Pathway to Japanese Literature

Reikichi had no woman of his own to think about, so he made the woman from his readings—the one who releases red birds and departs—into his own and dwelled on her. Though this very lack of a woman in his life served to deepen his melancholy, with nothing else to occupy him, he still found himself unable to stop thinking of her. That was a novel from a certain book—a collection of translated works he’d bought because he liked the cover—that had appeared in his readings. Reikichi had made a habit of always envisioning the passage where the woman would escape from her house, go out, and then return to lower the birdcage from the window.

Since the book had been found by Mother and soon taken away, he retained no memory of the novel’s author beyond it being a long, unfamiliar foreign name. But for Reikichi, such a thing never mattered in the first place. As long as it was a book that wrote of love—any book at all—it didn’t matter if there were parts he couldn’t understand; he would voraciously devour it. The object of love was a woman named Gretchen. It was an old town in Holland—a certain place rich with historical relics from times past. The young painter from France had come to this town and stayed to capture her moist-looking blue eyes, her amber silk-like lush hair, and her elegant figure clad in a pure white, long-skirted kimono. Before finding a woman suitable to be such a model, he had become enamored with Mary Magdalene in an old temple mural—she who was taking down Christ collapsed on the cross and secretly burying Him in the earth—seeing in her the very form of the woman he sought. He went daily to gaze upon her as though she were living flesh. Then one evening, as he paid homage before this same painting, a woman descending into pillars now grown dim with twilight startled him—her gaze, her skin, her gaunt form in white kimono resembling that figure more closely than if Mary Magdalene herself had stepped from the mural. Without knowing where or how she vanished, he transferred his longing to this woman.

From then on, the young painter wandered the town every day seeking her form. And so, after several pages of narrative, there came an evening when Gretchen—she who was to become his sorrowful wife—unexpectedly passed before this lovelorn man's eyes at an old town corner, walking through a light rain.

The man hurriedly followed after her. However, as if it had been entirely a trick of his eyes, he eventually lost sight of the woman and found himself standing fruitlessly on the quiet town street where only the rain's threads continued falling like spider's silk—sporadically yet unceasing. The young painter thus returned to his prolonged, futile search and trudged through the twilight-dimmed street when he saw—at the window of a quiet house—a pale red birdcage hung dripping in the fine rain, its owner's hand drawing it inside by opening the curtain just as he approached below; that hand belonged to the Magdalene-like woman he had lost sight of.

The man would thereafter come out repeatedly to walk back and forth beneath this window, yet despite his efforts, he never once managed to catch even a glimpse of the woman he loved. Each day, he would place into the birdcage left at that same window scraps of paper bearing— He would write "O woman who resembles my beloved Magdalene," inserting it [into the cage] over and over. Each time the woman retrieved her bird at sunset, she amassed numerous scraps of paper—time and again receiving notes in the same hand bearing identical characters—until at last realizing they came from a man who loved her. With this knowledge, her small chest throbbed day and night as she fell in love with this man whose identity remained unknown to her. The man had loved the painting’s Maggureen before this. For the woman, this was the first love of her life.

And thus came the day when the man whispered his burning heart to the woman. Soon he spoke of escaping with her to a beautiful land of day and night unseen by others. Though bewildered like a startled bird, wanting only to obey his every word, she consented without reflection, her small breast trembling alone. The following evening, the man stood beneath the window with a carriage waiting at the street corner. The secretly waiting woman slipped out as though dissolving into air, descended twilight's shadowed stone steps, and threw herself into his arms.

“Is it all right?” the man whispered, quivering with excitement. The woman trembled as she was led away, breaking into a half-run as though in a trance, yet even as she ran, something weighed on her mind. A feeling tugged at her from behind—that she must turn back once more to the doorway, if only for a moment.

“Please wait.” “Just wait.” Finally, the woman implored the man and ran back alone. That bird. That bird I forgot to release.

The woman stretched up and quietly took down the birdcage from the window, hurriedly opened its wire mesh door, took out the bird, and released it. The bird flapped its wings and rose up, grazing the dimming evening sky. Without even time to ascertain where that red form she had long cared for and grown accustomed to had flown away, she simply ran and boarded the carriage. The woman thus became the man's and left home, but while accompanying her for a time, he gradually grew into someone as cold as plaster toward her. The man had forgotten his own woman's worth and came to yearn once more for the painted Magdalene. The woman gradually came to understand that she had been loved by this man until now. The man had not actually loved her. That he had sought her meant he had been attempting through her to implicitly obtain the painted Magdalene. To gain living whispers and kisses from the painted woman, he had loved only her who resembled Magdalene. For the man, there ultimately could exist nothing beyond that painted woman.

True to form, the man finally made the woman dress exactly like the painted Magdalene, had her stand before the canvas, and attempted to recreate his beloved Magdalene through this woman with his own hands. While being painted, the woman said to him: “Before you, I was merely a doll of that painted woman.” “Yet even this mere doll loves you like this.” “Please—even when the painting is finished—keep me by your side forever,” she pleaded through quiet sobs as tears streamed down her face while he continued painting her.

At this final passage, tears began to well up in Reikichi just as they had for the woman. The more pitiable her heart grew, the more sorrowful became the red of the bird she had earlier let escape from its cage—until he could no longer conceive of her as anything but his own woman.

Reikichi, who suffered headaches daily, found everything tiresome and languished idly with a heart as gray and desolate as the overcast sky, thinking only of this woman who released birds. Yet remaining at home meant enduring Grandfather’s incomprehensible scolding all day—an irritation so unbearable he desperately wanted to flee somewhere utterly isolated where he could lose himself in doing exactly as he pleased. Even Mother, though she fretted and tried to cater to his moods, didn’t understand how severe his headaches truly were—making her efforts utterly pointless. Reikichi pleaded with his mother to let him stay at an inn—if only briefly. This came immediately after his quarrel with Grandfather. Mother tried various means to dissuade him—arguing she’d be troubled if others misinterpreted his departure as stemming from that conflict—but eventually grew overwhelmed. When she finally said “Do as you wish,” he seized this permission and resolutely left.

Reikichi missed the train and spent the afternoon soaked through by the steady rain, hunched on a grimy bench with his agitated head cradled in his hands, waiting impatiently for the next one. That gloomy mood he felt then—as if somehow regretting having left like that—later struck him as having presaged some unimaginable calamity.

The destination was a seaside inn his family had frequented since his father's time. Having arrived alone like this just after winter's passing—so unexpectedly—the landlady, unprepared for such a visit, asked if some ailment troubled him. Reikichi explained truthfully that he'd told his mother about his headache and irritability before coming here. Given the season's timing, not a single other guest stayed there. In the room beyond the entranceway, zabuton cushions, tobacco trays, and tea ceremony tables lay piled together. In the hushed front desk area, the landlady did mending work with just an elderly maid who seemed unaccustomed to such tasks—the two of them alone.

The large two separate buildings—save for the single downstairs room Reikichi had entered—had all their gray storm shutters shut on both floors, leaving the corridors connecting the rooms perpetually dim as evening. Moreover, ever since his arrival there had been nothing but hazy, overcast days, and despite being March, the closed shoji screens remained gloomily shaded all day long under the still-chilly sea breeze. Even if he went out searching, there was no sunny spot to be found. Still, when he thought about how staying at home meant being constantly grumbled at by Grandfather, it felt like escaping from an unpleasant cage. Reikichi, like a lonely bird accustomed to shadowy places, remained listlessly alone. And so, to fill his darkening heart as his head throbbed with pain, he thought of nothing but that woman with the red bird. Being in such a bleak and desolate place—as if stripped bare—and pondering various things felt suited to his own lonely state of mind that sought yet could not obtain. He felt as though he were ceaselessly lost in thought about things, yet despite this, there were times when he wasn’t actually thinking about anything concrete at all, simply drifting in a haze.

When his head grew weary, Reikichi would stand vacantly outside the gate and gaze at the vast, chilly, damp, endless ocean. He found even conversing with people tiresome. In this regard, while the landlady of this house attended to every need thoroughly, she wasn't troublesome because unlike some kept woman who had risen from servitude, she remained quietly composed—a woman who never spoke unnecessary words.

Thus, Reikichi would sometimes wander aimlessly along the gloomy, sunless back alleys of this aged town—where not a soul knew him—lined with peeling, blackened houses that exuded desolation, his heart enveloped in a mood of searching for that lost Magdalene-like woman. He did not go out to the main streets of the town simply because he found them unpleasant. In one section of this town thoroughfare, there were many houses with tattered thatched roofs bearing noren curtains dyed in garish colors; from behind these emerged women with fox-like faces—their heads alone gleaming thickly with white powder—who carelessly exposed the knees of their faded, slightly soiled kimonos and wantonly teased passersby without restraint.

“Hey there...” “Lookin’ good there, you.” “Hmph, actin’ all stuck-up, I tell ya.” “How detestable.”

“Oh my—what did I think? You’re still just a sixteen or seventeen-year-old kid!” In hoarse, grating voices, they all guffawed together. Reikichi felt he could no longer bear witnessing the wretched state of these fallen women, and passing through this area had become unbearable for him.

The unforeseen disaster that Reikichi encountered in this town thoroughfare occurred on the sixth dark night since his arrival. Reikichi, having no choice but to pass through this town thoroughfare to mail a letter to his mother, came upon one such ambiguous establishment where two or three grubby, sailor-like men—worn-out heavy black priestly robes draped over them—were sprawled across the wooden floor, drunkenly bantering over cup sake while someone plucked a broken-sounding, clumsy shamisen at the shopfront.

