Pathway to Japanese Literature

I, as a child of mysterious fate, was permitted to awaken to a sacred world. And continually savoring both the sacred form of the human world and the sacred reality hidden within nature’s guise became the entirety of my life. When I was twenty-two, even being dragged into the slums occurred through this sacred form pulling me there. And my art too was nothing but this sacredness that transcends beauty—this holy essence forming life’s core.

I

In the outskirts of Tokyo's Shiba-Shirokane district lay a place where three valley gorges converged. There, both here and there were adorned with dripping green verdure, so only the damp rice stubble from last year in the valley's rice fields, still uncovered, lacked greenery. In the depths of the valley leaning toward Osaki grew dozens upon dozens of massive cedars that seemed to pierce the very clouds above. This was the estate of Marquis Ikeda. On Shirokane Hill stood a temple or two, while Naka no Oka had neither mansions nor temples. Slender chestnut, oak, and sawtooth oak trees grew in numbers of thirty or sixty.

It was the beginning of May.

On a perfect sunny day, there was someone lying on spread grass in the shade of the middle hill’s forest, reading a book.

When observed, the back was taller than average—a slim figure wearing a crisp black serge formal suit.

He wore gold buttons bearing a distinct MG monogram, his complexion deathly pale, nose prominent though cheekbones slightly protruded. His eyes, if anything, were large and sharp. Yet he possessed noble features. This man was one who always came here, but lately, even when he came and opened a book here, he made no effort to read it. He simply closed his eyes and meditated. But this too did not last long. He immediately fell asleep. But when he awoke from the dream, he would hurriedly open the book again and read. He would read three or four lines over and over, then suddenly hurry back along the path toward Shirokane.

Today too he came here as usual and went about his routine as always.

At that moment along the narrow path above the sleeping man's head appeared a youth of about twenty descending gradually. He wore an understated kasuri-patterned garment fastened with a black Mooka cotton heko obi, topped by a hunting cap and carrying a walking stick.

He was a man who, though not tall, had a sturdy frame, 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 down reading a book, he abruptly stopped and called out. “Shinmi, what are you doing? Cut it out, cut it out!” “Ah, Suzuki! Where have you been?” shouted the man who had been reading the book. “Me? I was over by the Fudō in Meguro. You shouldn’t be reading musty old books in this vibrant springtime. Had I known you were dawdling around here, I would’ve taken you to Meguro instead. Shinmi, brooding again today?”

“Idiot!” “What’s that book? Philosophy? Cut it out, cut it out,” he said as he walked over and sat down beside Shinmi, picking up the Western book he had discarded on the dwarf bamboo. “What’s this? Do you pronounce it ‘Upaniashed’? Hmm. What exactly are ‘The sacred books of the East’?” “This? This is what they say are Indian scriptures created between 1300 and 600 BCE, you know. Don’t you know about them? The Rig Veda evolved. Didn’t we talk a bit about this at Professor Kamimura’s Buddhist history lecture yesterday?”

“Hmm, what about that?” “This evolved from that.” “You’re reading something interesting. Someone like me is just scrambling to keep up with coursework—no time to read outside books at all. You’re quite admirable. What on earth is this content?” he remarked, having until now only examined the book’s physical form. Flipping through what he guessed to be a thirty-page preface, he began reading from the main text printed in large characters. “All is Brahman?” “One should meditate that the world begins, ends, and breathes within Brahman… Hah! Pantheism, is it?” “But that’s an interesting thing to say.”

Suzuki was closing the book as,

“But Shinmi, do you seriously believe what this book says? You believe in this fairy-tale-like pantheism?” he asked. “Oh, you kids wouldn’t understand. Go read even one book on Indian philosophy before spouting such nonsense! Kids these days spout such insolent nonsense despite not reading even one book on Indian philosophy. You can’t understand until you’ve transcended. Only those who have greatly transcended and attained enlightenment can even begin to speak of pantheism or such things!” Suzuki was one year Shinmi’s junior.

“Even by common sense, you must admit causality and matter aren’t identical. If whatever unifies all things becomes fragmented, how could any unity exist?” Shinmi felt pierced by this thrust. “Go study Spinoza." “Who with a scientific mind would believe in such absurd creationism?” "But you’re an earnest Christian who came to the academy to prepare for missionary work—it’s not as though I’d play at being Spinoza, but I won’t persecute your faith." “Go ahead and create your own God as you please.” “However, how could a twentieth-century civilization that believes in the conservation of matter, conservation of force, and evolution possibly believe in such absurd creation myths?” he argued earnestly.

“You may say that, but whether it’s the conservation of matter, conservation of energy, or the theory of evolution—they’re all just assumptions.” “It’s faith, isn’t it?” “We don’t really know much about that.” “However, that’s your own deduction—it’s by no means induction.” “I’ve read something like that briefly in logic...” “However, Haeckel—have you read him?” “Monism.” “The dual-aspect theory of material-spiritual unity—that we who are evolving infinitely are becoming God himself?” The debate unwittingly turned deadly serious.

“Then if you die, what becomes of humanity?” “When you die—molecules.” “There’s nothing strange about that, is there?” “How absurd—so God would reassemble Himself from molecules?” “Then you’re saying evolution has become devolution!” “Morality and art—they’re just dreams too.” “You just don’t understand—that’s the problem!”

“Anyway, it’s already four o’clock—in thirty minutes we can eat dinner. Let’s head back soon; we’ve spouted enough logic for today,” Suzuki said while checking his watch. “Shall we return then?” he added, rising to his feet. Shinmi brushed dust from his Western suit and followed Suzuki along the narrow embankment path. They circled the hillock, passed by the watermill area, and traced their way along the forest’s edge. Suzuki posed his question: “Doesn’t Buddhism espouse the same principles as modern scientific belief?” “And why did you even enter Meiji Gakuin?” “Wouldn’t a Buddhist university have suited you better?”

“From a philosophical perspective, I would choose Buddhism—but Buddhism is worthless! I’ve been fond of philosophical matters since I was about seventeen or eighteen, you know—wandering through life in considerable anguish... At fifteen, after finishing my third year at a provincial middle school, I immediately came up to Tokyo and drifted from one academy to another. During that time I never touched my textbooks—just read poetry, philosophy, and magazines from dawn till dusk, you know. It was a period of real anguish for me. I graduated from Takanawa Buddhist Middle School, you know. Have you heard about it from someone?”

“Well, I hadn’t heard that—so you’ve liked philosophy since childhood, then? How 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 my mind naturally turned toward philosophy, you see. That must be right—I’ve heard about your motive for becoming a Christian. But had you not lost your parents and siblings in the Sanriku tsunami and had no cause to doubt life itself, would you even be questioning faith or God?”

“That’s exactly right. Were you at Takanawa Middle School? You were in quite an interesting place, weren’t you? Is Buddhism no good?” “It’s worthless. I thought that by entering a religious school, I would have my doubts removed, but it was completely useless. Instead, my anguish only grew—because I saw through their inner workings.”

“Is that so?” “I once went to Kenchō-ji in Kamakura for Zen meditation, but Zen... it’s absurd.” “Lately Zen seems quite popular, but Buddhism as a whole is truly like Zen.” “It tries to erase all color while leaving only the outline.” “That’s why Kamakura’s dozens of temples—they’re all just rental properties.” “You saw in the recent newspaper that Raikō-ji’s principal Buddha statue was put up for sale.” “That’s a masterpiece by Unkei.” “It’s something sculptors would delight in… but Buddhism completely denies things like morality or personality.” “And through words, they deceive foolish men and women.” “It’s worthless.” “Not something for those with pulsing flesh and blood to believe in.”

“Exactly.” “The blunders of Honganji are so degraded they’re absurd, you see.” “Then how did you end up entering a place like Meiji Gakuin?” "My father, you see, urged me to study law—that’s why I was at First Higher School." "But during my third-year first semester, you see." “I suddenly coughed up blood—my mother and sister both died of lung disease, you see—and the doctor said it was the lungs.” "I spent a year in Chigasaki and another in Hachijō-jima, you see." “This time I didn’t have the courage to pursue law anymore, you see.” “I became extremely drawn to religion, you see.” “Because I’d grown tired of Buddhism as well.” “I thought I’d dabble in Meiji Gakuin’s higher division for a year or two—that’s why I came here last September.”

“What do you think of Meiji Gakuin?” Suzuki asked, looking at Shinmi’s face. “I actually thought Christianity would be something a bit more filled with love,” Shinmi replied.

“But I felt that way especially after coming to Meiji Gakuin, you see.” “But Shinmi-kun, you’re mistaken if you think rural Christians are the same as Tokyo believers.” “True Christians are Nathanael—dreaming of God’s kingdom under a fig tree in some country corner.” “I don’t see Christianity’s fervent history welling up within today’s believers.” “Actually, I too feel that acutely.” “Because today’s believers are the sort who hold meetings even during wartime…”

“Where has the dream of the apostolic age vanished? Where too has that fervor and brilliance—the rending of flesh upon the cross—disappeared?” “That’s true.” “I’ve been praying for that too, you know.” “But ultimately, it’s an economic issue, you know.” “Hey, Suzuki-kun—did you hear the debate between me and Hirano the other day?” “During the literary society meeting⁉” “Weren’t you scolded by the secretary?” “I was scolded, you see.” “But you see, unless matters of the spiritual realm take on tangible forms, humans would likely remain unresponsive.” “Even Christianity would be worthless if it doesn’t create Commonwealths like America and Britain but only produces things like the Chinese Empire, don’t you think?” “Don’t you agree?” “Christianity gave birth to today’s socialist thought, but Saint-Simon and Fourier tried to realize a world like that of the apostolic age, you see.” “Absolutely. If Christianity doesn’t take on the tangible forms of socialist thought…” “That’s why I told the secretary—‘Do not educate in imperialism at your school.’” “But that is not Christianity, I said.”

