Pathway to Japanese Literature

And savoring moment by moment the sacred forms of the human world and the hidden sacred reality within nature’s guise became the whole of my life. At twenty-two years old, even my being dragged into the slums was this sacred form compelling me to go there. And my art too was nothing but this sacredness that transcends beauty—this holy essence forming the core of life.

I

In the outskirts of Shirokane, Tokyo, there existed a place where three valleys converged. There, every direction was adorned with dripping emerald verdure—only the damp rice stubble from last year in the valley's paddy fields, not yet overgrown, remained devoid of green. In the depths of the valley sloping toward Ōsaki stood towering cedars that seemed to pierce the clouds, growing in uncounted scores. This marked Marquis Ikeda's estate. Upon Shirogane Hill rose one or two temples; Naka no Oka held neither mansions nor shrines. Slender chestnut trees, oaks, and sawtooth oaks grew in clusters of thirty and sixty.

It was the beginning of May.

On a certain cloudless day, there was someone who had spread grass in the shade of the forest on this central hill, lain down, and was reading a book.

Upon closer inspection, his back was taller than average—a slender frame clad in a crisp black woolen formal suit. He wore gold buttons bearing the MG insignia, his complexion deathly pale, with a high nose bridge though his cheekbones protruded slightly. His eyes were, if anything, large and keen. Yet he possessed noble features. This man was one who always came to this place, but lately, even when he came here and opened a book, he made no particular effort to read it. He simply closed his eyes and meditated. However, this too did not last long. He would immediately fall asleep. But when he awoke from the dream, he would hurriedly flip open the book and read. After reading three or four lines over and over again, this time he hurried along the footpath and rushed back toward Shirokane.

Today again, he came here as usual and went about his usual routine. At that moment, along the narrow path above the head of the sleeping man, there appeared a youth of around twenty years old descending step by step. He wore neatly pressed small-patterned kasuri garments with a black Moka cotton heiko obi fastened about him, a hunting cap on his head, and leaned upon a walking stick. He was a man not tall in stature but with a robust build, thick eyebrows, a heavy beard, and a ruddy complexion. He was on his way back from a walk. Having suddenly noticed a man in Western clothes lying there reading a book, he abruptly stopped and called out.

“What are you doing, Shinmi? Cut it out, cut it out!” “Ah, Suzuki! Where have you been?” shouted the man who had been reading the book. “Me? I’ve been over at Meguro Fudō. You—don’t read such old-fashioned books in this vibrant springtime! Had I known you were dawdling around here, I would’ve taken you to Meguro instead. Brooding again today, Shinmi?” “Idiot!”

“What’s that book? Philosophy? Cut it out, cut it out,” he said as he walked over, sat down beside Shinmi, and picked up the Western book discarded on the dwarf bamboo. “What’s this? Do you pronounce it ‘Upaniashed’?” “Yeah.” “What on earth are ‘The Sacred Books of the East’?” “This? It’s an Indian scripture supposedly created between 1300 and 600 BC—don’t you know? The Rig Veda came up— Didn’t we discuss this briefly in Uemura’s Buddhist history lecture yesterday?”

“Hmm, what about that?” “This evolved from that.” “You’re reading something interesting, I see. As for someone like me, I’m just busy preparing for my studies and have no time to read other books, you see. You’re quite impressive, aren’t you? What on earth kind of content is this?” Having until now only looked at the book’s physical form, he flipped through what must have been a thirty-page preface and began reading from the main text printed in large characters. “Is everything Brahman? One should meditate that the world begins and ends within Brahman, and breathes through it… Is that… Ahaha… Pantheism? But that’s an interesting thing to say.”

Suzuki closed the book while,

“Shinmi, do you seriously believe what this book says? Such old folktale-like pantheism?” he asked. “Oh, you kids wouldn’t understand. Read at least one book on Indian philosophy before spouting such opinions. Children these days don’t read even a single volume of Indian philosophy yet have the audacity to speak impertinently. You’re still stuck before achieving transcendence—that’s the problem. Only those who’ve greatly transcended and attained enlightenment can properly discuss pantheism or such matters.” Suzuki was one year Shinmi’s junior.

“Even from common sense perspective, causality and matter can’t be identical, can they? If whatever unifies all things becomes fragmented, then unification itself becomes impossible—isn’t that right?” Shinmi found himself cornered by this logical thrust. “Why don’t you study Spinoza? Who with a scientific mind would believe such preposterous creation theories? But you’re a devout Christian—moreover came to this academy preparing for missionary work—so I won’t affect Spinozist airs, yet neither will I persecute your faith. Go ahead and fashion your own deity. But how could our twentieth-century civilization—believing in matter’s indestructibility, energy’s conservation, evolution’s truth—ever swallow such absurd cosmogonic myths?” he pressed with academic rigor.

“You might say that, but even the conservation of matter, conservation of energy, and evolution—they’re all just assumptions, aren’t they? Faith, I suppose. We don’t truly understand such things. Yet that must stem from one’s own deduction rather than induction. I did read about such matters briefly in logic...” “But Haeckel”—he drew out the name—“have you read him? Monism. The two-aspect theory of mind-matter unity—does this mean we who evolve endlessly are becoming God ourselves?” Their debate had unwittingly turned deadly serious.

“If that’s the case, what becomes of humans when they die?” “When you die, you become molecules. There’s nothing strange about that, is there?” “How absurd—so God will just reassemble from molecules again? Then evolution would be devolving! Morals and art are just dreams.” “You don’t understand—that’s the problem!” “Anyway, it’s already four o’clock—in thirty minutes we can eat. Let’s head back soon. We’ve spun quite a lot of logic today,” said Suzuki, glancing at his watch.

“Well then, shall we head back?” he said, standing up. Brushing off the dust from his Western clothes, Shinmi headed back along the narrow path with Suzuki leading the way. The two followed along the hill, climbed near the waterwheel mill, and walked along the forest hedge. Suzuki asked. “You—isn’t Buddhism saying the same thing as today’s scientific faiths? And why did you enter Meiji Gakuin of all places? You should’ve just enrolled at a Buddhist university instead.” “Well, from a philosophical standpoint, I side with Buddhism—but Buddhism itself is useless! I was fond of philosophy since I was about seventeen or eighteen, you know—though I walked a path of considerable anguish… At fifteen, after finishing my third year at a local middle school, I came straight to Tokyo and drifted between one middle school after another.” “During that time, I never touched my textbooks at all—just read poetry, philosophy, and magazines from morning till night, you know. I was quite tormented by it all.” “I graduated from Takanawa Bukkyō Middle School, you know.” “Did you hear that from someone?”

“No, I hadn’t heard that—so you’ve liked philosophy since childhood, then? Why on earth did you come to like philosophy?”

“Well, partly because I was separated from my mother at ten and raised by a stepmother, and partly because my motive for leaving home lay in my sister’s death.” “It seems natural that my mind turned to philosophy, you see.” “I suppose so—I’ve heard about your motive for becoming a Christian, but if you hadn’t lost your parents and siblings in the Sanriku tsunami and come to doubt life itself, would you have ever concerned yourself with things like faith or God?” “Exactly.” “You were at Takanawa Middle School?” “You were in an interesting place, weren’t you?” “So Buddhism doesn’t work?”

“It is no good.” “I thought entering a religious school would rid me of my doubts, but it was completely useless.” “Instead, my anguish only increased—because I realized their true nature.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve even attended Zen meditation at Kenchoji Temple in Kamakura, but Zen itself is absurd.” “Lately Zen seems quite fashionable, but Buddhism—you realize—is fundamentally akin to Zen itself.” “They preserve only the outline while erasing all color.” “That’s why dozens of temples in Kamakura have become rental properties.” “You saw in the recent papers that Koraikuji’s principal image was put up for sale?” “That’s a masterpiece by Unkei.” “Something to delight sculptors... yet Buddhism utterly rejects morality and personality.” “Deceiving simpletons with empty words.” “Useless.” “No creed for those with blood pulsing through their veins.”

“Exactly.” “The blunders of Honganji too—they’re so absurdly corrupt, you see.” “Then why did you end up entering a place like Meiji Gakuin?” “My father insisted that I study law, so I was at Ichikou, you see.” “But during the third-year first semester—” “I suddenly coughed up blood—my mother and sister both died of lung issues—and the doctor said it was my lungs.” “I spent a year in Chigasaki and another year in Hachijōjima.” “This time around, I just didn’t have the courage to study law anymore.” “I became extremely inclined toward religion.” “I’d grown tired of Buddhism as well.” “So I thought I’d spend a year or two in the higher division of Meiji Gakuin—that’s why I came here last September.”

“What do you think of Meiji Gakuin?” Suzuki asked, looking at Shinmi’s face.

“I’d actually thought Christianity would be something more filled with love,” Shinmi replied.

“But I’ve felt that particularly since coming to Meiji Gakuin.” “But Shinmi, if you think rural Christians are the same as Tokyo believers, you’re mistaken.” “The true Christian is Nathanael, dreaming of the kingdom of God under a fig tree in some rural corner.” “I don’t think the fervent history of Christianity surges within today’s believers.” “In truth, even I feel that keenly.” “After all, today’s believers are the sort who hold meetings even during wartime…”

“Where has the dream of the Apostolic Age vanished? Where has that fervor disappeared—the brilliance of flesh torn upon the cross?” “Exactly.” “I’ve been praying for precisely that reason myself.” “But ultimately, it’s an economic issue.” “Tell me Suzuki—did you hear my debate with Hirano the other day?” “At the Literary Society meeting⁉” “Haven’t you been reprimanded by the secretary?” “Thoroughly.” “But unless matters of the spiritual realm assume symbolic forms in shadow, humanity remains unresponsive.” “Even Christianity—if it spawns Chinese Empires rather than Commonwealths like America and Britain—wouldn’t that strip it of all value?” “Don’t you agree?” “Christianity birthed today’s socialist thought. Saint-Simon and Fourier sought to realize an Apostolic world.” “Precisely! Unless Christianity embodies socialist thought symbolically...” “That’s why I told the secretary: ‘You teach imperialism at your school.’” “‘But that isn’t Christianity,’ I countered.”

“When you said that, what did the secretary say?” “Well then—in any case, since they’re saying from the Ministry of Education that anyone promoting socialism among students must be strictly controlled, you too—while you’re at this school—must refrain from making those fiercely destructive speeches before crowds from the lectern.” “…” “I believe Christianity and the state are by no means compatible.” “Though I cannot fully endorse socialism myself, the way today’s Japanese believers keep insisting—trying to defend the notion that the state and Christianity do not conflict—is unbearably absurd to me.” “They’re all Christian believers who… fear being driven out, you see.”

“They’re fools. Even if worldly Christians don’t cower before truth-distorting opportunists like Inoue Tetsujirō or Katō Hiroyuki to apologize for the conflict between state and Christianity, Christianity and the state will clash. They clash—if one would just declare it lies in [○○○○○○○], that would suffice.” “………………………”

Their conversation blossomed endlessly from one topic to the next, but the two still passed alongside the slaughterhouse and walked along a road lined with large cedar trees on both sides toward Shirogane.

At that time, though the conversation had lapsed considerably, Suzuki—

“You’ve had rather interesting experiences,” he stammered.

As they passed between the cedars and were about to turn right, a voice called from behind.

“Suzuki—” “Shi—nmi”

When Suzuki and Shinmi abruptly stopped and looked, there stood the members of the Glutton Club—Tamura, Inoue, Matsuda, and Mita—four first-year higher division students, all fiery youths from the regular course. Tamura occupied the room closest to the cafeteria in Harris Hall. He wore a black woolen hat that had turned red—one he had donned for four full years since entering the regular course—with a crew cut on his medium-sized head. This man was the president of the Glutton Club and the sort who, when the cafeteria doors remained closed during the three daily mealtimes, would peer through the keyhole to check on the dining table preparations. A certain student had composed a song about Tamura.

“Morning rise, / Study hour’s scowl, / Then off to the cafeteria with a beaming smile.” The man called Inoue bore the nickname “Meat Man” and was an amusing character who specialized in the study of romance. He had curly hair and wore glasses; upon entering the higher division, he had grown his hair long and parted it down the middle—claiming this was to set his hair’s natural wave—and became a man who never removed his hat, whether sleeping or studying. Matsuda was a man nicknamed “The Fortune Seller,” a short-statured man with a face reminiscent of Daikoku, the god of wealth.

Mita was a lanky man who from morning till night did nothing but laugh while talking about things like dogs slipping on human excrement or how many inches wide someone’s nostrils were.

Having been called out, Shinmi and Suzuki had stopped, but the four of them, laughing incessantly about something, approached the two in unison. They doubled over with laughter, threw their heads back, bent forward, and laughed as loudly as they could. Shinmi and Suzuki watched in puzzlement, but the four would look at Shinmi’s face and laugh, look and laugh again, making comical gestures. Shinmi felt as though he’d been tricked by a fox or raccoon dog, “Hmff….” “What’s this—aren’t you making a fool of me?” he tried saying, but—

“Oh ho….”

“Shinmi.” “Shall I tell you?” Matsuda pushed Shinmi’s shoulder and spoke for the first time.

From beside them, Tamura— “Ha ha ha! Bwahah….” “Hey, you were so despondent saying you’ll never have a wife that you skipped school all day yesterday and stayed in bed, right?” “And they say you—with your hair neatly parted down the middle and no hat—were eating oden at Nihon Enoki last night.” “And the philosopher has been feeling something profound lately, they say,” Matsuda added. “How dull…” Shinmi chuckled softly.

Inoue picked up where Matsuda had left off, “That face of yours while eating oden still looked downright despondent, they say.” Mita turned to Suzuki, “You’re in the room next to the philosopher’s, right? Did he bless you with his high-and-mighty airs last night?”

“No,” Suzuki answered lightly— “I found Shinmi buying P, but...” “Then… you went imperialist on those potatoes all by yourself, eh?” “Last night—” Mita laughed. The six walked on. Shinmi began his defense: “Last night’s dinner wasn’t sweet enough, so I went out late and bought potatoes to eat.” “How should I know?”

“How should I know?” said Matsuda. Suzuki said, “You’re always so lively,” but— “Well, it’s because we eat two or three times more than you all and manufacture that much more energy,” President Tamura answered on behalf of the group. The other three harmonized, “We agree. We agree.”

Shinmi simply walked on in silence. He tried to be cheerful like the members of the Glutton Club, but feeling as though a weight pressed upon his chest, he found himself unable to attempt any comedic act. In his head, he recalled an essay he had read in the *Literary Digest* four or five days prior—one positing that comedy would replace tragedy in the modern age—and found himself even considering that Etiz Shiate Gurosman, at least, could not fathom the turmoil within his heart. When they came near the newly built rented house of a man’s entire family, a horse pulling a cart loaded with stones had a hay bucket hanging from its neck and was eating from it.

Having seen this, Shinmi— “Tamura, this horse won’t lose to you. “You have to use chopsticks to eat, but behold this horse. “There you go—why don’t you try eating like this too?” he ventured.

The group burst out laughing, but Tamura wore an utterly serious expression— “Shinmi, I don’t know much about socialism, but isn’t socialism just another way of saying gluttony?” he began arguing, his lips pursed pointedly. Mita shouted, “Brilliant argument! Brilliant argument!” Tamura continued further, “...In essence, you’re crying out for more bread to be given, aren’t you?” “That’s exactly it, isn’t it?” “We too are demanding that the provisions officer give us more bread.” “Hey there, Mita...” he said, but—

“Well, actually…” Mita responded.

Shinmi merely laughed, but somehow seemed to want to avoid the commotion everyone was making. Matsuda,

“Hey—how about three cheers for the Meiji Gakuin Glutton Club?” he proposed, looking at their three faces. “But—” Suzuki grinned,

“But you—that motion’s still premature,” Suzuki said. “If you’re going to rename yourselves as the Meiji Gakuin Socialist Party and Glutton Club, you’ll have to make Shinmi president, Matsuda.” “Hmm, agreed,” said President Tamura. “Approved—the Philosopher President! Approved—the Love Letter President!” Matsuda shouted.

“I agree too!” Mita responded. Moreover, Matsuda went on to add,

“Approved—the President who parts his hair in stylish Western fashion, stands while eating oden, and devours all the potatoes by himself!” Matsuda added.

Amidst such commotion, the six climbed Meiji Gakuin's slope and came before its gate. At Tamura's instigation,

They gave three cheers of “President Shinmi, banzai!” but the bell announcing dinner was already ringing from the dormitory. So they all burst into uncontrollable laughter.

II

After dinner, Shinmi thought of bathing and retiring to his room, yet found himself standing for a while by the shoe cupboard at the entrance of Harris Hall, watching without really looking at anything.

In Room B of Samdam Hall, the gaslight was lit. It must be a meeting of the Younen-to. Prime Minister Yamakawa’s residence also had its entrance gaslight lit.

Between Samdam Hall and Prime Minister Yamakawa's residence could be seen the tip of Samdam Building's pointed tower. At the pointed tip was attached a cross. But enveloped in twilight foliage, where it appeared faintly veiled, one could sense a monastery hidden deep within the forest. The class trees planted year after year by graduates had grown so thick that in the deepening twilight, they connected tree to tree, branch to branch, leaf to leaf, until it had become impossible to count how many there were.

The gaslight grew increasingly bright, and the sports field became devoid of human figures.

In the theology department, there was no light at all. From Mr. Imbrie’s Western-style house enveloped by Kosugi, a small light leaked out. Hebbon Hall stood large and tall, sprawling imposingly across a wide area. The gaslight gleamed from every room.

From behind Hebbon Hall came the monotonous sound of a piano. From the entrance of Hebbon Hall, someone had just emerged. The figure came toward where Shinmi was standing. He was wearing a hunting cap and a haori. Shinmi immediately recognized him as Tsukamoto. When they were about two ken* apart,

“Tsukamoto,” he called out from his side.

However, Tsukamoto walked on forlornly and gave no answer. Having climbed onto the entrance platform, for the first time,

“Ah, Shinmi, I was rude.” “I meant to come yesterday, but I was busy all day.” “Today, when I came to the dormitory supervisor’s office, I thought I’d drop by your place on the way—”

“Well then, let’s go to my room,” said Shinmi as he and Tsukamoto ascended the ladder-like stairs. When they had climbed four steps and reached the landing, Shinmi glanced back at Tsukamoto, “No good?” he asked, but “Huh? “That’s already hopeless. "The students from the Higher Commercial School have already secured positions, it seems. “And they say there's no money to be made in it.” Shinmi was not a little disappointed by this response. However, without showing any change in his expression, he led Tsukamoto into his room.

After climbing the ladder stairs, there was an entrance to the left. Opposite the entrance was Suzuki's room, and to its west was Shinmi's. Suzuki had gone out for his post-dinner stroll and hadn't yet returned—the gaslight remained unlit.

Shinmi entered his room and lit the gas.

The gaslight cast a pleasant glow, illuminating every corner of the room.

The room was six tatami mats in size with tatami flooring. The walls were stark white. Waist-high panels painted in a sepia-tinged brown had been affixed. These were mementos from when the space had served as a classroom. Two windows stood open to the west and north, while a shoji screen partitioned off the southern side from the neighboring room. A table occupied the northwest corner, and opposite the entrance loomed a large bookcase. “Do take a seat,” Shinmi said to Tsukamoto as he fully extended the gas pipe. The desk surface gleamed under the light, making the gold lettering on the bookcase legible. Only William’s *Political Pantheism* appeared textbook-like; all others concerned religious philosophy. The thickest red volume was Flint’s *Philosophy of History*, while four slender blue ones comprised Pfleiderer’s *Philosophy of Religion*. Kant’s *Critique of Pure Reason*—evidently well-studied—stood visible alongside Miller and Chubb’s Kantian analyses. At the farthest corner lay a birch-colored volume titled *Saint Abesta*. The Upanishads lay splayed open nearby in abandonment. A Bible completed the collection.

Tsukamoto was standing at the entrance,

“Ah, thank you,” he responded, then went to look at the Lerolle print displayed above the bookcase. “Shinmi, this looks wonderful every time I see it. I like this very much.” “You like this too, huh?” “The way this melancholy scene of nature depicts a boy cradled in a woman’s arms—I somehow feel it seeping into my heart. I like it.” When Tsukamoto heard him speak of women, he laughed and “You say such amusing things, but it seems you’ve received a letter from a woman lately. And you’re being pessimistic about it, they say?”

“Who told you that?”

“Earlier at Hebbonkan, there was quite a crowd gossiping about it.” “It started from the story of you skipping school yesterday in despair.” “They say Takada saw you reading a love letter from some woman four or five days ago and blabbed to everyone?” “Yesterday morning, you declared you’d never take a wife and shut yourself in your room—that’s how it goes?” “Is that really true?”

“It’s a lie. “I received a letter from my sister five days ago. “That’s what Takada went around telling everyone—that’s how it ended.” “But even when Takada said there’d be no harm in showing a sister’s letter, they say you still didn’t show it?” “Well, there were some private matters written there—I couldn’t show it. “Those types thrive on scandal—wouldn’t they make a grand spectacle of a philosopher receiving a woman’s letter? “Since entering Meiji Gakuin I’ve only ever gotten one letter from my sister, and having no female acquaintances otherwise—of course they’d stir up this ‘lover’ nonsense,” Shinmi said, though retracing the letter’s contents in his mind brought a suffocating tightness to his chest.

Since Tsukamoto did not take a seat, Shinmi sat down himself and inquired.

“Tsukamoto, how did that incident turn out?” Tsukamoto turned his face slightly to look at Shinmi’s, then resumed fiddling with the cord of his haori with his right hand while, “I’m truly at my wit’s end. “I just went to plead with the dorm supervisor, but it was no use. “I’ve made up my mind to leave school,” he said, bowing his head. “Leave? You’ve decided that?” “I truly sympathize.” “But if that’s how it is, there’s nothing to be done. “But what do you plan to do after leaving school?” “It would be best if you endured two more years and graduated from the higher division, though…” “That way you’d gain social credibility and acquire a foundation in foreign languages—which would be very advantageous, though...” “But you—even if you leave Meiji Gakuin this time, as for your past three years, Meiji Gakuin has been your benefactor.”

“Actually, I haven’t forgotten the kindness shown these three years.” “Nor could I ever forget it.” “But I don’t wish to receive any more charity.” “Even now, with everyone in the dormitory—yes, I do sell them sweets, but somehow it feels like I’m parading these treats just to wring money from them.” “I’ve thought time and again about quitting—quitting the sweet-selling, but…”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Shinmi countered. “Selling sweets is perfectly legitimate. Even if you stopped, everyone would just go out to eat elsewhere—the result’s the same. What exactly did the dorm supervisor say?” “He said three months’ meal fees had been overdue, and since there was no way to balance the accounts anymore... You’d promised to manage at least one month’s payment by yesterday, but if you couldn’t even do that...” Tsukamoto trailed off before continuing. “And since the meal service isn’t some charity operation either, they want me out of the dormitory for now—isn’t that how it goes?” His voice grew quieter. “I thought it was my own fault really—no excuses to make—so I just said ‘Yes’ and left.”

“But the dorm supervisor’s manner of speaking was rather odd, don’t you think?”

“The dorm supervisor is right.” “That’s impertinent.” “The meal service isn’t a charity, so ‘Get out,’ they say.” “It would have been better if they’d waited another month or so, don’t you think?”

“But really, if the meal service gets delayed like me, it’d be a problem, don’t you think?” “But isn’t the dorm supervisor a Christian? He knows your circumstances—if you’re struggling, he should cover the payment temporarily and make efforts for your studies. —You, if you pay one month’s worth now, would he let you stay at school provisionally?” “Well, he’ll probably let me stay…” Tsukamoto answered, but his voice was pitifully low. “Hey, Tsukamoto. “Well then, you,” said Shinmi Eiichi, his face showing resolve as he extended his right hand and took out a five-yen note from the desk drawer.

“You—I’m entrusting this to you now—go and pay it to the dorm supervisor.” “And do keep studying at school, even if just a little longer.” “But you don’t need to return it to me.” “This is a permanent loan.” “But you—I still haven’t repaid last month’s four yen, and taking this much more would be too much for you.” “You must need to buy books yourself.” “I can’t accept this.” “Shouldn’t I be repaying the four yen I owe first?” he refused to take the banknote with an ashamed look in his eyes.

“But you—you must understand what lies in my heart.” “You must know it’s my will that you study another month rather than me reading more books,” Shinmi said with grave earnestness. And so Tsukamoto—

“Well, I do know your intentions.” “But...” he trailed off. And then Shinmi— “Mr. Tsukamoto.” “Now then.” “I actually received this from my sister.” “I just converted a check into cash today.” “Given that I’m even asking you to find me translation work—you must realize my school funds aren’t abundant.” “But however limited I am—it merely means I can’t buy books—there’s no hardship in you taking this.” “After all—since it’s something received—wouldn’t it be fine for you to take it?” he implored with full sincerity.

Tsukamoto glanced briefly at the southern neighboring room and, thinking no one was there, “Well then, I’ll borrow it just for a short while.” “There’s no ‘lending’ or ‘not lending’ here.”

“Thank you――” Tsukamoto replied, but he remained silent for a moment.

Shinmi also remained silent for a while, but “Then you’ll still attend school?” “You know, Shinmi—since the dorm supervisor said that—I’m thinking of leaving the dormitory for a time and giving private English lessons to earn some tuition money. What do you think?” “But will you truly be able to return to school again?” “Well—whether I can or can’t—I’ll just have to try and see.” “But the world doesn’t arrange itself conveniently according to our thoughts.” Tsukamoto bowed his head and remained silent. The crude gaslight illuminated the curls parted at his precise hairline.

“You—to venture into the world requires what we call faith.” “Even someone like me has no idea how much I’ve struggled to attain faith,” Shinmi said tentatively, but Tsukamoto remained leaning against the window, his gaze fixed on the gaslight’s glow. “But you—things like God or Christ make no sense to me.” “I can’t help seeing Christianity as a sort of superstition,” he murmured with a faint smile. “You can’t just dismiss it like that. I’m no Christian either, but surely there must be some truth in these religious yearnings that have coursed through four millennia of history.” “I still don’t fully grasp the cross’s truth myself—but doesn’t Christ’s very essence embody greatness?”

“Well, I know that much about His greatness, but I don’t understand it.” “Whether someone’s a believer or not, what they do day by day ends up being the same, doesn’t it?” “In fact, non-believers often have better conduct than believers!” Tsukamoto objected vehemently. “You always say that, but just try going out into society.” “Can you get by like that?” “Without faith...” At this moment, Shinmi was thinking of his sister’s letter and his hometown.

“However, life is a tragedy,” Shinmi continued, but Tsukamoto merely let out a faint laugh and, “You’re always going on about tragedy and comedy.” “To me, life isn’t a tragedy or a comedy.” “I truly can’t make heads or tails of any of it,” he said.

Shinmi merely sat facing the desk, cheek propped on his hand, and fell silent—for if Tsukamoto said that, those same words resonated within his own mind. After some time had passed, Tsukamoto left. Shinmi took out his sister’s letter from the drawer and read it once more. Written in a blend of classical epistolary style and modern vernacular, the letter proved truly difficult to parse.

I humbly pen this missive to inform you. I pray that you, dear Brother, remain in good health. Though long have I neglected correspondence, I humbly entreat you to rest assured of my continued welfare.

Now, dear Brother, I find myself doing nothing but weeping day after day—to such an extent that I think I would rather die if this continues. Mother in the countryside made me work from dawn till dusk—no matter what I did, they would scold me endlessly, saying “How can you be so incompetent when you’re Oka-san’s child?” They wouldn’t even give me proper meals in the morning, treated me worse than a maid, and it became utterly unbearable—so about forty days ago, I fled to Father’s place. However, Father does not show me any affection at all. Father’s current concubine Oume at her residence has been making me suffer so terribly, and even after coming here, I find myself weeping day after day. Brother, I beseech you—please save me. I am relying solely on you. Moreover, Father is terribly angry with Brother. Father has declared he will no longer send tuition funds starting this month. Brother, please use this five yen to supplement your tuition funds however slightly you can. I too find myself contemplating—should circumstances permit—escaping to Tokyo by placing my trust in you. Rather than being made to work by Mother in the countryside and Oume, going to Tokyo and becoming a housemaid would be far better. Brother, if you have any good ideas, please inform me at once. I am so overcome with sorrow that tears keep falling, and I cannot write. There are still many things I wish to convey, but I shall relate them on another occasion.

Furthermore, I humbly entreat you to take utmost care of your health.

P.P.S.

I humbly request that you send your reply at the earliest possible moment.

Having read it, Shinmi sympathized with his sister Emiko's pitiable fate. Then he read it again and shed tears. But these tears also contained sorrow for Tsukamoto's fate and his own.

Shinmi clutched his head, bent over the desk, and sank into deep thought.

Footsteps sounded in the neighboring room. Before long, Tsukamoto’s voice could be heard, “Well, you see, I’d managed to scrape together five or six yen, but there was something else I absolutely had to use it for—so I spent one yen.”

“Ah, thank you,” someone replied courteously. “My apologies,” Tsukamoto said dismissively and left without closing the shoji, his footsteps receding down the stairs. “Ah, again,” said a different male voice. And continuing,

“Mr. Tanaka, Tsukamoto just won’t do, still,” came a voice.

“He really won’t do,” continued the voice. “Sells sweets to students, skips paying his meal fees to buy snacks, fills his excuses with nothing but lies, and when visiting others’ rooms never even sits properly...” said the man who had earlier given the polite response. Hearing this, Shinmi started in surprise and, while wiping away tears, called out “Mr. Tanaka!” in an intentionally loud voice to mask his sorrowful tone, summoning the man from the neighboring room. “Huh? What is it?” came a slightly startled reply. “Does Mr. Tsukamoto tell lies?” At this question, Tanaka—now even more astonished—

“You can let that go.”

“In that case, Mr. Tanaka.” “Can I not pose questions to you?”

“N-n-nothing at all!” came a young voice that wasn’t Tanaka’s. It must be Haruhi.

“Haruhi. What kind of lies did Tsukamoto tell?”

“Mr. Shinmi.” “You know Mr. Sugita from the fifth-year regular department, don’t you?” “I know him.” “What happened?” “I heard that Mr. Sugita struck Mr. Tsukamoto the other day.”

“Struck? Why?” “Well... Perhaps it’s better not to say, Mr. Tanaka.” “Kindly tell me,” said Shinmi. Tanaka said with a bitter smile, “Do you want to know that badly? You’re quite the nosy one too.” “I am not being nosy, but I am close with Mr. Tsukamoto. I need to hear this.”

“Y-y-you see, Mr. Tsukamoto is at fault here. Despite selling sweets for a living, how many yen do you suppose he spends each month buying snacks elsewhere? And he doesn’t pay for his meals. Sugita must have heard about this. Mr. Sugita flew into a rage and said disciplinary action was necessary—apparently he struck Mr. Tsukamoto behind the theology department two nights ago. Mr. Tsukamoto claims there are too many installment payments to the mess hall to settle his debts, but he’s just fabricating excuses. The truth is, they’ve all been eating apples and sweets.”

Shinmi was utterly astonished by what he heard. But as he thought of poor Tsukamoto being struck yet again, he felt a pang of pity. …………………

“But Sugita is still in the wrong,” he said. “Why is that?” Tanaka asked this time. “You would agree, wouldn’t you? Tsukamoto’s monthly income is a mere eight yen.” “From that, one yen goes to installment collectors and another yen to dormitory fees.” “The remainder would be six yen.” “After paying six yen for food expenses and receiving exemption from tuition fees, he’d be left without a single sen.” “But to get tuition exemption, he has to work an hour or two after school, doesn’t he?” “If you say he must study and exercise on top of all that—then society is cruel indeed. It doesn’t grant Tsukamoto even a single drop of pleasure.” “Do humans need to live without any pleasure?” Shinmi ventured.

Tsukamoto’s will was, in reality, not steadfast. He had often come to Shinmi to borrow capital for sweets and never repaid it. However, Shinmi did not condemn this as a wrongdoing. And so, even now, he continued to argue using the same logic.

They had been conversing through the shoji screen since earlier, but finding it somehow unsatisfying not to see their faces, “Well, if you put it that way, I suppose you’re right...” said Tanaka as he slid open the intervening shoji screen and entered Shinmi’s room. Haruhi also followed after him. Tanaka was around twenty-three or four years old. He was a large-framed man with an imposing face, yet there seemed to be something slightly lacking about him. He was Tsukamoto’s classmate and one grade below Shinmi. He was also studying under hardship and served the role of helping with the mess to collect food expenses. By doing this, it was arranged that he didn’t have to pay for his meals. Haruhi was a beautiful youth of seventeen or eighteen, a first-year student in the higher course. Tanaka and Haruhi were the best of friends; there was not a single activity—from self-study to walks, exercise, trips, or church—where the two weren’t together. Moreover, the two of them shared a peculiar trait. In other words, their shared trait was being great adventurers with a passionate love of nature. Even at midnight, it was not uncommon to see the two of them—Haruhi holding an astronomy book and Tanaka providing lamp light—studying constellations in the middle of the athletic field.

The two of them, intending to hear Shinmi’s defense of Tsukamoto, stood together next to Shinmi’s desk. Tanaka placed his hand on Haruhi’s right shoulder and looked down at the desk. Tanaka calmly began to speak, “Your argument is far too extreme, so it’s no good.” “I believe Mr. Tsukamoto deserves to be punished.” “Mr. Tsukamoto is likely studying using other people’s money.” “Moreover, seeking pleasure in such a way is fundamentally wrong.” “Fundamentally, it’s wrong to exploit others’ money.” “Is not the school’s support for struggling students an extraordinary act of benevolence?” “If he wants to seek pleasure on top of that, he ought to leave school.”

Emotionally intense Shinmi found himself on the verge of tears at Tanaka’s cruel line of argument.

“Mr. Tanaka, I don’t want to hear such passive moral arguments from a virtuous Christian like you.” “If you Christians are satisfied with such shallow morals, then abandon all the grand churches across Tokyo and go listen to sermons at Zojoji Temple in Shiba instead.” “This time Tsukamoto-kun has been expelled from the dormitory and consequently forced to take a leave of absence—all due to you Christians’ heartlessness.” “With no sympathy from the dorm supervisor, no sympathy from you—Tsukamoto-kun has ended up having to take a leave of absence, you see.” “Is Christianity merely doctrine?” “If one truly chants ‘Amen’ with their lips, should they not go so far as to sell their clothes and books to save Tsukamoto-kun?” “Remember—you Christians have already buried a man named Tsukamoto beneath the earth!”

With tears welling in his eyes and in an impassioned tone, Shinmi argued.

“In that case, why don’t you try doing that yourself?” “I at least have confidence that I am doing so.” “But whether such a thing can actually be done—I doubt it.” “But you—what did Christ say? “...Christ does not dwell within your hearts. “The Church is entirely Christ’s enemy!” declared Shinmi，avoiding their gazes as he wiped his tears with his sleeve. Tanaka and Haruhi had not known that Shinmi was such an emotional man. And so they were belatedly astonished，

“I didn’t know philosophers were such emotional people.” “If one becomes as emotional as Shinmi-kun here, we can’t have a proper debate,” said Tanaka, then invited Haruhi and returned to his own room. The two of them were muttering something, but they soon turned off the gas lamp and went out somewhere.

Shinmi simply cried.

He could not help but cry as he thought about Christians’ low moral standards and matters concerning the church; about how by month’s end he too would have to join their ranks of struggling students; about Tsukamoto’s pitiful fate; about his dull-witted sister. And thinking why both his sister and I had to endure such sorrowful circumstances—he sobbed.

Finally, Shinmi resolved. ...I too must leave Meiji Gakuin—to plunge into real life with ordinary yet noble ideals. With his sole sister—whom neither his stepmother nor father showed affection to—there was nothing better than realizing a truly noble ideal life in the countryside. He resolved to depart for his hometown that very night. He worried about the travel expenses but resolved to sell his books.

First he washed his face, took a bucket, and went down to the well.

Ursa Major still hung high in the northern sky. The time likely hadn't yet passed eight o'clock. The Young Faction clapped and clamored noisily. Shinmi gripped the well bucket and muttered, "Bitter cup of the cross!"

While washing his face, when Suzuki came from the direction of Hepburn Hall, he expressed his intention to return home and requested that Suzuki call a secondhand bookseller to come so he could catch the 10:30 train.

At 10:35 PM, a student boarded the Kobe-bound train from Shinagawa. He stood facing west in lonely isolation, seen off by five or six friends. That student was Shinmi Eiichi.

III

The passenger car was full, and Shinmi remained standing until Kanagawa. From Kanagawa, he spread a blanket on the floor and lay down on it. He arrived in Nagoya around seven in the morning, but near Gifu he had a bad dream.

He viewed his current actions from their shadowy aspects and trembled violently. For what purpose—and to where—he asked himself, but there came no answer. He felt as though two things clogged his throat: comforting his sister and voicing his opinions to his father. Yet the cry of "Hometown!" never rang true to Shinmi's ears. Nothing but sorrowful, gloomy associations arose. And the very name Kobe struck him with dreadful repugnance.

Kobe was his birthplace. The place where he was born twenty-two years ago. Until he was ten years old, he grew up here. When he was ten, his mother died, and until he and his sister were taken in by the legal wife in Itano District, Awa, they had been educated by those mountains and sea. Even now, he still recalled standing on the deck with his older sister when they were taken in, parting from his younger sister and two brothers. He also immediately recalled that dark, gloomy house where he had been parted from his mother by death. At the end of Hyogo Pier stood a warehouse bearing a large advertisement for Yamamoto Ice House. Its eastern neighbor was his family home at 32 Shimakami-cho. If one went west along the street, though small, Tsukishima-ji temple lay half a block away. If one went east, it gradually curved and emerged before the Commercial Bank. The houses were low and squalid, their soil tinged gray and oppressively humid. A lamp hung at his house's eaves where fading characters spelling "Shinmi" could still be made out on its front. The lattice-fronted structure bore a sign at its entrance reading: Japan Mail Shipping Company Cargo and Passenger Handling Office. Across stood Yamamoto’s thatched house—the wealthiest in this vicinity with its own icehouse. The eastern neighbor was a pharmacy. Next to the pharmacy came the corner with its barbershop. Between barbershop and pharmacy stood a small Jizo statue. The east-facing barbershop occupied the corner where Isono-cho's street began. Across from it sat a hardware store—its daughter having been friends with his late sister. Behind the hardware store lay a cart shop.

In front of the cart shop was a spring. Beside the spring ran a path leading south down to the beach. Facing this road stood Iizuka the charcoal merchant. Next came Shiratani—the house of Shinmi's childhood friend. To the east of the thatched house, directly before Shinmi's latticework gate, lay the rear of Fujii's property. Adjacent to Fujii lived Oguri, a speculator in rice futures. Beyond that stretched the back of Amau's lot, where stood the familiar well; Shinmi remembered summer evenings when crowds of cart drivers had bathed in its waters. Oguri's present dwelling had once belonged to the wealthy Hasegawa family, who lost their fortune in stock speculation and relocated to Osaka. He recalled how he and that family's son had been schoolmates—and how frequently they had fought.

Remembering was sorrowful. One autumn evening, I had gotten into a fight with Hasegawa’s son. When my opponent brought out a kanabō from the shop door, I too took up a kanabō, and just as we were about to clash, Clerk Kumakichi came to summon me. Resentful though I was, I returned home—only to find that Mother, who had long been ill, had already passed away. Kumakichi had told me to come see Mother, so I went up to the second floor and looked upon her face, but her breath had already ceased; all I beheld was a pale, glowing countenance.

Thinking of this, Shinmi always shuddered.

As the train passed Osaka and approached Kobe, Shinmi recalled this and found his future growing ever darker.

When he alighted at Kobe Station, his heartbeat was irregular, as if water flowed through his veins instead of blood. Nothing but fear of the future made his entire body tremble. Growing impatient to resolve matters immediately, he found it unbearable to sit quietly in the carriage. He considered leaping from the vehicle to dash home, but thinking this too deranged, he stared at the rickshaw puller's feet and clenched his hands.

He had them drop him off at 32 Shimakami-cho, but there was no Shinmi sign nor gas lamp. There was a nameplate labeled "Amau," but the door was closed. When he inquired at the neighboring pharmacy, they said he had moved to Kajiya-cho last month. Coming out in front of the Commercial Bank and turning left brought one to Kajiya-cho. As instructed, across from Daikokuyu bathhouse, Shinmi's lamp was lit. The time was already six in the afternoon, and the yellow-tinged air of evening dusk had filled the city streets. He felt inexplicably lonely. When he thought about why they had left Shimakami-cho after living there for over twenty years, he felt even lonelier.

However, the exterior was more impressive than their previous house. The entrance had a glass door with an iron lattice and glass-paned shoji, while white lace window drapes were tastefully arranged. He stepped inside and was shocked. There was not a single man whose face he recognized.

Shinmi had returned to Kobe two years prior in winter, before making a brief trip to Ogasawara Island. At that time, Father had still been serving as a Diet member, and since Parliament was in session, he hadn't been at the shop—but with Shima Morihira, the manager of twenty years, present, it had somehow felt properly managed. Back then, he'd even felt as if returning home. Yet tonight he found himself shocked to recognize no one. Three clerks sat moving pens hurriedly through ledger books. The man before the safe must be the manager—thirty-five or thirty-six perhaps, or thirty-seven or thirty-eight—his hair parted with merchant-like precision, vertical wrinkles etched between brows that carried a faintly bitter intensity. When Shinmi uttered “Excuse me,” this man looked toward the entrance and laid down his penholder. The other two raised their heads—one still youthful, the other tall and narrow-eyed with thick brows and robust complexion.

Shinmi thought about what to say next but— “Is Mr.Shinmi present here?” he asked. Then came a man who appeared to be the manager: “He is indeed present.” “And who might you be?” he inquired in return.

“I am Eiichi,” he answered.

“Are you Master Eiichi?” he said, rising to his feet, “Do come up—please, do come up. The shop is rather disordered at present, so if you would kindly go upstairs…” he entreated with meticulous courtesy.

Shinmi found himself inclined to go up and, for some reason feeling pleased, removed his shoes and made to ascend. As the rickshaw puller had brought in the luggage, he took it and was led up to the second floor.

Upon climbing the ladder-like stairs, there was immediately a room that must have been about ten tatami mats in size. Across from it was a room of about six tatami mats. Both rooms had low ceilings and lacked order. Clerks' clothes hung here and there, giving it the feel of a storage space. When he entered the eight-tatami room beyond the opened sliding door, a woman in her forties was lighting a bamboo-based lamp. She bowed and hurried downstairs, leaving the room brightly illuminated. The man who had guided him took out a leather-covered futon from the corner,

“Please make yourself comfortable,” he said, settling himself respectfully near the entrance. And so Eiichi also sat respectfully near the entrance, but— “Please, please,” the man urged, offering the leather-covered futon, “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. I am Murai Sankichi.” “I humbly ask for your kind consideration.” He pressed his forehead to the tatami mats in a deep bow. Eiichi was legally the head of this household, but he felt no inclination to assert his authority, “I am Eiichi.” “I humbly ask for your kind consideration,” he said, completing his greeting.

“What about school?” Murai looked at Eiichi with a puzzled expression in his eyes.

“There’s still a year left, but I felt something…” he answered, letting his voice trail off. “Was it a Christian-affiliated school?” “Which institution had the honor of educating Young Master?” “Ah yes—it was Christian-affiliated.”

“The Master did mention something of that sort recently.” “Then might you be traveling to Tokushima on business?” “Ah, I have certain considerations... Was Father here recently?” “Ah, with His Honor being so terribly occupied at City Hall, he only visits Hyogo perhaps once every three months. However, when we relocated our quarters recently, he did make a brief appearance,” he said, clapping his hands.

“Please bring the tobacco tray and tea,” he said, turning toward the steep staircase. And, “Pardon me for a moment,” he began descending, but— “You haven’t yet taken your evening meal, I presume?” he inquired while halfway down the stairs, just as the woman who had earlier lit the lamp came up, whereupon he whispered something in her ear. Shinmi surveyed the room. He realized the alcove scroll had never once been missing throughout the past decade or more—not since he’d first developed what could be called memory. The vase beside it too—though he knew not how many decades prior—bore a tale of his father having purchased it during his youth when, dispatched by his grandfather to Kanazawa’s indigo market on business, he’d indulged in dissipation. Both the small ebony desk supporting the vase and the grand ebony desk by the window stood familiar in his recollection. Nor did he forget that the folding screen in the corner had been described as a gift from Professor Shinsui Mizutake.

When considering the history behind each item, he somehow felt a sense of nostalgia. But when he thought about what he would feel upon returning to Tokushima and facing his father, his chest throbbed wildly.

Murai returned to his original seat, “And how has your illness been since then?” he inquired. Asked this, he grew apologetic, “Thank you very much. While it cannot be said that this illness will ever fully recover, at present it is on the better side. “Last winter I was concerned whether I could make it through the season in Tokyo, but no—I remained in excellent health without spending a single day bedridden by cold.”

“Ah, that is most splendid.” “Yes, thank you… Are Hozumi and Mori still at the shop?” he asked, recalling the clerk and apprentice from two years prior. “Yes, they are present; they are likely still offshore, sir.” “Tonight the waves are somewhat high, so the launch may be slightly delayed.” “Which Maru is the vessel?” “It’s the Tosa Maru, anchored far out at sea, so they cannot return without a launch, sir.”

As they were talking, two children came up—the smaller one carrying a sweets tray, the larger one a tobacco tray. After them came Mother. Both children had broad foreheads—if anything, they leaned toward the prominent-browed type. They did not have Father’s deep-set eyes, nor were they particularly cute children. Mother was the woman who had lit the fire earlier—a person with sparse, curly hair and a wide mouth. After exchanging appropriate greetings, all three of them went back downstairs.

Murai earnestly urged him to stay the night, but Eiichi insisted he was in a hurry and must return immediately. In the midst of this, the wife and children brought in plates of Western-style dishes.

Eiichi’s chest was filled with an indescribable emotion—something he couldn’t comprehend what words might properly express.

He picked up the fork, but it didn’t feel at all like he was eating at his own home. When he asked what time the Tokushima-bound steamship would depart that night, Murai stood up during the meal to make a phone inquiry on his behalf. “There’s a bit of swell tonight,” he replied, “so all vessels coming from Osaka are running slightly late—the ten o’clock has become twelve, and the twelve o’clock is said to become one.” The wife beside him added, “Since it’s only seven, why don’t you take a bath and get proper sleep? You won’t rest at all if the waves worsen. “You must be weary from today’s train journey...” she continued.

After the meal, as advised by the wife, he decided to bathe at the Daikokuyu bathhouse across the way and headed down to the shop. Then, a young man introduced himself as Yamada and bowed. A man with a good complexion introduced himself as Hosokawa and bowed. The wife brought out a large Western-style towel and a nickel soap case from the back. At that moment, Hozumi and Mori Rokuyata returned. And with a surprised look,

“Young master.” “To Tokushima.” “When did you come from Tokyo?” he inquired.

Rokuyata went into the back, but Hozumi said, “Bath? I’ll come along later after I eat,” opened the bamboo screen door toward the kitchen, and went in.

“The waves were something fierce today,” came Hozumi’s spirited young voice from the back. Eiichi went to Daikokuyu.

IV

At the bathhouse, he unexpectedly met Yoshida Yutaro, who had been working for the Shinmi household for twenty years. Eiichi still imagined Yutaro remained at the Shinmi residence. However, Yutaro somehow made an unsatisfactory greeting, “Ever since Father became mayor, the shop’s been in complete disarray. Amaha had their assets seized, he wasn’t paying the staff’s monthly wages, even put the telephone up as collateral…” he chattered on while scrubbing off grime, heedless of the crowd around him. However, the bathhouse was so crowded that there was no one listening.

“Young master. If you end up like Father, we’d be in trouble, y’hear. He’s squandered every last yen on courtesans, leavin’ the shop hollow as a gourd… I’ve told the Boss time and again—Yutaro’s words don’t mean squat to ’im, don’tcha know. I ain’t been paid my wages for four months now. And after makin’ a deal with the Boss to sell off the barge, now I’m workin’ solo, see… If Master Eiichi don’t stand firm or somethin’, the Shinmis are done for… Father’s gone and lost his head over this Oume dame at Ginkourou, I tell ya. Father is consumed by that. I hear they’ve built a grand house in Tokushima Honmachi this time—your country Mother must be in dire straits… But Master Eiichi’s Mother was sharp—she certainly wouldn’t have let Father squander money if she were alive. She was a shrewd person. Master Eiichi, do you remember Mother’s face? She bore a strong resemblance to you, though. Ah, she was such a beautiful person…” he continued talking without giving Eiichi a chance to respond.

Eiichi— “What about Granny?” he asked. “Granny’s gotten on in years and left the Shinmis—now she stays home minding children… Then my wife died this February… And I suppose Murais wife has come runnin’ the shop.” “That woman must be covering every last expense with the shop’s money.” "That Granny from the house—she must have been with the Shinmis for twenty, thirty years now." “So then, when Murai’s wife got too high-handed and someone got angry… No—actually, up until last July, Granny from the house had been looking after Masunori-san and Yoshitaka-san.” “Then Murai’s wife brought those two snot-nosed brats from her own circle and lets them act willfully as they please.” “She gave all the little ones’ toys and sweets to her own children completely, so after both boys went to Awaji last July, Granny thought ‘Now I can rest…’ and kept insisting she wanted—wanted to return home. But someone thought if they kept entrusting everything to Murai’s wife alone, the shop would end up in such a state—so it dragged on until this February. Then when my wife died in childbirth, they had no choice but to have Granny come back… Ah well, she’s in good health now at least. … How have the young masters’ illnesses been?” “Have they been able to keep up with their studies?” “Have you already finished studying?” he asked with heartfelt concern.

Shinmi, upon hearing the tragedy of his own household that he had been unaware of, involuntarily trembled and sympathized with Yoshida Yutaro’s plight.

“Thank you. My illness has improved considerably now. I’ve been studying since last September… I hadn’t heard at all about your wife’s passing, Yutaro-san. That must have been terribly hard for you. Still, it’s a comfort that Granny remains in good health. I too received much care from her growing up.” “Well now, since Eiichi-sama went to live with his stepmother in rural Awa at age ten, things weren’t so bad for him—but those two younger ones gave Granny-sama no end of tears! How time flies though! They say Mr. Masunori enters middle school this year, and Mr. Yoshitaka next year? That youngest was born on January second’s morning in the year Mother passed… Wait now—wasn’t Eiichi-sama’s elder sister also born on January second? So that’d make Yoshitaka-san twelve this year—thirteen by traditional reckoning?”

“Thirteen in actual years, counted as fourteen.” “Hmm, time does fly.” “Middle school starts at twelve years old.” “Why isn’t Yoshinori-san entering?” “Ah—I was mistaken. It should be counted as thirteen.” “But even then, Father would enroll Yoshitaka-san in middle school, wouldn’t he?”

At that moment, Hozumi entered.

“Hey, Yuu-san! Long time no see. Where’ve you been keepin’ yourself lately?” “I go here ’n’ there—three ’r four days back I was all the way out in Shingu. How ’bout it, Toyokichi—how’s the shop been these days?”

“Still ain’t no good—we do get shipments out alright, but…” “Murai’s wife keeps naggin’ somethin’ fierce.” “Yesterday she gave Murai a whole fish and only left me with bones.” “So I chucked ’em in the garden.” “Now today they’re still bellyachin’ about it!” “You oughta settle things proper-like!” The three laughed. The bathhouse was packed tight come evening.

“Toyokichi, I hear you’ve been going to Shinkawa every night lately. Go too often and you’ll catch syphilis!” “Don’t talk nonsense, Yuu-san—you think I’ve got that kind of money?” “Aren’t you being taken there by Hosokawa?” “This isn’t a joke! If I go, I’d go alone.”

Hozumi was a slender man of twenty-three or twenty-four with an oblong face, a slightly dark complexion, a high nose, thin eyebrows, and a height measuring about five shaku four sun. His short hair was parted slightly to the left with a precise line.

When Hozumi got out of the bath, Yutaro and Eiichi left the bathroom. Yutaro was wiping himself down while,

“Young master,” he asked, “do you remember how Yutaro saved you when you nearly drowned at the beach?” “I faintly remember—being held by Mother in that kitchen in Shimojima-cho and having the doctor examine me.” “If I hadn’t saved you back then, you would’ve been dead in another five minutes!” “That’s right.” “When I think back to those days, how you’ve grown… You’ve come to look just like your mother,” Yutaro said, tilting his head slightly as he looked at Eiichi.

Eiichi stood before the mirror trying to part his hair. "What beautiful hair you have," Yutaro praised.

After returning from the bath, he wrote a letter to his friends in Tokyo and took a brief nap.

Shinmi had just dozed off when Hozumi woke him up, so they went to Hyogo Pier. He bought a third-class ticket, surprising Hozumi, but Shinmi nonchalantly boarded the Daini Kyodo Maru.

The voyage that night was extremely rough, and there was hardly anyone in third class who didn't get seasick. However, Shinmi did not get seasick. He became acquainted with a man who ran a laundry shop in Tokushima Honcho. He heard it was adjacent to Father’s newly built mansion. Then when morning came and he went out to the deck, he discovered that the errand boy who had been at Iseki’s bookstore had become a stoker. He had not forgotten, and neither had the other. “Mr. Shinmi, your father’s reputation is quite poor, you know.” “Shouldn’t you get your father to straighten up a bit?” said the man, furrowing his soot-smudged brow until vertical creases formed between his eyebrows.

“How bad is his reputation?” he asked. “Even though the mouth of the Tsuda River’s silted up, they keep making excuses about sending dredgers for repairs or some such thing. Day by day it’s taking longer for steamers to reach Tokushima—since last August they’ve been docking at Komatsujima instead. And with the papers not even attacking them over this? It’s beyond absurd, I tell ya.” “Then just the day before yesterday, they were saying in the papers the mayor took bribes for that Tomita Bridge replacement—laying into him without any restraint at all.” He spoke without holding back.

Shinmi felt his body shrink even more.

“How is being a stoker? Is it interesting?” he asked.

“It’s interesting—or not interesting, really. Because I’ve got to support my mother.” “Even if I make nine yen a month, I can’t afford to slack off.” “How about visiting brothels?” he asked with a laugh. “I don’t go, but the clerks and boys rush straight to Matsushima as soon as they get to Osaka.” “It’s beyond words, I tell ya.” “Even on this ship, there are several lads swamped with debt, you know,” he said. And he explained, adding, “Well, we’re working out at sea…”

As the stoker had gone down to the engine room, he remained alone on the deck gazing at the dawn sea. The strong wind drove massive clouds racing southwest to northeast. The steamship rocked so violently it seemed to float atop a single wave. In the eastern sky slightly above the horizon, a pale red streak colored beneath the clouds—yet no matter how long one waited, its hue refused to deepen. The sea filled with pallid gray tones threatened imminent rain. Forlorn and desolate. Neither sun nor rain came; only wave crashes and wind howling against mast and bridge struck with dreadful force.

Because he was slightly feverish, the wind felt ridiculously cold. However, thinking he would get seasick if he went below deck, he continued forward and tried repeating a hymn he remembered in a low voice. But anxiety about what awaited him in Tokushima weighed heavily. When considering what to say upon meeting Father, his heart grew strangely restless. He wondered if staying in Tokyo might have been better—yet contemplating philosophy and religion’s endless depths made even Tokyo feel intolerable. But retreating to this provincial backwater seemed equally futile. Even engaging in social reform would likely earn nothing beyond a brief mention as “model projects” in some newspaper corner before being forgotten. Writing philosophical treatises brought its own pain—if society ignored them—making him pessimistic about humanity’s indifference. At twenty-two with no societal contributions yet made, ambition surged only to deepen his sorrow. The thought of Father funding religious philosophy studies in Germany stirred both longing and hatred. Why wasn’t his sister loved by Father’s wife—or even by Oume? Tears welled despite his resistance. He refused to recall trite proverbs about life being a drifting boat—no—life was churning tempests. Even kicking through mundane horizons left clouds distant and skies unreachable. As winds calmed, resignation settled—he must accept this flat expanse again. Bearing ideals’ cross homeward only meant awakening to a corpse’s reality—he wanted nothing but tears. Corpse! He couldn’t even become one. Rage flared at being mere ash. Yet imagining even that ash washed into gutters by fine rain choked him silent.

But now that it had come to this, he resigned himself to nothing but drifting with the clouds and falling with the rain. Yet he found himself wishing for a great thunderclap to roar and heavy rain to pour down—that would be a relief. No—if a sudden hurricane were to arise now and sink the ship to the bottom of the sea, I would sink peacefully into its depths—Shinmi smiled. Rain began to spatter down as clouds scudded low over the sea. Shinmi hung his head and wiped his tears.

Five

“Ah, Brother—!” came a voice from a child in Western-style clothes who had just exited and re-entered through the entranceway. The child saw Eiichi and hurriedly rushed into the inner rooms. Eiichi had just returned from Komatsujima by rickshaw. The steamship had arrived at Komatsujima at six o'clock. Eiichi could not help but be astonished at how much more splendid his father’s mansion was than he had imagined. A mouse-gray earthen wall—approximately fifteen ken wide and two and a half ken high—glistened before him. The baseboard, appearing six shaku in height, consisted of charred cedar planks, while high-quality tiles bearing the family crest were set above. Before this stood a fence of hexagonal camphor wood pillars measuring roughly four shaku in height. The gate stood exceptionally clean, crafted from wood of dense grain with a soft luster, its stepping stone a single slab of bluish stone. From gate to entrance stretched about two and a half ken of this massive stone. The width measured some four shaku—a truly magnificent sight.

When he alighted from the rickshaw, proceeded to the entrance, and opened the lattice door, A woman’s charming laughter—“Oh... Ohoho...”—could be heard. The sound of a child’s footsteps had preceded it.

“Brother, welcome home,” said his fair-skinned younger brother Masunori—his slender cheeks framed by upturned eyebrows—as he bowed. Behind the shoji screen, the woman too bowed and said, “Welcome home.” She must have been ashamed of being visible from the street. “Good day…” he answered lightly, paid the rickshaw driver, and removed his shoes. “Now, Brother, come inside.”

“It’s been quite some time since we last met,” said the woman as she attempted to guide him further inside.

Eiichi thought: This woman? The one called Oume of Ginkanrō? He recalled she was the woman he had briefly seen four or five years ago when Father stayed with her at the Mizuya Inn. At any rate, Oume's welcoming manner came as a relief. "Thank you. Is Father in?" he asked while ascending. "Oh yes, he's here," the woman replied. "He's currently worshiping on the second floor..." Eiichi passed through from the "adjacent room" into the interior as directed. "Please go ahead and remove your Western clothes—until your luggage is unpacked, you can wear Father's kimono for now."

Oume said with a smile. The woman’s kindness wasn’t unpleasant. Eiichi began removing his Western clothes as Oume said, but her hand also touched his jacket. “Ah, Brother, you look positively shabby. Ohoho!” Oume laughed,

“I’ll get the kimono out now,” she said, opening the drawer of the chest in the back. Masunori silently watched as Eiichi removed his Western clothes, but “Well, I’ll be going to school now. Brother, well then, see you later,” he said and left. Eiichi said to Oume, “Masunori has grown quite a bit, hasn’t he?” “He truly has grown quite a bit, hasn’t he?” she answered as she brought out a pongee-lined kimono and a satin obi. While putting on the clothes,

When he asked, “Has Father not come down yet?” “Why, Father spends a good hour each morning in worship. You should wash your face—it’s all sooty. Let me fetch some water… Oh never mind, have someone bring water for the Young Master,” she said, then took the Western clothes and left along the veranda, passing in front of the toilet toward the dressing room. “Yes,” came the response, accompanied by the clatter of wooden clogs emerging from the kitchen, as a comely eighteen- or nineteen-year-old woman passed before the storehouse, took the metal basin from the veranda’s washstand, and stood by the well— The sound of the well bucket’s chain could be heard.

Eiichi tried wearing silk clothes for the first time in over a decade. It wasn’t an entirely disagreeable sensation. Oume hurried along the veranda on tiptoe and handed Eiichi a large Western-style towel and a toothbrush. And then, “Here’s the soap,” she said, handing him a nickel soapbox. Eiichi was washing his face using the toothbrush. The woman stood behind him, “Your hair is so black—truly black! If you were a woman, you’d have splendid locks… Do you use pomade?” “If it’s pomade you need, you’ll find it in the dressing room,” she said.

“No, I don’t use pomade—it’s vulgar.” “Is that so? Is abstaining from pomade what counts as fashionable nowadays?” she asked with mock solemnity, leaving Eiichi momentarily flustered. “They say refined Americans don’t use pomade,” he managed to reply. At this, the woman refrained from further interrogation. When he finished washing his face and accepted the towel, “You had quite the turbulent night yesterday, didn’t you?” she inquired. “Yes,” he answered,

“You need a mirror? Please come to the dressing room. This way,” she said. When he followed the woman, the space adjacent to the bathroom became the dressing room—everything was in Japanese style, with a large, elegant mirror stand by the window. To the left was a closet. There was a folding screen in front of the closet. What were likely Father’s Western clothes—splendid ones—were hanging there. Eiichi’s wet Western clothes were also hanging there. The woman took out a Western-style comb from the mirror stand’s drawer, “Please go ahead and use this,” she said, taking out the pomade again to show him.

“If you’re going to use it… this is Father’s…” Eiichi, displeased by Oume’s flippant manner, felt his pulse quicken at the phrase “Father’s.” As Eiichi was parting his hair, Oume said, “I must excuse myself briefly—I need to prepare the meal tray,” and hurried along the veranda toward the kitchen.

Having finished combing his hair, Eiichi emerged from the dressing room, but Oume stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Have you finished already?” she asked. “Yes,” he answered, and came toward the kitchen while saying, “I wonder if Father is still not here?” “It seems you’ve finished—I can no longer hear your voice… I was in such a hurry that I forgot to bow properly.” “Well, let’s do this properly in the kitchen,” she said and sat down in the kitchen. And so Eiichi also sat down. “Well… “I trust there have been no changes since then? “It’s been so long since I’ve been in touch… yet here I am being so looked after by Father. “I must ask for your understanding to some extent—” she delivered her formal address. Eiichi also found this strange, but

“Well now—it’s been some time—how prospers your honorable household? Truly, I must ask for your continued kindness,” she said with another formal bow. “Have you completed your studies?” “No—it’s not precisely that I’ve finished—” “My, how well you’ve returned.” “Was it four years past?” “That time I glimpsed you in the pantry—” Oume declared without shame. “Ah.” The nervesensitive Eiichi felt peculiarly unsettled. “Your father has been saying—since it’s been so long since last meeting—he wishes to see you soon.”

“Is that so?” answered Eiichi with a slight smile, though he thought greetings were mere formalities one could adapt to any circumstance. Eiichi suddenly remembered Emiko, “How has Emiko been?” “She returned to the countryside three days ago,” Oume answered. At that moment, Father’s footsteps descending from the second floor sounded through the house.

Oume stood up, saying “Excuse me. Father is—” and opened the sliding door at the second-floor stairway entrance. “Your son has returned,” she said respectfully while looking upward. Father descended without responding. Eiichi kept his head bowed low and fidgeted with his fingers, but upon seeing Father, “Father…” he said. Yet Father,

“Oh, Eiichi?…” he said as he passed through into the central room. Eiichi felt somehow unsatisfied and kept his head bowed. “Well, come over here,” came the voice from the central room. Oume opened the closet and hurriedly prepared the meal tray. Eiichi rose from his seat and sat down at the entrance to the central room between the kitchen and the back room, lowering his head. Father sat before the long brazier, wrapped in silk with a stiff obi fastened about him. He was on the shorter side, his complexion somewhat dark. He had a stern face and no mustache.

From the kitchen came Oume’s voice.

“Master, the meal is ready…” Father remained silent. She then took a teacup from the small ebony shelf beside the long brazier. Eiichi,

“Father, it’s been some time. How are you faring?” he said with a bow, but Father lightly transferred water from the large iron kettle to the teapot with a tea scoop while, “It’s been some time,” he said. And then he continued, “Your face looks pale—has your condition worsened again?” he added. “I thank you. However, there is no particular change.” “Eiichi, what about school? …Have you graduated already?”

“No.” “What’s the matter then—are you taking time off these days?” “No.” “Then what’s the matter?” “I had a certain feeling.” “So were you expelled?” “No.” Oume placed her hands at the entrance and said, “Why don’t you both have some tea over rice?” “Well then, have some tea over rice… I’ll talk leisurely after returning from City Hall,” Father said, standing up.

“Shall I bring it over there?” asked Oume, but he replied, “The kitchen will suffice.” Eiichi was furious at his father’s composure, his irritation growing unbearable. He remained silent, head bowed. Because Oume called, he took his seat in the kitchen, but— “Eiichi, there was quite a stir last night. You must have taken quite a tumble,” said Father with a touch of mockery in his tone. “Yes,” he answered, but no words followed after. “What class was it?” “Third class—”

“There now, quite the distinguished one you must’ve been,” Oume remarked. “Eiichi – what manner of school is this you’ve been attending?” “It operates under Christian principles,” came her reply. “So you’ve turned into one of those Jesus people?” he pressed. “I have not.”

“Then why did you enter that school without listening to me… And have you already left?” “Yes—he returned intending to leave… but since Meiji Gakuin’s principles aligned with his views, he remained until now.”