As Reikichi passed by and walked about a short distance beyond it, a man came rushing up from behind—apparently fleeing after some mischief—breathlessly stumbling past him. While glancing back as if anticipating someone in pursuit, the man abruptly veered off into a small alley and disappeared into the shadows. Then another man, apparently taunted by the brawny man, came chasing after him while angrily shouting his name and waving an extinguished lantern, panting furiously. He appeared quite drunk, his feet staggering unsteadily.

“Damn it!” “Where the hell’d you go?!” “Where’d you...!” he shouted while staggering past Reikichi and continuing onward. Then, the man who had been hiding deftly slipped past his pursuer and stealthily retraced his path back the way he had come. The duped man, unaware of this ruse, kept spewing garbled curses as he suddenly halted in the middle of the street, seeming to contrive some plan. Later reflection would reveal he had actually been retying his loosened sash.

Reikichi had merely thought since earlier that these men were likely part of the group rowdily talking at the shop he had just passed, and with no particular concern, as he moved past the standing man, he inadvertently stepped on the sash the man was dragging—the dimness making it impossible to see.

“Hey, you!” the man snarled, yanking at the sash pinned under Reikichi’s geta.

“I’m terribly sorry.” “Hey, wait.” “What did you say?” “I'm sorry. It was just too dark,” Reikichi said, scurrying away as if to flee. “Wait, you bastard!” the man kept pestering him relentlessly. “What is it?” Reikichi had no choice but to stop in his tracks. “What do you mean ‘what’?” he said in a tone deliberately exaggerating his drunkenness, then staggered forward and grabbed Reikichi’s shoulder with a rigid hand.

“What are you doing? I've already apologized so much—couldn't you just put up with it?” “What'd you say?” he growled, jabbing him hard. “Then what should I do? Isn't this rough? Going this far?” Reikichi snapped, irritation flaring.

“What the hell do you mean ‘violence’?” “You’re the brat here—steppin’ on a man’s sash and then spoutin’ off your damn logic!” “You’re just lazing around—wh-where you stayin’, huh? Some student type like you?” he growled, not letting go. Reikichi, believing the man was deliberately trying to harass him out of spite, seized an opening to swiftly shake free and attempt to flee— “Wait, bastard!” he snarled, swinging up the lantern and struck him across the eye with a crack. Realizing that lingering would only worsen his disadvantage, Reikichi scrambled away before taking further blows, but noticing something cold and wet streaming from his eye down to his cheek, he examined it under a nearby shop’s light—his palm now smeared with sticky blood where he’d touched the flow.

“Oh my, what on earth happened?” the shop’s landlady exclaimed in shock as she hurried over. What a violent thing to do, Reikichi thought with regret so intense it felt like he could wrench it away. “Oh dear, you mustn’t handle it so recklessly.” “You should press down firmly with a handkerchief or something.” “Oh... it’s your eye.” “Is it coming from your eye?” “My goodness, what on earth has happened?” The landlady flustered about in a panic. But it wasn’t his eye. He had sustained a wound above his right eye. When Reikichi closed that eye and pressed on the wound to check, it was strange—his left eye, which should have been fine, had gone completely dark and could see nothing.

Soon after, Reikichi resentfully received medical treatment for the wound above his eye and then immediately went to the police. Outside, people were clamoring noisily. "But you must have said some insults or something, right? If there was nothing else, there’s no reason someone would commit such an outrageous act over just what you described." The officer responded to Reikichi’s account with disbelief, stating they would investigate to find the perpetrator anyway—as if it were just a minor incident. As he was being slowly questioned about his registered domicile and other details, there came a commotion—the innkeeper arrived in a flustered panic, pushing through the people peering in the entrance while gasping out, “Please move aside. Just a moment, please move aside.”

“What happened to you?” “Who did this?” “Where did it happen?”

The innkeeper stood there shocked and in a fluster.

Early the next morning, another police officer came to the inn and reinvestigated the circumstances. The perpetrator had been caught immediately last night and detained all night but was temporarily released and sent home this morning, the police officer informed the innkeeper. “You insist without wavering that you were indeed first to throw your geta—isn’t that truly not what happened?” “In that case, you’d best tell us everything exactly as it happened—if it later turns out otherwise, that would be most disadvantageous for you,” he pressed unnecessarily.

Reikichi found the police utterly inept and grew so irritated that he no longer cared which side was right. Even if the perpetrator were convicted，this wound wouldn’t be restored. More than anything else，what pained his heart was the fact that this trivial wound he’d sustained would inevitably become known to Mother and the others later. This wound will definitely leave a scar even if it heals. When the day came that he had to return home and it still hadn’t healed，the thought of going back like this—still applying bandages and such—filled him with despair. What was he to say to Grandfather and Mother and the others when he returned? Though the Innkeeper had said that，Reikichi remained unsettled，suspecting she might still secretly notify Mother.

Reikichi, more consumed by these anxieties than the critical matter of what would become of his blinded left eye, felt as though he were hiding from the watchful eyes of Mother and the others. Unpleasantly burrowing into his futon, he kept applying cooling compresses to the wound. When he carefully reconsidered things, the bastard he’d fought with became unbearably hateful. The innkeeper had sent a telegram straight to the main residence last night instructing the master here to come rushing over, so he should already be on his way. While declaring they would soon have that boatman thrown into a dark cell, yet simultaneously fretting like someone who had broken a precious entrusted item with no excuse to offer, she remained anxiously nursing him at his side. But come afternoon, her resolve hardening, she decided—"In any case"—to take him into town and have him examined by a specialist ophthalmologist just to be certain, then accompanied him out.

On their way, they stopped the rickshaw at the attending doctor’s office to inform him of the situation. The doctor, saying that the wound and eye mustn’t be exposed to wind, applied bandages and closed both eyes. Reikichi was put on the train in that state. This doctor had casually claimed that even the left eye merely had congestion in the eyeball due to bruising, but upon later reflection, he turned out to be a clueless quack who understood nothing. During the journey to the hospital, Reikichi tried desperately to think of anything else, convinced that regret would prove futile. Yet everything seemed like punishment for having left home against Mother’s wishes. His usual selfishness weighed on him so heavily that he couldn’t even bring himself to dwell on thoughts of the bird woman anymore.

The examination results at the hospital left no choice but to admit him as he was. The diagnosis stated that the interior of the yellowish-brown portion of his left eyeball had ruptured and appeared to have collapsed backward; depending on circumstances, they said the entire eyeball might need complete removal. Both eyes were again locked shut with bandages.

"Oh dear, whatever shall I say to your family to explain this?" said the innkeeper, who until coming here had only worried about whether the wound would leave a scar. Though she now voiced this belated concern in a fluster, what was done could no longer be helped. Having been told by Reikichi that lingering in this place wouldn't resolve anything, the innkeeper, flustered yet compliant, went to complete the hospitalization procedures at reception, and after that—

“You must stay strong, please.” “I must hurry to the post office now.” “I can no longer keep this from your family,” she said, entrusting Reikichi to the nurse before hurrying away. Now that matters had reached this point, keeping it concealed at home became impossible. While envisioning Mother and the others’ stunned expressions, Reikichi let himself be led by the nurse’s hand toward the hospital ward. The nurse—having been warned by the hospital director—guided him in silence as though maneuvering something precariously balanced, moving with deliberate care—

“Here we are at the staircase,” she said, then had him place one hand on the stair rail. Reikichi, sinking into dark melancholy as he wondered what would become of himself were he to become irreversibly blind like this, cautiously felt his way up the steps in his loose-thonged geta. Even with someone accompanying him, he couldn’t shake off an anxious feeling—as if he might collide with some corner or something might come crashing down from above.

When they reached the second floor, the nurse opened a glass door—apparently an examination room—and said, "Please wait here briefly while I prepare that room over there," then had him enter temporarily.

The floor there was tatami-matted. Reikichi groped around his surroundings and sat down right where he had entered, listening to the dragging sound of slippers as the nurse descended slowly—as if preoccupied with other matters—with a lonely feeling of human scarcity, waiting dejectedly with his knees drawn together. The next day, when changing his shirt, it was noticed by the attendant—though whether the blood thickly caked on one sleeve was still freshly seeping at that time remains unclear.

He felt as though he had been placed in a room with peeling walls and grimy tatami mats, but with his eyes bandaged, there was naturally no way to know the actual state of things. He didn't even know what town he had come down to, or what kind of hospital in what sort of place he had been brought to.

Even if the bandages were removed here and now, there would still be no vision in his left eye. When he had been placed in the darkroom earlier with a lamp lit before him, only what seemed like the flame's core appeared as a dimly swelling light—as if one had opened their eyes in murky water struck by sunlight. The right eye merely showed congestion from minor bruising and was apparently unharmed, but remained shut with applied gauze secured by adhesive plaster, making it impossible to open. As the director removed the dressing and examined his eye through a square metal plate attached to a handle—pouring lamp light through a convex lens—Reikichi barely glimpsed the director's swarthy complexion framed by short chestnut-bristle hair, his khaki surgical cap, and how the cellar-like room's dark walls were draped from ceiling edge with cloth of matching somber hue, before fresh bandages immediately sealed his eyes shut again.