“When you said that, what did the secretary say?” “Then... In any case, since the Ministry of Education has ordered strict crackdowns on anyone promoting socialism among students, they told me—‘While you remain at this school, do not deliver those fiercely destructive speeches of his from the lectern before crowds.’”

“……”

“I believe Christianity and the State are never compatible,” “Though I cannot fully endorse socialism myself, today’s Japanese believers desperately defending that Christianity and the State don’t conflict—it’s unbearably absurd.” “They’re all Christians who…fear being driven out.” “Fools.” “Even if global Christians ceased cowering before truth-distorting scholars like Inoue Tetsujirō or Katō Hiroyuki to excuse conflicts between State and Christianity—State and Christianity would still clash.” “They clash—but it would be better to declare definitively [...] exists.”

“……”

Their conversation blossomed endlessly as they walked on, passing alongside the slaughterhouse and down a road lined with large cedar trees on both sides toward Shirogane. At that point, though the conversation had largely lapsed, Suzuki— “You’ve had rather interesting experiences,” he said haltingly.

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

“Suzuki—” “Shin—mi—”

When Suzuki and Shinmi abruptly stopped and looked, there stood the members of the Gluttony Club—Tamura, Inoue, Matsuda, and Mita—four first-year higher division students, all fiery youths who had come up from the regular course. Tamura occupied the room closest to the dining hall in Harris Hall. With the crown of his head in a crew cut, he wore a black woolen hat that had turned red from being worn for four full years since his regular course days. This man was the president of the Gluttony Club who at each of the three daily mealtimes, when the dining hall doors remained unopened, would peer through the keyhole to check on the table preparations. A student had once composed a song about Tamura.

“At dawn’s waking, study hours bring a scowl; the cafeteria beckons with a feast-day grin!” The man named Inoue, who bore the nickname “Meat Man,” was an amusing fellow whose specialty was romance research. He had curly hair and wore glasses, but upon entering the higher division, he grew his hair long and parted it down the middle—claiming this was to train its natural wave—and became a man who never removed his hat, whether sleeping or studying.

Matsuda was a man nicknamed Sell Divination, a short-statured man with a round-faced, Daikoku-like countenance.

Mita was a tall, slender man who from dawn till dusk did nothing but laugh about things like dogs slipping on human feces or measuring how many inches wide someone’s nostrils were. Having been called to a halt, Shinmi and Suzuki stood still, but the four youths kept laughing incessantly as they approached the pair in unison. They clutched their stomachs, threw their heads back, doubled over, and laughed as loudly as they could.

Shinmi and Suzuki watched in bewilderment, but the four would look at Shinmi's face and laugh, look again and laugh, making comical gestures. Shinmi felt as if he'd been tricked by a fox or raccoon dog, "Huff…" "What's this—aren't you making a fool of me?" he said, but

“Oh ho….” “Shinmi-kun.” “Shall I tell you?” Matsuda pushed Shinmi’s shoulder and spoke up for the first time. From beside them, Tamura—

“Ah hah, hah hah….” “Hey—you were so despondent about never having a wife that you skipped school yesterday and stayed in bed all day, right?” “And then there’s you—hair neatly parted down the middle without even wearing a hat—eating oden at Nihon Enoki last night! That’s what they’re saying.” “And they say the philosopher’s been feeling something profound lately,” Matsuda added. “What nonsense—heh heh…” Shinmi laughed lightly.

Inoue picked up where Matsuda had left off, "That face of yours eating oden was apparently in despair after all."

Mita turned to Suzuki, “You’re in the room next to the philosopher, aren’t you?” “Did he grace you with his grandstanding last night?” “No,” Suzuki answered lightly, but,

"I found Shinmi-kun buying potatoes." "So then... you practiced imperialism all by yourself with the potatoes?" "Last night," Mita laughed.

The six of them walked on. Shinmi began his defense. “Last night’s dinner wasn’t satisfying, so I went out late and bought some potatoes to eat, I’ll have you know.” “Who knows?” said Matsuda. Suzuki said, “You’re always so lively,” but, “Well, we eat twice or three times as much as you lot, so naturally we’re producing that much more energy,” answered President Tamura on behalf of the group. The other three chorused in agreement: “Agreed. Agreed.”

Shinmi walked in silence. He tried to adopt the Gluttony Club members' cheerfulness, but with what felt like a heavy lid pressing on his chest, he found himself incapable of performing comedy. In his mind surfaced a paper he had read four or five days earlier in the Literary Digest—one arguing that comedy would replace tragedy in modern times—and he reflected that Edith C. Grossman at least knew nothing of the depths within his heart. As they approached the area where a tenant house was being newly built for a man’s entire family, a horse pulling a stone-laden cart stood with a fodder bucket hanging from its neck, muzzle buried deep in feed.

Shinmi, having seen this—

“Tamura, this horse here doesn’t lose to you at all.” “You must eat with chopsticks, but look at this horse.” “That’s right—why don’t you try eating like that too?” he ventured.

The group burst into laughter, but Tamura maintained an utterly serious expression, "You, Shinmi—I don't know much about socialism, but isn't socialism just another word for gluttonism?" he began arguing, pursing his lips.

Mita shouted, “Brilliant! Simply brilliant!” Tamura pressed on, “...In short, you’re demanding they give us more bread.” “That’s right.” “We too are saying the mess should give us more bread.” “Hey, Mita…” Tamura called out, but

“Well…” replied Mita. Shinmi merely laughed, but somehow seemed to want to avoid the commotion everyone was making.

Matsuda,

“Hey, let’s give three cheers for the Meiji Gakuin Gluttony Club!” Matsuda proposed, looking at the three faces. But,

Suzuki grinned and, “But you—that motion’s still premature. If we’re going to change the names of the Meiji Gakuin Socialist Party and the Gluttony Club, then we’ll have to make Shinmi our president. Matsuda,” he said. “Hmm, agreed,” said President Tamura. “Philosopher President approved! Love Letter President approved!” shouted Matsuda.

“Agreed—me too,” responded Mita. Matsuda added further, “Who parts his hair stylishly, stands eating oden, and devours all the potatoes by himself—President approval!” he added. Amidst such commotion, the six of them climbed the slope of Meiji Gakuin and arrived before its gate. At Tamura’s initiative,

They gave three cheers of "Long live President Shinmi!" but the bell announcing dinner was already ringing from the dormitory. So everyone burst into laughter in spite of themselves.

II

Shinmi stood by the shoe cupboard at Harris Hall’s entrance after dinner, intending to bathe before retiring to his room yet lingering aimlessly. Gaslight glowed in Room B of Samdam Hall—likely a Youth Party gathering. At Yamakawa Sōri’s residence too, light burned in the entryway. Between Samdam Hall and Yamakawa’s home rose Samdam Building’s spire, its pointed tip crowned by a cross. Wrapped in twilight foliage where shadows deepened, the faint outline of a monastery emerged through the forest veil.

The class trees planted year after year by graduates had grown so thickly that in the deepening twilight, connecting tree after tree, branch after branch, leaf after leaf, their numbers became impossible to count. The gaslights grew brighter, and the athletic field became devoid of people.

The theology department stood lightless. From Mr. Imbrie’s Western-style house swathed in cedars seeped a faint glow. Hebbon Hall loomed large and tall, commanding a broad expanse as it thrust upward imposingly. Gaslights blazed from every room.

A monotonous piano sound could be heard from behind Hebbon Hall. Someone had just emerged from the entrance of Hebbon Hall. They came toward where Shinmi stood. They wore a hunting cap and haori. Shinmi immediately recognized him as Tsukamoto. When they were about two ken apart,

He called out, "Tsukamoto."

However, Tsukamoto walked forlornly and gave no answer at all. Having stepped up onto the entrance platform, for the first time, “Ah, Shinmi, I must apologize. “I meant to come yesterday, but I was busy all day and wasn’t able to. “Today, when I came to the dorm supervisor’s office, I thought I’d drop by your place on the way—” “Well then, let’s head to my room,” said Shinmi as he climbed the steep stairs with Tsukamoto. When they had climbed four steps and reached the landing, Shinmi briefly 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 it turns out there’s no money to be made at all,” he said. Shinmi was not a little disappointed by this answer. However, without letting it show on his face, he led Tsukamoto into his room. They climbed the steep stairs, and there was an entrance to the left. The front of the entrance was Suzuki’s room, and its western neighbor was Shinmi’s. Suzuki had gone out for his post-dinner stroll and hadn’t yet returned; the gas was unlit.

Shinmi entered his room and lit the gas. The gaslight cast a pleasant glow that reached every corner of the room.

The room was a six-mat space with tatami flooring. The walls were pure white. Wainscoting painted a sepia-tinged brown had been installed. This was a memento from when it had been a classroom. There were two windows—one facing west and the other north. To the south, a shoji screen partitioned it from the neighboring room. The table was placed in the northwest corner, and the large bookcase stood directly opposite the entrance.

“Well, have a seat,” Shinmi said to Tsukamoto as he extended the gas pipe as far as possible. The desk’s surface was beautifully illuminated, and the gold lettering on the bookcase could be clearly read. The only things that seemed like textbooks were William’s Political Essays; all the rest were religious philosophy books. The thickest red volume was Flint’s Philosophy of History; four thin blue books constituted Fliedler’s Religious Philosophy. Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason—apparently studied extensively—was visible, as were Miller and Chubb’s studies on Kant. The book in the farthest corner with the birch-colored cover could be read as Saint Abesta. Ubaniyaseddo lay open and discarded to the side. There was also a Bible.