“That ‘principle’—you mean Christianity?” “The principle refers to philanthropism.” “Then I take it you endorse socialism as well?” Pressed by his father’s interrogation, even Awa’s celebrated grilled miso tasted bland. “Ha…” he responded—

Father pretended not to hear, "Serve," he said, placing the bowl on the tray. Oume called out to the maid who had been packing rice into a small Seto-ware lunchbox—likely Masunori’s—in the garden: "Oyossan, come up and serve for a moment."

The maid answered, “Yes,” came up, and sat beside the rice tub to bow respectfully. “Good morning, Master,” she said with a bow. “Mm.”

“Good morning, Madam.” “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Young Master.” “This is my first time meeting you.” “I humbly ask for your kindness.” “Good morning.” “Either will suffice.”

The master had been holding his bowl and waiting for some time now. After bowing, the maid wordlessly carried out the tray. Father was watching the maid serve the rice, but— “Eiichi, you spout this philanthropism nonsense, but do you think lazing around will solve anything?” “While abstract theories might suffice for students, now that you’ve withdrawn from school without knowing what to do next—what use is shouting about socialism?” “You’d do better to think of a way to earn even a single penny.” “Since ancient times, those who spout logic are the very ones who end up poor and struggling.” “...Eiichi... You claim you don’t need ○○○ either, do you?” Father began his attack on Eiichi with composed detachment. Eiichi, perhaps thinking “This isn’t the time,” remained silent.

"I too initially resolved not to send tuition from the start when you entered that Christian school against my words—but thinking it somewhat pitiful, I kept sending it until last month. Lately funds have grown tight, so this month I finally stopped... Even if I let you study, you've not become what I envisioned. If you'd just convert to Christ and leave home for good, I concluded no amount of effort would salvage you." "And so I didn't send it this month either... But Eiichi—now that you've come back, what do you intend to do?" "In this house we've no use for Christ or socialist men." "And yet I can't very well let you idle about—a child who doesn't heed my words isn't of this household... Those who despise their country shouldn't be welcomed here too often—" he said in a dampening tone, his low voice tightening around Eiichi's neck. Oume was silently listening. Eiichi too had been listening in silence, but sensing cold water flowing beneath his burning chest he unwittingly—

Eiichi gave a soft "Hmph…" and laughed. No sooner had he laughed than—

“Eiichi! What’s this—you dare laugh? At your own father?!” he bellowed, eyes blazing with anger. Oume,

“Master, please stop. Master, isn’t it rude to speak so harshly to someone who’s just returned?” she interjected with a pitying look, trying to placate him. “Arrogant brat! I send you to Tokyo for a bit of studying, and all you do is fill your head with insolent notions—no longer regarding your parents as parents at all!” “Master, since breakfast is running a bit late this morning, let’s continue this conversation later. If you don’t finish your meal now, you’ll be late.” Eiichi couldn’t help but feel that his father was putting on some sort of performance. He had often seen stubborn fathers in plays, but had thought they weren’t real. But reality—and the fact that his father was the quintessential stubborn old man—was unbearably comical.

“The moment you gain a bit of learning, you laugh at your own father?” Father said, sending a chill through him. Having said this, Father silently stood up and retreated into the inner rooms. “You there—bring out my suit.” Oume, “Will you not be partaking in the meal, Master?” she asked, but there was no answer. And, “Father has been quick to anger of late, so please do forgive him,” Oume apologized to Eiichi.

“No, why would I be angry?” said Eiichi, but he did not raise his face. Tears were gathering in his eyes.

“What are you chattering about? Hurry up and bring it out already!” came from the inner room.

“Right away,” Oume hurriedly ran to the dressing room. “Please have as much as you like,” said the maid who had been watching dumbfounded all along, extending the tray when she saw Shinmi set down his chopsticks. Her voice was sweet. However, Eiichi said “Thank you,” opened the shoji in the corner of the kitchen, entered the maid’s room, and collapsed weeping. The rain was falling fiercely. Some time after Father left for work, Oume kindly suggested that since she had laid out bedding in the second-floor room, he might want to rest from last night’s fatigue. And so Eiichi went up to the second floor and slept.

He had been completely unaware until around four o'clock in the afternoon. The noisy chirping of three or four sparrows woke him up. When he slightly opened the shoji and looked outside, the rain had lightened, the sky was dimly bright, and yellow rays illuminated the roof tiles. When he looked toward the dry area, a two-story house became visible in the shadow of the warehouse. A persimmon tree stood beside it. A young woman had opened the window and was reading a book. She raised her face slightly and looked this way.

"Ah, a beautiful woman!" Eiichi thought, but feeling embarrassed, he closed the shoji and sat blankly lost in thought. Father’s voice came from below. "Has Father already returned?" he thought, flinching. At dinner, Eiichi once again took his place at the table, but as the effects of Father’s evening drinking grew stronger, he gradually began his assault on Eiichi. Oume and Masunori were just silently listening. However, Eiichi was by no means listening silently. He was resolved not to let him speak irresponsibly simply because he was drunk.

“I’ve poured hundreds, thousands of yen into you until now—isn’t it pitiful that you’ve reached twenty-two or three without being of any use? Why don’t you stop reading books from now on and go work at the Hyogo shop instead—be a substitute manager or even an apprentice? Can’t you even do that? If you can’t even do that, that’s just pathetic. It’s like you went to Tokyo just to practice fooling around and spouting nonsense. Eiichi, in that case, what exactly do you intend to do from now on? What exactly are you thinking of doing now?”

“At the moment, I don’t have anything specific. However, I simply wish to say that you should first show affection to Emiko, and that instead of going into debt to build such a grand house, you could construct a modest home and allow me to continue my studies,” said Eiichi, marshaling the most impassioned words he could muster in an attempt to provoke his father. “Hmm, you’re talking quite insolently. Whether I take out loans or not is my own business—I don’t need to hear about it from a vagrant like you. You can study however you like for all I care. Haven’t I done enough for you up until now? I sent you to Tokyo for four or five years after you graduated middle school, and when you said your lungs were bad, I even had you go recuperate as far as Ogasawara—yet not a single word of thanks have I heard from you. On top of that, after finally returning home after so long, you start with this—‘You don’t dote on Emiko’ or ‘You don’t show me any affection’? Hmm, insolent brat—is this what becomes of a high school student? Is this what they call Christianity? ……So Christianity teaches filial impiety, does it?”

“In Christianity… parents who do not love their children… husbands who cannot love one woman…” “Father… that’s precisely why you…” Eiichi declared coldly.

“Hmm, you… you are not my child. I have no need for a vagrant like you in this house.” “How dare you forget past favors and say such things!” “You’ve hated me all this time?” Father refused to back down. Then Eiichi also, “Father, you’ve had so many women…” “No doubt my late Mother must be weeping in her grave.” “And even when attacked by newspapers, you calmly kept showing up at City Hall,” he pressed earnestly.

“Insolent brat! What the hell are you saying?” Father stood up and approached Eiichi.

“How dare you speak such insolence after being warned! Say it again!” he said with a trembling voice choked by emotion, whereupon Eiichi repeated, “How can you show your face at City Hall so calmly after being accused of taking bribes?” he said coolly. But before these words had even finished being spoken, Father’s palm came down hard on Eiichi’s cheek, and the chopsticks and bowl he had been holding rolled across the dining tray. And then, kicked by his father’s foot, Eiichi fell sideways. Grabbing the nape of the fallen Eiichi’s neck, Father dragged him to the entrance. Masunori, the maid, and Kichisaburo the errand boy were all silently watching, but Oume stood up,

“Master, please stop this at once. If you were to injure yourself, it would be terrible…” she offered in a perfunctory attempt at mediation.

Eiichi did not resist at all. Father opened the entrance shoji, “Get out!” and kicked Eiichi down. And then he slammed the shoji shut with a sharp clatter and wept.

Behind the shoji, Eiichi wept bitterly while forcing out a pained smile. But after a moment—perhaps something had occurred to him—he suddenly circled from the middle gate to the rear, changed into Western clothes in the dressing room, returned to the entrance, slipped on his wretched shoes, and left the house without an umbrella.

Outside was darkness.

Six

Where was Eiichi to go now that he had left his father's residence? He went west through Tokushima Honmachi, turned left at the City Hall corner, and crossed Tokushima Bridge. Though it meant detouring from his route back to rural Itano, he had wanted to reach Toorimachi to buy an umbrella. The police station's electric lamp glowed dimly. Miyai's Western sundries shop remained unchanged from former days. When Eiichi checked the timepiece, Miyai's proprietor was dozing before the brazier. The man appeared to have grown somewhat balder. The First Block of Toorimachi showed no alteration. Only Izeki's bookstore had expanded from the main thoroughfare to establish a large shopfront. Here too an elderly man napped behind the counter. Nicho-me had undergone slight changes. Sengoku now combined postal services with its original business, while the Japan Christian Church stood newly erected in splendid form. He entered the mute umbrella vendor's stall, purchased an oiled-paper parasol, and hastened onward. The rain had slackened to a drizzle. Reaching Ebisu Shrine at Nicho-me's corner brought Bunyan the beggar to mind— the honest cripple who would choose a five-rin copper coin over five-sen silver when offered both— a beggar.

“Do you think I’m some errand boy?!” “Madam my foot!”—a beggar who made his rounds with fixed hours set for him. A cheerful beggar who was always laughing; a man of about fifty rumored to be wealthy with savings exceeding one hundred yen. Bunyan—who slept over at Ebisu Shrine and acted as its caretaker—was he still alive? What came to mind from Bunyan was Ochiyo of the Avenue—the fool called Ochiyo, rumored to have borne Shiokawa’s child, that beggar who made rounds with an imposing air; Ochiyo, who from morning till night wore a strange smile with her left eye corner drooping at whoever she saw,

“I don’t want to! That person’s strange!” Ochiyo would shout in her loud voice—sometimes painting only her nose black, other times coating her entire face in wall-like white powder, wearing a tattered long-sleeved kimono while carrying a wretched bag and stroking her shaved head as she made her begging rounds. Seven or eight years past—one morning when I strolled to Seimi’s Konpira Shrine—I remembered seeing Ochiyo sweeping before the ema votive tablet hall, laughing all the while.

And another person I recalled was the beggar called "Sunday." This fool too—a tall man around forty who hung a box labeled "Sunday" around his neck and came begging not just on Sundays but even Fridays or Saturdays—was a male beggar. I had heard that Shiokawa—the one who fathered a child with Ochiyo—had died years earlier, but aside from him, these three beggars were all esteemed figures in Tokushima City, cherished more by the mayor and citizens than most. All three lived free from ambition, enjoying their lives. While thinking they must be having innocent dreams about now, he arrived at Ichome. Ryuseido Bookstore had gone out of business with a "For Rent" sign posted. Konishi’s pharmacy and confectionery remained just as they had been in the old days. The fourth floor of Ichikawa’s restaurant had become the third floor. The always-lively Shinmachibashi Bridge stood desolate. Water seeped in through the sole of his left shoe.

The electric lights of Furukawa Hospital were not lit either. When he looked at Takiyama from Takimi Bridge, seven or eight lights glimmered. The prison office remained imposing whenever seen. Crossing Maekawa Bridge, what rumbled like subterranean thunder was the spinning company. Even on rainy nights, the machinery appeared to keep operating. The Maekawa Police Box still occupied its former location. He reached Kamisuken Hachimangu. He remembered how ten years earlier, Suwa no Mori—Awa Province's foremost sumo wrestlers—had come here as honored patrons to watch shrine sumo. His shoes grew increasingly uncomfortable. He nearly entered a geta shop but held back.

He arrived at Furukawa Crossing at eight o'clock. He crossed the long bridge spanning the three-chō-wide river. Lonely. He felt as though he were being carried by the wind. However, when he thought that returning to the countryside would surely mean being welcomed, he felt a sense of joy. But when he thought of having argued with his father again, it all felt like a dream. Passing the Ichirizaka pines at Tai no Hama—their trunks so thick he imagined five arm spans could barely encircle them—he encountered a rickshaw. He hadn’t met anyone until now. From here, it was still two *ri*.

He thought he was tired, but his legs kept walking. He passed through Ushikai no Tandai (Fields) and approached Nakamura, but once past this village, there stretched a long country path. He worried bandits might appear, but if bandits appeared, everyone would be done for. And then he would dash back naked to Umazume. While dazedly thinking such thoughts as "If I’m to be killed, then I’ll just vanish," he passed through the fields and reached Kitamura. He crossed the Dara Dara Slope—a local term for a long, gradual incline—of Kitashitarai and entered the area commonly called Shinden, on the opposite bank of the river from his village. Itano District, Horie Village, Ōaza Higashiumazume Village, Koaza Shinden. Eiichi’s house was in Furuta. He passed before the sacred grove of Suwa Shrine, the tutelary deity. He recalled how during the festival, he had beaten the drum while the young men performed the lion dance.

Then, as one memory led to another, he recalled how during the children’s festival at Tenjin-sama’s shrine in Furuta, he had served as captain for a year and spent a night making a ruckus with a crowd of children in that sacred grove’s shrine. He crossed the bridge at Ushiyajima. During his first year of middle school, at this crossing, sailors from Kure had been loved by two prostitutes who followed them here in their flight until, with their funds exhausted, they committed love suicide together. The river’s flow was calm, the sound of fine rain gentle. The water filled the riverbank to the brim, creating a splendid view. A thin darkness veiled the river, and when he wondered if three ghosts might appear, he felt an uncanny sensation. He also recalled boarding the Denma boat on this river during the March festival—loading it with sushi and stewed dishes as bento—to take the children out boating. He recalled matters concerning his stepmother and sister’s Hina dolls. He recalled how neighborhood girls had come to see them too—and how Tamiya Tsuruko-sama had also come to look. Tsuruko-sama—that girl with large, bright eyes whom he’d thought so beautiful and lovely that even speaking to her had felt embarrassing—I wonder if she’s married by now. Since going to Tokyo, he hadn’t heard anything about what became of Tsuruko-sama—mulling over such thoughts, Eiichi came to the school that had taken care of him between his first and second years of higher school. When he had briefly returned four years ago in summer, the school was still standing—but now not a trace remained, only the stone wall.

Where had the school moved to? When he thought back to how that brash kid from Kobe had acted so high and mighty at this Ushiyajima school, shame washed over him. There had been that time when they held a farewell party with graduates before even taking entrance exams—drinking sake on Hamaguchiya’s second floor with thirty-five sen collected as fees. Thirty graduates and five teachers all got drunk. Even the janitor who’d been nursing his cup alone in the corner ended up wasted. Remembering that janitor now sent a shiver through him— A drink-loving man with a pallid face and bloodshot eyes, his hair cropped an inch and a half high in front and left disheveled—the kind who grew quieter the drunker he got. That man’s daughter must have been around eight then. The girl died suddenly during her second-grade summer vacation. They said her illness started with the character for “rib.” But then came rumors that she’d died because Eiichi had jabbed her side with a Western umbrella and snapped her third rib—leaving him stunned at this baseless accusation. There’d been nights he spent weeping for two days straight inside his mosquito net in the tatami room. In the end he’d taken his entire savings of five yen as condolence money and delivered it himself. Now he burned with resentment—if he’d been such a troublemaker to warrant those rumors—no! He’d always been one to care for others since childhood! These days he knew better—the girl had fallen from a waterwheel and developed pleurisy—but still believed nothing cut deeper than misunderstanding. He reached Hara’s gate tenement where they manufactured soy sauce. Right here by this gate years ago—that round-eyed cooper Tsunekō had asked “Didn’t ya kill that janitor’s kid?” sending him fleeing home in shock. The thought that this village might still cling to that lie after ten years made setting foot here unbearable.

At Kawaguchiya—a cheap lodging enveloped by thickets—there had been a tall, fair-skinned, plump woman in her twenties. I wonder what has become of her now.

Walking along the embankment past the sakaki tree, I recalled how my cousin Okane had once married into this place only to be divorced due to her mother-in-law’s cruelty. The large Japanese cedar still bore a sickle atop it, unchanged from days of old. The riverside hut belonged to Tanekichi of the Oke family; his son Tsunekichi served as clerk at the Umazume residence. The next house was that of Suke the outcast. The net spread over its roof had drawn my particular attention as a child. Suke worked as night watchman at the Umazume house, standing forlornly by the kitchen drain ditch on the first and fifteenth of each month to receive his wages—one or two *to* of rice. A faint light glimmered at Tamiya Beach. It must have come from the ferryman’s guardhouse. My thoughts turned to Tatsuo, the ferryman’s son with rheumy eyes. Being a wealthy man’s child, I had many followers—among whom Tatsuo remained my foremost. Even when children gathered for New Year gambling, Tatsuo stayed faithfully at my side. Whether swimming or playing hide-and-seek, he clung to me relentlessly. Swimming brought back memories of competing in diving matches with Lord Tokiyuki, Tamiya Tsuruko-sama’s elder brother. Though Lord Tokiyuki had been fifteen or sixteen then—years older than me—we grew close; he would lend me magazines in exchange for large summer oranges. Leaving Ushiyajima behind, I finally entered my village. Through riverside thickets lay a place where they performed horse moxibustion. For three *chō* beyond stretched emptiness—no houses, nothing. Between the thickets on either side spread the Horie plain to the north. A short *ri* beyond lay Kitayama mountain, at whose foot nestled Ōtani town. At its edge stood Emperor Tsuchimikado’s cremation grounds.

Along the mountain path, fires were lit here and there, desolate. At this embankment’s riverside on winter mornings heading to school, he often recalled being warmed by the sun. Entering Higashiumazume, the first hut was that of Masa the logger. Masa had latched onto the widow with children in this hut. He believed the child’s name was Chōbee. He was a rowdy child who made a daily routine of saying vulgar things and picking fights. Half a chō from this hut stood the residence of Ichibashi Genzaburou, who had been the clerk at Shinmi’s indigo sales area. Genzaburou died at the Kanazawa sales area. The site of the residence behind it was that of Ichibashi Kumazō’s estate; during his second year of middle school, he had migrated to Hokkaido. Now, only the black persimmon tree beside the gate ruins remained, lashed by the rain.

To the west of Genzaburou lay what people called Higashi no Shintaku—a place that had once boasted a grand estate, but now only a small house stood within its hedges. Before it stretched a thicket. Beneath that thicket was a deep pool—the very spot where old man Nishira used to fish. He was finally drawing near to his house. Descending the embankment brought him to Torakichi-san’s residence. Next door stood Masakichi-san’s home. Passing the water gate and emerging beside Gonnosuke-san’s place—where the landlady of Tanuki-zuke had once lived—the great gate of his own house came into view. Next to Masakichi-san lived Bando no Taira-san, who had been a tobacco cutter—what might he be doing now? In former days it had been an imposing house—when one spoke of Ima, every soul in the neighborhood knew them as landowners—yet now only the main building remained, the estate grounds turned to farmland. Even in lullabies,

“Tamiya the wealthy, Ima the landowners,

“Kanai-san at the back has daughters,” —so went the verse. Kanai-san was how people referred to the Shinmi family, and it’s said there were many beauties among them. When I circled behind Mr. Saitō Shin’s place, what shocked me was that not a trace remained of the Tamiya estate. In the corner of Inui’s dry plot stood a red pine—its trunk likely three arm spans around—lonely in the darkness as rain lashed against it. Eiichi simply thought it strange. “If Tamiya weren’t in Higashiumazume, “the rest would be wild river plains.” The Tamiya residence of the samurai class—once even praised in such lyrics—now had neither form nor trace remaining.

Behind the Tamiya family gravesite—where a large enoki tree grew surrounded by a Japanese cedar hedge—the road turned right and continued until reaching Shinmi's gate. The Shinmi family's main estate had been the largest in Higashiumazume even from the time when the Tamiya family was present, and the previous head Morihira had served as chief village headman over eighteen hamlets. He was a man of bold vision who built a large indigo drying bed measuring twenty-four ken by five ken and a western drying bed of four ken by twelve ken. What they called Higashi Naya referred to the larger one, while Nishi Naya denoted the smaller one. The Maenaya stood as a large two-story building. On its eastern side rose a substantial gatehouse.

It was already half past nine when Eiichi stood quietly beneath the eaves of this gatehouse. A multitude of emotions welled up within him. He knocked on the door and listened for any sound from within the mansion. In Nishi Naya, a horse kicked the wooden boards with a clopping sound. After a moment, when he knocked again, the main house door opened, and a woman’s voice sounded. “Who is it?—” It was unmistakably Emiko’s voice. And then another young woman’s voice sounded from within—the two of them exchanging hurried whispers about something.

“I—” Eiichi replied in a low voice, but “Who could it be at this hour?” came Emiko’s voice, now mingling with a young woman’s as their conversation continued. Soon came the sound of two people walking along the long barn eaves. Their echoing footsteps rang out with a clang clang. While he wondered if the clerk was absent, the wicket gate opened. Again the horse neighed and kicked the wooden boards with its hooves.

“I thought it was someone else—Elder Brother?” “What’s wrong?” Emiko asked. A young woman was hiding in the shadows. Eiichi stepped through the gate while,

“Is the clerk not here?” “The first clerk had to attend a birth tonight and went out… The second clerk went to Shikoku and hasn’t returned yet… It was frightening, so I came to open the gate with Shizuka-san.” “Goodness, to return in such pouring rain…” “I truly thought it was someone else!” Eiichi kept his eyes fixed on the young woman as— “I thought you were still in Tokushima, but you’ve already returned,” he said. “Young Master, this is my first time meeting you. “I am Tsunekichi’s sister,” she said with a bow. His sister also,

“This is Shizuka-san, Tsunekichi-san’s sister—” she introduced. When he compared his sister and Shizuka, the maid was far more beautiful. Though the light from Shizuka’s hexagonal lantern barely revealed her features, one could discern she possessed naturally full brows like those of a Jizo statue—single-lidded eyes with a gentle gaze, and skin so translucent it seemed luminous. Such beauty was rare in the countryside. Between a woman like Emiko—with her reddish hair, dusky complexion, and merely sturdy build—and [Shizuka], the difference stood as stark as that between snow and charcoal.

Eiichi also bowed politely enough, but because she was so beautiful, he felt too shy to look properly at her face. The three of them moved along the eaves to the main house, with Emiko and Shizuka forming a pair, "I thought it was someone else." "I was truly astonished! I thought perhaps even a burglar had come in," she was saying. "How is Mother feeling?" she asked. "She seems to have a slight touch of rheumatism." "Since when?" "About ten days ago... they came to summon me to Tokushima on an errand. That's why I came back."

From the eaves of the sleeping quarters to the eaves of the main house they leapt, climbed five or six stone steps, and the three entered the entranceway. (In this region, mansions are generally built two or three jō higher than the flat ground.) (This is because the Yoshino River inevitably floods two or three times every year around August and September.) After stepping up into the entranceway, Eiichi asked, “Where is Mother?” but upon receiving the reply “The back room,” he headed toward it. When Eiichi returned, his stepmother rose to her feet and then sat back down. After exchanging seasonal greetings and inquiring about Eiichi’s reason for returning this time, the conversation turned to the Tamiyas. The stepmother began to speak, fiddling with her chin between the thumb and index finger of her left hand while occasionally smoothing down stray hairs at her temple with her right hand.

“The world is truly heartless… No matter how high someone’s status may be, once they fall into poverty, people won’t give them the time of day.” “Even the Tamiyas—when they had money, people kept going on about ‘the Tamiyas this, the Tamiyas that,’ but now they’ve become so pitiful.”

The mother was a small-faced, fair-skinned woman with single-lidded, narrow eyes. The round lantern cast a dim glow. “It was the autumn of the year you came back, you know.” “That would’ve been on the first or second day of the tenth month by the old calendar.” “From morning, five or six men in square-sleeved coats kept pacing before the house—and then on the embankment stood what looked like an inspector with two or three constables.” “Next thing we knew, they’d gone into the Tamiya residence and taken Mr. Makoto straight from the ferry landing to Tokushima Prison.” “I was shocked myself.” “I believe Mr. Makoto had been serving as village head.” “They say he lost money on timber investments and silkworm ventures—squandered funds on some woman from the restaurant next to the village office. Apparently embezzled two or three thousand yen of public money.” “Then before his trial could finish, he hanged himself in that jail cell—how pitiful—and when her ladyship heard, she went mad and threw herself into the river. Oh, between the tragedy and pity of it all, I wept myself! After hearing about her ladyship’s drowning, they tore down the mansion.” “There was nowhere left to enter.” “The retired master, Lady Tsuruko, and Lady Masa stayed in our back rooms from New Year’s till Bon—we turned that dressing room over there into a kitchen and made these two rooms their quarters.” “But Lady Tsuruko alone was taken in last April by her uncle—the one who became a teacher at Tokushima Normal School—and raised at his house in Tokyo. She must’ve graduated from girls’ school this year.” “It’s a house that stands back-to-back with our city residence now.” “Where exactly are the Tamiyas’ honorable relatives staying?” she asked Emi seated beside her.

Emiko answered, “From the second floor, you can see the second floor in the northwest corner,” and gazed intently at her brother’s face.

“And after the Bon Festival ended, the Honorable Retired Head took Lady Masa and returned to their hometown, while the heir, Mr. Tokiyuki, had likely gone to stay with relatives in Tokyo.” “Well, but things do change, don’t they?” “When the Tamiya mansion first disappeared, it felt rather lonely, I must say.” “No, Master Eiichi—this isn’t about the Tamiyas at all, I tell you.” “Our house too may sooner or later meet the same fate as the Tamiyas, I tell you.” “Father is truly impossible!” “Master Eiichi, please have a word with him.”

Eiichi inferred from Emi’s words that the beautiful woman he had seen from the second floor at four o’clock that afternoon was Lady Tsuruko. Then Lady Tsuruko had grown into quite the beauty. Eiichi did not mention having quarreled with his father. Nor did he voice anything particularly pessimistic. “Did Number Two go on the Shikoku pilgrimage?” he asked pointlessly. “Why yes—though this year’s village lottery didn’t select our household for sending someone,” came the reply. “The first couldn’t go because his wife was with child, so they settled on sending the second.” “Today makes twenty-eight days since he left home,” Mother said. Eiichi imagined indolent rustics chanting Buddha’s name while begging alms along their pilgrimage route.

Amid the sound of dripping rain, the voice of the fire watch could be heard. “Is Suke still making the fire watch rounds?”

“Oh, he still is,” she replied. “However, it’s fortunate that Mother’s illness isn’t serious,” Eiichi said. “Thank you. It’s only that my right leg doesn’t move freely—that’s all. There’s no need to worry so much; I do believe it will heal soon,” she replied. When the fire watch made their rounds from the west storehouse toward the back room and heard voices conversing there, “Young Mistress, the account office door still hasn’t been closed yet,” someone cautioned.

“Emi! That account office door still hasn’t been closed!” cautioned the stepmother. “Ah—I’d forgotten,” she said with a start. “Earlier I thought someone was there and went to check the gate—it was still left open—” she added while rising. “Close it at once and return!” commanded the stepmother. Emiko ran from the veranda toward the main house.

The stepmother murmured to Eiichi, “That child is so dim, it’s a trial.”

The rain was still falling heavily.

7

“The sun truly shines brilliantly!” Eiichi said, lying on his back on the front room’s veranda as he watched the sun.

It was already 1:30 PM. Last night’s rain had left a faint dampness in the garden and vanished somewhere. Today, from morning onward, a sun that "shines brilliantly" appeared, and spring revived all at once.

Because the light was too dazzling, Eiichi made a small hole with his left fist and looked at the sun through it. A beautiful radiation pattern formed. "What beautiful radiation! It's just like a rainbow!" Eiichi whispered to himself and pondered various things.

He thought the sun’s rays were beautiful. Had this traveled ninety-three million miles?! He mused that outside the atmosphere, this light supposedly became pure violet... What a beautiful world that must be. Mysterious, he thought—light... And so he let his imagination wander once more. But Eiichi, who had been unable to endure yesterday’s gloomy day, found little joy even in today’s sunlight. He had been muttering something like a curse.

Eiichi sat up and stared vacantly at the corner of the stepping stones. But suddenly shuddering as if coming to his senses, he wiped his face with both hands. And immediately— “Ah.” How trivial... how utterly trivial. “God must have committed suicide!” he muttered meaninglessly and stepped down into the garden. In the southeast corner stood a mochi tree. It would take two arm spans to encircle it. Each green leaf glistened beautifully, their tips occasionally rustling and dancing. To its west grew a white camellia, its blossoms already fallen. Beside it withered a five-needle pine—a familiar tree he himself had planted before the bathhouse. Beyond these stood an osmanthus and gardenia before the clothing storehouse next to the bathhouse, with heavenly bamboo and spirea crowding the corners. The cramped garden was densely packed with plants and trees.

Eiichi put on his wooden clogs and wandered the garden’s stepping stones, sinking into thought. A handwoven striped kimono and his younger brother’s military sash. The color was blue; his eyes were exceedingly sharp. Eiichi's silent contemplation gradually turned into delusion. "...Why do I take walks? Because I am alive, I take walks. Why am I alive? Because I am alive, I am alive. No, I'm alive because I don't want to die. No, that’s not it either. I want to kill myself, but I live because I don’t want to go into darkness... To tell the truth... I live because a rope is tied around my neck and I’m being dragged along. I know life has no value, but somehow I live because a hand more terrifying than death presses against my throat... Life is terrifying... And speaking of life, lately I’ve had no appetite at all. On top of that, morning and noon alike brought hard barley rice. My stepmother was frugal to the point of stinginess. That’s why I hate the countryside. I had enough. This is no place for a genius like me to live. When I’m in the capital, I imagine it’s wonderful, but upon coming here, even poetry vanishes. I feel pathetic being buried in the countryside... but even if I go to the city, what would I even talk about? Socialism?

"Well, that’s about all there is to it," he thought. "But I’ve somehow grown tired of Socialism too. The ideology of Socialism is a beggar’s work through and through. Well, at least it’s better than nationalism. Now then—since philosophy feels like a toy for the learned, something I’ve no desire to gain honor from—and yet bowing to the nation to be kept idle doesn’t appeal either—that being the case, it still comes down to ○○○-ism or socialism. However, if someone were to loudly advocate for ○○○-ism in the city, the red robes would immediately take up the challenge. How absurd! ...after all, the world still has things like war. Japan still has things like warships, you know. So then—I’d go out to the city, ridicule this armed world, and end up in prison once or so...? In any case, I should stop imitating Tolstoy and Chōmei. ...And even if I were to start working as an elementary school teacher in this village—if that old janitor were still around—I’d have to shudder every time our eyes met. ...But if I go to the city—I’ll struggle for bread..." He contemplated this and came to a stop atop a stone. When he gazed fixedly at his own shadow, the sun shone ever more intensely—the shadow growing ever clearer. Yet that shadow looked utterly pitiful.

Emiko slid open the sitting room’s shoji screen and peered out. And so Eiichi asked, “Emi, when did this five-needle pine wither?” “Brother, that?” she responded, shifting her gaze to the pine. Eiichi too looked at the tree following her utterance. “What do you mean? Mother had it replanted and it withered.” “But I was the one who planted it before the bathhouse,” he said resentfully. “They say planting five-needle pines in the estate’s southeast invites poverty. She had it moved herself last January, I believe.”

Eiichi sat down on the veranda,

“Hasn’t Tsunekichi returned yet?” “It’s already two o’clock, huh?”

“I suppose so.” “It’s already past two o’clock, isn’t it?” “Is our lunch always this late?” “It’s always around this time.” “Usually it’s half past one.” “But even so, we eat five times a day—there’s no lack.” “That’s right.” “Brother—what’s Tokyo like?” “What? It’s just a dull place.” “Still—it must be bigger and more beautiful than Tokushima.” “Even more than Kobe!” “Tokushima—Emi—about how many months were you there?” “I wasn’t even there for a month and a half.”

“Why did you go to Tokushima?” “Why? I couldn’t possibly speak of such things.” “You may tell me—after all, I’m your brother.”

“That stepmother—I can’t possibly say.” “There were... complicated matters there, you see,” Emi bowed her head. Ash had settled in her hair. It must have been from burning wheat straw under the large stove.

“Emi, can there really be something you can’t say? Since I’m your brother, tell me! Please.” “It’s because Stepmother scolded me so terribly that I fled to Tokushima.”

“Why?” “Because she hits and beats me,” she mumbled, biting her sleeve. “Right, Stepmother’s being unreasonable, isn’t she.” “I must be terrible at sewing.” “‘And what reason could there be for not being able to do it? If you’re that incompetent, then you should go downstairs and let the maid come up to sew,’ she says, so there’s nothing I can do.” Emi hid her hands, chapped from water work. Eiichi’s eyes welled with tears. “What were you doing in Tokushima?” “I was serving as a maid’s replacement under Oume.”

“At Father’s place?” her brother asked, turning his face away as he wept. “It’s not as if Oume treated me cruelly… I truly don’t wish to speak of Tokushima at all,” she sobbed. “Why were you dawdling around in such a place?” “But where else could I have gone—” “Emi, weren’t there any maids at Father’s place?” “There were some maids when I arrived, but they all left within two days of my coming. Then new ones would come only to leave again too.” “The Komansan who came this time arrived three days before I returned.” “Oume isn’t too harsh.”

“Emi, that Oume—how old is she? She’s made to look young, but…” “With that, she’s thirty-two.” “She’s worried because next year will be her unlucky year.” “My Mother must have died during her thirty-third unlucky year—if only she were still alive.” “I don’t even have an older sister.” “There isn’t a single day that passes without me thinking, ‘If only Mother were alive.’” “If Mother were here, I wouldn’t have to endure such painful worries—but even then, I barely got to attend school at all,” she said resentfully.

Eiichi never found this younger sister endearing since childhood—because she wasn’t as beautiful as their older sister and had no academic aptitude. But now he somehow found her pitiable as well, and when he imagined her deftly navigating her relationship with their stepmother through womanly tact, he couldn’t help but feel compelled to praise her.

“But Emi, there’s no need to despair.” “Even I won’t be dawdling around forever—if you keep thinking about Mother like this, it’ll never end. Please stop worrying.” “Even so, it’s unbearably painful for me.” “There isn’t a single night I don’t cry when I go to bed.” “I look at Mother’s photograph and weep, look at it and weep—though I don’t think ‘If only she were alive somewhere else’—no, I can’t help feeling that if I died, I might meet her again…… And since last spring, these troubles with my womanly constitution have left me utterly despondent.” “I secretly had Oshizu-san buy me Chujoto tonic and drank it many times over, but there was no effect. Though I wanted to see a doctor, mentioning it would earn me scoldings, and there was no money.” “June, July, August—I spent three whole months languishing in bed.” “Yet no one tended to me—instead, Stepmother would say, ‘Emi’s illness has no name.” “‘It’s just an illness of endless weeping… With such a trifling ailment, if you’d just strengthen your resolve, it would cure itself.” “‘If it were me, I’d never take to bed,’ she’d declare briskly from dawn till dusk.” “In those moments, I truly wished to die—yet couldn’t.” “But then I thought dying now would wrong both you and Father—so I sold Mother’s keepsakes like her golden hairpin and damask sash to pay for medicine and tried to recover——” she recounted through tears.

Eiichi was also made to weep.

“In Tokushima, didn’t Father give you anything?” “When I was leaving, Oume gave me one old detachable collar.” “Just that alone.”

“In that case, Emi, how did you prepare the five yen you gave me?” “I’ve had it for some time,” “by selling clothes and such.” “How did you sell clothes?” “In Ushiyajima, there’s someone called Oshizu-san—a granny who sells dried sardines.” “She isn’t just helping me with all sorts of things—she sells them for me too.”

A chicken passed through Ooba. "They must have been cheap, right?" "Even if they were cheap, there's nothing to be done—life isn't something you can trade away," she said, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "Emi, did you sell any other keepsakes of Mother's?"

When it came to his mother’s keepsakes, he felt an inexplicable reluctance and desire to preserve them, which prompted his question. “Oh, I sold quite a lot,” Emiko said, her voice rising a bit too shrill with sorrow as she finally lifted her face to gaze into Eiichi’s. A face so like their mother’s. The arch of her brows down the bridge of her nose, the composed set of her lips—all bore such striking resemblance to their mother’s gentle loveliness. Those large eyes with double eyelids, the warm gaze spilling from dark pupils—undeniably feminine. “Brother—since I think of you as Mother—please be kind to me too.” “I have no one else to depend on but you,” she said, nodding as her head drooped again.

Eiichi thought it strange—this sibling bond—as he realized how profoundly he was now trusted by his sister who had been distant until now. He found himself without words to respond. He simply remained silent,

“Brother!” called the sister. “What is it?” “Father—did he still send you your tuition money?” “Ah, I did receive it—but...” “Didn’t you have any trouble? Father must have built such a large house. And even though there have been debts all along, he acts as if there are none—so people must often come demanding repayment. Even so, Father remains unperturbed, doesn’t he? …I must have heard Father say during some conversation that he would no longer send Brother his tuition. He isn’t fazed. He’ll gladly spend 100 or even 200 yen on Oume’s finery, yet claims there’s no way he can send Brother a mere 15 or 20 yen a month—doesn’t that strike you as absurd?”

"But such things don't matter anyway," Eiichi said, feigning nonchalance. "But Father is furious because Brother went to a Christian school." "Probably." "I've grown weary of anger and tears, Emi," he said, furrowing his brow. Emi found this odd and fell silent.

After a short while, “Brother, has your illness completely healed? Your complexion still looks poor,” she inquired. “The lungs heal naturally if you rest and eat well—but without money, I can’t afford proper recuperation. Tuberculosis and stomach ailments are rich men’s diseases,” Eiichi said with a faint wry smile. Emiko laughed. She laughed and looked up at the sun. “It’s lovely weather today,” she said.

At the gate, the sound of wooden geta clogs resounded. A man who appeared to be in his fifties, wearing a straight-sleeved garment, entered.

“Ah, Hikokichi’s here again.” “That’s Hikokichi coming to spread Tenrikyo, you know—because Mother’s illness has worsened. It’s embarrassing—let’s go inside,” his sister said, closing the shoji. “If someone sees my disheveled hair like this, I’ll be so embarrassed,” came a voice from behind the shoji as footsteps grew gradually distant.

Hikokichi came to the front of the middle gate in the outer garden, “Who do we have here? If it isn’t the Young Master himself!” “It has been an age since I last saw you.” “I’ve been shamefully negligent in keeping contact.” “Bunzō will be imposing on your household’s kindness for some time again.” “Not having laid eyes on you these five or six years—you’ve grown so splendidly I scarce recognize you!” “Why, should we chance to meet on the road now, I’d surely pass you by unknowing!” “I heard tell your health had taken a turn—might I inquire what ails you?” he proclaimed with practiced composure, bending at the waist, kneading his hands, turning his head this way and that.

“Madam’s rheumatism has worsened again—her condition is indeed quite poor.” “However, for now there’s nothing particularly amiss to speak of, so please rest assured,” he said politely. Tenrikyo followers were somehow different. Eiichi too offered an appropriate greeting in return.

“If I may say so, the weather today is truly splendid,” said Hikokichi, shifting his gaze from the white camellia tree to the sun as he searched for his tobacco pouch at his waist. “Well, it’s beautifully clear today.—Please do take a seat here,” Shinmi urged. “No, this will do quite nicely,” he said, sitting down on a rock beneath the white camellia tree. “Edo must indeed be full of novel things—how many days have you been back here?”

“Yesterday—” he replied, though his head felt heavy and conversing face-to-face with Hikokichi was somehow wearisome. Hikokichi kneaded the tobacco and transferred it into the large-bowled pipe while, “This five-needle pine has perished, I’m afraid.” Eiichi, “Ah, it has withered.—” he answered briefly before continuing, “Mr. Hikokichi—are you a Tenrikyo believer?” he inquired.

“Yes.” “And what exactly is this Tenrikyo?” he asked with a smile. “Though Tenrikyo may be spoken of in a single breath,” he said while flicking ash, “it cannot be explained in a mere word or two—truly, it is a most august teaching, I tell you.” Eiichi’s curiosity was somewhat piqued. “Might I ask you to explain one thing? So—this Oomiki-baasan you often speak of—what sort of person is she?”

“Ah—Nakayama Miki, Shinmichi Yahiro Kotoshihime-no-Mikoto—what the world calls Oomiki-baasan—is indeed the founder of Tenrikyo,” he said, puffing his upper eyelids slightly in a bashful manner. “Ah—Yamato Province—that’s where Nakayama Miki was born.”

“Ah—it’s in Samida Village, Yamabe District, Yamato Province.” “Has that person been deceased for a long time?”

“No, she passed away on September 26th of Meiji 20 [1887]. To begin with Tenri-sama’s founding—Miki was a beauty from childhood and was married into Zenshichirō Nakayama’s household in Shima, Tanba City by age thirteen.” “This Zenshichirō’s family were carpenters by trade, and her marriage took place on September 15th of Bunka 7 [1810].” “They lived harmoniously as husband and wife and raised one son and five daughters.” “But when smallpox once spread fiercely, all five children of the neighboring Ashidate family—wealthy village heads—ended up dying. Only their sixth son remained, having been nursed by O-Miki’s own milk.” “So O-Miki strained herself desperately to keep this child alive, but he too caught smallpox and died.” “Thus O-Miki came to believe this was where gods and buddhas answered prayers, and devoted herself to fervent supplication.” “Then miraculously, that prayer was answered—the child revived.” “This marks Tenrikyo’s very origin—though our Venerable Founder’s divine deeds remain beyond counting… Tuberculosis cured entirely, bowel sufferers resurrected through Tenri-sama’s grace.” “They’re numberless,” he boasted, thin lips stretching wide as he rattled on. Something irredeemably provincial about him made Eiichi feel inarticulate revulsion. Yet recalling prophetesses like Deborah, he also pondered Miki’s self-awareness and vast influence.

“So, what exactly does it mean when they sell their houses and land to contribute them to the church?” “No, that was when Nakayama Miki, at forty years of age, resolved that she absolutely must spread Tenri-sama’s teachings throughout the world, and thus offered up all her fields and tools to Tenri-sama.” “This being the origin, when one becomes a believer, they all donate their houses and land.” “No matter what they do—even when making a pilgrimage to the Yamato headquarters—they say not a single penny is needed, which makes it truly splendid.” “…As for me—this jaundice I’d suffered from for many years—thanks to Tenri-sama’s grace, it’s now completely healed. Truly a blessing, I tell you—” He spat, clouding the end of his words. Eiichi somehow felt pity. Hikokichi wiped his lips with his hand as though they had soured and resumed speaking.

“The Yamato headquarters is truly immense—why, when I made pilgrimage there last year—Kyoto’s Hongan-ji or Chion-in couldn’t hold a candle to it, I tell you! The New Year’s ceremonial rice cakes are massive things—one or two koku in size! When they’re brought down, they’re sawn into small pieces with a lumber-cutting saw—grating away—they do it like that. They turn it into zōni soup and serve it to anyone and everyone—truly remarkable, I tell you.” A bee emerged from a white camellia flower beginning to scatter its petals. It was quiet.

“So that’s the principle of universal brotherhood, isn’t it?”

“Humans didn’t come from Izanagi and Izanami’s two pillars—ain’t so,” he spat again, wiping it away with his clog. He kept his swollen eyelids lowered and stayed silent awhile. Eiichi stared hard at Hikokichi. The man’s sallow face with salt-and-pepper hair, grimy straight sleeves, white tabi socks showing big toe tips through holes, a faded navy-black Kogura-style stiff obi. “So Tenrikyo’s gods are Izanagi and Izanami?” “There’s ten deities proper, but since those ten split off from the sun and moon gods—well, callin’ ’em two ain’t wrong neither.” Hearing footsteps at the gate, Hikokichi stood up quick and peered out through the fence’s decorative latticework. Tsunekichi came back.

Eiichi was merely fixing his gaze and staring at his toes.

Ten deities? Separated from two deities?... The bride called Concept gives birth to a child called Fantasy, and Fantasy’s child in turn conceives a deity. And those who speak of religion or ideals must lose even their self. Therefore... to prevent the self from remaining hidden, I gather all selves into my toes. My toes are the reality of the objective realm. I must not wander among abstractions. Reality? "The shadow of reality dances at my toes," I thought. My vision grew dull; shapes and colors became disordered in various ways. My mind emptied of all thought. Only time and shadows shifted meaninglessly. A dragonfly flew in.

Hikokichi was smoking tobacco.

At that moment, Tsunekichi peeked through the middle gate briefly, saw that the young master was there, and came in.

“Oh, Mr. Hikokichi?” He wondered who had been speaking. “Are you on about Tenri again?” He laughed with an “Ahaha!” “What nonsense—I’ve only just returned,” said Hikokichi. “Seems Tsunekichi’s been a bit touched lately too.” All three laughed. Tsunekichi immediately straightened his posture. “Young Master,” he said formally, “Both His Lordship and Her Ladyship have inquired after your well-being.” “Was Father there?” “He returned at noon and honored me with an audience.” “What of my luggage?” “They’re keeping it in custody... His Lordship insisted you must come to town without fail today.”

“Since we’ll hold onto it, His Lordship said to tell you that you must come to town today without fail.” “Did he tell me to come?” “Is that so?” “Thank you very much.” “I must apologize for sending you on this errand.” “What about lunch?” I asked politely, though anxiety gripped me. “Yes.” “I had it in town, sir.”

“Mr. Tsune.” “You stuck around for a free meal, didn’t you?” “Why not stay till evening and buy yourself some two-bit harlot from behind the wall?” “Ahaha,” he laughed, lighting his cigarette. Tsunekichi reached out and knocked the matchbox to the ground. “Save us, O Tenri-Ō-no-Mikoto...” he chuckled, then asked, “Will there be anything else, Young Master?” before hastily exiting through the middle gate. Hikokichi gathered the matches while muttering, “There goes Tsune causing trouble again, eh-heh-heh.” “Hopeless fellow.”

“No matter how divine Tenri-sama may be, he sure can’t stop you from doing bad deeds, Tsune.” “Ahahaha!” “You’ve gone and made your wife bear a child, yet still act wicked? Just how old are you?”

“Thirty.” “Still young yet.” “Mr. Hikokichi—” Tsunekichi called out, clapping his hands with palms flipped outward from inward. “Sell off the mansion! Take loans! Dispose of the fields! Tenri-Ō-no-Mikoto!” he jeered, striding toward the Nishi Storehouse stable. The horse whinnied as its lunch-bearer arrived.

Yoshitaka finished school and returned home. He poked his head out from the middle gate, “Brother, I’m home,” he said abruptly and entered through the entrance into the inner rooms. Hikokichi, “The young master hasn’t grown much at all,” he said. “You’ve grown so much. —If we leave for town now, might we arrive before sunset?”

“There now, we’ll arrive with time to spare indeed. The sun still rides high in heaven’s court—no cause for fret.” “Then let us depart at once. Ah—Mr. Hikokichi, do step inside.”

“Yes, thank you.” The two entered inside.

A song could be heard from the Nishi Storehouse.

“Ah, I want to sleep—better to sleep— Better to sleep with the Lord—even better—shuffle along…”

“It’s better to sleep with the Lord—no, even better—shuffle along…” The horse was still neighing.

VIII

When we emerged at Tamiya Beach, the low tide had left the entire shore exposed. Tatsu's parent ferried us across, but when I asked about Tatsu in the boat, they said with a laugh that he had died of dysentery. I didn't feel any particular sense of relief. I crossed over to Shinden and passed through about two hundred meters of my family's reed field. When I was little, I once came to this reed field with female companions to pick 'reed flowers'. Among them was Tamiya Tsuruko-sama, diligently gathering them. I gave all thirty or forty 'reed flowers' I had picked to Tsuruko-sama. Then the next day at school, everyone teased me mercilessly. Another time I found a lark's nest here and left it undisturbed, but when I returned the following day, someone had already destroyed it.

The reed shoots, having met spring, are sprouting. Russet, blue, and dusky brown blended together beautifully. The sound of a skylark could be heard. About fourteen or fifteen chō ahead lay a large embankment. Everything up to that point was wheat fields. They are fully ripe. When I looked back, Kodata’s embankment was covered in thickets. Under it flowed blue water, while on Tamiya Beach stood a zelkova tree—its trunk likely four or five arm spans around—sprouting indescribably beautiful buds. Upstream, Tokushima’s Shiroyama stood clearly visible. Not a single boat passed along the river. A wind swept across the riverside grass field near Kodata, rippling through the newly sprouted blue-green blades that had emerged this year.

The grass field ended, and passing through my house’s wheat fields, I approached the rice paddies of Nishi Shintaku. No sooner had the skylark’s song begun to sound like a cicada’s than it stopped singing and landed somewhere. When I thought about going to Tokushima and what my father might say to me, my chest tightened. If only I could build a hut in such a bright, open field as this and enjoy nature—that would bring me far closer to God. But this field where the skylark sings was not the entirety of the world. I also thought that rural life was not the entirety of life. Eiichi walked along the ridge path, continuing to think.

What was there to fear in his father’s wrath? What was Oume’s persecution? Eiichi was a man. He was a Meiji-era chivalrous idealist. He was one who bore the responsibility to reject all positions of authority and bring about peace and equality. For the sake of eternal peace and equality, one must not refrain from fire and sword. He possessed the fervor of Christ who cried out, "Make fathers turn against their children, sons-in-law against their brides, brides against their mothers-in-law!"

The customary patriarchal system! What is a father? "In the Apocrypha, Christ said, 'Call not those who are of your flesh father, for there is but one Father—He who is God in Heaven.' This is it." What is a father? What is authority?

While thinking of such things, I climbed up the embankment—a high levee that must have been five or six ken tall. This embankment had been newly built after breaking during a flood when I was small. There was a time I came here with Tatsu, Hatsu-chan, and Ichi-chan to collect the golden rectangular crystals—each about one or two bu in size—clinging to the blue stone foundation. Then, as my associations gradually unfolded, I remembered carving wax stones; being locked in the storehouse by my sister and urinating inside; falling from the sudachi tree in the backyard; how two indigo merchants from Echizen came and enshrined Aizen-san in the alcove to worship; then Ichikawa Shijūrō’s traveling troupe arriving to perform Bansuiin Chōbei at Ushiyajima—which we imitated by staging our own plays beneath the eaves of Nishira’s stable and Mr. Ichihashi Kan’ichi’s storehouse.

Thinking back on that time, I started laughing to myself—.

I stealthily retrieved Sister’s kimono from our house, brought out a mirror and white powder from the dressing room, and applied makeup beneath the pitch-dark yoriki window, determined to transform into a woman for my appearance on the cooling platform’s makeshift stage. As I waited for the straw-mat curtain to open—it soon did. Only the woman came out; the man refused to appear. I went back into the shed and urged Kan'ichi to come out quickly. Kan'ichi-sama had put on my discarded clothes inside out, painted three or four red circles on his face, and was now tying his obi. When he finished tying it,

“Bōbō, you come out after me,” he said, appearing on stage. Then he kept repeating something like “Etssassa, mm-mm-mm,” seemingly pretending to run an errand. The watching girls and boys all laughed. Wanting to make them laugh too, I peeked at the mirror once more and thought myself rather beautiful. Grasping the hem of Sister’s long silk garment with bowed head, I stepped out looking thoroughly dejected. My hair was of course tied in a bun using Ichi-chan’s black apron. Yet this unexpectedly appeared to impress everyone. From the back where she watched, Tsuruko-san said to Kawakami Ei-san,

“Beautiful.” I heard her whisper. I grew embarrassed when Lady Tsuruko said that, but didn’t know what to do on stage. Yet I remember how Kan'ichi-san's man bound me, kicked and stomped me, then dragged me backstage. During this intermission, as I washed off the white powder with water to transform into Kato Kiyomasa again, Lady Tsuruko slipped into the shed alone.

“How beautiful you were as that woman just now!” she praised, hurriedly tucking something into my pocket. I didn’t know what it was—a thin, square piece of thick paper. “And don’t you dare tell anyone, Bōbō!” she declared before heading out. Unfortunately, Kan’ichi-san had gone home to fetch costumes, and Ichi-chan and Shin’ichi-chan were on stage adjusting the straw-mat curtain just right—so no one outside noticed them.

After stepping outside, Tsuruko-san called out to Kawakami Ei-san upstream, “I just went to look, and Shinmi’s Bōbō has become Kato Kiyomasa! You should go see him too!” she shouted. With that, the storehouse suddenly erupted in clamor, and six or seven girls came pouring in. Amidst this, Kan’ichi-san, who had gone to fetch the costumes, returned without bringing any garments or anything else. “Let’s stop, Bōbō—since Mother scolded us,” he said upon returning. And so the play came to an end. Having been both doted on and praised by Lady Tsuruko, yet now finding the play I had envisioned left unfinished and abruptly halted midway, I returned home with my heart pounding in that cowardly way peculiar to moments of timidity. When I looked at the thick paper I had received from Lady Tsuruko, it was a scenic photograph of Suma. However, after this play, as summer vacation drew near—and moreover, since I couldn’t grow closer to Lady Tsuruko and went off to play at the Hyogo shop instead—that beautiful childhood affection, whether you’d call it love or mutual fondness, was temporarily suspended. Even after returning in September, the village’s reputation that Lady Tsuruko yearned for Bōbō had grown so widespread that even seeing her face became utterly mortifying. In April of the following year, after I entered middle school, we could no longer exchange even a word or message—when I think of such things, the past feels somehow lonely. If that beautiful woman I saw yesterday was Lady Tsuruko, it created an even stranger resonance within my chest.

As I crossed the meandering path of Kita Shitarai and walked toward Kitamura, various memories of the past came flooding in. I recalled stealing sugar from the closet; painting coins black to pass them off as one-mon coins; loving kinako so much that I’d stuff it into a matchbox and hide by the old storehouse to gorge myself; though I’d get scolded for buying snacks, I’d steal five rin or one sen to frequently buy those pyramid-shaped sugar candies at Yamashita’s sweets shop on the village outskirts; accompanying Nishira’s grandmother for an overnight vigil at Ōtani’s Daishi-sama. I recalled—those summer nights when mosquitoes devoured me until I couldn’t sleep a wink; how on the twenty-first, Daishi’s festival day, I’d receive two or three sen in pocket money and visit the shrine with Hatsu-chan, Ichi-chan, and the young monk from Nishi’s new residence; how I carried seven pouches at my waist back then; the pine-torch processions on summer nights to drive away insects—the custom of shouting “Lord Sanemori is passing through!” to extinguish torches at the village outskirts, a practice not done in Tōmazume but yearly performed in Ōtani along the mountain path, which I watched through the lattice of our back room; and also, when autumn’s first cool winds swept through the rice fields at summer’s end, how the lion dance drums practiced near the mountain path would startle me awake—the small drums piercing like eardrums splitting, the large ones rumbling as if tugging at earlobes—lonely yet somehow crystalline in their melancholy, making my twelve- or thirteen-year-old heart fear that my stepmother, sister, and I might vanish at any moment, swept away by some unseen force. Then I recalled the Bon Festival Jizo dance. In Mr. Sahei Ishikawa’s garden—he was the village caretaker with an oblong face who was always smiling—we stacked five or six cooling platforms one atop another, erected four bamboo pillars on top and stretched a curtain across them; once we struck up a chant to set the rhythm, everyone danced with hands and feet moving in unison. Most of the dancers wore straw rain hats, but there were also those who had rather peculiar appearances. The chants expertly performed selections like the Tenth Act of *The Chronicle of Taikō* and the Third Act of *The Tale of Two Warriors*, while Masu-san of Nishira handled the shamisen; then the young men leading the chants and Masu-san climbed onto the platform,

“Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Heave away!”

“Ah, dawn breaks—the temple bell rings…” And so they began. I once practiced the Tenth Act of *The Chronicle of Taikō* under Masu-san’s father and even took to the stage once, but my voice didn’t carry well enough to match the shamisen, so I stopped midway. All I received as a consolation prize was a plain brown fan, and I returned home disappointed.

When I recalled various things, I came to think that what we call the human past is something shameful.

I entered Kitamura and boarded a rickshaw.

Eiichi entered his father’s house in Tokushima Honmachi a little past five o’clock. The city was somehow bustling.

Nine Four days had already passed since Eiichi became an elementary school teacher. Since Father was away in Tokyo on official city business, he finished dinner earlier than usual and went out for a walk. Exactly one week had passed since he returned from Tokyo, and that day was a Saturday. In the town, students began to trickle out for their strolls. Having strolled as far as Sako and with the sun now completely set, he trudged back through Higashishinmachi. When he came to the corner of the first block, a large crowd of people were standing under the eaves, and the sound of hymns could be heard from inside.

Eiichi stood peering inside to find an earthen-floored area approximately four ken wide and five ken deep where about ten benches were placed. Children sat crowded together on them. The right two ken of the front area were boarded with planks, before which stood a crude ladder leading to the second floor. Beside the ladder hung a sheet of paper with a hymn written in large characters, while the left two ken were recessed with tatami mats laid out. Before this room stretched a veranda about three shaku wide. On this veranda too, girls jostled each other as they sat. In the room's center stood a desk covered with a white tablecloth; to its right rose a large organ above which hung a lamp with a rusted tin shade; on the adjacent yellow wall hung an aged map of Judea; the shōji screens at the rear had brown paper torn in places. Sooty, slender worm-eaten pillars appeared at the center of both side walls. On the right pillar, sheets of hanshi paper pasted together to about four feet bore cramped characters: "Bible Study Group—Every Tuesday at 7:00 PM at Mr. Matsukenji’s residence in Tokushima Honmachi; Sermons—Every Sunday at 10:00 AM and 7:00 PM at Toorimachi Church Hall." Behind the last bench on the right sat a roasted sweet potato vendor’s cart pushed into the corner.

Anyone passing by would inevitably peek inside the sermon hall at least once. When one peered in, the first thing to catch the eye was a beautiful woman of around twenty or eighteen or nineteen years old teaching hymns to children. Her hair was styled in a marcel wave, and she wore purple hakama trousers. Her eyes were large and black, with double eyelids and a double chin—a woman of plump, prosperous features. As for the shape of her eyebrows, they formed a curve so beautiful it defied description. Her cheeks held a rosy hue, and she was a woman of unadorned beauty. Eiichi murmured “Lady Tsuruko…” to himself and slipped into the crowd of twenty or thirty people who were watching with curiosity. When the hymn ended, the children on the benches began to stir. A boy of twelve or thirteen became their leader, and his five or six subordinates squabbled over the spaciousness of their seats. After a while, the leader advanced to the edge and drove the girls away, and all five or six of his subordinates followed. Within the group, a shrill voice—

No sooner did someone begin singing "Our battle is not against flesh..." than it spread through them all, and they started belting it out at the top of their voices. In the end, they simply shouted, "Woo-hey!" Those standing at the entrance and those sitting on the benches all laughed. A man who appeared to be a pastor—dressed in Western clothes, around fifty years old, with his hair slightly parted and sporting a mustache shaped like the character “eight”—stood before the table, his wide mouth slightly twisted downward on the right side as he opened a small New Testament. The children were still making a great commotion.

“I will now begin my talk, so please settle down, children,” the pastor politely cautioned. Then the leader twisted the right side of his mouth with his right hand, formed an eight-shaped mustache with his left index finger, and marched off. The subordinates all mimicked him and left. This was an imitation of the pastor’s facial features. They went outside,

They were snarling, "Grr! Grr!"

One of the girls noticed Eiichi’s presence, “The new teacher!” she whispered. Then, within moments, they all began feigning meekness. However, this restraint lasted only a short while; one by one, then two by two, most of the children ended up scattering away. The pastor finished his silent prayer and, while saying, “We will sing a hymn,” began turning over the sheets of paper hanging beside the ladder one by one, Jesus, Lord, Jesus, Lord—in salvation Do not leave even me behind—receive me in.

Lord, O Lord... Hear me. The supplications of a contrite heart and, selecting the hymn written at the beginning, he showed it to the beautiful woman, saying, "This one." The beautiful woman sat down before the organ and began to play while singing. The song seemed to permeate Shinmi’s very being. The song ended, and the beautiful woman sat with her head bowed in the shadow of the table. The pastor began his sermon. As the sermon progressed, those who had gathered in a dark cluster before the lecture hall began leaving one by one until only five remained seated on the benches. A short woman in her forties with hair in a low bun sat at the very front—her face flushed as if from drink—dozing. Immediately behind her sat the lecture hall’s landlord—owner of the neighboring Yoshida Tailor Shop—holding a sleeping three-year-old girl while feigning attentiveness. Against the left bench wall sat a twenty-five- or twenty-six-year-old youth in cylindrical sleeves fastened with a white heko obi sash. A pockmarked lame man. This was the lecture hall’s caretaker—piously closing his eyes as though receiving divine inspiration, then opening them to fix attention on the pastor’s mouth.

Sitting two benches away from the tailor shop owner was a youth of about twenty-one or twenty-two years old, also wearing a garment with tubular sleeves and a black heko sash, his sturdy frame contrasting with geta that were wide and flat like bamboo shoot sheaths, fastened with vertically arranged palm-fiber cords. The young man appeared to be a laborer. Another was Shinmi Eiichi, who sat on the bench behind the lecture hall’s caretaker wearing a kasuri-patterned haori, his demeanor restless and unsettled. Moreover, in the shadow of the desk, Miss Tsuruko listened.

The pastor was exceedingly earnest. At one moment he would shift his gaze to the gloomy young laborer, and in the next instant turn it to Eiichi as though addressing him directly, all while continuing his sermon.

Because a rickshaw puller was standing outside, two or three more people gathered.

The preacher earnestly finished recounting the story of Jesus and Nicodemus. His eyes burned with flames. As the rickshaw puller departed with a loud creak, Tsuruko briefly raised her head at the sound and looked out at the street.

The sermon was a long one, taking about an hour. When the sermon ended, the beautiful woman appeared before the organ once more. The marumage-coiffed Drunken Teacher opened her eyes. And then, abruptly, she stood up and left. The final hymn was: Overflowing with grace—Immanuel’s In the fountain filled with blood, wash away sins Even the thief upon the cross Beholding this spring, they rejoiced.

Thus concluded the hymn. As he listened, Shinmi felt as though he had truly become a disciple of Jesus himself. Tsuruko-sama’s high-pitched voice pierced through one’s chest like a blade. Eiichi closed his eyes and listened intently to Tsuruko-sama’s chanting. When the hymn ended, the pastor began to pray.

However, while Eiichi kept his eyes closed, he thought of various things.

Christ was led up to the very top of the great tower of the capital and told, “You—jump from here!” yet failed to leap—that was cowardly. If I had the courage to jump down, I would kneel before him… but life lacks the courage to leap from towers—that’s why I grow weary. If Christ had leapt down at that moment, all of life’s problems would have been resolved. Had he been human, it would have ended there. The world is lost solely because Christ did not leap from the tower. Even if the Apocrypha were to write that angels caught him as he leapt, people would laugh and call it a miracle—but since Christ was to die on the cross regardless, he should have shown us that when humans must die, they simply die, like the ill-fated Euphorion. He causes the world to wander. Humans grow weary. All philosophers without fever fall asleep. Therefore, perhaps I must summon Elijah’s fire… Let me keep iron fire tongs that burn eternally at hand. I must tear open the mouth of any philosopher trying to sleep, yank out that soft long tongue, and thrust red-hot fire tongs into it with terrifying force… When the seared blood fills their mouth, they’ll taste its briny tang. Their jaws twitch spasmodically in places. And the area of the medulla grows heavy. The neural center that produced fantastical philosophy is destroyed. What remains is only the neural center that produces mathematical philosophy like stacked stones. In short, unless humans go into a frenzy, no philosophical systems will emerge… but I’m exhausted. Having returned from Tokyo, I’ve grown utterly weary of people. I just want to bitterly denounce life……

When the prayer ended, those who joined in saying “Amen” were the caretaker and Miss Tsuruko. When the prayer ended, the pastor immediately slipped into his geta and came over to Eiichi. He bowed politely, “Excuse me, but have you heard of Christianity before?” “Hah,” he answered lightly, glanced briefly at Tsuruko, then looked down again and fidgeted with his fingers. “Where did you hear about it?” “I was in Tokyo until a week ago.” “Did you attend school?”

“Yes.” “Which school?” “At Meiji Gakuin.”

“Ah, I see. So you were at Meiji Gakuin?” “Then are you a believer?”

Tsuruko came forward.

“No, I’m not a believer yet…” “Please do come visit my home as well. I reside behind the church in Tōrimachi.” “Excuse me, but where exactly do you live?” he continued asking. Tsuruko moved to the pastor’s side and, “Excuse me, Mr. Hashimoto. Good night,” she said with a polite bow and turned to leave.

“Ms. Tamiya, shall we return together? Please wait a moment. Are you in a hurry?” “No,” answered Tsuruko, then noticed the lame caretaker struggling to close the front door and went to assist him.

Eiichi answered, “In Tokushima Honmachi,” but— “In what part of Tokushima Honmachi do you reside?” she asked. “It is Shinmi,” he answered, but Hashimoto did not seem to think he was the mayor’s son.

“Is it somewhere near a laundry shop?” he inquired. “It is next to the laundry shop.” “Then you must be the Mayor’s—” “Yes.”

Having closed the door and stood outside, Tsuruko—upon hearing "Shinmi" and "mayor"—was peering inside. And with a startled voice,

"I... no... I had truly forgotten. 'I'm terribly sorry!' she exclaimed and came back inside. For Tsuruko, bowing to this young and beautiful man carried an air of sinfulness she couldn't deny—"

“Is it you, Mr. Shinmi? You’ve grown so much I scarcely recognized you.” She laughed and bowed apologetically. “Ah, Miss Tsuruko!” Eiichi rose to return her greeting. “How have you been faring these years?” “And you?” Pastor Hashimoto chuckled alongside them— “Ms. Tamiya, are you acquainted with Mr. Shinmi?” “Oh yes—we were schoolmates from neighboring houses in the same village... One might even call us distant kin... But it’s been so long since last we met that I’d quite forgotten.” “Mr. Shinmi has grown remarkably, hasn’t he?”

