Pathway to Japanese Literature

One evening, I took a short walk with Keisaburo through the hilly residential area of that coast.

It was a beautiful coastal villa area between Osaka and Kobe - this bright newly developed resort embodying the classical ideal of white sand and green pines.

I had been spending restless days bathed in Osaka's sooty smoke when, having visited three or four long-desired scenic spots around Kyoto and elsewhere, I grew disheartened at finding nowhere the level of interest I'd anticipated.
In Kyoto, the ancient capital, I walked through places like Arashiyama and Higashiyama, but could not derive as much enjoyment as I once had during past visits.
In this old provincial town where life seemed to have utterly expired, I ate food that tasted desiccated and grew bitterly disappointed by nature here—so cheerful yet flimsy, soft yet languid, utterly divorced from my inner sensibilities; and in Nara too, where everything had become stage-managed spectacle, I could only detect Kansai’s nauseating tourist stench assailing my nostrils.
Had I been someone who pursued antique art as a hobby, I might have found immeasurable comfort and enrichment in the temple architectures so abundantly preserved here, or in the paintings and sculptures stored within them—though of course, I’m not entirely without such interests myself, so even merely glimpsing these treasures compelled me to feel some appreciation. Yet even this appreciation felt far removed from my current state of mind.
Only the flow of the Uji River and the fresh greenery of the gently sloping mountains brought me a joy that somewhat resonated in my heart.

Even in Osaka, I felt my initial wonder at first arriving gradually betrayed—almost imperceptibly—the longer I observed it.
Though economically expanding, I even suspected that here—in a sense different from Kyoto's static preservation—the true vitality of life was decaying.
In this commercial-industrial city where everything gets done with minor efficiency and ease, I felt we should count ourselves fortunate if spiritual decline wasn't already underway.
Streets lay neatly ordered, Western-style buildings rose up, suburbs spread in all directions, with elegant villas and homes nestled among verdant groves along every mountain base and shoreline.
I often ate refined yet simplistic dishes.
I heard this land's traditional vocal music still echoing its opulent past.
At passing glance, I noticed things like women's elegant attire.

This coast too was one of those suburban residential areas or villa districts that the sooty metropolis had inevitably been compelled to spread into.
This new residential area—stretching from northern Osaka through Kobe and Hyogo to Suma’s coastal vicinity—was one such development providing Hanshin citizens with mild and invigorating air, views of verdant mountains and sea, and fresh provisions for their rest and respite.

Keisaburo was my older brother’s adopted son. Having been in poor health for three or four years, he had resigned from his company and come here with his young wife to convalesce—a fact that had even reached my ears, though I had grown unexpectedly distant from them. Now restored to health, he had been commuting daily to Osaka since around spring.
His work was quite slack.

Along a quiet road that looked as if white chalk had been spread everywhere, I walked steadily beside him, puffing on tobacco while wearing rather low-toothed geta. It was a town street lined with barbershops, laundries, bakeries, and general stores. Here and there, mansions with grand gate structures caught my eye. The silhouette of the distant Rokko mountain range appeared faintly through the hazy, cloudy sky.

"Is this the hilly residential district?"
Since I had nothing to talk about, I asked him such a question.
Of course, as an individual alone, I had more than enough topics to discuss.
Had we reached points where our lives truly intersected, there would have been many things I wanted to discuss and ask.
As the youngest child of a father who had died over thirty years prior, I had practically been shaped into a person through my eldest brother's nurturing in Osaka.
Of course, just as there was a considerable age gap between us—to the extent that emotionally it would be more appropriate to call him a father than a brother—I had been permitted by this brother to remain a willful and arrogant child.
And I, who had been deemed suitable to inherit my mother’s family home, found myself at times receiving suggestions from my brother that I was fated to succeed him.
Of course, I myself felt no need to expend deep consideration on these matters.
I thought that as long as I was myself, that was enough.
My children only needed to be themselves.
And even when receiving the explanation that my sister-in-law—the niece of my elder brother’s wife who had been raised by them since her youth—had taken in an adopted son named Keisaburo, I felt no particular dissatisfaction.
That my sister-in-law’s own will had significantly influenced this arrangement—though not entirely free from some unpleasantness—was, from her own standpoint, something so natural as to be almost inevitable.
Even if the extinction of my father’s bloodline meant nothing to me personally, I couldn’t help feeling it left our family with a lingering sense of loneliness.
Of course, that lonely feeling could not help but include my unwavering pure and reverent affection for my father and brother.
It was not a simple matter of interests.
The deeper my reverent affection for my father and brother grew, the more I felt compelled—not so much by right as by duty—to bring even the slightest glory to them through my own efforts, above all else.