Tsukamoto had been standing at the entrance, but

“Ah, thank you,” he answered, then went to see Lerola’s painting displayed on top of the bookcase. “Shinmi, this is always so good whenever I see it.” “I like this one very much.” “You like this one too, hmm?” “The way this sorrowful nature scene shows a boy being held by a woman—I somehow feel it seeping into my heart. That’s why I like it.” Having heard the mention of a woman, Tsukamoto laughed and, “You say amusing things, but I hear you’ve received a letter from a woman lately. “And that you’re being pessimistic?” he said.

“Who did you hear that from?” “Earlier at Hepburn Hall—a whole crowd was talking about it.” “It started with how you were so despondent yesterday you skipped school.” “Is it because Takada found you reading a love letter from some woman four or five days back and blabbed to everyone?” “Yesterday morning, they say you declared you’d never take a wife and shut yourself in your room.” “Is that true?” “That’s a lie.” “Five days ago I got a letter from my sister.” “Takada’s the one who went around spreading that story.”

“But even when Takada said you could’ve shown your sister’s letter, they say you refused?” “There were secrets written, so I couldn’t show it. Those fellows thrive on commotion—wouldn’t they erupt if they heard the philosopher received a letter from a woman? Since entering Meiji Gakuin, I’ve gotten only one letter from my sister and have no female acquaintances. Of course they’d clamor about a lover,” Shinmi said, though as he mentally revisited the letter’s contents, he felt a constricting pulse in his chest.

Since Tsukamoto did not sit on the chair, Shinmi sat down and asked. “Tsukamoto-kun, how did that matter turn out?” Tsukamoto briefly turned his face to look at Shinmi’s, then began fiddling with the cord of his haori with his right hand once more. “I’m truly at my wit’s end.” “I just went to plead with the dorm supervisor, but it was no use.” “I have decided to leave school,” he said, bowing his head.

“Leave? Have you really decided that?” “I truly sympathize.” “But if that’s how it must be, 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 school department.” “If you do that, you’ll gain society’s trust and develop foreign language skills—it would be very advantageous indeed.” “But even if you leave Meiji Gakuin now, for those past three years, the school has been your benefactor.” “Truly, I haven’t forgotten the three years of kindness.” “And I can’t forget it either.” “But I don’t want to receive any more kindness.” “Even up until now, with the dormitory members—I do sell them snacks, but somehow feel like I’m squeezing money out of them by displaying the sweets.” “I’ve thought about stopping—stopping selling snacks so many times...”

“No, that’s not it at all. Selling snacks is legitimate—even if you don’t sell them, everyone will just go out to eat anyway. So what did the dorm supervisor say?” “The dorm supervisor said that since three months’ worth of meal fees had been overdue and there was no way to settle the account anymore—since I’d promised to manage about one month’s payment by yesterday but couldn’t—there was nothing more they could do. The meal service isn’t a charity after all, so they’re saying I should leave the dormitory for now, aren’t they? Since I also thought I was at fault and had no excuse to make, I just answered ‘Yes’ and came out.”

“But the dorm supervisor’s manner of speaking was odd, don’t you think?” “The dorm supervisor is justified.” “What? That’s impertinent! ‘The meal service isn’t a charity, so get out.’ They could’ve waited another month or so—wouldn’t that have been better?” “But really, if the meal service were as late as I am, they’d be in trouble too, wouldn’t they?” “But isn’t the dorm supervisor a Christian? He knows your circumstances, and if you’re in trouble, he should make the effort to cover it temporarily for your studies.—You—if you paid one month’s worth, would they let you stay at school provisionally?”

“They’d probably let me stay,” Tsukamoto replied tentatively, his voice pitifully low.

“Hey, Tsukamoto-kun. “Well then, you—” With resolve showing on his face, Shinmi Eiichi reached out his right hand and withdrew a five-yen note from the desk drawer. “You—I’m giving this to you for the purpose—go pay it to the dorm supervisor.” “And continue studying at school even for a short while.” “But there’s no need to return it to me.” “This I’ll lend to you forever.” “But you—I still haven’t paid back last month’s four yen, and taking this much would only make you feel worse.” “You have to buy books.” “I can’t accept this.” “Must I not be repaying four yen from my side?” he refused to take the bill with an embarrassed look.

"But you—you must understand my will well." "Rather than me reading countless books yourself must know it’s my intention for you to study another month," Shinmi said gravely. And so Tsukamoto, "Well I know your purpose." "But…" he trailed off.

And so Shinmi, “Tsukamoto-kun. “Well then. “The truth is, I received this from my sister too. “I just cashed a check today. “Given that I’ve even asked you to find me translation work, you must know my school funds are limited. “But even if I can’t afford books, you taking this won’t cause me any hardship. “Anyway, since this money’s already come to me, wouldn’t it be best if you just took it?” he urged with heartfelt sincerity.

Tsukamoto briefly glanced at the southern neighboring room and, thinking no one was there, “Then I’ll borrow it just for a short while.” “There’s no ‘lending’ or ‘not lending’ here.” “Thank you——” Tsukamoto replied, but remained silent for a moment. Shinmi too remained silent for a time, but— “So you’ll still attend school then?” “Well, Shinmi-kun, since they said that—the dorm supervisor—I’m thinking of leaving the dormitory temporarily to do some private English tutoring and earn a bit of school funds. What do you think?”

“But will you be able to return to school again?”

“Well, whether I can do it or not, I’ll just have to try.”

“But the world doesn’t work out as conveniently as we think.” Tsukamoto bowed his head and remained silent. The vulgar gaslight illuminated his curly hair parted at the temples. “You—to go out into the world, one needs faith.” “Who knows how much even someone like me has been striving to obtain faith?” Shinmi ventured, but Tsukamoto leaned against the window, staring fixedly at the gaslight.

“But you—I simply can’t comprehend things like God or Christ at all.” “I somehow think of Christianity as being like a superstition,” he said with a slight smile. “It’s not as simple as just saying that. I’m not a Christian either, but no matter what you say, you can’t claim there’s no truth at all in the religious yearning that’s flowed through four thousand years of history.” “I still don’t fully comprehend the truth of the cross, but isn’t Christ’s character truly magnificent?”

“Well, I know it’s supposed to be great and all, but I just don’t get it.” “Whether they’re believers or not, people do the same things day after day, don’t they?” “In fact, non-believers often have better conduct than believers,” Tsukamoto objected forcefully.

“You always say that, but try going out into society yourself.” “Do you think you could manage like that?” “Without faith...” At that moment, Shinmi was thinking of his sister’s letter and matters of his hometown. “But life is a tragedy, isn’t it?” Shinmi continued, but Tsukamoto merely let out a faint laugh and— “You’re always talking about tragedy and comedy.” “To me, life is neither a tragedy nor a comedy.” “I truly can’t make heads or tails of any of it,” he said.

Shinmi merely turned to face the desk, rested his cheek on his hand, and fell silent. For whenever Tsukamoto spoke that way, those same words would reverberate in his own mind. After some time passed, Tsukamoto left.

Shinmi took out his sister’s letter from the drawer and read it again. The letter was written in a mix of epistolary style and vernacular language, making it truly difficult to read.

I humbly pen this missive.

I humbly pray for Your continued good health, Honorable Brother, and though I have long neglected correspondence, I beg Your peace of mind regarding my circumstances as I persist without incident. Now Brother, I find myself weeping daily—so much that death seems preferable should this continue. Mother in the countryside worked me from dawn till dusk—berating me endlessly about why Okame’s child proved so inept—denying proper morning meals—treating me worse than maids—until forty days past I fled to Father’s house. Yet Father shows me no tenderness whatsoever. His new mistress Oume torments me so cruelly that even here I weep day upon day. Brother I implore you—save me. My sole hope rests with you alone. Moreover Father rages fiercely against you. He declares he’ll cease sending tuition from this month onward. Brother please use this five yen however little it aids your studies. If possible I contemplate fleeing to Tokyo under your protection. Better to serve as a housemaid there than endure Mother and Oume’s cruelty. Should any solution occur to you Brother I beg immediate word. Such anguish spills my tears that writing fails me. Many things remain unsaid—these I shall convey another time.

I humbly entreat Your Honor to keep your health most carefully.

P.S. II I humbly request your reply at the earliest possible moment. Having read it, Shinmi sympathized with his sister Emiko’s tragic circumstances. And he read it again, tears streaming down his face. 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. Soon, Tsukamoto’s voice sounded,

“Well then, you see, I had managed to get five or six yen together, but there was something else I absolutely had to use the money for, so I spent one yen.”

“Ah, thank you,” he answered politely. “Later,” Tsukamoto tossed over his shoulder, the sound of his footsteps descending the staircase without closing the shoji screen echoing behind him.

“Ah, not again,” said a different-voiced man. And he continued: “Mr. Tanaka, Tsukamoto really is hopeless after all,” came the voice. “Really, it’s no good. He sells snacks to students, doesn’t pay his meal fees yet keeps buying food, fills his excuses with nothing but lies, and when he comes to others’ rooms, doesn’t even wipe his feet…” declared the man who had given such a courteous reply. Hearing this, Shinmi started in surprise and—while wiping away his tears—called out in an intentionally loud voice to the man in the neighboring room: “Mr. Tanaka!”—to conceal the sorrow in his own voice.

“Huh? What is it?” he sounded slightly startled.

“Does Mr. Tsukamoto tell lies?” Tanaka, who remained startled from hearing this— “You—such things shouldn’t matter.”

“Then you—” “Am I not permitted to question 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 Sugita from the fifth year of the regular course, don’t you?” “I do know.” “What happened?” “Mr. Sugita apparently struck Mr. Tsukamoto the other day.” “Struck him?” “Why?” “Well… perhaps I shouldn’t say.” “Mr. Tanaka...”