Since it was a private ophthalmology hospital in a regional city, it couldn’t be considered particularly large or splendid. In the room near where Reikichi sat, there was no sign anyone had entered. After what seemed to be a clattering horse-drawn carriage had violently rushed past the thoroughfare outside, the surroundings returned to a valley floor-like silence, leaving only the lonesome sound of a pillar clock—likely hanging on the staircase wall—ticking creakily like an old man. The time now seemed when even daylight had grown dim and shadowed. Somehow, he felt evening shadows were creeping from all directions, growing murkier and darker. Reikichi wondered how much longer he would have to wait like this.

Then, soon enough, clattering footsteps came ascending the stairs. Thinking it might be the nurse from earlier, he waited expectantly, but it seemed not to be—whoever it was passed right by where Reikichi sat and went off elsewhere. Reikichi felt the sharp stinging beneath his bandages gradually intensifying, while his exhausted and sunken mood festered with irritation. He didn't care where anymore—he just wanted to collapse onto the futon as soon as possible.

Reikichi tried to suppress his urge to lie down even briefly until the nurse came, enduring each agonizingly desolate second until he could bear the wait no longer. Upon reflection, he realized what a wretched fate he'd met. It felt loathsome—a punishment self-inflicted through his own choices. He recalled how townspeople had clattered out in their geta to doorways when he left town, whispering amongst themselves as they watched him depart. Children swarmed around the carriage before and behind his blindfolded self. I became their finest spectacle—he thought—while they've already forgotten everything as if resolved. As for me alone—what days and nights await in this hospital henceforth?—

From below came the clattering sound of someone hurriedly ascending the stairs. The moment Reikichi was laid on the futon, he shut his eyes and sank into sleep as profound as coma. He awoke abruptly with the disagreeable sensation of having overslept, his entire body drenched in clammy sweat. While tentatively gauging his defeated spirits and attempting to push back the futon's collar, he noticed someone who appeared to have been sitting silently by his pillow since earlier. When they immediately offered assistance, he assumed it must still be the innkeeper.

“Is it already night?” he asked.

“Rei, are you awake?” It was his mother.

“I’ve been here since earlier.” “Look here, Reikichi—this happened because you wouldn’t listen to what I told you.” “All of this is what you brought upon yourself.” “Do you have any idea what I had to tell Grandfather to get scolded into coming here?” “Neither Grandfather nor I could have imagined it would be such an outrageous injury—that’s how it was.”

Mother began scolding him, her eyes brimming with futile tears as she spoke. Even if she blamed herself by saying such things, there was nothing to be done—I hadn’t gone out knowing I’d meet such violence. If I was going to be told such things, I should have hidden it better. Reikichi had no way to speak. “And what about the innkeeper?” he said, changing the subject, but Mother didn’t respond and simply stifled her sobs.

“Reikichi,” let this finally make you learn your lesson about selfishness.” “From something so trivial, you’ve gone and lost one of your precious eyes—haven’t you?” “All of that becomes my fault toward Grandfather—you see.” “Please try to understand my feelings even a little.” While saying this Mother trailed off her words and seemed to sink into sorrowful thought—but soon changed her demeanor as if—

"But if I must say it—after all, I was the one at fault." "In truth, no matter how much you insisted, if I had steadfastly refused to let you go out, there would have been nothing to say—but truly, what a terrible misfortune this is." "'To end up a cripple not born this way...'" she said with a sigh, unwittingly blaming herself as she spoke. Reikichi somehow found himself feeling more pitiable for his mother than for himself, and unbeknownst to him, tears welled up beneath the bandages. Hearing himself being called a cripple from his own mother's lips—that word too seeped sorrowfully into both their hearts. Reikichi lay still on his side as though rendered immobile, remaining silent.

Eventually, Mother, “Rei-san*, you mustn’t catch a chill. Let’s get this futon on you now.” She draped just one layer over him, “And you must be hungry if you haven’t eaten anything?—But you didn’t have a single bite when dinner came, did you?—It seems there’s some milk bought over there, so shall I prepare that for you? Hmm.” While saying this*, she pressed down on the edge of the futon.

Then, slowly opening the door, the innkeeper returned from somewhere. “It appears the servant I sent out has indeed returned.” “They would have arrived on the same train as you, I believe,” the innkeeper said in a small, deferential voice to the patient. “At any rate, it seems they first submitted the incident report I mentioned earlier to the police as a formality, then returned home. But apparently they arrived just as we were coming out here—passing each other by—so they immediately rushed over to confront them and gave them a thorough talking-to.” “When my servant returned, it seems three or four people who appeared to be their associates came around to our side and were urgently making some sort of requests. I believe they must be maneuvering to settle things privately, seeing as the crime can’t be escaped—but really now, do you think such a favorable outcome could possibly exist?” “Truly, no matter what punishment we might inflict upon them, it could never be sufficient for such an offense.” “Moreover, considering that man’s usual conduct, it’s unthinkable that the police would make such lenient arrangements.” “What on earth do the police intend to do?”

“But no matter what anyone says now, it’s an irreversible matter—that side of things no longer matters. All of this is punishment for this child’s usual self-indulgence.”

Mother said this dismissively, as if spilling tears would be futile now that things had reached this stage. "But no matter how I look at it, isn't this utterly vexing?" "Oh no, not at all." "If I may presume to understand Madam's feelings, no hardship I endure could ever suffice as apology." "Oh, are you awake?"

The innkeeper appeared to be pouring medicine into the customary earthenware pot used for cooling compresses, "I should have applied this sooner, but you were sleeping so deeply." "And he needs to take this medicine once more." "Oh, this pot's spout has been properly shaped." "Then afterward, might I ask you to make the water even hotter?" "But Madam, since there's nothing suitable besides milk, perhaps I should make some rice porridge instead?" "I did purchase a small quantity of rice for that purpose." "We've even managed to have running water installed in that corridor now."

The two of them were saying such things.

After a while,

“Is this for the toothbrush and toothpick, and this one starch?” Mother said.

“I got rather flustered and forgot to buy the sugar.” “Oh my, you’ve done quite enough already.” “You’ve taken care of absolutely everything—I am truly grateful.”

“Oh, there are still various things we’re short of, but what we can do without for just today and tomorrow—I’ll bring everything properly from home soon.” Reikichi lay listening to their hushed conversation in the corner beneath his futon when his left eye suddenly began stinging sharply as though splintered glass had pierced it, plunging him into gloomy apprehension about what might lie ahead.

“Reikichi, sit up a bit and apply that to your eye,” Mother said. The innkeeper came to his side and assisted in removing the bandages. Mother remained silent, seemingly examining how the wound was dressed. Reikichi sat up with his right eye still closed and only his left eye open, but of course, beyond the dim light that blurred hazily like something seen through water’s depths, he could see nothing at all. “Is this the electric light?” he said while bending his face over the lowered earthen pot, using chopsticks to pick up the medicine-soaked gauze and press it against his eye.

The clock struck two out in the corridor. “Has it really come to that hour already? Innkeeper, please make your preparations to retire for the night. I’ll handle things from here.” Mother took out paper and wiped the water droplets Reikichi had spilled. The innkeeper seemed to be carrying something out, but— “Oh, a shooting star,” she murmured to herself in a small voice, then quietly closed the door and stole away down the corridor as if muffling her footsteps.

“Reikichi, can’t you see at all with this eye?” Mother asked resentfully, as if she had been waiting for the pitying innkeeper to be briefly absent.

Two o'clock meant midnight. Outside lay deathly stillness, while a sparse wind rustled through the grove of trees.

“Is someone in the next room?” Reikichi asked while cooling his eye. “Why?” “Because something seems to be making a rustling sound.” “Yes… There seems to be someone here. You must have woken up from the commotion here with people coming and going. Keep your voice down.—Is that enough for you now?” When the bell for the nine o’clock examination rang, Reikichi was soon accompanied by his mother and stealthily left the hospital room. Because his mother had come and was accompanying him in this way—unlike when he had come yesterday—there was felt something like having already settled in here for a long time, as if living in an ordinary place.

Downstairs, a considerable number of outpatients seemed to have gathered, and the voices of women speaking in hushed tones with thick accents were audible. As he sat waiting on the bench, what appeared to be four or five boys came right up beside Reikichi, clambering onto and off the bench in such a dizzying manner that it became unbearable. The maid-like woman accompanying them only offered feeble scoldings for propriety's sake, so they kept rustling about restlessly, using some piece of wood to scrape and scratch at their surroundings.

From the examination room, yesterday’s nurse called the patients’ names one after another in a lonely woman’s voice. It seemed someone had administered medicine, and there were those who, while soothing a baby that wailed as if turned inside out—as though frightened by something—headed outside.

“Is this a 5-sen copper coin?” “Hee hee, I’m terribly sorry.” “I can’t see it at all, you see.”

At the reception desk, an elderly-looking person was paying in a shrill voice. Everything about the place inevitably seemed like a small, dingy hospital that had become peeling and worn-out.

Reikichi was soon placed in yesterday’s darkroom and examined. “There—can you see it twitching?” “It’s visible even to the naked eye.” The Hospital Director then had the assistant physician peer through the square metal plate’s aperture. Mother had quietly come to stand beside them. “This appears to present certain complications,” the Hospital Director cautioned as he removed the right-side gauze. “My word—this has been done most grievously,” Mother murmured upon first seeing the wound, her voice heavy with distress.

“Can you see clearly now? “Here.” “Please look at this.” “It’s clouded.” “But this one is fine now.” “Your nerves are fatigued, so it must appear somewhat hazy.” “There’s nothing more to it.” “There will inevitably be some scarring here.” “Does it hurt?” Then, the Hospital Director pressed his finger near the wound to check.