However, that matter had already been settled.
Between Keisaburo and his wife Yukie had been born two fine sons in quick succession.
And under the care of my older brother and his wife, they had turned five and three.
My older brother and his wife seemed to be working diligently both out of love for their grandchildren and for the sake of the young couple.

Of course, the old couple and the young couple were by all appearances happy.
Keisaburo was loved by my older brother and his wife more deeply than their own biological child would have been.
Though I harbored some dissatisfaction toward my brother, it stemmed from that warm parental affection brimming with profound consideration.
As for my sister-in-law, she extolled Keisaburo with utmost fervor.
And indeed, he possessed qualities fully deserving of such praise.

In any case, they were happy.
When Yukie would come to my desk and leaf through magazines, her casually conversational tone betrayed an inescapable undercurrent of restlessness.
Though after finishing school she had longed to go to Tokyo and breathe the era's new air, becoming ensnared instead by her adoptive mother's—that old-fashioned aunt's—unyielding devotion to mold her into a homemaker...even if she herself remained only dimly aware of it, what I perceived was a fate warped by no small measure of tragic resignation.
Had she remained with her true parents' household, she might have seized a happier destiny.
Timid by nature, she had always been made to bend entirely to that antiquated aunt's will.

“All my school friends have settled into good positions.”
She seemed to be trying to convince herself to feel genuinely satisfied with the fate her aunt had chosen for her, even while harboring such thoughts.

“Can the household finances here still manage on Keisaburo’s income these days?”
I asked.

“Well, I suppose so,”
Yukie answered under her breath.

“We really ought to let Father rest, but we haven’t reached that point yet.”
She made a lonely expression again.

“How much income does he have?”

“There isn’t much, but I don’t think we need much money.”
“This is enough for me to be happy.”
Having said that, she smiled.

I had imagined her to be a more vivacious woman.
Though not exactly melancholic, the natural vivacity one expects in a young woman seemed somehow constrained.
Perhaps there were physiological factors at play - her pregnancy being one.

Keisaburo was a quiet, composed young man. In his temperament there seemed to be a rather stubborn streak, but this too I thought arose from a sort of defensiveness and embarrassment toward me, with whom he still lacked any deep familiarity. In Tokyo I had occasionally heard it said that he was a man of handsome features. Yukie held a deep attachment to him.

I was walking while listening to Keisaburo’s explanations about this seaside town, though somewhat mindful of the cold night wind sweeping down from Mount Rokko.

“No, this isn’t quite what you’d call the hilly residential district yet.”
Keisaburo answered my question in his characteristically measured, deliberate tone.

“From here onward, you see—it’s still quite a distance to the hilly residential district.”

We emerged onto a wide, desolate road.
It was a splendid road cut through the pine grove.

“This is a splendid road.”

“Well, you see—roads are already the most important factor in shaping a town.”
He responded in a tone that took on a slightly assertive edge.

“Of course, with this gravelly soil, crops don’t do well.”

“No, crops can actually do quite well here.”
“If you go further ahead from here, there are plenty of farmlands, you know.”

“The land around here must be quite expensive.”
“It’s quite expensive.”

On the cliffs beside the road, newly built houses—as if swathed by darkened pines—could be seen scattered here and there.
The fences and gate structures were all of a refined style characteristic of Kansai.

“Let’s go this way.”
Keisaburo entered the path beneath the dark pine grove.
There too, rented houses that still smelled of fresh timber stood with electric lights hung one after another on gates as ornate as those of teahouses.

We emerged at the edge of a white riverbed.
Through the blue pines beyond, trains adorned with beautiful electric lights could be seen passing every two or three minutes without pause.

“The village head here—well, he’s been replaced now—but his predecessor made grand plans for this place: building wide roads everywhere, raising embankments, selling land to enrich the village.”
“And these plans were truly ambitious.”
“Uncle, why not bring your children and spend a summer here?”
“It would do wonders for your health.”