“Please tell me,” said Shinmi. Tanaka— “Do you want to know that much?” “You’re quite curious yourself,” he said with a bitter smile. “I’m not saying this out of idle curiosity—it’s because I’m close with Mr. Tsukamoto.” “I need to hear about it.” “Y-y-you—Mr. Tsukamoto is the one at fault here.” “Despite selling snacks to make ends meet, how many yen does he waste each month eating out?” “And he doesn’t pay his meal fees, I tell you.” “Sugita must have heard about this.” “Mr. Sugita immediately got angry—said it was necessary to impose sanctions—and apparently struck Mr. Tsukamoto behind the theology department the night before last.” “Mr. Tsukamoto claims there are too many vendors for the meal fees and he can’t pay—he’s making nothing but excuses.” “The truth is, they’re all just eating apples and snacks, I tell you.”

Shinmi was utterly shocked by what he heard. But even as he thought how pitiable it was that poor Tsukamoto had been struck again.....................

“But Mr. Sugita is still in the wrong,” he said.

“Why is that?” Tanaka called out this time. “You’d agree, wouldn’t you—Tsukamoto’s monthly income is a mere eight yen.” “Within that, one yen goes to whoever handles the commissions, and another yen for dormitory fees.” “That leaves six yen.” “After paying six yen for meals and having his tuition exempted, he wouldn’t have a penny left, would he?” “However, to have his tuition exempted, he would have to work an hour or two after school each day, wouldn’t he?” “If you say that on top of all this he must study and exercise as well, then society is truly cruel—it doesn’t grant Mr. Tsukamoto even a single drop of pleasure, does it?” “Do humans really need to live without any pleasure?” Shinmi ventured.

Tsukamoto's will was not actually firm. He often came to Shinmi to borrow funds for snacks and never repaid them. However, Shinmi did not condemn this as wrongdoing. Thus he continued arguing along the same lines.

They had been conversing through the shoji screen since earlier, but not seeing each other's faces felt somehow lacking, so

“Well, I suppose that’s true,” said Tanaka as he slid open the intervening shoji screen and stepped into Shinmi’s room. Haruhi came trailing after him.

Tanaka was about twenty-three or twenty-four years old. He was a large-backed man with imposing features, yet there seemed to be something slightly lacking about him. He was a classmate of Tsukamoto and one grade below Shinmi. He was also studying under hardship, serving in the role of assisting with meal service to collect fees. By doing this, he was exempt from having to pay meal fees. Haruhi was a beautiful youth of seventeen or eighteen, a first-year in the higher division. Tanaka and Haruhi were the closest of friends—from self-study sessions to strolls, exercise, travel, and church, there was never a time when the two weren’t together. Moreover, a peculiar trait was common to both of them. Namely, their shared traits were being extraordinary adventurers and having a passionate love for nature. Even at midnight, one could often see the two of them studying constellations in the middle of the athletic field—Haruhi holding an astronomy book while Tanaka provided lamplight.

The two of them, wanting to hear Shinmi’s defense of Tsukamoto, stood together beside Shinmi’s desk. Tanaka rested his hand on Haruhi’s right shoulder and looked down at the desk. Tanaka parted his lips quietly and, “Your argument is far too extreme—that’s why it doesn’t hold.” “I believe it’s only natural for Mr. Tsukamoto to face punishment.” “Mr. Tsukamoto is essentially studying on other people’s money.” “Moreover, it is fundamentally wrong to seek pleasure or anything like that.” “Fundamentally, it is wrong to make others’ money your target.” “Isn’t the school’s support for students working through hardship an extraordinary act of benevolence?” “Moreover, if he wants to seek pleasure on top of that, he’d do better to leave the school.”

Shinmi, with intense emotions, found himself wanting to cry at Tanaka’s cruel line of argument.

“Mr. Tanaka, I have no desire to hear such passive moral arguments from an upstanding Christian like yourself. 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 Mr. Tsukamoto has been expelled from the dormitory and consequently forced to take a leave of absence—all due to you Christians’ heartlessness. With no compassion from the dorm supervisor, with none from you, Mr. Tsukamoto has ended up having to take a leave of absence, you know. Is Christianity nothing but doctrine? If you truly say ‘Amen’ with your mouths, shouldn’t you willingly sell clothes and books to save Mr. Tsukamoto? Remember well—you Christians have already buried a man named Tsukamoto underground.”

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

“If that’s how it is, why don’t you try doing that yourself?” “I at least have confidence that I’m putting this into practice.” “But whether such a thing can truly be accomplished—I have my doubts.”

“But you—what did Christ say?” “…Christ does not dwell within your hearts.” “The church—you’re all enemies of Christ!” With this declaration, Shinmi averted their gazes and wiped his tears with his sleeve. Tanaka and Haruhi had not known that Shinmi was a man of such intense emotions. And so, they were now belatedly astonished,

“I hadn’t realized those called philosophers were people of such strong emotions.” “If one becomes as emotional as you are now, Shinmi-kun, one can’t properly debate,” said Tanaka, then invited Haruhi and returned to his room. The two exchanged terse words, but soon extinguished the gas lamp and went out somewhere. Shinmi simply wept. He could not help weeping—thinking of Christians’ low moral standards and their churches; of how he himself would have to join the ranks of struggling students by month’s end; of pitiful Tsukamoto’s fate; of his dull-witted sister. And thinking why both his sister and he had to stand in such sorrowful circumstances, he sobbed.

Finally, Shinmi made his decision. ...I too must leave Meiji Gakuin—to throw myself into real life with ordinary yet noble ideals. That there could be nothing better than realizing a truly noble ideal life in the countryside with my only sister—whom neither stepmother nor father cared for. He resolved to depart for his hometown that very night. He worried about travel expenses but resolved to sell his books.

First he washed his face, took a bucket, and went down to the well. The Great Bear was still hanging high in the northern sky. The time was probably not yet past eight. The Young Faction were clapping and making a commotion. Shinmi muttered to himself—"Bitter cup of the cross!"—as he held the well bucket in hand.

While washing his face, Suzuki came from the direction of Hepburn Hall, so he expressed his intention to return home and requested that Suzuki summon a secondhand bookseller in time for the 10:30 train.

At 10:35 p.m., a student boarded the Kobe-bound train from Shinagawa. Seen off by five or six friends, he stood lonely facing west. That was Shinmi Eiichi.

III The train car was packed, and Shinmi stood frozen all the way to Kanagawa. From Kanagawa, he spread a blanket on the floor, lowered himself onto it, and slept. He arrived in Nagoya around seven in the morning but had seen a bad dream near Gifu. He trembled as he viewed his current actions through their darkest implications. He asked himself for what purpose and to where, but there was no answer. Only the desire both to comfort his sister and to express his opinions to his father felt lodged in his throat. Yet the word "hometown" never rang pleasantly in Shinmi’s ears. Only sorrowful and gloomy things rose to mind. Moreover, the very name "Kobe" rang horribly unpleasant to him.

Kobe was his birthplace. It was where he had been born twenty-two years earlier. Until turning ten years old, he had been raised there. Until age ten—until his mother died and he and his sister were taken to the legal wife’s home in Itano District, Awa—they had been educated by those mountains and sea. He could still recall standing on the deck with his older sister when taken away, having parted from his younger sister and two brothers. That dark, gloomy house where death had separated him from his mother rose immediately in memory. At Hyogo Pier’s end stood a warehouse bearing a large advertisement reading “Yamamoto Himuro”. Its eastern neighbor was his family’s residence at 32 Shimojima-cho. Heading west along the street lay Chikishima Temple—small yet renowned—half a chō away. Eastward, the road gradually curved to emerge before the commercial bank. The houses stood low and squalid; soil bore a grayish cast that felt swampily humid. His house’s eaves held a hanging lamp; on its front facade lingered fading characters spelling “Shinmi”. The latticed structure bore a sign at its entrance: “Nippon Yusen Kaisha Cargo and Passenger Office”. Across stood Yamamoto’s thatched house—this area’s wealthiest man, who even owned an icehouse. The eastern neighbor was a pharmacy. Beside the pharmacy came the corner with its barber shop. Between barber and pharmacy stood a small Jizo statue. The east-facing barber shop occupied the corner where the street met Isono-cho. Opposite it stretched a hardware store—its owner’s daughter had been friends with his deceased older sister. Behind the hardware store lay a cartwright’s shop.

There was a spring in front of the cartwright's shop. Beside the spring ran a path leading south down to the beach. Facing this path stood Izutsu, the charcoal and firewood merchant. Next to that was Shirakoya—the house of Shinmi’s childhood friend. To the east of the thatched house, exactly in front of Shinmi’s latticework was the rear of Fujii’s property. Next to Fujii was Oguri, who was a rice market speculator. Next to that was the back of Amaha's property; at the back of Amaha's property was the well in question. Shinmi recalled how on summer evenings, many rickshaw pullers would bathe using water from this well. Oguri’s current house was originally the residence of a wealthy family named Hasegawa, who had failed in the stock market and relocated to Osaka. He recalled that the son of that house and Shinmi had been school friends who often fought.

To remember was sorrowful. One autumn evening，Hasegawa’s son and I had gotten into a fight. When my opponent brought out a door bar from his shop entrance，I too produced one and was about to begin our clash when Clerk Kumakichi came summoning me home. Reluctantly returning，I found Mother—who had long been ill—already passed away. Since Kumakichi had told me to come see her，I went up to the second floor and looked upon her face，but her breath had ceased，leaving only a pale，luminous countenance to behold.

Thinking of this, Shinmi always shuddered. When the train passed Osaka and approached Kobe, Shinmi recalled this and saw the future as increasingly bleak.

When he got off at Kobe Station, he thought his heartbeat had gone awry and that water flowed through his veins. Fear of the future sent tremors through his entire body. He grew impatient to resolve matters quickly, until he could no longer endure sitting motionless in the rickshaw. He considered leaping from the rickshaw and running home, but deeming that too madcap an act, kept his hands clenched while staring at the rickshaw puller’s feet.