She spoke with unrestrained gestures and a charming manner.

“Had you not met for a long time?”

“Let me see—it must be about seven years now. ...right, Mr. Shinmi?” “That’s right. It must have been seven years now, hasn’t it?”

The three of them crossed Shinmachi Bridge together and returned along Tōrimachi. From the second block, Tsuruko and Eiichi returned while talking together.

The night air was cold.

10

The gate was closed. It was already nine-thirty. The Shinmi household kept early hours and thus retired to bed in the evening, but tonight—with the master away—they had gone to sleep especially early. He had troubled the errand boy Yoshisaburō to let him inside, but the indoor air felt oppressively heavy, and the smell of the walls made his stomach churn. When he peered into the back, an andon lamp was lit. Oume was sleeping on this side, Masunori on the opposite. Nine-thirty was half an hour past the designated time for going out. However, Oume did not seem particularly inclined to scold him. Eiichi, having been somewhat stimulated by meeting Tsuruko, resolved to start studying now.

“Lamp!” He had to open the closet door and take out the lamp. Opening that large closet door would make a terrible noise. It would shatter Oume’s peaceful sleep! Nine-thirty! Thinking “If I study now I’ll get scolded tomorrow morning,” he gingerly extracted the lamp from the entrance closet.

"Matches! The kitchen corner," he thought while searching silently but found none. He retrieved matches from the inner andon lamp's stand instead. As he tried ascending to the second floor, oiled paper crinkled on each step. Muttering "How miserly of me," he began climbing as quietly as possible, but the new house made its timbers groan sharply. "Well since I'm going up to study," he reasoned internally while boldly continuing his ascent, "the creaking doesn't matter anyway—no need to mind my footsteps either." Yet each groan amplified through the house's corners like seismic tremors.

“This was rather bad,” he thought, yet as he kept climbing, the creaking persisted. “Perhaps Oume will scold me,” he mused, straining his ears for any voice rising from below—but there was only an odd stillness. Not much time had passed before Father’s sharp voice rose from below! “Who’s making such a racket stomping up to the second floor? People are trying to sleep!” I’d done wrong—but how insolent! ‘Who’s there?’ He knew perfectly well it was me, I thought— “Yes, it’s me,” he replied gently. “Brother? Starting your studies now?”

“Yes,” he replied, thudding up the stairs and dismissing Oume’s words as inconsequential as he slid open the fusuma door to his study.

In the study too, oiled paper had been spread as floor covering. Eiichi was more than a little surprised. "Oume must think I have no sense of beauty whatsoever." Ah well...I'd forgotten to close the door again tonight. Tomorrow morning would bring another round of scolding. "I wonder if Tsuruko-sama is still studying?" he mused, sliding open a door panel to gaze northwestward. In the two-story house across the way, a door stood open with lamplight still glowing. A black shadow flickered across the shoji screen, appearing and vanishing.

That was a woman’s shadow. If one removed just one shoji screen, Tsuruko-sama of Magaretto would appear. The woman was lovely—how he wanted to fly over there... But he must study. Eiichi shut the door with a decisive clack and sat at his desk. The lamp oil ran low, and no one had cleaned the chimney. To think even Yoshisaburō looked down on him made his stomach churn. They’d replaced the inkstone box too. When he remembered taking that walk earlier, he mourned the stroll itself; when he considered how this room had transformed in three short hours, he despised time itself.

"But complaining is not humanity’s duty. I should try writing something in my meditation record—though there’s no unity of thought tonight, I must obtain a complete solution to this problem as soon as possible... Was that a voice from below? I feel like that bastard Oume is coming up to the second floor—or is it my imagination? Well, I’ll just grind some ink... What’s with this brush? A frayed hand-me-down. Wait.—Ah, I’ll endure it—I’ll try writing something." Eiichi took up his brush, opened a notebook of roughly three hundred manuscript pages, and wrote *The Conception of Reality in Materialism (May 12th)*.

"The ink’s too thin. The characters bleed. Such wretched ink! Even if large, poor quality makes it worthless as shit—a scrap from Kobaien would’ve been better. This is abuse... Well, I’ll endure it. But they really do abuse me through and through. Bastards!" Thinking such things—"How insolent!"—he set down his brush.

“The concept of electrical matter advanced its research strides with tremendous speed.” “In a recent newspaper, I saw an article discussing the form of electrons.” “In the near future, the time may perhaps come when human self-awareness will be explained through this electron theory.—’”

“Hmm—was that a voice from below? That Oume might be coming upstairs—but why should I care? I shall study. What abuse? There’s no such thing here. I shall study beyond both pessimism and optimism. I shall cultivate all my faculties. Words like 'What' or 'And' hold no particular significance here. A philosopher seeking truth becomes transparent— Within him exists neither color nor scent nor tears nor joy—no contour nor shadow— Merely clear glass— Untouched by worldly dust... Yet Tsuruko remains beautiful—lovely—pitiable— Is Brother truly being transferred to Taiwan’s post office? How painful this parting must be— My only brother sent to Taiwan’s fickle climate— I feel such sympathy— Tsuruko-sama entered second year when they established the girls’ high school—didn’t she? Now completing supplementary courses... and then—”

"However, even when that time comes, the teleological view contained within self-awareness cannot be conquered by blind mechanism theory." "That ions manifested within relative and mysterious spacetime could ever be proven to constitute an absolute reality—one containing within them infinite reality, what Kant termed the *Ding an sich*—is ultimately impossible." When I contemplated Kant’s phenomenology and Hamilton’s theory of relativity, I felt as if cold water were being poured down my neck……

Tsuruko-sama had received her baptism on February 21st of last year—a day that should have been blessed. When I briefly mentioned socialism, she said she had read Mr. Isoo Abe’s *Switzerland* and the Heiminsha’s *Lassalle*. When I told her I’d been at Meiji Gakuin, how delighted she was! Though she seemed somewhat disappointed when I said I wasn’t a believer, her words—“Even so, isn’t it strange that both you and I are listening to Christ?”—stirred my chest considerably. Christ is truly great—the world’s noblest symbol of love. Yet epistemology refuses to comply. They say cognition doesn’t know God… But if, having resolved this through materialism’s conception of reality, one could claim an idealistic God created the world through His power—then I would believe in Christ. ……Ah—I’d been lost in fantasy again.

"...When we perceive reality, it is an evident fact that the perceiver constitutes energy. Even when discussing electron morphology, these remain subjective fantasies or assumptions; though one may posit ions possessing form as objective facts, contemporary psychology disallows their recognition as absolute reality. Should we deem this Force to be blind, human consciousness must then be considered an evolved manifestation of that blind Force. Yet cognition remains relative - one cannot apprehend mechanistic perspectives without departing from teleology......"

It was getting to be a pain. This line of reasoning might lead me into idealism. Delving into epistemology would be too troublesome. The brush wouldn’t move anymore. I had no mental space left to contemplate philosophy. Tsuruko had completely occupied my mind. ……But for a philosopher to be in such a state was inexcusable. If I intended to contribute to the Japanese philosophical world,I had to become a bit more open-minded and dispassionate. This century was a time when，as Karl Marx had said，philosophers had to emerge and resolve society from its very foundations. The world was seeking a true philosophical system in place of prophets. ……It was no good. Love robbed me of philosophy! The world’s greatest philosophers were all ascetic celibates. Not to mention Christ and Buddha—Epictetus，Augustine，Spinoza，Leibniz，Kant，Hume，Locke，Mill，Schopenhauer as well. And what of Buddhism and Christianity’s many saint-philosophers—could I alone not firmly grasp the key of reason，free from carnal desire? But which was more fundamental—reason or carnal desire? If philosophy was the most fundamental thing，then flesh was philosophy’s most sacred element。……I was already captured by Tsuruko.

There’s no need to expound at length on views of women. A man is also a girl. A man also gives birth to a woman. I want to bear a child! I want to bear a child! Somehow, I feel like bearing a child once I’m in love. For the first time since being born, I think such thoughts. What kind of child would I bear? Could any artistic creation rival bearing a child in splendor? Human children are plump and bounce about energetically! Love! Procreation! There’s no need to write six hundred or seven hundred pages on views of women like Mr. Iga Komakijirō. Love! I want to be with a woman! I will resolve all philosophy. Echoing in my ears are Tsuruko’s final words from when we parted moments ago!

“Good night!”

My body had gone completely limp. The turmoil in my heart when I, who had only ever interacted with maids, inn waiters, and milk hall attendants, walked home side by side with the beautiful Tsuruko-sama. I suddenly wanted to leap forward, embrace her, and take her into Shiroyama Forest—because Tsuruko was too kind—and at the very least, I wanted to hold her hand when we parted. But at the voice saying "love transcending flesh," my hand timidly shrank back. She is my idol. I cannot do impure things. Also fearing her dignity, I couldn’t bring myself to reach out. I want to hold her hand. But transcending carnal desire?... In the end, I am one who suffers. If I were to catch even a glimpse of Tsuruko-sama’s face at such times—ah, I would just go to sleep and yearn for her in my dreams. "Ah, I'm so sleepy!" Eiichi put his legs under the desk and lay down on his back.

“Ah, I miss Tsuruko-sama. If only someone would go call for her…” He curled up, covering his face with both hands. At that moment, suddenly, “Brother, it’s time for bed already,” came a voice from the sliding door at the entrance. Eiichi sprang up reflexively, leaning against the desk as he looked behind him. But Oume wasn’t there. It had just been his nerves. He considered trying to read again, but his head felt too heavy to muster the will.

Again,

"Ah, I miss Tsuruko-sama. If I long for her so much, I shouldn't have parted ways," he murmured, lying supine. Anxious that Oume might discover him reclining thus, he kept glancing toward the entrance, but she gave no indication of ascending. As he lingered over mental images of Tsuruko's features and mannerisms,

“Good night, Brother—get into your futon—” came a voice from the entrance. When he looked toward the entrance, there stood Oume in her nightclothes this time. Startled, he rose up, placed both arms on the desk, hung his head, and remained silent.

“Brother, if you lie there like that and kick over the lamp on the desk with your feet—if you start a fire while Father is away, it would be disastrous! How dangerous!” “But I tell you, you’re supposed to go to bed early at night and rise early in the morning.” “Brother, come downstairs already and go to bed!”

“Start a fire?” He thought she was exaggerating but kept silent.

“Brother. Go to bed now.” Eiichi did not even show his face. “It’s already eleven o’clock,” Oume pressed, but Eiichi made no move to stand up. She tossed out, “Go to bed now,” and started descending the ladder steps, only to return again. “Brother, there’s no rug in this sitting room. Since the tatami mats are new, placing desks or bookshelves would leave indentations and soil them—that’s why we didn’t lay one. Yoshisaburou and I took it from the storehouse and spread it briefly this evening, you see.” She offered excuses, her voice defensive. “You’ve been silent all this time—if you’re angry about the rug, don’t get upset over such trifles.”

Eiichi turned his face toward Oume for a moment and looked her over from her toes to the top of her head. Oume began to descend but turned back again, opened the shoji window, and checked if the door was closed. “Yoshisaburou closed it, you see. The Young Master didn’t close it in the evening—” she said, staring intently at Eiichi’s profile.

Eiichi directed a sharp gaze at Oume. And so Oume, "You should go to bed now," she said, starting to head downstairs, but when she reached the sliding door, Eiichi was laughing. Perhaps thinking she was being laughed at— "What an unpleasant way you laugh…" she said. And then—perhaps because she wanted some form of retaliation—she pondered for a while, "Brother, haven’t you come down yet? Since I’ll take the lamp down and extinguish it, you go ahead first," she said, but there was no reply.

"If you stay up too late, it'll be a fire hazard—so I'm putting out this lamp now," she threatened. She approached Eiichi and blew out the lamp.

Eiichi did not resist at all. He sprang up, went downstairs, and slept in the middle room. He cried in bed.

Eleven

Three days later, it was Tuesday evening.

Shinmi stood absentmindedly before the imposing gate, neither looking at the people passing by nor engaging in any particular thought, idly passing the time when he suddenly noticed two children running toward him from the direction of Fukushima Bridge.

The first child wore a navy blue straight-sleeved garment washed to a pale greyish-blue, tattered in places, with straw sandals as large as boats on his feet. He looked about ten or eleven years old and had a mischievous air about him. In his hands, he held something wrapped in an old patterned hand towel—likely grains. The obi had come undone, perhaps from running. The child chasing from behind appeared to be from a proper middle-class family. He was barefoot. Having discerned that the first child was being tormented by the second, Shinmi was about to intervene when the two came running near the corner of his estate, whereupon the second child suddenly shoved the impoverished boy forward.

The impoverished boy flung the bundle he had been holding forward and fell face down with a thud. When he fell and when he got up, he didn’t seem to be crying at all, but upon seeing the rice scattered from his hand towel, he let out a loud cry. The child who had shoved, now triumphant, let out a "Whoo-hee!" and dashed back in victory to the distant crowd of children gathered across town. Shinmi smiled slightly and approached the child. Pitifully, the child merely watched the figure of the mischievous boy running off into the town and cried plaintively.

“Since you’re cute, you mustn’t cry. You’re cute,” Eiichi repeated, brushing off the child’s clothes. As soon as that figure vanished into the crowd, the child spread out his hand towel and began gathering up the scattered rice along with the sand and pebbles. And under his breath, “If I go home, Dad’ll get mad at me… Waaah—” he cried. Eiichi, sympathizing, helped the child gather the scattered rice and asked him: “Where is your house?”

He asked this two or three times, but the child stubbornly would not say. After asking four or five times, he finally—

“That way,” he said, gesturing with his chin to indicate the direction, but wouldn’t specify exactly where. But under his breath, he continued, “If I go home, Dad’ll get mad at me,” he said, sobbing. “Well then, shall I take you there?” He shook his head side to side, going “U-um...” “If I go bringing someone from outside... Dad’ll get mad,” he muttered again under his breath.

“Why?”

“Well...” he hurriedly gathered the scattered rice. Then, as if rejecting Shinmi, he sprang up and began to run. Shinmi reached out to the child,

“I’ll go with you and explain things to your father, okay?” he said kindly, but the child kept running in silence. Catching up to the running child once more, “Since you spilled all that rice, your father will scold you, won’t he?” “I’ll go to your house and apologize to your father for you.” “You mustn’t cry now.” This time, the child no longer opposed Eiichi. However, he was still crying. While walking in step with the child, Eiichi asked. “Why did that child push you like that?… Where is he from?”

“The kid from the Iwaki Chifu household.” “What’s wrong?” The child tried to speak but burst into tears once more. “Nn…” “Since you’re cute, you mustn’t cry… What’s wrong?” “Um… when I went to buy rice at the shop near Fukushima Bridge, those kids were all there… They said, ‘This guy’s the one who played pilgrim in Semba the other day!’ and started hitting my head… So I tried to run away quick, but they all chased after me saying they’d make me cry…”

“I see—what a bad kid, huh?” Eiichi replied, though tears welled in his eyes as he considered both the child’s bold confession and the cruelty of capitalists’ children. Afterward, no words passed between them. Night had fully fallen, silencing even the crows’ cries from Shiroyama. Guided by the child, they crossed Fukushima Bridge and turned right. Before they had walked fifty meters, they found a narrow path squeezed between a long-term rental tenement’s clog shop and potato vendor. Winding through its frequent bends, they first encountered the unbearable stench of rotting pickled radish—through which they could glimpse the slum’s shadow. He had truly stumbled into a place beyond imagination. The child ran ahead and vanished into darkness. A world beyond imagining.

The roofs were low; the houses were small and divided, lacking even the earthen entranceway of ordinary homes. He wondered if people really needed to partition their homes to such an extent. Most doors were shut with no light to be seen, and even where there was light, it came from dim oil lamps at best—mostly just tin-can wicks sputtering to life. Eiichi kept walking while looking at both sides, but at the third lit house on the left, a woman’s shrill voice— “You idiot! I sent you on a quick errand to Fukushima Bridge, and if it’s taken this long, then…” came a shout. Then, when the child was struck, his wailing cries arose. Shinmi hurriedly appeared in front of this house.

“Excuse me,” said a woman in her mid-thirties kneeling before the hearth, fire tongs in hand as she tended the flames. Eiichi glanced back briefly and saw that the opposite side was hazy with smoke. A girl of about nine or ten sat before the hearth, and an elderly person—likely physically disabled—lay facing the street. This smoke and this decay—a timorous dread rose within him. If it ever came to me having to tend to such an old man, I’d have to decline. Do they even want to go on living like that? He furrowed his brow at the thought. The woman said, “Now, please do come in—though it’s truly dreary here,” attempting a hospitable look with her sharp eyes as she gazed at Shinmi. Her hair, tightly pulled back and damp all over, must have been from working at a thread shop or weaving house. Even when told to enter, the thought of that old man lying just four shaku behind made him feel like turning back immediately to lift his spirits by gazing upon some beautiful face instead—and so he couldn’t bring himself to step inside. Was the so-called slum such a wretched place? If it’s said that a middle-aged person lies ill, there is still hope, but when it comes to old age, there’s nothing to be done. He shrank back.

“Thank you,” Shinmi declined politely, wanting to look back once more. But when he pictured “that old man in those thin futons” before his eyes, seeing him again became terrifying. After bidding Eiichi farewell with polite words, the woman turned to her son—who lay prone on the floor three shaku above the dirt-packed entrance, clutching a bundle as he wept— “You, why don’t you take out the rice?” “What are you dawdling around for?” “Stop your crying already and get to work under the hearth!” she said. Thinking a crisis was imminent, Shinmi entered inside,

“Auntie, actually, I came here intending to explain on your child’s behalf…” he began, but before he could finish— “Huh? Did my child do something wrong again? He’s not some hopeless brat, I’ll have you know. If he did anything bad, please forgive him,” she said rapidly, her manner showing neither particular concern for Eiichi nor any semblance of respect.

“Hurry up and go check under the stove or something!” She smacked his head once and seized the rice bundle. Seeing this, Eiichi, “Would you lend me that bundle? I’ll pay you separately for the rice,” he proposed. However, the woman, “What’s this about now?” she said while inspecting the rice by the stove’s firelight. She showed no particular surprise at the stones and sand mixed within. But after placing the rice on the shelf, she stomped over to the child and struck his head again. The child wailed.

The woman,

“Hurry up and check over there!” she barked, then turned toward the corner and said, “Father, the rice is mixed with sand and stones—we can’t eat it tonight.” Then from the corner came: “Sir, please do take a seat for a moment.” “It’s truly dreary here, but...” he said, poking his head out slightly from the futon as he bowed to Shinmi.

Shinmi was astonished. This house consisted of just a single three-tatami room with a one-tsubo dirt-floored entryway—anyone present besides the two of them would surely have caught his eye. To be truthful, when he'd entered earlier and heard the child repeatedly crying "Father! Father!", he'd seen no man who might be a parent. He had thought there was merely a futon carelessly rolled up and discarded in the corner from when someone rose that morning—nothing more. But only upon hearing the voice did he realize. This futon was the father. His hair hung long and unkempt; his bluish complexion and pallid lips felt unnerving. Eiichi leaned one hand against the entrance pillar, tilting up the toe of his left geta,

“Ah, thank you kindly,” “Are you unwell?” he asked gently. The father stared at the flames beneath the hearth, then turned his gaze back to Eiichi’s face, “Well—it’s not precisely an illness, sir. Until March, I’d been working for the railway, you understand. But early that month in Kamojima, my leg was crushed by a train… Heh heh… Lost all hope of ever standing again. Since then I’ve just… been idling around… Please, do sit down.”

As the woman squatted down in front of the hearth, the father’s face became hidden from view. The child still remained bent over, not showing their face. “Is that so?” “Oh my, that’s truly unfortunate,” the woman said, turning to look at Eiichi’s face.

“Honestly, sir, I’ve truly had enough—I can’t bear living like this anymore.” “Even though my husband suffered such terrible injuries, the railway company just gave us twenty yen as a sympathy payment and cast us aside.” “Yet there’s nowhere to turn for help. From dawn till dusk, I work winding spools at the weaver’s workshop just to scrape by—but with just one woman’s hands, no matter what happens, I can’t feed two men.” “Tonight he said he wanted proper rice for the first time in ages, so I went to buy five gō of fifth-grade rice—but this is what came of it,” she said in a tone thick with bitter resignation.

“You see, Auntie, when I saw it happen—your child was walking home quite smartly when some boy I didn’t recognize shoved him from behind.” “This child fell and spilled the rice all over the road.” “Your child isn’t to blame—” “Is that so… Well now sir—though I don’t know who you are—have you come all this way to speak up for him?” “I can’t begin to thank you properly.” “But truth be told, my boy’s no good either—there’s nothing to be done about him.” “Even when we tell him to go to school, he won’t listen—we parents have lost all control.”

“Why does he dislike school?” “Oh, it’s not that he dislikes it—you see, it was the day after the March festival. I had nothing to feed him that day, so I told him to go out wherever he could and beg for something to eat. But around noon, he came home in tears complaining of a headache and lay down. The very next day was when he was supposed to return to school, but he started saying he wouldn’t go anymore… His father can’t read a single character, so we’re in dire straits now—I wanted at least to have him graduate from elementary school, so we scraped together what little we had to send him through third grade… But really, when you’re poor, even your children lose their freedom.”

Having spoken this far, the woman—choked by the smoke—took up the bellows and covered her mouth. Eiichi could largely piece together the child's situation from her account. But he had no notion of what he could possibly do for these people. “Did he make it to third grade?”

"If he had continued attending, he would be in fourth grade now." "He passed into fourth grade but stopped right away—since he was sent to do childcare for a year, he fell behind." Eiichi's mind split into two. One voice insisted he needn’t force humanitarian pretenses in this wretched place—he should flee back to his fine tatami-matted home and read even a single page of philosophy instead, warning that meddling in such matters would forever separate him from mediocrity by just one step. Simultaneously, another voice declared kindness to be life itself—in this organic society, for something to live, something else must be sacrificed.

“Excuse me for asking, but where might your home be?” the woman inquired. “Well, it’s not far from here… — What might that dear child be doing now?” “Right now, there’s nothing particular he’s doing, but he helps his father with errands and assists me with winding thread.” “If you cross Fukushima Bridge, there’s a barber shop there, isn’t there?” “They say they want him to come as an apprentice there, so I’m considering sending him, but…” “I worry whether he can endure until he becomes skilled… Please, don’t leave so soon—do sit for a moment,” she said while briefly lifting the lid to check the boiling barley. Then she took the hand bucket from the corner and headed toward the entrance. She must be going to fetch water.

Shinmi seemed to think he didn’t want to remain in such a gloomy place any longer. “The barber shop? “That should be quite acceptable… I must take my leave now—I have other matters requiring attention. Farewell.” “Please—I implore you—do not reprimand your child after my departure.” He found no particular reason to offer money for rice either.

“Thank you ever so much. Please do come again to talk awhile longer—though it’s such a wretched place,” the woman said, standing outside the door. Eiichi turned to the sick man. “Goodbye—please take care of yourself,” he said. But in his heart, he laughed at himself for spouting such meaningless hypocrisy. “Thank you ever so much for your kindness.” “Goodbye. Though it’s truly dreary here, do come to talk sometimes.” “Thank you. I shall come again,” he replied.

But in his heart, Shinmi thought it wasn’t that he didn’t love the poor—it was just that dwelling too long on such wretchedness made one shrink in on oneself.

Eiichi emerged from the dark roadside path in a dreamlike state. A red weather warning light glowed atop Shiroyama. At the corner of Fukushima Honmachi, he met the apprentice Kichisaburō and returned home together. Yet he and Kichisaburō exchanged not a single word. Having finished dinner and keeping a prior engagement, he went to visit Miss Tsuruko.

Twelve

Shinmi now stood quietly before his own house. Tonight, he had been late returning home again. He had been knocking for some time now, but since no one would open for him, he was growing rather bored. He stepped out briefly into the street, but Tokushima Honmachi was already fast asleep. And no wonder—it was already a little past twelve o'clock. Since returning from Tokyo, he had now been late three times. Two nights ago on Sunday, he had returned just as Kichisaburō—clacking fire-watch wooden clappers while circling the estate—was about to close the gate, having attended church; then there was his lateness the previous Saturday night; and now tonight—making three times in total.

There was a reason he was late tonight. Eiichi had visited Tsuruko and ended up being late. That too was because on Sunday evening after returning from church, he had been told that Tsuruko’s elder brother Tokiyuki had come back and that he absolutely must come visit once within the next two or three days. Shinmi looked up at the sky, but the stars were shining sleepily. In truth, it was because I was sleepy. Eiichi remembered that his father had said the gate would not be opened at all after nine o'clock. Moreover, since his father had also returned from Tokyo tonight, he was actually hesitating to knock too hard. Because he felt deeply sorry to disturb Kichisaburō’s peaceful sleep, he had returned from Tsuruko’s residence around eleven o’clock but refrained from knocking out of consideration, instead taking a walk toward Jōten Bridge for about an hour. No—truthfully, he had set out intending to make a round trip of fifteen to twenty kilometers as self-punishment, but between growing weary along the way and realizing he mustn’t show his students a drowsy face tomorrow—that even if he couldn’t teach them reading, he at least needed to keep his eyes open during daylight hours—he had returned to knock on the door again, though he felt guilty toward Kichisaburō. The more he thought he must sleep, the sleepier he truly became. Even the stars appeared sleepy.

Eiichi moved closer to the gate to try knocking once more, but when he clenched his fist to knock, each strike felt like driving nails into his father’s chest. Therefore, believing that his father’s wrath would soon befall him—and that this thought was akin to crucifying himself—even the sound of his geta clacking against the paving stones filled him with dread, so he crouched beneath the mailbox for a time, lost in anguished reflection.

"Why must I always remain so restrained before my own father like this? Why must I crouch here outside the gate in this cold air? Do I truly have no right to expect kindness from my father?... But Tsuruko’s lovely manner of receiving me tonight! Elder Brother was supposed to return from Muro but never did—instead I found myself satisfied. That moment when I was led to Miss Tsuruko’s study after the old man and old woman had retired! I nodded to myself. I know well the temperament of modern female students. But with Tsuruko... No—even if she were a frivolous student-type, I wouldn’t dislike her were I to love Miss Tsuruko... Yet her circumstances have stripped away all such frivolity. Miss Tsuruko may be a full-figured American beauty, but her stately aspects are undeniably Gothic—distinct from the French type."

But I was surprised at how naturally we ended up holding hands while discussing Western history at the desk—no, rather, I was happy. Miss Tsuruko began speaking of her past, and though we both wept, I felt both embarrassed and happy when she collapsed crying onto my lap. Truly, Tsuruko’s grief was only natural. Working as a maid under her step-grandfather and grandmother was harsh. In a woman’s narrow heart, there was no difference to it. Of course, had Father and Mother not met such an end, Miss Tsuruko would never have retreated a step before others—but even so, whenever friends broach the subject of her circumstances, she would surely tremble and withdraw. I too don’t feel good at all about being called the child of a concubine, after all.……

Miss Tsuruko had said that though becoming a Christian caused her friends to dwindle, she had been able to join the kind ladies of the church and was by no means lonely—that was something to celebrate. I like anyone who bears the title of Mrs. Tsuruko, who has joined the ladies' circle, is dear to me precisely for that reason. In Japan, it’s unclear whether a wife is a maid or a childbearing machine, but a woman weeping while raising many children is by no means detestable. A lovely being in whom the beauty born of suffering and the beauty of strength are intertwined.

I want to love Tsuruko. I love. I dedicate my entire being to love. ...But how utterly meaningless this all is. I'm in love while ignorant of life's ultimate course. A purposeless human being? To propel human evolution? Meaningless evolutionary theory! Where lies evolution in my existence?...Chance!...Ah, humans command neither chance nor evolutionary destiny...We simply sink into frigid depths. Loving Tsuruko merely submerges me another fathom. Purposeless? Entirely purposeless. Not purposeless—blind. Yet if forced to choose between death and loveless existence—of course I'd live to share a day's agony with Tsuruko. But sharing carnal pleasure with a lover proves meaningless. I shall weep with my lover. Ending in joint suicide? Thus would love find fulfillment. But what fundamentally is love?...

But when love suddenly takes shape like this tonight, it feels like something out of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night—utterly absurd. What in the world is love even supposed to be? Yet Tsuruko has ensnared me completely. By my own will, there’s nothing I can do. Truthfully, I never imagined I’d have such a beautiful lover... But doesn’t love seem like such an absurd thing? Am I not just galloping down this racetrack called love for some sacred or profane pleasure? Sacredness and love? Ridiculous. It’s like reciting Bunraku lines in a dream. How pointless!

Ah, I've had enough. I'm sick of love. My love needs nothing beyond these mere notions. I'm sick of notions too. Pleasure lasts but an instant. Love is pain. The aftermath of clarity brings agony. I detest love—it gives me headaches. To love a woman amounts to nothing but indulging in agonizing pleasure. Do humans take wives merely to bear children? Meaningless! They bear children solely to bear children. They embrace and sleep solely to embrace and sleep. If I could sleep soundly, I'd have no need for beauty. Buddha! Hinayana philosophy! The extinction of all beings. All things nirvana! I am but a single wave in the great sea. I want to sink swiftly into the cold sunken depths of the dark blue-black sea. Humans! What nuisances. Eh? Hmm. Tch! I want to bite through my tongue and die.

Living reeks of aristocratic ideology. I hate the smell of perfume. It's socialism—nirvana and death! "'Socialism is only for this moment...'"... Eiichi stood up. With a force so violent it could knock the roof tiles loose, he struck the splendid door of straight-grained hinoki planks with a clenched fist.

But there was no reaction. The world was still asleep. The dead do not rise from their graves. The world seemed to have finally shifted from sleep into sleep. So he struck it once more, even more fiercely. But still there was no answer. When he looked up at the sky, the stars wore stern expressions. From the opposite eaves, sparrows flew up one after another and hid beneath the fifth house's eaves.

"I roused sparrows without waking Father." The sin runs deep. But capitalists bear deeper sins still. Their sin lies in erecting fences and gates, building mansions that restrict free movement, then strutting about self-importantly. Those Jesus priests too reek of sin—spouting 'Rejoice in Christ!' Damn them! Content with their hereditary religion cobbled from worldly-ism, aristocratic-ism, private property-ism, thief-ism... How could God's kingdom ever come? I can't endure this torment any longer. Shakyamuni—nirvana—heat—tears freeze. Yet I'm too courageous to die. Remember? Strike a Nio's stance? Lion's Roar? Now... Now begins revolution. Grant me freedom. Or guarantee eternal life. Or death! Tears of anguish flow unknowingly. Though none realize it, the universe stirs revolution within my breast. Ah—while I sit here, in Fukushima's seaside slums others curse God. This painful existence. Yet still I want to live. ...I who was called meek now hold authority to make stars fall and seas parch.

I have no obligation to hesitate and dawdle there. Evil is often wiser than good. I must knock on the door—the bell of revolution! Revolution too shall be Buddhist... The essence of Buddhism lies in its Hinayana core. That slug-like Mahayana dissolves in the rain! Yet even Shakyamuni failed as a revolutionary—he lit flames in the afterlife rather than this world! The Brahmanic delusions were tolerable, but their failure to negate India's states was idiocy! As for Japanese monks—greater fools still! Mahayana! Dharmakaya Buddha! State religion! Honganji! This transcends mere folly! Though Buddha taught life as blind chains reaching nirvana, they now lick government boots! Therefore I shall launch a Buddhist revolution! In this revolution, the masses hold no authority. But the spirit world resonates—it will surely bear fruit. Few likely know I exist in this tiny Tokushima.

But who in Nazareth knew there was a Jesus? "XX!"

Eiichi’s entire body trembled with the agony of rebellion. While trembling and unable to produce a resounding blow with his fist, he grabbed the right geta and swung it upward.

The entrance door clattered open. Eiichi had been waiting to see who would open it, but Father appeared holding a hand candle. As soon as Eiichi passed through the gate, his father stared intently at his face. Without a word, he suddenly clenched his fist and struck Eiichi’s left cheek.

Eiichi, choking on tears, shut himself in his room. He leaned against the desk and wept blankly. When he cried, his agitation subsided considerably. After a while—perhaps having decided there was no point in staying like this—he wiped his tears and lifted his head. There on the wall hung a bust of Carlyle, turned sideways with a sour expression.

Eiichi thought of *Sartor Resartus*. While he couldn’t deny that Goethean philosophers of heartbreak were weak in their meaning, he found himself compelled to weep over his own tragic fate and the hellish capitalist society. And he could not help but think that he too was step by step carving out the "eternal void" within his own breast.

“Alas!” Eternal void! What could ever fill Eiichi’s void? I am like a shadow. That’s right—I’m having a painful dream. What appears to be life is my dream.

What a pain. While Father came into the Shinmi family as an adopted son, he abandoned his legal wife and kept my mother as his concubine. When Mother died, he brought in Oume. Life was so hectic. In the meantime, Father became a Diet member, then a secretary in the House of Peers, and now he had quit being a Diet member to become mayor. Even after becoming mayor, he remained hectic. The house had to be rebuilt. He had to take bribes. He had to keep Oume in a good mood. In the meantime, he also had to oversee the Tokushima Railway. Even overseeing it kept him hectic. Accidents where workers got injured kept occurring...those pitiful households of the laborers in Tokushima Honmachi! If my father, the director, had shown a bit more restraint, such domestic tragedies would never have occurred. Should I care for people in my father's stead? No. How could I possibly take care of paupers when I couldn't even manage my own life? This fleeting moment! My body was simply burning. Even for this one moment—if I could just get drunk on something and escape this agony. I wanted to seize some woman and share a kiss so fierce it felt like dying.

Ah, this instant! This instant! A dream! Dream! Shadow! Shadow! Emptiness!

When my thoughts coalesced and I perceived the world as blindness and myself as voidness, a smile born of spiritual ecstasy rose within me. White lotuses bloomed in the marsh. But then... this too was just another trivial, loathsome fragment of life... In truth, a mystery-shrouded lie... And still, I yearned for Tsuruko. Did I long for her? Alright!—I’d seize reality and hide in love’s fleeting dream. A moment’s pleasure sufficed! If I were to vanish, vanish I would. If I were to perish, perish I would. When struck where struck, when struck to destruction, be destroyed. Ah, I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to kill myself again and again.

But Tsuruko, Tsuruko—will you conceal me within your mystery? At any rate, will you love me? You are dear. Beautiful, exquisite—and should you become mine, I would be saved. May both spirit and flesh deign to love Eiichi—you, you—I am but transiently deranged now, yet without your love, I shall descend into absolute madness. I am content, content—if madness be the price for your sake. Since this world already reels in lunacy, to go mad for you would elevate me to nobility among the insane. Love. At last I’ve been ensnared by love. And I sanction this captivity. Love demands insanity. So be it—I shall become madness incarnate to possess Tsuruko. Oh rapture… There lies Nirvana. Woman is divinity… Father’s Brutal Force! Approve of semi-bestial doctrine? I’ll vanquish him too. Yet that Father should strike me thus? I’ll speak no more. I shall speak no more. Bestow upon me love alone.

"But I'm tired…"

Again fatigue lured Eiichi into a dream of dreams. He slid his legs under the desk, lay on his back, and slept briefly. But startled awake by a creaking sound, he found Oume standing once more at the room's entrance. His heart pounded belatedly at being discovered, but resignedly he lowered his head and leaned against the desk.

"Good night—Father has retired, Eiichi," said Oume in a voice that set his teeth on edge. “Thank you,” Eiichi replied gently and resolved to come downstairs from the second floor.

"But no matter how I consider it—life appears earnest yet isn’t earnest." "Am I to sleep now?" "How pointless!" "Sleep?" "Are you kidding me?!" "Are they trying to thrust us who stay awake in madness into dark beds and steal away my consciousness and life for even a few hours?" "Enough!" Eiichi stood up and began descending the stairs.

“Eiichi, you haven’t closed the second-floor door yet, have you?” “Damn it!” Eiichi turned back into the room and began closing the door, but Tsuruko’s room in the northwest was still faintly lit. The shadow must be Tsuruko. “What could Tsuruko possibly be doing up so late?” he wondered, but at the sound of his door closing, Tsuruko too began sliding open her shoji to close it. In this instant, Eiichi was satisfied. Having finished closing it, he descended to the entrance. Eiichi took full pride in his madness. “I must maintain this madness unseen by others for a little while,” he thought, attempting to pull the futon from the entrance closet, but

"Anyway, I'm mad. Anyway, I'll be bullied by Father and Oume. While Father and Oume are asleep, at least let me stretch out my limbs. Tonight, I'll stay awake. Not just tonight—I'll stay awake until I die. Until I die? 'No, I won't die,' he thought, and with that resolve, collapsed right there. For a while, he went through Zen-like motions in the pitch-dark closet. 'An imitation of Zen?' This too is trivial. It only tires me out. Tomorrow's lecture won't be interesting. Anyway, I'll just go to sleep. And I'll try to dream some small, faint dreams. There's no need to move to another room anymore. 'I'll sleep here.'"

And so, spreading out the bedding next to Kichisaburō without even changing into his sleepwear, he crawled into bed just as he was. The bedding was still comfortable. "In that case, I should change into my sleepwear properly," he thought, and once again got up to change into his nightclothes. Eiichi thought.

"In my bed alone, there are no enemies.—Unpleasant sleep is my final salvation. ……Better to sleep than be with that woman……"

Thirteen

Ever since being scolded and beaten by Father, he had felt an even greater barrier growing between them. Not only that, but there was the unpleasantness of even his brother Masunoku—let alone Oume—looking down on him as if he were a fool. If he dismissed them as fools blindly following without knowing any circumstances, that would be one thing; but when he considered how his sphere of influence had narrowed so drastically even within his own family, he couldn't help feeling somewhat pessimistic. Yet Eiichi found this instead fueled his rebellious spirit—during both his increased hours of reading and meditation, he became convinced his dreams and mystical yearnings toward Tsuruko were intensifying.

For the past two or three days, he had mainly been meditating on mechanical and teleological views of the universe, but regarding this matter, Eiichi never opened any books. Books, he believed, held no authority whatsoever. Even if such authority actually existed—since he was researching these matters at the risk of life and death—he naturally had no time to consult books. Moreover, with pressures bearing down from both family and health concerns, Eiichi’s mental state defied easy comprehension. Though Eiichi was merely existing, he still moved. Of course, his movements followed no systematic pattern. Yet whenever free time allowed—whether visiting Tsuruko’s face, returning to see his sister in the countryside, or attending church on Sundays—these actions differed slightly from his other blind activities, possessing what might tentatively be called a thread of coherence.

There was no particular reason for his Sunday church attendance. To claim it was solely because Lady Tsuruko played the organ would be inaccurate. At times he would purge Tsuruko from his heart entirely. To explain—Eiichi contemplated whether within the pastor's sermons about Christ there might exist some element that could ignite within him that same fervent blood that flowed through Christ. Moreover, Eiichi possessed an odd quirk: he adored crowded spaces—stations, theaters, schools, churches—where he would scrutinize people's attire and facial features. Finally, since staying home proved dreary yet he had nowhere else to go, attending church served to pass the time.

However, Eiichi did not limit his encouragement of church attendance to himself alone. He also encouraged his brother Masunoku to attend church. That Christianity was highly beneficial for children and women was his firm belief. However, when he took Masunoku along, Oume voiced her displeasure. Father also got angry. Masunoku was also at a loss. This only drove an even deeper wedge between Father and me. To make matters worse, since Eiichi kept returning to his lawful wife in the countryside, both Father and Oume wore bitter expressions. The situation progressing in this manner was becoming increasingly troublesome. Eiichi had not sat at meals with his father lately.

Eiichi had just finished teaching at school and was about to enter the gate of his house. Beside the gate stood a pilgrimage cart, inside which sat a child—unpleasant-faced and likely not yet twelve—slumped in a posture suggesting he couldn't stand properly, watching Eiichi make his way in. As he was about to pass through the middle gate beside the entrance, he suddenly encountered a female beggar aged somewhere between forty-five and fifty-three. Bent forward at the waist with her head lowered, she emerged holding a bowl and oilpaper.

“I was thinking I would like some tea—Madam…”

Shinmi thought this woman was getting rather bold, but at any rate, she must want something. If she wanted it, he would give it to her— “Um… do you need tea? If you need tea, then please follow me.” “Are you the Young Master? Thank you ever so much. Thank you ever so much. I made a request to Madam earlier, but… she reprimanded me for coming through the middle gate, calling it outrageous—and then there’s your kindness, Young Master. Tears spill from my eyes.” She wore a used hand towel on her head, her face dark and pockmarked. From the middle gate to the kitchen’s back door, she walked on tiptoe with her waist bent, her thin lips moving restlessly. The mouth was made to move, but whether one should move it this much—her eloquence was so excessive it became repulsive. Mr. Eiichi was utterly exasperated—there really had been such a classical beggar after all.

Eiichi entered the kitchen and looked around to see if the water was boiling, but it was not. He went to the back and brought an iron kettle. The long brazier always had a fire going, with water kept boiling. When he came to the kitchen, the female beggar was prostrating before the threshold of the back entrance. The maid with bangs doing needlework was startled. He proceeded forward, “Come here. There we go.” “I’ll give you some hot water,” he said, standing on the step in front of the stove. “This is far too generous for someone like me.” “This is far too generous for someone like me,” she said, but no matter what, she wouldn’t come in.

“Well then,” said Eiichi, putting on his geta and walking over to where the beggar was. As he tilted the iron kettle, she tried to receive it by placing oilpaper over her bowl. “You’re doing something strange, aren’t you?” “This is far too generous for someone like me.” “To receive hot water in such a cumbersome bowl…” “This is far too generous for someone like me,” she said, absolutely refusing to receive the hot water directly into her bowl. Thinking she truly was a classical beggar, and with a feeling of being made a fool of, he poured the hot water onto the oilpaper and took the iron kettle back inside. The beggar left as well.

But thinking *That beggar probably wants money—the hot water was just a pretext*, he said “If you want money I’ll give it to you.” “I’ll give it until she says she doesn’t need it,” he resolved, then abruptly circled around from the back entrance and emerged at the middle gate. But he was shocked. She, atop a square bamboo-woven basket, This person wishes to return to their homeland but, lacking travel funds... We humbly beg for your benevolent donations.

she had placed a square board measuring approximately one shaku five sun on top and was prostrating herself beside the middle gate. “This is far too generous for someone like me. I was so grateful that tears spilled from my eyes.” “You need money?... If you do, I’ll give you this,” he said, taking out a one-yen bill from his pocket. “Young Master—or whatever you are—to think you’d give one yen to a traveling beggar like me! How terribly kind of you! How terribly kind! For you to even bring an iron kettle to give me hot water, and then offer one yen—this is far too generous for someone like me!”

With that, she abruptly stood up, finished packing her begging setup, and returned to her cart. That pleading voice, that doubtful voice, that surprised voice, that voice that seemed to express scorn—all of it made him think: *This woman truly was a classical beggar.* She had an unpleasant face. However, it was not his true intention to discard her simply because she had an unpleasant face.

“Then take this,” he said, chasing her to the gate and presenting a twenty-sen silver coin. “This is far too generous for someone like me. “I’m so grateful tears spill from my eyes... But even a beggar like me simply cannot accept a whole yen,” she said, stowing the bamboo basket into her cart. Gripping the wheel, she began pulling it away. Yet the child inside—wearing a spiteful, spiteful expression—clutched one of the corner pillars supporting the cart’s roof and shook it back and forth vigorously, likely demanding “Give it! Give it!”, setting off a huge commotion.

“You came here to beg—don’t you want it? If I’m offering it, then just take it!” he pressed insistently. The woman walked two or three ken before stopping the cart. She turned back and came, “This is far too generous for someone like me,” she said, prostrating herself before Eiichi and holding out her basket. Eiichi was astonished by this beggar’s bizarre behavior, “Then please take this, though it’s only a little,” he said with a faint smile as he placed the silver coin into her basket. And he immediately entered through the gate. In his heart, he cursed his own charity.

He entered his room with an indifferent expression and sat down at his desk. He thought about what to do, but there was no particular book he felt like reading. He took the small mirror beside him and gazed into it. The question was whether Tsuruko would fall for this face. However, he muttered to himself: "It’s a beautiful face." "If that woman were here," he tried saying, "I’d fall in love with her." He tried opening his mouth wide, then smiling, then making a glaring face—and as he stared into the mirror for a long time—the voices of Kichisaburō and a beggar mingled together outside the gate. *Are there still beggars here?* he wondered, straining his ears to listen.

The pilgrim must have been hesitant about the one-yen coin; as Eiichi entered through the gate, he was replaced by Kichisaburō—the apprentice clerk dispatched on Oume’s orders to check on the beggar’s whereabouts—who now faced her. “It is most presumptuous of me,” she pleaded with excessive deference that grated on the nerves even as it stirred pity.

“How should I know?” “You got your money—why ain’t you scramming already?” “The Young Master’s gone back inside, I tell you.” “Your offer of one yen was too generous for my kind, so I refused at first, but—” “The Young Master said he’d give one yen?” “To a beggar like that—how absurd.” *What’s gotten into our Young Master?* Kichisaburō wondered, astonished. And then,

“So you’re sayin’ they need somethin’ done, so now you’re askin’ for that one yen after all?” “Yer errand ain’t good enough.” “You’ve already gotten the money, ain’t ya?” “Though I humbly declined the one yen, when you offered twenty sen instead, I accepted it. But my child says: ‘We’re tryin’ to get home but got no money—that’s why we’re beggin’ house to house! Why not take that one yen? Whether ya get it from one house or a hundred, ain’t money just money in the end?’” “If they’re offerin’, wouldn’t I be in a fix if I don’t take it? That’s their argument.” “If it pleases ya, couldn’t ya have the Young Master come out here just once more?” she pleaded, pressing her forehead to the ground.

“But the Young Master has already gone inside,” said the apprentice clerk, placing his left hand on his hip with an air of indifference toward the beggar. He turned his head side to side, scanning east and west along the street, then briefly looked down at her with thoroughly nonchalant bearing. “It is most presumptuous of me, but if I might just meet him once more... To the Young Master who would even offer one yen to a pilgrim like me.” “Please, Clerk—I humbly beg you to convey my request once more to the Young Master.”

Kichisaburō was once again surveying the street east and west when, looking westward, he spotted a gentleman in a frock coat carrying a walking stick approaching. Having discerned the master’s return, Kichisaburō adopted even more forceful negotiation tactics. “You keep blatherin’ ’bout goin’ home, yet here you are loiterin’ round Tokushima for days—been nigh a month since we first noticed you! And ain’t you the one who got caught pilferin’ somethin’ by Terashima Ironworks t’other day and took a kickin’ from the workers?” “You’re too damn greedy, I say!” “Twenty sen oughta be plenty… You got that much—now scram! What’s with hankerin’ after a whole yen?” “Move along! Move along!”

Before he could finish speaking，the beggar threw herself into a full prostration，pressing her forehead to the ground．The Mayor drew ever closer．Kichisaburō wore a slightly perplexed expression，wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he bared his buckteeth in a grin．Oume，who had slightly opened the entrance’s shoji to look，now opened it further to reveal only her face．The Mayor，head of the household，finally arrived on the scene．Kichisaburō politely greeted him with，“Welcome back．”

“Kichisaburō.” “What’s all this?” “After the Young Master went and gave her twenty sen, she got all uppity and started pestering us for a whole yen... This wretch has a wicked streak, I tell you—just the other day she stole something by Terashima Ironworks and got herself beaten black and blue by the workers!” “Is she crying?”

“I don’t know if she’s cryin’ or what, but she’s probably thinkin’ that carryin’ on like this’ll make you give her money.” The maids came out from the kitchen too. From the neighboring laundry house—whose owner had been watching with just his neck poking through the middle gate—the master emerged. Mrs. Tsunoda across the street was peering through a crack in her shoji. The child in the cart kept screaming: “Mamaaa—Mama—Mama—” “You think this is some kinda inn? This ain’t no flophouse!” “Get movin’ already! Keep loiterin’ and I’ll call the cops!” barked the apprentice clerk, swelling with self-importance despite the Mayor standing right there. But the beggar didn’t budge an inch.

“Kichisaburō. Go fetch another two sen from the back and give it to her,” said the Mayor as he moved toward the entrance. Kichisaburō looked at the master of the neighboring laundry house. “Who in their right mind would give two sen to someone like that? Right? To someone like that,” he kept saying. The neighboring laundry master made a strange face.

“What on earth... “What’s happened?” “I mean, our Young Master’s such a kind soul, ain’t he? “So this wretch got all uppity—must’ve been when the Young Master showed her a whole yen. “Then she starts hollerin’ ‘Gimme that! Gimme that!’—what a greedy bitch, I tell ya! “And if you say they ain’t takin’ it? Well they are—twenty sen already!” “Whoa, twenty sen?!”

When the Mayor entered, the maid who had gone inside brought a two-sen copper coin. and while handing it to Kichisaburō, “Give her this and tell her to leave. If she still won’t go, call the police,” she said with particular emphasis on “the police.” The maid looked at the laundry master,

“Good day,” she greeted. “Oh, good day—what on earth has happened to this person?” “Well, I really don’t know what’s happened... Earlier, she came holding oilpaper and a bowl, opened the middle gate without a word, went around to the back, and prostrated herself at the rear entrance demanding tea—I was quite taken aback myself. Then, since the Mistress ordered us to make her leave, we went out and had her leave. Then again, the Young Master must be such a kind soul…” “Hmm.” The maid was about to continue speaking when, at the entrance, Oume’s voice called out, “Yoshiyo!” so without even greeting the laundry master, she silently went inside. Kichisaburō began speaking in place of the maid.

“This wretch was beaten by workers near that Terashima Ironworks just the other day.” “Apparently she stole something.” “What a cunning wretch she is!”

“Hmm, this beggar hasn’t been in Tokushima for long.” “Just the other day... though even that must’ve been fifteen, twenty days ago now... She was in Nishisenba though,” responded the laundry master. The female beggar—who knows what she was thinking—suddenly stood up as the laundry master was finishing his words, “You apprentice brat!” “You’ll pay for this!” “Hey! How dare you humiliate me in front of all these people!” “You’ll pay for this!” she snarled, standing up violently and approaching the car. When she approached, the child burst into tears and wailed.

Kichisaburō stood stunned into silence by the beggar's frontal assault, his face flushed crimson with shame as an awkward smile escaped his lips and he turned to look at the laundry master. The laundry master responded with a hollow chuckle. But then Kichisaburō seemed to suddenly remember something—he dashed to the side of the car, “Here’s two sen for ya!” he declared, tossing the coins inside before retreating back to the gate. Just as she thought the car might circle three or four more times, the beggar snatched up the two-sen coin from within, turned her head slightly away, and hurled it to the ground with a “I don’t want your cursed money!” At this unnerving gesture of rejection, Kichisaburō—

“Well, what’s with this beggar saying she’ll take it when we offer, then refusing?!” “Well, that’s just appalling.” “Hoho…” he laughed—a laugh as sharp as thorns on fingertips. “What a heartless wretch!” the laundry master also said. Eiichi had known roughly how things would unfold from the start, but feeling somehow contradictory, he discarded the mirror and sat blankly pondering. Then, the downstairs maid, “It was wrong of the Young Master to show even a single yen to that beggar,” he heard. Then he felt he had to explain himself somehow, yet at the same time found himself both grateful for and astonished by his own kindness. He also thought that half-hearted philanthropy was neither here nor there. But I also felt a purely instinctual urge to weep at how pitiable the beggar’s plight was. And if I were to abandon my father’s house and live a beggar’s life like a madman—placing myself in such an absurd fantasy that I might encounter a fate like hers—tears would fall unbidden.

Half-crying, he went out to the second floor of the entrance,

“Kichisaburō, has the beggar already left?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s just now turning the corner ahead.”

“Is she still at the corner ahead?” he asked as he hurriedly ran down from the second floor and emerged at the entrance. However, finding his geta missing from the entranceway, he rushed around to the back. His frantic movements must have signaled something amiss, for Oume appeared from the inner rooms and announced: “Brother, Father has decreed you mustn’t give even one yen to that pilgrim.”

He pretended not to hear and went out toward the gate. "Ah! How cruel! Capitalists are cruel! Even if Tolstoy denounces charity based on his own failures, I'll give away everything I own! If I give it all away, there'll be nothing left! With nothing left, I won't need to do charity anymore! The guilt lies with society! Even if she's a lying beggar—I don't care! I'll give her money!" he declared inwardly, heart churning as he chased after the pilgrim.

He caught up with her exactly on Fukushima Bridge, threw a one-yen note into the basket, then raced back home. But finding the laundry master and Kichisaburō still standing at his house's gate, he avoided returning home by turning off one block early and heading toward the town containing Tsuruko's residence. There he was overcome by tears of sorrow no ordinary person could measure. To Shinmi himself, those tears tasted sweet.

14

When he visited Tsuruko’s house, she was there. Tsuruko told Eiichi to go wait in the second-floor study, then finished a quick task in the kitchen herself and came up to the second floor. “Is your grandmother here today?”

“Both Grandfather and Grandmother are out.” “I was keeping watch alone.” “How kind of you to come.” “But our meetings like this won’t last much longer.” “I’ve had arrangements made to go to Hiroshima by June’s end,” she began in a tone blending melancholy with faint pride. “Is that so? At June’s end—why, that leaves barely a month.” “I suppose it does.”

As she said this, she set a zabuton cushion beside her desk, “Please have a seat.” “What brings you to Hiroshima?” “For the kindergarten...” “Is that so? For study?” “Ah, to the nursery teacher training institute.” “I see, that’s wonderful.” “Children are such dear things, aren’t they?” Tsuruko suddenly fixed him with an odd stare, scrutinizing Eiichi’s face intently— “Wait—you’ve been crying? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Shinmi—torn between joy at being perceived and anguish over it—could only reply, "Ah..." "What's wrong? What in the world is wrong? Won't you tell me?" "I suppose I could... but—" "Tell me, please." "Is it something you can't tell me?" She slid open the shoji screen before them, thinking she'd heard footsteps in the garden, and peered out. Finding no one there, she closed it again, her cool eyes gleaming as she pressed on— "Won't you tell me... If you love me, please tell me—" Tsuruko forced out with every ounce of courage. Eiichi dissolved like oil at the words "If you love me,"

“Miss Tsuruko. Do you love me?” he said, trying to take her hand as he drew closer.

“Miss Tsuruko.” “Shall I truly open up my heart?”

“Open up to me, please.”

“Shall I tell you?” “Tell me, please.” “Hoho… Will you really listen?” “Of course I’ll listen—how could I not?” Before she had even finished speaking, Tsuruko kissed Eiichi’s hand. Eiichi returned the kiss.

“Well then, “Miss Tsuruko.” “Let me tell you.” “Even so… it’s still embarrassing to say.” “How embarrassing,” Eiichi said, pulling his head back slightly. “You know… earlier, I… should I say it or not?” “Please go ahead and say it now.” “What’s wrong?” “You seem unusually listless today.” “What’s wrong?” “Earlier?” “Earlier, you know… I gave a yen to a beggar. “I’ve been crying thinking about that beggar.” “Yes. “You did a good thing, didn’t you?” said Tsuruko without particular surprise. But with those cool eyes, she gazed into Eiichi’s own and clasped his hand firmly. She extended one hand and asked for Eiichi’s left.

Eiichi, embarrassed by Tsuruko’s beautiful gaze, briefly turned his face away, but since she stared at him so intently, he too found himself gazing into her face. The longer he gazed, the more beautiful Tsuruko became. Her cheeks were smooth as silk with a rosy hue, and he wondered why she could be so beautiful. Their gazes met for a long time, and the two of them were intoxicated by the joy of their silence.

“But Tsuruko pressed on with vigor, ‘Is that all? There must be more. Please tell me everything,’ she urged, breaking the silence. ‘Tsuruko... I believe my stay at Father’s house will only be temporary.’ ‘Why?’ ‘But...’ ‘Why?’”

Eiichi was strangely hesitating like a woman, like a child, trying to elicit sympathy. Moreover, Tsuruko was striving to show sympathy in a womanly way.

“You must know about Oume—” “I do.” “What about Father’s situation?” “For me… Father… Isn’t it unbearable to see him consorting with that tainted woman and making Mother back home weep?” “Indeed.” “But what do you mean to do about it?” “That’s precisely what troubles me.” “Oh, do sit down.” “No, I prefer standing.” “Very well—let us stand then.”

“I want Father to dismiss that woman—what do you think?” “I rather think not—”

“Why?” “You know how Augustine came to repent and become a believer through his concubine’s encouragement?” “When Augustine sought to take a proper wife—a young bride—and consulted everyone about it, that same concubine he had kept for years declared she would never abandon him even if cast aside, eventually withdrawing to Arabia.” “They say that became the catalyst for Augustine’s transformation into a holy saint.” “That’s precisely what I’ve been pondering.” “When one has love in their heart, who can measure how much gentler it makes them?” “If we expel her merely for being a concubine, we risk provoking Father’s displeasure with unforeseeable consequences—” Tsuruko began speaking with sage-like composure. Eiichi felt unbearable joy hearing these words from the woman he yearned for. But,

“But…” he said. “As a Christian, I want to strictly uphold monogamy.” “But if it’s someone I love, no matter what kind of woman he sins with, I would never abandon him.” “I would forgive that sin and chase them even into hell to bring them back to Christ. Augustine said something like that too, didn’t he?” “Moreover, I believe—if two people truly loved each other, they would live not just one lifetime but two or three as husband and wife, and would yearn to do so unbearably.” “I believe even your Father doesn’t engage in such dalliances willingly and gladly…”

“Do you truly believe that?” “Could Platonic love ever be realized?” “Well—if the world moved like abacus beads, monogamy might exist both as ideal and reality—” Eiichi whispered hoarsely. “Therefore,” she said, brushing aside his casuistical doubts, “if your father now loves only Oume-sama, that should suffice.”

Eiichi was astonished by the sweeping boldness of her verdict. The beautiful Tsuruko somehow seemed to shine. Tsuruko's eyes had widened and shone brightly the moment she finished saying this. And so, "Lady Tsuruko, you truly possess a magnanimous heart," he found himself compelled to praise. Praised, Tsuruko looked down but then gazed at Shinmi's nose bridge once more as she

"But I fully understand your feelings." "So... you understand?" He was already tearing up. "Oh... Lady Tsuruko... I've grown to despise this world." "Why?" "Father may be like that, but I too have ended up becoming an enigma of a person." "You despise this world even with me here," he said, whereupon the adorable Tsuruko kissed Shinmi's cold, pale cheek. Unable to endure his love, Eiichi tightly embraced Tsuruko. And then in a small voice,

“Even if I fall into hell like this, I will not complain to God,” she whispered. “I too…” Tsuruko replied, her voice choked with sobs. Tsuruko whispered tearfully.

“You must be suffering, but I too am truly unhappy.” “You should think of me—there’s no telling how much happiness you might find.” “Really, though.” “I sympathize with Lady Tsuruko.” “I sympathize with Lady Tsuruko to the extent that I would gladly die for her sake.” “Ohoho.” “How delightful… Would you die for me?” “Then, shall both of us die like this?” “Then we can go straight to heaven.”

“Really?” they whispered, drunk on love and endlessly reshaping their world through each breath. “If being dead means I could never see Lady Tsuruko again... Then let pain come! Let sorrow come! I’d endure anything—anything—to keep breathing in this transient world.”

“I do too,” she said, staring fixedly into Eiichi’s beautiful eyes. Eiichi stared back as though he might pass through her pupils into the very core of her chest,

“Why are you so beautiful, Lady Tsuruko?” He repeated it, gradually sinking into the joy of silence.

But Tsuruko asked again. “Then what do you intend to do?” “What do you mean? I’ll start a revolution,” Eiichi said with a laugh.

“Revolution?” “What a dreadful thing to say.” “Ohoho.” “Well, whatever you please.” "But do not forget that love and silence shall claim final victory," she declared. Eiichi felt as though he were hearing a sermon. Yet he wordlessly kissed Tsuruko’s lips. Then quietly parting his own, “That may be so.” "But I detest mimicking blank-paper humans." “I wish to paint everything white.” “How true.” “Still, compelling others to accept one’s convictions through force is truth’s adversary—for unless we are gods, those who rule themselves shall rule others.” “I’ve been pondering such matters quite earnestly of late.” “Whenever I seek solace from our church members or my grandparents at home—hoping for their sympathy and comfort—I find only emptiness, until the anguish becomes unbearable.” “Is that not so? Even in resolving to go to Hiroshima this time, I must harbor countless anxieties.” “True, Mrs. Taylor worries over my tuition, yet other cares weigh upon me.” "That—whenever I yearn for others’ concern, disappointment alone awaits." "You’ve not visited once these seven days past, have you?" “During that interval, I absented myself from school for three days.”

“Why?” “Why? Because I was sick.”

“What sort of illness?” “It was just a slight headache, but—” “What happened?” “There was nothing physically wrong, but I grew so terribly anxious—so unbearably worried—that I finally took to bed… My relatives say I ought to go out into society now that I’m of age, and my uncle presses me to attend Higher Normal School, but I should prefer to try entering Kobe Women’s College or Tokyo Women’s College.” “It was truly tormenting.” “I kept thinking that if only you had come to my bedside, you might have told me some diverting stories…” “Why have you not visited since then?”

“Well, you see—I’ve been going out every night so much that they’re suspicious at home, and Father is furious too.” “Take that night when Mr. Tokiyuki stopped returning home and we talked late—I was even struck by Father then, you know? I thought going out at night was improper, so I’ve been restraining myself.” “Oh—that first evening you visited?” “How cruel!” “Did he strike you?” “Lord Eiichi?” “My dear one?” “Why?” “If only I had been struck instead.” “Was it because you were late that he reprimanded you?”

“Well…” “Then why didn’t you come stay at my house? Since my house only has elderly residents, they would’ve gladly offered you lodging. From now on when it gets late, do come stay at my house. The grandfather and grandmother at my house are kind people, you see. They’d be happy even if you came to stay every night. ...So Father struck you? If there’s to be striking next time, I shall surely be struck in your stead,” she said, sweeping back the hair at her temples and tilting her head leftward.

“Tsuruko-sama.” “Have you taken three days off?” “Three days?” “Oh, I was in bed for exactly three days.” "I was suffering from headaches, you see." “It was truly agonizing, you know.” “Then you should’ve come, you know.” “You were bedridden for three days?” “If you fall ill next time, I will definitely come to nurse you, you know.”

“Please do come.” “I’ll hold you to that promise.” “If you come and nurse me, I’ll recover right away… And your lungs—how are they?”

“My lungs? They’re probably fine now. But I mustn’t overexert myself.” “You speak of your own illness as if it were someone else’s affair.” “Even so, this illness alone is something I cannot comprehend in myself.” “You see, since you say you’ll come nurse me when I’m ill, if your lungs were to worsen this time, I’d rush back even from Hiroshima to care for you. Please send a telegram; I’ll return right away.”

“You’d surely come?” “How delightful.” “Tsuruko-sama’s nursing?” “Even were I dead like Lazarus, if Tsuruko-sama were to say ‘Arise,’ with that single word I would revive.”

“Resurrect? In that case, even if I were to die before you pass away, I would have to come back to life, wouldn’t I?” “That’s right.” “Then who will resurrect me?” “Why, I.” “Then you and I shall resurrect together, won’t we?” “And then we’ll never die again?” “Even if we die, will we resurrect once more?” “You speak such curious things.” “After that, we would likely go to heaven.” “Shall we go to heaven together?”

“Will you show me the way?” “I’ll gladly show you the way, ohoho…” “Is that ‘The Woman-Soul leadeth usupward and on!’?”

The two wandered from love to love, illusion to illusion, whiling away the time discussing even their plans for resurrection. Thus they failed to notice the day growing dark. At dusk, the grandmother returned and welcomed Eiichi with delight. Having been invited to share supper, they ate together and talked until about nine o'clock. When the time came to part, he gave Tsuruko a warm kiss and rushed back to his home.

Fifteen

The assembly hall plunged into chaos, rendering everyone utterly unable to comprehend what was happening. The chairman shouted repeatedly with a hoarse voice, "I must request silence!" Yet this proved futile. Beneath the chairman's podium, Enomoto Kōkichi of the Citizens Party and Masuda Takanori of the Saturday Club were exchanging vicious insults. Enomoto served as a key figure in the Citizens Party who operated a third-class postal office. At the center of the hall, Honda Tokihiko, Chief of the Civil Engineering Department, and "Katsuben" Kusumoto Harutsugu were wrestling with three members from the Terashima faction—Inoue, Yūki, and Mitsuya of the Neutral group. Kusumoto was a first-class council member elected from Tomita Yukaku red-light district and a notorious firebrand of the Citizens Party; he had earned his "Katsuben" nickname because his oratory precisely imitated the rhythmic delivery of silent film narrators.

Deputy Mayor Hatakeyama clashed with Kitada of the Saturday Club on the right side of the chairman’s seat. Today’s council session debated the Port Light Railway issue—recently contentious in newspapers—and the notorious Tomita River Dredging incident. The Citizens Party-affiliated Saturday Club had relentlessly attacked Mayor Shinmi’s underhanded methods in their party newspaper, resulting in a gallery packed to capacity. Eiichi had hidden in a corner of the gallery both to observe his father’s manipulation of council members and to escape rural monotony.