“Well now that you’ve actually seen it yourself，I do find myself wanting to stay.”
“But don’t you think it’s all too sprawling—like nothing holds together properly?”

“Well, you see—it’s like that because houses haven’t filled in yet, but…”

“In any case, there’s still vast land everywhere, don’t you think? Of course, unlike Tokyo, Osaka’s city is packed tight. Yet considering that, suburban development here still lags behind.”

“Well—you see—the population remains small.”

“However, it does get on your nerves a bit—don’t you think?”
“Don’t you think so?” I laughed.

“When I first came here, I felt just like that too.”
“People keep buying up vast tracts of land one after another and building splendid houses.”
“But these days I don’t feel anything about it anymore.”
“There’s no point getting so worked up over it.”
“We’re laying our foundations now.”
“I won’t bother scraping together money bit by bit.”
“What we can manage will only last a while.”
He spoke with a touch of excitement in his voice.

We were walking along the road by the riverbed. Both the riverbed and the road were bathed in pale moonlight, shining pure white. On the opposite shore, within the shade of the black pine grove, scattered lights glimmered. Alongside the road, a cliff thickly overgrown with pine trees stretched endlessly. And at its base lay a deep thicket. Evening primroses bloomed.

“When summer comes—well—the moon will be splendid,” said Keisaburo. With those words, he entered the thicket and knelt down.

And I too stepped into the green grass and sat down on a clump. Pale moonlight pallidly illuminated both our foreheads. Nowhere were any human figures visible. Every house on the opposite shore stood utterly still. Not even a dog’s bark could be heard. Of course, there was no possibility of flowing water’s sound from the dried-up river.

“I like watching the moon from within this grass.”
He spoke as if laying bare the sole poetic inclination he himself possessed.

“When it gets even hotter, this grass will grow longer.”
“When I lie down in it and look at the moon through the grass, that’s a wonderful feeling.”

While feeling a lonely sense of incompleteness, I considered broaching a conversation about classical poetry but held back. Not only that—even in practical affairs, he struck me as too naive. It felt as though he lacked both the desire and the struggle to carve out his own path beyond serving his employer and current occupation. My older brother had told me this job held no real promise for an ambitious young man. His hope was that I would introduce Keisaburo to Mr. Y—a schoolmate I’d met in Osaka after twenty-five or twenty-six years, now head of a major Russian trading firm. I had just been invited by Mr. Y and five or six other school friends for an earnest discussion. They all held distinguished positions in the region. Among them were high-ranking officials I hadn’t seen in thirty years.

I had promised my older brother that I would introduce Keisaburo to Mr. Y, but the matter never once came up from Keisaburo’s own lips.
If it wasn’t that he disdained relying on my help, then he was belittling himself for not having graduated from a particularly notable school—or else he simply had no interest in the job—or so I considered.
I found it difficult to judge.

“How about Yukie?”
I asked tentatively.

“Yukie?”
He seemed to suppress a smile.

“She seems good-natured enough...”

“That may be true—but even that isn’t all virtues.”

“Is there some flaw?”

“No... nothing particularly wrong...” she said haltingly.

Still, they could not exactly be called unconditionally happy souls. I felt a touch of restlessness, but at the same time, I couldn't help feeling compassion for Yukie.

“I can’t help feeling sorry for Yukie too.”
“You must take good care of her.”
“Of course, since there’s no property, you may have your work cut out for you from now on, but…”
I said.

“That’s already…”
He was plucking grass leaves.

As the conversation had grown somewhat tense, the two suddenly stood up, as if avoiding deeper engagement.

“Shall we go out to the coast?”
Keisaburo said.

“Sure.”
I responded.

A wide road had opened up there as well.

“This place is different from where we came fishing the other day, isn’t it?”
When I came to the beach and looked around, I said.

To fill the low-lying areas where marshy spots were abundant, sand from all around had been excavated here and there.
Sand cliffs had formed everywhere.
The waves were somewhat rougher than when we had come fishing.

“Does the sea ever get rough around here?”

“Oh yes, it certainly does.”
“It happens once or twice every year without fail.”
“And when it does, these excavated sandy areas get leveled out.”