He was dropped off at 32 Shimojima-cho, but there was neither a Shinmi signboard nor gas lamps. There was an Amaha nameplate hanging there, but the door was closed. When he inquired at the neighboring pharmacy, they said they had moved to Kajiya-cho last month. Coming out in front of the Commercial Bank and turning left led to Kajiya-cho. As directed, across from Daikokuyu public bathhouse, the Shinmi lamp was lit. The time was already six in the afternoon, and the yellow air of dusk filled the city streets. Somehow, he felt lonely. When he wondered why they had left Shimojima-cho after living there for over twenty years, he felt even lonelier.

However, the exterior was more impressive than the previous house. The entrance featured glass doors, an iron lattice with glass-paned shoji, and white lace curtains arranged with tasteful consideration.

He entered only to be met with surprise. There wasn’t a single familiar face among the men present. Two years prior during winter, Shinmi had returned to Kobe before his brief journey to the Ogasawara Islands. At that time, Father had still held his position as a Diet member, and with parliament in session, he hadn’t been at the shop. Yet with Shima Morihira—the manager of twenty years—present, things had somehow maintained an air of orderliness. Back then, I too had felt something resembling a homecoming. But tonight, he found himself astonished by the complete absence of recognizable faces.

Three clerks were all hurriedly moving their pens in account books. The one sitting in front of the safe was likely the manager. He appeared to be thirty-five or thirty-six—or perhaps thirty-seven or thirty-eight—a man with hair meticulously parted in merchant-like fashion, his face bearing a vertical wrinkle between eyebrows that seemed slightly drawn in bitterness. When Shinmi said, “Excuse me,” the man looked toward the entrance and set down his penholder. The other two also looked up—one was still a young man, and the other was a tall man with narrow eyes, thick eyebrows, and a healthy complexion.

Shinmi wondered how to continue.

“Is Mr. Shinmi present here?” he asked. Then the man who appeared to be the manager responded, “That he is. And who might you be?” “I am Eiichi,” he replied. “Are you Mr. Eiichi?” the man said, standing up. “Well now, please come up, come up. Since the shop is rather disorderly, if you’d please come up to the second floor…” he received him with utmost politeness.

Shinmi felt inclined to go up and, somehow feeling happy, took off his shoes and attempted to ascend. As the rickshaw puller brought in the luggage, he received it and was led upstairs accordingly. After climbing the ladder-like stairs, there was a room that appeared to be about ten tatami mats in size. The opposite side was a room of about six tatami mats. Both rooms had low ceilings and lacked tidiness. Here and there hung clerks' clothes, giving them the feel of a storage room. 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, but the room remained brightly lit.

The man who had guided him took out a leather futon from the corner,

“Please make yourself comfortable,” he said, then formally sat near the entrance. And so Eiichi also sat formally near the entrance, “Please, please,” urged the man, offering the leather futon. “This is our first meeting. I am Murai Sankichi.” "I humbly ask for your kind consideration." he pressed his head to the tatami mat in a deep bow. Eiichi was legally the head of this household, but he had no intention of throwing his weight around.

“I am Eiichi.” “I humbly ask for your kind consideration,” he said, completing his greeting. “Your school?” Murai looked at Eiichi with a puzzled expression. “There’s still a year left, but… I had some things I needed to attend to,” he replied, trailing off. “Was it a Christian school? “Young Master, was the school you attended for your studies...?” “Yes, it is a Christian school.” “I believe the Master had mentioned something about that the other day.” “In that case, is there some business that brings you to Tokushima?”

“Well, there’s something I need to consider… Was Father here the other day?” “His Honor at City Hall appears to be extremely occupied—he only visits Kobe about once every three months. However, since we recently changed lodgings, he did make a brief appearance then,” he said, clapping his hands. “The tobacco tray and tea,” he said, turning toward the ladder-like stairs. And then, “Pardon me for a moment,” he began to descend, but—

“You haven’t yet finished your evening meal, have you?” he asked while descending halfway down the stairs, but just then the woman who had lit the fire earlier came up, so he whispered something in her ear.

Shinmi surveyed the room. He noticed that the alcove scroll was one that had hung there without fail for over a decade—since his earliest memories took form. The vase beside it—though he knew not how many decades prior—bore a history of being acquired by his father during dissolute youth, when dispatched by his grandfather to Kanazawa's indigo markets. The small ebony desk supporting this vase and the grand ebony desk by the window both lingered in his recollection. Nor did he forget being told that the folding screen in the corner had come as a gift from Professor Shinmi Suichiku.

As he considered the history behind each item, a sense of wistfulness came over him. Yet when imagining how he might feel upon returning to Tokushima and confronting Father, his heart began pounding. Murai resumed his former seat, "How has your health been faring since last we met?" he inquired. Shinmi shrank under the question,

“Thank you very much. While this illness may never fully recover, it is currently in a favorable state. Last winter I was anxious about whether I could endure the entire season in Tokyo, but in fact, I remained in excellent health without spending a single day bedridden from cold.” “Well now, that is most excellent.” “Yes, thank you… Are Hozumi and Mori no longer at the shop?” he asked while recalling the clerk and apprentice from two years ago.

“Yes, they are here—though they should still be offshore.” “Tonight the waves are a bit high, so the launch might be slightly delayed.” “What is the name of the ship?” “It’s the Tosa Maru, anchored far offshore, so they can’t return without a launch.” While they were talking, two children came up—the smaller one carrying a sweets tray and the larger one carrying a tobacco tray. After them came Mother.

Both children had broad foreheads; if anything, they tended toward convex facial features. They lacked Father’s deep-set eyes and could not be called particularly endearing children. Mother was the woman who had earlier lit the fire—her curly hair sparse, her mouth wide. After exchanging suitable greetings, all three retreated downstairs. Murai kept pressing Eiichi to stay overnight, but Eiichi maintained he must depart at once. Amid this exchange, the wife and children arrived bearing plates of Western cuisine. Eiichi’s chest filled with an indefinable emotion that left him wordless.

He picked up a fork to try eating, but it didn’t feel at all like dining in 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 for him. "And tonight there's some swell coming in—everything from Osaka's getting delayed bit by bit. The ten o'clock becomes midnight, and midnight becomes one," he answered. The wife beside him said, “It’s only seven—why don’t you take a bath and get in a good solid sleep? You won’t rest a wink if the waves get rough.” “You must be worn out from the train today…” she added.

Following the wife’s suggestion after the meal, he decided to go down to the shop to bathe at the Daikoku-yu Bathhouse across the way.

Then the young man also introduced himself as Yamada and bowed. A ruddy-complexioned man also introduced himself as Hosokawa and bowed. The wife brought a large Western towel and a pewter soap case from the back. At that moment Hozumi and Mori Rokumatsu returned. Then they looked surprised,

“Young master. “To Tokushima. “When did you come from Tokyo?” he asked. Rokumatsu went into the back, but Hozumi, “The bath? “I’ll come along after I eat my meal,” he said, then headed toward the kitchen, slid open the lattice door, and went in. “Today’s waves were something fierce,” came Hozumi’s bold young voice from the back. Eiichi went to the Daikoku-yu Bathhouse.

IV

At the bath, he unexpectedly met Yoshida Yutaro, who had been employed by the Shinmi family for twenty years. Eiichi had still assumed Yutaro remained with the Shinmi household. However, Yutaro offered a greeting that somehow felt incomplete in manner,

“Ever since Father became Mayor, the shop’s become a complete shambles.” “Amaha’s been repossessing things, they aren’t paying the shop employees’ wages, and they’ve even put up the telephone as collateral…” he prattled on, scrubbing at his grime heedless of the crowd around him. However, the bath was so crowded there was no one to lend an ear.

“Young master. “If you end up like Father, that’d be a real problem. “He’d squander all his money on courtesans and leave the shop as empty as a hollow cave… I’ve told Master time and again, but he ain’t about to listen to a word Yutaro says. “I ain’t received my salary for four months now. “So I made a deal with Master to sell off the barge, and now I’m runnin’ things alone, see… If only Young Master Eiichi’d been more resolute-like, the Shinmis wouldn’t be done for like this… Father’s gone clean daft over that Oume from Ginpūrō. “Your father’s completely sucked into that. “I hear he’s built a big house in Tokushima Honcho now—must be putting your country mother through hell… But Young Master Eiichi’s mother was sharp, she was. No way she’d let your father squander money if she were still alive. “She was a shrewd person. “Young Master Eiichi, do you remember your mother’s face? “She looked a lot like you, you know. “Ah, she was a beautiful woman…” Yoshida continued speaking alone without giving Eiichi a chance to respond. Eiichi—

“And what about the elderly madam?” he asked. “The elderly woman also quit the Shinmi household due to her age and now stays home minding the children… Then my wife died this February, and… Murai’s wife’s come ’n’ taken over the shop, right? That wife of his probably uses the shop’s money for every last expense. That elderly woman at the house—she must’ve been with Shinmi for twenty, thirty years now. So I got angry at Murai’s wife being too self-centered… No, wait—until last July, the elderly woman at the house had been looking after Masunori-san and Yoshitaka-san. So then Murai’s wife brought those two snot-nosed brats from her own lot and lets them act as selfishly as they please. She’d give all the toys and sweets meant for the young masters to her own kids instead. So after both brats went off to Awa in July, the elderly woman figured she could finally rest easy… Kept sayin’ she wanted to go home, wanted to go home for good. But I thought if we kept leavin’ everythin’ to that Murai’s wife, the shop’d end up in ruins—so I stuck it out ’til this February. Then my own wife died in childbirth… No—well, had no choice but to call the old woman back. But she’s still hale and hearty!... And how’s your illness been, young master? Have you been able to manage your studies? Have you already finished your studies?” he asked with genuine concern.