Then, upon returning to the examination room, he had eye drops administered into both eyes, and while being made to press the inner corners of his eyes with both index fingers, he leaned back on the sofa and had to remain perfectly still in that position for a while. The reason he had to press there—as he later learned from a nurse—was because the area beneath served as the opening for tear drainage, and unless blocked, tears would flow out and wash away the medicine. The medicine stung his eyes sharply, as if he were choking on smoke.

While this was happening, a figure who seemed to be a woman came to the empty space on Reikichi's left and settled herself gently. Reikichi grew self-conscious as his sleeve had been pinned under her, so he raised his elbow and gave a slight tug. "Oh, do excuse me," the woman apologized in a small voice that carried refined dignity. She appeared to be eighteen or nineteen years old. As she spoke and readjusted her sitting position, even the faint rustle of her kimono suggested someone wearing garments of quality.

Patients entered and exited alternately. When about five minutes had passed, Reikichi had medicine instilled into his left eye once again. When told "You no longer need to keep pressing here," he lowered his hand, but feeling an urge to open his eye and survey his surroundings, he endured the throbbing pain from his wound and slightly cracked it open to look around the room. Before the Hospital Director sat a woman who resembled a country wife, with a towel wrapped around her head. The Hospital Director wore a stained surgical cap, his manner of speech onward revealing him as a brusque, nonchalant doctor who dispensed with formalities. On the other side of the table cluttered with small medicine bottles, the young physician from earlier—who seemed fresh out of medical school—was swiftly moving his pen, the chain of his watch peeking out from under his white surgical cap. The nurse standing beside the Hospital Director, shredding and handing over cotton wool, was—as one might imagine from her voice—a gaunt, lonely-looking woman, her white coat’s sleeve cuffs conspicuously tied with something resembling torn red ribbons.

On the side facing Reikichi, beneath the soiled white cotton curtain, four or five patients sat on sofas, similarly pressing their eyes. Most were rural men wearing old handwoven striped kimonos, carelessly tied obi sashes twisting their hems into destitute-looking appearances. As his wound throbbed like something being pulled taut, Reikichi closed and opened his eyes before carefully surveying his surroundings piece by piece to grasp the full situation. Above the door frame hung a long row of charts printed in blood-red ink resembling lunar diagrams. He supposed they must be specimen charts related to eyes.

When he looked again toward the Hospital Director, he noticed that the sliding door handle behind him—which people passed through—had come off, leaving a hole, and that different paper had been firmly pasted over a tear near its hem. The entire scene within the room gave a modest feeling that somehow seemed to admonish him for his usual indulgences. Because there was not a trace of arrogance or unpleasantness there, to Reikichi—through eyes that felt dim and would cloud when opened even slightly—all the people somehow seemed familiar, creating a homely atmosphere.

Reikichi felt as though he had been coming here daily like this for ages—an unbroken continuum. The woman adjacent to him seemed to be receiving her second medicinal application at that moment. "Does it burn so fiercely?" inquired the Hospital Director. "A little, yes," the woman responded softly, her voice embodying gentle composure characteristic of refined ladies. Though Reikichi yearned to glimpse her features, his position—seated beside the eye he was compressing—rendered any attempt to turn and look impossible.

“Rei-san, I’ll go upstairs for a moment.” Mother came over from somewhere nearby and said this. Reikichi forgot about the woman and thought of other things.

Soon, he was bandaged once more so that nothing could be seen. And then he went upstairs and fell into a dark sleep. The landlady had bought and brought back various things that were still lacking, then returned home before noon. In this way, Reikichi—save for during the twice-daily examinations—could discern neither color nor form through eyes perpetually shrouded in bandages, day and night without distinction. In the hospital room, they would undo his bandages to perform the compress treatment, but by that time, the visible eye had already remained closed with gauze. Moreover, since he was prohibited from moving even slightly except when going down for examinations, he had to remain still on his futon all day long.

Reikichi—whether from mental exhaustion or something else—would fall asleep immediately if he stayed still and could sleep endlessly. "But you really shouldn't sleep so much." "Here, have this," Mother would say with concern, occasionally rousing him from sleep to give him wafers or other snacks, or engaging him in conversation to divert his thoughts.

One time, Mother,

“Rei-san, there’s a nice warm sunny spot here too. Come sit out here,” she said, gently making him rise from the futon. On the side facing the outside thoroughfare were two glass windows with black curtains hanging over them. If one opened the right-hand window and stepped through, they could reach a small balcony outside, it was said. Mother parted the curtains there, created a sunny spot on the tatami, seated Reikichi down, and herself seemed to gaze outside from that position.

“Around here, small houses just stretch on and on.” “Behind them are fields right away.” “It must be wheat—it’s turned quite green.” “—Just like Tenma-cho.” Mother muttered this as if talking to herself and compared it to a one-sided town on the outskirts of that city. Regarding this recent incident, Mother no longer uttered a word. “Can you see far into the distance?” Reikichi said. “Ah, I can see quite far into the distance.” “I just noticed there’s a fire watchtower over there.” “It looks as small as a toy, you know.” “—I wonder which way the sea really is.”

“It must be this direction.” “You’re lying.” “Why would you say that?” “But that’s just how it feels.”

“That’s wrong.” Mother laughed with a lonely smile, as if straining eyes that couldn’t see. Reikichi, like a small child wanting to try everything, gingerly opened the glass window while remaining seated. The sunny spot where he sat enclosed was warm, but outside carried a day when skin felt faint chills from whistling winds. Somehow, he imagined yellow dust whirling up planing shavings caked with mud, sporadically hanging low over the gray old town streets below. “You should close it now—the brazier’s ashes will scatter,” Mother admonished. She placed a tray on her knees and cut something from the evening vegetables with a small knife. Though called first-class hospital fare, the meals were coarse and ill-tasting, so Mother would buy unprepared ingredients nearby to prepare vegetables thrice daily; what she served at the hospital was usually just that before being taken away. Since the rice often turned cold or hard, she made porridge for Reikichi each time.

Reikichi soon grew bored even so and burrowed back into his futon, sleeping until evening. Yet despite this, there were times when he would unexpectedly wake in the dead of night and find himself utterly unable to fall back asleep. In such moments, Reikichi would lie awake in the unmeasured depths of darkness, persistently turning over various thoughts until loneliness overwhelmed him, then call out to Mother as she slept. Even after lying down, Mother kept her eyes open as if perpetually alert; when called, she would immediately wake, light the candle by his pillow, and inquire what he needed. Reikichi would sometimes engage in hushed conversations like this with Mother, discussing all manner of things.

Even so, the director had instructed that after receiving treatment, it was better to rest quietly for a while. On the afternoon of the fourth day, the innkeeper came and consulted with Mother about dealing with the perpetrator.

To Reikichi, such matters now felt as inconsequential as looking at discarded old geta—it mattered not at all. As it was precisely time for the afternoon examination, Reikichi was taken downstairs. Mother went back upstairs and spoke.

Reikichi found that descending to the examination room was the only variation in his entire day. In the afternoons, there were two or three children who seemed to come after returning from school; they darted about the hospital as though accustomed to being there. While waiting on the bench in the outer room, there was also a girl near his feet on the tatami, counting in a small voice as she bounced a handball. The old man nearby said these children mostly just had mild trachoma and didn't consider it an illness at all, so they hopped about unconcernedly. That person kept saying “trahomy, trahomy,” which Reikichi found comical.

His right eye was now able to see objects clearly. Since the external wound had nearly healed, it was said that in four or five days, the bandage on one side could be removed.

“We still can’t properly assess this eye, you see.” “After all, it’s not a simple case by any means.” With cautious deliberation, the director said this. Reikichi, while pressing the corner of his eye as was his habit, cracked open his right eye a bit to look around. Among them was a shabby, country-like female student patient who resembled someone from the women’s department of a teachers college; after finishing her examination, she had the director stamp what appeared to be a notebook recording her return time. She was a woman who seemed both accustomed to her impairment and pitiable in her condition.

Reikichi had come to converse with one of the hospitalized patients during the times they sat side by side—there was such a person. The man had just entered and was about to sit down opposite when he noticed Reikichi; he came over and sat beside him instead.

“Here, try guessing what I have,” he said, presenting his clenched hand. This man said he had struck a nail and stabbed his eye. Even though next year was the inspection, he was a kind-hearted country farmer who acted completely childlike. What he held in his hand was a small toy watch made of lead that looked like it would collapse if pressed. He said he’d gone out to the small Yakushi festival now being held outside and hit this with a blowgun for one sen. In his pocket, he had bought and was carrying a blue-colored, cheap-looking paper case.

“Ha, they’ve stuffed rice husks inside to puff it up,” he said with a small “hee hee,” pleased with himself. When the man insisted on giving him the watch, Reikichi thought it absurd but reluctantly accepted it. This man told him everything about the hospital. “Go on, try messing with the old receptionist. It’ll be funny,” he added. Though somewhat simple-minded, Reikichi found himself drawn to his cheerful, guileless nature. He took paper from his sleeve, deliberately twisted it into strands, connected them into a long string, attached it to the nurse’s back, and pretended not to notice—making people laugh.