On the coast, a few human figures could be seen.

"Uncle, do you dislike the sea?"

"No, not exactly.
"In the past I preferred mountains rather than sea.
"But now I find this carefree sea agreeable enough.
"Though I still dislike overly rough waves."

“I see.”
“I grew up by the sea, so I love watching the waves.”
“When the sea gets rough, I enjoy coming to watch it.”

“Is that Osaka over there?”
I said, pointing at the faint lights that appeared clustered like insects in the hazy mist’s edge to my left.

“That’s not it, though.”
“Osaka lies much further ahead—all you can see there are faint flickering lights.”
Having said that, he pointed again toward the right.

“That’s Wada Misaki.”

“From Amagasaki—can you see troops surging over there?”
I said while recalling the Amagasaki episode.

“That’s Awaji, you see.
“It probably isn’t very visible, though.”

I recalled the time eighteen years earlier when I had crossed this calm sea to visit hot springs in Kyushu.
Because I had been a careless young man in every way, I had forgotten everything from that time apart from the main impressions, as if they were smoke, yet that small voyage seemed as vivid as if it had happened just now.
At that time, I had been thought of by my sister-in-law as a dissolute, wasteful ruffian.

Wherever I went, I felt lonely.
And then, as I wandered aimlessly around this area while recovering from illness, the emaciated, lonely figure I had been at that time painfully rose before my eyes.
Nowhere could I find a gentle disposition like Keisaburo’s current one.
I had never been a happy person like him.

I recalled the people who had taken care of me for so long at that hot spring town.

“Okinu-san said she’d do anything for you now—could you tell Yoshi-chan that?” she pressed.
“Why not go visit them?”
My sister-in-law had made similar suggestions before.

I had been living in the pavilion across from Okinu-san’s garden spring and stones.
A strange nostalgia for that place came over me.

“Maybe I should at least go to Suma and Akashi,”
I murmured.

“Ah, if you’ve finished your work…” Keisaburo replied.

We crossed over sand dune after sand dune, lush with evening primroses and buffeted by the sea breeze, and set off on our return journey.
Mount Rokko towered blue before us.

To fulfill my promise with Yukie, I spent a day on an outing toward Suma and Akashi.
Of course, all the famous spots around here seemed to carry an unpleasant odor, and I had no desire to see any more of them; moreover, I was concerned about my wife and children’s recovery from illness, so I felt pressed to hurry back, but…….

And so, with a hurried feeling, I went to the bus stop early in the morning.

That day too, Keisaburo was supposed to commute to Osaka, but I invited him along.

"It’d be a problem if you two aren’t together. Keisaburo, you must come too," I said.

“Then I’ll go too.”
Keisaburo readily agreed.

“But if it would cause trouble for your company…”

“That’s all right, Uncle.”

I made them hurry with their preparations.

Yukie was at her dressing table putting on her makeup, but soon she went to ask the neighbors to look after the house, still wearing her flashy formal kimono.
They had just found a maid, but she hadn’t arrived yet.

“Thanks to you, Uncle, the two of us can go out together like this, you know.”
“It’s like today’s our honeymoon.”
Yukie was bustling about as she tightened her obi.
Her face had been lightly dusted with powder.

“Well, you’ve become quite beautiful.”
I teased her.

“That kimono doesn’t suit you at all.”

Keisaburo muttered, his face flushing slightly.
“No matter how much you primp, it’s no use for that figure of yours.”
He added that as well.

We were soon inside the train. And before we knew it, while engrossed in conversation, we had arrived in Kobe. I saw again the town of Kobe, spread out narrowly where the mountains and sea pressed close. Two or three days earlier, I had visited an old friend there and walked through the town while celebrating each other’s health.

When we arrived at the terminus, we entered the station to catch another train.

“Kobe is a dirty town,” Yukie muttered.

“There’s nothing dirty about it, but…”
Keisaburo said.

“Is this your first time in Kobe too?”
I asked Yukie.

“It is.”
Yukie’s eyes darkened.

I felt that all women were like that.
My wife in Tokyo, who was watching the children, was also like that after all.