Shinmi heard about the family tragedy he had been unaware of, found himself trembling involuntarily, and sympathized with Yoshida Yutaro’s misfortune.

“Thank you.” “My illness has improved considerably now.” “I’ve been studying since last September… I hadn’t known about your wife’s passing, Mr. Yutaro.” “How dreadful that must have been.” “Still, it’s comforting that the elderly woman remains in good health.” “I too received much care from her in my time.” “Well now, Young Master Eiichi was sent to his stepmother in rural Awa at ten—so you were spared the worst of it—but those younger two gave the elderly woman no end of tears.” “How swiftly time passes.” “They say Masunori-san entered middle school this year, with Yoshitaka-san to follow next.” “That youngest was born on the second morning of New Year’s in Mother’s final year… Come to think of it, wasn’t your elder sister also born on New Year’s second day?” “So that’d make Yoshitaka-san twelve this year—thirteen by traditional count?”

“He’s thirteen in actual years, which would make him fourteen by the traditional count.” “So that’s how it goes… Time sure flies.” “Middle schools probably allow entry from twelve years old in actual age.” “I wonder why Yoshinori-san isn’t entering.”

“Ah, I was mistaken—it’s thirteen by the traditional count.” “But even so, Father should be able to enroll Yoshitaka-san in middle school, though.”

At this moment, Hozumi entered.

“Hey Yusan! Long time no see.” “Where’ve you been keeping yourself?” “I wander about without any fixed destination—three or four days back I went all the way to Shingu.” “How’s the shop been lately, Toyokichi?” “Same old troubles—cargo goes out well enough, but…” “Murai’s wife is insufferable.” “Yesterday she gave Murai a whole fish while I got nothing but bones.” “So I tossed them into the garden.” “Now she’s still griping about it today.” “Best let me handle that.”

The three laughed. The bathhouse was quite crowded for the evening. “Toyokichi, I hear you’ve been going to Shinagawa every night lately. If you go too often, you’ll catch syphilis.” “Don’t be stupid, Yusan—do you think I’ve got that kind of money?”

“I hear Hosokawa’s been taking you along?” “It ain’t a joke—if I go, I’ll go alone.”

Hozumi was a tall and slender man of twenty-three or twenty-four with a long face, slightly dusky complexion, high nose, thin eyebrows, standing around five feet four inches. His hair was short, parted slightly to the left with a neat line.

When Hozumi stepped out of the bathtub， Yutaro and Eiichi left the bathroom. As he toweled himself dry，

“Young Master, do you remember how I saved you from nearly dying at the beach?” he asked. “I faintly remember—being held by Mother in that kitchen in Shimokami Town and having the doctor examine me.” “If I hadn’t saved you back then, you’d have been dead in five more minutes, I tell ya.” “That’s right.” “When I think back to those days, how you’ve grown… You’ve come to look just like Mother, Young Master,” said Yutaro, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Eiichi.

Eiichi tried to part his hair and stood before the mirror, but “That’s some beautiful hair you’ve got,” praised Yoshida Yutaro. He returned from the bathhouse, wrote letters to friends in Tokyo, and took a short nap.

He had just dozed off when Hozumi woke him, so he went to Hyogo Pier. Though he bought a third-class ticket that startled Hozumi, Shinmi boarded the Daini Kyodo Maru unfazed.

The voyage that night was extremely rough, and almost no one in third class escaped seasickness. However, Shinmi was not seasick. He became acquainted with a man who was said to be a laundryman in Tokushima Honcho. When he inquired, it turned out the place was apparently adjacent to his 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, nor had the other forgotten.

“Mr. Shinmi’s reputation is rather poor, you know—and your father’s.” “Shouldn’t you get Father to straighten up? I can’t stand this,” said the man, furrowing a vertical wrinkle between his soot-stained eyebrows. “How bad is the reputation?” he asked. “Despite the Tsuchida river mouth being silted up, they sent dredging ships for repairs or some excuse like that, so day by day it’s taking longer for steamers to reach Tokushima—been docking at Komatsujima since last August, right? If the papers don’t start attacking this mess soon, it’ll be beyond saving.” “And just the day before yesterday, the papers were attacking how the Mayor took bribes over that Tomita Bridge they’re gonna rebuild this time, I tell ya,” he said without any restraint. Shinmi felt himself shrinking further.

“How about being a stoker? Is it interesting?” he asked. “Interesting? It’s not interesting at all—I’ve got to support my mother.” “If I don’t earn even nine yen a month, I can’t afford to idle around.” “How about whoring around?” 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 talk, I tell ya.” “Even on this ship there are several boys swamped with debt,” he said. And explaining further, he added, “Well, it’s because we’re working out at sea…”

As the stoker descended to the engine room, he remained alone on the deck, gazing at the sea at dawn. Because the wind was strong, large clouds raced from southwest to northeast. And it swayed so violently that the large steamship seemed to float upon a single wave. To the east, slightly removed from the horizon, a straight line of pale red colored the underside of the clouds, but no matter how long he waited, the redness did not deepen. It looked ready to rain at any moment, and the sea was suffused with a pale gray hue. Forlorn and desolate. The sun did not shine, the rain did not fall—only the sound of waves and the roar of wind against masts and bridge was utterly terrifying.

Because I had a slight fever, the wind felt unreasonably cold. However, thinking that going below would likely make me seasick, I continued to the very front of the deck and tried repeating a remembered hymn in a low voice. But I found myself worrying about what I would do once I returned to Tokushima. Whenever I thought about what to say when meeting Father, my heart grew strangely restless.

I sometimes think it might have been better to stay in Tokyo, but when I consider how philosophy and religion are endless pursuits to study, I find myself not wanting to remain in Tokyo either. But when I think about what I would do after entering this restrictive countryside, everything appears trivial. Even if I were to engage in social reform, thinking that it would merely be published for a day or two in some corner of the newspaper under a heading like “Model Project” and then ultimately forgotten by society makes it all seem trivial. However, when I think that even if I write philosophical works, if people won’t read them, it only brings pain—then I start feeling pessimistic, thinking how heartless society truly is. Moreover, when I think that at twenty-two I have yet to contribute anything to society, my ambition wells up in my chest—only to make me sad again. When I think how pleasant it would be if Father were to generously send me tuition to study religious philosophy in Germany—that very thought makes me hate him. When I wonder why my sister isn’t loved by Father’s legal wife, Father himself, or that woman Oume—I want to cry; even when I resolve not to weep, the tears come unbidden. I have no desire to recall that trite old proverb about life being a boat adrift at sea—but I find myself thinking life resembles raging waves instead. Even if I kick up and break through the mundane horizon, the clouds remain distant—the sky remains far. Within it, the wind calms, and I must resign myself once more to the mundane horizon. When I think how bearing the cross of ideology and ideals to return home only leaves a corpse after the dream shatters, I just want to weep. Corpse! I cannot even become a corpse. When I think I’m nothing but ash, it angers me. But when I think that not even ash remains—beaten by the fine rain and drifts off into some gutter—I choke up.

But now that it had come to this,I resolved there was no choice but to drift among clouds and fall like rain.But how good it would be,I thought,if great thunder roared down heavy drops.No—if a hurricane might rise now,sinking ship and all into sea depths,I would descend peacefully—Shinmi smiled.Rain began pattering down while clouds swept low over waters.Shinmi bowed his head,wiping tears away.

Five

“Ah, Brother—!” came the voice of a child dressed in a Western suit who had just emerged from the entrance. Upon seeing Eiichi, the child hurriedly rushed into the back.

Eiichi had just returned from Komatsujima by rickshaw. The steamship had arrived at Komatsujima at six o'clock. Eiichi could not help but be surprised at how his father’s mansion surpassed all his imaginings in its splendor. From what he could see, a gray earthen wall—approximately ninety feet wide and fifteen feet high—was glinting brightly. The baseboard section—which appeared to be about six feet tall—consisted of charred cedar planks; above, high-quality tiles were embedded with the family crest. In front of that stood a hexagonal camphor pillar fence about four feet tall. The gate was exceptionally splendid, crafted from wood of fine-grained texture with a gentle luster, while the paving stone was a single slab of bluestone. From the gate to the entrance was likely about fifteen feet, but the stone was truly massive. Its width was likely about four feet—a truly splendid thing.

When he alighted from the rickshaw, proceeded to the entrance, and opened the lattice door,

“Ohoho…” came a woman’s charming laugh. The child’s footsteps preceded it. “Brother, welcome home,” said his fair-skinned younger brother Masunori, with raised outer eyebrows and slender cheeks, as he bowed.

The woman also bowed from behind the shoji screen, saying, “Welcome home.” The woman 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, let’s go inside.” “It’s been a long time since we last met,” the woman said while attempting to lead him further inside. Eiichi thought: This woman? The one called Oume of Ginpūrō. He recalled that this was the woman he had briefly seen four or five years earlier when he and his father had stayed together at an inn called Mizuya. At any rate, Oume’s welcome was pleasant.

“Thank you. Is Father present?” he asked while ascending.

“Yes—he *is* present,” came her reply from behind the screen. “Worshiping...gods...upstairs...”

Eiichi passed through to the inner quarters via the "Second Chamber" as the woman instructed. "Please remove your Western clothes—until we unpack your luggage, you can wear Father’s kimono for now."

Oume said with a smile. A woman’s kindness wasn’t something to resent. Eiichi began removing his Western clothes as Oume instructed, but her hand touched his jacket. “Ah, Brother, you look positively bedraggled. Ohoho,” Oume laughed,

“I’ll get the kimono out now,” she said, opening a drawer in the back chest. Masunori silently watched as Eiichi removed his Western clothes,

“Well, I’ll be going to school now. Brother, well then, I’ll see you later,” he said and went out.