That today’s council session would descend into chaos had been evident from the very beginning. This stemmed from last year’s third-class by-election, when the Citizens Party broke their verbal agreement with the Terashima faction—having pledged to support a Terashima candidate for the vacancy left by their councilman Mr. Hosoda Tamotsu—only to campaign at the last moment in February of this year for Hanada Masanori, supervisor of the Tomita Yukaku red-light district, as their third-class candidate, splendidly securing victory through Seiyūkai-aligned influence. Since then, the Terashima faction had schemed to torment Mayor Shinmi of the Citizens Party at every turn, opposing everything—whether good or bad—at least once as a matter of course. In the assembly hall, they would immediately declare, “Since this is a Citizens Party proposal, we oppose it,” and vote against it without hesitation. The most extreme example of this was the current Port Light Railway issue. The Seiyūkai faction, true to their positive policy stance, were always pleased to initiate projects that allowed council members to profit and pleased constituents; however, they took no pleasure in the Port Light Railway issue. This was because the issue had initially been brought before the city council by lawyer associates—namely, the Terashima faction. The initial proposal stated that a port railway was necessary for the city’s prosperity. They had stated it would be advisable for Tokushima City to manage this as a municipal project while seeking government subsidies, but the Seiyūkai faction opposed it because—though the faction included influential figures like Shinmi and other city elites—they believed that agreeing to the Terashima faction’s proposal would result in most profits being taken by the proposers. However, upon further investigation, since many landlords were members of the Seiyūkai faction, they ultimately came to support it.

The central point of the city council debate was why the city authorities neglected dredging the Tomita River. The Terashima faction had been spreading allegations that this involved acts of bribery. Moreover, there were rumors that not only was the dredging vessel costing 140,000 yen already reduced to scrap moored at Shipwright Island after barely two or three years of use—a testament to the Mayor's incompetence—but that some underhanded dealings existed regarding orders for a new dredging vessel. Thus when the Tomita River dredging issue first appeared on the agenda, Masuda Takanori of the Saturday Club initiated questioning.

“Chairman, Number 23—I wish to question the Mayor himself regarding the dredging issue.” “Therefore, I earnestly request that the Mayor attend the assembly hall.”

In response, the chairman replied that the Mayor was currently in a separate room consulting with Diet members regarding the dredging issue and thus could not step out at the moment. “In that case, the Chief of Civil Engineering will suffice,” he said, and asked, “I request an explanation as to why the dredging ship that recently returned from repairs in Osaka has been sitting idle at Shipwright Island every day.” To this, the Chief of Civil Engineering responded: “We are not idling—we dredge five hundred to six hundred tons of sediment daily. However, with such outdated machinery, we cannot possibly dredge this vast riverbed. When it rains even once, approximately thirty thousand to fifty thousand tons of sand flow downstream and fill in the dredged areas, rendering our efforts useless. We have resigned ourselves to being unable to overcome these natural forces.”

he answered. The phrase about having resigned oneself sounded so pitiful that all the council members laughed. So Masuda asked why they had bothered with repairs if they had given up, but Honda, the Chief of Civil Engineering, as if laughing at the council members’ ignorance, “That was not something we requested. Both the City Board of Aldermen and the city authorities have entirely given up on Tokushima Port, and we have stated that dredging the Tomita River is utterly ineffective. However, you all decided by majority vote to force it upon us.” “It is unreasonable for you to try shifting that responsibility onto us at this late hour.”

At that moment, Masuda flared up with irritation, but— “I am not trying to shift responsibility.” “If you knew that, then why didn’t you warn the council sooner? That’s what I demand to know.” “I’ve never heard until today that Tokushima Port was beyond saving.”

Because Masuda was a transport businessman, he was particularly meddlesome regarding the dredging issue. “However, even if we offer explanations, you gentlemen never heed them." “These matters should simply be left to specialists—that would be wisest.” “Then, Chief of Civil Engineering—are you declaring this council useless?” shouted lawyer Inoue, remaining seated without awaiting the chairman’s permission. “What drivel are you spewing? Get up and settle this!” roared Yūki. “Produce the Mayor! Produce the Mayor!” Mitsuya demanded.

Deputy Mayor Hatakeyama rushed off to the mayor’s office. The attendant whispered something into the chairman’s ear. “They’re making fools of the city council,” Yūki muttered as if to himself.

“Make him apologize!” Inoue shouted from his seat.

Eiichi, sitting in the gallery, was utterly astonished as such voices erupted here and there across the assembly hall. The newspaper reporters were laughing mockingly among themselves. The chairman glared at them. However, the newspaper reporters paid no mind to it. Only thirty-eight people were present in the assembly hall, but it was as rowdy as if they had gone to some club.

Inoue stood up. And, “Chairman, we hereby submit a motion demanding that Mr. Honda apologize for his recent remarks insulting this city council.”

Voices of "Agreed! Agreed!" spilled from numerous mouths. Even members of the Seiyūkai faction were now shouting their agreement with bullying the section chief.

At that moment，Kusumoto Harutsugu—known as “The Theatrical Orator”—stood up，realizing now was precisely when he must rescue the Chief of Civil Engineering， “What apology are you even talking about? Don’t you get it?!” he shouted. “Shut up, Theatrical Orator!” “Get lost, you brothel owner!” Voices hurling abuse at Kusumoto spilled from the council members’ mouths.

Kusumoto heard the jeers and, "You lot don't understand a damn thing you're talking about!" he said to Inoue. "I have no business with you," Inoue retorted. "What do you mean 'you'?" Kusumoto left his seat and closed in on Inoue. Yūki bellowed in a loud voice,

“Chairman! Apologies! Demand apologies!” he shouted. At this, the Chief of Civil Engineering muttered, “How absurd—what’s all this nonsense?” Then Yūki’s face flushed crimson as he erupted: “Idiot? You’re the idiot—grabbing me like that!” Hearing this, Honda—who had maintained feigned silence until now—veins bulging in anger,

“Where’s your proof I grabbed you? Keep spouting such nonsense and I won’t stand for it!” “You did grab me—if you claim otherwise, go ask your fucking conscience!”

“Idiot!” Honda was crying. “What do you mean ‘idiot’? You’re the idiot!”

Deputy Mayor Hatakeyama entered. Kitada of the Saturday Club left his seat and ran over to Hatakeyama. “We need to get the Mayor out here fast—what’s taking so long, Shinmi?” “No—he’ll be here shortly. The discussion had apparently progressed quite a bit.”

“But we must have Honda apologize, Mr. Hatakeyama.”

“What need is there for any damn apology?” “That’s exactly why you all get labeled as bureaucratic formalists!” Inoue had his chest grabbed by Kusumoto and was now on the verge of starting a fight. Now Kusumoto flung Inoue. Miya and Yūki rushed over. The others stared blankly. The Seiyūkai faction members had shrunk back. Hanada Shinsei—the beardless, nearsighted man—had turned deathly pale and was trembling violently.

Masuda Takanori kept shouting for the chairman. The chairman kept shouting for the attendant. He apparently meant to summon the mayor.

Masuda approached the chairman’s seat. And from beneath the chairman’s seat,

“Chairman, please appoint Kusumoto to the disciplinary committee,” Masuda had already raised the issue of disciplinary action. At that moment, Enomoto Kōkichi—the third-class postmaster who fancied himself the chairman’s ally—

“No need for punishment! No need for punishment!” he shouted. However, from the Seiyūkai faction’s side,

“Inoue was the one who started it!” “Inoue! Apologize! Inoue! Apologize!” someone shouted. At that moment, the mayor entered. He took his reserved seat. His demeanor appeared thoroughly composed and dignified, radiating authority. Eiichi was thoroughly impressed by how his father treated the assembly hall as if it were nothing. When the mayor entered, the assembly seats fell absurdly silent once more. Both the disciplinary issue and demands for apologies were forgotten as everyone returned to their seats. Inoue remained leaning against his desk, hiding his face. Honda had returned to his reserved seat and was wiping away tears with a handkerchief.

Chairman Nishimura declared, "At this time, the Mayor will provide an explanation concerning the dredging matter." Mayor Shinmi delivered his statement with utmost brevity.

“I believe you all are already aware that the Tomita River has become entirely unusable. “Therefore, after consulting with both the Home Ministry and prefectural authorities this time—once research confirms its unviability—we have decided to connect via port railway to either Komatsushima or Furuokawa Port and abandon Tokushima Port. “Consequently, we cannot justify wasting over ¥100,000 annually on Tomita River dredging either. We will sell our current dredging vessels and continue manual dredging for barge traffic as we do now. “Having settled on this policy through consultations with Diet members across all factions, I trust you will understand our position.”

In response to this, not a single question arose from the assembly seats. This was because the earlier brawl between Inoue and Kusumoto had reactively compelled the assembly to demand tranquility. The Chairman declared, "With that, we will adjourn for today." Then the council members drifted toward the break room while chattering among themselves. Eiichi left the visitor's gallery feeling as though possessed by a fox. Carrying this momentum, he immediately called on Tsuruko to extol three things: the absurdity of parliamentary politics; how even a city council of fewer than forty members contained two brothel proprietors; and his father's commanding presence in that chamber.

The next morning, at the meal table, Eiichi briefly praised his father. This was the first time Eiichi had praised his father. In response, Father merely said, “Oh, so you were there too.”

Sixteen

Elementary schools are peculiar places. Eiichi had been put in charge of fifty-three third-year elementary students in Class B—a group with many slow-learning children. Whenever Eiichi wrote something on the blackboard, the students would immediately erupt into clamor. Ishikawa Tsuneji, said to be a cart-puller's son—an eleven-year-old boy—made the most noise. Whether from sheer wildness or complete inability to focus, he would sprawl across his desk like a flattened spider—the desk being far too low for him—taking out his inkstone, gnawing on a pencil, scrawling nonsense in his notebook, then suddenly snatching the slate from the student beside him. The neighboring child would cry. The whole class would descend into chaos, leaving Eiichi utterly overwhelmed.

In the class, those who performed well were children from middle-class or above households. The second son of Masuda Takanori—a lawyer and city council member—and the child of Kawai, also a lawyer and city council member, performed well. Of course, there were children from poor families who performed well and were quiet, like one named Tanimoto, but those with soiled clothes still tended to perform poorly. Therefore, Eiichi thought social reform was necessary here as well. He applied his own devised learning psychology and paid considerable attention to fostering concentration through interests, repetition, and appeals to both language centers and visual senses. Yet the classroom clamor did not subside. This stemmed from both the cramped space and the practice of cramming children with varying psychological capacities into a single classroom for instruction.

Eiichi called his classroom the “Pig Classroom.” It was not uncommon for Ishikawa Tsuneji to make eleven children cry during the ten-minute break. Therefore, Eiichi thought that as long as Ishikawa Tsuneji was in his classroom，he couldn’t conduct proper lessons．However，he lacked the courage to speak to either the head teacher or the principal．Because Eiichi’s classroom had become far too rowdy，a man named Sawamura—a normal school graduate in charge of the neighboring fourth-year classroom—came to peer inside．“If you don’t keep them quiet，it’s a problem，” he said．

At the weekly Monday faculty meetings, the head teacher and principal did nothing but repeat the word "discipline, discipline." When Eiichi realized they were referring to him, he couldn't raise his head. So when he peeked in to see how the head teacher was instructing, the fourth-year female students were quietly attending their lesson. He was impressed. However, Eiichi thought that if they were female students, that level of quiet could be maintained. The classroom was chaotic every day. As a result, the principal began attending the classes. However, even with the principal in attendance, Ishikawa Tsuneji did not remain silent. Therefore, Eiichi had resigned himself to regarding Ishikawa Tsuneji as a child with abnormal psychology. Sawamura and Head Teacher Hayashi would say things that felt like insults to Eiichi. However, Eiichi thought that Sawamura and Hayashi had no understanding of what abnormal psychology even was, so he refrained from resisting them.

Teaching life was not enjoyable. Creating detailed lesson plans in particular was an extremely troublesome affair. He didn't even have the courage to write such foolishness. Eiichi thought Japanese elementary schools were places that killed people.

The atmosphere in the teachers' room was particularly unpleasant. With differences in monthly salaries of one yen or fifty sen dividing them, the twenty-six teachers all occupied distinct hierarchical ranks; Eiichi stood fifth from the bottom. Those beneath Eiichi comprised four individuals: two young male teachers fresh from the quasi-teacher training institute—still green and ignorant—alongside one female teacher, and a nineteen-year-old youth, eldest son of Fukushima Elementary School's principal, who had graduated from middle school that April. Yet in terms of true academic ability, not a single teacher could rival Eiichi. He read English and German with ease—there existed no book in science, religion, social issues, literature, or art beyond his comprehension. Therefore, during class breaks, Eiichi would immerse himself in German philosophical texts.

Therefore, neither the head teacher nor Sawamura bullied him too much. Even when sharing the same staff room, female and male teachers rarely spoke to each other. Doing so seemed to be regarded by everyone as something akin to committing a sin. Yet last year's romantic affair between a male and female teacher at this elementary school had been entertainingly gossiped about among the staff. Though the pair had since married and reportedly become teachers deep in Mima District's mountains, their fellow educators spoke of them as if they were death row inmates.

Military-style drills and moral education alone were utterly unbearable. Eiichi was shocked by the rigid formalism of militaristic education.

Eiichi concluded that the elementary school was not an institution where he ought to remain long-term. Yet he pitied the students. The thought that a people capable of attaining global greatness were being ruthlessly slaughtered in their very sprouting phase proved unbearable to him.

Eiichi concluded that the purpose of Japanese education was to mold human beings into puppets. And he cursed Japanese education as he contemplated the pedagogical approaches of Rousseau’s *Émile* and *Sofuia*—approaches that must encompass even romantic education.

And when he contemplated Sofuia and Émile's education in romance, he would bless himself for the happiness of his own relationship with Tsuruko and go to meet her every evening.

Eiichi rejoiced in his romantic success yet began to feel an indescribable pain. However, convinced that a single minute spent conversing with his lover could redeem twenty-four hours of anguish, he persisted in visiting Tsuruko without respite. When he reflected that they would have to part again in just another month, a novelistic melancholy welled up within him, making their romance seem all the more intensely flavored.

However, at home, they grew increasingly suspicious of Eiichi’s newfound habit of going out at night. Kichisaburō still did not know the secret, and the mistress remained unaware that Eiichi was visiting Tsuruko. Thus, from instances like the maid Yoshi leaving nightly under the pretext of visiting her aunt’s house and Eiichi’s habitual over-kindness toward the maids, those in the mistress’s quarters began to speculate that there might be some secret lurking here.

However, on the evening of the final day of May, the maid "Nao"—whose real name was Ōyama Komatsu—was dismissed by Oume and made to return home. The reason given was that she was to become a nurse this time.

In the inner quarters, they were consumed from dawn till dusk by rumors about Eiichi and Komatsu’s relationship. Kichisaburō declared in a shrill voice that he had seen Komatsu weeping in Eiichi’s study once, thereby currying favor with Oume’s curiosity. Ōyama Komatsu departed when May ended. Oume then dispatched Kichisaburō to the labor broker, requesting they find her a reasonably comely housemaid. Yet matters dragged on without progress—two days passed, then three, until they endured a full week without any maid. Each day the replacement’s arrival was delayed became another day lengthening Eiichi’s vilification. Oume spread slanders both covert and overt—that Eiichi had dismissed the maid himself, that he’d sent her away hating the household and wishing it hardship.

However, it was the evening of June seventh. As Eiichi, lost in thought, was returning from his walk, he unexpectedly encountered Komatsu at the edge of Terajima. Komatsu was now a proper female student, with not a trace of her former maid-like appearance remaining, and with eyes that held no malice, she began to speak of having something to apologize to Eiichi for.

“An apology?” Eiichi asked. “The mistress has come to think there was some relationship between you and me—that’s why I was dismissed this time,” she whispered sorrowfully. And so Eiichi responded: “There actually is a relationship, wouldn’t you say?” “Since I was the one who advised you to become a nurse, it can’t exactly be claimed there’s no connection between us.” “...Wait—but who told you the mistress thinks such a thing?”

When asked this, Komatsu flushed red, “The other day, I happened to meet Kichisaburō on the street and heard about it. When I went to your house just now to express my gratitude, the mistress said, ‘I suppose you and Master Eiichi have been enjoying yourselves together lately,’ which shocked me—” “You’re being cowardly.” “Yes, I’ve been carousing like a madman every night.” “Hey, what’s the problem with that?” “And what about you?” “Well, if you say so.” “If that’s how it’s put, then Oume must’ve been left speechless, right?” Eiichi declared vehemently. Then Komatsu covered her face with the sarasa-patterned furoshiki she was holding in her hand,

“Ohoho, how can you utter such falsehoods?” she laughed. “But words are mere illusions,” he said. “Sometimes reversing them makes truth click into place.” “Even so… Ohoho.” “I’d be overjoyed if they claimed I had ties to you.” “Young master! You mustn’t jest like that! Ohoho.” “Would it hinder your marriage prospects? Then none would speak of connections. But I care nothing for others’ misconceptions—rest assured on that count. Pay no mind to what that Oume wretch says. Now tell me—have you gained admission yet?”

“Thanks to your kindness.” “There now, that worked out well, didn’t it? Study diligently. All women—as I’ve often told you—can become people like Frances Willard or Nightingale. Even if you can’t become one of them, you could still be a splendid mother to your children.” “I’m studying as hard as I can. For this entrance exam too, they only accepted applications from girls’ high school graduates. Out of all those applicants, they only admitted two people,” she said, glancing toward the street as if expecting someone to pass by.

“Is that so? That’s good to hear. Truth be told, even if you call them students from girls’ high schools these days, they hardly amount to anything worthwhile. What matters most are those who take their studies into their own hands and find fulfillment in them. Strange as it may sound coming from me—but what little I was ever truly taught in school amounts to almost nothing. Even if you’re at a nursing school now, it won’t mean a thing unless you study on your own initiative.”

And so, speaking to her in a manner both brotherly and friendly, Komatsu too was satisfied,

“Yes. Thank you very much.” “Though I’ve had little interaction with you as young master, I shall never forget all your many kindnesses.” “I will surely repay your kindness.” “All this talk of repaying favors or whatnot—it’s turned into quite the kabuki drama, hasn’t it?” “There’s no obligation or anything of the sort.” “Just look fifty years ahead, and things like maidservants will be nothing but old tales.” “Nowadays, you’d better become a nurse or something so people don’t laugh at you—otherwise, you’ll end up ashamed when you’re older, you know?”

Passersby cast strange glances at the two as they walked by, but Eiichi met their gazes head-on.

“Even so, had you not been here, I could never have even dreamed of becoming a nurse.” “There’s no need to bow so deeply.”

“Truly, you are such a kind person, young master.” “And why on earth doesn’t your father show you any affection?” “A good person? “You’re making a fool of me.” “I’ll take my leave now.” “I need to go home and study a bit now.” “Well then, until we meet again,” they said as they parted ways. When Komatsu had walked about a block after separating, she saw Kichisaburō approaching from the opposite direction with a cloth-wrapped bundle. Kichisaburō asked who she had been speaking to. When she replied, her face slightly flushed, that it had been the Young Master, Kichisaburō gave a bitter smile and walked past. After taking two or three steps,

“How strange! Who’s there?” he called over his shoulder as he hurried down the path.

The next morning, Eiichi came down from the second-floor study to the kitchen about fifteen minutes before eight o'clock, intending to have his meal later than his father and Oume as usual. Eiichi had a habit of reading for about three hours starting around five in the morning. When he came down from the second floor, Oume was making a strange face in front of the sink,

“Good morning. You’re later than usual today, aren’t you?” “No, it’s as usual.” “It should still be before eight o’clock.” “Is it eight already?” “As for someone like me, I’ve already properly finished my breakfast around six-thirty and then set about my household chores… The chores are so rushed it’s unbearable.” “I’ve already been doing nothing but household chores for two hours straight.”

Kichisaburō was also just then eating his meal in the wooden-floored room, but Oume turned toward Kichisaburō and— “Kichisaburō, mornings truly are hectic.” “It’s a problem when the Young Master sleeps in like this.” “It’s a problem when he reads books until such an ungodly hour.” “At the very least, I wish he’d finish by seven o’clock, hmm?” Her way of saying it was irritating. Kichisaburō just kept on laughing. “Even though there are two maids here, if only one is assigned to the Young Master, wouldn’t it be better to make the Young Master handle all his own chores and everything himself?” “It’s quite a problem when we’re made to wait until around eight for the chores on top of having no maids. I tell you.” “Look here, Kichisaburō!”

“Heh heh…” Kichisaburō kept laughing while staring at Eiichi’s face. “Master Eiichi, Komatsu-san came by yesterday,” said Oume. “She asked me to pass her regards to you, Young Master.” “Is that so?” “Thank you,” he replied curtly, refusing to engage her further. Oume had expected him to flare up at her provocation, but his dismissiveness only fueled her spite— “You must’ve had quite the interesting chat with Komatsu yesterday, Young Master. Right, Kichisaburō?” “Right, Kichisaburō?” Eiichi showed no surprise, assuming Kichisaburō had already told her everything.

“Since there are no maids, watching the Mistress and Kichisaburō struggle must be quite amusing and satisfying from the sidelines.” “Komatsu must have said, ‘It’s your punishment for being such a difficult mistress.’” “Master Eiichi.” “Did she really say that, I wonder?”

“How gratifying.” “Look how Father and Young Master are struggling—and even a worthless wretch like me.” “Master Eiichi, you must be enjoying cozy nightly chats with that darling Komatsu these days.” “She’s grown rather pretty lately, hasn’t she?” Letting her rant was letting her indulge in petty vengeance. Yet Eiichi showed no agitation. “Quite so.” “Komatsu has indeed become quite comely.”

“You must be delighted now that she’s become so pretty.” “I am delighted.” “Look, even a beautiful person would become soiled if they’re stuck doing water chores all day. When she was employed at the house, Komatsu wasn’t soiled either. Truly, water chores are poison. In just seven days, I’ve lost all the luster in my hands and face. Now, Kichisaburō. That’s right, isn’t it? Look at the texture of the mistress’s hands—they’ve become so rough. See?” Eiichi inwardly mocked Oume's petty disposition. However, thinking he had already let Oume say enough malicious words to satisfy her, he resolved to eat his fill of the unsavory meal as calmly as possible even while being scolded.

“Now, Kichisaburō. From now on while there are no maids here—when there’s someone who thinks it’s fine if only they get to read books—we shouldn’t have everyone cooking and eating their own meals separately…”

Eiichi still did not get angry. “Master Eiichi, today’s lunchbox can’t be prepared.” “Mr. Masunori’s still couldn’t be prepared…” Oume pressed on with increasing menace. But Eiichi wasn’t thinking anything of it.

“Ah, finally—the chores are done.” “I’m sick of doing these chores.” “Master Eiichi, I need to fix my hair now, so you’ll have to wash those trays and bowls yourself.” Having said “Ah, that kept me busy,” she left the sink area and moved toward the back room while wiping her hands on her apron.

Kichisaburō had finished his meal and was holding the lid of the tray. Oume laughed coldly and said, “Take care of it.”

Eiichi obediently carried the tray to the sink as instructed. Oume stood watching to see what Eiichi would do while washing the bowls and laughing. Oume was uneasy,

“What a ridiculous person!” she mocked in a low voice, but it did not reach Eiichi’s ears. Her laughter did not stop. “Well, really—what a ridiculous person,” Oume repeated again. This time, the jeering voice reached his ears faintly.

At that moment, having finished washing the bowls and was about to take them out of the bucket, Eiichi picked one up and hurled it at the paving stone as if commanding it to shatter into dust. The bowl shattered. Eiichi,

“Ah, it’s broken.” He let out a light, dreamlike laugh—“Ahahaha.” “I’m shocked! That was dangerous! Thank goodness none of the fragments flew into my eyes!” Oume exclaimed as she retreated into the back.

Eiichi hurried to school, but after wrapping up that day's lessons in an engaging manner, he hid somewhere. He did not return home for about three days. It wasn't that he had gone back to the countryside. Nor was he at Tsuruko's place. Of course, he hadn't gone to Komatsu's place either.

On the evening of the third day, he returned with a ghastly pale face devoid of vitality, emaciated and lifeless. When he returned, a single maid was working dutifully in the kitchen in Komatsu's stead. Tsuruko had advised Eiichi that he must never rebel against his father. Yet Eiichi considered Tsuruko's tolerance to lack the modern tint imbued with Luther's Protestantism. He had resolved that even if he were to go mad, it would be acceptable if it prompted his father's self-reflection. I never consider admonishment futile. Eiichi enumerated each matter requiring his father's reflection: "First is the very value of money itself. Second is the get-rich-quick dream of stocks. Third is the inherent worth of the Mayor himself. Fourth is womanizing. Fifth is establishing clear positions for Oume, the legal wife, and us children," he agonized. And he believed his father would inevitably come to share his state of mind. He did not consider himself defeated. Yet he also concluded ordinary methods would prove insufficient to convince his father regarding these points.

With a tolerance as vast as the sea, he even felt inclined to laugh and forgive his father’s womanizing and concubinage. Yet when he thought of the many saints like Christ—those burning with fervor and shedding blood—he felt compelled to resist, whispering “No, no” in opposition. Living under the same roof made abruptly seizing his father for admonishment feel strangely improper, so he kept delaying until thirty days had passed. To admonish was no simple endeavor.

On the evening he returned after three days of fasting—from who knows where—he found Father and Oume smoking tobacco with a long brazier between them, and judging the moment opportune, appeared before the two.

“I have returned. I apologize for causing you concern,” Eiichi said calmly, placing his hands on the floor in formal apology.

Father remained silent and feigned ignorance. Oume wore a look of shock,

“Welcome back. You can’t imagine how worried we’ve been,” Oume said, her voice dripping with feigned concern. “Master Eiichi... Where have you been?” “There was a matter I needed to contemplate—” Father shot Eiichi a haughty glance from beneath lowered brows. “Eiichi,” he declared in frosty measured tones, “no unfilial wretch surpasses you... Reflect deeply on this.” The room froze into tableau. Eiichi lifted his face, adopting an imperious demeanor that brooked no challenge. Father leaned heavily on the brazier’s edge, affecti nonchalance. Oume mirrored his pretense. Yet beneath their masks, both trembled at what recklessness this wayward son might unleash.

But Eiichi would not open his mouth. He kept his father bathed in a gaze brimming with regal arrogance. Father naturally began trembling with fear, so

“Eiichi, have you gone mad? What’s gotten into you? What do you mean by directing such insolence at me?” he rebuked.

Oume, too, “Eiichi-sama’s gaze. “Your unpleasant gaze.” “Don’t—don’t glare at me like that,” she forced out with a strained smile, unable to refrain from restraining Eiichi.

Eiichi suddenly wore a gentle smile on his pale, emaciated cheeks, his eyelids moving as though filled with joy,

“Father,” he said in a low, almost feminine voice, sweet and tender. And then he called out “Father” once more, but this time his voice was clouded. And when he called out “Father” once more, his voice was tearful. However, Father did not respond even once to all three calls.

Eiichi wept bitterly, tears streaming down his face as he— “Father, this is my lifelong entreaty—please listen to what I have to say,” but before he could finish speaking, his voice choked, making the final words unclear.

Oume, still anxious about the harsh words she had spoken four days prior, grew irritated at Eiichi’s delay in speaking out. After a moment, Eiichi still lacked the courage to raise his face. “Father, is Eiichi truly your own child?” “I do not know why—but I cannot love you from the bottom of my heart.” “Yet thinking I might come to love you truly and deeply from my heart’s core, I do nothing but weep day after day.” “These three days I spent contemplating at Mount Ohama—how I might come to truly love you, Father.” “If there exists in this world something like slender threads connecting human hearts, I have prayed their mysterious power might convey my thoughts to your heart, Father…” he said, bowing his head and weeping into silence. But in his heart,

“Admonish him? Such a hackneyed act! In Shigemori’s era this still held worth, but in the twentieth century not one man admonishes his father—leave home and live with some woman, that suffices. You won’t find a single protagonist in recent novels performing such stale theatrics as lecturing their father...” A derisive voice welled up.

Drowning that out, Eiichi once again—

“Father…” he called out, then continued, “I—Father. There are four or five matters I must humbly bring to your attention. Excuse me for asking, but do you yourself believe that your recent way of life is being conducted in accordance with the path of humanity? I cannot help but believe that your recent way of life is not being conducted along the straight path of humanity. I tried to say this—tried to bring it up—but I was terrified of being scolded by you, Father, and so I grew cowardly and could not speak of it…”

Father bowed his head while Oume feigned ignorance and smoked her tobacco.

Eiichi continued his words once more, “Every time I return to the countryside, I cannot help but think that you are being cruel to Mother there.” “Cruel?! What nonsense are you spouting?!” Father shouted.

“That’s right—you are cruel.” “You are utterly cruel.” “The one who buries a living, dear woman alive in a grave—that is you, Father,” Eiichi declared. Yet he was crying. But,

"Everything belongs to the past," he thought bitterly. He had been trying to rekindle warmth between Father and his long-separated legal wife—a relationship that had always been coldly formal. Father was already fifty-six! Thirty years had passed since their separation. If only those lost decades could be reclaimed—perhaps then their affection might bloom anew... No—no affection or passion had ever existed between them from the start... "...But can I truly remain silent about this?" His mind churned with unspoken accusations.

“What am I saying—a concubine’s child like me?” Eiichi mocked himself inwardly. Today’s Father differed from his usual self—speaking volubly. “Silence!” “Eiichi.” “Should you continue spouting such insolence, I shall not tolerate it!” “Has Oku not been allotted her proper share of provisions?”

Oume abruptly stood up and went out to the toilet. Eiichi found her large traditional chignon hideous. After watching Oume's retreating figure, he steadied himself, "Even if you scold me, Father, I must say what needs saying." "Please endure a moment longer and hear me." "If you would only listen, I could die content." "Father." "Mother in Matsume says you've suffered heavy stock losses lately." "This is my life's entreaty." "I implore you to cease speculation." "They say even the Matsume estate is mortgaged... Father, how will you answer to the Shinmi ancestors?" Eiichi suddenly felt like a Confucian admonisher. "What I do is my own affair!" "This doesn't concern you!" "What impudence are you spewing, whelp?" "Then what will you do with yourself?" "Do as you damn please!" "I'm old and useless now—do as you damn please!" Father barked.

“Do you think it’s acceptable to gamble with your own money just because it’s yours?” Eiichi said to his father, though he knew it was impertinent, mustering his courage to speak. “Hmph! What do you impudent students know? How dare you—raised by your parent until today—speak such impudent words to them—!” Father’s forehead pulsed with bulging veins.

Father was leaning over the brazier, lost in various thoughts——.

Such chaos in the household was all due to fate. At sixteen, he’d had no choice but to be adopted—had he not been taken into the Shinmi family as a son-in-law, he would have ended his days as nothing more than the second son of a sake merchant in Ōtsu Village. Without the Shinmi name, he could never have pursued scholarship or funded election campaigns. Yet taking Okame as his concubine had stemmed from irrepressible passion. Bringing Oume into the household too had obeyed some irresistible instinctual command. When he’d first brought Okame home, Oku had opposed it. But when he took in Oume, Okame’s child had protested—yet all of this was fate. Had he reined in his instincts, this tragedy might never have unfolded. But if he hadn’t been adopted by a thirteen-year-old girl like Oku in the first place… When he told himself it was all fate—fate—he felt no responsibility whatsoever.

Eiichi continued.

“In that case, Father, would you be so kind as to show me this ‘money of your own’ you speak of?” “Father, you’ve systematically used up every last bit of the Shinmi family’s assets—where could there possibly be any money of your own?!”

He couldn’t bear being pressed this fiercely. “Say whatever you want to say.” “But rest assured—I didn’t steal the Shinmi family’s assets.” “So it’s acceptable as long as you don’t steal?” Eiichi retorted. “Spout whatever nonsense you want!” “If I’m a thief, then a thief I’ll be!” “If I’m a gambler, then a gambler I’ll be!” “No matter how impressively you posture yourself, such a grand house could never be built by these hands.” “Thief or robber—what does it matter? You’d do well to keep living in this grand house yourself!” “There have been magnificent thieves in this world.” “A thief sitting in the mayor’s chair.” “A carefree thief playing at fairness.” “A thief who grasps administrative power too—”

Eiichi was silenced. However, after a moment, he mustered his courage once more,

“Father, in that case, what will you do for us?” “What about my sister—Emi and Yoshitaka…?”

“No matter what becomes of it, that’s entirely up to my own judgment.” “I won't have you interfering.” “Whether I let them live or kill them is entirely my own affair.” “You’re mistaken if you think being the eldest son gives you any right to speak.” “I intend to transfer the inheritance rights to Masunori soon enough… on my end.” “A clever person like you could never manage inheriting a thief’s house.” “Right? No, I suppose not.” “I won’t let you inherit it again, I tell you.” “Right? You’d do well to feel relieved.” “No, I have no desire to receive even a single coin from others.” “As for inheritance rights—if Masunori wishes to take them, I’ll gladly yield them, of course——” Having said this, Eiichi found his tears dried up, any standard of goodness vanished, feeling as though a machine made of iron was operating within his chest.

But he hadn’t yet voiced all that he was thinking in his heart,

“Father.” “Are you... truly my father?” he uttered in bewilderment. He could voice nothing beyond this.

Father, seeing Eiichi make such a mad-like face and pose this bizarre question, “I am not your father,” he declared.

Eiichi’s mind was becoming unhinged, yet he made no attempt to restrain himself, With a laugh that seemed on the verge of tears—"Huffa, huffa..."—he let his eyes fill with tears and tried calling out once more: "Father." And as he stood up, "Why does Father not show me affection? Why does Father not show Eiichi affection? Why did Father take in Oume so soon after Mother died?" he began muttering to himself as he leaned against a pillar.

Eiichi noticed he was pretending to be insane through his own doing. He remembered how his sister would occasionally feign madness to torment the main wife back home. Yet when people spoke of his sister having gone mad, if they meant moments like these, he found himself sympathizing. He imagined insanity meant sustaining a feverish state of mind longer than ordinary people did. And somehow this fevered state felt strangely refreshing—so intriguing he wanted to let it run unchecked.

“Father. "I do love you, Father." “But I detest how you dabble in stocks and speculation—squandering yourself on carousing with women,” he said in a gentle voice adopting Tsuruko’s feminine mannerisms—as though she had suddenly possessed him. Why am I disliked by Father? Was entering Meiji Gakuin my mistake? Ah—but who'd be fool enough to become a bureaucrat or lawyer in this misguided world? Was returning home wrong? Do you condemn me without hearing reasons? But... That’s how it stands now. I won’t speak further. “I’ll study independently—” he proclaimed loudly. Eiichi believed these words might make his father understand.

Father, having sensed something from the outset, was weeping with his head pressed tightly against an iron teakettle. Yet he found Eiichi’s demeanor terrifying, as though it harbored some supernatural power.

Oume had gone out to the veranda and was eavesdropping, but when the two fell silent, she came inside. At once,

“Master Eiichi seems to have gone mad,” she said, sitting before the long brazier with a tobacco box on her knees as she picked up her long pipe. She began smoking again with an unperturbed air. Eiichi, seeing Oume’s vulgar demeanor,

He scoffed through his nose and left the house. He was going to see Tsuruko.

Oume saw that the master was crying and laughed loudly. “Master, why are you crying?” “Ridiculous.” “What’s Master Eiichi saying that’s such a big deal?” “I don’t give a damn about such trifles.” “Master, ain’t I always been tellin’ you?” “You oughta hurry and get Master Eiichi a pretty lady to look after him.” “If you keep a pretty lady by his side, he won’t say a word to you.” “Master, you won’t do as I say, so you’re only making trouble for yourself—” she went on, alternating between lecturing and consoling with evident satisfaction.

Father Kiichi sat silently reminiscing about the past. From time to time he glanced toward the veranda near the lavatory, as if expecting the ghost of Eiichi's mother to appear. Eiichi's face kept flickering before his eyes like that of a turtle.

Seventeen

After leaving the house, he visited Tsuruko for the first time in a while. Tsuruko was shocked at how gaunt Eiichi’s face had become. She asked about the cause, but Eiichi did not answer. Had he been given a passionate kiss from the start, Eiichi might have answered; but he remained silent, feeling as though he were merely putting on airs of proper etiquette. In that moment, Tsuruko was not a woman capable of giving him fundamental sympathy. Tsuruko likely knew nothing of modern men; thinking her merely a country bumpkin, he remained silent.

Eiichi felt that even the concept of a lover was meaningless. He doubted what sweetness love could hold in such a contradictory world. Yet love, when doubted, becomes all the sweeter. Melancholy love! There is nothing in the world as strange as this. Because Eiichi remained so silent, Tsuruko grew agitated. And she took his hand. However, Eiichi made no attempt to stir up any passion for love. He felt as though he had come today to ridicule love—and a sorrowful passion blazed up within him. Having his hand held, he recalled the forest of Mount Ōasa... those three days spent in the woods said to be inhabited by tengu. The memory surfaced—those three days of fasting and meditation in a small shrine deep within a cedar forest where trees measured three arm spans around… Late into the night, when wind lashed at the cedar branches and the pale tenth-night moon peered into the shrine where he sat, that instant he snapped his eyes open and gazed up at the moon, filled with a desolate rapture. He recalled how at that time he had thought he wanted no part in performing this play called love—this drama into which the "self" had crept—within the world. “However,” he considered—and when he thought how even within humanity’s muddied voices, even within Tsuruko’s high-pitched conversation, there permeated the mystery of wind passing through those tall pine branches—he wanted to tilt his head and look up at Tsuruko. When he looked up at Tsuruko’s face, what was the purpose of that radiance between her brows? And yet, holding her felt somehow akin to being in love with a child. "When I calmed the storm raging through Mount Ōasa’s forest with but a single word, when I raised my hand to extinguish the blue-glowing moon’s light—in that moment, would that not be when I could finally relax into love?" "When I pluck nothingness from this world of sky upon sky, would that not be true joy?’ he wondered—and feeling how absurd it all was, he found himself unable to remain by Tsuruko’s side.

Eiichi embraced Tsuruko and closed his eyes. He thought that if Tsuruko were to vanish instantly and then appear within his illusion, this would be true love. Yet Tsuruko did not appear in the illusion. Only the scent of the perfume she wore lingered.

Eiichi moved from thought to thought, doubting whether all the blood coursing through his veins was but an illusion. And again he resolved in his heart to transform reality into a dream within his brain, to change the objective world into his illusion with wind and be done with it. Objectivity was no longer reality—for him, reality was illusion and illusion was reality. Objectivity was no longer real. The entire world had gone mad and come to an end. Eiichi brought his lips closer to Tsuruko,

“Lady Tsuruko.” “The warp of the world has gone slightly askew.” “The North Star has tilted too far by twenty-three and a half degrees...” he said in a low, pitiful voice. Tsuruko did not fully understand the meaning, so she remained silent. However, Tsuruko had discerned in Eiichi a noble and exceptional virtue—surpassing that of ordinary Christians—in the gentle, kind love and sympathy he showed both others and herself; she thought he must be suffering again for someone else’s sake. Tsuruko kissed him. Then, in a low voice tinged with sorrow,

“What’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her eyes. “Lady Tsuruko, when are you leaving for Hiroshima?” “Me?” Tsuruko tilted her head to the side. “I... I don’t want to go to Hiroshima—” “What’s wrong?” “Why do you look so sad these days, husband?” “I feel so uneasy about abandoning you and going to Hiroshima…” “If you would stay by my side—then stay!” “I too hate parting with Lady Tsuruko.” “Even if Lady Tsuruko says she’ll go to Hiroshima, I won’t allow it!” “Lady Tsuruko—even if you say you’ll go, I won’t permit it!”

“Ah, I won’t go either.” “Shall we stay like this until we die?” “Oh—and thank you for cleaning the garden the other day.” “It was nothing.” “Before that too—having someone draw my bathwater and run errands for me...” “I’m truly sorry to you.”

“Why? I would even give my life for you.”

“Even so, I don’t want to use my beloved.” “Now, you are my beloved.” “The bond between you and I cannot be severed even by God…”

“By the way, Lady Tsuruko,” she said. “I intend to leave Father’s house soon—” he said, but Tsuruko looked startled,

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, you see— “Please don’t be angry. “Because everyone will end up talking about it anyway. “I’ve just had another fight with Father—” “A fight? “But I told you not to quarrel,” Tsuruko’s expression darkened slightly. “Lady Tsuruko. “You needn’t look downward like that. “Please hear me out until I explain my reasons. “My relationship with Father is exactly as I’ve always described it. “You see, Lady Tsuruko... it’s bound to rupture soon.” “What’s wrong? “What do you mean by ‘rupture’?”

“I’ve already had my inheritance rights taken away.”

“By whom?”

“Father is giving it to Masunori, they say.” “How cruel Father is being!” “You see, Lady Tsuruko—when I’m in Tokyo, my tuition isn’t sufficiently provided, and when I return home, I’m treated like a stepchild. Isn’t that how it is?” “Truly, you know, I sympathize with you.” “I don’t particularly mind being declared a quasi-adjudged incompetent, but...” “Just as Father does to me—the way society treats me is unbearably sad.” “Fa...ther dislikes you that much—then you can’t stay at home?”

“If I remain like this, I can only think there’s no choice but to be killed by Father.”

“You’ll be killed? What would happen if you were killed?—And what would you do then?” “I’ve been thinking I should go somewhere soon myself.”

“Where to?” “Well. Shall I go wherever you’re headed?” “To Hiroshima? And then what? What would you do there?” “Anything would do. As a shop boy, a merchant’s apprentice, or a farmer…” “A farmer? I detest farming!” “Oh? The young lady detests farming? Hmm—you detest farming? I thought you were different from ordinary schoolgirls, but you’re just like them after all… How could farmers be sacred? There’s profound truth in Tolstoy’s philosophy of simple living, you know.”

“No, I was just trying it out, you know.” “You needn’t attack me so head-on like that.” “Amos was originally a farmer too, you know.”

Though she tried to smooth things over, Eiichi nevertheless sought to justify his position, “Truly, I yearn so desperately for peasant life—but since I believe a life of mere carefree peasantry isn’t all there is to existence, that’s why I’m teaching at an elementary school now.” “Truly, there can be no more sacred life than that of a peasant, can there?” This time Tsuruko too voiced agreement with peasant ideology, but when Grandmother’s voice called up from below, they had to go down.

Eiichi opened the window and pondered various matters. The moon, nearing its fifteenth day, illuminated the garden, and the persimmon leaves, mandarin orange leaves, and peach leaves glistened. The neighborhood was utterly quiet, and no light could be seen from any house. The moon moved swiftly. There was the sound of the front door opening; Tsuruko seemed to have gone out on an errand somewhere. Eiichi sank into solitary contemplation...

When he compared the motives that had led him to abandon Meiji Gakuin with his current meaningless existence, he felt utterly disheartened. And he keenly felt the decay of his existence. But on the other hand, if he were to set his resolve this time and study chemistry or physics to make some great invention, then perhaps neither life nor school would seem so meaningless. Abandoning such fanciful notions as social reform and religion, a voice arose within his heart urging him to enter an engineering university and make some great invention.

......The moon emerged from the clouds. Every corner of the garden became clearly visible. He dismissed this positivism with a kind of derision. For humans to work like machines inventing machines was meaningless. Humans ought to play. Science and religion and morality and life itself—they were all grand playthings! Art manufactured vast garments to play with; morality fashioned small dolls; religion crafted great humans—and these too were forms of play. Life was a sort of farce. To play was human; to play ineptly was bestial.

Modern people have lost the proper way to play. Someone must teach humanity how to play. He argued that even his attempts to correct his father were misguided playacting—this justification defending the philosophical inquiries he'd pursued until now as mere intellectual games. Tsuruko returned sooner than anticipated. Though she ascended to the second floor, Eiichi maintained his pretense of oblivious contemplation. "You really mustn't dwell on these thoughts any longer." "But this is becoming problematic." "Still," Tsuruko added hastily, "God understands every path by which people might attain goodness..."

“Just leave everything to God,” Eiichi said—yet still remained silent. Tsuruko wondered if he was angry because she had earlier said she hated farming, “Just a moment—please forgive me.” “Was it wrong that I opposed you?” “If you’re angry because of that, please forgive me.” “I truly am sorry,” she apologized. Eiichi was not particularly angry, but for about ten minutes, he did not utter a single word. Tsuruko too pretended not to notice and leaned against the window railing, remaining silent. Yet it also seemed she was crying. Without acknowledging Tsuruko’s tears, Eiichi wept silently within himself. But after a while, he suggested they read some of Shelley’s poetry together. They read Shelley until around one o’clock, when Tsuruko said, “That was interesting.” That night, Eiichi found himself compelled to stay at Tsuruko’s house. As Tsuruko laid out his bedding in her room, she spoke—beginning with Shelley—about socialist party activities in Tokyo. “How delightful,” she kept repeating.

Tsuruko leaned against the desk, read a chapter of the Bible, then went downstairs and slept. Eiichi got into bed but could not sleep, seeing nothing but dreams.

Eighteen

From that night onward, Eiichi's mind began to unravel as he felt violent tremors ceaselessly arising in his chest. This violent tremor feared nothing, yet when he turned his gaze inward, he occasionally discovered startling things about himself. And when this tremor manifested strongly in the external world, he began to feel unable to distinguish whether he was dreaming reality or realizing dreams.

On the evening after staying at Tsuruko’s house, Eiichi was ordered to water the front garden, but he suddenly felt an urge to destroy the buckets and ladles, so he smashed them to pieces. Feeling pity for both himself and his circumstances, he tried weeping. After crying, he wanted to hide in Shiroyama Forest and, without eating dinner, wept beneath the shadow of a large camphor tree until around midnight. Around midnight, he woke Tsuruko and had her let him stay again.

Kichisaburō and Oume began making a commotion, declaring that Eiichi had gone completely mad. However, the next day, Eiichi wondered whether a knife could truly carve even such a beautiful pillar—if it could carve at all, he thought he would try carving it once. This pillar was a symbol of Father's extravagance—it would be fine to carve into it, he decided, and proceeded to gouge two or three spots on the main hinoki pillar of the formal alcove. When he carved into it, the pillar's appearance grew markedly worse, so he felt compelled to laugh and tried laughing aloud. That laughter felt pleasant. He thought he might live about seventy-five days longer.

Again, it was the next morning. Kichisaburō was a detestable yet pitiable fellow; because he felt like striking him once, then stroking his head and showing him affection, he suddenly landed a fist on his head. However, because he detested Kichisaburō’s impertinent retort of “Young Master, what do you think you’re doing?”, he yanked him down right there, climbed on top of him like a horse, and pulled his ears as hard as possible. Then, perhaps because even Kichisaburō could feel it, he began to cry. So he tried laughing—"Hmm, ahaha..."

When he went to teach at the elementary school, he felt unbearably happy because all the students listened to what he said. So when he found a clever, beautiful girl, he would hug her and weep inwardly. The female students too delighted in being embraced by Mr. Shinmi. Every time Eiichi saw Tsuruko, he wanted to weep immediately. This was because Tsuruko’s soul never fully settled in his palm—even when it entered, it slipped through his fingers like some spectral thing, or so he thought. Yet precisely because he yearned for her, and because no rivals or parents sought to interfere with their bond, meeting day after day to cry and converse until late at night became exquisitely unbearable.

I don’t particularly think I’d gone mad, but in any case, while being aware that I was doing strange things, four or five days had quickly passed with me engaging in all sorts of mischief.

The other day, sometimes I would take out a knife from my pocket and delight in it, or playfully scrawled large characters like "Transcendence," "Greatness," and "Incarnation" on the new white storehouse wall, thus hurriedly passing the time.

Tsuruko was scheduled to depart for Hiroshima on the 10 p.m. steamship of June 26th. The 26th had arrived. Though it was Saturday, he received a letter from his legal wife in the countryside urging him to return home for urgent matters—this letter had already been opened. Yet he felt no anger; even if Oume and Kichisaburō were to spin whatever malicious speculations or schemes they pleased, he paid them no mind—his spirits soaring, he skipped school and set off for home.

When he left town, the Yoshino River plain spread out expansively before him. The rice fields now stretched across the expanse, making the world appear vibrant. The earnest birch color manifested on scattered thatched roofs, filling the scene with an air of tranquil prosperity. Eiichi found it both amusing and pitiable that he had destroyed buckets and ladles with his own hands. Why hadn't I come out immediately to that sunlit plain spread wide before me? I should have done so without resorting to such childish antics of madness. However, if one were to live in the human world, one must occasionally summon the courage to break a bowl or two. No—that wasn't the problem. I needed to let it out. It wasn't necessary. That had been predetermined. I don't carve alcove pillars out of any desire or pleasure. I merely carved it because I somehow felt compelled to do so. ...I was now recalling that moment and defending how unavoidable the circumstances had been. After traveling one ri, then another, drawing considerably closer to my home, I came to Ushiyajima Ferry Crossing when—

“Ah, it was better to embrace a lover than nature. No, perhaps not. It was better to be with a lover in nature. Walking alone like that made the loneliness unbearable. Of course, there was nothing to get agitated about when I was alone. No—if I were to live in a desolate wilderness with my lover, just the two of us—how delightful that would be! In the wilderness, there would be no one to reproach us. There would be no one to speak ill like Oume or Kichisaburō, and that’s how it was. If only Tsuruko and I had gone out together. No, no—Tsuruko could not return to Umazume Village because it would be shameful. Ah, I missed Tsuruko. I longed for Tsuruko; I simply couldn’t go a single day without seeing her. Today, I simply had to go back. Since she was departing the day after tomorrow, I should try to see her face for even an hour longer. “I’d go back and immediately…” I walked on, thinking such things.

When he saw the ruins of his lover’s family estate, he stopped for a moment, murmured “Miss Tsuruko” under his breath, and walked toward his own home. When he entered the house with exaggerated earnestness, it appeared his mother and sister were doing needlework in the back room—they were not in the main house. As he moved along the veranda toward the back room,

“You’re truly hopeless at this. “You can’t even sew those parts properly—and now even the collar? “Do you think you can get married like this?—” Mother scolded Emiko through strained laughter. Eiichi remained standing outside the veranda,

“Mother. How is your illness today?” he asked, but from inside, the shoji screen slid open— “Master Eiichi, how good of you to come. Did the letter arrive? Thank you. Thanks to you, things are gradually…” she said with a downcast expression.

“Eiichi-sama. Emiko truly is hopelessly inept,” said Oku, looking at Emiko who continued sewing the collar with her head bowed. “This may be troublesome, but I humbly ask for your kind consideration.” “Though... it’s truly splendid that your condition has been improving... Mother.” “What business brings you here today?” “Today...”

“Oh, do come inside and sit properly on the tatami.” “Don’t sit crouched like that at the edge of the veranda.” “Oh, do relax today.” “Tomorrow is Sunday, isn’t it? Emiko, bring a cushion here for a moment.” Emiko silently stood up and ran to the kitchen. Eiichi watched her retreating figure—the coarse cotton kimono with its red Chinese crepe obi, clumsily worn so that the narrow sash tied about her waist looked particularly distasteful. Her hair was disheveled, and grime clung blackly to her neck. The sight of her running off, slapping her large feet noisily against the ground, was something he could never imagine belonging to his own sibling.

"Oh, thank you. “However, today there is some urgent business I absolutely must return for, you see.” “Eiichi-sama. “You’re saying such strange things today—unlike your usual self.” “Do stay overnight tonight.” "I’ve been feeling a bit better these past few days—today I’m even well enough to sit up properly like this, you see. I was hoping we could have a nice, leisurely talk tonight." “Things about Tokyo—” “No, but there is something I absolutely must return home for tonight, you see.”

“Is that so? What do you mean by ‘business’? What kind of business?” “It’s not exactly what I’d call urgent business—but there’s something I must discuss with a friend who’s going to Hiroshima on the 28th.”

Emiko brought the futon. “Now, do lay it out… Emiko, the tea… Very well. If that’s the nature of your business, I shan’t stop you.” “The reason I asked Master Eiichi to come today isn’t for some other matter—it’s that Father has suddenly decided to raise the autumn land tax by four-tenths…” “When did he come to say such a thing?” “When? The day before yesterday, Kamekō came out from town and had already gone around spreading the news.” “Kamekō spends more time at his own place in town than at home.” “We at home knew nothing about it.” “But then yesterday, all those people from Shinden came to our house together to voice their grievances—it was truly terrifying.” “Right, Emiko? Yesterday morning was terrifying,” she said, drawing Emiko—who had brought the tea—into the conversation.

“Brother, you can’t imagine how terrifying it was!”

and responded while gauging her stepmother’s mood.

“What on earth happened?” “They were making a fuss and all lined up at the entrance. Right, Emiko—how many people were there?” “There were probably eight or nine people.” “That’s right. It might have been ten people.”

“Ten people? Did ten people really come?”

“But you see, they just kept silent, calmly saying they wished to request an audience with the Master, and then all steadily came up to the entrance—it wasn’t like they were making any disturbance.”

“Who went out?” “I was scared, so I didn’t go out.” “At first, the maid went out.” “And then you went out after that—right, Emiko?”

“And then when I went out?” “When [the maid] stated, ‘The Master is not at home,’ Kamekō retorted, ‘If you’re dissatisfied, come to Umazume.’ They kept insisting the Master must have returned, but Father hasn’t come back at all—the household likely knows nothing about this land tax matter.” “That’s why they must’ve come from town to tell us, but I know nothing about it. If you’ve complaints, take them to town—not that there was any chance to say so.” “How could this be? Since Kamekō already spread word, there can’t be any mistake! And being part of the Shinmi family ourselves, we’ve no right to claim ignorance.” “If we plead ignorance, they’ll simply stop paying the tax.” “If the Master’s absent, they demanded even the Mistress come out.” “When [the maid] said the Mistress was ill, they told her, ‘Then send out the young lady.’ But Miss Emi refused out of embarrassment, so they declared they wouldn’t budge unless she appeared.” “When forced to send Miss Emi out, they started arguing so loudly it reached the back rooms—‘Had Your Honor informed us of this tax hike when we prepared seedlings, we might’ve managed. But demanding four-tenths more now, after the rice grew tall and we fertilized twice—this we cannot accept.’” “‘We won’t make unreasonable claims—the police would intervene. But don’t torment poor folk like us.’” “‘We’ll repay your kindness soon enough. Kindly have the Mistress relay this to the town Master.’” “‘If you force unreasonable terms, we’ll do the same.’” “‘If police will collect the tax regardless, we’ll seek their help ourselves,’ they said calmly, not lowering their voices though thinking this house only had women—until I felt sick.” “No matter how many women there are!”

“Huh, quite something has happened,” Eiichi said with a laugh, showing no surprise. “It was truly terrifying, I tell you.” “So I thought—what if those ten people suddenly started rioting? I tell you.” “There are no men here, and I’m ill.” “All three of us will be killed, I tell you.” “Any moment now,” she added with slight exaggeration, “Hmm… Father does cruel things indeed.” “He knows full well how much trouble this causes us, yet he does such a thing.” “I’m truly in a bind.”

“You were truly in distress, weren’t you.” “So what happened then?” “And after that?”

In the moat behind the house, two or three children were lowering shrimp nets and making a racket. A shrike was noisily calling from the persimmon tree. “Since those of us in the household know nothing about this matter at all, we told them to first make inquiries in town before we could discuss things properly.”

“So when you told them that, did they leave?”

“Well, they spent about an hour engaged in what seemed like discussions among themselves, but ended up leaving.” “But still, yesterday I was so worried we might be troubled again that I stayed up all night fretting.”

“Did you tell the police?” “It’d be good to tell the police, but...” “It’d be like airing our family’s shame, you know.” “And since we couldn’t tell whether we’d be harassed on the way to telling them, no one ended up going.” “…But Master Eiichi, you can’t imagine how worried I was yesterday.”

“What about the clerk?” “Even mentioning the clerk—he’s not one of our household. It’s too shameful to admit Father raised the land tax by four-tenths and have those new field people come threatening us.” “Mother, what will you do about this?” “That’s why I asked you to come urgently today—to consult you about it.” “Well.” “Still, I’m at a loss over what to do.” “But what can we do?” “I tell you.” “Is it truly Kamekō who spread this?”

“It seems like a lie. But if it were false, they wouldn’t have come here so enraged, would they? Given it’s Father we’re speaking of, it must be true. He must be struggling because he can’t pay the interest.” he added half-jokingly,

“Probably about that much, I suppose. But when poverty sets in, all sorts of unpleasant things start happening, I tell you. Rumor has it Father lost 60,000 yen in stocks this time—is that true?”

“What do you think? I too only heard about it from my mother the last time I came back. Lost 60,000 yen, you say?” “In that case, even if you’re living together, he wouldn’t notice a thing. Father apparently lost as much as 60,000 yen. Kamekō was saying such things.” “I’m already so weary of such matters—”

“It really is.” “I’ve grown so weary of it all.” “After all, I think this house will end up being taken by others before long.”

“Is it truly acceptable for others to take everything?” “Since we’re born naked, wouldn’t it be best to live naked?” “Birds sleep and wake wearing nothing but their feathers—isn’t that so?” she said, recalling Christ’s parable about Solomon’s splendor.

“But if I were wearing beautiful clothes like a bird’s plumage, I wouldn’t complain,” she said. “Master Eiichi, since you’re a man, you can speak so freely—but if you were a woman, such things would hardly ever pass your lips—” “Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean there’s any essential difference,” he countered. “One cannot know how much more beautiful the human body is when nude than when clothed,” he declared, launching into his Eiichi-style advocacy of nudism. “Well, logically speaking, I suppose that’s how it is,” she conceded. “But the world ain’t run on logic alone.”

“If something’s logical, does that mean it can’t match reality?” “It’s precisely because it’s logical that society functions—logic was made to fit the world.” “I can’t keep up with you anymore, Master Eiichi.” “Well, if you’re going to say that—” “Ohoho… Then what should we do? Using Master Eiichi’s logic—what about this current problem?” “This problem? There’s nothing troubling about it.” “From my perspective…”

“It’s nothing?” “How can you say it’s nothing when we don’t even know what they’ll do to the house?” “Whether they burn it down or tear it apart, it makes no difference to me.” “Even if they kill us all, there’s no need to fret over our souls being destroyed,” he argued with nihilistic fervor. “But I tell you, I don’t want our house burned down.” “Now Emiko, that’s not how it is—” Emiko merely kept smiling. “Oh Eiichi-sama.” “Let’s not speak of such things—what should we do about this current matter?” “I can’t bear having ten or fifteen people come threatening me again.”

“That’s cowardly.” “Mother, what’s ten or twenty people?” “Don’t talk so grandly.” “Ohoho… Master Eiichi has changed quite a bit as a person.” “Now, Emiko,”

“That’s right,” Emiko answered ambiguously again. “But really now—what should we do?” “Even if we send someone to ask Father and it proves true—there’s naught we can do about it here.” “Ah—what a fine disgrace this makes!”

“Mother.” “There’s no need to worry at all.” “I’ll take responsibility.” “There’s nothing to worry about.” “Mother.” “There’s no need for worry.” “The tenant ledger must be at the house, I suppose.” Eiichi gazed at the dry pond in the inner garden. The moss was filthy. Under the edge of the kitchen, purple medicine bottles and broken glass pieces were lined up. A spider had spun its web on this eave. The sun shone brightly, making the spider’s web glitter. “Oh, we have it… So what will you do?”

“I’ll investigate the matter and draft a notice.” “They had said they’d raise it by four percent, but due to circumstances, we’re postponing it—”

“In Father’s name?”

“It should be fine whether we use Father’s name or mine.”

“There now，Father will get angry again.” “I don’t care even if he does get angry!” “Just because Father got angry—” Oku turned toward Emiko，

“Miss Emiko, you should prepare lunch now. “…But you just do as you think best—I’m tired of worrying, I tell you.”

Emiko ran along the veranda toward the kitchen. "Since Father acts arbitrarily, shouldn't we act as we please... Where's the ledger?" After asking this, Eiichi had the maid buy drafting paper and wrote a notice stating they would postpone raising the land tax.

After finishing lunch, he spent until around two o'clock writing. When he thought to use the bathroom on the way and came to the kitchen, he saw Emiko standing at the sink, picking up rice grains that had been washed out of the pot with water and eating them. And he felt truly sorry for her. As soon as he finished writing, he tried to leave Umazume and return home. When he went out the gate, something came chasing after him in geta. Someone called out “Brother,” and when he wondered who it was, it was Emiko. Eiichi had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Tsuruko that he had completely forgotten about Emiko. When he saw Emiko’s face, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Emi?” he asked. “Brother, there’s something I want you to hear from me.”

“What do you mean?” “Since everyone can see us here, let’s go somewhere toward the shore.” “Emi.” “What do you mean?” “Emi, you were scolded today, weren’t you?” “It must have been truly hard on you.” Emiko remained silent. And then, after a short while, “Brother—quickly! Let’s go somewhere where people won’t see us.”

She seemed to intensely dislike being seen by others. “Then shall we go to Higashi Shintaku Beach?” “Anywhere would do, but if someone tells Mother again, I’ll be scolded,” she said, glancing toward the gate and shuffling restlessly. “Then I’ll go ahead quickly—follow me,” Eiichi said, setting off at a hurried pace. Emiko scurried after him. They climbed the embankment and concealed themselves in the bush shadows at Higashi Shintaku Beach. Eiichi gazed at the verdant new fields and azure river as he questioned Emiko.

“Emi, what do you mean?” “Brother, I’ve had so many painful things that I’ve thought of dying…” she choked out before falling silent. Her brother had been staring intently at Emiko, but then he began to cry in sympathy. “Emi, why do you say such things?” “I just can’t endure staying in Umazume any longer.” “When I accidentally broke a single plate yesterday, everyone who came by kept calling me a dullard over and over.” “Today too, from morning on, I kept getting scolded.” “If I’d had my real mother...” Eiichi simply remained silent. A ferry crossed from Tamiya Beach to Shinden. The reeds were reflected in the crystal-clear water.

“This time, the seventeen-year-old girl from Tashiki will likely come to Mr. Takayuki’s place in Nishi Shintaku. “That girl usually sews her own wedding garments by hand—but then yesterday when Uncle from Tashiki—Oku’s cousin—came to the house, right in front of me he said: ‘This child of ours is too dull to be of any use.’ “‘She can’t even hold a needle properly yet, and can’t wash a single bowl right’—that’s what Mother would say. “At that moment, I truly thought about dying—”

“Emi, you mustn’t lose heart like that.” “Brother, but please understand—I rise earlier than anyone to light the fire beneath the great pot, rouse the maids and clerks, and begin preparing breakfast. When evening comes, I’m made to work late into the night until nine o’clock.” “Even after all that labor, she still insists it’s not enough—never enough—and drives me harder still.” “And if I break but a single dish, she demands compensation—it’s intolerable.”

“Are you compensating for it?” “Well, I did pay five sen in compensation yesterday.” “Is Mother taking that money?” “She does take it,” she said through tears.

“Brother, truly—please understand my heart… My mother has passed away, and even with a father alive he’s like *that*; being under my stepmother’s thumb means enduring harsher trials than any servant… I simply can’t bear it any longer.” “...Not even three days ago...” she said before falling silent. Emiko's heart was in turmoil, uncertain where to begin. She recalled being caught sneaking food in the inner rooms ten days prior and scolded; being told her rice-serving was clumsy when attending to her stepmother’s meals; being blamed when a chicken went missing seven days earlier though she had done nothing; being reprimanded for inadequate cleaning of the Buddhist altar; being chastised for always putting four wicks in the oil lamp; receiving constant complaints about the seasoning of morning and evening miso soup… As these memories unfolded, the sharpest recollection surfaced—three days ago, when her stepmother claimed a one-yen note placed under the bedding had gone missing and pinned the theft on her. She tried to articulate her feelings about this incident from the beginning, but the words refused to form. She also recalled having been subjected to such unreasonable demands multiple times before.

So Eiichi asked, “What happened three days ago?” but Emi cried and did not answer. After a while,

“It wasn’t three days ago, Brother.” “Even though I didn’t take anything, Mother accuses me of stealing the money.” “One yen—.” “She said she’d placed it under the bedding when retiring for the night, but by morning it was gone—” “But you didn’t steal it yourself, did you Emi?” “If you didn’t steal it, there’s no need to torment yourself over nothing.” “But being accused of stealing what I didn’t take is still unbearable.” “What, that’s nothing.” “In town now—you know that maid Koman-san became a nurse?” “At home they think I schemed to cause trouble—went so far as making her a nurse! What sort of man fears others’ misunderstandings?” “I know it’s hard for you.” “But consider my situation.” “There’s nothing painful at all.” “They don’t give me three proper meals.” “Of course I wash my own shirts.” “And this—” he showed his sweat-stained knit undershirt “—is the only one I have now.”

Emiko took one look and burst into tears. Eiichi,

“If you cry so loudly, people passing upstairs will grow suspicious,” he restrained. “If you call him Father—then he’s a father—yet he turns a blind eye while his own child suffers so…” Emiko said resentfully. “Emi, that’s still bearable. Lately even when I go to school, they don’t prepare me a bento. And since studying at night costs too much lamp oil, they tell me to study in the mornings instead.” “Father would go that far—” “If it ended there, that would be tolerable. Now they’re saying they’ll pass everything to Masunori.”

“Are they stopping you?” “Brother? You…?” Emiko exclaimed in shock.