It was said there were five male hospitalized patients downstairs. He said they were all gathered in one room. "In the women's room, that person's the only one there," said the man as he pointed. When Reikichi looked, it was a somewhat grubby woman with hair dirtied like a maid's and a red cord wrapped haphazardly around her waist. The woman who had sat down next to him the other day—the one who had seemed like a lovely person—had not been seen even once since then. He might have glimpsed her somewhere, but at least he did not come across any woman who appeared to be that one. There was a man who seemed like an aproned clerk from a merchant family—despite having both eyes bandaged, without having his hand guided, feeling his way along the wall—who briskly returned to the ward alone as if thoroughly accustomed to it. That man explained that fellow's eyes had been ruined by syphilis.

That afternoon, as Reikichi sat on his futon applying a compress treatment, the receptionist Mr. Ōki—his teeth missing—came upstairs and, "He says it's something like this—though I must confess I don't quite grasp what exactly he means—but in any case, he humbly requests an audience with you." "And he says this is merely a small token of sincerity," relayed Mr. Ōki in his customary manner, working his lips in that peculiar puckering motion.

“Who could it be?” “I don’t recall anyone like that on my side. Ah—could it be that man who looked like a boatman or something?” Mother asked.

“That would be correct.” “If you say so, then indeed—well—as you mentioned… yes.” “Well then—I’m sorry for the trouble—but would you kindly tell him quietly that such gestures only cause us inconvenience, and return this?” “And all matters have been arranged to be handled by Tsunaurakan—Tsunaurakan—so if there’s anything to discuss, please have them go there.” “As for me, I have no intention of meeting any of you under any circumstances. I must apologize, but please convey that and send them away.” “Probably because they came from a place where such words would be understood, I suppose.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Ōki as he went downstairs. It seemed the perpetrator had appeared.

“Did that guy come alone?” “Hard to say.” “He might’ve come to refuse.” “That might be.”

“What did he bring?” “I didn’t even properly look at what it was,” Mother said unpleasantly, as if being forced to consider some detestable matter she wanted to avoid. “I already told you that doesn’t matter anymore—I’ve informed Tsunaurakan’s master too. Let’s just drop it; it’s too bothersome.” “Will the master there give permission?” “That doesn’t matter at all.” Reikichi cooled his eyes while recalling that night—the first time he had ever entered a police station room—now feeling it belonged to some impossibly distant past.

Soon, Mr. Ōki returned again and,

“The one from earlier has properly departed as he was.” “He said he wanted to give just a word of greeting before leaving, and stood there dawdling for a while.” “I see.” “Thank you for handling this.” “Wait a moment.” “It’s merely a trifle, but…” Mother said as if dismissing the matter entirely, appearing to press something into Mr. Ōki’s palm.

“Yes yes, this is truly—yes—more than sufficient.” “Thank you ever so much,” said Mr. Ōki, working his mouth in that characteristic way as he expressed his gratitude.

Reikichi was thoroughly tired of lying all day on the same futon. "I've had enough of staying in this place," he said while turning toward the wall. "I might as well just go home." "But there's nothing to be done about it," Mother replied. "If we could leave so easily, even I wouldn't want to stay in a place like this." "It's still not nearly evening yet." "Talking like that," she chided. "The afternoon examination hasn't even come." Her tone shifted abruptly—"Oh, you've cut them again! Stop it, Reikichi. What's this childishness?"

"But I didn’t even cut them." "I saw you do it—clearly!" Since Reikichi had nothing to do, he would occasionally stretch out his hand to grope around and snip the futon’s threads one by one. Mother had been writing a letter to Grandfather since earlier.

Reikichi, now unable to cut any more threads, picked at the chapped skin of his upturned lips while imagining the daily scenes at home. Since we weren't there, my younger brother was probably feeling self-important—gathering children and rummaging around my desk, I thought. Grandfather never scolded him no matter what he did yet only barked at me as if I were an enemy. When I thought this way, I felt like beating my brother right there—yet imagining Yū in that single room where just the two of us remained after Grandfather retired early each night, slumped with legs outstretched while rubbing sleepy eyes beside that sideways-bound notebook where he kept scrawling daytime errands in clumsy kana, gazing so forlornly at the lamp light—I also began feeling pity, wanting to return home quickly with Mother for his sake.

Between Reikichi and this younger brother, there had been two more boys, but both had passed away while still young. As for the next ones, he didn't even remember their faces well. The second youngest brother had been alive until three years ago, so when he thought about it, the image appeared before his eyes as if he were still there. Reikichi also thought of that younger brother of his—the ailing, perpetually moping one who seemed like a shadow in the background. Eventually growing tired of that too, he shifted his head to one side away from the pillow Mother had prepared yesterday—its filling as meager and lumpy as a greengrocer's last bag of buckwheat bran, disproportionately small for its casing—and while watching the midday light filtering through his eyelids cast murky black shadows over his darkened eyes, he grasped the excess fabric edge until his attention was suddenly caught by what seemed like a small bird chirping past the window's immediate exterior. It chirped again. Reikichi, half-doubting his own ears,

“Was that a bird just now?” he suddenly asked Mother. “Is that so?” Mother said, seeming not to have noticed, and continued writing her letter.

“It’s already flown away.” “Was that a bird?” Reikichi asked the hired maid, who appeared to be sitting idly in a corner behind Mother with nothing to do but fidget with her hands. This was the girl Mother had arranged through the innkeeper’s old woman to hire from the neighborhood for daytime errands and such. Perhaps ashamed of her inability to speak properly—whenever Mother gave her instructions— she would only utter “Um…” before lapsing into silence. Though he hadn’t even properly seen what she looked like, she seemed nothing more than a crude girl from some rundown house nearby, devoid of any manners. When this woman walked across the tatami mats, her feet produced a dry, grating sound like shark skin being rubbed together—a noise that clung unpleasantly to one’s ears. Yet seeing her sit there in stiff, awkward silence made him feel something akin to pity.

“Hey. You there,” said Reikichi, whereupon the maid slowly rose and approached the window, appearing to open the curtain and look outside. “Yes, it’s right there,” she said in a small voice, as if cautious of disturbing Mother’s letter-writing.

“Where?” “It’s already placed right there, sir.”

“Is that shadow over there a birdcage?” Mother said while rustling the letter she was rolling up.

“I’ve been wondering what that was since earlier. Is the person next door keeping it?”

“Yes,” said Mother. Neither Mother nor Reikichi had noticed it until now, but since it had always hung on a nail in the window over there, it had apparently been there all along. This young girl had once been hired by a hospitalized person before, which was how she knew about it. The workmen came today, and since they were repairing the rain gutter near the wooden wall where the birdcage was usually hung, she said it must have been moved over here.

Now that you mention it, indeed—the sound of hammering tinplate from over there had been audible all along, sounding as if it were coming from somewhere outside. Keeping the bird here was risky because there had been an incident before where a black cat came from somewhere and overturned the cage—this the woman knew well, despite her habit of staying silent. Reikichi was so unaware that he didn’t even know what kind of person was next door. Mother and the young maid engaged in talk about the person keeping the bird.

“I see. “Like some young lady from somewhere,” Mother said with an air of knowing amusement. The woman,

“Yes,” was all she said. “Such a quiet person. “You can’t even tell whether she’s here all day or not at all. “The people who occasionally come and go around there—is that their family’s maid who came along from home?” “I’m not certain, ma’am.” “That must be so, ma’am.”

Mother ended the conversation there. After all, it was in her nature not to pry into unnecessary matters, so she refrained from asking further. Moreover, she showed no particular interest in the fact that a bird was being kept in such a hospital room and simply continued writing her letter as before. Reikichi wondered what kind of bird might be there. And when it came to the woman—what sort of woman would be feeding that bird—he found himself thinking. But since it was a woman, he felt strangely self-conscious, making even the simple question of who she was seem awkward to ask. The day after arriving here, when Reikichi first went down for his morning examination, he recalled the woman who had sat beside him and spoken in a nostalgic manner.

He found himself thinking for no particular reason that if only that person were next door. If only it were that woman. But since then, he hadn’t seen that person come for any examinations. So while the person next door might not be her, as long as he didn’t know who it really was, stubbornly believing it was that woman felt somehow comforting. And she kept a bird. What was wrong with her eyes that she was hospitalized? If she were a woman who had long suffered from dimly shadowed eyes—not exactly sorrowful but melancholic—watching over sunken days and nights, then she would match the appearance he had imagined from her voice during that time.

—— Reikichi traced through these thoughts when it abruptly occurred to him that the bird kept there by such a woman must be none other than that red bird—the very symbol of tragic love. Moreover, he couldn’t know whether reality actually matched that assumption. Thinking this, Reikichi found himself contemplating the bird woman—that figure he had temporarily forgotten since arriving at the hospital.

“Hey,” said Reikichi, trying to ask the young maid. “Huh?” the woman replied. “That’s not it, is it?” Somehow, if he were to ask and it turned out not to be a red bird, it’d be pointless—Reikichi remained silent as he was. Before long, “Reikichi... Reikichi,” Mother said, causing Reikichi to snap back to reality and realize he had been absorbed in envisioning that scene of the bird being released and flying away.

“The medical examination will begin shortly. Stay awake now,” Mother said. There was no problem since he wasn’t asleep. “Then when you take Reikichi downstairs later, please mail this letter on your way. Oh, it doesn’t have to be right now,” Mother told the maid. “In that case, you may go home today. The shopping from earlier has already been finished anyway.”

“...” she said.

The bird on the balcony had stopped singing. Reikichi was being led by this young maid down the ladder stairs as usual when— “About that bird—hey,” he finally addressed the maid regarding it.