Eiichi said to Oume,

“Masunori has grown quite a bit, hasn’t he?” he said. “He certainly has grown quite a bit, hasn’t he?” she replied while bringing out a silk crepe lined kimono and a crepe obi. While putting on the clothes, “Has Father not come down yet?” he asked. “Why, Father spends a long time—praying for about an hour every morning.” “You should wash your face—it’s all sooty. Shall I fetch some water… Never mind—have the Young Master bring you some water instead,” she said, then took the Western clothes and departed along the veranda, past the toilet toward the dressing room.

A “Yes” echoed from the kitchen accompanied by the clatter of geta, and an attractive eighteen- or nineteen-year-old woman passed before the storehouse, took a metal basin from the veranda’s washstand, and stood by the well—. The clatter of the well pulley’s chain could be heard.

Eiichi tried wearing silk garments for the first time in over a decade. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant. Oume ran along the veranda with short steps and handed Eiichi a large Western-style towel and a toothbrush. And then,

“Here, this is soap,” she said, handing him the Nickel soapbox. Eiichi washed his face with the toothbrush. The woman stood behind him, “Your hair is so black—truly black. If you were a woman, you’d have splendid hair… Do you use Tique?” “If it’s Tique you want, it’s in the dressing room,” she said. “I don’t use Tique—it’s vulgar.” “Is that so? Is avoiding Tique what counts as modern now?” she asked with mock earnestness, making Eiichi falter slightly.

“Well, I hear refined people in America don’t use Tique,” he replied. The woman did not press further. When he had washed his face and received the towel, “Did you have a rough night?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied. “You need a mirror? “Please come to the dressing room.” “This way,” she said. Following her, he found the dressing room adjacent to the bathroom—everything Japanese-style, with a large ornate mirror stand by the window. To the left stood a closet. Before the closet rose a folding screen. Father’s splendid Western clothes—likely his own—hung there. Eiichi’s damp Western garments hung alongside them. Oume produced a Western comb from the mirror stand’s drawer and,

“Please go ahead and use this,” she said, taking out the Tique and showing it to him. “If you’re going to use it… this is Father’s…” Eiichi, already displeased by Oume’s frivolous manner, felt his heart skip a beat upon hearing the phrase “Father’s…”.

As Eiichi was parting his hair, Oume said, “I beg your pardon—I must go prepare the meal tray,” and hurried along the veranda toward the kitchen.

Having finished combing his hair, Eiichi came out from the dressing room, and Oume stuck her head out from the kitchen, “Have you finished already?” she inquired.

“Yes,” he replied, then came toward the kitchen while saying, “Is Father still not here, I wonder?” “It seems you’ve already finished, since your voice can no longer be heard… How rude of me—I was in such a hurry that I forgot to bow properly.” “Well then, let’s start over properly in the kitchen—” she said and sat down in the kitchen. And so Eiichi also sat down. “Well then, “I trust there have been no changes since then.” “I’ve been terribly remiss in my correspondence… even as we’ve received such generous care from Father.” “I do hope you’ll show some consideration—” she delivered her formal address. Eiichi also found this strange, but—

“Well now—have you been thriving? Oh dear no—I must humbly request your continued kindness,” she said with a renewed bow. “Have you completed your studies?” “No—it’s not that I’ve finished exactly, but—” “My, what a splendid homecoming.” “Was it four years past?” “That time we chanced to meet in the pantry—” Oume declared without shame. “Ah.” The hypersensitive Eiichi felt peculiarly disturbed. “Father hasn’t met you in such a long while—he’s been saying he wishes to see you soon.”

“Is that so?” Eiichi replied with a faint smile, though he thought greetings were mere formalities that could be phrased any which way. Eiichi suddenly remembered Emiko. “What has become of Emiko?” “She returned to the countryside three days ago,” Oume replied.

At that moment, the sound of Father’s footsteps descending from the second floor came.

Oume stood up with a “Pardon me. Father is...” and opened the sliding door at the second-floor stairway entrance, “Brother has returned,” she said while looking upward.

Father descended without responding.

Eiichi hung his head and fidgeted with his fingers, but upon seeing Father,

“Father…” he said.

But Father, "Oh, Eiichi?..." he said and went straight into the central room. Eiichi felt somehow unsatisfied and bowed his head.

“Well, come over here,” came a voice from the central room.

Oume opened the closet and was hurriedly preparing the meal tray. Eiichi stood up and sat bowed at the entrance to the "central room" between the kitchen and inner chambers. Father was wrapped in silk before the long brazier and had fastened a stiff sash. He was of short stature, his face slightly dark. He had a stern face and no mustache.

A voice came from the kitchen—Oume’s. “Master, the meal is ready but…” Father remained silent. And took a teacup from the small ebony shelf beside the long brazier. Eiichi,

“Father, for a moment.” Eiichi bowed. “I trust you are in good health?” But Father kept pouring water from the large iron kettle into the teapot with a tea scoop as he remarked, “It’s been a while.” He continued without pause, “You’re looking pale—has your illness worsened again?” “Thank you for your concern. However, there’s been no particular change.”

“Eiichi—what about school? …Have you graduated already?” “No.” “What’s wrong then—are you on break these days?” “No.” “Then what’s wrong?” “There was something that came to mind…” “So were you expelled or something?” “No.” Oume, with her hands on the entrance, was saying, “Why don’t you both have some tea over rice?” “Well then, why don’t you have some tea over rice… I’ll come back from city hall and we’ll talk properly then,” Father said as he stood up.

Oume asked, “Shall I bring it over there?” but Father said, “The kitchen will suffice.” Eiichi couldn’t help feeling furious and agitated at Father’s composed demeanor. He remained silent, bowing his head. Because Oume had called, he took his seat at his place in the kitchen— “Eiichi, there was quite some wind last night—you must’ve tumbled about quite a bit, eh?” Father ventured with mild sarcasm. “Y-yes,” he answered, but no words followed. “What class was it?” “Third class—”

“There, you must have been so high and mighty,” said Oume. “Eiichi—what manner of school is this of yours?” “It is a Christian-oriented institution.” “So you’ve turned into a Jesus then?” “No.” “Then why did you enter that school—disregarding my words… And have you quit school already?” “Yes, I returned intending to withdraw—but as I concurred with Meiji Gakuin’s principles, I remained until now.”

“This principle—you mean Christianity?” “It’s philanthropic principles.” “Then I suppose you also agree with socialism.” Interrogated by his father, even Awa’s famous grilled miso held no flavor. “Hah…,” he answered, but— Father pretended not to hear, “Serving,” he placed the bowl on the tray. Oume called to the maid who was in the garden packing rice into what was likely Masanori’s small Seto-ware lunchbox: “Oyotsu-san—come up and serve for a moment.”

“Yes,” answered the maid as she came up, then sat down beside the rice tub and bowed respectfully. “Good morning, Master.” “Hmm.” “Good morning, Madam.” “Good morning.” “Good morning, Young Master.” "This is my first time meeting you." “I humbly ask for your kind consideration.”

“Good morning.” “Which would be preferable?”

The master had been holding his bowl and waiting since earlier. Having finished bowing, the maid silently took out the tray. Father had been watching the maid serve the rice, but “Eiichi—even if you spout about philanthropic principles or whatnot, do you think you can get by just lazing around?” “While you’re a student, idle theorizing might suffice, but now that you’ve left school without knowing what to do, all your socialist clamoring amounts to nothing!” “You’d be better off figuring out how to make even a penny more.” “Since ancient times, those who spout logic are mostly the ones ending up poor and struggling.” “Eiichi… You probably don’t need --- either,” Father began calmly, launching his attack on Eiichi. Eiichi, perhaps thinking This isn’t the time, remained silent.

“I thought from the very beginning I wouldn’t send tuition when you went against my words and entered that Christian school—but taking pity, I kept sending it until last month. These days money doesn’t flow so freely anymore, so this month I didn’t send any… Even if you study, you haven’t turned into the man I envisioned. If becoming a Christian means abandoning this house for good, I decided no amount of effort would matter.” “So I didn’t send it this month either… But Eiichi—now that you’ve come back, what do you intend to do?” “This house has no need for Jesus-men or socialists.” “But neither can I let you idle about—a child who won’t obey isn’t my son… And those who say they hate their country shouldn’t come and go as they please here—” he declared in a sodden tone, his low voice constricting Eiichi’s throat. Oume kept silent, listening. Eiichi too had listened without speaking, but sensing what felt like icy water coursing beneath his fevered chest, he involuntarily—

“Heh…,” he chuckled softly. No sooner had he laughed than—

“Eiichi! You dare laugh at me? How dare you, when I’m your father!” the father shouted, eyes blazing. Oume interceded with a look of feigned pity. “Master, please stop—Master, isn’t it rude to speak so harshly to someone who’s only just returned?” “Insolent—I send you to Tokyo for a bit of studying and all you do is get filled with insolent ideas, ceasing to regard your parent as a parent at all—” “Master, since breakfast is somewhat delayed this morning, let’s continue this conversation later. If you don’t finish your meal, you’ll be late.”

Eiichi couldn't help feeling his father was putting on some sort of act. I had often seen such obstinate fathers in plays, but never thought they existed in reality. But reality—to think my own father was the very model of a stubborn old man—it was unbearably absurd. "You think you've gained a bit of learning and now mock your father with laughter?" Father said, sending a chill through him. Father said this and silently stood up before entering the inner rooms. "Hey, bring out my Western clothes," he was saying. Oume,

“Master, I wonder if you will not partake of your meal?” Oume asked, but there was no answer. “Father has been prone to anger of late, so please do forgive him,” Oume apologized to Eiichi.

“Father has been prone to anger of late, so please do forgive him,” Oume apologized to Eiichi.