Eiichi wiped his tears and looked out over the river to find small waves rising on the calm, smooth sea. Some areas shone with exceptional brightness, appearing white, while others looked blue like intricate patterns. It was truly beautiful. “Emi, don’t cry. While I live, I’ll never let anything trouble you.” “Please—just wait a little longer.” “But I can’t stand staying in the countryside anymore.” “If I keep getting scolded from dawn till dusk like this, I’ll either be killed or die someday.”

“But please endure it just a little longer, Emi. There’s nothing we can do right now.” “But Brother, I can’t stand staying in Umazume even ten more days.” “Ah... Being a concubine’s child is so wretched...” she said through tears. When the words “concubine’s child” struck his chest like a physical blow, Eiichi’s expression hardened with resolve. “It’s alright, Emi. “Then come with me. “Let’s go to Kobe. “Are you prepared to work as a maid?” he asked hurriedly.

“Maid work? How much better that would be than staying in Umazume…” “Then can you leave right now as you are, Emi?” “I don’t need anything at all. If you don’t mind, Brother, I’ll go with you. But what about money?” “It’s fine. There’s still about ten yen left from my salary—no need to worry. This will get us to Kobe. Let’s go together. Hurry! Before the house notices!” “Then you’ll really take me with you?” She looked up, wiping tears with her sleeve. Her face showed the fragile dependence of a lovely woman.

The figures of the two disappeared into Ushiyajima. They rushed to Tokushima by carriage. They arrived in Tokushima around five o'clock. In the carriage, Eiichi had made his sister cry today just for the sake of crying—or so he thought. Because they had nowhere to go, they had the carriage pulled to Taki Mountain and strolled around it. When he thought of their destination, it felt as though the sun had already sunk into the west and would never rise again from the east.

Standing beneath the three-story pagoda overlooking all of Tokushima city below, Eiichi said to Emiko: "I don't want to make you do maid work or anything like that...you know." "Brother, even so, that's just how fate turns," she replied with full resolve. "Since the stars' alignment is against us, there's no help for it." But Eiichi grieved—having recently elevated one maid's position, he now had to send his own sister into domestic service within less than a month. "Emi, even if you enter service somewhere in Kobe, you mustn't write me letters saying you're lonely. When I think of that, it truly pains me. But Emi—Brother will definitely visit you once a month or every two months."

“Brother, it’s painful for me too when I think about that, though.” "When I'm with you like this, Brother, somehow it feels like I'm in paradise." "I know it’ll be hard not being able to send you letters, Brother, but still—it’s better than being made to cry by our dear stepmother back home…" she said with forced reassurance. She seemed so pitiful somehow. “Ah, Brother, the electric lights in Nakasu have come on.” “It’s beautiful—look!” she said with a sort of cheerfulness. However, seeing Emi gazing at the electric lights with no awareness of her future, Eiichi found himself shedding tears out of concern for sending this country girl into a city teeming with temptations that dazzle the eyes and numb the conscience.

“Are you still crying, Brother?” Emiko turned to him when he didn’t respond and said.

“Now, Emi. “It’s all well and good for you to go to Kobe, but I keep worrying about what I’d do if you were to fall ill or something.”

“Brother, if you dwell on such things, how could I ever leave home?” “It’s because you’re unwell yourself that you dwell on such things.” “Would a healthy young person like me ever fall ill?” she declared with spirited confidence, smiling. “But Emi, I worry because you’re far too assured of your health.” “That’s precisely why country folks struggle when they come to the city.” “Because the city has all sorts of novel things, you know.” “You get carried away at first—it’s fun and you feel fine for a while—but gradually the dream fades.” “When people go to the city and get beriberi, do you think any imagined they’d catch it from the start?” he admonished, whereupon Emiko fell silent and wilted. When he saw her wilted state, she looked so pitifully adorable that he thought he would let her escape to Kobe after all.

Seeing her wilted state and feeling too much pity, “Emi, how about we get some grilled rice cakes from Taki’s?” he said. “Brother, let’s not.” “Even ten sen—we shouldn’t be spending money like that now,” she chided. “Brother, let’s go to Nakasu now.” “I wonder what time the steamship departs.”

“It’s still too early to go.” “The Kyodomaru departs at eight, but the later one’s at ten.” “Do you know what time it is now?” “It must be seven already—it’s gotten quite dark.” “Better to stay calm.” “Just don’t get so agitated.” “Even so, I can’t help worrying if we don’t board—” “There’s nothing to fear.” “Brother’s here with you.” “But aren’t you hungry, Emi? What about soba?” “Soba or something?” “Soba or something?” “I don’t want anything, but Brother must be hungry.” “Please go downstairs and eat something.”

So they left Sangitei, passed before Shiraito-tei, and emerged before the statue of Emperor Jimmu. At Shiraito-tei's entrance hung a sign boldly inscribed with "Tomita Bridge Completion Celebration". From the third floor drifted shamisen music and boisterous voices.

Eiichi said to Emiko,

“Emi, Father is probably among them as well.” “He’s so blithely unconcerned.” “Ah ha...” he laughed.

Emiko and Eiichi went to Kobe on the eight o'clock evening steamship. Then they went to check at the labor agency in Aioi-cho, but since a guarantor was required, they turned back to Yoshida Yutaro's (a boatman) residence, explained the circumstances in detail and earnestly requested his assistance, repeatedly urging him to keep everything secret from their father, and then returned on the twelve o'clock noon steamship. Emiko had come to see him off as far as the pier, and as Eiichi was about to board the steamship, he glanced back at her briefly,

“Emi, he might come out into the open before long,” he said. “Brother, please come out—I’m waiting,” Emiko pleaded. “It’s still too early to board—shall we talk a bit more?” he said, leading Emiko to the far end of the pier where others wouldn’t hear. “Emi—truly—you must work diligently.” “I’m begging you,” he said, staring intently at her face. Emiko nodded with her head bowed. Her complexion was dark, but on the faintly reddened patches of her cheeks showed the mark of resolve. He continued again,

“I feel like I might never want to return home again. Still, I plan to go back and try speaking with Father once or twice more,” he said. “And if I decide it’s hopeless, I’ll come out.” But in that moment, he was thinking more of Tsuruko than of Father. He imagined Tsuruko’s beautiful rose-colored cheeks and her disheveled hair—a figure beyond description. “There, that’s better,” Emiko said. “If both of us hide, they’ll surely come searching afterward.” “Then things would grow too complicated,” she agreed with her brother’s opinion.

As they were talking, the whistle sounded, so Eiichi hurriedly boarded. The ship soon departed from the pier. He watched Emi standing forlornly on the pier where she had been left behind, but thinking it unmanly to linger, descended to the third-class cabin. However, in the dark corner of the third-class cabin, Hyogo Pier appeared before him, where he saw a pitiful woman of short stature with curly hair—her cheeks flushed against a sallow complexion, eyes wide open, chapped hands hanging limply—standing with her head bowed.

Nineteen

Eiichi returned home at seven in the evening wearing an air of ignorance. Father had been drinking with Oume and looked surprised at Eiichi’s return. “What about Emi?” Father immediately asked. Since a servant from their country estate had come inquiring the previous day, Father had already learned about it. But Eiichi gave no answer. Cradling his heavy head, Eiichi went to visit Tsuruko. Tsuruko saw that Eiichi’s eyelids were swollen again,

“Did something happen again today?” she asked. “Ah... I’ve been through another tragedy.” “With whom?” “Father.” “What happened?” “I hid my sister.” “Where?” “No.” “Won’t you tell me?” “No—it’s too shameful to say.” "You can probably imagine." “Can’t you?” “I can imagine most of it.” “And you had another clash with Father, didn’t you?” “Ah... we did clash.” “Then what did you do with your sister?”

“I left her in Kobe.”

“To Kobe?” “When did you do that?” “Were you there too?”

“I only just returned today.” “Today?” “You’re quite something yourself. What did you do with your sister? Did you take her to Kobe?” “She ended up as a maid.” “As a maid? Oh, how cruel!” “You call it cruel? That’s only because you don’t know the circumstances.” “Please let me hear that reason. Can’t you tell me?”

Eiichi gradually began to talk. And, shedding tears and pretending sadness (thinking that if he didn't cry, it would be said he lacked sympathy), he sought Tsuruko's compassion. And that conclusion was love.

Eiichi's heart had completely lost its equilibrium, one might say. Even on the day his beloved Tsuruko was to leave Tokushima, he did not feel particularly sad. Of course, even when he went to school that day, he couldn't play cheerfully with the children.

Around eight in the evening, Eiichi went to Tsuruko’s house and spent about an hour behaving as lovers do when parting. Of that time, twenty minutes passed in silence, while the remaining forty consisted solely of repeating conversations laced with resentment over their inability to proclaim themselves openly as husband and wife to the world. Yet both shed tears. When they went to see her off at Nakasu, a great many of her female friends had gathered, all with their hair styled in the modern fashion and their faces artfully adorned. Among them was Mrs. Taylor. There was a girls’ school teacher too. Classmates and underclassmen alike were present. The male farewell party comprised only the pastor and Eiichi.

Eiichi, perhaps thinking to catch a glimpse of one of Tsuruko’s beautiful friends, went to the second-class cabin where Tsuruko was staying and, paying no heed to the crowd of lovely women present, “Don’t forget to write, okay?” he said before leaving. Tsuruko, “There should still be about twenty minutes before departure—let’s talk a little longer,” she pressed him, albeit not overtly, but he came out thinking it somehow unmanly to stay.

When he peered out from the second-class cabin's exit, "Who is that beautiful gentleman?" someone asked Tsuruko. "He is the mayor's son," I heard Tsuruko answer proudly.

As departure drew near, Tsuruko—the fair-skinned Margaret—stood on the deck wrapped in fine silks. She seemed to be looking particularly toward Eiichi. Leaving a trail of smoke behind, the ship sailed away. Eiichi returned home and went straight to bed. He tried to conjure Tsuruko's face; while he could vaguely sketch her profile's contours, her full frontal outline stubbornly refused to materialize. It wasn't simply that he had failed. He felt as though he'd forgotten her face entirely. Instead, a vision arose of his dark-skinned, petite sister with fiery red hair bowing her head in tears. So Eiichi murmured softly to himself, "Tsuruko has already fled."

Twenty

The following morning, he had a dream. He dreamed of an American farmer named Saabi in Virginia. This time, there were conspirators behind the war that would arise between America and Germany; if these conspirators fasted for thirty-eight days, they would be captured. If these conspirators were captured, not only would the war between Germany and America cease, but all wars in the world would completely disappear. That was why someone had said, "Try fasting." And so Saabi tried "fasting" exactly as in the dream. The thirty-eight-day fast proved not particularly difficult; the conspirators were easily captured, and not only between Germany and America—all wars in the world vanished. Such was the dream.

I thought it was a rather nonsensical dream, but since Switzerland and Belgium are neutral countries, people who hate war should just naturalize there. It would be better to quickly obtain naturalization rights. Can't they naturalize? Who?………………?………………What? Idol? Hegel! Something like a ghost... he mused as if still dreaming. Having slept unusually late that morning, Father was opening the door to worship the gods. Normally he would say, "Eiichi, get up and open the door," but today he remained silent. Since he stayed quiet, I kept lying in bed too.

“Newspaper!” came a voice from the entrance, followed by the flapping sound of the paper being delivered, so he figured he might as well read the damn thing. I don’t need to bother with troublesome studies like philosophy—spending my life reading newspapers would be more carefree and just fine. In the world, there are many people who spend their entire lives reading only newspapers. If I just read newspapers all the time, I couldn’t earn a living… But I’ll read a bit of the paper. Telling himself as if making a request—“I’ll read the newspaper a bit”—he rushed off to the entrance still in his nightclothes. He began reading the newspaper while remaining seated.

The editorial was about something like a crisis in the Republic of China... Ah—so the land of Laozi and Zhuangzi was in peril?... Whether it perished or not, it was of no concern to me whatsoever... As long as I remained alive even if it perished, that would be good enough. Even if enemies attacked and killed me, my ghost would remain. If a ghost remained, that would be good enough. The so-called crisis of the Republic of China was nothing but a fabricated game by those who wanted to throw their weight around the world. "Well, it's none of my business—" I skimmed the first page and turned to the second, but it was filled with telegrams from London, New York, and such. Among them I noticed phrases like "unprecedented grand evening party." I felt a desire to attend such an evening party and try dancing with Western beauties. When I looked at the third page, it was filled with headlines like "the drowned beauty of Omori," "Kegon Falls tragedy revisited," and "girl abducted." Reading about the drowned beauty said she'd killed herself over her lover's change of heart. Thinking how blissful it must be to be loved by such a woman, the Kegon Falls article described another failed romance. If one suffered heartbreak, they should wait for new love rather than attempt desperate stunts to win back affection... Yet I nodded, acknowledging some twisted logic in their actions.

When I read such phrases, love revealed itself as a truly strange thing. People in love are happy. Because such incidents occurred from time to time and gave value to love—thinking this, I immediately turned my thoughts to my relationship with Tsuruko. I kissed the newspaper.

When I looked at the advertisements on the fourth page, there were notices for newly published philosophy books and novels. There was an advertisement for Iwanaga Ken’s *A Study of Rotschie*, which came with an interminably long promotional blurb and was being sold for 1 yen and 70 sen. When I saw this advertisement, I somehow felt like a loser in the struggle for existence. If I were to stop things like social reform and home improvement and just study for two or three years, producing a work of this level would be nothing difficult, I thought. Then I recalled having told Tsuruko that I would publish a philosophical work in the near future. But now that my heart had grown dull and my muscles here and there seemed to convulse, I felt I couldn’t write even a single page of a philosophical work. Feeling nauseous, I tried to tear the newspaper into pieces, but when I haphazardly turned a page, there was a new publications column I hadn’t noticed before. Within it, a critique titled *Iwanaga Ken’s A Study of Rotschie* appeared. It read: “The prose is tortuous, causing readers to doubt where its argument lies.” Eiichi thought, *Ah, this is it. What if even if I write something, all I receive is such criticism? If I am abandoned by society, what should I do?* “Am I in a foul mood?” He threw the newspaper onto the tatami and returned to the inner room. As he was about to enter the inner room, he collided with Oume, who was on her way to worship the gods. Oume—

“I haven’t finished yet…” she muttered, stepping out onto the veranda. While silently changing his clothes, Eiichi thought: It’s absurdly foolish to be satisfied with something like being an elementary school teacher—from society’s perspective, people like me are utterly worthless. He resolved to skip breakfast today and finish reading a philosophy book. No sooner had he resolved than he hurriedly rolled up his futon, stuffed it into the entrance closet, rushed up to the second-floor study, and leaned against his desk.

I had no idea what would be good to read. Well, I might as well read that History of Christian Doctrine I borrowed from the missionary the other day and try studying the evolution of doctrine from a materialist historical perspective, I thought. The problem became whether to open Harnack or Oer. The missionary had once warned that Harnack was heretical and to be cautious, so I thought I might open Harnack—but Harnack consisted of five volumes. If I were to finish reading today, Oer would be more convenient. Oer’s was a mere three hundred and sixty pages. I thought it would be an easy day’s work. But Harnack’s work, though thick, had substance. Well, I placed both books—the two volumes—on the desk and opened each to their first page.

Harnack’s was printed on smooth paper with crisp clarity. Oer’s was printed on Japanese-style paper with an elegant quality, in large characters. "Which one should I read? ‘Well, I’ll go with Harnack—the substantial one,’ I muttered, shoving Oer into the bookcase and cradling my head as I began reading Harnack. ‘What’s the point of reading this? Will reading this earn me any honor? If I told Tsuruko I was reading Harnack, she might have said "You're such a scholar" and given me a kiss—but Tsuruko has already left for Hiroshima. That's right... She must be on a train passing through Okayama by now. I know nothing west of Okayama. Tsuruko must be marveling at the scenery, exclaiming how beautiful it is. Tomorrow a letter will arrive. In it, probably,

“Separated from you, my beloved, I lack even the strength to behold the Inland Sea’s sunset or leisure to savor nature’s beauty. Gazing southward, I conjure your radiant form in visions—if I had wings, I would soar to embrace you—yet unwittingly, my sleeves grow damp with tears…” Such phrases would probably be written there. Then, written in genbun itchi style as Westernized as possible— “The figure of you—my beloved—standing on the deck…! Whether I close my eyes or open them, your figure appears before me! The kiss you once gave me in the study—how could I ever forget it! Every evening when I have nowhere to go and open the study to look out at the drying area, there stands the two-story house—its owner gone, its doors shut tight. I cry, thinking you have left forever. ‘Should I write something like “……”?’ My mind grows increasingly disordered from one thought to the next. I can’t make heads or tails of what I’m reading.

"This won't do. My genius lies in philosophy. Philosophical research must not be hindered by women or such things," I reaffirmed to myself. When I started rereading from the beginning the section I had been working through, it began to make some sense. Having mostly come to understand it, and just as I was feeling happy,

"Master Eiichi, haven't you folded and put away the futon yet?" Oume shouted from the entrance. Oume was spouting impertinent nonsense again. Wasn't having folded it that much sufficient enough? Pretending not to hear her telling him to abandon it, he kept reading his book when Kichisaburō came upstairs. "Young Master, Madam Oume says you should fold the futon and put it away in the closet," he said. He continued reading his book with an air of feigned ignorance. The maid came up.

“Young Master, Madam Oume says you should have your meal... and she instructed that you fold the futon in the entrance and put it away properly,” came the maid’s message. Even so, he remained silent. The maid too remained silent, waiting for a response. Because he felt sorry for her, “You may go downstairs now,” he said—a meaningless reply—but sent her down regardless. “Is Oume even inspecting my futon? Day by day... What an infuriating bastard,” he muttered. With a “Hah!” he stood up and went downstairs. When he appeared at the entranceway, Oume was folding his futon with meticulous scrutiny. Eiichi abruptly stepped forward,

“How rude!” he snapped, snatching the futon from Oume and shoving it haphazardly into the closet before slamming the door shut.

“Hmm. What a strange person.” “I said I’d fold it for you, but you wouldn’t have me fold it. Fine, do as you please.” “But in return, no matter how filthy it gets, I won’t wash it for you,” she sneered. Father came out. The moment Father emerged, he struck Eiichi across the cheek from ear to jaw with his long pipe.

“Agh!” Eiichi collapsed there. However, he immediately jumped up and left the house. He did not return home that entire day. Without eating lunch, he climbed the mountain and meditated. And in the evening, he wandered aimlessly around Semimi’s Ema Hall until around nine o'clock. But as it was unbearably cold, he decided to return. The vigor from his three-day fast at Mount Ohama had now vanished somewhere, and Eiichi stood before the pitifully closed gate. The rain began to fall in a drizzly mist. The gate would never open, no matter how long he waited. Eiichi wept like a woman. After about an hour, the maid came out to the toilet, so he called her and was let inside.

21

The rain from yesterday had yet to cease when, around six o’clock, a woman’s letter arrived under the name “In Hiroshima, A Certain Person.” Of course, it was from Tsuruko. Tsuruko wrote that she could not bear her longing for you. She wrote of wondering how she could possibly continue studying in Hiroshima for three whole years while yearning for you so intensely. Yet looking at this letter, he found no words suggesting they should become husband and wife forever or publicly announce their engagement. Not only that—he felt even the affection expressed toward him remained insufficient.

But when I thought about my relationship with Tsuruko, and then considered my relationship with my father and with Oume, I felt as though I wanted to vanish on the spot. And I felt that someone like me, existing in such unbeautiful circumstances compared to a beautiful woman like Tsuruko, could by no means become eternal spouses. As I was pondering various things, I thought, "No matter what, it's fine. I don't care anymore!" "Ah, I want to die... If I can’t die, I might as well try killing someone," was the only thought that arose. Even I myself, when such dangerous emotions welled up within me, felt like taking matches and trying to burn down the house. So I went to the kitchen, fetched some matches, and resolved to set fire to the entrance’s shoji. However, thinking the entrance would be too conspicuous, I tried briefly lighting the shoji in the middle room instead. I worried it might actually catch fire, but "Ah, let it burn! Let it turn to ashes! I'll burn and turn to ashes too. Rather than living in this wretched world," I thought, "becoming ashes would bring a hazy sense of relief." I set fire to the second shoji from the south in the middle room. It burned dimly, but despite expecting the shoji’s lattice, the tatami, even the entire house to catch fire, nothing burned or charred. It burned upward and stopped at the lintel, ending there. So I thought I’d try burning one more sheet and lit the third one from the south as well. This time, the results were better than before—the paper burned more vigorously, and the shoji was severely charred. I thought of doing one more, but if I continued burning and actually set the house ablaze, I stopped, thinking it wouldn’t be amusing to cause a commotion in the neighborhood. In addition, I set fire to Tsuruko’s letter and burned it completely.

Fortunately, while I was acting so violently, neither Oume, Father, Kichisaburō, nor Masunori came out, which was just as well. I thought things would escalate to bloodshed no matter who emerged, but even so, reciting a prayer to myself that avoiding conflict was far better than confrontation, I left the house. However, he did not attend school that day either.

Now that I'd left the house, where should I go? It was a rainy day. I couldn't sit in zazen at Nuhakuhara like yesterday. Nor did I have the courage to repeat my Mount Ōasa fasting feat. Thinking I might visit Komatsushima instead, I crossed Tokushima Bridge, passed before the Prefectural Office, traversed Tomita Bridge, and came before the Tokushima Shinpo building. Looking at the newspaper hung under the eaves, I saw three pages filled with crude novel illustrations typical of provincial papers like Inaka Shinbun. Beneath these clumsy drawings ran the headline "A Stylish Tale,"

“Though this story is somewhat dated, during the recent Tomita Bridge completion celebration held at Shiraito-tei, Yamato-ro’s San-shichi and Nishiki-ro’s Naruto received substantial congratulatory gifts from the mayor. After the event concluded, both women were summoned by the mayor to San-gi-tei and reportedly returned home stealthily early the next morning—the sort of stylish behavior one might expect from such a mayor.” This was the meaning conveyed. Eiichi now realized anew that the world was a place where one could act with complete freedom. It was a world where if only one had money, even a thousand beauties could be embraced and slept with all at once. Until now, I had unknowingly erected a fence called morality and found myself painfully constrained by it, but the world had long since destroyed this barrier. "Humans have been liberating themselves since ancient times," he mused, even as he found the world itself to be the true marvel, trudging heavily in his wooden clogs toward Nakanochō.

However, what floated before his eyes was the sight of the fire he’d set to the shoji—fluttering… whoosh—blazing up like a galloping horse, but when it abruptly went out, he felt as though he were Urashima opening the jeweled box. That blaze! It kept flickering before his eyes. He thought that had extinguished on its own, but since he immediately rushed out of the house—or perhaps considering it might have reignited and turned into a major fire by now—he also contemplated that possibility. However, the alarm bell not ringing was proof there was no fire. Even so, since I did something like starting a fire, Father and Oume might bring some impossible problem to me. They might even use the police to do some unspeakably cruel thing to me. Even if I were to go to Komatsushima for leisure, I remain a prisoner whose fate is all too clear. I am bound hand and foot. I wonder what Oume and Father are plotting right about now. I want to know that. If I were a ghost, I could fly back and eavesdrop, but there’s no helping it—I’m just a ghost with flesh still clinging to its bones. As I was thinking this, the rain began to pour down violently… pelting the roofs over there, the eaves here, and falling upon the oil-paper umbrella Eiichi carried as though someone were hurling down pebbles. The clattering of rickshaws, the hurried sound of the confectionery shop clerk half-closing the door—none could surpass the sound of the rain. There was nothing he could do about this. I don’t have the courage to go all the way to Komatsushima in this rain. But where should I go? Well, I’ll just walk as far as I can. As he walked slowly, taking as much time as possible, two or three elementary school students emerged from a side street, holding heavy umbrellas and heading to school with their hakama half-soaked by the rain. I’m envious.

I thought it was already eleven o'clock, but it was still seven-thirty. Intending to go to Nikenya, he had made it as far as the police box at the corner of the main street. I realized it was utterly impossible to reach Komatsushima. Since this was clear, I thought of visiting my aunt in Higashishinmachi for the first time in ages. To my aunt's place? To that grubby little house? To my shabby aunt with her brood of children? To that whining, uneducated pitiful aunt? Better to give up. Better to give up. At best I might endure an hour or thirty minutes with her, but three or four hours would be impossible. Her talks were always the same old complaints.

“Eiichi-sama, even though we’re so terribly poor, not a single relative has shown us any care, you know.” “Even Brother Shibafu-sama, for all his wealth, wouldn’t lend us a single penny.” “Even when I drop by for a visit now and then, they never ask me to stay the night. And Brother in Tokushima Honmachi—sure, he’s made a grand name for himself as mayor and Diet member—but these days he won’t even come ’round for a simple seasonal greeting. When I go beggin’ for a loan of two or three yen ’cause we’re starvin’, they just turn me away sayin’, ‘We ain’t got that kinda money this time.’ That’s how it goes.” “My father lazes about without working a lick, I tell ya—livin’ in this fleeting world’s become truly unbearable…” Hearing her preach the same old complaints in that country dialect was more than anyone could stomach. “The other day when we met on the street and you said I should come visit, I thought ’twould be too pitiful not to go at all—so I went to see you. But all I got for sittin’ there listenin’ quiet-like was nothin’ but complaints.” “If you came here just to hear my whinin’, you’d be better off goin’ to Takidashi Hall on the 21st festival day and listenin’ to the pilgrim beggars cryin’ by the roadside—honestly, I was at my wit’s end!” Going to my aunt’s place would be fine, but I’d just end up having to listen to her crying. Are you prepared? You’ve been doing nothing but unpleasant things at home—is there any need to go out and experience more unpleasant things?……

While asking himself these questions, he walked along the main street. I knew I was walking along the main street, yet somehow it felt pitch dark outside; my eyes glinted sharply as I looked to both sides and ahead—houses lined both flanks where people conducted their business. I knew that among these businesses there were antique shops, clock shops, and pawnshops. Yet I couldn't clearly distinguish which was a pawnshop and which a confectionery shop. No matter how many ken he walked, he continued onward dazedly, as if treading upon marbles or riding the wind. A night soil cart came along. I still hadn't noticed.

“Hey, look out!” someone called out, and he snapped back to awareness. The previously dark objective world abruptly brightened—here stood a barber shop, there a kimono store. Ah, here’s a greengrocer’s shop—now he could distinguish them clearly. And so he resolved to go to his aunt’s place. Retracing his steps to the police box corner and turning left at the second bend in Daikumachi brought him to Higashishinmachi, where lining the left side stood Matsuura's row of long-term rental houses. The nearest of the long-term rental houses was his aunt’s residence; when he opened the lattice door and entered, she was in the midst of cleaning.

“Ah, Eiichi-sama! What brings you here today? Did you quit school?” she asked in surprise. “What, you got some business here or somethin’?” she pressed on without waiting for a reply.

“No, there’s no particular business—my mind’s gone strange, you see, as if I’ve had some sort of nervous breakdown... That’s why I’ve been absent from school lately.” “Since it’s raining today and staying cooped up indoors seemed dreary, I thought I’d pay a visit—” he began, but his aunt cut him off with a chuckle. “Well then, come on up,” she said, ushering Eiichi inside. “Eiichi-sama—they say your father’s been getting quite a lot of *this* lately...” She formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger.

Eiichi made a bitter face and lightly answered, “I don’t know,” then— “How can ya say ya don’t know?” “Yer livin’ in the same house—”

She sidled up to Eiichi and patted his back. "I truly don't know," he stated plainly. Still his aunt pressed on. "At that embankment by Tomita Bridge... Clever as you are, Eiichi-sama, you must be covering things up there, ain't ya?" He couldn't endure this line of questioning. "I truly don't know." "You're saying Father took bribes at Tomita Bridge? At the embankment?" "That ain't what we're discussin'," she replied with a bitter smile and peculiar gesture. "Is that so? I truly hadn't known."

“That’s right—best you don’t know.” “At home, Uncle’s been hearin’ those sorts o’ stories.” “And there’s that foreman from Oshiro way who’s been comin’ round our house lately—whenever talk turns to Brother’s underhanded dealings, they start whisperin’—” “Would such underhanded dealings really go so smoothly?” “Well now, you know ’bout the Sakakis of Ushiyajima, don’tcha?” “Them Sakakis from Ushiyajima, next village over from Umazume… the house our Hana married into, y’know.”

“Ah, I know about that,” Eiichi answered, though his mind drifted back to his elementary school days when his cousin Hana had married into the Sakaki family of Ushiyajima—though she’d later been divorced— “That Sakaki’s been meddlin’ in civil engineering lately,” his aunt pressed on. “Since your Father’s cozy as bedbugs with ’em, I reckon they’re cookin’ up all manner o’ shady deals round there… Not that I should be sayin’ such things to your face—might get your dander up… But Eiichi-sama, why not head upstairs? Everyone’s off at school or elsewhere—place is emptier than a pauper’s purse down here. Go on up now…”

“Oh, thank you,” he said quietly, then climbed the steep, narrow staircase and followed his aunt. “I’ll get the brazier goin’, you know.” “Pardon me now—I’ve been rummagin’ through stuff, but…” said the aunt. The room was indeed in disarray, just as she’d said. In the room that combined a six-tatami and four-tatami space, two small desks were lined up by the window. These were the desks of two female students—relatives had entrusted children to his aunt and provided monthly assistance so they could attend girls’ school. Not only were the desks’ surfaces in disarray, but the trunks and Chinese-style suitcases by the wall lay with their lids open, clothes left unfolded and scattered about. Eiichi sat down in the center of the tatami room. The aunt sat down before the fireless brazier.

“Since you don’t smoke tobacco, I haven’t lit the fire.”

“Oh, right—since I can’t tell whether there’s any fire left below or not, guess I won’t bother lightin’ it then…” the aunt remarked nonchalantly. “But Father sure can manage such things, can’t he?” she continued, “Ain’t it just fine to do so?” “When you become mayor, you’ve got to do at least that much.” “With a yearly salary of twelve hundred yen or so, living in such a big house—the accounts won’t balance at all,” said his aunt casually.

“But you see, Aunt Madam,” he said formally. “The city has councilors and assembly members—even constructing a small bridge requires extensive consultation among many people—” “Even so,” she cut in, “just wave a bit o’ money under their noses and they’ll jump to obey.” Her rural dialect thickened with contempt. “Folks these days are sharp as tacks—they’ll side with whoever’s purse jingles loudest.” She leaned forward, her thin face alight with vindication. “And when the Mayor himself declared he’d take charge of that stalled contract business? Mark my words—that was just the start of it.”

Eiichi pulled closer the copy of *Jogaku Sekai* that had been left discarded by his side and began looking through it. The table of contents listed what appeared to be rather intriguing articles. His aunt noticed this, “Folks these days—even girls buy magazines an’ novels an’ all sorts o’ books to read, don’t they? “Must be makin’ good money these days—they’ve got books in Tokyo like *Pock* an’ *Pack*, ain’t they? Right interestin’ reads. “Bit old-fashioned mind ya—there was this picture book showin’ a woman waitin’ for some fella she took a shine to comin’ back from karuta games, an’ another chap sweet on her… Full o’ sentimental drivel… Can’t fer the life o’ me recall where that book went—swear I left it ’round here somewhere…” She stood up to rummage through the desk area, flipping through magazines but finding nothing.

“I can’t find it—” she said, returning to where she’d been sitting. Eiichi kept poring over *Jogaku Sekai*, utterly absorbed.

“Mr. Eiichi. “Ain’t there nothin’ interestin’ in there?” “If there’s anything interesting, do tell,” she said, peering into the magazine. “Well…” he replied vacantly, then read sections titled “The Dispositions of Female Students Around the World” with such absorption that he nearly forgot he was at his aunt’s house. Reading about American female students’ free romantic escapades, he chuckled softly to himself. “What’s so funny?” “Do tell,” said the aunt, looking up at him. Still, Eiichi continued reading. Since Aunt had grown a bit silly,

“Mr. Eiichi, do have your meal here at your aunt’s house before you go home today.” “There ain’t any feast, but if you’re not goin’ home…” she said, standing up and coming over to the staircase. “Thank you,” he answered simply, then continued reading. When his aunt went downstairs, Eiichi thought. "I should’ve given a more polite response." Even in poverty, she offers me lunch precisely because she thinks of me as her nephew—yet now’s different from the past, when three extra bowls of rice would’ve been no trouble... When someone sincerely invites me like this, though I can’t name why, it truly gladdens me. My aunt’s pitiable—after all, Uncle went bankrupt from whoring and causing scenes at his mistress’s place. When they speak of Ōi of Ōshiro—a man known through neighboring villages as wealthy—he ended up ruined at Meiji’s dawn. ‘Though Uncle may’ve brought this on himself, Aunt’s blameless—how pitiable. Yet our house’ll surely end like Ōi’s,’ I thought while flipping through Jogaku Sekai. Visions arose. When I last visited Aunt’s house, Uncle was there. From when he spoke earnestly of tanuki possession—declaring he believed it too—I recalled Aunt saying Uncle lately did naught but worship, visiting only Aiba no Hama’s Grand Shrine, never working, spending free time on curse-like rituals. Then there materialized—as in a dream—Uncle’s figure: cropped hair grown out white, unkempt inch-long mustache, crow’s feet deeply etched at his eyes’ corners, jaw triangular beneath thin coppery cheeks—wandering town purposeless. I felt inexplicably lonesome. Grime stank on my clothes. The torn sliding door propped against the wall caught my eye. The scrap paper beneath the desk grew disgustingly foul. Soot-smeared spiderwebs in ceiling corners and hemp threads dangling limp three inches down turned unartistic. The tatami felt filthy. Gazing out back through the window—toilet, drying area, potato field, bathhouse chimney all jumbled haphazardly—churned his stomach.

The rainy sky’s failure to clear was also unpleasant. He found himself wanting to leave here as soon as possible. But he realized there was nowhere to go. He continued reading the magazine again. It was somewhat interesting. And he did not know that noon had come. He had finished his midday meal of pickled vegetables, soup, and rice, but after that, he didn’t know what to do—thinking that if he went back upstairs to read the magazine through the long afternoon, the day would pass into evening for him, he climbed up to the second floor and was reading when the schoolgirls returned home. It was four in the afternoon.

Belatedly feeling how quickly time had passed, he realized staying too long would make Aunt think poorly of him. Having said something appropriate about that, he awkwardly left his aunt’s house. But from there on, he had absolutely no idea what he should do. As the rain let up, night drew near. Well, couldn't be helped—tonight maybe an inn somewhere? That was it. An inn was a good idea. Since I only had about two yen and twenty sen on me even a mid-tier inn would still leave around fifty sen remaining. Well then where shall I stay? A two-story house? I'll go with a two-story house. Yet checking into lodging now felt too early somehow. Maybe visit Konpira Shrine at Seimi... he mused while trudging there pointlessly. When realizing his wandering held no meaning he laughed absurdly climbing stone steps. He entered the ema hall settling at a confectionery stall. Tried eating yōkan bean jelly. But found its sweetness empty—just dullness remaining. Gazing down at Tokushima from above stirred nothing within him. Houses sprawled meaninglessly below. Smoke rose randomly across rooftops.

Eiichi thought, There’s nothing particularly unpleasant about spending day after day idling and wandering around like I do. It’s far more enjoyable than becoming a minister and swaggering about with a crowd of underlings. Wandering about so freely has become quite enjoyable indeed... I can’t stay here much longer. The old woman at the confectionery shop was beginning to close up. Well then, I suppose I should head back. It’s not that I’m going back—I’ll go somewhere else. But it’s still too early to go to an inn. I’ll go check out the end of the two-storied houses. “Clack-clack,” he muttered, descending the stone steps in his tall geta. At the police box below, an officer was scribbling something. He laughed inwardly at the meaningless activity. Reaching the clothier’s front, he thought how clothes exist only because these absurd humans feel shame over nakedness—arriving at the town’s edge while daylight still lingered. Just a bit more, just a bit more—before he knew it, he’d walked a full ri to Hokke Bridge. Darkness had settled heavily. Turning back now would time perfectly with checking into an inn. “Right then,” he pivoted and trudged from the outskirts toward town. Entering the town proper brought him to a rice mill. Next door stood a blacksmith—before both buildings stretched open fields. Beyond the third house lay unfamiliar territory. Beside the blacksmith—ah! A cheap lodging house. Tonight I’ll try staying there—for experience’s sake.

But I feel a bit embarrassed—here I am wearing a kasuri-patterned yukata and a bird-hunting cap. But it won’t do to lack courage. After all, it was the time when lights were on in the houses, so there was no one around to see. He walked about a hundred meters past when he turned back,

"Excuse me. Could you let me stay tonight?" When he requested, "Could you let me stay tonight?" a bearded man around forty with a bright red face, who had been drinking his evening sake before a corner brazier,

“It’s cramped, but if ya wanna stay, go ahead,” the man replied while peering into Eiichi’s face. “And...” “Have ya finished yer supper?” he asked. “So,” “Not yet, I’m afraid,” he replied,

"I'll lend ya a pot, so light the fire in that brazier over there and cook yer meal," he offered. "What about rice and charcoal?" he asked. "How much rice do ya need? Three gō enough for ya?" he asked. "Hmm, could I have about three gō?" he asked, whereupon the owner took three gō of rice from the dimly lit rice bin beneath the Buddhist altar and handed it over. He put it into a Yukihira pot and handed it over, saying, "Take this to the well out back and go wash it." When he went out back, a woman was staring at the fire beneath the stove. Since Eiichi had gone out, she took a brief look. Eiichi drew water from the well, thinking this was his first time ever washing rice, but when he looked out, a fine rain was falling over the paddies, and Seimi Mountain loomed hazily in view. In this sorrowful, damp-seeming landscape, there was an indescribable elegance.

While washing the rice, he thought: I am truly a romantic person. Romantic... free will... sorrow—but—what a fortunate encounter I've had. I am happy. I was able to experience such a beautiful moment. I thought of things like cooking rice with my own hands on a rainy night.

After washing the rice and bringing it inside, the proprietor said, “Here’s some charcoal for ya. If there’s a two-sen one, that’ll do,” as he handed over the charcoal.

“There’s a brazier in this here room,” he said, sliding open the shoji to the adjacent room—separated by an earthen floor of about two shaku—just enough to show it.

When he opened it, the room spanned about ten tatami mats. A single Sanbunshin lamp hung at its center. Though visibility was poor from corner to corner, six men and women lay sleeping in three pairs at the far end, embracing one another. Some had children nestled between them; others lay naked with their clothes placed atop thin, threadbare futons. Mosquitoes hovered about, though no net appeared hung. An iron brazier stood in the corner by this entrance. The proprietor, "There's that brazier—" he indicated. Fortunately, live coals remained. Eiichi added two sen's worth of charcoal and lit the fire. Realizing he'd need to wait awhile, he sat facing the corner. Yet still those three pairs flickered at the edges of his vision.

After seventeen or eighteen minutes, it came to a boil. He removed the lid—not knowing whether this was right or wrong—but if left unopened, the fire might die out. So he took it off and watched the water bubble actively. "I'm bored. "I'm bored! I'm bored!" screamed through his mind. "Philosophical problems are too agonizing. "I'll just enjoy the objective reality," he told himself, then watched with fascination as the rice grains moved like sumo wrestlers wrestling. "I'm bored! I'm bored!" screamed through his mind. The rice was cooked. "Should I eat..." he thought, then borrowed a rice bowl and chopsticks before starting his meal with the pickled plums and dried fish the proprietor had brought him as side dishes.

When he had just started eating, a bald-headed man around fifty with narrow eyes entered. His face was bronze-colored and bore a drunken flush. Yet there was a certain charm about him. The man appeared slightly startled upon seeing Eiichi, but Eiichi did not put on an impolite expression, “Good evening,” Eiichi greeted him first. And he too, “Good evening—it’s coming down hard,” he replied. The man entered the tatami room, sat by the brazier, and while lighting his pipe,

“Excuse my rudeness, but where might you be from, sir?” he asked.

“Well, I’m from here. However, I was born in Kobe—”

“Is that so? “Speaking of Kobe, that’s across one sea, eh?” “And you?” asked Eiichi. “I am from Etchū.”

“That’s quite a distant place, isn’t it? What might you be doing?” he inquired. When asked, he turned his gaze toward the charcoal fire and remained silent for a short while before glancing around briefly. “Yes, well—I’m traveling around the countryside giving lectures on afforestation projects. For now...” he said, pausing briefly to catch his breath. Eiichi thought, *Lecturing on afforestation projects... this man speaks of grand things*, while observing him in his patched-up shirt and sleeveless lined kimono—hardly a figure of refinement.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘lecture tour’?” he asked loudly. “Please lower your voice—everyone’s asleep,” he interjected, attempting to avoid loud conversation. Eiichi found this old man’s behavior unbearably strange.

The man in the sleeveless kimono said in a low voice,

“As I’m engaged in promoting afforestation, I go around visiting houses—though there’s little to show for it." “In that village for three days, in this village for five days—I visit homes to lecture on afforestation methods.” “Is that so? That’s an excellent initiative,” he expressed agreement. “And what might your honorable profession be?” the man inquired. “Well, I remain a student without any occupation. Lately my mind has been troubled, so I’ve simply been wandering about.”

“Is that so? Where might you have come from today?” When asked this, Eiichi found himself at a loss for how to respond.

For a while, the two of them remained silent, but the rain seemed to start pouring down violently again; outside the door, a dreadful sound roared. Eiichi felt his emotions stirring up without knowing why. Yet in his chest surged a torrent of tragic blood.

In a small voice, pressing his head close to the other man’s, Eiichi asked, “What sort of people are these sleeping here?” “Oh, they’re all beggars,” the man replied, glancing briefly over his shoulder with an air that emphasized how his status differed from theirs despite sharing the same lodging. “Are they all married couples?” Eiichi inquired. “No—when they get together they just sleep around. That lot doesn’t bother with complicated formalities like husband and wife or anything of the sort.” "Is that so?" Eiichi replied with surprise. Eiichi pressed on with another question.

“Are they all beggars? What about these people? They manage to get by somehow, don’t they?” “Well, it’s common for them to receive one shō or even one shō five gō of rice per day. Then they come around here to sell it—three or four sen per gō.” “Hmm,” Eiichi murmured in admiration. The conversation tasted sweeter than the rice. Yet the rice itself, seasoned with dried fish, had an unexpected sweetness. He ate four bowls, setting aside a little for tomorrow morning.

The man raised his voice slightly, “Where are you off to tomorrow morning?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know where—I just like wandering,” he replied, while the man muttered to himself like a soliloquy: “Even when I go around lecturing, people won’t trust me—it’s so troublesome.”

Eiichi put away the rice bowl and chopsticks in the corner while,

“Why is that?” he asked. “Putting on such airs won’t do any good,” remarked the man, eyeing Eiichi’s new kasuri garment. “Whatever’s fine—as long as my own principles prevail,” he said with a derisive laugh. “People in this world don’t read minds,” came the reply. “You must think everyone’s a fool to undertake any enterprise… Confidence is essential,” Eiichi observed as though divining the old man’s thoughts, whereupon the man adopted a solemn tone.

“That’s absolutely right. Now, I am indeed a monk of Kōrinji Temple in Etchū, but seeing today’s clergy wallowing in wine and women fills me with grief. So even if I must play the beggar, I resolved to leave the temple and devote myself utterly—body and soul—to lecturing on afforestation projects for Japan’s sake, ventures no one else has conceived… Ten years have passed since I abandoned the temple, enduring every conceivable hardship… Yet truly, I can only conclude that people in this world are fools.”

“Is that so? You’ve fought quite earnestly, haven’t you?” “I’ve done quite a lot, you know.” “But what exactly is this afforestation you speak of?” “Well, it’s nothing complicated. Japan is a nation abundant in timber, yet if we keep felling trees, not only will it mar the scenery, but soon even cities will suffer foul air. Moreover, the trees for building houses will grow scarce. Thus, we must plant various trees—but paulownia grows most conspicuously and becomes usable in just thirty years, so why not have each household member plant one? That’s what I go around advocating. Now, assuming Japan has fifty million people, planting one per person would yield fifty million paulownia trees. If these sell for five yen each after thirty years, five times five makes twenty-five—a grand total of two hundred fifty million yen! When postwar Japan was suffering in poverty, I realized that if we forgot such moneymaking methods, we’d only grow poorer—so right after the Sino-Japanese War ended, I resolved to leave the country… But ah, people in this world have no ears—it’s a bother, I tell you—” he said, wrinkling the skin beneath his eyes in a cold laugh as he kept his head bowed and packed tobacco into his pipe.

Beyond the paper screen, the master’s scolding voice arose—only his berating audible, the target unknown. The master was drunk. Eiichi, engulfed in smoke, forced a wry smile—thinking this old man still clung to youthful Don Quixote patriotism. No—such Quixotism truly swarmed most thickly in feudal-era elders’ minds. Bushido was Quixotic at its core; hence its lonely existence. Contemplating the old monk’s life of solitary passion, Eiichi saw winter-withered paulownia leaves falling one by one—straight trunks bluish-gray, two or three bare branches trembling at their tips in the western wind. Yet somehow the monk seemed undeniably fraudulent. Still, this very quality made the lodging-house class’s society irresistibly vibrant to him.

“And what effect has that had?” he asked—just as a sudden crash came from upstairs, followed by a woman’s screaming voice. The master’s voice rang out, “You damn beast!” he roared madly. Eiichi opened the shoji screen and stood up—there, at the base of the ladder steps beside the Buddhist altar, a woman lay collapsed in tears. Three or four rough faces from the second floor were peering down, their eyes gleaming. They were all laborers. The master calmly poured more sake into his cup.

The faces peering down from upstairs called out, “What in the world happened?” “He dragged ’er down—she’d fled up to the second floor, but that bastard came all the way up after ’er,” someone explained.

The old monk was calmly smoking his tobacco. He didn’t appear the least bit disturbed.

“That happens every night—it’s quite troubling.” He paused slightly, his tone rising. “The lower classes...” Shinmi felt as though watching a Gorky novel unfold like a panorama. His chest grew heavy with pressure. Yet within the cheap lodging’s walls pulsed an unexpected vitality—as if life’s waters were surging up from some hidden spring. “That’s not what I meant.” The man leaned forward. “Just two nights back—what a savage fight they had when the son returned! Seems this master took up with the shrine maiden here later on.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “The boy’s from the first wife, you see...”

Eiichi still wanted to hear more of the old monk’s dream-like anecdotes, so he asked again: “How has your campaigning fared?” “No good at present, I’m afraid,” came the reply. “They take me for a beggar and won’t lend credence.” When Eiichi moved to close the opened shoji and glanced across the room, he found the master drinking with evident relish. A dryness tightened Shinmi’s throat. Six beggars lay sleeping in undisturbed silence. “So they judge you by appearances alone?” “Aye, that’s the way of it,” the monk sighed. “This one here kept his cassock till last month, but after lodging where they stole purse and all, I left the robe for payment and now wear but this tattered sleeveless kimono. Small wonder folk withhold their trust.”

“Then, shall we exchange your garments and my clothes?” he said, testing the waters.

“This is no joke. Rags crawling with lice and your splendid kasuri—they’re no match.”

“Now, let’s exchange them. As long as it’s no trouble for you,” he insisted earnestly again. “This is no joking matter!” the old monk refused loudly. Eiichi thought he should affect a romantic air here. “What’s this? You—it’s just a garment or two. Even if you end up naked, isn’t that obvious? Don’t you ever receive things people give you? Then you probably don’t know how to give to others either—” he said, putting on a chivalrous swagger. The old monk, with utmost seriousness,

“I’m impressed. “When you put it that way, I’ve no grounds to refuse. “Very well, I shall accept. “……However, you are remarkable. “There are rather few people in the world as admirable as you...” he praised. Eiichi took off both his shirt and pants and sat down in front of the hibachi wearing only a loincloth. The old monk also removed his clothes. The two looked at each other’s faces, laughed with satisfaction, and remained silent for a time. Outside, the rain was falling rapidly with a loud sound. Eiichi had put on a romantic act—he had imitated a saint who takes off his clothes for others. "I too am among the saints!" he laughed to himself, then spent that night wrapped in the thin futon and slept.

22

The next morning in the darkness, Eiichi rose from the thin futon like a rice cracker that he had rented for five sen a night and strode home swinging his arms, still wearing the tattered sleeveless kimono.

As he hurried along the main road from beneath Seimi's Konpira, he thought these things— "When people grow in stature, they gain composure. When they gain composure, they cease to be startled by anything. Life comes to seem like an imitation. Good ceases to be particularly commendable, and evil no longer remains truly vile. ......When one stops condemning evil and begins sympathizing with it, space for committing evil takes root in one's heart...... In its place, good becomes as rare as jewels. And that moment marks what we call humanity's crisis. A saint? A villain?—If not that, then what we name a criminal." While pondering thus, he arrived at his house's gate at half past five in the morning.

At home, they had made a commotion all day yesterday over Eiichi having done something akin to starting a fire, and his father—finally claiming a headache—secluded himself without attending city hall to discuss with Oume how best to dispose of Eiichi. But having no viable solutions, they summoned Dr. Miki Hiroshi after securing his silence about outsiders ever learning of this matter and informed him that Eiichi had gone utterly mad. Upon hearing their account, Dr. Miki insisted on committing him to an asylum without justification—but Shinmi countered with laughter,

"If it were reported in the newspapers that my own son has gone mad over a woman, it would affect the mayor’s honor. I wish to settle this as discreetly as possible—" he replied. However, having no other options, they resolved to send him to Kobe’s Minatoyama Mental Hospital for the time being—the reason being that there was no mental hospital in Tokushima— And so, this morning they were sleeping peacefully.

Eiichi returned home shortly after the gate was opened. He asked the maid whether his father was still asleep, and upon receiving confirmation that he was, proceeded into the inner quarters.

In the inner quarters, the andon lamp was still lit, with Masunori, Oume, and Father all asleep. Eiichi sat formally at his father's bedside.— "Father. It is Eiichi, it is Eiichi... I have returned because there is something I must tell you," he said, rousing his father while feigning the gentlest voice he could muster.

Father woke after a while and, as if speaking unconsciously,

“Eiichi?” “I have important matters today, so you are not to go out,” he said with utmost calmness. When asked, “Father, what urgent matter might that be?” Father silently buried his head in the futon. Eiichi found it unbearably suspicious that his father would claim to have some unprecedented errand. For a while, Eiichi remained silent, but then his father craned his neck slightly to look at Oume, “Eiichi, I have matters to attend to today. You are not to leave the eastern room on the second floor,” he commanded in a scolding manner.

The maid came to his father’s bedside with letters, saying, “Master, the mail has arrived.” Eiichi suddenly looked through the four or five letters the maid had brought, his heart leaping with certainty that one must be from Tsuruko. Is there one? Is there one? Realizing that the letter in the thick, heavy envelope was the one he sought, he picked it up with a “This is mine,” and tore it open.

As he read on, Eiichi felt his limbs tremble and his chest thunder. Tsuruko seemed to have utterly dismissed him as a fool. She kept reiterating her intention to remain single all her life. And beneath those characters, she had also written what appeared to express dissatisfaction with Shinmi’s household. Yet this didn’t mean she was severing all ties with Eiichi. She lacked the courage to make their love blaze passionately, yet seemed afraid of letting it grow cold entirely. Still, the overall tone remained “negative.” And so Eiichi felt as though he’d been cast out from the Earth itself.

"If I had known it would come to this…" Eiichi bitterly resented Tsuruko’s betrayal. But there was no helping it. She had written that after repeating “School regulations,” “School regulations,” they could no longer correspond—adding this was composed at midnight by the corridor lamp’s light after lights-out. Unable to endure reading further, he suddenly stood up to enter his second-floor study—kicking open the fusuma and dashing upstairs. To his shock, his study lay overturned for futon laundering. His anger paled against Tsuruko’s treachery. Overcome by tears he couldn’t suppress, he rushed into the eastern room and collapsed. He wept. He wept until weeping itself felt insufficient. He wept until his cheek muscles prickled—yet still it wasn’t enough. His entire frame trembled. When he thought he’d wept his fill—Masunori ascended.

“Father says you must not go to school today…” came Masunori’s relay. “Why?” he asked himself, but found no answer. All he could feel was his pounding heartbeat—a turbulence born of future dread and imagined ruin in his ransacked room. But this could not stand. One who stood by principles shouldn’t quake at such trifles as fear or a disordered study—so he told himself as he rose to the window. Beneath a cloudless morning sky, ancient pines along the riverbank stood in vivid contrast. To the north, figures leaned from dormitory windows of the Sewing Girls’ School, necks craned toward him. Carefree wretches—this carefree world ill suits me—he thought, slumping back into the corner. Again he read Tsuruko’s letter. Mid-reading—

“Eiich! Eiich! Where is Eiich?” Father came up to the second floor. Eiich did not answer; finding him in the eastern corner, “Eiich—you’ve gone mad! Best take leave from school and recuperate,” declared Father, his face darkening. “Father—I’m not mad at all! Not mad or anything!” protested Eiich. But Father only glared at his tattered sleeveless kimono.

“Then why did you burn down the house and carve up the alcove?” he demanded, glaring. Eiichi had been waiting for this question. “It was only to make you better—only so you might understand my heart,” he answered. Father let out a hateful laugh. “Improve yourself? How can you improve yourself when you’re mad?” he said coldly. “If only Father hadn’t been so infatuated with Oume and those other women… I would never have lost my mind…” Eiichi muttered tearfully before falling silent. Yet even then he wondered: “Would someone like me truly be called a madman?”

“What’s that kimono you’re wearing?” “You come home dressed like that and claim you’re not insane?” Father laughed again. Then, adopting a slightly more formal tone,

“Eiichi, even if your mind is calm now, it’ll be a problem if you go mad again. While your mind remains calm, I’ll send you to the mental hospital until you’ve completely recovered from your madness. Go there,” he declared. Hearing “mental hospital,” Eiichi suddenly stood up and approached his father. And while staring at his father’s face: “Can I get into a mental hospital?” “I’ll go in.” “As you command.” “If you say staying at home might harm Father or your family… but when will you ever listen to what I say?” he asked while wiping away tears. Father responded indifferently,

“Then you’ll go?” he pressed, attempting to leave. At that moment, Eiichi hesitated slightly but then stepped forward resolutely—grabbing his father’s sleeve as though suddenly reverting to a childlike state— “Father. Why are you putting me into a mental hospital?” But Father glared into Eiichi’s eyes and, “Once your eyes look like those of a normal person, I’ll let you out... Eiichi, let go of there,” he said. “Let go, Eiichi! There!” he tried to wrench himself free. And so Eiichi...

“Father, if that is how it must be, then I shall never lay eyes upon you again in this lifetime. The path I walk and the path you walk have diverged too far... Father, with this, I bid you farewell for the rest of my life. I must hasten down my own path. And you—please walk your decaying old path. Instead of going to a small mental hospital, I will now depart for the grand asylum of the world... Then, Father—goodbye. Father who brought me into this world—goodbye... For the last time, I bow to you, and let this be my final look at you in this life,” Eiichi said, clasping his hands together in reverence as he bowed to his father. Wiping away his tears, he left the house just like that.

Outside, the morning sun shone bright. Eiichi found himself muttering aloud. "Ah...why must Japanese homes stay so dark when the world outside blazes with light?" he...

That evening, Eiichi borrowed a small sum of money from his aunt and became a third-class passenger bound for Kobe. ...still wearing the same sleeveless workman's kimono that had clothed the beggar monk.

23

Having landed in Kobe, Eiichi intentionally did not stop by the shop in Kajiya-cho. And immediately through the mediation of a labor broker in Minatomachi 4-chome, he was sent to Gonzo’s lodging for dockworkers in Higashide-cho. Eiichi believed this to be the bitter cup he must drink from himself. Eiichi asked the labor broker’s master to send him to some factory, but due to the recession and there being no openings anywhere, he was finally sent to Gonzo’s lodging in Higashide-cho. Life at Gonzo’s lodging was far too harsh. They were packed two to a single tatami mat on average and made to sleep in a cramped, low-ceilinged space like a storage room. For Eiichi, revolution, socialism—all matters of idealism—vanished at once. He realized society had become so corrupt that even social reform was no longer permissible. He was sent to assist laborers every day. At times he was made to carry scrap iron. He had even held the ideal of becoming a winch operator after working as a dockhand, but came to understand this was nothing more than an ideal. He came to understand that without skill, one could not even work as a dockhand. In the room, Eiichi was immediately given the nickname “Blue Gourd.” Eiichi realized that carrying the soil used for roofing was the task best suited to him, so he volunteered for it every day and was hired as a laborer to travel as far as Mikage from Wakihama. Eiichi had completely killed his ideals. And he even considered things like finding each day both interesting and amusing—thinking it would be good if he could just get through it. However, he quickly made friends. There was a fifty-year-old man named Sakai—a labor boss with two prior convictions—who for some unknown reason showed him special kindness. However, on the fifteenth day after arriving at Gonzo’s lodging, those who had been looking forward to their pay were disappointed when it was postponed to month’s end. Yet it didn’t take long to learn about the malicious practices at Gonzo’s lodging.

When the month’s end came, Eiichi received a mere two yen and thirty sen for twenty-three days of labor. The master of Gonzo’s lodging concocted some pretext and pocketed the rest of the wages. Eiichi thirsted for newspapers. For twenty-four or twenty-five days straight, he had not seen anything resembling a newspaper. He had not received a single letter. Lice had infested his shirt until it itched unbearably. Yet after returning from work, he found himself utterly devoid of courage to do laundry. Even crawling up to the second floor felt burdensome upon returning from work. He lacked even the resolve to change his clothes. Thus about once every three days, he would collapse into sleep as he was. There were times when he grew too agitated to sleep at all. In those moments, he envied his companions drinking sake. Yet he could not muster the courage to drink himself. Many laborers returned from work and went to Shin Kaigai to watch moving pictures. Others wandered to Fukuhara Yukaku just to gawk. But Eiichi lacked the will to walk even ten chō for such diversions. The lecherous bunch traded stories of buying prostitutes. Yet Eiichi had not even enough vitality left to stir sexual desire. He had become like some neutered creature. Now he possessed nothing—no ideals, no sexual urges, no hopes, no close friends, no culture, no newspapers, no money, no decent clothes, no robust physique, no peaceful bed, no books—nothing at all.

He said to himself, “Now I am a passive saint.” Truly, he was a saint. He was supposed to receive sixty-five sen per day as wages, but this was merely on the surface; once fifty sen were deducted for food expenses, only fifteen sen per day remained in the calculation. However, he even relinquished ownership of those fifteen sen. His hair had grown long. However, there was no need to get a haircut. An unkempt beard had sprouted. Yet he had no desire to shave it. From time to time, he would stand before the ornate shelves of large stores or glass doors, pitying his own wretched appearance, but would resign himself, thinking there was nothing to be done.

He wanted to curse all of society. Having hit rock bottom, he finally learned how to curse society. But he had no pen, no paper, no desk, and no electric lamp. At Gonzo’s lodging, twenty-two men were packed into a ten-tatami space to sleep, yet there was only a single five-candlepower electric light there. At work, he was insulted daily by a man called Testicle Sei to his heart’s content. Testicle Sei had been given this nickname because he had only one testicle. Testicle Sei prided himself on being “Second Fire Hose Nozzle,” and at work did nothing but talk about fires, but since Eiichi found his stories utterly tedious, he never gave proper replies. So from the very start, declaring “Blue Gourd the Uppity Student,” he would make nothing but unreasonable demands even when Eiichi was engaged in “iron cannon carry”—a task where one fills a bucket with soil, hoists it onto their shoulder like a rifle, and climbs up to the roof. On one occasion, complaining that the soil delivery was too slow, he pushed him off the roof, but fortunately, Eiichi caught on a naru pillar and managed not to fall all the way down. The reason Eiichi regarded Sakai as a benefactor was that he always helped Eiichi whenever Testicle Sei tormented him. Eiichi cried so much whenever he was bullied. And he wanted to pray to God to become free as soon as possible. However, even when he realized he had been plunged into a life harsher than that of a slave, he had no faith left to pray to God. He merely picked up a pencil and Jitsugyō no Nihon that someone had discarded in the room and wrote the Bullying Diary.

That “Bullying Diary” was truly tragic. Eiichi cursed existence itself from rock bottom. At other times, he contemplated suicide. At other times, he pondered socialism. But he also thought that even if a socialist era were to arrive, encountering an official like Testicle Sei would prove utterly unbearable.

He bought a single-layer used kimono with the two yen and thirty-three sen he had first received upon coming to Gonzo’s lodging. It cost two yen per piece. He had his head completely shaved for fifteen sen. Feeling better for the first time in ages, he visited the store in Kajiya-machi. He wanted to look through over twenty days’ worth of newspaper clippings. But of course, it was also to check on his father’s condition.

Murai was wearing Western clothes and sitting on a chair in the shop. There was no one outside. When Eiichi entered, Murai was busily writing something on a document. He maintained a pretense of ignorance until Eiichi leaned against the partition bar dividing the shop and garden. So Eiichi greeted him: “Mr. Murai, good day...” Murai replied in a disinterested tone, “Oh? Bō-bō, what brings you here? “Have you written to your father?”

“No… Did he say something?” “The other day when the master came to Tokyo and stopped by briefly, I humbly inquired after Young Master’s well-being—he said you’d left home two weeks prior without a single word… And you’ve been here all along? With that shaved head, one wouldn’t recognize you at a glance… You’ve grown terribly thin—withered to a crisp. Where on earth have you been?”

“Was Father worried?”

“No, not particularly,” said Murai as he busily wrote a letter. Murai’s complete lack of warmth toward Eiichi was utterly excessive. Yet Eiichi did not particularly mind it. He knew well that those without money or power commanded no respect in this world. Still, he was shocked by the stark contrast between the reception he had received upon returning from Tokyo and today’s treatment. Feeling inexplicably saddened and lacking even the courage to ask for the newspaper, he trudged back sullenly to Gonzo’s lodging in Higashide-machi exactly as he was. Then, wrapping himself in a thin futon, he wept. When leaving the shop, Murai had asked for Eiichi’s address, but Eiichi deliberately gave no reply and dashed away.

After that, Eiichi faced one hardship after another. At work, he was injured every day. And he was bullied by Testicle Sei every day. Yet poems did exist. As he stepped across tiled roofs hauling soil by day—the noon sun blazing overhead, tiles gleaming like jewels—he contemplated labor's sanctity. And in those moments, he found his most religious hours. He knew neither progress nor growth. He himself declared this period a "life of copper wire." For it merely stretched onward through time, devoid of any hope to evolve beyond itself.

The rain continued to fall. And all the men at Gonzo’s lodging idled around at home every day. Gambling broke out. The ones who did not gamble were only the man commonly known as "Sanuki"—a thirty-year-old ailing man—and Eiichi. Fights also broke out daily. There was even a funeral. It was for a man who had been employed as a laborer at Kawasaki Shipyard and was struck by an iron plate to die instantly; at that funeral, Eiichi too was made to keenly feel the sorrow of laborers’ lives.

And day after day the rain continued, and for nine full days they did nothing but eat, not going out to work at all. And so, all their food expenses during that period became debt. And as Eiichi considered that he would have to work for two full months just to repay this debt, he came to think not of Lassalle’s *Iron Law of Wages*, but of a *Wage Hell*. Eiichi felt for the first time in his life that he wanted to try stealing when passing by used clothing stores—when walking past rice cake shops.

He stared at his hands and feet. And he stared at his own form. And then he wept at his own wretched appearance. Because society had solidified to the point where reform was utterly impossible, his dreams of labor movements had been nothing but illusions. Japanese laborers are too exhausted to awaken. He repeated this exhausted routine every day. And he had reached the point where he even forgot what day of the month and what day of the week it was. It was just after the rain had cleared on the first afternoon—as he was returning from the construction site at Yamaguchi in Wakinohama with a large group—that Eiichi unexpectedly encountered Hozumi from the Hyogo shop at Ujigawa-shimo. Of course, Hozumi couldn’t have known, but Eiichi called out to him. Because Eiichi was dressed in a workman's coat and straw sandals, Hozumi was astonished.

“Bō-bō… What’re ya doin’ lookin’ like that?” “Yer quite the odd duck, ain’tcha?” Hozumi jeered. To this too, Eiichi gave no reply. “Get yerself home—I’ll sweet-talk ’em proper… But hey now, word is the master’s caught himself a right nasty sickness.” “They’re already sayin’ it’s hopeless… Gut typhoid.” “Eiichi—shoulda gone back ages ago! What kinda ungrateful whelp are ya? This here’s why I hate book-learnin’—turns folks into your sort.”

“Huh… Father… is sick?” “So… it’s already hopeless?” “If I go back today, I reckon there’s already a telegram sayin’ ‘He’s dead.’”

Eiichi became extremely gloomy. And so, finally,

“If a telegram comes saying Father’s taken a turn for the worse, will you let me know?” The words escaped his throat. “What’d we do if we didn’t? You’re the heir, ain’t ya… But Eiichi—where’ve you been holed up? Murai said he saw you lookin’ like some pauper at the shop t’other day, but we couldn’t figure where you’d got to, see? Should’ve told you ’bout your old man sooner—our bad for bein’ such louts.”

Eiichi gratefully appreciated Hozumi’s kindness. And so Eiichi explained in detail about his lodging—that is, the location of Gonzo’s lodging. When he heard this, Hozumi— “Ah, I know it—I know it! Over there, y’know—that’s Shibata’s place, the squad leader of the second fire brigade. I know that guy well,” he said. Eiichi parted with Hozumi after that, and in the evening, as he stood eating his meal in Shibata’s narrow garden, Rokuya—the apprentice from the Shinmi shop—arrived with a letter from Murai. It was the one that reported his father’s death.