That evening, a letter arrived from Grandfather at home to Mother. “Whatever happens, it says I should come back for a bit, though,” Mother said.

Even if he had intended to write everything out and send it in detail—a letter couldn’t fully convey our circumstances—they must be fretting over all manner of things back home. If she’d just go back briefly and explain things properly—then I too could remain here with some peace of mind.

“But didn’t you send a letter earlier today?” “And you—I’ve been here wearing the same clothes I came in, so I must go back briefly to fetch various things I need. If I’m to stay away longer, there are arrangements to make for the house too.” “Today makes six days since I arrived here, doesn’t it?” “Who knows.” “I’ve been anxious—it’s already nearing month’s end,” she said, clearly preoccupied with household affairs.

“Then why don’t you just go back and come back?” “But even if I say I’ll return, there’s no way to manage what follows. So during that time, we’d have to have someone come stay,” she said with a troubled tone.

Reikichi thought it wouldn't matter if he were alone for a day or two. Since each day passed without any change, steadily continuing like this, even Mother's absence—she who had been by his side—felt like it might become a change in itself. He should let things take their course. But more than that, since the neighboring woman wasn't that woman after all, he found himself thinking it all rather pointless. Today's inquiry to the maid hadn't been about something trivial. If the daytime bird were the Red Bird, then it would be that woman, but since he didn't know what kind of bird it was and they said it wasn't red, that person couldn't be her. Moreover, since that time, she hadn't been coming every day either, and he just couldn't bring himself to associate her with that person.

"Oh, do such things as red birds exist?" "I've never seen one," she said. What a foolish woman. Since I'm covering my eyes it's still tolerable, but if they could see—what a filthy young maid she must be.

——

Reikichi pondered these matters alone.

The next morning, Mother resolved she would return home briefly regardless of circumstances. "It's only a short while, Reikichi." "I'll come back immediately on the night train," Mother said with apparent remorse. He felt no need for such repeated assurances—the matter meant nothing.

Since the young maid couldn’t handle matters during her absence, it seemed the nurse had apparently agreed to take care of him as much as possible. When the nine o'clock examination was completed, Mother prepared and left.

The nurse came up at that moment, “Madam, I’m afraid there’s no bread to be found anywhere,” she said to Mother in the hallway. Mother went down just like that. As if to demonstrate there was no need to worry since she would take over the duties properly, the nurse entered the room in passing and began to speak. Reikichi feigned sleep.

“You’re asleep,” she said in her usual melancholic voice before quietly leaving. Reikichi thought she ought to hurry back to the examination room downstairs—there being only one nurse available. After receiving a compress treatment and drifting through listless hours, noon arrived. The nurse came a third time bearing meals and began serving. “You must feel quite lonely so suddenly.” “Once those wound bandages come off soon though, it should help distract you somewhat.” “Oh dear—you don’t eat meat?” “What ever shall we do?” “Then there’ll be nothing left for you to eat,” she concluded. How could anyone eat this leathery stuff? Even prodding it with chopsticks told enough. She should just serve in silence. Not that she was unpleasant—but imagining her adopting the family’s mannerisms after likely squeezing more money from Mother made everything thoroughly unappealing.

Reikichi could no longer sleep in the afternoon. In Mother’s presence, he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on thoughts of women and had forgotten them, but with her gone and nothing else to occupy his mind, he ended up thinking about women. Then, yesterday’s bird chirped softly again. It was a warm day, as if a thick yellow sun shone outside. The bird appeared to still be placed there today as well. It was no good anymore. What good was a bird that wasn’t even red? And even if some woman other than that one were next door, it would amount to nothing. It was certain she wasn’t a decent woman anyway. After all, she must be some dingy country woman——

Reikichi thus continued thinking about what he had been considering before. Why was there no woman who would love me? If only there were a woman here whom I loved but couldn't meet—if I could just lie like this in darkness—how good that would be. But no matter how much I thought about it, with no woman existing for me at all. Somehow being alone had become utterly tiresome. After all—Mother mustn't be absent. The nurse came to attend him by cooling his eyes.

Then came the time for the second examination. As he waited on the bench, the usual children were making their noisy chatter again today. One of them had come to sit by his side and was busily occupied with something alone, so Reikichi tried striking up a conversation out of boredom, but without even replying, they went off in the other direction. And yet, somehow with nothing to engage me, I felt unsatisfied. Even as I pressed on my injured eye—today too, had the peasant man gone out somewhere and not yet returned?—the man who had given me the toy clock was nowhere to be found. I wonder where that clock ended up and what became of it.

In a listless state, Reikichi was once again led back upstairs by the nurse. And then again, a long, thoroughly tedious time continued darkly until it became dinner time.

After finishing his meal and remaining seated motionless like that, he began to sense the darkness gradually deepening around him. At the very least, the sun appeared to have set early, leaving the room feeling unlike daytime - now carrying a chillier quality. From outside came the dragging sound of worn-down wooden clogs scraping against ground. Next passed what seemed to be a cart's rumble. Then all noise ceased, leaving him isolated in darkness just as he'd felt that first evening here - abandoned and quietly desolate.

“Oh, is that so?” said a middle-aged-sounding woman in the neighboring room with an amused low voice, and she laughed. Somehow I alone felt both lonely and resentful.

Suddenly, he reflected that when the young girl had come during the day, driving her away so curtly had been a cruel thing to do. When he heard a rustling sound and asked who was there, [she replied,] "It’s me." The girl had come in the morning, but when the nurse said it was fine for today and that she should just return home, he—without even properly listening to her explanation—impatiently told her to leave already, causing the girl to slip out silently as if she'd been scolded. While trying to think, I sent her away because having such a filthy creature here was bothersome, but since she’s a poor woman, I suppose she must have felt pitiful being treated so disdainfully.

Reikichi sat forlornly, thinking about such things. Since I had slept quite a lot during the day today, I couldn't seem to fall asleep right away now. Before long, Reikichi stood up without any particular purpose. Moving along the wall to the exit door, he ran his hand over the handle. Since he had never gone out on his own before, he thought groping his way out into the corridor might provide some variation. And so he went out, feeling his way along the wall as he shuffled forward—but once outside found only the same desolate surroundings and no change in his mood. I wondered if it was perhaps because there was no one to talk to.

Then, down below, four or five figures could be seen clattering on tiptoes through the corridor, circling about as they silently horsed around. The one chuckling with stifled laughter was the usual peasant man. As he wondered what they were doing, he felt an urge to remove his eye covering and go down to see. Thinking this way repeatedly, Reikichi—since there was nothing he could do—shuffled step by step along the handrail toward the stairs. When he passed through the neighboring room, there immediately was the stairway entrance.

And then, suddenly, the neighboring door opened, and someone came out.

“Where are you going?” she said. “Me?” After a pause, Reikichi asked, having seemingly realized something. “If you’re going out, I shall take your hand and escort you.” “It appears your mother has gone home, leaving you quite alone today,” said the neighboring attendant old woman knowingly. “No, that’s fine.” “I’m simply remaining here like this,” Reikichi replied. Since she was a stranger, there was nothing more to say.

“It must be lonely being all alone by yourself,” she said with heartfelt sympathy, descending the stairs like a kindly old woman. She didn’t seem to be some countrywoman from the neighborhood either. Below, someone was still rustling about furtively. Reikichi, feeling both a desire to join them and as though being drawn in, gradually approached the staircase. Then, from below, “Oh no, no good—hiding in a place like that,” said one in a sweat-dampened voice, sounding displeased.

“Fufufu,” she giggled like a country woman while stealthily descending the staircase. “Oh now, stop that. “That hurts, you!” “No good! “This time it’s you who covers your eyes.” “That’s right—it’s your penalty.” “I’d been thinking it strange myself how this one kept escaping capture,” said the peasant man with the clock. They all clattered away. The group clustered in third-class rooms appeared to be playing blindfold tag in the dim evening corridor. Though most wore bandages over half their eyes, they still fooled around like this. The woman from earlier seemed to be that patient who’d looked like a maid since before. When I thought her a poor, lonely-hearted woman, seeing her mingle with this crowd made me feel all the more wretched.

Reikichi remained as he was and lingered there for a while.

It was already fully night.

Reikichi entered his futon and lay there, his thoughts wandering aimlessly. After the nurse finished applying the compress treatment and went downstairs, until the next eleven o'clock compress time arrived, he would once again have to remain like this—utterly alone, buried in the dark night. When would Mother return? It felt as though Mother had already been gone for days on end—that no matter how long he waited, she would never easily return here again—a profoundly lonely feeling. Unable to sleep no matter how I tried—so after pursuing various delusions—my thoughts finally turned to wondering what would ultimately become of my eyes.

I felt it might be better if both eyes became completely blind—if I just lost my sight entirely. Were that to happen, how profoundly melancholy I would become, I thought. And so I imagined myself being tended by some girl like Gretchen who resembled Magdalene. No matter how much time passed, my eyes would never see. Though I loved her, and though she loved me in return, I could never gaze upon that woman's face again. There I stood on the sunset balcony, ceaselessly pondering these dark, sorrowful matters.

"Let's put the bird to bed now." "Let's keep it dark until sunrise," his woman said mournfully, lowering the cage suspended from the pillar. The bird lay silent as death, curled small within the cage's gloom. Merely hearing of this Red Bird's existence—no matter how much time passed—I could never glimpse its scarlet form. It became my habit to ask about the bird's redness with uneasy doubt, always posing the question as if for the first time. "A faint red hue, like this kimono I wear," she would answer each time—always with that same air of fresh discovery.

