. When they reached a certain spot, she exclaimed: “Ah, I get it now! Look! They send those propped-up logs down one after another from upstream like this!”

As The Woman declared this like some grand discovery, B casually glanced ahead and saw what appeared to be raft operators from the mountains—three or four men holding long hook-tipped poles. Some waded into the river itself, taking turns releasing the propped logs downstream.

“Ah, that’s right. They have to do it that way.”

“In other words—where they’d use carts in Tokyo—here they send them out to town like this.”
“How convenient…” To The Woman, this too counted among the novel things.

When they passed through that area too, their conversation turned to the ruins they were going to visit.
“We’re nearly there.
Just five or six more blocks now.
But even so—could someone really have come to live in a place like this?
The Emperor—” she said, contemplating the past in her own manner.

Before long, they arrived at the bridge.
There was a teahouse there.
They sat down on the veranda bench and let out a relieved breath.

The ruins B and his companion intended to visit were no longer much farther from there.