Eiichi left his meal half-eaten and requested leave from the owner Shibata, explaining his reason. At that moment, the landlady—with frizzy hair, narrow eyes, and a squinting glare—came out, “You have a debt of 4 yen and 50 sen here, so would you kindly pay it?” she inquired. And so, Eiichi spoke about the Hyogo shop for the first time. And then he immediately told them to come collect it together. And the one who received the order to go collect that money was Kōgan Sei, who happened to be present there. The landlady remained thoroughly suspicious. Kōgan Sei and Eiichi walked in silence. And they walked from Higashide Town to Kajiya Town for over twenty minutes without exchanging a single word.

Murai paid Eiichi's debt. Kōgan Sei received it with a strange look and returned. That night, Eiichi boarded a ship bound for Tokushima. Murai also boarded the same ship.

Eiichi did not show his face much to Murai. And he did not speak. Having witnessed the death of “Sanuki” at Gonzo’s lodging, he did not consider his father’s death to hold any particular significance. At rock bottom, he believed he had learned only that will must be like iron. On the day of the funeral, Eiichi had resolved in his heart to remain as indifferent as possible. However, at Zuigan-ji’s funeral hall, when he followed behind the twelve temple priests and circled the coffin three times, he could not remain indifferent. As he walked in silence, the panorama of his father’s and his own ‘life’ interactions unfolded before him. And so, Eiichi wept with more wonder and sorrow toward existence itself than Hamlet had upon seeing Ophelia’s funeral procession—or so he felt in that moment. Everything was mysterious. The utterly unmusical clang of bronze bells... the discordant notes of Indian-style sutra chanting... As Eiichi listened to this meaningless funeral music, he firmly resolved—he would leap over all boundaries of "death" and wage war against conventions, expediency, traditions, and delusions.

Before him now lay a vast world. It was the vast Brain Hospital Eiichi had once spoken of to his father—a Brain Hospital spanning the entire Earth, tormented by militarism and capitalist "paranoia". Whether Eiichi had gone mad or the Earth had gone mad—he resolved that the battle would begin now.

Twenty-Four

Since Father had died without leaving any will, the relatives held a family council to investigate the inheritance, but they were utterly astonished to find that the house and land properties had been mortgaged in two, even three locations.

Eiichi devoted himself to studying day after day without participating in any of the meetings. For about two weeks, Eiichi had no idea how things would turn out, but one day when his Uncle Yasui from Osaka inquired about the situation and he explained everything in detail, his uncle was astonished. “You’ve been running the Hyogo shop too leniently,” Uncle said with sympathy. “Go take charge of that place properly.” “I’ll take in and care for both Masunori and Yoshitaka, so there’s nothing you need to worry about.” “As for your mother in the countryside—it’s rather pitiful how things are for her—but since she has considerable savings of her own and we’ve decided to leave her the back room, we’ll have her stay there quietly…” Uncle had completely forgotten about Emi. And no wonder—Emi hadn’t even known of her father’s death and, of course, hadn’t returned home.

Everything proceeded.

The large house was to be received by Matsuda of Toorimachi as collateral for the mortgage. The legal wife entered the back room. The large barn and indigo-dyed sleeping quarters were all scheduled to be demolished. Masunori and Yoshitaka were to go to Osaka, while O-Ume was to receive 2,500 yen and open a restaurant.

Eiichi came to the Hyogo shipping company. He did not believe he possessed any genius for business. Of course, this had never been his aspiration. Yet he lacked the courage to immediately throw himself into the lower strata of society. Gonzo's lodging and the cheap boarding houses felt too dark for him. And so he rationalized that experiencing commerce firsthand would prove necessary for advancing his principles, resolving to follow Uncle Yasui's counsel. Now Eiichi made efforts to forget those two bitter months spent living at Gonzo's lodging.

Since coming to Hyogo, Eiichi became aware that the world had changed. I am the master—in other words, a capitalist. Yet he thought sadly, the self casting its shadow upon the objective world remained a distant prospect, and this self could not yet discover its true self.

He had now resolved to discard his entire self and merge with society. The courage and fervor he had felt at the beginning of May had already vanished; the bitter authority of objectivity now bound him tightly, rendering him unable to weep or scream, leaving him with a sensation akin to being dragged down into the depths of an abyssal sea. Lately, he could not help but think of his own ruin. During his wanderings, he had not received a single letter from Tsuruko. However, he too had not been able to send a single letter.

Moreover, during his wanderings, he had realized that the agony of an embattled existence was ultimately beyond what fragile beings like women could endure. He concluded that even Tsuruko would prove incapable of weathering future struggles alongside him, and thus discarded love as a species of sin. Curiously, he found himself forgetting love entirely during daylight hours. No—at least he strained to forget.

However, when he ventured into the teeming human city and launched his transport business, he could not help but realize that the bag which was himself had no bottom whatsoever. In a realm called school—detached from society—being bottomless had been permissible, but now required a foundation. What could serve as this foundation? A scrap of cloth would not suffice. "A woman?" "Woman Soul?" Eiichi pressed a hand to his chest. But now he could attain no honor, his love lay in ruins, and his very being steadily shrank. He felt as though the wings he had once infinitely extended were now shedding feathers one by one, their very tendons fraying to breaking point.

He started a transport business. He gazed upon the sea like an aged Faust. But where does Mephistopheles lurk? Where lies the mystery? Where should one raise a dike to drain the sea?

Eiichi had no authority. As humbly as possible, he tried working diligently at steamship companies, his own shop, and even the ships moored offshore. The realization of socialism or anarchist freedom was beyond imagination. The large Minnesota-maru, carrying Eiichi, laughed.

Eiichi got up at five in the morning and studied. From eight o'clock, he would go to the ship loading with the apprentice Rokuya and would not return home unless it was eight in the evening. When he returned from ship loading in the evening, it was not to eat meat, nor was it to drink alcohol. But then again, it wasn't as though there was someone dear waiting for me. Nor did I feel any interest in love. I felt lonely without women—especially since coming to Kobe—but when I considered what dealings with women entailed, I quickly grew weary. If I were to define women as merely well-fleshed creatures with smooth, beautiful skin that induced men to feel momentary pleasure when they approached them, I worried whether such pleasure could last five or even ten years. He would simply chant "Books, books," and when his finances improved a bit, he ordered many philosophy books he liked from Maruzen in Tokyo. And upon returning from ship loading, he would immerse himself among these books, lying down while sipping eggs and milk. Until O-Toku, the maid from Awaji in her forties, came to say, “Master, dinner will be a bit late…,” he would read critiques in foreign magazines.

Lonesome. Even when seated at his meal tray, he was following a vegetarian diet. There could be no feast for him to enjoy. He savored the nori with a click of his tongue. "Ah, if only I had a sister like Hume," he thought, but he had neither sibling nor cat. Upon arriving in Kobe, Eiichi had immediately tried tracking down his sister’s whereabouts, but wherever she might have hidden herself remained utterly unknown. Yoshida Yutaro—whom he’d asked for help—now spoke of his sister as if she were some fool. It seemed she hadn’t even approached Yutaro’s residence. When bedtime came, he wished for a male friend, but it pained him that to this day he’d never had a single true companion. Yet when he recalled Tsuruko... he would remember their past filled with delicate affection—hands clasped together, bodies embraced. "If we remove sex from the equation... Tsuruko would make a fine friend," he mused, yearning swelling within him. "Tsuruko is an exceptional woman," he muttered alone, craving that friendship anew. Repeating "Tsuruko as a friend!" made a sacred spring seem to well up in his chest. Lying beneath the futon while pondering such things and reading, he would drift off to sleep unnoticed. Such was his day.

However, it wasn't all unpleasantness. The apprentice, the head clerk, and the maid grew increasingly amiable in their efforts to curry favor. Moreover, finding his finances more flexible than expected, he raised his clerks' salaries. Thus came the dream: if this trend continued, he might expand operations through profit-sharing with the staff. He couldn't call it disagreeable. This marked October's end.

From the beginning of November, he began attending plays. Having hit upon the idea to study human emotional history, on a November night under the full moon, Eiichi picked up a kitten.

It was past midnight when he was returning from the Aioiza Theater. A kitten was crying in Minatogawa's vacant lot. Still small, it had pronounced redness around its eyelids. Though wearing a slender red crepe collar with a bell, its pitifully emaciated frame made the mottled black-and-white fur seem abnormally long.

The compassionate Eiichi picked it up. When he tucked it into his bosom, the kitten that had been crying until now promptly stopped its tears and did nothing but gurgle in its throat. From time to time, it would start making a great commotion in his bosom. Eiichi laughed as he held it; if left alone, it would gradually climb up his chest, sniff at his breath, and cry "Meow." And pressed its small, damp, soft nose tip against Eiichi’s nose. It was uncomfortable, but not detestable. After a while, it would cry "Meow" again and crawl back into his bosom. When he let only its neck stick out from his collar, it seemed to be looking at the moon. Eiichi felt as though he were embracing a lover weary of life. The contrast with the moon was particularly striking. While walking through Honmachi and considering various things, he found the cat adorable. Moonlight fell on the tiled roof, and the dew-heavy patches glistened. The shadows of utility poles and telephone wires cast upon the road looked as though patterns had been dyed onto white silk. The moonlit night made even the city look beautiful. Yet Eiichi, holding the cat, contemplated what one might call this beautiful urban scenery. The love suicide drama of Akeya Hanshichi and Mikatsu he had just witnessed moments before suddenly materialized like a phantom. The tiled roof glittered like silver.

The next morning, the kitten became the talk of the shop. Hozumi started making a big fuss, shouting, “This one’s a female!” “If the Young Master holds it and sleeps with it, that’d be just perfect,” Hosokawa teased. For four days, everyone laughed from morning till night over this cat. Eiichi slept holding it every night, but come morning, it would crawl out from below, sniff at his breath, press that small soft damp nose against Eiichi’s nose, and lick his upper lip with its tongue. Eiichi laughed alone at “Kitsusu the cat!”, but upon rising found it had urinated and defecated beneath the futon. When he told the clerks about this, they all said, “It’s not just the Young Master— “At my place too, at my place too,” they started saying. On the fourth day, though it was raining, this cat had the audacity to climb onto Hozumi’s happi coat again, so Hozumi flew into a rage and ordered the apprentice Rokuya to take it to the beach and abandon it. The apprentice, with his flat face bearing a large nose and big thin lips, let out a mocking laugh as he went to discard it at the beach. Normally Rokuya wouldn’t listen to a thing Hozumi said, but thinking to bring this comedy to a close, he obeyed. The young master who had been waiting for the apprentice’s return asked, “What happened?” “I felt so sorry for it that I took it to the confectionery shop on the beach,” he said. Thus concluded the comedic episode.

By the end of November, the shop clerks began openly discussing brothel matters before the young master, with Hosokawa even producing an erotic picture from his tobacco pouch to show Eiichi. Their growing familiarity had made them presumptuous. Eiichi didn't find this temptation particularly frightening, but neither did he consider it an intriguing development. On the evening after the cat incident concluded, Eiichi went for a walk with Hozumi to Kusunoki Shrine. Hozumi dragged Eiichi toward Daikyu. Eiichi made some gentlemanly remark and turned to leave. Yet Hozumi calmly entered anyway. Eiichi regretted lacking his companion's boldness. It was social research. When he approached Daikyu again thinking there was nothing left to observe, an astonishingly beautiful woman emerged and pulled at him. "Your friend's already gone inside," she said in Kobe dialect. "No need to rush off like this, eh?" Then another woman appeared and tugged at him too. Hozumi came out and said, "I'll return shortly. Go inside and wait awhile." Reluctantly, he entered. Hozumi seized a pretty woman and traded jokes endlessly. Eiichi maintained his aloof expression throughout. Hozumi prattled to the women about Eiichi's vegetarian habits and the cat affair. Eiichi himself felt no particular discomfort about it all. After some time, they emerged. The two women saw them off with, "Do come again now."

Eiichi was utterly astonished by the women's allure. Hozumi chattered on about all sorts of women. However, Eiichi remained determined.

25

In Tokyo, after the *Shinkigen* faction and the Kashiwa faction split, *Shinkigen* ceased publication. Mr. I and Ms. F took over afterward and launched a small newspaper, but they were only made to pay fines. Shinmi heard about this from an activist living deep in the mountains of Mikawa and sent ten yen—a small amount—toward those fines. Eiichi thought that democratic ideas in Japan needed to be propagated more thoroughly, but given his current position, there was nothing he could do about it. Eiichi increasingly hoped to spend his entire life among the poor, like the British social reformer Toynbee.

And so, Eiichi sought to suppress all his sexual desires. Yet the temptations surrounding him proved overwhelmingly potent. Moreover, the influence of naturalist literature that had recently emerged now took firm hold in Eiichi's breast. He found himself feeling that to be conquered by beauty and women bore an uncanny resemblance to victory.

It was exactly the end of November. Eiichi was asked by Murai and consequently found himself obligated to campaign in the third-class by-election for Kobe city council members. At that time, the owner of Torii Transport Shop in Sakaecho 3-chome had run as a third-class candidate, and since they were transport colleagues, Eiichi was forcibly dragged into the campaign. Eiichi had said he would give at least one speech, but the rally ended up being held only once—and that at a small variety theater called Kikusuitei near the Fukuhara red-light district, which could barely hold about four hundred people. The speakers were mostly from magazine publishers and newspaper companies—those that put out issues once a month if at all, specializing in advertisements, publishing once every three months in a manner that didn’t violate the newspaper laws. They had grandiose names like *Nippon Kanamono Shimbun* ("Japan Metalware News"), *Kansai Shōyu Shimbun* ("Kansai Soy Sauce News"), *Zaimoku Shimbun* ("Timber News"), and *Hanshin Sengu Shimbun* ("Hanshin Marine Equipment News")—or in the most extreme case, one oddly titled *Umi no Dai-Nippon* ("Great Japan of the Sea"). These were local political specialists who seemed half-political thugs, but their speeches were all clumsy affairs. As a result, Eiichi’s new ideas and well-trained oratory sufficiently moved the audience. The next day’s newspapers wrote that Mr. Shinmi Eiichi’s eloquence had particularly moved the audience. It may not have been the reason, but three days later, Mr. Torii was elected.

And the election celebration was held at Tsutsui Kadan in Kaeshimiyama, but Kobata, president of the *Kaiun Geppō* Shipping Monthly, came to invite Mr. Shinmi, earnestly requesting his attendance at the event. And Eiichi went with Kobata to Tsutsui Kadan. There, for the first time in his life, Eiichi had a geisha pour him a drink and drank just one cup of sake. And for the first time, he saw what could be called a geisha's dance performed for a small audience. At this moment, Eiichi came to understand for the first time that it was not unreasonable for many people to fall into depravity. The banquet attendees, including Mr. Torii, totaled thirty-one people, but aside from Shinmi, all the rest were reporters from those small monthly newspapers mentioned earlier. And here, Eiichi came to fully understand what local politics was all about. According to Murai at the shop, the man called Torii was apparently a graduate of Waseda Specialized School who had long been engaged in the shipping business in Kobe. He seemed to be a gentle person. However, he did not engage in any separate, in-depth conversations with Eiichi either.

But Kobata had been spreading what he heard from Murai to his comrades. They said Shinmi was quite the great scholar indeed. At the banquet, he proved immensely popular. Kobata—evidently well-acquainted with geisha circles—sat beside Eiichi, not only telling him the geishas' names but introducing them properly. When the banquet ended past half past twelve, Kobata invited Eiichi to join three geishas for a second gathering in Hanakuma. As a seeker of beauty, Eiichi found himself unable to refuse. Beneath a sign reading Tama no Ie amidst Hanakuma's glittering electric lights, five cars came to a halt. As they stopped, shrill feminine voices called from behind latticed doors. Staff emerged to welcome the five arrivals from their vehicles. Here no drinks were served—nothing at all—yet Kiyonosuke, their senior geisha, showed Eiichi particular attentiveness. Kohide—the twenty-one-year-old beauty who'd returned with them from Tsutsui Kadan—sat bashfully silent beside him. Among their group was another called Umewaka who excused herself upstairs with a headache almost immediately after arriving. "I'm staying here tonight," declared Kobata, then pressed Eiichi to do likewise before he could protest. Gathered around the long brazier inhaling feminine perfumes amidst their banter, Eiichi found himself settling into this warmth until courage to leave dissolved entirely. Kiyonosuke kindly urged him to stay given the late hour. Soon Kohide quietly mentioned their futons had been laid side by side already prepared. Eiichi marveled at life's convenient arrangements—this geisha house held none of the vulgar obscenity he'd imagined.

It was warmer and more full of human warmth than being in his father's household in Tokushima. And so, he gratefully accepted everyone's kindness and spent that night sharing a room with Kobata.

The next day, Eiichi left Tama no Ie around eight o'clock, but Kiyonosuke, bringing Kohide along, was asking whether it would be acceptable to visit Eiichi's shop. Eiichi replied, "Please do come visit," and returned home.

26

The next day, Kiyonosuke had a rickshaw driver carry a long letter and deliver it to Shinmi’s shop in Kajiyamachi. Eiichi, having opened it, showed it to the people at the shop. Then Murai, Rokuya, Hozumi, and the maid O-Toku all laughed loudly.

That afternoon, two distinguished gentlemen in Western suits arrived by car at the shop. Eiichi thought it strange, but they were people from Kobe Marine Insurance. Murai welcomed them and talked at length for about an hour in the second-floor reception room. After the two had left, Murai came to where Eiichi was writing the shipment invoices and—

“Young Master! Something terrible has happened!”

Eiichi hurriedly— “What is it?” he asked. “The *Daifukumaru* was shipwrecked in Enshū Nada during a storm about a week ago—masts snapped, rudder torn away, a third of its cargo lost. While drifting, it was spotted by the *Koreya Maru* bound for America. They rescued just the nine crew members once, but... Well, they told them they’d only save their lives—to abandon ship and cargo. The crew couldn’t bring themselves to leave their familiar vessel, so they took just the provisions and kept drifting. Before they knew it, they neared Izu Ōshima. The islanders, seeing it was a derelict ship, promptly sent rescue boats and brought it into port. But those villagers were greedy bastards—they stole about half the cargo still left on board.” “At Kobe Marine Insurance, they received this telegram the day before yesterday and immediately sent someone to a port in Izu called something-or-other… And the matter they came to consult about was the five hundred bales of ammonia shipped by ‘Maruni’ from Tokyo.” “Apparently, half of that cargo has been washed away.” “However, they say about two hundred bales remain undamaged and should be fine… The insurance company argues that since this isn’t a sinking but a jettison—and what’s more, the crew deliberately threw things into the sea—they can’t pay the full insurance amount. They’re asking us to settle for a consolation payment… Of course, they say if we had either scuttled the ship by drilling holes in its hull or lost all the cargo entirely, they would’ve paid the full amount.” “So I asked them—if we were to drill holes in the ship’s hull right there in the port it’s currently docked in, would we still get the insurance money? And they said, ‘We’ll pay out.’”

“This is troublesome… I wonder if Maruni knows about this?” “Earlier, it seems two of them came by… Apparently, when Ishida’s ship was wrecked off Shikama in Harima Province, they did something similar… They deliberately poured water on the remaining ammonia to ruin it and collected the full insurance payout.” “Is it really acceptable to do such things?” Eiichi immediately retorted that what they called capitalist economics was a strange thing.

“Well, there’s no problem with it.” “According to Kobe Marine Insurance’s explanation, Maruni apparently pays about twenty-five thousand yen a year in insurance premiums.” “So the total insurance payment for this shipment comes to just under forty thousand yen.” “Therefore, since we need to keep their patronage going forward, they say they’ll pay out the insurance money if we either sink the ship or make all the cargo useless.” “That’s a strange way of putting things… I can’t make sense of such matters.”

“So here’s the thing—since I can’t sink the ship, I think it would be best to either throw the cargo into the sea or drench it with water.”

While they were talking, a call came through from Maruni’s shop. The call was indeed about that very matter. Murai was at a loss. Ammonia was in somewhat short supply, so even Maruni wanted it—or so they said. That being said, they wanted the insurance money and insisted that someone be sent to investigate regardless.

So, after consulting with Murai, Eiichi decided to send Hozumi and informed Maruni of this over the phone. And Eiichi finished his lunch early and promptly set out to search for Hozumi offshore.

Hozumi departed in haste for Izu Ōshima on the 7:30 PM second-class express train from Kobe with an employee of Maruni Fertilizer Co., Ltd.

That evening, Eiichi felt drawn toward Kiyonosuke and Kohide, so he trudged off toward Hanakuma. Yet he felt inexplicably ashamed. Just as he reached Fukuharaguchi, a drumbeat sounded. When he looked to see what it was, there stood the Gospel Mission preaching by the roadside. That night alone, Eiichi's religious fervor had grown peculiarly intense. Comparing himself to the young preacher, he burned with indignation at his own inadequacy. Abandoning his journey to Hanakuma, he followed them to the Gospel Mission Hall in Tamondori Fourth District. There he listened until the sermon ended. Shinmi remained unmoved by the preaching itself but was profoundly affected by the laborers' testimonies. A dim-witted-looking dockworker from Kawasaki Shipyards—a man of thirty-five or thirty-six—fervently testified how Christ's salvation had delivered him from his ruffian past through divine grace. Eiichi found himself utterly overcome, tears streaming down his face unchecked. He contemplated his present state—this labyrinth of self-indulgence. And he resolved to consider becoming a Christian. Yet philosophy still obstructed Shinmi. He could find no resonance with those incomprehensible religious mysteries—the Trinity and Virgin Birth, Ascension and miracles.

The man referred to as the pastor was a gaunt, tall figure in his forties—sentimental or perhaps overwrought—who kept repeating himself. To the audience—no more than twenty or thirty people—he called out, "Let those who are saved come forward to the Seat of Grace!" Two or three promptly stepped up, but Eiichi found himself wanting that courage. He burned with the need to repent. Yet the promised meeting with beauty tonight—Kohide's allure above all—outweighed religion's pull. Thus Eiichi crept away from that place without mustering the resolve to approach the Seat of Grace. He made haste toward Hanakuma.

The Hanakuma area was bright. Eiichi found himself wondering why the Gospel Mission Hall had been so dark. In any case, the geisha district in Yamate was bright. A woman in a beautiful kimono—with large, clear eyes and fair skin, her jet-black hair arranged in a Shimada hairstyle that seemed to drip with moisture—passed by him on the narrow path. That alone made Eiichi happy. At Tama no Ie, Kiyonosuke and Kohide had received invitations but, thinking Shinmi would come, had apparently deliberately declined them and waited. When told this, he somehow thought that if he had come a bit earlier, it would have been better.

Kohide, an Akita beauty, was truly beautiful. Tonight, she looked especially beautiful. Eiichi thought that even sitting beside her was a great privilege. Eiichi, Kohide, Kiyonosuke, and the landlady—the four of them sat around the long hibachi. The one referred to as the landlady was not the least bit landlady-like. She had the bearing of a merchant’s wife somewhere. According to Kobata’s pillow talk last night, she was said to be the mistress of some hat shop in Motomachi. Tea was served, sweets were served, and Kiyonosuke broached the topic: “I was thinking of asking you to take us to the theater or something tonight,” but Eiichi’s silence left the gathering awkwardly deflated. Eiichi’s hope was rather that he wanted to spend time alone with Kohide, just as he had once freely engaged in love’s games with Tsuruko. However, because Kiyonosuke was so earnest toward Eiichi, he naturally couldn’t make such a request. Kiyonosuke was talking by himself. From the rumors about Kobata, Kohide declared, “I hate Mr. Kobata.” “I dislike Kiyonosuke too,” she said.

Kohide imitated Kobata’s way of smoking a cigarette. “That way of smoking closely resembles the Mayor of Kobe,” Kiyonosuke said. Then the character assassination of Mr. Mayor began. Kiyonosuke recounted how the mayor had struggled to deliver a congratulatory speech at the housewarming party for Mr. Yagi of Nada Sake Brewery’s mistress’s new residence. “Didn’t you see them tearing into the mayor about that in the next day’s Kobe Shimbun?” asked Kohide. “I didn’t,” answered Shinmi. Kohide relayed the details. Shinmi smiled bitterly, thinking corruption wasn’t limited to the Tokushima Mayor alone.

Then, the attack on the mayor began. The relationship between the mayor and a geisha became the subject of rumors. At that, “Wait, Sis—you know what?” Kohide cut in loudly, interrupting the conversation. “They say even Mr. Yamada from the prefectural civil engineering department and Mr. Shinoda from the shipping company visit the place across from Kobata’s Matsuura-ro!” she revealed. “Does Mr. Yamada, the Civil Engineering Department Chief, go to visit prostitutes?” Kiyonosuke asked, his eyes widening.

“Yes.” “Doesn’t he have any children?” “They say he has five children.” “And why does he go there?” “It was when his wife was pregnant, apparently—or so they say.” Then Eiichi was told by Kiyonosuke about Shinoda of the shipping company’s carousing habits. And hearing about the truth behind Shinoda—who put on such airs—he smiled bitterly.

While they were having such conversations, Umewaka returned from outside. Umewaka talked about the banquet's details. She announced happily that Mr. Nakao would take her to kabuki tomorrow night. Hearing this, Kohide turned to Shinmi, "Mr. Shinmi, please take me to the Kabuki-za Theatre tomorrow night," she implored. Shinmi immediately agreed. "Me too," Kiyonosuke interjected.

“Me too,” said Kiyonosuke. Of course, Eiichi lacked the courage to refuse. Umewaka was asking the time. The landlady answered that it was eleven o’clock with sleepy-looking eyes. Therefore, Umewaka declared she would go to sleep. Then Kiyonosuke,

“Mr. Shinmi, tonight we’ll lay out the bedding between us three for you—please stay over... It gets too lonely with just us women around, so we’d like to talk while lying down,” said Kiyonosuke.

Of course, Eiichi lacked the courage to resist this. And so, Eiichi had a separate futon laid out between Kohide and Kiyonosuke and went to sleep. The perfume the women wore gave off a pleasant fragrance, and Eiichi—forgetting all his troubles—trembled in the futon, consumed by the temptations of flesh and desire. However, Eiichi also realized that these geishas' character was more admirable than even Tsuruko’s, and he thought that even if he were to fall prey to one of these women’s temptations, it would not be something worth grieving over.

Twenty-Seven

The end of the year approached. With cargo shipments surging, every transport company worked frantically. Hozumi had returned from Izu on the fifth day and reported that since the ship remained intact and half the cargo had been saved, they likely couldn't collect insurance. Still, he added that if they dared to thoroughly drench all their current cargo, Kobe Marine Insurance would probably pay out. When Murai phoned Maruni to check, they'd stated they planned to soak everything to claim the insurance.

Then two or three days had passed. When he looked at the Kobe Shimbun, there was an article about Murai’s marital fight. It seemed to have been written because his wife—after being beaten by Murai—had made a big fuss and filed a complaint with the police station. However, it also stated that Murai was involved with a “kept geisha.” The shop employees had been gossiping two or three weeks earlier about Murai’s involvement with this kept geisha, but they had merely chattered and laughed—saying things like, “That stingy man would chase after another woman while his wife was pregnant!” Now that this had become grounds for a newspaper exposé, one couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. That day, the shop was extremely busy, but Murai ultimately did not show his face there the entire day.

That evening, as Eiichi was calculating fees, Rokuya returned from the harbor and reported that according to rumors there, Hosokawa from the shop had gotten the daughter of the harbor’s confectionery—the same shop where Rokuya had previously given a kitten away—pregnant. As for the confectionery shop’s daughter—she was only fifteen or sixteen, putting Hosokawa a good ten years her senior—Eiichi thought. But since he had his own weaknesses, he said nothing. However, that evening, when head clerk Hosokawa returned from offshore along with Yamada and Hozumi, none showed any change in their complexion. Yet the next morning, for reasons unclear to Eiichi, Hozumi and Hosokawa were in the kitchen hurling abuse at each other. Then Hozumi came to Eiichi’s desk and,

“Boss, you need to watch out for Hosokawa!” he warned. Eiichi could not comprehend what this meant. However, Hosokawa never returned that evening. The next day, and the day after that, he still did not appear. And Murai too had not shown up for exactly three days. So with Hozumi, Yamada—not yet twenty—the apprentice Rokuya, and himself, the four of them worked loading cargo until their vision blurred. But the pressing issue was having not a single sen to cover the marine insurance. Since Murai held the bankbook—which should still have five or six hundred yen deposited—Eiichi found himself cornered. Murai was supposed to have kept the seven-hundred-yen commission from Kashima. “Maruni can’t demand the commission until this matter settles,” With no alternative, he diverted the three hundred thirty yen in freight charges that had come through Kondo from Tokushima.

On the morning of December 9th, as Eiichi was reading the newspaper in his second-floor study, Rokuya came to inform him that the owner of Shōda from Kashima had arrived. When they met, it became clear that Hosokawa had committed misconduct. It turned out that while Hozumi was away in Izu, fifty koku had been diverted from the 150 koku of Otaru-bound rice from Hokkaido that were supposed to be loaded onto the Hakata Maru departing Kobe on December 1st. Eiichi was utterly shocked but sent Shōda back, saying he would investigate the matter thoroughly later.

That morning, Murai came to the shop immediately after Shōda had left, putting on a calm face. Eiichi said nothing about Murai. When Eiichi told him about the Shōda incident, Murai became indignant, exclaiming, “That bastard Hosokawa did it!” And Murai had been making phone calls all over the place, but all he found out was that Hosokawa had gone to Tokyo. And Yamada recounted that the fifty koku of rice had been purchased by a broker named Tanii in Higashikawasaki-cho, Fourth District. And Yamada, who knew nothing, informed Murai that he had been unaware of Hosokawa’s misconduct until today. “It can’t be helped!” Murai clicked his tongue.

He asked Murai how much remained in the deposit, but received a brusque reply: "If you deduct my monthly salary, there's only three hundred yen left."

Twenty-Eight

The next morning, as Eiichi was reading in his second-floor study early on, "Young Master, Mr. Shinoda from the pier has come to see you!" called Rokuya the apprentice as he came upstairs. (The "pier" referred to the Mail Steamship Company's pier branch office—an administrative office situated at the Mail Steamship Company's pier adjacent to Kawasaki Shipyard.)

“I wonder what business he has… Have him come up to the second floor,” Eiichi said without particular concern.

The maid O-Toku... “Mr. Shinoda? “Does he often come to that shop?” “The portly one with the handlebar mustache and gold-rimmed glasses?” she asked, taking a floor cushion from behind the folding screen adorned with Mr. Mizutake’s calligraphy. Shinoda and Eiichi knew each other well from the pier. He had also come to the shop three or four times since Eiichi had arrived. But he had never gone up to the reception room. He would spend three or four minutes exchanging loud banter with Murai while smoking a cigar, only to abruptly leave. And it was common for Murai to burst into boisterous laughter afterward.

Before long, a loud noise came from the direction of the ladder stairs. A large, fortyish man came up. He was dressed in a morning coat. Shinoda, “Oh, my apologies, Mr. Shinmi. It’s fine weather today,” he said, tossing his bowler hat onto the tatami mat while wiping his handlebar mustache with a handkerchief, then bowing slightly without sitting down. Four or five sparrows were chirping on the roof of the back warehouse.

Eiichi placed his hands on the floor and bowed formally. “Now please, this way—” he said. Shinoda looked at the Western books in the tokonoma alcove’s bookshelf, “You read quite extensively, Shinmi-kun!” he boomed while,

“Let me take a look at one of these books,” he said, moving closer to the bookshelf. “Hmm, nothing but philosophy books here.” “But ah, here’s Karl Marx’s Capital.” “So does that mean you’re not a philosopher after all?” “Oh, you’ve got Westermarck’s *The History of Human Marriage* too.” “You read nothing but things we can’t understand,” he said in a nonchalant tone. Shinoda was a man of scholarly disposition, always cheerful. That’s why he was liked by everyone at the pier as well. For a while, he silently perused the books, and then,

"What a waste for the owner of a shipping company—there aren't many bookstores in Kobe that have amassed this many philosophy books... Kobe truly is a place where people don't read—that's why there are so many fools around." He laughed to himself—an incredibly loud voice.

Eiichi remained silent, watching the book Shinoda was searching for. Shinoda, once again, “Mr. Shinmi—you should quit being the owner of a shipping company and become a professor at some professional school instead. If it’s just a middle school ethics teacher position, maybe I could help arrange something?” he said offhandedly, voicing what had been on his mind.

“However, I must decline the position of middle school ethics teacher,” he answered.

“No, actually—the truth is, a friend of mine has opened a private middle school in Toyohashi, Mikawa with about two hundred students. If there’s a man around Kobe who can speak English fluently and understands philosophy, he says he’ll hire him for about seventy yen a month—so I’m searching for one now.” “In Kobe, someone who understands philosophy? In Kobe, it would suffice to wear a red necktie and manage a brief greeting in English.” “However, there are men who occasionally graduate from American seminaries and end up loitering around trading firms in Kobe. They must be targeting those men. If you can say someone’s a person of high character who studied philosophy in America, they’ll carry weight even out in the provinces.”

“That’s right.” “There are those who’ve returned from seminary.”

The young apprentice brought tea up from downstairs. "But you have interesting books." "You read a lot of poetry, don’t you?" he said, sitting cross-legged on the provided floor cushion. He was a carefree man.

The maid O-Toku brought a tobacco tray and presented it before Shinoda. Shinoda took a cigar from his pocket and lit it while, "Do you smoke?" "I don’t smoke." "Well, that’s admirable! Then I suppose you don’t drink alcohol either?" "Oh, I don’t drink these days—for me, not drinking doesn’t particularly affect me at all." O-Toku, who was nearby, chimed in, "He doesn’t eat meat or fish at all." "Well, that’s impressive! What on earth is the reason for that?" "He’s a vegetarian, you see… and an extreme one at that."

“So you’ve started with these strange antics, I see.” “But it’s humans eating meat that’s strange, you see,” she continued. “From physiology—whether you look at stomach structure or teeth—we’re herbivores by nature… And besides that, he goes freeing mosquitoes, lice and fleas too—giving them liberty and life.” She burst into laughter. “Ahahaha!” “Strange to eat meat?” he retorted. “With that flabby body of yours—keep eating meat and you’ll drop dead any day now. You.” “If avoiding meat meant certain death, then every farmer in Japan would’ve perished long ago—”

Shinoda kept his eyes fixed on the ledger atop the desk. "In truth, humans aren't meant to eat meat, right? Buddha himself forbade killing living beings... Yet here I am eating meat," he declared with a booming laugh. "What do you mean by that?" "Nothing consequential—merely a mental logbook." "And those papers stacked over there?" "This?" Eiichi replied, sifting through two or three hundred folded sheets that rustled beneath his fingers. "You mustn't mock this. It's my research on 'The History of the Human Face.'"

“That’s quite eccentric!” Shinoda laughed loudly again. For a while,the two were silent,but Shinoda,slightly changing his demeanor, “Mr.Shinmi.” “Today…The truth is,I’ve come with a small request—will you hear me out?”

“I will hear it. Since it’s you, Ahaha…” he said with a light laugh. It was probably about money. He imagined that since they engaged in the sort of amusements being rumored about in Hanakuma these days, they must be struggling financially. “Since it’s you, I thought you’d hear me out—and since it’s your family’s matter, I figured you could manage the funds… So I came to ask—though it’s truly embarrassing—could you lend me some money?” Shinoda said without a trace of shame.

“Ah, very well.” “How much?” “I need around a hundred yen.”

Eiichi agreed to the request though inwardly questioning "A hundred yen?" yet maintained his manly composure, “Do you need it today?”

“No, it doesn’t have to be today, but I absolutely need it by the end of this month, you see.” “By the end of the month?” “It should be possible.” “I shall arrange it by around the 25th.” “Around a hundred yen should be manageable.” “Thank you. “I must ask this favor… My wife back home has fallen ill this time and is asking me to send money, you see.”

“Ah, very well.” “I shall certainly arrange it.” “Well then, since I’ve no further business, I’ll take my leave—I’ve been intruding since early morning.” “Mr. Shinmi,” he said nonchalantly. Yet the skin beneath his eyes flushed faintly red, his pupils shifting restlessly behind his spectacles.

“I see. Then I’ll take my leave,” said Shinmi, who made no particular effort to detain him.

Shinoda picked up his bowler hat again and went downstairs.

Shinmi did not even see him off,

“Well then, I’ll excuse myself here,” he said as he sat back down at his desk. The maid escorted him to the shop and then came back upstairs. The apprentice Rokuya also came upstairs. He had come to retrieve the tobacco tray. And then, looking at Eiichi, “That Shinoda, Boss—did he come to borrow money or something?” “That guy’s always swaggering around like he owns the pier, but today he was bowing his head all servile-like.” “That guy’s the cockiest bastard at the pier,” he said, remaining standing.

"But Mr. Shinoda is the most important one at the pier, isn't he?" Eiichi replied. "That man's a graduate of Tokyo Higher Commercial School, isn't he? Does graduating from that school really make someone act so high and mighty?"... He glanced toward the drying platform.

“Ah, what nice weather today! I want to go play in the mountains,” he said, darting toward the window. Rokuya was fourteen years old. He was at the height of his mischievousness. “Hey, Roku. If you run around like that, you’ll kick up dust,” Eiichi scolded, but Rokuya pretended not to hear and went out to the drying platform. “I can see Anchoryama, Anchoryama! I wanna go play in the mountains!” Rokuya kept exclaiming.

O-Tok turned to Rokuyu,

“Mr. Shinoda – what’s he always doing at the pier?” she asked.

“That guy’s the vice branch manager, so he just sits in his chair acting all high and mighty,” answered Rokuya as he imitated Shinoda’s pompous manner. “Just acting high and mighty?” “That guy leaves his wife back home and can’t help but go carousing in Fukuhara.” “Boss, did you hear that?” Rokuya asked as he sat on the threshold, swinging his legs back and forth. “The way he talks so boldly,” the maid laughed. "But that guy’s got quite the pull, you know." "All the other apprentices are shaking in their boots around him." “But me, I go right up to that guy’s desk and mess with him, I tell ya.”

“That’s bold of you, isn’t it?” the maid continued laughing. “I had Shinoda teach me quite a bit of English the other day, you know, Boss.” “…‘Dog’ means dog, ‘steamer’ means steamship, and ‘launch’ is just launch.” “And then ‘web’ would be wave, right?” “That’s all it took—I ended up forgetting everything.” “Ah—I still remember some!” “Is ‘chimney’ ‘whistle’?” “You’ve got quite the memory,” “Boss, couldja teach me a bit of English?” “That’s more than enough for you to know.”

“If I could really read all the books here as smoothly as this… I wouldn’t be stuck being an errand boy at Shinmi Shipping.” “If you could actually speak English, Boss, I’d go to the pier and strut around showing off—just jabbering away in English like ‘clang-clink-click-pop!’” “If I can’t grab a foreigner and talk to ’em, it wouldn’t be any fun.” O-Toku doubled over laughing.

“So you think acting high-and-mighty makes you respectable?” “I’ll strut around and rake in cash!” “How greedy.” “People who swagger about usually don’t have money.” “Then if just swaggering’s enough, Young Master, won’tcha teach me English?” “Should I enroll you in night school?” “Night school? For English?” “I’ll go—if you’re really gonna do it.”

“Roku, what time is it now?” “It must be nine o’clock.”

“Has Murai come or not? Go down and check.” “Mr. Sankichi won’t be coming today.” “Boss, didja see the other day’s newspaper?” “Hmm, I saw it.”

From below came a call: “Roku—” That was unmistakably Murai Sankichi’s voice. “Ah, Sankichi’s here already. “He’s bellowing for someone again in that loud voice of his.” “Dunno.” “Speak of the devil and he shall appear—ain’t that the truth?” “Miss O-Toku… No doubt Murai’s getting his blood sucked dry by Yamanote’s high-class whores.” “…Boss.” “When it comes to that house in Kita-Nagasa—now that’s one filthy place, I tell ya.” “Is that so? “Have you been there yourself, Roku?” “Been there plenty of times.”

Again, from below came a shout: “Roku—” “I dunno… You know, Boss, Murai’s missus is a nasty piece of work, I tell ya.” “Stingy, stingy—just plain stingy—” O-Toku studied Roku’s face, “What a funny face you’re making… But Roku, if you don’t go down, Mr. Murai’ll blow his top again.” “Go on downstairs now.” “Hah! What’s there to fear from Sankichi’s temper?… Sticking his scrawny neck out, gnashing those yellow teeth, waving his arms like some cheap actor… And get this, Boss—he’s got three brats, right? Every last one’s a little demon—” “Just… just… a pack of wild animals—Oh hell! Sankichi’s coming up!” Hearing footsteps clattering up the ladder stairs, the apprentice bolted for the drying area and scrambled onto the roof.

Sure enough, the footsteps belonged to Murai. Emerging halfway from behind the sliding door without bowing to Eiichi, he muttered: "That Roku bastard's hiding again, damn him. I just heard a voice on the second floor..." Then he went downstairs. Both Eiichi and the maid felt too awkward to look at Murai's face, but after he had gone downstairs, they exchanged glances and laughed.

Roku also came down from the roof and laughed. So Eiichi took Roku and went out to sea to load the ship again. And loading ships offshore was what Eiichi found most enjoyable.

29

Eiichi keenly felt he was ill-suited to being a merchant. He also came to realize he was fundamentally incompatible with contemporary social structures. That being said, he still lacked the courage to abandon the shop immediately. He no longer had the nerve to return to Gonzo's lodging as he'd done that summer; though wanting to become a newspaper reporter, he couldn't bring himself to join the crowd he'd met during the city council elections—he felt thoroughly disgusted with himself.

I found no interest in anything I did. I couldn’t help but feel as though labor had shackled me. And I realized that since the election campaign, my heart had been utterly ravaged for the sake of Kiyonosuke and Kohide. That being said, he did not know the means to overcome it. As I now degenerated, I saw all those around me descending into decay as well. And he thought that Shinmi Unso-ten’s fate would not endure much longer either.

He also thought that his lonely heart could find no solace now except through women. Yet on another front, the will to sanctify himself and the will to serve society rose up ferociously within his heart. As a result, he had not gone to Tama no Ie since late November, when he took Kiyonosuke and Kohide to the theater. He acutely realized that only through religion could he weather this crisis in his life. As the year drew to a close, his religious fervor intensified further, so he began attending the Fukuharaguchi Gospel Mission Hall every evening. He was not entirely without an unpleasant feeling. However, he could no longer bring himself to denounce external forms and doctrines as empty rituals. So, he always listened silently to the sermons and testimonies. And he had come to somewhat grasp what this essence of religion—something only he could experience—generally was.

The year-end financial settlement was unstable. Despite his own financial constraints, he had lent 100 yen to Shinoda, but the insurance premiums advanced to Maruni never came through, and with nearly 1,000 yen lost to Hosokawa—for which he was forced to write a promissory note—he couldn't help feeling anxious about what the new year might bring. Yet he wanted to free himself as soon as possible and plunge headlong into the labor movement. But even this modest business, with its hard-won credit and storefront presence, proved impossible to abandon entirely.

The last day of Meiji Year 41 had arrived. And Eiichi attended the New Year's Eve prayer meeting, intending to spend the final day of the year in prayer. Though Fukuharaguchi's bustle somehow prevented full immersion in the prayer meeting's atmosphere, he prayed that in Meiji Year 42, the labor movement would surely take its first decisive step forward. Even through the year-end hardships, the New Year arrived brightly. Cheered by toso spirits, Murai, Hozumi, Yamada, Rokuya, and even the maid O-Toku all seemed genuinely merry. Eiichi too strove to match their cheerfulness. Yet this proved impossible. For though he tasted religious sentiment and felt compelled to surrender completely to the "Heavenly Father," his philosophical torment—now a decades-ingrained habit—left him lacking the courage to plunge wholly into religion.

Especially when he heard that everyone else was going out to Hanakuma and Fukuhara in their beautiful kimonos for the New Year, being left alone in the cold air struck him as utterly pitiful.

And so Eiichi decided to embark on a solitary journey through the Kyoto-Nara region.

On the morning of January 2nd, Eiichi arrived in the mist-shrouded city of Kyoto, his body rocked by the motion of the Kyoto-bound train. He then sped off by carriage to visit the museum. Afterward, he toured by carriage from Ginkaku-ji to Omuro. Yet there was nothing even remotely interesting to be found. The next day he went to Nara, but it proved much the same. And so Eiichi quoted from *Faust*: he repeated the Emperor’s words from Part II, Act I.

Ich habe satt das ewige Wie und Wenn; Es fehlt an Geld, nun gut, Do Schoff es denn. "I'm sick and tired of the eternal 'how' and 'if'!" I want money—that’s all that matters—give it to me now! Exactly at 5:52 PM on the fifth day since leaving home, as the train sped west past small Horyuji Station, and when the shadow of the darkened temple complex disappeared into the mist in the northeastern forest, an unspeakable sorrow welled up in his chest. Eiichi looked as though he might burst into tears at any moment. Eiichi had grown wearied by the journey. And he had grown weary of life itself. "If... if by lying upon these rails everything becomes nothingness, I could resolve myself now to die under the next train, and it would be well. It’s only because I feel that not everything has vanished that I continue this ghost-like existence... Ah—no matter how much you oil a broken machine born into this mistaken world, it’s useless. Even gazing at Kohide was futile now. It has been five days since I left home, yet what has filled my chest? No one who would save me has appeared. Is that God? No, even if you pray, God’s hand is too short. Women? Women are even smaller than God! Money? Money? "Ah, how filthy—I’m done for, done for—"

With his feverish, aching head pressed against the glass window, Eiichi closed his eyes. It throbbed dully. The train roared ahead with a terrifying noise. He found himself thinking how much better it would be if passenger cars were made entirely of glass.

From Tennoji, the train stopped at an annoyingly large number of stations. Looking out the window, he saw names like Tenma and Tamatsukuri—distinctly Osaka’s unpoetic appellations—written on the corner lamps of the stations. Between one station and the next stretched a desert of tile roofs over which black smoke flowed. Osaka at night was truly terrifying. It looked as turbulent as a stormy sea. When the train ran along the banks of the Yodo River, he suddenly recalled it as a famous site for love suicides. And he remembered the love suicide drama of Akaiya Hanshichi and Mikatsu that someone had performed long ago at Kobe’s Aioi-za theater. A love suicide in nighttime Osaka? I didn’t know what connection there was, but I felt some terrifyingly intimate relationship existed. And Osaka was terrifying... I thought places where people gathered were terrifying.

The business was performing quite well. On January 2nd’s first shipment—apparently from Oguri (a rice broker in Shimokami-cho)—5,000 bales of rice were sent out bound for Otaru; they hadn't handled such a large consignment in recent times. Murai,

"This year's luck will surely turn splendid!" Murai let slip an uncharacteristic laugh through his crocodilian mouth. Yet their twenty-year indigo ball client—now under a new contract—would bypass Shinmi entirely, routed straight to main vessels. The apprentice Rokuya fumed before Eiichi, sickened to his core. His outrage proved oddly entertaining. "I can't stand this miserly shipping company anymore." "Might as well go home and farm..." he declared.

Murai said that this year's policy lay entirely in "joining hands with Hyogo rice wholesalers." However, January proved relatively sluggish even among rice wholesalers; after shipping out 5,000 bales, Oguri had only ended up sending 1,000 to Muroran. In Tokyo, the banks' voices of caution had grown louder.

The money to Soda could not be paid. They had postponed the January payment to February 5th. When February arrived, no rice came from Soda. Day after day, with only two or three hundred bales of rice to handle, the five clerks sat before their accounting desks, and reading newspapers became their job. Despite the idleness, since the apprentice Rokuya was slacking off and not tidying up the newspapers, the shop was strewn with newspapers, making it look cluttered. However, what gave the appearance of congestion was not limited to this alone. Groups migrating from the mountain depths of Awa to Hokkaido came pressing in thirty or forty at a time, lending an air of prosperity. However, amidst this chaos, Eiichi could not discover the reason why humans must live.

Thirty

For Eiichi, one path remained.

That is death. A cold, quiet death. And so, whether he was capable of dying or not, he wanted to plunge headlong into something with wild abandon. Ordinary deaths—drowning, hanging, being run over, dynamite deaths—executions in prison, death by illness, death by drug poisoning—none of those held any interest. In any case, he thought there was nothing better than running and running like in a marathon race, pushing through until his heart would rupture all at once and he could die.

However, he thought about how one could achieve such a death—suicide. And so, at times, taking advantage of there being no one around to see, he would throw his body onto the road. "You wretched corpse, die already," he commanded himself. However, even so, he could not manage to die. Yet he carried within him the danger that he might commit suicide at any moment. Whether he saw a knife, looked at the sea, or passed by a drugstore’s storefront, he always thought of death.

He resolved to abuse his own body as much as possible. He wandered along the Suma-Akashi coast, wondering if there was a chance to die. However, when he finally resolved to die, the astonishment of reality began to seep into his weary eyes. Especially when seeing the faces of children being carried on women’s backs through the streets, Eiichi perceived—more intensely than ever—the astonishment of reality. However, he did not possess the sensory faculties to probe more deeply into the profound depths of this astonishment of reality. Thus, he wandered between the astonishment of reality and death.

He shut himself in his room every day like one possessed by demons, weeping in a daze. He felt his body swelling as if waterlogged. His hands and feet seemed to grow absurdly large. His brain and chest appeared to gradually shrink—until finally he imagined his body breaking out in powdery scales like a leper's. His breathing grew labored, his tongue root parched. This thing called "now"—even for an instant—no, I want to dream. I want to stop breathing just for a moment.

He wanted to cry his fill from the very depths of his chest. And so Eiichi cried, his sobs surging up hysterically.

I am ash... The world is a crematorium; inside the furnace burns a fire consuming flesh and blood, while beyond it lies ice stretching endlessly. A north wind fierce enough to tear throats blew from hell's depths. Ah, crematorium! Half my body thrust into this furnace while ice rots the remainder... But... soon... how could I not rebel against death's authority? What if...? What if...? I shattered this furnace with these rotten hands, seized the blazing flames, and hurled them upon the ice beneath my feet!

The ice melts. And I lose my standing. And I am falling somewhere! Somewhere! Somewhere! To somewhere...and then, the eternal dream begins. What is society? What is the nation? What is civilization? What is father? What is a lover? What is reality? What is God? What is value? What is beauty?...That—isn't it all nothingness?!

It falls... It falls! Everything vanishes with death—with Earth's destruction—with the annihilation of self—isn't it all just disappearing! All social structures cemented from ambition, misunderstanding, superstition, falsehoods, and tradition—wouldn't they shatter into fragments when the self ruptures?! In short, life toys with a flower blossomed upon this void. Ah, void of voids—negative of negatives—must I still keep living atop this? ??

No, no—I’ll let myself be dragged along. O Reality! O Blind Guide! Come quickly to the edge of the universe! I want to leap down from there and fly into a world that lies even beyond death's realm!

He tormented himself with such thoughts. Women, books, even the sun—none could comfort him. He became disgusted with his own incompetence, apathy, and lack of ideals.

He spent a full month and a half in such torment.

However, the astonishment of reality held him too firmly. The astonishment of reality had finally prevailed over him. He resolved to affirm everything. Affirmation of all—yes, he decided to affirm every expression that flows through life and its time. He rose from the abyss of despair into a world of wonder. He steeled himself to live powerfully in reality's domain with death's force. Everything was wonder... Death, self, land, stones, sand, meals, women, maidens—even the nothingness pursued by steamships was wonder. Colors, light, outlines, roses' blooms, even the crimson hue of young women's lips—all were wonders. Black blood, sin, defiled hearts—all were wonders. He affirmed it all. He resolved to live with strength. And he danced upon time's flow, striving to charge forward bravely. To this end, he accepted all reality and sought to embrace every aspect of religion and its symbols. He resolved to confront everything with the courage that drives one to suicide.

Thus resolved, he gradually drew closer to Christ. He told himself that he was not plunging into the sea, but rather throwing himself into the world of wonder—there to drown.

And so, on February 11th, he finally resolved and determined to confess himself a disciple of Jesus.

His church was the Nippon Christ Lecture Hall in Mizuki-dori 3-chome, Hyogo—the smallest in Kobe—run by American missionary Dr. Williams. Dr. Williams had once lived in Tokushima City for a long time; during his middle school years, Eiichi had even gone to learn English Bible conversations from him. However, finding the Gospel Hall too boisterous, and while searching for something more suited to his temperament, he discovered Dr. Williams’ lecture hall and decided to attend there. He found the small lecture hall and received baptism on his second Sunday there.

However, Eiichi liked the simple faith of the Gospel Hall; particularly Pastor T’s earnest attitude proved consistently warm and welcoming toward people. He found himself drawn to the poor believers there. Thus every Sunday without fail, Eiichi would conduct street preaching at Minatogawa Park alongside the Gospel Hall’s trainees—those studying Scripture under Pastor T and Missionary W to become missionaries themselves. Having become a disciple of Jesus, Eiichi grew fiercely resolved that he must now possess a faith unshakable by anyone. Yet his inaugural attempt at street preaching proved mortifying. He lived in constant dread that someone might recognize his past and expose his shortcomings.

On the evening of the first Saturday in March, he set out alone for the first time to conduct street preaching in the Fukiai Shinagawa slums at the eastern edge of Kobe. This was a place Eiichi had frequented last summer when working at Gonzo's lodging, and even among Japan’s slums, nowhere was considered as utterly filthy as here. The most severely filthy area was Rokugachō, where over eight thousand people lived. In a two-tatami tenement comprising around eighty units, a single house—despite being just two tatami mats—had nine family members crammed in to sleep there. Eiichi first thought that he must enter and live here. However, since he had no acquaintances there, he decided to conduct street preaching to make some.

When he sang hymns alone and began preaching by himself, many paupers in tattered clothes and laborers with peculiar faces gathered around. The electric street lamps of the town shone beautifully. “Cast away the filth upon the earth and look to heaven!” he cried, and when he raised his eyes to the sky himself, there in the boundlessly clear spring night shone countless stars. Truly beautiful. Even the power lines stretched long beneath the stars were beautiful tonight. Eiichi profoundly thought that he was a son of man who could cry out in the wilderness—a prophet.

He had to be strong. Having rebelled against school, his father, his family, and society, he thought through tears that he must live resolutely on his own—and so preached the gospel of Jesus. For thirty or forty minutes he preached about God's love and Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, but among the listeners were those who sneered, "What's this fool spouting?" others who muttered, "What's he going on about?" and still others who jeered, "Is that supposed to be an 'Amen'?" Yet Eiichi had come fully expecting to be pelted. Thus these taunts left him unperturbed.

There approached Shinmi a ferocious-looking man—short, awkwardly built, around thirty years old, wearing straight sleeves, his face pockmarked, with eyes that clearly spoke of a criminal past— “Hey, how ’bout lettin’ me give my testimony too?” Shinmi thought he was a strange man, but when he looked, the man was holding a five-sen Bible. As things grew even stranger, Shinmi wondered what would come of this, but saying, “Please wait a moment,” he finished his address.

“I have been informed this gentleman will now give his testimony,” he introduced.

The man’s so-called "testimony" was as follows. “See here—I’m Ueki Toratarou, just outta prison. Everyone round Shinagawa knows I’m bad news. Got thrown in ‘cause when I was fifteen, some wicked urge came over me and I torched Rokken Street—whole damn block went up in flames, though they rebuilt it now—and got nine years’ hard labor. Barely crawled out recent-like. Can’t read this Bible proper, but inside I learned my letters from scratch. Got this book here—good stuff, swear down! So folks, it’s just five sen—buy it and read up!” “Now, I ain’t sayin’ I’m all virtuous yet—but lookit that Murakami Senshirou up in Yamate! Man was Kansai’s top pickpocket back in the day, but now he’s repentin’ just like this!” He rambled on like this, clearly struggling to wrap up his point.

With the street preaching concluded, as he was about to leave, that Ueki Toratarou—

“Hey you—got somethin’ I need ya t’hear. C’mere a sec?”

he called out to stop him. At the impudent, rough-edged manner of speech, Shinmi was somewhat taken aback, but through his experience living at Gonzo’s lodging—where he had gained some understanding of lower-class laborers’ psychology—he followed behind Ueki. Then Ueki led him deep into a pitch-dark alleyway and stopped before a certain tenement house, “You some kinda Jesus preacher?” he demanded brusquely. “No, I’m not any sort of teacher.” “Ain’t no preacher but still doin’ preachin’, huh?”

“I can.” “You know a teacher called Murakami Senshirou?” “No, I don’t.” “That’s strange—so you’re still green in the Jesus business, huh? Murakami Senshirou from Okuhirano—everyone in Kobe knows that name! He helps all them folks comin’ outta prison... Look here—I wanna go ’round preachin’ Jesus like you do, but where’s a fella supposed to go?... Where’s this Jesus headquarters in Kobe at anyway?’” He spoke as if making sense while making none.

“There is no particular headquarters for Jesus.” “So where’s your church at?” “It’s the lecture hall in Mizuki-dori 3-chome, Hyogo.” “There’s a church in a place like that?! Never heard of it!... What’s this ‘teacher’ called anyway?” “An American named Williams.” “A foreigner, eh?... Foreigners are decent folk, ain’t they?... Look, no offense—but gimme it straight an’ don’t get sore—if I went ’round preachin’ like you, how much wages’d I pull in?”

“I don’t receive any salary at all… I’m preaching because I want to.” “That can’t be right—there’s gotta be wages! Heard even the lowest gets ’bout twenty-five yen a month—that a lie?... You know that book Twenty-Three Years Behind Iron Bars? Guy in there became a missionary right after prison—I’m thinkin’ I’ll do same... But no connections, so askin’ ’bout headquarters... Me—since gettin’ out—been crashin’ here (points to house)... Lazing ’round daily... Place looked after me since I was knee-high, so they don’t mind me freeloadin’ weeks on end... But I’m broke as hell—need work... Ain’t easy findin’ cushy jobs neither... Specially for a cripple like me (shows right hand shorter than left)... Got other troubles too—wanna tell ya... Where you live anyway?”

Eiichi was startled by the man’s rough manner of speech and worried that if this man were to visit his shop in Kajiyamachi as well, it would be troublesome, but— “It’s in Kajiyamachi, Hyogo. If you mention Shinmi Shipping Company, they’ll know right away.” “Shinmi Shipping Company? Hyogo Kajiyamachi, right? You headin’ back tonight? I figure someone as devout as you—comin’ out alone street-preachin’ in this freeze—must’ve got time to hear me out. Need ya to talk ’bout how I should live my life.”

Shinmi, saying “It’s a bit of a walk, so I’ll take my leave,” started down the road, but Ueki declared, “I’ll see ya that far,” and followed after him. In short, he was in trouble because he had no work—he wanted to know if he could become a missionary or, failing that, borrow startup funds for a mochi business. However, Eiichi had less than one yen on him. He couldn’t provide the capital immediately. Moreover, since he didn’t know what kind of person Ueki was, he tried to take his leave then and there—but when the moment came to part ways—

“I’m truly sorry to ask, but if you could just lend me twenty or thirty sen for pocket money, I’d be obliged,” he pleaded. And so, Eiichi took out all the money from his wallet and gave it. However, it amounted to a mere eighty-one sen. With that, Ueki left without so much as a "thank you," simply tossing out a “I’ll take my leave now” before walking away. Eiichi was astonished that there existed such an odd character, but through Ueki, he had come to fully understand that the slums were somehow a place with an unsettling undercurrent.

The next day being Sunday, Eiichi went to the lecture hall on Mizuki-dori, but upon returning found Ueki waiting. Murai and all the shop staff were making strange faces. When Ueki asked him to step outside for a moment and they went out, he said he wanted to start a mochi shop and asked to borrow twenty yen in capital. Though he thought it unreasonable, Eiichi—determined to act according to Jesus's teachings—promised "Very well, I'll lend it," returned to the shop and asked Murai for twenty yen, but—

“Eiichi-san, what are you thinking, lending to that man? In this cutthroat world, you think there’s any fool who’d lend twenty yen to a man like that? Five yen’s plenty—five yen’s plenty,” he said, taking out just five yen from the safe.

And so Eiichi took those five yen and made his excuses to send Ueki home. However from then on Ueki came to visit Shinmi’s shop every day. But since Eiichi was usually out at the harbor doing cargo work they never once met. On Thursday evening when he went to the lecture hall Dr.Williams— “Mr.Shinmi do you know a man called Ueki?” When asked this Eiichi replied “What happened? I do know him.” To which Dr.Williams continued “Ueki came saying you told him to get fifteen yen from me.So I gave him five yen.”

Though he thought him an unsavory character, Shinmi recounted everything to Dr. Williams about that man's past—starting from their first street preaching in the slums—omitting nothing.

At this, Dr. Williams was instead greatly pleased and declared, "In that case, I shall go with you to do street preaching in those slums." However, Shinmi declined. He explained that having a Westerner go there would instead cause misunderstandings, and stated his hope that Dr. Williams would support him from behind the scenes. From around this time, Shinmi resolved to entrust all matters of the shop to Murai and advance more religiously himself.

Thirty-One Eiichi remained continuously fervent in his religious devotion. However, his religious fervor did nothing to save his shop’s business. Murai and Hozumi were indifferent to religion. Even when he conducted open-air preaching at Minatogawa Park, no one commented. “Eiichi-san, you’ve been mighty devoted to Christianity lately,” was all Murai said. Hozumi too remained silent. Yet lately, he no longer seemed to visit the pleasure quarters. It appeared everyone had been chastened by the Hosokawa incident.

Amidst this, as Eiichi had settled into the shop, he decided to write something like *A History of Jesus Biography Research* and began reading works by Sanday, Hils, Schweitzer, and others every morning. And every Sunday, he would help out at Sunday school and conduct street preaching alone, among other things. However, he only went to the Fukiai slums two or three times afterward with trainees from the mission house; thinking it was somewhat too far and that half-hearted efforts would be futile, he stopped going.

Amidst this, the cherry blossoms at Suma Park bloomed and scattered, and the time came when somen noodles from Banshu were shipped nationwide. Therefore, Shinmi’s shop also became a bit busier. And so... "Three hundred bales of somen from Soda? “Soda ain’t plannin’ to ship out through us—that guy’s just routin’ his cargo through our warehouse ’cause he wants Hosokawa to cough up that thousand yen.” “Once they get their money paid back, they’ll sure as hell send it through Takagi Shipping Store!” “……I wonder what’s coming from Awa today?” “If even Awa ain’t sendin’ shipments, we’re so free we’re at our wits’ end.’”

The opportunities to hear the mischievous Rokuya mutter such things grew fewer. When April arrived, Murai proposed to Eiichi: “Let’s borrow money from Miyoshi at the Kita-Nagasa train cargo shipping company using the telephone as collateral and pass it on to Soda.” Of course, Eiichi did not oppose it. Miyoshi was a transport company in Kita-Nagasa, but Murai had been saying they wanted to acquire Shinmi’s shop.

Summer came.

And Eiichi continued living a rather ordinary life. It was a monotonous existence where he had forgotten women, love, and all else - though he did manage to write one hundred fifty to sixty pages of *A History of Jesus Biography Research*. He kept commuting to the harbor as usual. He made many friends among the dockworkers too. For Eiichi, joining his dockworker friends and joking loudly with them became his greatest pleasure. When the dockworkers finished cargo work around summer noon, they all stripped naked and jumped into the sea. Beautiful russet forms flowed across the waves. White foam rose on blue swells. The sun beat down from above, blazing mercilessly. The harbor shone beautifully, and then an indescribable resonance of life's joy seemed to rise from nowhere. One of the dockworkers,

"Boss Shinmi!" one called out. Two or three voices called out to Eiichi again. Eiichi too stripped down to just a loincloth and leapt from the deck of the main ship. No sooner had the splash sounded than I was plunging straight down to the seabed. White soda-like bubbles rose. When I had descended so far that I began worrying how much deeper I might go—then tried to rise back toward the surface—pushing through the blue water with both hands, holding my breath—looking around—I saw that even beneath the sea was beautiful.

Everything in the sea was magnificent. And so I could not help but praise the summer sun and the sea. However, when returning from such places to the dark house in Kajiya-cho, everything seemed small. On precisely such days, Murai's talk would prove tedious. It was because the accounting at Shinmi Shipping Store had completely stalled that Murai did nothing but harp on about petty matters.

At the end of July, a letter arrived from his sister Emiko who had long been missing. The contents of the letter were as follows. “Please forgive my long silence. After parting from Brother, I encountered nothing but hardships. I changed employers thirteen times, but in the end, I unwittingly came to serve at the home of a school friend named Takeda, and through the kindness of the master there, I ended up marrying the manager of the Taiwan branch, and now I am here in Taiwan as written above. However, as the climate in Taiwan is unfavorable, I plan to return to the home country at the earliest possible day. Lately, as I am pregnant and also showing signs of beriberi, I find myself wanting to return to the home country as soon as possible. About a month ago, as I grew terribly concerned about Brother, I sent an inquiry to Madam Mametsuke—only to receive word that Father had passed away and you were at the shop in Hyogo. Since then, I have wept daily. [...] I am an unfortunate soul who could not even meet Father at his deathbed. However, I think this too must be some karmic fate and have resigned myself to it. Brother, please take care of your health. Since you, Brother, are the only one I can rely on, if you would think of me at all, please take care of your health.”

So it was written.