Therefore, the woman had to be sorrowfully enveloped in pale, faintly tinged red silk that resembled the sentiment of yearning to revisit those days when eyes could still see—days she could never retrieve again.

“Like the color I’m wearing,” she answered as usual that evening while setting down the birdcage, but then remained seated there as if settled, intently pondering something. “What’s wrong?” I asked gloomily. The woman—having thought of something—was sobbing quietly. Gretchen was crying as if she had become a sad, dark wife afterward. Why are you crying? What were you thinking of? I asked. The woman said nothing and simply sobbed quietly. I too began crying, overcome with sadness for reasons unknown.

As the woman shook her hair drifting across her back and sank down, my dark tears trickled onto those disheveled locks. "My sorrowful love. Sad dark one," she said while crying. ―― Reikichi wanted such a woman. And he wanted to love sorrowfully. I want to love and see my sorrowful self. For that, I must henceforth live in a house with a small balcony. When I step out onto that balcony and sink into thought, below passes a young woman carrying a cage with a Red Bird. The woman gazes upon my blind self and loves. And at the hour when I always go out there to think, the woman passes by carrying a bird and gazes upon me. Upon hearing of the woman of the Red Bird, I love that woman.—

Reikichi continued to think about the woman in this way. In the end，I grew frustrated as usual. My head grew dazed as if heated，and my body grew misty as if a fever had surged. I must forget now. If I don't forget，it's distressing. Reikichi listlessly threw off his futon as if weary from too much sleep. Somehow I want to go out into the chilly air and distract myself from these feelings. Reikichi stood up quietly as if unable to endure it and pulled the curtain to the right. And then，searching for the latch，he opened the glass door wide. Was it dark outside? Perhaps because of my head，even though it was night，it felt warm.

Reikichi left the room, wanting to stand on the balcony, and quietly felt for footing as he stepped out.

Whether it was a starry night or a pitch-dark one—Reikichi could not know. He could only think of himself standing within a certain night at the end of March. Outside, no wind touched his skin. Reikichi—feeling as though he had come out seeking and waiting for something—found himself thinking once more of the woman and the Red Bird. And in the end, he thought that he wanted to keep a Red Bird at least. What kind of bird it was—the novel hadn't given it a name—but surely if he searched, it must exist somewhere. It didn't seem to be such a small bird after all. It needed to be larger than a canary or such—otherwise it wouldn't do. But it must not be as large as a pigeon. It must be an even smaller bird to suit. First, while wondering what kind of bird it was, he groped along the handrail and began to move forward as far as he could when—

“Please stop there—it’s dangerous,” came a sudden voice—likely from the neighboring window—as someone immediately behind spoke to halt him. Reikichi doubted his own ears and stopped. It was that woman’s voice—the one he had connected to the Red Bird who should have ceased visiting this hospital long ago. “The handrail there has rotted and hangs loose,” she explained anxiously. It was unquestionably her. She appeared to have been waiting outside since before Reikichi arrived. Her presence felt directly beside him. Reikichi wondered whether this might be an extension of his own imaginings.

“There’s a chair here, so please have a seat. ——What a quiet, lovely evening.” Her words were low as if whispering, yet she spoke with a serene tenderness as though she were a woman staying by him.

“I’m fine. Because yours will be gone,” Reikichi said, suppressing his fidgety feelings and forcing out the words with difficulty. “I’ve already sat long enough. Please have a seat,” she said in a manner reminiscent of the woman from his imaginings. Reikichi thought that if he behaved like an unknowing, ordinary child, going to the woman’s side wouldn’t be taken as anything strange, and went over exactly as told. “Come a bit closer here.—Okay?”

As he groped around, his hand touched the rattan chair's armrest. "Since you can't see anything at all, it must be quite inconvenient for you.—When will your mother be returning?" asked the woman, speaking with an air of familiarity as if they'd known each other for some time. "When?—Tomorrow, perhaps," said Reikichi, feeling awkward as he silently sat there, his fingertips fidgeting with the coarse weave of the unseen chair's armrest. He fidgeted restlessly as if wanting to say something, but didn't know what to say.

“When your mother isn’t here, you must feel lonely? Have you been keeping your eyes closed like that all along from the beginning?” “Mm-hmm,” Reikichi replied softly.

"In that case, you don't know what anyone coming here looks like, do you?" "Mm-hmm." "What about me?" “……” "Ohoho, do you know?"

“No,” Reikichi said while thinking he should instead ask about the bird this woman kept. The woman fell silent for a short while after that, her youthful eyes seemingly gazing into the expanse of night spread before her without truly seeing anything. Reikichi, within that time, had somehow forgotten his awkwardness and was listening to the clacking of geta passing through the lonely night street below, where someone walked alone. That must be some proper maid or the like going out shopping with a lantern lit, Reikichi thought to himself.

Then, the woman who had been standing silently, as if shifting her demeanor,

“Won’t you come over here?” “Let’s have a talk at my place.” “Don’t you think that would be nice?” she said, as if already weary of being outside.

“Do come in,” said the woman as she led the way. Though he couldn’t discern what sort of person she was and had only just spoken to her for the first time，Reikichi felt as though they had long been acquainted，and groped his way forward exactly as directed. “Wait，please do come in.” “I’ll move the chair aside so you can enter.” “This way，” said the woman as she offered her hand. Reikichi stepped over the threshold and went inside.

“Are you all right?” said the woman as she entered after him. “Is there electric light in your room too?” Reikichi asked while standing where he had just come in, unfamiliar with the layout. “And the bird?” The woman drew the curtains behind her as she entered, “My bird?” she said. By the time Reikichi returned to his room and got into the futon, it was already late—the nurse would soon come up to apply the final compress treatment, as everyone downstairs had already gone to sleep. Reikichi had been feigning continued deep sleep since earlier.

Then he truly tried to sleep, but somehow could not fall asleep no matter how long he lay there, and thought about various things. Before long, a carriage arrived at the entrance below. Reikichi, without giving it particular thought, kept pondering other matters while tossing feverishly, but that carriage turned out to be the one his mother had returned in on the last train. It was likely Mr. Ōki from reception who quietly opened the room door, left what appeared to be Mother's belongings, and went out. Reikichi burrowed into the futon up to his head and remained still.

“Reikichi.”

“—Reikichi.” “Come out now and go wash your mouth.” “What time do you think it is?” “What’s wrong with you?” “Why aren’t you answering and just staying silent?” “...But my head hurts and I feel unwell,” he said, giving an evasive excuse.

“Then you must’ve caught a cold and have a fever?” “You left the window wide open like that while sleeping.” “You definitely caught a cold from that.”

Mother said these words.

Reikichi felt a somewhat embarrassed feeling when passing in front of the neighboring room as he was being taken to rinse his mouth. Somehow he suspected that even Mother might have noticed last night’s events and felt strangely unsettled.

Before long, while drinking the milk that substituted for breakfast, the medical examination bell had already rung that morning. Reikichi was soon accompanied by Mother and went downstairs. I wonder if she hasn't already come. And when he thought she might not speak to him at all, his heart raced. At the same time—as if recounting some trivial matter—last night's events continued to occupy his thoughts. When he dwelled on them intently, he began to feel steeped in a sweet sunny spot where crimson flowers bloomed profusely. Somehow the scent of her hair seemed to linger endlessly around him. After all, he couldn't shake the sensation that this was still last night's continuation—that he remained there.

Reikichi was called by name by the nurse and entered the darkroom, but he suddenly grew anxious—had last night’s events brought about some change in his eye?

As he was doing this—as if to cruelly assail this anxiety—the director slipped into the room. What would become of him now? Perhaps due to his nerves, he felt his eyes growing cloudy.

“How is it?” he said as he untied the bandages and opened Reikichi’s left eyelid to the lamp the nurse had lit. Reikichi remained still, holding his breath as if hiding from being probed. “Hmm.” “Still no change...” “However, it has improved considerably.” “I thought you might have regained some vision by now.” “Please take a look at this finger.” “Can you see?” “I can’t see.” “Now please look here, at the light.” “Now then—even if we say it’s similarly hazy, wouldn’t you agree the light’s glow appears somewhat brighter than before?” “Don’t you agree?”

“It seems somewhat different from how it was at first, but compared to yesterday, it’s the same.” “Please turn this way once again.” “Your pupil still trembles slightly, but there’s no one as fortunate as you.” “It’s truly puzzling.” “I was certain we would have to remove this one, you see.” “Anyway, the crystalline lens—the yellow part within the eye, you see—has indeed not detached. Initially, I was certain it must have been damaged.” "—It’s truly puzzling." “Well, we’ll need to observe the progress a bit longer without intervention. Hmm.” The wound had mostly healed. “Well, we should be able to open this eye by tomorrow,” said the Hospital Director as he finished the examination and left. Reikichi felt relieved as though he had narrowly escaped the examination.

After that, while sitting on that familiar chair, he furtively opened his right eye and looked around. The woman still did not seem to have arrived. Was she perhaps waiting until the end of visiting hours when fewer people remained before coming down? Therefore, perhaps until yesterday she hadn't realized she was still in this hospital. Reikichi felt that the woman's current absence was somehow convenient for him. Yet feeling compelled to see what she looked like, each time someone entered, his chest would thunder with anticipation—could it be her?—and he would open his eyes to look.