“Next time you come, bring Auntie with you.”
“If Auntie can’t come, please send Hideo-san.”
“No matter what, I’ll take care of everything myself, you know.”
She had been saying such things.

“They’ll go off wherever they want once they’re grown, in their own way.”

“That’s how it goes.”
“I’ll go to Tokyo myself someday too.”

We sat down side by side in the train whose mood had been utterly transformed by some trivial matter.
I was surveying the faces of passengers who looked like they were from Banshu.
Yet their speech showed no difference from Osaka's at all.
The mountains gradually grew more gentle, while tedious-looking fields and towns appeared languidly before our eyes.
Still, nowhere could we see either the lush forests typical of southern climes or expansive plains unfolding.
Everything looked completely enervated.
I found myself unable to avoid harboring doubts even about the humans and culture born from this nature.
It struck me that they might possess a beauty and fragility like hothouse flowers.

We soon found ourselves stepping onto Suma’s beach.

“To be honest, I’m not much of a guide around here either,”
Keisaburo said as he walked toward the shoreline.

Jewel-like stones lay scattered across the beautiful sandy beach.
Water lapped over the small pebbles and sand.
Awaji Island appeared nearby, draped like a blue silk robe.

“How beautiful,” Keisaburo murmured in admiration.

“But this place isn’t all that beautiful yet.”
“They say Maiko is the most beautiful.”

Jellyfish washed ashore by the waves lay dead on the sand like melted glass. I saw those primitive creatures for the first time. Among them were some devouring two or three small fish.

“Look, Uncle – fishing lines...” Yukie warned me. They were lines set by anglers. The pine grove appeared faintly blue and misty at the beach’s farthest point, carrying a tranquil beauty reminiscent of ancient poetry. Yet it held no extraordinary charm.

Climbing onto the breakwater and ascending to the sandy thoroughfare alongside train tracks revealed only villas and hospitals dotting the monotonous pine-covered uplands – even Tekkai-ga-mine and Ichinotani proved unremarkable. I found myself irresistibly recalling the Tokai coast’s vivid seascapes. Everything here bore decay’s pallid hue.

We took the train again to Maiko Beach.

The beach here was beautiful as well, but it wasn’t worth getting off to explore.

“Since we’ve come all this way, we might as well try crossing over to Awaji.”
Yukie, shielding the sun with her parasol, gazed without respite at the island’s silhouette hazy through mist and waves.

Time and other matters were discussed among the three of them.

“Anyway, I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat,” I said while imagining the taste of sea bream caught in these waters.

We searched here and there through the garden where old pine trees spread their branches.
And finally, we passed through one of the large house’s gates and went in.
We were eventually shown to a room on the second floor of that stern house, which seemed to take pride in preserving its old-fashioned dignity from times past.

“This is where high-ranking officials stay.”
“It’s a renowned house.”
Keisaburo said while leaning against the veranda handrail.
Awaji Island lay perfectly framed before us like a stone in a decorative tray.
The cluster of houses at its base could faintly be seen.
Upon the calm waters, sail shadows drifted like dreams.
Motorboats churned incessantly toward Akashi.

“Those go from fishing ground to fishing ground, gather the catch, and send it off to Hanshin.”
Keisaburo explained this matter.

Before long, the maid brought in sweets arranged on a tall cup.
We gazed at the tranquil sea while writing postcards and such.

As we were doing so, the food was brought.

“Huh, so we’re eating tempura in a place like this?”
I remarked as I looked at the copious spread of food laid out before us.

“Well now, you—it’s because you seem to think tempura only exists in Tokyo that this won’t do.”
Keisaburo chuckled.

Yukie was quietly moving her chopsticks, looking as though she found it delicious.

Strawberries like dripping red blood were brought at the end.
I had never tasted such strawberries.

After leaving there, we headed further toward Akashi, but that place was the dirtiest compared to the previous two.
We looked for a boat to Awaji, but there was none.
We walked all around Akashi town.

At Hitomaru Hill, the three rested for a while.

“That feast there must have been the best,” Yukie said.

We boarded the train after managing to locate the station as the sea’s color deepened with dusk.

It was already night when we returned to the coastal house.

I left their house that evening.
The two of them came to see me off to the boarding area.
Under the pale moon, I parted from them, the couple.
This white coastal town—I would likely never visit it again.