July had passed. Hozumi had three months' salary in arrears, and Rokuya four months'. This was because Hozumi and Rokuya knew the shop's operations were struggling and deliberately refrained from collecting their wages. Hozumi had been raised in Shinmi's shop since childhood and devoted himself to it as if it were his own home. Eiichi could not help feeling grateful for this. The two would say, "Since we ain't gettin' paid, we'll stuff ourselves with rice instead!" and indeed ate voraciously. Their manner of eating proved so comical that everyone in the shop clutched their bellies laughing.

The reason for Shinmi's shop performing poorly was the lack of cargo. During his father's lifetime, nearly ninety percent of Tokushima Prefecture's cargo had been routed nationwide through Shinmi's shop, but after his father collapsed, they became overwhelmed by nothing but unnecessary expenses from salaries and miscellaneous costs.

Therefore, Eiichi held the hope of transferring his shop to someone else and entering some stable place as a clerk. Meanwhile, Murai was advancing negotiations with Miyoshi. Through connections made during the Maruni Incident, Eiichi secured employment with a clerk at Kobe Marine in Motomachi, and after Obon began commuting to an insurance company in Motomachi. This interim period unfolded like a storm. Each day found Eiichi pervaded by gloom, as if trapped beneath a low-pressure system.

It was the second day of September. Around eight in the morning, Shinmi was hurrying from Honmachi toward Minatogawa to commute to the insurance company. (The way Eiichi moved his body when walking quickly was the talk of the shop. He walked with his head bowed forward, swaying his upper body from side to side.) From the opposite direction came a tall, dark-skinned, corpulent man with a shaven head, wearing a lined striped haori jacket and walking down the very center of the road. He immediately recognized him as "Miyoshi," but felt awkward because the interest hadn't been paid. Eiichi was wearing Western clothes, but his shoes were unpolished, his trousers lacked creases, and his collar was soiled.

Shinmi thought to avoid bowing to Miyoshi, but mustering courage with the thought that a quick bow would suffice, they met precisely in front of Komaya—a confectionery once renowned as Hyogo’s finest. Miyoshi slightly lowered his shaven head forward, "Mr. Shinmi, where are you off to?" he stopped and asked, bowing politely from across the way. Eiichi was taken aback and felt somewhat awkward, but he returned the bow.

“To the company,” he declared. “I was just on my way to visit your place—is Mr. Murai already here?” “Ah, he has come.”

“Well then, I’ll take my leave,” he said as he passed by. Shinmi felt relieved as though he’d escaped a demon’s clutches. Miyoshi too had seemed about to say something—whether holding back out of pity or deeming it improper in the thoroughfare—but thought better of it and continued on his way.

Eiichi hurried across Minatogawa toward Aioi-cho while thinking: "Humans truly are peculiar creatures—" ...That Miyoshi proved kinder than expected. "We can't fathom people's depths through mere days of acquaintance... Never imagined he'd bow first this morning—" He stared at roadside pebbles through lowered eyes, mentally reconstructing their encounter before Komaya confectionery. Crossing Aioi Bridge... "Though capitalists torment me with their interest demands—from their view it's perfectly reasonable. To hate capitalists constitutes error. Let those subsisting on capital and interest persist. If envy of others' leisure consumes you—better abandon labor entirely. Unless you deem others' joy your own—humanity fails. Even paupers find solace believing wealth exists somewhere? None attain enlightenment without thinking like transparent matter. Emerson's historiography touches this truth. Yet I won't renounce socialism. My socialism remains extensional—"

In the end, when Miyoshi sucks my blood, Miyoshi grows fat. Miyoshi's prosperity is my prosperity. "Is this the logic—that if Miyoshi and I were of equal girth, there would be no more 'prosperous people' in the world, making it all too simplistic and tiresome?" Even if everyone grows thin, they declare it satisfaction enough so long as one 'Umegatani' grows fat. They declare that rather than mere mediocrity, they desire a bit of 'greatness'. Exactly. Socialism too must stand on this logic (?)—otherwise, there is no hope that pure socialism can be implemented. Isn't rejoicing in others' improvement the fundamental ideology of socialism? Is it socialism to elevate others' status to one's own? Why must one's own status be placed on the same level as others'? Wouldn't it stem from the logic that if one's own status is elevated, others too will become happy? Or would pulling others down to one's own status be what socialism is about? If society is an organism (a rather oppressive fabricated term, though), then one must discover it between equality and discrimination. ...The conclusion is that if I were run over and killed by a train or tram, a civilized sacrificial Christianity would emerge—Ah hahaha. There! A train is approaching from the east. Speaking of coming from Tokyo—somehow it feels vibrant. I love steam trains……

But I’m already done for. Today too, I must write the diary of my life in numbers atop the bookkeeping desk. I’m locked in a battle of wills against this steel pen nib. ——

Ah, if only Christian orphanages were larger and could take in someone like me... But such things were 'secrets'. When others finally looked my way, I'd show them what my Self-Reliance Sect had achieved! This was what they called a philosopher's 'secret'—that's why so many hypocrites filled their ranks... What had I gained from Harnack's History of Dogma? What lessons did Theodore Hall's Social Interpretation of Britain's Religious Movement hold? We needed grand orphanages for men—religion had to become flesh or never grasp love's reality! Economic oppression breeding religious fervor? That marked every nation's history—Britain's modern folk proved it best! Build adult shelters! Build adult shelters! Our era's greatest need wasn't children's homes—not George Müller's work nor Ishii Jūji's! Was this Greek-Jewish artistic 'society=anarchy' doctrine? An asylum for eminent souls! There we'd house world-renowned greats and self-styled visionaries alike—all bearing that 'secret' in their breasts... Fatherless beings... Even Christ stood as history's grandest orphan—that man compelled to cry "Father!"

When I descended Aioi Bridge，beef shops lined the street. There was a fine barbershop. A tall Western-style Japanese gentleman came from the opposite direction. When I looked at his shoes，they shone like lacquer.

……I too feel like becoming that Westernized. I have no money. I want money. ……With this thought, I came to the corner of the stone insurance company building. A Western beauty came darting down the side street. She had a beautiful face. Wondering why Westerners were so beautiful, he pushed open the door and rushed up to his third-floor bookkeeping desk. He unwrapped the package, placed the second volume of Ruskin’s Modern Painters beside the desk, bowed to his colleague Shigeta, took out the ledger left unfinished yesterday afternoon, and began entering numbers. As he wrote,

……Just why do humans lower their heads and bend their waists forward to bow—what is the reason for it, I wonder? In Kabuki, when a princess cries, why does she raise her arms up to her shoulders and shake her head? Why does stubbornness and grace manifest more in arching one’s back than in bowing one’s head? How would one interpret this through mechanics?—such a strange question arose.

Entering numbers while thinking about such things was an easy matter for me. It feels good... That’s the principle of acceleration. Since ancient times, people have been using mechanical terminology like 'high' and 'low' for the head even in classical etiquette. If one extends straight upward, the range of activity widens and becomes spiritualized. When that extends horizontally, it becomes 'expansion' and materializes into flesh. This is the fundamental principle of etiquette. Crawling on all fours... imitating animals... that is the ultimate form of etiquette.

No, that's going too far. But I want to systematically and physically interpret habits and heredity. ——So thinking various things drawn from Ruskin's art theory, he dipped his pen into the inkpot.

As his nose seemed about to emerge from throat to mouth, he went to spit into the spittoon beneath the window. (Eiichi had a peculiar habit of his nose emerging from throat to mouth.) When he glanced down from the window at the street below, a Western-style woman was walking along with a schoolgirl. Still in summer attire, she wore a dashing white lace shawl and was chattering about something.

"Why don't you look up at me for a moment?" he thought, but she had already passed by. At the Tanaka Western Goods Store across the way, three or four Westerners were entering. A car carrying a Chinese person sped by. A bicycle raced past from behind. Two apprentices walked by chatting; a cart rolled past. Concluding that "society is plural," he returned to his seat once more. He picked up his pen and, laughing at how Ruskin would surely reject such urban beauty, entered the number 1.785. Then he found numbers rather charming indeed. Around four in the afternoon, he made his way home while reading Modern Painters along the way. "...The world isn't truly hateful," he mused upon seeing an overtaken rickshaw. "Wherever people move about fits just right..."

When he returned, both Murai and Miyoshi were said to have been waiting. He had mostly anticipated it, but Miyoshi declared, “The agreement has finally been settled—we’ll form a joint-stock company. Please be pleased about this.” Eiichi made no bitter expression; since he thought whether it happened or not ultimately mattered little, but if it was settled, that would suffice... “Is that so? Congratulations!” he said in a tone that seemed to place him in a third-person position. Then continuing, “Mr. Miyoshi—have you been at this since morning?” he asked,

“Ah, Mr. Murai treated me to a meal,” he laughed, gathering wrinkles under his eyes and forming large mounds of flesh on both cheeks. “Is that so? I wonder if there was a feast,” he said, whereupon Murai, “We had some fish specially delivered from Uozensho,” he declared earnestly, thrusting out his chin. “And then—” Murai continued, “the Young Master has also given his full approval to the merger agreement,” seeking ratification from Eiichi, who knew neither the details nor anything else. However, Eiichi thought it wasn’t the time to inquire about the details,

“Of course, I agree,” he replied. “Well then, how about I treat everyone to some roast chicken to celebrate?” proposed Murai. Miyoshi also agreed. Murai called Rokuya, took out two one-yen bills from his wallet, and commanded him to go buy kashiwa with this. Eiichi glanced briefly at Murai’s wallet; a considerable amount of money was inside. Murai was wealthier than Eiichi. When wine was served with the roast chicken and they became quite drunk, Murai and Miyoshi began praising Eiichi’s father. They went on—how he had been an orator, a prodigy, how women fell for him instantly, how one had to be the type to be adored—until finally shifting to Kohide of Tama no Ie’s assessment that Eiichi closely resembled his father in being a natural-born genius; one could tell just by seeing how women were drawn to him. If someone were to let this man have even a small sum like twenty thousand yen to start South American trade or such, why, he could accomplish great things—they began to say.

Listening to the conversation, it seemed Miyoshi was not entirely unfamiliar with Eiichi’s father either. He stated that he had met him several times at Mr. Tajima Katsumaro’s place. When it was said that he closely resembled his father, he nodded as if to say "Indeed." The thought that he might have inherited his father’s carnal desires made him shudder. Not only that—the fact that he felt nothing even when incurring debts—had he inherited all his father’s worst traits? The inheritance of sin?—the thought made him shudder. Even if he defended himself by saying it was something like what Osadotsuku spoke of, it all felt somehow like fate.

Around nine in the evening, Miyoshi walked home. (Being a frugal man who had been urged to take a rickshaw but refused.) Eiichi stopped Murai as he was about to leave and inquired about the details of the merger agreement. However, Murai began explaining with evident satisfaction. “If the Shinmi name alone is valued at fifteen hundred yen, isn’t that a good valuation?” “Moreover, since Miyoshi is putting up three thousand yen in capital, there’s no deal sweeter than this.” “And if you were to work for us too, we’ve arranged to pay you at least as much as you’re currently receiving from the insurance company.” “Once everything’s set up, we’ll launch extensive advertisements and make client rounds too, you see.” “So if shipments keep flowing steadily, things will work out nicely... Of course, the eleven hundred yen we owe Miyoshi will be converted into an additional nineteen hundred yen payment based on his contributed share ratio.” “Yes... The interest has been factored into that payment too, you see.” ...he rattled off breathlessly.

“Well then, the dividends will naturally be distributed according to contribution amounts, I suppose?” Shinmi inquired. “That’s correct.” “Essentially how it works out.” Eiichi offered no particular objection. Yet from telephone records and ledgers—whether as trademark value or advertising fees—the twenty-year legacy of the “Shinmi” name couldn’t help feeling undervalued at fifteen hundred yen. But Eiichi had already grown weary of the business. And so he remained silent.

Thirty-Two

Eiichi, now that the shop had finally been settled, resolved to advance his fierce religious campaign.

And beginning September 5th, he started conducting street preaching alone daily at the corner of Ichida Photo Studio in Motomachi 2-chome. He remained unfazed even when a bit of rain fell. He was dissatisfied with today's church's conservative approach. Therefore, he resolved to charge ahead on the path he believed in. He continued his street preaching in Motomachi every night throughout September. From time to time, police interference forced him to halt. However, he was not the sort of man to be cowed by such things.

On the street, he preached Tolstoy and George Fox's doctrine of nonresistance. He also preached internationalism and the fundamental reform of civilization. However, among the people, there was not a single soul who believed what he was saying. He continued his street preaching for exactly one full month, but his sermons showed no effect whatsoever. He uttered to God a cry more wretched than Jonah's in Nineveh. Ever since he first began persisting in street preaching, his colleagues at the insurance company treated him as a madman. Therefore, he had no close friends.

From late September, he began to feel a fever he hadn't experienced in a long time. Exactly one month later on October 5th around nine in the evening, as he preached by the roadside, a sudden downpour arrived. Even so, Eiichi did not stop his preaching. He had been utterly exhausted for about a week already, to the point where his voice wouldn't emerge properly. Yet his religion was no mere game. He had come out resolved to shout with every ounce of courage in him. When the sudden rain struck, he felt dizzy and unsteady as if his breath had been snatched away all at once. A terrible chill began creeping through him. Within that chill, he felt fever rapidly taking hold.

However, he— “Finally I declare: God is love! I’ll proclaim it until I collapse—God is love! This doesn’t mean some invisible God is love, but that where love exists, life and God manifest themselves!” Having declared this, he dragged his feverish body—heavy with impending collapse—through the rain to the front of the Gas Company in Motomachi 3-chome. As his vision blurred, he muttered to himself while leaning against the gas company office’s large glass window: “Ah...ah...I’m about to fall...Feeling nauseous...Oh...going to collapse.” Though he mustered courage to keep walking, he finally fell with a thud in the rain. He felt all muscles in his lower body convulsing. Then a strange thought arose: “I want peaceful rest here awhile.” He felt himself sinking into comatose darkness, but soon faintly heard the clamor of people gathering around him.

And he heard voices from the crowd saying in unison: "That's the young man who was street preaching in Motomachi!" "He collapsed!" "Collapsed!" "Collapsed!" "Where's he from?" someone asked from the crowd. Another voice answered, "That's the young master of Shinmi Shipping Store in Hyogo Kaji-ya-cho, they say." Shinmi now realized his body had become immobile. Yet he clung to the hope that someone nearby might recognize him. He lay collapsed in the rain for nearly fifteen minutes. Then, miraculously regaining his strength, he pushed himself upright unaided. Throughout those fifteen minutes of prostration, not a soul had offered to help him indoors. Society is callous, he thought. But now he found he could stand properly. Shuffling weakly, he made his way to the carriage office at Motomachi Fourth Street's corner. The watching crowd merely muttered "How pitiful" as Eiichi, drenched to the bone, let his sodden body be jostled in the carriage back to Kajiya-cho. Upon reaching the shop, even mustering strength to climb to the second-floor parlor proved impossible. At the entranceway he collapsed once more with a heavy thud. "What's wrong, Young Master?" Hozumi cried, leaping from his desk. He called Yamada down from upstairs, and together they laid Eiichi on the floor before urgently summoning a doctor by telephone.

The doctor declared, “This is extremely critical—signs of pneumonia,” before leaving, but for the following week, Eiichi found no restful sleep and suffered through continuous agony. The fever never dropped below forty degrees Celsius. On two or three mornings it fell to around thirty-eight degrees, but by afternoon would invariably shoot back above forty. He was plagued by an agonizing, choking cough. The phlegm came streaked with blood. Though Hozumi and Rokuya devotedly provided ice packs and cooling pillows, attending to every need they could imagine, Eiichi thought that without a woman’s care, they simply couldn’t properly attend to every need.

However, Eiichi didn’t have a single penny to hire a nurse. Murai was a man who knew nothing of the kindness expected of nurses. Eiichi couldn't help wishing there were a kind woman like Kiyonosuke or Tsuruko in this situation, though of course he lacked the courage to dwell on thoughts of Kiyonosuke now. The maid O-Toku was too busy with kitchen duties to spare any hands, and in his agony, Eiichi kept repeating to himself: "It would be better to die—then this suffering would end." On October 12th, Dr. Williams came to visit him for the first time. Until that time, Dr. Williams had not known that Shinmi was in such critical condition.

Dr. Williams placed his hand on his forehead and prayed for him. “You mustn’t push yourself so hard, Mr. Shinmi,” he said before leaving. In his place came a female missionary named Kubo Tamae—a woman eight or nine years older than Eiichi—who visited him. And she continued nursing him over an extended period. There was no telling how overjoyed Shinmi was at this. And so, Shinmi requested that she kindly stay as long as possible to care for him. And so the kind—though her reputation wasn’t exactly stellar, apparently due to some past heartbreak—Ms. Kubo stayed up all night nursing him. Eiichi, seeing Ms. Kubo’s kindness, thought that indeed it wouldn’t do without Christianity.

So, in a small voice, he whispered into Ms. Kubo’s ear.

“If I get better this time—if I truly get better—I will absolutely enter the Fukiai Shinagawa slums and devote my life to God. And if I do get better, it will be entirely thanks to all of your kindness,” he said gratefully. More than ten days had passed since he took to bed, yet Eiichi’s condition had not improved at all. The bloody phlegm had stopped, but his pulse had become abnormal. It had come to beat as many as 122 times per minute. Then again, his pulse would stop. His heart had become abnormal. The doctor who saw this finally pronounced a death sentence on Eiichi. He didn’t tell Eiichi this but informed Murai and Ms. Kubo. Around seven o'clock in the evening on October 16th, Dr. Williams and four or five church members who knew Eiichi had gathered at his bedside. And they were holding a final farewell prayer meeting.

All the people were praying silently. Eiichi faintly heard Ms. Kubo alone offering a beautiful prayer aloud. Eiichi also grasped his own wrist to check his pulse and was shocked to find none. However, Eiichi held the conviction that he would not die until he could fulfill his holy ambition—to spend his entire life in the slums for the sake of a certain enterprise God had entrusted to him: through addressing the issue of poverty, he wished to manifest the spirit of Jesus.

He clung to a conviction that he had vaulted over death and plunged into a mystical realm. Fixing his gaze on the point where electric light glinted off the alcove pillar, he stared unwaveringly—one minute, two minutes, three minutes, four minutes, five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. During this vigil, he became ensnared once more in an ineffable marvel of existence beyond human knowing. The luminous point he fixated on now shimmered like a rainbow; the room where he lay sprawled felt paradisiacal; his plain futon seemed woven from brocade. And that he was gripped by the hand of God the Father...no...that God was nearer than any father—dwelling even within himself—and he felt the joyous certitude of being submerged in God's very essence. The instant this joy took hold, his fever broke abruptly, leaving him astounded to find his pulse restored completely to normal rhythm.

The next morning, Eiichi had two dreams. The first was an unsettling dream where he had gone to the beach while it was still too early in the season when a sudden chill came over him, his chronic lung condition flared up again, and each cough sent blood gushing from his mouth, staining the white sandy ground. When dawn broke in his vision, Eiichi had abandoned his shop and set out alone on foot toward Korea until he came upon a desert-like place. "Ah—that village over there must be where Kant was born," he suddenly thought. As he walked on, he realized: "Kant wasn't German but Japanese—the whole world has been mistaken." 'He lived about a hundred years ago and was friends with Motoori Norinaga'—the memories grew clearer as he progressed. The road was so narrow it barely allowed passage for a single cart. The sandy ground bore deep ruts from cart wheels. Turning left revealed a large forest containing a small tile-roofed house with lattice windows. Before it stood a rough chest-high fence like those found on ranches, with a lamp fixed at the entrance. The lamp's face bore three inscriptions of "Kant"—the last rendered in characters resembling German transliterated into Japanese kana yet still read as "Kant." As he wondered if this was Kant's house, another path branched left between mulberry fields. Following it led to the foster home where Kant had been taken after being orphaned as a child. He recalled that Kant's orphaned state had inspired his magnificent yet sorrowful philosophy. While pondering this, a miniature Kant appeared—hair in a dragonfly-shaped topknot, wearing a straight-sleeved robe reaching his shins secured with a stiff sash—herding cattle through mulberry fields. "This brat! He looks just like Ninomiya Sontoku," he thought when Kant vanished and a small temple materialized. "What? Isn't this a temple?" he wondered as a monk chanted sutras. "Huh? Is Kant being enshrined as a Buddha here?" he marveled as a crowd gathered to worship Kant as their principal deity.

When he looked, two men who were said to be Christian pastors were also worshipping. To the left of the main hall was a garden surrounded by a hedge. To the right were terraced steps, and descending them revealed something like a pond or spring. When he read the temple's origin story being sold in the main hall, he found illustrations inserted throughout with anecdotes from Kant's childhood. Among them was even an illustration showing Kant performing Yoshitsune's legendary eight-boat leap, described in grandiose terms. It further explained that the spring to the right of this main hall had been dug by Kant—a spring deeper than Yamamoto Kansuke's two-hundred-shaku well at Kunōzan—whose bottom could never be fathomed. Viewed from above, the spring brimmed with votive strips thrown in by devout men and women praying for increased wisdom. As I stood before the main hall, a Christian pastor asked me, "Which school did you attend?" When I replied I'd been at Meiji Gakuin in Shirokane, Shiba, they both said, "We're from Doshisha." Both were bushy-bearded men. "Did you come here to proselytize Christianity?" Eiichi asked. "We came for street preaching," they answered. "And where will you preach?" he inquired. "In this garden," they replied. Thinking this a strange form of Christianity, he left the temple.

As he passed through the village while thinking how fervently Kant worship flourished in this region, Kant and Motoori Norinaga were entering a public bathhouse. And Motoori Norinaga, scrubbing Immanuel Kant's back, was saying: "Your research on Japanese history is an unprecedented masterpiece. "My studies on the Kojiki pale in comparison. "You've only published one volume so far, but when the complete work emerges, it will ignite revolution across Japan," he declared while pouring hot water. Yet Kant remained silent, smiling. "Professor Motoori—'Oh no no, your penetrating insight leaves me humbled. "My writings lack sufficient critical rigor—they're utterly inadequate,'" he was saying.

Eiichi saw and heard fascinating things. When he went to the next village, there was a shop selling elementary school textbooks. The title of that textbook was *Kant*. When he looked inside, he found anecdotes from Kant's childhood resembling fairy tales. Eiichi was utterly astonished that Kant fever had spread so widely across the world. When he casually asked about this village's name, someone explained it was called "Kotsubo"—a place that had once been entirely sea but had now become a sandy plain. Eiichi thought it might be near Kojima in Okayama Prefecture. When he asked what temple enshrined Kant there, they told him it belonged to the Shingon sect.

With this, the dream ended. Kant was indeed German. Strangely enough, from then on, Eiichi gradually regained his health. And he took pleasure in reading psalms in bed daily.

After lying in bed for about three weeks, he finally resolved to enter the Fukiai Shinagawa slums. So, having regained some ability to walk, on the afternoon of that first day, he went to visit the house at 6-chome, 2053 Kita-Honmachi that was in Ueki’s care. Ueki was out at his "garbage collection" job for sanitary cleaning, Masuda’s wife—who looked after Ueki—informed him. As he emerged from the alleyway, a child of about five—who had been fighting with an older child and was being chased—came fleeing over, but at the entrance to the alleyway collapsed with a thud. Perhaps he had been injured by a pebble—blood flowed from his forehead. Seeing the blood, the child let out a loud cry and began to weep. Eiichi rushed over and picked up the child. When he looked at the boy’s forehead, there was a wound about an inch long. He took out the handkerchief he had been carrying and wiped away the blood,

“Where is your home?” he asked. “Over there! Over there!” The child pointed to a gate-fronted house, and through this, Shinmi realized the boy was the son of Mizuta, the area’s chief yakuza boss. And so, Eiichi kindly accompanied the child and delivered him to that house.

At the house, twelve or thirteen rough-looking young men were gathered gambling. From the rear emerged a young wife with a beautiful face who received the child. “You little troublemaker—you’re always picking fights and making the other kids cry!” she said, then thanked Shinmi. “I heard footsteps and thought someone was there...” “I thought it was a cop.” “Oh, it’s the Jesus teacher…the one who’s always preaching at street corners.” “How kind.”

The young men were all saying various things. This became the catalyst for Shinmi to grow close to Mizuta's clan. So finally, on the evening of December 24th, he decided to rent a house in the slums—and that house turned out to be Mizuta's own residence. Eiichi continued as before—working at the insurance company during the day, while at night he wrote and conducted street preaching. The illness wasn't exactly improving, but it wasn't something to worry about. He developed an afternoon 'four o'clock fever' daily. However, he had grown accustomed to this and remained unfazed.

After all, he was going to die soon—within a year or two; even if he lived longer, he would die of lung disease within three years or so—so he resolved to live the best life possible with all the courage he could muster until his death. He became completely drawn to the Christian socialism of Toynbee, Frederick Denison Maurice, and Charles Kingsley. And he could no longer find satisfaction in purely materialistic Marxism. However, he opposed modern churches that preached love detached from the flesh and divorced from economic issues. He believed love must be clothed in flesh. He believed that love was the unity of flesh and spirit—that the will extending over time was spirit, and the will expanding through space was flesh. If one does not take the flesh, all things lose their meaning; unless God is represented in bodily form, He cannot be understood by us. In other words, he considered that Logos—that is, Incarnation—was religion's profound mystery.

And so he began murmuring, "We must incarnate into modernity" instead of Takayama Chogyu's maxim "We must transcend modernity." And he recalled how Russian revolutionaries had cried “To the people!”—“V-Narod!”—and how Toynbee and those in the slum settlement movement had gone among the poor, resolving that he too must enter the slums. And he thought that if an opportunity arose to start a labor union movement among the poor and workers, he would immediately shift to that direction.

Around this time, Shinmi borrowed and read John Wesley’s diary from Pastor T of the Gospel Mission Hall. He felt that Wesley, despite suffering from tuberculosis, had achieved astonishingly great work. In it, he read about Pietist believers crossing the Atlantic by sailing ship who, though vomiting blood from seasickness themselves, nursed others—and this moved him profoundly. And he resolved that even if it meant facing death, he would go to the slums.

At this time, the literary world was in the full bloom of naturalist literature, and he heard that many young people in the church were succumbing to moral decay because of it.

Thirty-Three Ueki worked as a garbage collector for the municipal office, earning sixty-two sen per day, though he wasn't nearly the villain people imagined him to be. When it came to Eiichi moving into the slums, he handled all manner of arrangements. It was Ueki too who had told him about the vacant house. Eiichi went with Ueki to inspect the property—the second house from the east in a row of tenements located west along Kita-Honmachi Sixth District's main street, turning into the first hillside alleyway. The dwelling measured five tatami mats total—three in front and two at the rear. According to Ueki's account, someone had been murdered there late last year, and with rumors of haunting circulating among neighbors, nobody would enter it—hence why it stood empty, he explained.

This account stimulated Eiichi's curiosity.

So Eiichi went to Mizuta the landlord's house and applied to rent it; having become acquainted through the child's injury incident, they promptly agreed. While the daily rent of seven sen would total two yen and ten sen per month, they discounted it to two yen monthly. This being early December, Eiichi rushed daily to move thereafter, but his marine insurance work kept him busier, so it ultimately got postponed until Christmas Eve.

And on Christmas Eve, December 24th, amidst the bustling churches clamoring "Christmas! Christmas!", Eiichi began moving house around two in the afternoon with Ueki's assistance. Eiichi, wearing a cotton-striped kimono with straight sleeves at the time, pulled the cart himself from Kajiyamachi in Hyogo to Shinkawa in Fukiai. The cart carried a futon, one bundle of clothing, one bundle of books, and a single bamboo bookshelf. Meanwhile, Ueki had swept under the floorboards and properly laid out the tatami mats. Then Eiichi and Ueki went together to buy tatami mats. However, he did not have enough money for five. So he bought three used tatami mats at one yen and twenty sen each. Together with Ueki, they laid them out in the south-facing three-tatami room. But since there were still no shoji screens, they went again to buy used ones. They purchased one set of four panels for a nine-foot space and two sets of two panels for six-foot spaces each. These were convenient as they already had paper pasted on them. After promptly installing them, he laid out the futon that night in complete darkness without even a lamp and went to sleep.

The next day, Ueki came over while Eiichi was still lying in bed. “Will you let me stay here with you starting tonight?” he asked. He went on to explain his reasons in detail. However, for some reason, Eiichi couldn’t bring himself to trust Ueki. So he couldn’t give a firm reply. Then about thirty minutes later arrived Hayashi—a gambler—and Tomita—a tall man who claimed to be one of Mizuta’s underlings. “Will you let me stay in the adjacent room?” said Hayashi. Tomita added: “How ’bout takin’ in my underling Uchiyama? He’s strugglin’ to pay his lodgin’ fees ’cause o’ the recession—sure he’s a heavy drinker—but he’s dead set on your teachings now! Swears he’ll reform.” Shinmi was shocked. He wondered why so many complete strangers kept pleading: “Let me stay! Let me stay!”

At this, Hayashi suddenly retracted his own argument and backed Tomita up, saying, "Let Kyogashima (Uchiyama) stay." Ueki also chimed in, “Hey, you should let Uchiyama stay.” With all three men in agreement like this, there was no way around it. And so Eiichi—

“I’ll meet him tonight and see,” he replied, but Tomita— “Ueki, you go to Awaya (the flophouse) and call Kyogashima (Uchiyama’s boss name in civil engineering; in the slums, underlings respond by their boss’s name), got it?” said Tomita. “Got it,” Ueki dashed off. After Ueki dashed off, Tomita said to Hayashi, “That guy’s a real bad egg… set fire to Rokkenmichi… an’ just three months ago got outta prison… Mr. Shinmi, ya can’t let yer guard down ’round the likes o’ ’im—you’ll end up in deep trouble.”

“That guy’s a real bad egg, ain’t he?” Hayashi chimed in. Eiichi responded with repeated “Is that so?”s over and over. Tomita was a man who carried himself like a boss through some unspoken authority. He had the sinister face of a tall man. Yet he wore a haori and kept his appearance meticulously neat. Hayashi wore a dark blue straight-sleeved kimono fastened with a stiff obi. His shaved head framed a face that looked cunningly sharp.

“It’s cold—ain’t there even a lick o’ fire goin’ here?”

With that, he sat down on the threshold. Then he struck a match and lit a rolled cigarette. “Tomita, you’ve gotten worse lately—what’d you do with that ‘Kuma’ woman?” “Still seein’ her?” “Mr. Shinmi… I can’t trust Ueki neither, but ya can’t trust this one here either… He’s a real bad egg—makes a livin’ stealin’ other men’s wives, see?”

“Hayashi, cut it out already. Quit spouting nonsense.” “But ‘Kuma’ really is pitiable, ain’t she… Tomita, how many mistresses you keepin’ now?” Tomita stood in the narrow half-tsubo garden with his hands tucked into his sleeves, “Eleven in my household.” “Mr. Shinmi, this man’s a real bad egg, ain’t he? Snatchin’ up eleven other men’s wives as his mistresses… Where? Where’re they all stashed?” “Five across the river, three in Shinkawa, two in Tsutsui, and one in Hyogo... Though I’m only tanglin’ with five of ’em...”

“Is Otoku among them?” “What does that matter?” “Is stealing other men’s wives fun for you?” “I ain’t stealin’ or nothin’—they come to me themselves, so what’m I s’posed to do?” “Nah, that ain’t quite right… Tomita, you still got them prostitutes at your place?” “Don’t go sayin’ things like that—ain’t right with someone new here listenin’ in...” “Mr. Shinmi, this man’s a real bad egg—he’s got as many as eleven or fifteen prostitutes workin’ for ’im, skimming off their bonuses, see?”

“But Hayashi, unlike your place that don’t put wives out as prostitutes no more… they ain’t even there now…” “Even if ya talk like Tomita here, unlike your operation that makes folks’ daughters turn tricks just to get by, since ya gotta pimp out even yer own wife to survive… What ’bout you? Still around?”

“They’re inside.” “You’re still pimpin’ ’em out?” “Yeah…” “Then they’re still there, aren’t they? What about Osada?” “Osada’s there too.” “What about Osono?”

“Osono went back to Osaka.” “Osono—that fella’s comin’ back again. Seems he’s got a real taste for whores, eh? What ’bout Oshika?” “Oshika’s still around…” “Ain’t there no more?” “There’s one more… Wasn’t s’posed to keep her upstairs, but once one’s there, they all come flockin’… Can’t be helped…” Eiichi had been listening to their exchange in astonishment from the beginning. This world being entirely foreign to him, he found himself wanting to hear more.

“Mr. Shinmi, this Tomita’s a real bad egg—steals other men’s wives and nearly got himself killed over it... Right, Tomita...?” “You’re somethin’ else, Hayashi. When it’s this cold, the stitches start achin’...” With that, Tomita spread open his chest, attempting to show the wound on his abdomen. Beneath the freshly wrapped bolt of white cotton cloth lay a sword wound over a foot long running straight from top to bottom. He was making the story of when the enemy attacked sound entertaining.

Mid-conversation, a fiftyish man with a perfectly round-shaped head—wearing a symbol-patterned happi coat and straw sandals—arrived, led by Ueki. Eiichi rose from the floorboards, and upon seeing Uchiyama, recognized the man's face. This was the same man who was often seen standing at Awa-ya's gate.

The moment Tomita saw Uchiyama, “Kyougashima, starting tonight—I’ve arranged for you to stay here. Come over and sleep—it’ll save you the lodging fee.” “Well, there ya go…” Uchiyama appeared to have poor eyesight, blinking repeatedly. Yet being a man of few words, he said nothing beyond “Well, there ya go…”

Tomita said to Shinmi, “Well now, you can just think of him as the treasurer priest from the temple.” Though Shinmi hadn’t properly responded, the others had already made up their minds. Then again: “Since Christianity’s ’bout helpin’ folks, we gotta help pitiful men like Kyougashima here, else it’s all lies… But Uchiyama’s a lazy sod too… Standin’ at Awa-ya’s gate all day in them straw sandals, not budgin’ an inch—what a queer duck… Uchiyama, I’m beggin’ ya—come here startin’ tonight…”

“Well…” Uchiyama said nothing beyond that “Well…”. However, Shinmi too—forced into a corner with Uchiyama being brought along—found himself overwhelmed when they pleaded with him. In the midst of this, Eiichi went to wash his face by the water faucet, changed into Western clothes, and set out for the insurance company—whereupon Tomita, Hayashi, Ueki, and Uchiyama trooped off home together. And when Eiichi returned from the company to the slums at four o’clock that afternoon, he found Uchiyama sleeping inside the futon still wearing his symbol-patterned happi coat.

Eiichi thought he had come to a strange place, but that evening when he attended the Christmas event at Suimizu-dori lecture hall and returned to the slums, "Since there was no lamp, I borrowed one from Tomita's place," he said, having lit it and waited for Eiichi's return. His face had turned crimson from alcohol. That night, Eiichi burrowed into the futon alongside Uchiyama and slept. When he looked at Uchiyama's hand the next morning, scabies had broken out across its surface - festering and oozing blood.

34 The following afternoon, a rickshaw man delivered two trunks of toys from Dr. Williams, said to be from the Westerners' church Sunday school. So from the early morning of the 27th, he distributed them to the slum children. Two or three hundred children came rushing into Shinmi’s place. Upon hearing this, Hayashi, Ueki, and Tomita also came. And Tomita, with shameless audacity, arbitrarily selected the toys he favored, “Do this for my Katsue, will ya?”

“Do this for my Katsue, will ya?” said Tomita. Following his example, Hayashi and Ueki also took toys. Adults—fifteen or sixteen of them—came and begged for toys. Eiichi spotted among them the disheveled woman who often went out begging on Sannomiya-suji. That one relentlessly demanded toys. As a result, Eiichi found himself at a loss over how to distribute the toys; giving all he had to the children, he fled to the insurance company. In the evening, funded by Dr. Williams, they rented Awa-ya’s hall and held a Christmas event for the slums. And they distributed one piece each of sweets and hand towels to a hundred impoverished people living in two-tatami rooms at the wooden lodging house.

Uchiyama had done nothing but sleep, hardly eating any meals since Eiichi’s arrival. Upon inquiry, it turned out he hadn’t eaten at all on the 26th, and on the morning of the 27th, he had only managed breakfast after receiving ten sen from Tomita. It seemed Uchiyama had misunderstood—believing that since he was becoming a treasurer priest for Jesus, someone would provide for him. Uchiyama seemed kind and well-meaning enough that having him around wasn’t an issue, but the thought of having to provide for him somehow felt like a heavy burden. In truth, Shinmi wasn’t eating breakfast either and was having oyakodon at a udon shop for lunch and dinner, but feeling too sorry for Uchiyama, he promptly bought rice, a clay pot, and a charcoal stove to cook and eat meals together.

On the evening of the 28th, as Eiichi was preaching by the roadside, Izu—a gaunt forty-five- or six-year-old man suffering from rheumatism whom he had met at Awa-ya the previous night—appeared. "I hear Mr. Kyougashima is being looked after—how splendid... I too would like to receive your care—how might that be arranged, sir?" he said. When Eiichi said there was no futon, the man replied he would bring one. When told there were no tatami mats, he said he would bring a straw mat. Unable to refuse any further, Eiichi said, "Well then, come on in," to which the man asked, "Is it alright if I come starting tonight?" When he answered that starting tonight would be fine, the figure disappeared into the darkness, dragging his heavy feet dejectedly.

When he finished preaching and returned home, a man called out from behind, “Boss! Boss!” When he looked, it was a man around fifty who looked like a dockworker. He was quite drunk. “Boss! I’m beggin’ ya! Oyuki! I’m beggin’ ya!” he repeated. Eiichi had absolutely no idea what this was about. “I’m Yoshida, the wretch next door to your place… I’m beggin’ ya… Drank a bit ‘cause my gut’s all twisted… Beggin’ ya, Boss,” he said. When Eiichi returned home, he followed right behind him. And he entered the west neighboring house.

There was no lamp or anything; they had lit a lantern, but inside the house there were no tatami mats either. On the old floorboards that served as their bedding, they seemed to be sleeping spread out on a sack of cheap rice. In the corner was something small and black. That must be Yoshida’s daughter Oyuki. She was sleeping still wearing her kimono, without covering herself with anything. “Oyuki! Hey, Oyuki! Go buy me some sake!” he shouted. Eiichi, finding the situation too pitiful, entered his room without intervening to speak. Then Mr. Izu promptly came over, spreading a straw mat in the neighboring room to lie down. Uchiyama, who had been idle and sleeping since noon, had of course burrowed into Eiichi’s warm futon.

“Mr. Izu, where did you get that futon?” he asked. “I’ve rented a futon for two sen a night,” he said. In the lamplight, he saw “Kashibuton: No Stuffing Added” written repeatedly across its surface in an endless pattern. “Ah,” Eiichi nodded in comprehension. “Mr. Izu, what do you do for work?” he inquired. “Starting tomorrow I’ll be scavenging ropes,” the man replied. Eiichi had caught Uchiyama’s scabies and spent that night itching too severely to sleep properly. Uchiyama kept scratching himself raw.

Around ten o'clock that night, as Eiichi was sleeping, a huge quarrel broke out in the house across the way where a couple with the peculiar surname Hiyama lived. Listening closely, it seemed that because they hadn't repaid the high-interest loan from the Lower Third lender, a ruffian-like man was causing a ruckus. So Eiichi rushed over, and upon asking the reason, it turned out to be merely a matter of fifty sen. So Eiichi paid it for them. Then Hiyama bowed to Eiichi as if worshiping a god.

The next day, from early morning, Ueki came again. And so, with the recession being unavoidable, he had no choice but to head to the harbor come spring to open a mochi shop, and thus came asking again to borrow five yen. So Eiichi refused because Ueki had deceived him before. Then he said, “I’ve got my own ideas here—if ya don’t lend it, I ain’t takin’ no for an answer. Got somethin’ sharp right here,” showing Eiichi the dirk (a type of dagger). And Ueki’s complexion gradually changed.

At that moment Hayashi too arrived on the scene, "You better lend me some damn cash—ain't takin' no for an answer!" he demanded as he approached. Then turning to Ueki: "What're ya doin' comin' round here? "If ya come here again whinin' yer damn complaints, I won't stand for it!" he barked. For some reason, Ueki couldn't hold his head up before Hayashi. When Hayashi shouted, "Get out! Get outta here!" Ueki slunk away dejectedly.

This time Hayashi demanded that he absolutely lend him ten yen. He was searching through Eiichi's wallet. Then he pulled out the dirk from his breast pocket again and brandished it. At that moment Tomita arrived. “Hayashi! What’re you doin’ comin’ here with a damn dirk?” “Get lost! Scram!” he barked. When Hayashi fell silent，Tomita now declared he wanted to borrow thirty yen. This time he produced a pistol. Eiichi felt they were just thugs trying to mess with him，but neither the dirk nor pistol struck him as remotely frightening. He actually found it amusing. If not for incidents like this，he thought，there’d be no reason to have come to the slums at all. So he kept silent. He didn’t utter a single word in response. Because one reply would’ve given them an opening. Then Tomita and Hayashi began fighting. Uchiyama got up and came over to separate the two men. Eiichi quietly rose and went to wash his face at the water tap. When he returned，both men were gone.

So Uchiyama carefully explained to Eiichi the methods of "yusuri" extortion. "They start fake fights then act like peacemakers to pull the yusuri scam, see? If ya show even a lick of anger, it ain't gonna end well... But with Tomita's current temper, he'll surely come ragin' tonight. You'd better make yourself scarce, Teacher," he said. "And then added, 'Looks like you've got money coming in for New Year's Eve the day after tomorrow.'"

That night, Tomita indeed came raging in. Around seven o'clock, as Eiichi was about to head out to visit the slums, Tomita came storming in. "You damn insolent—" he shouted while shoving Eiichi and slapping his cheeks three or four times. Eiichi had absolutely no idea what this was about. This was within the territory of Shinkawa’s boss, and refusing to comply with Tomita’s demands was apparently considered ‘insolent’. Furthermore, Tomita— "I'll kill you!"

With that, he drew a dirk about nine sun long—roughly twenty-seven centimeters. It was a truly fearsome blade. Yet Eiichi didn't so much as twitch. Having already resolved to die when he threw himself into this situation, being cut down held no terror for him. As an absolute pacifist, he naturally offered no resistance. When Tomita raised the dirk, Uchiyama—who'd been warming himself at the brazier—sprinted over. "Brother, what're ya doin'? No need to get so riled up," he said, wrenching the dagger from Tomita's grip.

Then Tomita leapt up toward the brazier—he tried to hurl it at Eiichi standing in the garden—but suddenly changed his mind and slammed it onto the tatami instead. A mountain of burning charcoal scattered across the tatami-matted room. Again Uchiyama sprang forward to gather the scattered embers. During this commotion, Eiichi slipped out through the back entrance to pray at the coast. When Eiichi returned around eleven o'clock, he found one shoji screen completely shattered. Though he considered this act barbaric, he said nothing and lay down to sleep.

On the morning and evening of the 30th, Tomita came raging in. And so Uchiyama finally counseled Eiichi, “Teacher, why don’t you just give Tomita twenty yen or so? In the end, you’ll be better off doing that than getting yourself hurt,” he said. Thereupon, Eiichi also became resolved and decided to give twenty yen from the meager year-end bonus he had received from the insurance company—equivalent to one month’s salary of twenty-five yen—to Tomita. Yet even knowing this, Ueki would not consent. In the end, he took away the remaining five yen. Eiichi still had a small remainder of his monthly salary left, but after purchasing tatami mats and shoji screens for the neighboring two-tatami room, he was left without a single penny.

Meiji 42 found him spending such a desolate year's end in the slums. However, for Eiichi, the only joy was that during his brief four days in the slums, he managed to make friends. Of course old man Uchiyama was one of them, and Mr. Izu was another.

However, a new group now formed here that revered Shinmi as "Teacher". They were the children of the slums. The slum children grew very fond of Eiichi. And Eiichi also grew fond of them. Jinko, Torai, Hanako, Kazusan—Kumazo and the others, who eagerly awaited Eiichi’s return around four in the afternoon—had come to play from morning onward. During Eiichi’s absence, they spent the day playing on the roadside in front of his narrow house, waiting for him. And when they saw Eiichi’s face at four in the afternoon, they came running from the eastern end to the western end of the roadside to welcome him. And their first words were,

“Teacher, no toys today?”

Such was their customary question. Eiichi first stroked Jinko's head, then proceeded to place his hands on Torai, Hanako, and each of the children's heads in turn. At this, all the children would take hold of "Teacher's" coat hem or grip his sleeves, following him all the way to Eiichi's house. Moreover, Eiichi had gained his first true believer. This was a man nearing forty who couldn't walk, carried on his wife's back from a two-tatami row house in Azuma-dori Sixth District to attend Awaya's Christmas charity event for the poor on the 27th. They said the man had suffered from rheumatism for four months without standing, but on the evening of the 28th, his gentle-seeming wife came to Eiichi's place,

“Teacher, I’m terribly sorry to ask, but might you be able to offer a prayer to Jesus for him?” she entreated. So Eiichi promptly went out and prayed for the illness to be healed. Then on the morning of the 30th, as Eiichi was leaving for his final workday of the year, Deguchi—who should have been unable to stand—came leaning on a long bamboo cane from across the roadside. His hair hung straight like Ishikawa Goemon’s, and his pallid face bore the distinctive marks of one who could only be found in the slums.

Deguchi had come to express his gratitude, saying that from that day onward, thanks to Eiichi’s prayers, he had become able to stand on his own legs.

From then on, Deguchi became a propagator of Christianity in the slums. January 1st of Meiji 43 (1910) happened to fall on a Sunday. When Eiichi held his first evening service in that cramped five-tatami room and made rounds through the slums, Deguchi brought six or seven friends from a two-tatami dwelling in Azumabashi Sixth District, packing the narrow space to capacity. Among them were Ito the rope scavenger; Ishino and his wife, the well-diggers—this couple came with their child accompanied by the old man from the pipe repair shop—along with an elderly paper collector. With Izu and Uchiyama joining them, the evening worship became truly heartening.

Eiichi was happy. Eiichi spoke as plainly as he could. Then everyone prayed one by one and went home. One among them, confusing prayer with thanksgiving, offered this entreaty: "I humbly give thanks that my sickness may be healed." Yet Eiichi couldn't grasp why Christianity was spreading so swiftly through these slums. But after the service, through Deguchi's words, he understood clearly. It was because Deguchi had been teaching them all this time.

In any case, slum life was sufficient to stir Eiichi's young blood.

35

On the morning of January 2nd, Ueki came bringing a man named Marui.

(Ueki had a habit of catching Eiichi before he could even get up.) Marui was a laborer who hauled decorative flower mats by cart; his sister’s husband was a gambler now in prison, and the child they had taken in had died the previous night. Having not a single penny for funeral expenses, he was asking if they could provide money to hold the burial. Eiichi promptly agreed and went to see the house. In a five-tatami space at Azuma-dori Sixth District, Marui’s family of six lived in the front three-tatami room, while his sister occupied the back two-tatami room with two girls. The deceased foster child was less than a hundred days old. It was said that with no money even for cow’s milk—let alone breast milk—they had been feeding it nothing but watery rice gruel and hot water, which led to its death. The corpse lay in a filthy borrowed futon, covered by the muslin-lined kimono the infant had worn. When Eiichi removed that kimono and looked at the corpse’s face, he was struck by an indescribable revulsion. The child’s eyelids were ulcerated red and peeling, the flesh of its cheeks had completely sloughed away, and its hands were desiccated like brushwood leaves.

So when Eiichi questioned Marui about the circumstances, he learned that despite knowing they had to kill [the child] due to financial hardship, they had been blinded by the mere five yen, and [Marui's] sister had taken in this child. So Eiichi first returned to his own house, took out a kasuri-patterned wadded kimono and haori from his trunk, brought them to the pawnshop, borrowed six yen and thirty sen, and gave five yen to Marui. Marui consulted with Ueki and came to ask Mr. Taberau—who lived across from Shinmi and had been cohabiting with "Oinu," until about half a year prior the wife of their western neighbor Yoshida—to dispose of the corpse. Taberau—also called Oitaberau—made his living by single-handedly disposing of corpses for slum dwellers who couldn’t afford funerals, packing the bodies into tobacco crates or orange boxes, shouldering them on his back, and transporting them to Kasugano Crematorium. That day too, in the evening, he packed the infant’s corpse into an orange box and carried it out from Marui’s residence.

Having seen this, Eiichi became utterly despondent. And suddenly he grew sickened by the slums and their terrible evils. He desperately wanted to scream out and curse God. God was not love—he wanted to revile Him as the creator of darkness, despair, death, and poverty.

But the spiteful God would not let Eiichi—who had seen death's face on January 2nd—off with just that. On the morning of January 5th, Ishino the well digger, who had also attended the New Year's evening service, came saying a child at his house had died and asking for a funeral to be held. Even this, Eiichi took on. When he went to Ishino's residence—located in Fujimoto's rented house in Azuma-dori Sixth District—he found Ishino and his wife sitting blankly. And it immediately became clear the dead child was a foster child.

When Eiichi went, Ishino brought out

"The one who died is this child," Ishino said, bringing out from the corner the corpse of a baby even smaller than Marui's child. Three zabuton cushions had been tightly bound with a heko obi sash around it, making the bundle resemble a clay doll. Unlike Marui's child whose eyes were ulcerated, this one's face showed a bluish complexion with eczema covering its head—an ugly child that Eiichi felt no one would have found the courage to raise. Since a postmortem examination was required, they rushed to fetch Dr. Tazawa from his nearby clinic. The doctor stood in the garden wearing his reading glasses—whether repelled by the filth or simply lazy—without once stepping onto the tatami mats.

"Bring that child here!" he said. Then Ishino showed it first to Eiichi as if making a presentation, then to the doctor. Dr. Tazawa, "Ah, right, right. This one?" "This is malnutrition!" "I know, I know!" Without even taking its pulse or touching the corpse, he left exactly as he had come.

When Eiichi followed after him, “That man, you see, makes a living off taking in foster children like that… This neighborhood’s full of his kind, I tell you—it’s a real problem.” After obtaining the death certificate and stopping by the exit, he was badmouthing Ishino. “This is Ishino’s third time… Take in a foster child, let it die—take in another, let it die—and move houses each time he does it… Shameful for the neighborhood… Folks say judgment’ll come for such deeds, but his wife’s so damned lazy! Every night Ishino makes her whore herself out while he—old as he is—stands watch over her prostitution to scrape by… This morning he came to me saying there’s no money for the funeral, so ‘Go beg that Jesus preacher’… Told him he’ll get divine punishment! When they take in these children, they’re blinded by five or ten yen—then go begging neighbors when the brat dies and there’s no burial money… Behaving like beasts—I’d never stoop to that! But you—coming to this wretched Shinkawa slum trying to save us paupers—if you can help him somehow, please do… After this I’ll talk sense into him proper, make him repent.”

In any case, Eiichi—having now fully grasped Ishino's domestic circumstances—immediately went directly to Ishino's place,

"I'll bring the funeral money later," he said and left. Uchiyama, keenly perceiving Eiichi's heart,

“Teacher, I’ll go to the pawnshop for you,” he said, then grabbed two of Eiichi’s lined kimonos and ran off. And so another five yen was secured. With that money in hand, he ran to Ishino’s place. In Eiichi’s trunk now remained only five items total: one lined kimono, one wadded short-sleeved kimono, two yukata robes, and a single tattered hakama. Eiichi grew stronger each time he encountered these heart-pounding trials. Even after returning from Kobe Kaijo that day to find Ishino’s coffin still unprepared—they had insisted on waiting for Shinmi to conduct a Christian funeral—he carried out his first such ceremony in the slums’ three-tatami room.

However, there was no grand sermon to accompany it. He had merely stated, "How much happier to fly away to heaven like a dead infant than endure this ugly world." When the funeral concluded, Ishino carried the coffin himself to Kasugano. Eiichi followed silently behind. As the early-setting New Year's sun disappeared behind Mount Tekkai in Suma, Eiichi stood before Kasugano Crematorium weeping into his hands, hiding his face from Ishino. Across Kobe's streets, electric lights began to twinkle. The undertaker's cart clattered with its coffin load.

Thirty-Six

"Why was I made to endure such torment?" Eiichi pondered as he walked back from the sunlit streets of Motomachi to the shadowed alleys of Shinagawa. "Was I created like Jeremiah—born to weep? When I've wept my fill for myself, I must weep for others."

But in this mistaken world, someone like me—no matter how much I agonize or strive—is of no use... The plague has entered the slums. A young prostitute with a tattoo of a snake crawling into her △△△ on her back died the day before yesterday. And yesterday, that old man was sent to the isolation hospital. This morning, it was said that Kawamata, a dockworker from Gifuya, was also sent away due to the plague. Horrifying. Horrifying. Yet within this plague, Shinmi Eiichi—who had been created to serve alone for the sake of lost sheep—what an unfilial man he was. ...Yes, I should contract the plague and die quickly. That way, I can avoid seeing the suffering of the universe any sooner.

It would be good to engage in relief work if one had money, but I didn't have a single sen. Having given up lunch to share meals with two housemates and reduced to two meals a day...and even those requiring endurance with rice gruel and pickled plums—what an unfortunate man was I who had been instilled with ideals.

In a world where there are beautiful women, silk kimonos, theater, and music—why must I alone dream of social reform, be planted at the heart of the slums, and weep while being ordered to dispose of corpses? Society is far too wrong. ……But I will not speak of it. I will simply await the great era of social reform. Until then, I will comfort the poor as much as possible and await the coming of a new day. In place of today’s rotten morals of the wealthy, let us give birth to new Christian morality. "The path of the Cross lies along the roadsides of the slums.—"

Thinking thus, Eiichi would always cross Higurashi Bridge spanning the Ikuta River. He would pause there, struck by how perfectly the bridge's name—"Day's End"—suited the hand-to-mouth existence of the paupers and laborers beneath it, moved by poetic sentiment each time. From Sunday, January 7th, he began holding Sunday school in that cramped five-tatami-mat room. With seventy people crowding in, it became too chaotic to deliver any proper lesson. Yet by now, every child throughout Shinagawa had come to know Shinmi. He attended morning worship at the Hyogo lecture hall, where afterward Dr. Williams told him, "From this month onward I'll provide twenty yen monthly for slum evangelism," encouraging him to press on with zeal. Shinmi accepted this gratefully. That afternoon, two sisters from the Women's Purity Society came, saw Shinmi's dwelling, and left in tears.

However, Shinmi thought—if they would cry for him, why didn't they come live here?

Ueki continued threatening, demanding money. During the prayer meeting, when Eiichi entreated "Teach us to love our enemies," Ueki denounced this as outrageous and erupted in anger. "So 'enemies' means me, eh? If your god actually answers prayers, then pray hard this fire don't spread!" he roared, overturning the charcoal brazier in the room's center. As Ito and Ishino frantically tried containing the flames within the brazier,

"Look at that! Even your God can't properly put out fires, can He?" he taunted. No sooner had the prayer meeting ended and everyone left than he, drunk, began performing military drills barefoot on the road beneath the cold, sharp moon.

“Forward march!... Hey! Right face!”

“About face! Forward march… Hey!” “Return to goodness... Hey!” he shouted. Then，from inside the house，Yoshida—who was also thoroughly drunk after returning from town and had crawled into a burlap sack to sleep—roared like a wolf， “Yakamashiiwai! You bastard，shut the hell up!”

To this, Ueki did not resist much. And then he simply cursed at Eiichi. That day, Ueki—intending to borrow money—had apparently circled from Shinmi Shipping Company in Hyogo to the lecture hall on Mizuki-dori and Ikuta Church, searching for Eiichi. However, in the end, when he entered the house and it came time for Kyougashima to apologize to Eiichi on Ueki Toratarou’s behalf, Ueki was tearing the striped, narrow-sleeved lined kimono he wore from the hem with his teeth, ripping it fiercely. And,

“I was wrong!” “I was wrong,” he said. And then said, “Let me sleep with you tonight.” Then Eiichi said, “All right, go wash your feet,” to which he replied, “I’ll go splash some water on my face at the canal to sober up,” and went out. Before long, shivering uncontrollably, he crawled into Eiichi’s futon and pressed his ice-cold body against him. Just when one thought he’d settled down like this, once the money ran out, he came chasing after Eiichi with a dagger. And so Eiichi desperately hid. Knowing Eiichi wouldn’t report him to the police, he threatened him even more violently. He slashed apart the Bible with his dagger,

“Shinmi—I’ll do this to you too, just you wait,” he repeated. However, Eiichi ran away precisely to avoid giving Ueki any chance to commit a crime, yet he never actually feared the dagger. Eiichi was gradually coming to understand the lineage and mentality of villains. Thus, he felt no fear at all. Amid this turmoil arrived a sick man named Shibata Chukichi, claiming he’d been directed here by Awa-ya flophouse after failing to pay his lodging fees. He had apparently worked as a Tomozome textile laborer in Osaka—now twenty-eight years old with his family register in Kobe—his real father deceased, his stepfather currently serving as head of the second fire brigade in Higashide-machi, Hyogo. He confessed that debauchery had reduced him to this state, leaving him unable to return home.

And so Eiichi immediately realized that the house where he had endured that grueling summer at Gonzo’s lodging three years prior had belonged to Shibata’s stepfather. He promptly decided to care for the man. But the house was desperately cramped. When they took him to a doctor, it was confirmed as intestinal tuberculosis. Within a week or two of staying there, Shibata could no longer stand. Then his flesh began prolapsing downward. The stench was unbearable. Thus Eiichi and Uchiyama had to nurse him together. Feeling it too cruel for Ms. Izu who slept beside them, they had her move to the neighboring room and converted the two-tatami space into a sickroom. With the house now impossibly cramped, they began considering renting another place.

Just at that time—Mr.Takeda, Mr.Yao, and Mr.Hashida from Kwansei Gakuin’s Theology Department kindly offered to take charge of the slums’ Sunday school. Since their current house was too cramped for both living and Sunday school activities, they decided to rent a six-tatami house two doors west. And since this place was one tatami mat larger, Shinmi and Uchiyama were to move there. They decided that both Sunday school and evening sermons would now be held entirely in the six-tatami house. However, the house whose toilet was situated to the west was that of the prostitute Oshika. And so Eiichi became acquainted with the three prostitutes staying at the house right there. In doing so, he came to fully understand the prostitutes in the Shinkawa slums, as well as those in Osaka’s Tobita and Nagara districts. As he grew closer to them, Shinmi discovered that one of these women was Ochika—the prostitute possessing both male and female genitalia who had been reported in the newspapers at the end of December. She was a woman with a bucktoothed, ugly face, but Shinmi urged her to repent.

Then Ochika said that if he would secure her a means of livelihood, she would repent starting that very day. Therefore, Eiichi immediately went to Ms. Tomishima Nobue at the Kobe Nursing Home, explained the circumstances, and made arrangements for Ochika to be taken in. Then Eiichi took Ochika’s furoshiki bundle and delivered her to Ms. Tomishima’s place.

Thirty-Seven

Izu went to collect ropes every day. Uchiyama idled around every day. Yet he faithfully rose early each morning to cook meals for Eiichi and the sick man. Eiichi was impressed by this. Slum life came to suit Eiichi perfectly. From the day he was born until now, Eiichi had never lived a life as tautly suited to him—as tightly strung—as his existence in the slums. Early each morning and late at night, when he patrolled the slums' every alleyway, he saw that even through their small efforts, everyone was striving to survive. Eiichi found himself profoundly moved by those humble struggles.

One time, while Eiichi was making his rounds, he encountered Ofuji—a thirty-year-old woman with an ugly limp who had once been a prostitute—being evicted by her landlord for owing eight days’ rent on her two-tatami room at three sen per day. Ofuji was crying loudly. Beside her, her pockmarked only daughter was also crying. When he looked inside the house, a thug-like man—likely a rent collector—was lifting up the tatami mats. “Don’t need to rent to the likes of you—got plenty lining up for my rooms without your lot… Night after night of your damn whining—you think I can make a living like this?” he muttered as if talking to himself.

“We ain’t got no money—cash—so what can we do? We ain’t cooked proper yesterday or the day before, ain’t had a bite… If we had any cash, we’d bring it straight to you first thing, but times are so hard—go out scavengin’ and there’s nothin’ to find… Look, if I was like them others stealin’ cotton off folks’ carts, we wouldn’t be in this fix… But honest to God, there ain’t a penny here…”

A large crowd of poor people were sympathizing with Ofuji. A woman beggar named Oharu, upon seeing Eiichi,

“Teacher, please help her! Ofuji’s truly pitiful—she hasn’t eaten a proper meal in two days, truly pitiful—”

And so Eiichi paid eight days' rent on Ofuji's behalf, promised to give her a single sho of rice, and returned home. As he came back after witnessing this, O-Masa—the wife of An-san from the house behind theirs—stood washing something dull black that might have been rice or anything else at the wellside, her eyes red and swollen as she carried a baby on her back. Having no clothes, she bore the child directly against her skin with just a single layer in midwinter. "O-Masa—why are you crying?" Eiichi asked.

“Oh Teacher, please listen,” she pleaded. “An-san won’t even properly buy a single *sho* of rice—he hits me saying that—but I can’t even go out to funerals every day either. There’s no money for rice, and like you know Teacher, we’ve got six or seven hungry mouths at home.” “We’ve borrowed from every place that’d lend us a sen. ‘Find some way to scrape together cash for rice—can’t even manage that much… Useless woman!’ An-san rages at me. But I don’t have the grit to sell myself like those others do. I go to Nada’s breweries, gather these broken grains from the dirt floors, try boiling ’em into porridge—but with this much soil mixed in, you can’t hardly eat it… And then An-san goes putting all the blame on me—says he’ll kill me or beat me half to death…”

Having said that, O-Masa was letting her tears fall drop by drop into the bucket.

Eiichi too immediately began crying in sympathy and, without being able to respond at all, came to the toilet area and wept like someone hysterical.

“Oh God, why must the poor suffer so??” In that very moment, Eiichi resolved and vowed to God that until these poor people were saved, he would never wear more than two layers of clothing nor eat meat or fish. And he resolved to sell off all his remaining clothes, give the proceeds to the poor, and become an apostle clad in a single kimono. So he promptly asked Uchiyama to pawn everything—though “everything” amounted to just one lined kimono, two yukata, one Western suit, and one hakama—leaving only a single padded kimono with narrow sleeves. However, Uchiyama, acting like a grandfatherly figure, cautioned Eiichi,

“Teacher, even if you pawn this Western suit, it’ll fetch chickenfeed—they’ll only give you one yen or one yen fifty sen at most,” he said, refusing to take it to the pawnshop. “You’re better off keeping it on your back than that.” And so, having no choice but to leave the Western suit behind and pawn everything else in full, the total came to seven yen and twenty-six sen. With that money, Eiichi immediately headed for An-san’s place at the rear. When he entered through the back door, he found the one-eyed An-san—lying curled up in a grime-caked rented futon, wearing nothing but a happi coat in a house stripped of shoji screens, its door shut tight in broad daylight for want of proper clothing. Beside An lay a sickly-looking child who had crawled into the same futon from the foot end to sleep.

O-Masa was cooking millet mixed with sand while burning old geta under the stove. The millet was just about to come to a boil.

Eiichi stood silently behind O-Masa. “O-Masa, this is only a little, but please use it for rice money,” he said, holding out a five-yen note. “Oh my, this is too much. This much?!... An-san!” Eiichi remained silent, placed the banknote at the entrance to the two-tatami room in the back, and left. Then he went straight to Ofuji’s place and left two yen there. That night, An used the five yen he had received to drink himself senseless and came to offer his thanks. And,

“Mr. Shinmi, you really are a god—I truly worship you… But Shinagawa’s a damn troublesome place, see? Who knows what’ll happen to you there. When that time comes, I’ll throw my whole life away to save you, I swear!” he slurred drunkenly, pleading with all his might.

38

The act of sending Ohatsu to the nursing home had offended the neighbors' feelings. And so, on the fourth day, Oshika’s husband finally came barging in. This man, with a sword measuring two shaku five or six sun still drawn, "Is Shinmi here?" he demanded as he arrived. At that very moment, Eiichi was eating his meal but showed no particular alarm,

“What is it?” he said. “‘What do you mean, ‘What is it?’” the man roared, striking the center of the makeshift dining table hard with the back of his sword. Bowls, plates, dishes, and rice scattered in all directions. Uchiyama, who had been working as a kitchen helper in the back, hurriedly came in.

“Well now, no need to get so worked up.” “Brother, if we just talk it through properly, you’ll understand—so settle yourself down a bit more.” “………………….”

Uchiyama kept his wet hands spread open, blinking his trachoma-ridden eyes all the while... "Well now, Brother, I hear you're sore about Ohatsu." "But see here—Teacher came to Shinkawa to help folks in need, so he helps everyone who asks... Ohatsu herself begged Teacher to help her reform... Now maybe Teacher should've told you first—that was wrong of him—but from his side, he figured Ohatsu was still under your wing all along..."

A large crowd of people gathered at the entrance. Everyone watched to see what would happen. Eiichi sat looking troubled.

Oshika’s husband—commonly known as "Osaka"—was ranting in a frenzy. “No, Uchiyama—listen! The Teacher came to Shinkawa to help folks too, right? So I ain’t sayin’ him bein’ here’s bad… But damn insolent… Shinkawa’s got its own ways! Me—I’m takin’ cuts from whores’ earnings, so bookish brats like Shinmi look down on me… But I don’t wanna make other women sell themselves neither! We gotta eat—what choice we got?! Hey, Shinmi—!” he roared, raising his sword again to strike Eiichi, who sat silently praying before the meal tray.