Mother stood off to the side, avoiding the path of passersby, and kept watch over him. After the examination ended, Reikichi returned to his futon and tried to lie still, but the events of last night resurfaced hazily in his mind, leaving him unable to sleep. He tried to imagine what the woman next door was doing. The bird wasn't singing today. Had it already been hung by that window?

Reikichi then painstakingly recollected each word the woman had spoken since stepping onto the balcony last night. He remembered every syllable without omission—her first words when they sat side by side in the examination room, his own statements to the Hospital Director. Methodically, he retraced these memories from their origin. As this saccharine reverie gradually exhausted him, he slipped into detached indifference.

When he suddenly returned to clear consciousness, the nurse was there talking with Mother. Reikichi tried to focus on the thoughts he ought to pursue without listening to them, but when the word "neighboring" reached his ears, he found himself compelled to lean his attention toward what the two were discussing. "Moreover, the tatami over there is newer," said the nurse, "and you can see this direction better from that room. You should move right away."

“That’s true, but it would be causing you trouble again.” “Not at all, such things are no trouble whatsoever.”

And they were saying such things.

After the nurse left, Reikichi asked Mother.

“Mother. Are we moving rooms?” “Oh, it doesn’t matter. They’re the same.”

“Where are we moving to? If we move—” “Well, the nurse said the neighboring room became vacant and suggested we relocate.” “The neighboring one? When?” “My, why so startled?”

“When did it become vacant?” “Hmm… You’re suddenly whispering,” Mother said. “Just now, wasn’t it?” “Then it must have been while I was sleeping?” “Who knows,” Mother replied dismissively, having no inkling of the matter. Reikichi fell silent. Why had she deceived him by leaving so abruptly? He couldn’t suppress this hollow sensation of having been blindsided. What could have happened? Though they’d spoken so much last night, there had been no hint she would vanish the very next day. It felt like being tricked by a fox spirit. Like a bird kept for merely a day that had flown off unnoticed.

Reikichi peered aimlessly into the empty cage with mounting frustration, his mind filled with regret and restless agitation. Does that mean she won't come back? It's unbearable. Somehow it's unbearable. Reikichi sat up abruptly on the futon as if he'd lost something. "What's wrong?" Mother asked. "Why?" "Do you want something to eat? You're bored, aren't you?" "That's not it," Reikichi muttered under his breath, tracing the remnants of last night's encounter like fragments of a fading dream.

In the afternoon, when the nurse came in with a letter, saying one had arrived, Reikichi— “Ms. Murai,” he began. “Had it been decided beforehand that the person next door would be leaving today?” “I couldn’t say. I wasn’t informed at all myself, but it did seem rather sudden.” “And is the old maid gone too?”

“Yes. The patient left early this morning, and the old maid stayed until late morning rustling about to clean up after her, but—” “And what about the bird?” “Hmm, why must you ask about every little thing?” Mother said. “What became of the bird? The old maid probably took it back home.”

“This won’t do.” “Do you like birds?”

"But you're the one who said just the other day that such a bird wasn't needed," Mother interjected. Reikichi fell silent after that. Why was that bird a red bird, he wondered, and why hadn't the woman released it from its cage when leaving this place?

Reikichi eventually went out to the balcony as if searching for something lost. "You there, it's dangerous to come out like that," Mother called from inside. Reikichi wandered while retracing how last night had begun. Then he wondered whether it had truly been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Though outside lay a hazily warm sunlit day, to Reikichi—standing motionless as he dwelled on the woman who had fled like a bird—this very sunlight seemed to seep into his clothes, inducing a melancholic mood that clung like damp fabric. It seemed to him that somewhere a red bird might be chirping in pity for this abandoned heart of his, its call carried through the sunlight to reach him.

Why hadn’t the woman told him that this was their first night meeting each other, and that tomorrow would be a night of parting as fleeting as falling poppy petals? Having left, what was she feeling and thinking? Reikichi had lived until last night without ever experiencing a woman’s breath upon him. The woman who had taught me this aching longing was the first I had ever known. I knew neither the face behind those shadowed eyes nor even her name. If this sudden parting was preordained, how vexing to think I hadn’t even asked her name. Wasn’t this feeling akin to that of the man who wandered the town day after day searching for the Magdalene woman?

I want to meet her. I want to see her again. If this were truly the last time and I could never speak to her again—how cold-hearted a woman she must be. Could it be that she poured this longing into me yet does not hold it in the heart? The woman is older than I. To the woman, could it be that I was merely one person chosen on a whim for that single night? However, the woman's words still seem to echo in my ears. The sensation of those words we spoke while engaged together—now floating in my ears—makes me feel as if this woman, somewhere out there, is saying in her heart that the day will surely come when we meet again, when we meet again. We must meet. We absolutely must meet. Just as one might glimpse a red bird’s cage being taken into some window in a town where a light rain falls, the day must come when we meet again.

"Reikichi," Mother called out. Reikichi, convinced beyond doubt that the day would come—as though it were already decided—continued musing to himself, "What is it?" he replied to his mother. And until then, he had wanted to think that the woman was keeping a red bird somewhere. From then on, every day, Reikichi thought only of that woman—who he wanted to be keeping a red bird somewhere—and of that woman who had vanished like a story. And so, clinging to the expectation that something about that woman might be discovered, he immersed himself in longing through days and nights—but even after ten days had passed, the departed woman never returned again.

Before long, one of his eyes had already healed enough to be opened. While both eyes were covered, he had impatiently waited for how refreshing it would be if one were opened soon—but upon opening it, having just one still felt like borrowing someone else’s eye and left him unsettled. It was equally unsatisfying. Reikichi found himself wanting to go and settle into the sunny spot of the neighboring room—now perpetually empty and devoid of people—at every opportunity. When he thought back on that woman alone, he felt that it was more fitting to remain with both eyes covered, in dark days and nights forever. Thinking with darkened eyes was more suited to endlessly recalling that single night—a night without before or after.

Where was she now—how was she faring, and what might she be thinking? A woman he had met like a shadow in the darkness, without ever knowing who she truly was or what had become of her. And by the next day, she was already gone. She had departed without granting him any chance to understand what manner of woman she had been. Even were they to meet again somewhere, he would forever lack means to recognize her as that same woman. To call this love felt far too meager. To claim this as the love he had experienced seemed too much like a dream. After all, he wanted to think of it as a story from his readings—like that Magdalene woman's tale. He wanted to believe this woman had kept a Red Bird. That even having left, she still kept a Red Bird somewhere.

As each day passed, all those events had truly come to feel to Reikichi like something from a story he had read long ago. Reikichi pictured in his mind the shadow of the woman bringing in a chair from the window just as he envisioned Gretchen approaching the window at dusk to release a bird. Since she was a woman he had never seen, it made no difference how he depicted her. Reikichi—as if preserving memories in printed text—reflected on every word he had heard from the woman while gathering the large camellia flowers that pattered down beneath the hospital room window below. He carried them up and arranged them along the edge of the window in the room where she had stayed. With the glass panes closed and black curtains drawn inside, the arranged flowers appeared reflected in the glass as though existing within that darkness beyond. His own face—one eye bandaged, a scar running from eyebrow to eyelid, long-lashed and gaunt—was mirrored there too. Then, after bundling the remaining flowers beneath the balcony’s worn handrail and still thinking of that woman, a yellow butterfly fluttered about his back as he faced sunlight both sweet and sorrowful.

By now he was allowed to go out walking a little, but he had no desire to venture into unfamiliar, grimy streets. This balcony was more than enough. Beyond the rows of houses, distant blue wheat fields stretched through the hazy heat shimmer where rapeseed flowers blazed yellow. April—both day and night—had been perfectly suited for losing himself in thoughts of her.

It was the afternoon of his twenty-second day in the hospital. Since this would be a prolonged treatment without definite conclusion, Mother—having repeatedly petitioned the Hospital Director that she wanted to return home as soon as possible to continue his convalescence there if only they were permitted to board the train—had been granted leave to depart that day. However, this permission came with the stipulation that the steam train journey was still considered too precarious to undertake in one continuous ride.

The luggage had already been completely taken down, and they were waiting for the car to arrive. Mr. Oki, the nurse, and the farmer who had given him the watch were all standing at the entrance. Reikichi somehow felt it regrettable to leave the hospital in such haste now that things had come to this stage. Reikichi turned back once more, entered the neighboring room, opened the window from there, and stood on the balcony. On the balcony with its handrail beginning to peel from wear, a single vermilion nasturtium flower—purchased five or six days prior with his mother at a nearby night stall—still remained in its pot, its petals scattered yet lingering.

“Reikichi.” “Reikichi! Reikichi!” Mother was calling from below.

“Huh?” Reikichi called down from above. “Where?” Mother called out from below as she emerged. “Oh! What’s this—climbing back up there again? Step down and come inside for a moment.” “Hey, Mother. When we get home, let’s keep a bird.” “That doesn’t matter now—just come down quickly! There’s something I need to do.” “And then a red bird,” Reikichi resolved inwardly as he reluctantly left the balcony he never wished to descend from. No matter what—I must buy a red bird and keep it forever as her memento without ever releasing it. Somehow my eyes no longer being dark felt inconvenient for this. I want my darkened eyes back. I want to think of her through sightless eyes. And I want to keep that red bird forever—

Reikichi, thinking such thoughts, deliberately dawdled as he descended the ladder steps. (March 1911)