And so Uchiyama grappled with his arm, “Now Brother, don’t be rash—if you end up havin’ to go to jail over this, that’d be trouble for ya. Let me hold onto that blade for now,” Uchiyama said, trying to take the sword, but Osaka stubbornly refused to let go. The grappled husband of Oshika kept shouting... “Hey, Shinmi! Where’d you hide Ohatsu, huh? Mark my words… You tryin’ to starve me out? I ain’t wanna rot in this damn Shinkawa playin’ pimp forever neither! If me bein’ here’s so annoyin’… I’ll clear out right now! Lend me travel money! Hey, Shinmi—what the hell you take me for?! Gimme a hundred yen—a hundred! Cough up a hundred yen, and I’ll quit Shinkawa anytime!”

“It’s dangerous, Brother—I’m tellin’ ya, let me hold onto that blade!” Uchiyama pleaded desperately.

Oshika arrived. Two prostitutes also came. They watched silently. A crowd had formed along the roadside. From the back, An the funeral director came out.

“An-san’s here! An-san’s here!” shouted five or six people outside. An had earned himself the nickname “Brawler An” for good reason—he was notoriously eager to pick fights, and those outside worried things would turn into a major brawl. Eiichi also thought An’s arrival had caused trouble. Of course, from An’s perspective, he had come to help out of gratitude for the care he’d received before. “Hey, ‘Osaka’! What are you muttering nonsense about here?!”

An was berating “Osaka” from the outset. Though “Osaka” was covered in full-body tattoos and had a fearsome visage, he fell silent the moment he saw the one-eyed An and handed his sword to Uchiyama. Uchiyama seized this chance, saying, “Now Brother, you get how it is—best be off home,” at which “Osaka” began retreating wordlessly. An—who seemed to have been napping until then—stood in the garden with a grimy face, indifferent to the cold despite lacking proper winter clothes, his workman’s coat slung haphazardly over his shoulders as he pressed Eiichi for an explanation.

Uchiyama forcibly led "Osaka" out. As the voices of the prostitutes, Oshika, and "Osaka" faded westward along the road, the large crowd too moved west, gathering at the western neighbor's following "Osaka".

Then An kept declaring repeatedly how strong he was in fights. There was a little girl peeking from the front of the garden. She was Kiyo-chan—a well-mannered twelve-year-old girl who had been taken into Osaka's household. Ever since Eiichi had given her a doll at Christmas, she'd grown fond of him and came to his place daily; now she gazed at Eiichi with a radiant face and smiled as if she'd completely forgotten about her stepfather's violent intrusion moments earlier. So Eiichi,

When he called out “Kiyo-chan!”, she pulled her face back in. Troubled by An’s presence, Eiichi went out to divert attention and brought Kiyo-chan into the house. “Kiyo-chan, is your father still angry?” he asked. “I don’t know… Teacher, please forgive him,” she said softly. Eiichi’s eyes welled up at her gentle plea.

Thirty-Nine

After that, Oshika, "Osaka," and Kiyo-chan did not show their faces for a week or two.

Shibata's illness grew steadily worse. Eiichi had to report daily to the marine insurance company, so after entrusting Shibata's daytime care to Uchiyama, he would return home past four in the afternoon and immediately visit Shibata. Each day saw Shibata weakening further. His hair had thinned pitifully from the disease, his face swollen and bluish with edema - every inch the consumptive patient - yet when he saw Eiichi, he would bow as though worshiping an idol. Though whether from tuberculosis reaching his throat or not, his words emerged unclear. Yet his gratitude shone through unmistakably.

Eiichi was kind to the patients. Izu, who lay in the next room, marveled, “I could never do what the Teacher does.” As Eiichi wondered why Izu praised him so earnestly, a week after the “Osaka” incident, Izu came to him: “Teacher—Sanko from the tofu shop... He’s stuck at that Gifuya flophouse... That sickly Sanko’s askin’ if you’d help somehow—couldn’t ya take ’im in? Let ’im sleep by me—I’m beggin’ ya.”

And so Eiichi immediately agreed, “Very well.” Sanko from the tofu shop (real name Fujita Mizo) came immediately. Unlike Izu, he was an idler. Uchiyama disliked going out to work but handled domestic tasks diligently. However, even when staying in, Sanko never attempted to assist with the cooking. He sat silently with a bluish, swollen face. He had a bad heart. However, he himself said there were signs of syphilis too. Unlike Izu, this man had come with the intention of not even going rope collecting and having Eiichi provide his meals. As a result, Eiichi now had to support four people on a monthly salary of twenty-five yen. The rice was fourteen sen per shō, but when four people ate it, there was never any left over. And so Eiichi decided he himself would forgo lunch, and the four of them agreed to make do with porridge, pickled plums, and miso soup. For some reason, Uchiyama said something that seemed to indicate he understood: “That’s fine, that’s fine.” The patients were also grateful for this arrangement. Sanko alone did nothing but complain. As a result, Uchiyama and Sanko did nothing but clash every day. And each time, Uchiyama would harshly scold Sanko, but when scolded, Sanko would remain silent. However, he never ceased complaining that the porridge was terrible. Therefore, three times a day without fail, Sanko and Uchiyama would end up arguing.

Though Sanko was still a young man of thirty-four, he appeared over forty, in keeping with the general rule that laborers always look about ten years older than their actual age. He had grown his hair long in the Ishikawa Goemon style, leaving it completely unkempt. A complete coward, he couldn't bring himself to visit the toilet alone at night. He claimed ghosts would appear. This was why. He had been raised as an orphan from childhood and had been employed at a tofu shop since his early years. Four years prior, while working as a vendor at a tofu shop on Nakamichi Street, he went to Wakihama to sell tofu when a drunkard charged at him and completely destroyed his load of tofu. Enraged, he struck the drunkard with the pole he was carrying, but the blow landed fatally, killing the man instantly. The police immediately arrived and took Sanko into custody. He spent a year in prison before being released due to insufficient evidence. However, from that time on, he began seeing ghosts. As a result, he became extremely timid and stopped going to work altogether. Whenever he went to a different workplace, he claimed the face of the man he'd killed would manifest in various forms.

Eiichi felt pity for Sanko. And so Eiichi said to Uchiyama, "Please look after Sanko. That man has no one on his side," and decided to let him stay and be fed.

Forty

Eiichi went out daily to his pen-pushing labor. It was utterly mundane. He had no involvement with the insurance company's lofty policies. His duty consisted of entering numbers into ledgers each day. Though there were fourteen or fifteen colleagues, he ranked among the most insignificant. Yet he remained aloof from such considerations. After contracting pneumonia last autumn - when he'd thought himself finished - his revival had steeled him to voice no complaints about his occupation. While he didn't endorse capitalism, he found himself incapable of hating the company president or managers. He unfailingly bowed courteously to them, never once defying their orders. He wasn't ignorant that this facilitated their surplus value accumulation. But now he recognized no path save fidelity to his duties. Whether this served others or himself wasn't his concern. If others profited, so be it. He'd resolved to immerse himself completely in this life of service, quietly awaiting capitalism's overthrow. Thus he performed his duties gladly. He pondered anew: Even should socialism dawn, a truly just society could never emerge unless people served society as devotedly as they now served capitalists. Therefore he concluded that serving present society constituted the prologue to serving a socialist one. He respected all people. He respected every soul in the slums.

He respected Uchiyama, Izu, and Fujita as well. Even if they were all failures in life, he discovered that each of their failures had a noble reason behind it, and thus came to respect them all the more. Eiichi respected Tomita as well, Hayashi as well, and Ueki as well. Discovering that they too had aspects worthy of love, Eiichi came to respect those qualities. He respected all the beggars and all the prostitutes in the slums. As long as they possessed the precious reality of being human, he respected them—even if those people had taken a misguided path—as ones who deserved to be granted time for repentance. In other words, Eiichi had now attained the self-awareness of Jesus who had descended to the world as the Savior. To save all, he had to respect all. That is because there is no need to save those who are not worthy of respect.

In this sense, Eiichi respected all people. He hated capitalism, but he could not hate human beings. He loved capitalists with the same meaning as he loved prostitutes and gamblers. Thus, even at Kobe Kaijo, he came to be loved as a good-natured man. In particular, Miyamoto and Taruya, who had become acquainted through the Maruni Incident, held Shinmi in special esteem. And at the company, Eiichi's slum project became remarkably well-known. Taruya—having grown up in a poor household himself—felt particular sympathy for Eiichi; one day at four in the afternoon when leaving work, he handed Shinmi a fifty-sen silver coin to give to the poor. This was the first sympathy money Eiichi had received from a friend. When receiving this, Eiichi felt desolate. Somehow, he also felt as if he himself were utterly worthless. He even felt as if being insulted. Yet Eiichi also accepted it with gratitude in God's name. Manager Kobayashi Eisaku too heard about Shinmi from Taruya and donated ten sen. Eiichi received this too with goodwill. The people at Kobe Kaijo had come to understand Eiichi properly. And whenever beggars passed beneath the company,

“Hey, Shinmi! Your pals are comin’!” they would often tease, yet they deeply respected him.

Forty-One Eiichi kept running a fever. When work let out each day, he'd drag his leaden feet toward the slums feeling utterly spent, as if his body weren't his own. Returning to the slums, he'd collapse still wearing his Western suit at the entryway, waiting for the fever to break. The thermometer usually showed nearly thirty-eight degrees when he took his temperature. He knew full well his illness hadn't fully healed. During these spells, catching even a slight cold made him cough up bloody specks from his bronchi - a sight that unsettled even him. Catching those red particles in his palm, staring at them while pondering his fate, he grew increasingly lonely and fearful. Death seemed to hover before his eyes. I'll die soon. I've left nothing behind in this world. Not just slum reform - no coherent works of writing, philosophy, faith or art. Yet every afternoon without fail, the fever returned. When I finally take to my sickbed this time - who'll care for me? The thought chilled him. No - Uchiyama would help then. But how reliable was that? When I wonder who'll provide money - life's loneliness makes me want to weep.

“Ah, this is it! The reason the poor cannot rise up—” He deduced from his own circumstances—“It’s not that the poor become poor because they’re destitute; they become poor because they’re lonely. The suffering of the poor lies in having no connections in big cities”—and tried to sympathize with them.

From late January through the end of February, Eiichi injured his throat completely from street preaching and could not produce a good voice. Eiichi worried that he might have been afflicted with oral tuberculosis.

He would often lie sprawled out at the entrance of the six-tatami room in the slums, worrying about such things as he thought them over. And it was precisely at such times that he would recall his stepmother in rural Awa—wondering how she fared now—or think of his two brothers who had gone to their uncle in Osaka, or Emiko, who had gone to distant Taiwan and promised to return soon. He would typically end up crying as he contemplated the tragic fate of his scattered family. There were times when he would say to himself, “I’ve finally become a pauper.” And he would even mutter, “Ahh, if only Emiko were here—she could take care of me when I’m sick.” It was precisely at such times that he would recall Tsuruko Tamiya, who hadn’t sent a single letter since then. However, Eiichi had already stopped placing his hopes in Tsuruko Tamiya.

Yet no sooner would he sink into such dejection than he would spring up, silently make his way to the two-tatami tenement below, gather children from every street corner, lead them out to the square, and often find himself watching them noisily making a commotion.

The children of the slums were beautiful as a whole. Thus embracing a beautiful infant and joyfully declaring “God is love” on his own, he would enliven the desolate winter evenings—before he knew it, his fever would break. So whenever Eiichi developed a fever, he would go play with the children in the two-tatami room instead of taking antipyretics. Jump rope, tag, hide-and-seek, hopscotch—he played whatever games the children wanted. As he played this way, more and more would gather until by dusk around five-thirty, it became commonplace for nearly a hundred children to assemble. When the crowd grew too large, he would make them sing songs and mimic the goose-stepping of Western students, then form lines while chanting “Cats catch mice and chase weasels” in unison as they played Child Snatcher. Before long even Jinko, Torai, Hanaka, Kazusan, Kumazo, and recently befriended Kiyo-chan had joined the ranks. Both boys and girls adored Shinmi so much that some even acted up deliberately just to feel his scolding touch.

The Sunday school was so crowded that even Mr. Takeda, Mr. Yao, and Mr. Hashida from Kwansei Gakuin were worn out. Particularly with the children from the two-tatami room below—they would arrive without wearing geta, climb up as they were to listen to stories, and in the midst of this, forget whether they had even brought their own geta in the first place. Some would then silently slip on whatever geta lay there and take them home—a situation that left even the Sunday school teachers utterly perplexed. Most of them wore old geta they had scavenged from trash bins—mostly mismatched pairs—and since they couldn’t tell which ones were theirs, even with a teacher permanently stationed as the geta attendant whenever a hundred twenty or thirty old sandals were lined up, the scene would descend into chaos when classes ended and it was time to go home. They utterly couldn’t tell which geta were their own. So fights would break out, scuffles would start, and they were utterly clueless about what the Sunday school was even for. He had even come to think that perhaps it would be better if there were no Sunday school at all, as that alone might foster a calmer disposition in them.

And on top of such overcrowding, there was Iwanuma Matsuzō—a twelve-year-old delinquent leader known as the worst troublemaker in the area, related to Kenka Yasushi—who during Sunday school prayers would throw stones through the shoji screens, bring dogs to bark inside, and summon five or six children outside, “Amen, ramen, cold somen!” Making them chant it over and over—“Amen, ramen, cold somen!”—and hiding the innocent children’s geta, Eiichi finally gave chase after Matsuzō, but to no avail. Therefore, if he truly wanted to run the Sunday school and deeply influence the children of this neighborhood from the ground up, he concluded that there was no other way than to first take Iwanuma into his own home and care for him. After discussing it with Kenka Yasushi, he finally decided to take Matsuzō in as well. Thus, Shinmi’s household had now become a family of six.

Dr. Williams provided a monthly subsidy of fifteen yen. Not only that, he brought Mrs. Pearson—wife of the pastor at New York City’s Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, visiting from America—to the slums and introduced her to Shinmi. Deeply impressed by Eiichi’s work, Mrs. Pearson wrote a check for 550 yen, entrusted it to Dr. Williams, and departed. She left word that she would return after inspecting missionary conditions in China and Korea once more—they would meet leisurely then—before leaving for Korea. Eiichi thanked God wholeheartedly for this 550 yen. He rejoiced like Israel gathering manna in the wilderness. This sum could sustain five or six paupers for nearly two years. He immediately replaced their rice gruel and pickled plums with proper meals. Having abolished lunch and subsisted on two daily meals until now, he resolved to resume eating three. At that moment, Eiichi truly dwelled within these words of the Lord’s Prayer—

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

And he felt he had finally come to understand the meaning of prayer.

With funds now available, he purchased bedding - about ten old futons. After separating sleeping arrangements from Uchiyama, he considered Izu's situation pitiable; the man had been paying two sen nightly for rented futons. He thus gave three futons each to Sanko and Izu, but this left them still short. Consequently, the delinquent Matsuzō and Eiichi inevitably had to share a bed.

Forty-Two The drunkard would come to cause trouble. Yoshida would show up. Mori the cart-puller would show up. "Teikoku" would show up. "Awa" would show up. The neighbor across the way, Hiyama, would show up. Just dealing with the drunkard alone required considerable patience. Mori would always do nothing but imitate theatrical performances and disrupt the street preaching. For he would roll his eyes wildly and wave his hands about while delivering strange lines right in the middle of the sermon, causing the audience to burst into laughter. He was always drunk during the day. And around twelve o'clock, he would set out to pull his cart near the Fukuhara red-light district. The house was in the two-tatami room below, with no futons or anything; he always slept wrapped in a horse blanket from his cart. When Teikoku got drunk, he would come spouting nothing but incomprehensible nonsense. He was a good-natured man who never got angry, only repeating "I'm begging you, I'm begging you" over and over.

“Awa,” when drunk, would come asking to have prayers said to the Christian God, bringing a ten-sen silver coin or a twenty-sen silver coin, then leave without another word. Then again he would come back asking to borrow thirty sen or fifty sen, take it, and leave.

Hiyama across the way had a mean streak when drunk, always itching for a fight. As for Yoshida next door—he’d graduated from mere nuisance to full-blown calamity. He’d make children wail, rip up floorboards for kindling, and roar through paper-thin walls during hymn-singing: “That damn Jesus racket’s keepin’ me awake!” Truth be told, with only a single layer of plaster between them, his fury wasn’t entirely unreasonable—though sober, he turned downright civil. Yoshida still carried a torch for the woman who’d dumped him to become *Oitaberau*’s missus. He’d plant himself outside their shack bellowing curses till spittle flew. Not that anyone pitied him—especially after he stopped paying rent and started dismantling the house for firewood. When Mizuta’s granny came storming over about the damages, Yoshida threatened to brain her with a plank. Mizuta’s thugs happened by and beat him half to death right there in the alleyway—a spectacle that ended only when Eiichi begged Tomita to spare Yoshida’s life. For four days afterward, Yoshida lay moaning in his den, surviving on scraps. But lessons never stuck with that one. Soon enough he’d be back at Shinmi’s door reeking of cheap booze, chest puffed out: “Mizuta’s got seven hundred goons? Eight hundred? Let ’em come! They ain’t got the stones to finish me!”

During worship, he appeared completely naked without even a loincloth and asked, “I’m gonna be a Christian startin’ today too, see… Teacher, you said it don’t matter how folks come, right? So that’s why I came like this… Ain’t that okay?” “Go put something on,” he said, and

“Alright then, I’ll go put somethin’ on, Teacher,” he said. No sooner had he obediently gone back than he returned wearing a straw mat and sat himself down properly, sending everyone present into laughter. Deguchi, Ito, Ishino, Ueki—even the women sitting there laughed. However, Yoshida remained unperturbed. For about ten minutes, he remained silent, listening to Eiichi’s sermon while dozing off. Theoretically, since Eiichi had declared he didn’t care what anyone wore, he couldn’t very well object now—so he let it be. Before long, Yoshida’s dozing subsided slightly and his drunkenness began to wear off.

“I’ll be going now,” he said and went back.

However, what troubled Shinmi the most were the Western-style beggars Koga and Hamai. Koga was the son of a well-to-do family from Kobe’s Kumau district. During his fourth year of middle school, he had taken up gambling on a whim—a gateway to his downfall—and began associating with Mizuta’s clan, the bosses of Fukiai Shinagawa’s slums, until he ultimately plummeted to rock bottom. He had terrible drinking habits and would become violent when drunk. As for labor, he had joined a group of dockworkers; however, after being expelled from middle school, he attended Kenki Gijuku and became close with Western beggars—mainly foreign sailors who had missed their ships and taken to begging around Kobe and Osaka, spending all the money they received on drink—because he could converse a little. Finding the beggars’ lifestyle intensely romantic, he began imitating them, pretending to be Korean and making rounds solely to Westerners’ homes.

When Shinmi entered the slums on Christmas of Meiji 42 (1909), the first person to address him in English there was this Koga. Since he had read the Bible a bit, “I know Bible, You see,” (I am acquainted with the Bible.) he chattered on. On what was perhaps the fourth or fifth night after entering the slums, this Koga came dead drunk, vomiting and urinating on the futon Eiichi slept in. And there was a time when he ended up bedridden for an entire night. According to Uchiyama, Koga had stolen the rain shutters from his father’s rented house and sold them off in the slums to fund his gambling—such was the man’s sheer audacity. Koga would often come saying things like “Please give me ten sen” or “Please give me fifteen sen.”

Koga was mild-mannered, but what troubled Shinmi most was Koga’s friend Hamai. This man too was a beggar and ruffian who targeted Westerners, his demeanor truly imposing. His face was oblong with wide, round eyes beneath thick eyebrows, framed by an imperious Kaiser-style mustache. A stately young man nearing thirty, he stood about five shaku five or six sun tall—roughly 167 to 170 centimeters. Yet his skin bore a reddish-brown cast from alcohol. As for clothing, he wore only a single lined winter kimono, trembling violently. Upon encountering Eiichi, Hamai immediately demanded, “Sir, will you please give me a shirt?” (シヤツ一枚下さいませんか？).

Though Eiichi knew English well, he preferred to speak Japanese when conversing with fellow Japanese. At first he faltered slightly, but deliberately used polite Japanese: "I have no shirts except the one I'm currently wearing. Please understand," he responded. Then: "Give me the shirt you're wearing!"

He advanced on him. So Eiichi silently removed his undergarment, took off the shirt he was wearing, and handed it to Hamai. “Here,” he said, offering it. Then Hamai said “Thank you!”, took it, and promptly put it on. Then in English, he added that since he had no money for lodging, he wanted to borrow fifty sen for the fee. When Eiichi said he didn’t have the money, Hamai accused him of being a hypocrite and threatened him: “You’re the one swindling money from the rich under the guise of charity!” Even then, as Eiichi stayed silent, he grabbed him by the chest and shook him, then kicked him. Eiichi thought, *Has humanity truly fallen this far?* as tears streamed down his face in silence—but this time Hamai seized his neatly parted hair and insulted him. Still Eiichi remained silent until Uchiyama rushed to call An from the back; An came running with a dagger tucked in his clothes. At that, Hamai left without another word.

It was precisely at times like these that Hamai would be drinking strong liquor, his eyes glazed and lips turned purple; Eiichi thought this must be what they meant by drunken rage. However, this was neither the first nor second time Hamai had insulted Eiichi. Once he realized money could be extorted, he came daily—twice or even three times a day. And Eiichi wasn’t his only target. He also went daily to extort nursery teachers at the Baptist Mission kindergarten bordering the slums. When the kindergarten finally turned him over to police, Hamai was detained for two weeks—only to resume his ways upon release. Shinmi’s group, the kindergarten staff, and every flophouse in sight suffered his extortion. He disrupted street sermons too. When an eight-member preaching team—slum converts and Kwansei Gakuin students—held service after crossing Onogara Bridge, he charged without warning. Smashing all eight lanterns, he lunged at Eiichi and slapped his cheek three or four times. Eiichi stood silent. Hayashi happened by and shoved through the crowd into their circle. Seeing Eiichi overpowered by this hulking man, he snatched the wooden sandal from his right foot and hurled it at Hamai’s back. Eiichi shouted “Mr. Hayashi! Stop that! Stop!” but Hayashi paid no heed. He kept pounding away.

Just then, a police officer arrived. After the police officer arrived, Hamai and Hayashi began grappling. However, since no one sympathized with Hamai, he was finally taken to the police box.

Eiichi thanked Hayashi after the crowd had dispersed and went to the police box to retrieve Hamai. The policeman knew Shinmi well, "No, I fully understand." "However, since this bastard goes around extorting flophouses one by one, we've been waiting to catch him red-handed ourselves," he refused to release Hamai. Hamai was finally detained at the police station that night.

Upon learning that Hamai had been sent to the police station, Koga rushed to Shinmi’s place. However, Koga too seemed to have lost all patience with Hamai, “He’s already been detained thirty-two times! Last year he went wild in Tokyo… Went to shake down some baron’s house, but when they wouldn’t pay up, he flew into a rage and kicked through the golden screen in their grand entrance—they say he went completely berserk.” “I’ve truly never laid eyes on such a wicked bastard in all my days,” he said.

The next morning's newspaper duly carried a small article on page three about Shinmi Eiichi being beaten.

43 The prostitutes had all grown close to Eiichi. Beyond merely growing close, some had come to adore him. Oshu, a somewhat pretty twenty-three-year-old prostitute, often told Eiichi various stories about her life. This woman had made her nest midway along the embankment, one block closer to the harbor from Eiichi's street, living as the mistress of what was said to be the brother of young boss Mizuta's wife. Though she went out nightly as a prostitute, when encountered by daylight, she carried herself with such a refined, virginal bearing that showed no trace of her profession. When Eiichi passed by her place, a voice called out from within. And then, without preamble—

“Mr. Shinmi—won’t ya make me your wife? Even just one night’s fine—I wanna have someone like you hold me while I sleep… You’re really a god, ain’tcha? Doin’ all this unthinkable kindness… So young too—it’s amazin’,” she said.

Remaining standing on the roadside, Eiichi— “You shouldn’t mock me so much,” he said. “That’s the truth, isn’t it?” she said, seeking agreement from the three prostitutes gathered there. They all praised Eiichi in unison. One said that Mr. Shinmi was truly a handsome man, while another praised how impressive it was that Eiichi remained unfazed even when beaten.

Then the topic turned to Ohatsu, and the story of 'Osaka' barging in came up.

“That’s right—no need to go barging in like ‘Osaka’ did. If ya just explain things proper-like, Teacher wouldn’t turn ya away cold. He’d hand over fifty or a hundred yen quick enough. But ya shouldn’t give nothin’ to bastards who come crashin’ in like that...” Oshu said sympathetically. “Ever since I started prostituting myself at thirteen—once you start selling yourself, it makes you feel like such a fool that you can’t bring yourself to do any proper work. Even though I know I oughta regret it, if it weren’t for the debts and the rotating savings dues, I’d quit this whoring any day—but then I’d just get sick, wouldn’t I? And then what?” “If I do that, debt piles up right away—if I don’t whore myself out, I can’t pay it off, can I?”

When he asked how much debt she had, she replied that it was a hundred and fifty or sixty yen. When he asked how such a large debt had accumulated, she replied that she had contracted typhoid fever last year.

Leaving the conversation at that point, Eiichi urged her to repent and returned home. But when he saw the newspaper four or five days later, there was a report that Oshu had conspired with a certain villain named Yagi to buy and sell a fourteen-year-old girl for one yen, forcibly compelling her into prostitution—a crime that had been discovered, resulting in their being taken to the police station. Though he found it hard to believe that such a beautiful woman could be capable of it, Eiichi concluded that Oshu indeed belonged to the category of a femme fatale. However, Eiichi simply couldn’t bring himself to believe that Oshu had been born a femme fatale. And he deeply contemplated the crimes of circumstance—the sins that the slums compelled one to commit.

Among the prostitutes was Oharu—a simple-minded woman working at a self-catering lodge called Okayama-ya—who proved particularly troublesome for Shinmi. She had an obsessive compulsion for letter-writing, trailing after Eiichi to hand him crudely penned notes resembling love letters in phonetic script. Even within the slums and among her fellow sex workers, people called Oharu a “Sex maniac! Sex maniac!”, yet she would appear at Eiichi’s door each morning and stubbornly refuse to leave. “Teacher,” she pleaded, “won’t you let me stay here? I’ll quit this life—I’ll reform myself for good...” Her behavior showed no signs of true madness. Strangely, she never displayed any vulgar intentions toward Eiichi.

When evening came, prostitutes would take turns bringing leather-faced men into the house of "Osaka," Eiichi’s western neighbor, and as soon as five minutes passed, they would immediately come back out.

However, that situation of Osaka barging into Eiichi's place did not last long.

One Saturday evening in March, when Eiichi returned from the company, Uchiyama— “Teacher, that’s mighty impressive,” he said admiringly. “Mr. Uchiyama, what do you mean?” he asked. “Today, Teacher, Osaka from next door and this girl Okiyo said they won’t be able to see you anymore—they came inside several times asking where you went with Hanako—” “They likely came to ask when you’d return… Seems Osaka’s returning to northern Osaka this time—said there’s nothing left for him in Kobe now. Guess after that incident, being neighbors lost its charm… But poor Okiyo—swore she’d never forget Teacher Shinmi and Jesus as long as she lived, crying at your doorstep half the day!”

Eiichi felt tears well up upon hearing this. And within his heart: *The triumph of the Gospel—the triumph of the Gospel.* Jesus and love are perfectly understood by a child's heart. How beautiful—that she wept half a day declaring she'd never forget me and Jesus. "I want a soul's longing deep enough to weep half a day," I told myself. And so Eiichi peered into the western neighbor's house to see if Kiyo-chan might still linger there, but even after lifting the tatami mats found only an empty void.

So when he asked Hanako-san, the eleven-year-old from the eastern neighbor, Hanako-san, with her beautiful face, “Kiyo-chan cried at your doorway for half a day… She said it’s awful—her father’s taking her to Nagara and she’ll get sold off right after they arrive. And if she goes there, there won’t be no Sunday school anymore, so she’s lonely… That’s why she kept sayin’ she didn’t wanna go and cryin’ like that,” she answered.

“When did they leave here?” he asked. “A little later,” came the only reply. Eiichi walked back and forth along the narrow path, contemplating Okiyo’s soul and what might become of her.

Since coming to the slums, everything had been nothing but unexpected to him. And because the problems were so immense, he found himself thinking less about reforming the slums than about being swallowed whole by them. Shibata's illness grew increasingly severe, with flesh and blood flowing out so that the stench could be smelled twenty or thirty ken away. Eiichi and Uchiyama took turns going early every morning to wash those swaddling clothes in the large ditch between Azuma-dori 4-chome and 3-chome. Each time he washed those swaddling clothes, Eiichi pondered various matters concerning religious discipline.

It was mid-February when Dr. Tazawa gave up on Shibata, declaring him beyond help, yet Shibata stubbornly refused to die. Day by day, Shibata’s faith grew stronger. Its intensity bordered on the astonishing. Eiichi had never preached at Shibata in particular. Believing that forcing faith constituted a grave sin—that giving one’s all would naturally kindle belief—he stayed silent and loved Shibata with a mother’s devotion. As Shibata came to understand the gravity of his condition, he began making unreasonable demands—eggs, milk, whatever came to mind. Eiichi granted every one. Witnessing this, Uchiyama appeared genuinely moved to his core. Thus it became clear that Uchiyama tended to Shibata with heartfelt compassion. Uchiyama’s faith had deepened remarkably. Eiichi began viewing Uchiyama as saintlike. Seeing how this man—who until mere months ago had been considered the archetype of idleness—now devoted himself wholeheartedly to caring for someone he deemed worthy, Eiichi felt profound admiration.

Eiichi heard Uchiyama praying again and again for Shibata's sake. His habit was to go to the southwest corner of the house, close his eyes, and pray. After praying, he would go to Shibata and recount in simplest terms the gospel of Jesus he had heard from Shinmi. And Shibata believed it exactly as told.

Uchiyama's faith was simple. He said such things to Eiichi.

“It’s truly pitiful about Shibata, but how fortunate that through the grace of our Heavenly Father, he can go to heaven. Precisely because he came here, he received Lord Jesus’s salvation.”

Eiichi was satisfied with Uchiyama's faith. Yet God did not heed Eiichi and Uchiyama's prayers, and Shibata finally fell into eternal slumber on March 21st. But it was a death of triumph. How deeply must that have carved through Eiichi's breast.

That morning, Eiichi was at the insurance company. Then, past ten o'clock, Ueki came to the insurance company as Uchiyama's messenger. And, "Shibata's returning to Father's place. Come back quick." With only those words, he left.

Eiichi didn’t fully grasp the meaning. Returning to Father’s place? Was he saying he’d go back to his stepfather’s house in Higashide Town… Because we couldn’t care for him properly here… If so, how regrettable. But if he tried walking back in that state, he’d surely collapse on the way. How pitiful—to risk death returning to that stepfather without understanding our kindness… Even if he made it, nobody at Gonzo’s lodging would tend to him.

While lost in these thoughts, Eiichi returned to the slums only to find Uchiyama standing on the path.

“Teacher, Shibata has finally returned to Father’s place.”

Eiichi still did not understand the meaning. “Eh… he returned to Father’s place—Higashide Town’s…” “No, to our Heavenly Father’s place… Shibata truly returned in peace.” “He repeatedly asked me to convey his regards to you, Teacher, and at the end said, ‘Mr. Uchiyama, I shall now be allowed to return to Heavenly Father’s place,’ before departing as if falling asleep.” Hearing this, Eiichi’s tears streamed down. Eiichi pondered deeply.

"Why do I alone lack the faith that Uchiyama and Shibata possess?" I had considered that I would go to heaven, but until this very moment, I had never thought of returning to the Heavenly Father’s place. There was no logic to it—no reason at all. For Uchiyama and Shibata, death was indeed a return to the Father’s home. Ah, what profound faith and resolve this was! Yes—Shibata had returned to the embrace of the Heavenly Father before me. Like the prodigal son returning to his father’s arms, he departed with the tread of victory.

“Amen, Amen,” he repeated.

The funeral was set for five o'clock in the afternoon. And before then, he had to complete the notification at the city office and report to Shibata in Higashide Town. So I decided that I would go to the city office and have Ueki go to Higashide Town. Ueki was unexpectedly useful at times like these. As this was both the first funeral he would hold from his own home in the slums and the first funeral in the slums for someone who had died in the name of Jesus, he considered using a pure Christian-style coffin. However, "Kenka-Yasu"—the labor boss from the funeral parlor—said that doing so would likely cost more than fifty yen, so he abandoned the Christian-style coffin and decided to hold the funeral with an ordinary casket.

The departure had been scheduled for 5:00 PM, but when Shibata arrived around 3:00 leading the entire Second Fire Brigade—a contextual inconsistency given his deceased status—they decided to move it up to 4:00. Eiichi and Uchiyama carefully completed the ritual bathing and placed Shibata’s corpse into the coffin. Kenka-Yasu took charge of managing both laborers and all other funeral arrangements. Eiichi delivered an extremely brief sermon as they prepared to carry out the coffin. Shibata’s stepfather and fifteen or sixteen firefighters squatted in a small open space between the back entrance and toilet. They listened reverently to Eiichi’s sermon. The preacher wept throughout his address. This was because he doubted whether he himself—were he in Shibata’s position—could have died with such faith. His materialistic tendencies made him imagine he might have cursed both God and man in death; comparing his own flawed nature to Shibata’s guileless one filled him with shame.

Until today, he had been completely indifferent to the question of eternal life. That was because, after reading James’s lectures on pragmatism, he had grown even more indifferent to the question of eternal life. He placed great value on the reality of the moment. The religious essence of each moment was what mattered most to him. Therefore, he had thought that even if the typhoon called death were to come at any time, he would be all right. He had experienced wandering between life and death last September. Even at that time, he had not feared death in the slightest. He was composed in the face of death.

However, that had merely amounted to not fearing death. He could not welcome death as a victory. How much less could he reach the realm of bearing death's glory as Shibata had. In Shibata's case, death was an exquisite art—soaring high into the air, effortlessly transcending death's domain. Eiichi, having been shown this solemn artistry of death, found himself utterly awestruck. This engraved faith more deeply in his heart than countless millions of nembutsu chants or tens of millions of books read.

He stated that matter exactly as it was in his brief sermon. To the fire brigade members, that matter seemed utterly incomprehensible. They listened without moving, yet not a trace of emotion showed on their faces. However, both Uchiyama and Ueki were crying. Fujita no Sanko had his mouth hanging open and was simply staring vacantly.

44

After Shibata’s death, Eiichi felt as though there was a void in the depths of his chest. He had come to think both that he himself had not yet been able to love others sufficiently and that Shibata’s dying so soon might have been due to lapses in his own care.

Eiichi grew markedly gloomy again. And the more he came to understand the slums—the more their darkness became apparent: poverty, murder, crime, gambling, prostitution, filial impiety, and sheer recklessness—the more he found himself convinced that it was only natural Jesus had died on the cross. It was because he thought that those who once seriously gazed upon the ugliness of this world simply had to die. And he reproached himself, concluding that his continued clinging to life was ultimately due to his lack of resolve to fight against the world’s evils thoroughly.

No one could comfort Eiichi's lonely soul. He had cast aside love, ambition, honor—even intellectual curiosity—and now sought to devote himself entirely to serving God. He could not help but feel his sexual desires intensifying. But this was momentary. When he had been close to Tsuruko or thought of Koshū, masturbation had become habitual; yet after receiving baptism and plunging into fervent street preaching, he had nearly forgotten it altogether—and once he entered the slums, once he embraced this Savior-like awareness, the habit vanished completely. Even when hearing prostitutes' lewd, unrestrained conversations, he never felt sexual desire. He now found it rather strange that someone like Thomas Moore had slept in a shirt woven from horsehair to restrain his sexual urges.

He had resolved by his own will to become a saint. And he thought that if he could perform miracles like Jesus, he would have to lay hands on all the sick in the slums and heal them. Therefore, he acknowledged that it was necessary for him alone to enter into a holy life.

He was lonely. Every Sunday, every Sunday, he would rush into the mountains. And at times, in an oak grove along a mountain stream deep in Nunobiki, he would read through all twenty-eight chapters of the Gospel of Matthew in three hours and forty minutes, praying as he contemplated the path Jesus had trodden. There were also times when he would pray from the summit of Maya Mountain’s opposite peak at noon, saying, “Grant me Kobe! Grant me the slums!”

Nature, sleep, and infants comforted him most. Yet throughout this lonely period, what brought him the greatest happiness was that a few outstanding Sunday school students like Okiyo-chan had emerged, and that Deguchi had taken the lead in making the Sunday evening worship services increasingly vibrant. Lately, even Kenka-Yasu had been coming to worship services. Usually fourteen or fifteen people gathered. There were always two or three who followed along from the street preaching too. With never fewer than seventy or eighty Sunday school students attending, the house had become cramped. Moreover, since the children coming to Sunday school were rowdy, Shinmi worried it must be causing considerable trouble for the neighbors. Among these concerns, Eiichi felt most apprehensive about Yoshida. Yoshida hated Christianity to begin with, and since Eiichi told him not to drink alcohol, Eiichi grated on his nerves. Thus he would invariably disrupt every gathering. This led even the wife of boss Mizuta to sympathize with Eiichi. “Isn’t there some way to reform a villain like Yoshida?” she said. “I’d like to kick him out of our rental already—you must be really troubled with him interfering over at your place.” And so Eiichi proposed—since his own house was cramped and Yoshida was being troublesome—that if they could move Yoshida to the vacant house across the way and let him use the neighboring space, it would be extremely convenient. Mizuta’s wife immediately agreed and ordered Yoshida to move to the opposite side. Just when they thought Yoshida would refuse, he replied, “If you’ll forgive the rent I’ve owed until now, I’ll move across.”

And so, Eiichi decided to pay one and a half months' rent to Mizuta on Yoshida's behalf and merge the neighboring house as well. The merger of the houses was completed in early April. Eiichi removed the wall between the two houses, laid flooring across the garden area, and created a large seventeen-tatami hall. With this, he concluded that the slum's meeting hall was now fully adequate. The house had become spacious, and Eiichi was delighted, but the Sunday school students were the most overjoyed. And seeing the Sunday school students' delight, Eiichi rejoiced once more.

45

On April 5th, a letter arrived from Awa Province’s countryside saying his stepmother was ill and asking him to return home. And so Eiichi submitted a leave of absence notice to his company and returned to Itano District for about three days. His stepmother was suffering from rheumatism to such an extent that even her legs and hips had lost their freedom of movement. Yet more than sympathizing with her rheumatism, what he found most unbearably pitiful was seeing how all those grand structures—the East Storehouse, West Storehouse, Front Storehouse, stable, two storehouses, and large two-story main house—had vanished, leaving her confined alone to a mere six-tatami back room. His stepmother’s blood relatives were rather in Nishino Shintaku—a branch family of Tamiya—where the household head was her true nephew through her late sister. Now while Nishino Shintaku ought to have cared for her despite lacking blood ties to Eiichi—since his father’s death had coincided with her own sister’s passing—they not only treated her as a nuisance but also coveted her modest savings (some said two thousand yen; others three thousand), leading Ryosuke—her late sister’s husband—to propose marrying her in his deceased wife’s stead.

However, the current household head and Oku's sister's husband were related by marriage rather than blood. Oku had married into the family, given birth to an eldest son and a second son, and been widowed. From Nanto, she then took Ryosuke—who became the stepfather of the current household head—as her new husband. However, since Ryosuke and Oku's sister had four children together, the family had grown even more discordant. After Oku's sister died, Ryosuke got involved with a widow in Nakano Shintaku and impregnated her, all while approaching Oku to become his wife. Upon returning to Higashiumazume and hearing this story, Eiichi was utterly shocked to see that the countryside was just as corrupt as the slums, but Oku—

“If I stay here alone like this, Mr. Ryosuke will harm me. Any place will do—please take me with you,” she pleaded. And so Eiichi, sympathizing with Oku, told her he would come take her in around late May or early June if the slums proved acceptable, then returned to Kobe.

However, when he returned to the slums early on the morning of April 8th after being away for three days—oh, what a mess—Tomita had brought Kuma’s wife Okuto and was sleeping together with her in the six-tatami room. Just then, Kuma drew his sword and came barging in. Seeing this, Okuto—completely naked save for a single faded red flannel waistcloth—was now attempting to flee through the back door.

“Uchiyama! Which way did Okuto run?” Kuma demanded, still gripping his drawn sword. Kuma offered little resistance against Tomita. This was because Tomita kept a pistol. Eiichi’s unexpectedly early return left everyone astonished. The most discomfited was Tomita.

“I’m sorry, Teacher,” he said, sitting up from the bedding and scratching his head. Eiichi had assumed only Tomita and Okuto were staying over, but there was a woman named Oshizu sleeping there. An ex-convict named Sawada was sleeping there. Eiichi was utterly astonished. When he asked why they had let Oshizu in, “It’s all about helping others, you see,” Uchiyama answered lightly.

However, the one who couldn't remain silent was Sanko. "Uchiyama's been sleeping with Oshizu in his arms," Sanko said.

Oshizu was a seventeen-year-old girl. Though naturally fair-skinned, she was pallid from anemia, with hair disheveled like a ghost's—a dissolute woman. She had lain bedridden with paralysis until four days earlier at the residence of Yagi Senzo, who was notorious as a broker for local prostitutes. Until one or two months before, she had kept house with a laborer thirty years her senior at a flophouse, but when she fell ill, the man abandoned her, leaving her to entrust herself to Yagi’s care. According to Uchiyama, on the night he met her: “Oshizu had been driven out from Yagi’s residence too and was saying she’d sleep under a bridge if need be, so I took her in. But I’ve no wicked intentions,” he said.

Sawada was a two-time convicted fraud and embezzlement offender. He was apparently a friend of Kumako, O-Toku’s husband. Eiichi regretted that during his brief absence, the atmosphere of the Jesus Corps had been disrupted to such an extent. However, he resigned himself to this too as being due to his own lack of foresight. And he promptly had Sawada leave and decided that Oshizu would sleep separately from Uchiyama for now. And so, the household added a new woman and became six again. Tomita, having become self-destructive, came heavily drunk that afternoon and tried to pick a fight with Eiichi. So he avoided that and went out to pray at Chikkō. After that, Tomita declared it was a pistol test and fired wildly at the walls of Eiichi's room. When Eiichi returned, he found numerous bullets embedded in the walls.

46

It was the afternoon of the third Thursday in April. Shinmi had received word that Kobe Church gathered various items for the slums—old futons, used geta sandals, charcoal bales—and went himself to haul the cart for collection. The cart stood piled high with goods. While pulling it down the slope, he emerged at Kita-Nagasadori 4-chome. There along the railway-lined street, he unexpectedly encountered Tamiya Tsuruko.

That day, Tsuruko held a Western-style umbrella in her hand, wore weather-worthy geta, and was dressed in a very modest striped gas-woven garment with tightly woven patterns. He had rolled up the only tube-sleeved shirt he owned and was barely managing to pull the cart piled high with charcoal bales. Had he not called out to Tsuruko first, she likely would have passed by without recognizing Shinmi. Shinmi pulled the cart close to the railway fence and stood conversing for several minutes. "Oh, Mr. Shinmi, what are you doing here?" Tsuruko asked,

"I'm taking discarded items to the slums," he answered. The day was cloudy, and the gray air along the railway felt peculiarly oppressive. Tsuruko too appeared somehow listless. That day, she was preparing to return from Hiroshima to Awa. "Truly, that's something I could never do," Tsuruko replied lightly. Not a shred of vigor remained in her.

Thereupon, Eiichi immediately interjected. "Ms. Tsuruko, what will you do about that matter?"

“That matter?” “Because my uncle says such strange things... As things stand now, it’s impossible for me—I’ve resolved never to marry in this lifetime.” “This time, there’s something I must do—I intend to go into the mountains...” “Into the mountains? Where?” “I’m thinking of becoming an elementary school teacher and moving deep into some mountain village.”

“It’s been exactly two years now…”

“Yes... you’ve aged, haven’t you.” “Is that so... Being in such a state must make it all the more...” “I’ve just heard all about you from Mrs. Williams... It’s truly something beyond me, something I could never do...”

“In that case, Ms. Tsuruko—I’ll ask once more. Is that matter truly settled as it stands?” “When you phrase it that way... it pains me terribly.” “I don’t believe I could ever imitate someone as righteous as you...”

Tsuruko was already welling up with tears and biting her lips strangely. "Well then, Ms. Tsuruko, I must take my leave now," Shinmi said as he gripped the cart's handle.

Tsuruko hurriedly, “Wait a moment, Mr. Shinmi…” she said, gripping the cart’s handle with one hand. And she took out a handkerchief and wiped her tears. “Please forgive me... you must forgive me, please.”

The Tokaido up-train passed by with a loud roar.

“……” “I… I have so much I want to say to you, but I cannot… Then… Farewell…” Eiichi too began weeping in sympathy. Tears fell drop by drop into the dusty street. Yet thinking how unseemly it looked for two young people to be crying in public, Eiichi gathered his courage and, “Goodbye, Ms. Tsuruko. May God protect you too, and keep you well,” he said, pulling the cart forward two or three steps.

At this, Tsuruko, heedless of onlookers, covered her face with a handkerchief and burst into tears.

As Shinmi continued pulling the cart five or six more steps, Tsuruko came hurrying after him from behind, “Mr. Shinmi, please forgive me, I beg of you,” she said as she walked alongside him.

“There is nothing to forgive – everything lies within God’s divine will. Please continue advancing along your own path.” “As I intend to live out my days in these slums and die here… God will protect us both – you and me.”

The two walked silently together as far as Ikuta Mae, but when they had gone a little beyond that point, Tsuruko— “I... I have no courage to say anything now... For I am but a defiled, worthless thing... So then... Mr. Shinmi... Goodbye...” she said haltingly. And so Eiichi cheerfully, “Goodbye, Ms. Tsuruko… forever…”

“Well then…” Tsuruko raised her tear-filled eyelids and looked into Eiichi’s eyes. When their eyes met, Eiichi felt enveloped in a supreme mystery. Across Tsuruko’s beautiful cheeks—those remarkable planes brimming with wisdom—drifted a sorrow without clear origin.

The two stared at each other for three or four seconds, but Tsuruko cast her gaze back down to the dusty street. And then, without a word, she turned and walked off westward. Eiichi pulled the cart forward without looking back. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Forty-Seven

Suddenly, Emiko returned from Taiwan.

It was a beautifully clear morning under a pristine Japanese sky, the eighteenth of April. A call came from Murai in Kajiyamachi to the company, suggesting that he come meet him in Kajiyamachi.

And so, Eiichi obtained permission from Manager Kobayashi and went to meet him in Kajiyamachi. Because they hadn’t met for nearly three years, there was too much to talk about—so much that they found themselves without words.

“Father isn’t here either…” Emiko said, then fell silent and continued crying. And after two or three minutes had passed, again, “Masunori and Yoshitaka are being looked after by Uncle Yasui, I hear…” she said through tears. And in response to that, Eiichi did not have the courage to say much. After crying silently for another three or four minutes, “I hear that big house in Higashiumazume has been destroyed too…” she said. Emiko simply kept crying silently. And so Eiichi also cried in silence.

Emiko wore her hair in a marumage. She was a young wife. Her complexion alone showed how heartrendingly sun-scorched she had become. Those who stayed long in Taiwan all turned this way - losing the rosy hues seen in mainlanders, their faces taking on an ashen pallor. Emiko's features weren't unattractive; though no beauty by any measure, neither could she be called ugly. Her skin had simply darkened somewhat. Yet at sixteen or seventeen - three or four years prior - her cheeks had bloomed with such vitality they might have been rouged, her duskier complexion lending its own beauty at times; Taiwan clearly disagreed with her health, leaving her utterly sun-seared.

Therefore, Eiichi—who cherished his sister—found Emiko especially pitiable and could not hold back his tears. Eventually, Eiichi returned to the Fukiai slums with Emiko in tow.

Along the way, Eiichi asked Emiko in detail about the circumstances of the household she had married into. She had been pregnant again, he heard, so he asked what had happened. At this, Emiko stated matter-of-factly that her husband was thirteen years her senior, that he was a hunchback, and that she had miscarried the child. When he asked why she had returned, she replied, “Because my mother in Tokushima has rheumatism and can’t move properly—she sent a letter asking me to come back and care for her.”

“Then when do you plan to return to Taiwan?” he asked. “I won’t go back,” she said. When he asked, “Why won’t you go back?” she did not state the reason. She only answered that her husband’s mother was a difficult person.

Therefore, Eiichi no longer had the courage to ask Emiko why she had suddenly returned. The two walked back to the slums mostly in silence. Though wanting to prepare a proper feast for her first visit in so long, there was nothing he could offer in those impoverished surroundings. Even when inviting her to sit up properly, there were no cushions to offer; since the larger room felt too impersonal anyway, he guided her into the six-tatami kitchen space instead. In the three-tatami area beyond that, Oshizu lay sleeping. As it was exactly noon, they shared an exceedingly simple meal together - yet Emiko seemed quietly content. "I feel like I've truly come home," she said. Hearing these words, fresh tears streamed down Eiichi's face.

After finishing the meal, Emiko took up what Uchiyama was supposed to wash, tied a sash over her going-out clothes, and diligently set about doing chores. Eiichi, upon seeing that, indeed rejoiced in his heart that siblings were a good thing.

Forty-Eight

Eiichi pushed himself to go evangelize at Benten Hama in Kobe—where the most transient laborers gathered—starting around four o'clock every Friday morning. It was out of a missionary zeal that wondered whether even one person might be moved by Eiichi’s fervor and turn toward Jesus. In early summer mornings before sunrise, he would trudge from the slums—a full fifteen or sixteen chō away—to Benten Hama, carrying a lantern marked with a cross. Every morning brought him fresh inspiration. He came to realize he was growing within grace. In the southern sky, Sirius seemed to shine for him, and he felt such gratitude toward the morning sky that he wondered if Mr. Massei had been placed there for his sake.

He could not help but feel a painful awareness that he had been positioned as one who seeks lost souls. He had no time to question whether he felt fulfilled in the way that those outside this world might perceive such self-actualization. The path the world now walked was clearly mistaken. He felt it when leaving the slums. He felt it when returning to the slums. He thought sorrowfully of the slums' existence—as though his chest were being gouged out, or at times as though he might burst into tears. And the awareness that compelled him to evangelize to Benten Hama's dockworkers from dawn onward was born from that same feeling. Even if he shouted about socialism, people would only cower and refuse to listen, yet he couldn't abandon them either. And so he made his utmost effort, striving to preach Jesus' gospel to the point of death, life, or madness.

When he arrived at Benten Hama, the night was already quite bright. A man who looked like a foreman from the Nickel Company came over, “Ain’t no one here yet…” (glancing briefly at Eiichi) “Oh, Mr. Shinmi! You’re up early preachin’ again, aren’t ya?” he said before heading off toward the other side. As Eiichi stood dazedly watching from the breakwater, two or three hundred nightsoil carts were being pulled by men and women gathering inside the breakwater, each loaded onto large Japanese-style ships. The sea had turned turbid with a sewage-brown hue because of it. A foul odor wafted over. Eiichi felt sorry for these laborers. The nightsoil collectors moved with remarkable quietness, not uttering a word as they scurried back and forth like ants along the narrow planks. It all felt truly sublime.

In contrast, whenever the dockworkers gathered, gambling would break out right there on the spot. Dozens of yen in silver coins were placed before the banker. Sixty or seventy people clustered around the banker, playing chōhan. Meanwhile, Eiichi distributed tracts to everyone, sang hymns in a booming voice, and launched into his sermon. Since there were some who had come from the Shinagawa slums—people among whom Eiichi was well-known—a few did listen with gratitude to his words; however, the majority paid no heed. Eiichi felt like laughing at his own efforts. "Why must I go to such lengths to spread Jesus' gospel?" he wondered, even pitying himself for it.

The nightsoil boats departed. The barges heading offshore were filled with laborers and departed. In the direction of Kawasaki, the shipyard’s hammers clamored noisily. A small launch darted vigorously about the harbor. A large foreign ship entered. A four- to five-hundred-ton-class steamship left the port, churning up beautiful white waves. The morning sun shone distinctly over the entire port. The distinction between shadow and light became starkly clear, and countless Japanese-style ships clustered along Benten Hama’s edge had their hulls’ wood grain tinged a golden hue. Between the scenes illuminated by that day’s light, the sight of dockworkers gambling before Eiichi’s eyes, and the story from nineteen hundred years ago that he preached, there seemed to be no connection between them, and it filled him with sorrow.

As the sun rose, the surface of the sea appeared darkened. He grew sad without particular reason. Moreover, due to the recent economic depression, more young men than required for offshore labor had gathered. Some jobless ones stood blankly on the breakwater doing nothing, while others resignedly muttered, "Ain't no choice—might as well gamble!" Still others would suddenly declare, "Head round to the pier—might get work over there," and walk off. To Eiichi, these unemployed people's voices sounded unbearably sad. Usually he would follow the dockworkers to the main ship to evangelize, but on such days he immediately returned to the slums. Then together with the patients under his care, he sipped the morning porridge Kyougashima had cooked and—without resting his weary body—set off for the insurance company.

All his evangelism was not in vain. There were also two or three people who came seeking Eiichi from offshore. Among them, he thought the nineteen-year-old youth named Soeda showed particular promise. Thus, Eiichi’s evangelistic zeal grew even stronger, and every Monday night without fail, he went to preach at the Nickel Company’s offshore laborers’ dormitory in Nakayamate Hatchōme.

Summer evenings saw an extraordinary number of quarrels. In the back alleys, screams echoed night after night. A massive fight erupted over allegations that a father had relations with his wife's stepchild. They drank and brawled. Siblings squabbled over gambling debts. Attempts to mediate only worsened the conflicts. While daytime brought quiet with everyone at work, evenings always erupted into chaos when they returned home. Thus more often than summer heat keeping them awake, it was the endless quarrels that robbed them of sleep.

In summer, one could not sleep at all in the slums. The residual heat from the sun beating down on roofs during daytime radiated through low ceilings at night, making it utterly unbearable. When lamps were extinguished, bedbugs would come swarming out. When they relit lamps to catch them, forty or fifty would be caught each night. So Eiichi slept on a door panel, but bedbugs had infested it again. He tried sleeping on a desk. They had infested that too. This left him grief-stricken to the point of madness. Yet Eiichi wasn't alone in struggling with bedbugs. Every household member suffered similarly. Emiko endured the worst torment. She developed sores from scratching bedbug bites. Uchiyama's skin became too dreadful to behold - bedbug welts merging with scabies lesions. Sanko ranked among those most plagued. She would often cry at night - "Bedbugs biting! Can't sleep!" - though none heeded her. Delinquents Matsuzou and Izu remained unbothered. Oshizu kept silent. Her disability made her fear complaints might end what little care she received.

Eiichi could not sleep for several days. There was nothing as sad as being unable to sleep. And so Eiichi felt his body weakening as if from nervous exhaustion.

At that moment came Tokida Fumio—a friend known among peers as a Dante researcher, fellow alumnus from his Hakkin days, and pastor at Tokyo Shitaya Myojo Church in Shitaya—to visit him. He said he had come down for his upcoming wedding in Osaka. As this coincided with Eiichi’s own lonely period, he shared various stories from after leaving Hakkin. They agreed to spend the three days until the wedding conversing together, but when night fell and it came time to sleep, Tokida grew restless. He carried planks from there to here, swapped ones here for others complaining of bedbugs, and clattered boards in the pitch-darkness while muttering, “Can’t sleep… can’t sleep,” tormenting himself through the night.

But Tokida endured for three days at any rate. And on the evening of the third day, he put on a serious face, donned his frock coat from the slums, and set out for the wedding venue at Nakanojima 2-chome North Church in Osaka. Eiichi had a small errand to attend to, so he left the slums a little later. At the venue, seeing Tokida—who had been tormented by bedbug bites just the night before—now acting solemn, he found himself nearly bursting into laughter alone. Of course, he did not have the courage to bring his stepmother O-Hisa into these circumstances. So he had said he planned to bring O-Hisa to the slums by the end of May or June, but that hope was extinguished. Therefore, he wrote asking her to come to Kobe in early autumn and sent it.

When August arrived, Oshizu fully recovered and became able to walk on her own. Therefore, she ended up going to a boarding house. And she ended up with a dockworker thirty years older than herself.

August proved a hectic month for Eiichi. He resolved to take the slum children to Suma or Akashi and began collecting donations from sympathizers. On August sixteenth exactly, he led some eighty children on an excursion to Akashi. For Eiichi, that day became one of pure joy. Matsuzou swaggered about cheerfully tending the children. Jinko, Torai, Hanako, and Kazusan all rolled laughing across Akashi's beaches. The sole trouble came from girls bathing stark naked without shame. Since they felt no embarrassment whatsoever, Eiichi found himself utterly flustered.

The infectious diseases of August were also detestable. There was cholera at Sakamoto-ya boarding house in the same neighborhood—yesterday thirty-six people had been isolated at Wada no Misaki, and today the barber’s wife from the back alley was being sent to Higashiyama Infectious Disease Hospital with typhus—such stories were heard every day. However, Shinmi did not fear this in the slightest. He went to visit Iwanuma Matsuzou’s blind mother, who had been sent to the isolation hospital with cholera. He went around the two-tatami rooms to warn about cholera. Eiichi had confidence that infectious diseases did not spread easily to those who had crossed death’s threshold. And so, every day after four o’clock and diligently on Sundays, he visited such sick households.

Shortly after Obon had passed, Uchiyama himself requested Eiichi to hold a funeral for Otsuta’s husband. It concerned Otsuta, a beggar from the alley just below where Eiichi lived—her husband had died after a long illness, but there was no money. And so Eiichi gladly took on the task, purchasing everything from the coffin onward. He even helped place the body into the coffin himself and conducted the funeral procession. After that, Otsuta came to deeply respect Uchiyama and began visiting every day. According to Uchiyama, Otsuta had been a beauty in Shinkawa several years before contracting smallpox. But now she was a completely disfigured, ugly woman whose main occupation was going out to beg every day with two infants strapped to her front and back. Thus she was a woman unpleasant to look at, appearing to be around forty or fifty years old, though Uchiyama claimed she was twenty-four. In any case, the intimacy between Otsuta and Uchiyama that had developed from the funeral arrangements was no ordinary matter. Amidst this situation, Uchiyama—despite not even two weeks having passed since her husband’s funeral—also asked Eiichi to hold a funeral for Otsuta’s baby. Otsuta’s baby had died. Therefore, when Eiichi—who had often seen Otsuta begging on San'nomiya Street with two infants strapped to her front and back—asked, “Which one is yours?” Uchiyama explained, “There’s only one.”

“But even so, isn’t she always carrying two children on her back?”

“Teacher, she borrows that one from nearby to help with begging.” “So Otsuta only has one child?” “To tell the truth, even that one child is adopted—we took them in when her husband’s medicine costs became too much,” Uchiyama answered.

And so Eiichi came to understand everything. Even after having lived in the slums for nine months now, Eiichi was astonished to realize he still didn’t truly understand them. And so Eiichi held another funeral for that adopted child.

When he returned from Kasugano Cemetery, Otsuta came and earnestly pleaded to be admitted into Christianity. Since Eiichi didn’t fully grasp her meaning, he summoned Uchiyama to inquire. “Teacher, I’m terribly sorry to ask this, but could you possibly take Otsuta in as a maid? She’s become so utterly alone now that she’s got nowhere left to go.”

Eiichi was astonished by their shamelessness. "I can't have women here—you forced Oshizu into my care before, which caused me endless trouble, but I absolutely refuse Otsuta." Yet as he listened carefully, he realized Uchiyama and Otsuta had begun living together just two or three days after her husband's death. Thus he understood they were proposing cohabitation. Knowing this, he found it strange that sluggish Uchiyama could act so swiftly. Upon reflection, he concluded they must have gotten together while he was away at the marine insurance office.

And so Eiichi, finding no alternative, considered expelling Uchiyama. Yet when he reflected from another angle—how Uchiyama served as a guide to slum life, and how they might be extorted without such a man around—he felt inclined to overlook minor transgressions. Moreover, establishing a proper household would likely require forty or fifty yen, money Eiichi didn’t have to spare. Thus he decided to temporarily lend them the house where Oshizu had lived. And so the number of people in the household increased further, becoming seven. And so in the room next door where Uchiyama and Otsuta were using the kitchen, Emiko came to sleep in the kitchen, while in the connected house two doors down from Hanako’s place—with one house in between—Eiichi, Matsuzou, Izu, and Sanko ended up sleeping.

Forty-Nine

Gambling was conducted daily in the heart of the Kita-Hon Rokuchōme slums. Dozens of people gathered around it every day.

It was a certain day at the end of August. When twenty or thirty plainclothes officers were seen prowling around Mizuta's house, the young master of the Mizuta household and seven gamblers were apprehended in the act and taken to the police station. After that, gambling within the slums ceased completely for several days. But barely four days had passed before gambling resumed stealthily in a small open space within the slum, now with lookouts posted. However, it was not long after that when news came that the big boss too had been caught red-handed at the gambling den in Nishinomiya.

Each time Tomita came to visit Uchiyama, he would recount in meticulous detail how they had been arrested, repeating the story again and again before leaving. After Mizuta's boss and his son were taken in, Tomita's swaggering grew erratic. The man who had scarcely touched alcohol before now came to Eiichi's place drinking heavily. Hayashi too appeared after a long absence. When Tomita and Hayashi began visiting frequently, Ueki started showing up as well. They would nap before going home.

Emiko, who had been left behind at home, listened to these men's stories in astonishment. She waited for Eiichi to return from the company and repeated each account to him verbatim. According to what she heard, Sato Kiyokuma—who operated under the alias Wakayama and ran both a flophouse where guests paid firewood fees and a loan-sharking business along Ōdōri Street in Kita-Honmachi Rokuchōme—and Tomita seemed to be feuding over who would assume guardianship of Mizuta's affairs. It appeared Wakayama's underlings and Mizuta's gang members were headed for a major confrontation in the near future. Wakayama had reportedly relied on Mizuta's boss over a decade earlier to establish his current position. Tomita contended that if Wakayama possessed even a shred of gratitude, he ought to make some supportive gesture. Yet Wakayama used the excuse of now being "respectable" to completely ignore the Mizuta family's current plight—an attitude Tomita denounced as utterly contemptible.

Sure enough, it was the evening of August 31st. When the sound of a pistol rang out at Wakamaya—the flophouse run by Wakayama—seven or eight of Mizuta's henchmen drew their swords and came storming in.

“There’s a fight!” Hundreds from the slums came swarming instantly. Tomita was commanding Mizuta’s gang. Eiichi rushed over upon hearing reports, but Tomita was utterly plastered. He clutched a pistol, “What’s Wakayama anyway?! Don’t get cocky ’cause you squirreled away some petty coins!” He kept repeating: “Don’t get cocky ’cause you squirreled away some petty coins!”

The others were hacking away indiscriminately with dull blades at everything—tatami mats, sliding doors, paper screens—without distinction. In the crowd, there were those saying such things. “Wakayama ain’t here, looks like… Would’ve been a real mess if he was. That guy ain’t the type to lose, so he wouldn’t have backed down either way.”

Amidst this, a man who appeared to be a detective entered and, “Now, now, quiet down, quiet down,” he attempted to calm them. Since things seemed to have calmed down a bit, Eiichi also summoned Tomita. However, Tomita was so utterly drunk he’d lost all sense of his surroundings. So together with Uchiyama, who had arrived on the scene, the two of them saw Tomita back to his house. On their way back, in a thoroughly self-satisfied manner, “What’s Wakayama anyway? No matter how much he struts around—I mean, if that bastard had been home tonight, I’d’ve smashed his skull in!” he kept repeating.

Even though Emiko had come, Uchiyama was still managing the household accounts. However, what struck Eiichi as odd was that despite fluctuations in rice prices and market rises and falls, whenever he checked the month-end payments, the price per 1 to always remained exactly the same. Since this had remained unchanged since April, Eiichi decided to inquire about it for the first time. When he did so, Uchiyama gave a peculiar answer: “Well... The rice merchant calculates everything properly. When prices drop, they send us good rice, and when they rise, they send bad rice. They generously adjust things on their end for us.”

So when Eiichi himself went to inquire at the rice merchant’s, the merchant said the same thing as Uchiyama had. The only strange thing was that the price of rice in the ledger stood slightly higher than that day’s price per shō. When he pressed further for the reason, they answered that one month’s interest had been added to the ledger. Yet Eiichi found this answer deeply unsatisfactory. This being August 31st, Ueki happened to come by and laid everything bare to Eiichi—from Uchiyama’s relationship with Otsuta to the commissions taken at the rice shop.

So Eiichi came to understand and decided to part ways with Uchiyama. Eiichi gave Uchiyama ten yen—knowing he had saved about twenty yen in commissions—and decided to set up a separate household for him.

As a result, Emiko was put in charge of all the accounting. Emiko worked happily for Eiichi’s sake. Yet she always seemed despondent, and Eiichi agonized over what caused it. So one evening after September began, he asked her about it. But Emiko gave no answer—instead, a man claiming to be a Taiwanese monk suddenly arrived. He spoke to Emiko with undue familiarity. When evening fell, the two left together. Eiichi found this unbearably suspicious. So he asked who that person was.