“No, I wouldn’t dream of being angry,” Eiichi said without raising his face. Tears were gathering in his eyes. “What are you chatting about? Hurry up and bring it out already!” came a voice from the inner rooms. “Right away,” Oume replied in a fluster and hurried to the dressing room.

“Please help yourself to more,” said the maid who had been watching in astonishment from earlier, offering the tray when she saw Shinmi set down his chopsticks. That voice was sweet. However, Eiichi said “Thank you,” then opened the shoji in the corner of the kitchen, entered the maid’s room, collapsed, and was overcome with tears.

The rain fell fiercely.

Some time after Father left for work, Oume kindly suggested that since she had laid out bedding upstairs, he might want to rest from last night’s fatigue. And so Eiichi went upstairs and slept. He remained completely unaware until around four in the afternoon. The noisy chirping of three or four sparrows roused him awake. When he slid open the shoji slightly to look outside, the rain had eased to a drizzle, the sky glowing faintly with yellow rays that illuminated the roof tiles. Peering toward Inui, he could make out a two-story house behind the storehouse. A persimmon tree stood next to it. Through an open window, a young woman sat reading a book. She lifted her face slightly and glanced his way.

"Ah, what 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, and shrank back. At dinner, Eiichi once again took his seat, but as the sake from his evening drink began to take greater effect, Father methodically commenced his attack on him. Oume and Masunori remained silent listeners. However, Eiichi refused to listen passively. He resolved not to tolerate any irresponsible remarks under the pretext of drunkenness. “After pouring hundreds—no thousands—of yen into you till now, isn’t it pathetic that at twenty-two you remain utterly useless?” “Why don’t you quit reading books and go work as a substitute manager—no, even an apprentice—at some Hyogo shop?” “Can’t manage even that?” “If you can’t, we’ve got a real problem.” “Seems all Tokyo taught you was how to play and make unreasonable demands.” “Eiichi—what exactly do you plan to do now?” “What concrete plans do you currently possess?”

“At present, I have nothing particular in mind. However, I only wish to say two things: that you would first cherish Emiko, Father, and that you needn’t go into debt building such a grand house—if you would just construct a modest residence and allow me to continue my studies.” Eiichi arranged these words as fervently as he could, resolved to provoke his father. “Hmph—such insolent nonsense. Whether I take loans or not is my own affair—I don’t need lectures from some vagrant like you. Study as you please. Hasn’t what I’ve provided sufficed till now? After middle school—four, five years in Tokyo I funded! When your lungs failed, I sent you to Ogasawara to recuperate—not one word of gratitude! And now you return after ages whining—‘Don’t dote on Emiko enough! Don’t cherish me enough!’ Such impudence! Is this what becomes of a high school student? Is this Christianity’s teaching?” “So Christianity instructs children to scorn their parents?”

“In Christianity... parents who do not cherish their children... husbands who cannot devote themselves to one woman...” “Father, that’s precisely why you...” Eiichi coldly declared.

“Hmm, you… you’re not my child. This house has no need for a vagrant like you.” “How dare you say such things after forgetting all past kindness!” “Do you hate me that much?” the father retorted without yielding. Then Eiichi too,

“Father, how can you keep so many women…” “I suppose my honored Mother must be weeping in her grave.” “And yet you can calmly show up at city hall even when being attacked by the newspapers,” he pressed earnestly. “Insolent fool! What nonsense are you spouting?” Father stood up and approached Eiichi. “Since you’ve said it once, how dare you spout such insolence! Say it again!” he said, voice trembling and choked with emotion, whereupon Eiichi repeated:

“You can calmly show up at city hall even after being accused of taking bribes,” he said coolly. But before these words had fully left his mouth, Father’s palm struck Eiichi’s cheek with such force that the chopsticks and bowl he held clattered across the meal tray. Then, kicked by Father’s foot, Eiichi collapsed sideways. Grabbing the fallen Eiichi by the nape, Father dragged him toward the entrance. Masunori, the maid, and errand boy Yoshisaburo watched in silence, but Oume stood up,

“Master, please stop this. If you were to get injured, that would be unfortunate...” she interjected with perfunctory mediation. Eiichi offered no resistance. Father slid open the entrance shoji,

“Get out!” Father kicked Eiichi down. And with a sharp clack slid the shoji shut while weeping. Behind the shoji, Eiichi was crying hard while forcing out a painful smile. But after a moment—perhaps something had occurred to him—he suddenly circled around from the middle gate to the back, changed into Western clothes in the dressing room, returned to the entrance, put on his worn-out shoes, and left the house without even taking an umbrella.

Outside was dark.

VI

Eiichi, having left his father's residence—where would he go now? He went west through Tokushima Honcho, turned left at the city hall corner, and crossed Tokushima Bridge. Though it was a slight detour on the way back to his rural home in Itano, he had wanted to go out to Tōrimachi to buy an umbrella. The police station’s electric light glowed dimly. Miyai the Western goods merchant remained unchanged from days past. When he checked his watch, Miyai’s proprietor dozed before a charcoal brazier—his hairline slightly receded from memory. Tōrimachi’s first block stood unaltered. Only Iseki’s bookstore had expanded onto the main street with a grander shopfront. Here too an old man napped. The second block showed subtle transformations: Sengoku now housed both shop and post office, while the Japan Christ Church rose newly resplendent. He entered the mute umbrella vendor’s stall, purchased an oil-paper parasol, and quickened his pace. The rain slackened. Reaching Ebisu Shrine at the second block’s corner summoned memories of Bunyan—the honest cripple who’d always chosen five-rin copper over five-sen silver when offered both. —A beggar.

“Bunyan’s lot?” “Madam my foot!”—a beggar who made his rounds collecting alms at set hours. A cheerful beggar who was always laughing—a man around fifty rumored to have savings exceeding one hundred yen. Did Bunyan—who lodged at Ebisu Shrine acting as its caretaker—still live? What Bunyan brought to mind was Ochiyo of Main Street—that foolish Ochiyo rumored to have borne a child with Shiokawa, the beggar who made his rounds with an air of arrogant grandeur—her left eye corner drooping in that peculiar smile from dawn till dusk whenever she saw someone,

“I don’t want to!” Ochiyo—who would shout in a loud voice, “That person’s so strange!”—sometimes applied black makeup only to her nose, other times slathered white powder across her entire face like plaster walls, wearing a long-sleeved torn kimono as she walked about begging, stroking her shaved head while carrying a pitiful cloth bag. Seven or eight years ago—one morning when I went for a walk to Konpira Shrine in Seimi, I recall seeing Ochiyo sweeping before the ema hall while laughing. And then there’s another one I recall—the beggar called ‘Sunday.’ This one too was a simpleton who hung a box labeled “Sunday” around his neck and would come begging not just on Sundays but even Fridays or Saturdays—a tall, fortyish male beggar.

I heard that Shiokawa, who had fathered a child with Ochiyo, died some years back, but apart from him, these three beggars were all prominent figures in Tokushima City, cherished more by the citizens than even the mayor. All three of them lived free from ambition, enjoying their lives. While imagining they must be having innocent dreams about now, he arrived at the first block. Ryuseido Bookstore had gone out of business with a for-rent sign pasted up. Konishi’s Pharmacy and Confectionery remained unchanged. The fourth floor of Ichikawa's restaurant had become a third. The usually bustling Shinmachibashi Bridge stood desolate. Water began seeping through the sole of his left shoe.

The lights at Furukawa Hospital were also out. When viewed from Takimi Bridge, Taki Mountain had seven or eight lights. The Prison Office remained imposing regardless of when one saw it. Crossing Maekawa Bridge, what rumbled like subterranean growling was the spinning company. Even on rainy nights, the machines appeared to keep running. The Maekawa Police Box stayed in its original location. He reached Kamisuken Hachimangu. He remembered how ten years earlier, Suwa no Mori—Awa Province's premier sumo troupe—had visited as honored guests to perform ceremonial sumo here. His shoes grew increasingly uncomfortable. He began to enter the geta shop but stopped.

He arrived at Furukawa Crossing at eight o'clock. He crossed the long bridge spanning the three-hundred-meter-wide river. It was desolate. It felt as if he were riding the wind. Yet thinking how returning home would surely bring a welcome lifted his spirits. But remembering his argument with Father made it all seem like a dream. He passed the Ichiriyomatsu pine at Tai no Hama—which he imagined measured five arm spans around—and encountered a rickshaw. He hadn't met anyone until now. Two ri still remained ahead. Though he felt exhausted, his legs kept moving. He passed through Ushikai's Tandai wild plain and approached Nakamura Village, but beyond this settlement stretched a lengthy country road. "What if bandits appear?" he thought, then reasoned, "If thieves come, everyone will handle them." "And then I'll run back naked to Umazume." While entertaining these dazed notions of "If I'm killed, I'll simply vanish," he traversed the plains and reached Kitamura Village. Crossing Kita Shitarai's gentle slope, he entered the area across the river from his village—the place called Shinden. This was Koaza Shinden of Ōaza Higashiumazume in Horie Village, Itano District. Eiichi's home lay in Furuta. He passed before the forest of the guardian Suwa Shrine. He recalled festival times when he had beaten the drum while young men performed lion dances.

Then his thoughts wandered further—he recalled how at Furuta Tenjin’s children’s festival, he had become captain for a year and spent a night making merry with a crowd of children in that shrine’s sacred forest. He crossed the bridge at Ushiyajima. In his first year of middle school, at this crossing, two courtesans had fallen for sailors from Kure who brought them this far before running out of money and committing double suicide. The river’s flow was calm, the sound of the fine rain a gentle patter. The water filled the entire width of the river, the scenery splendid. As pale darkness covered the river, he felt a strange sensation, wondering if three ghosts might appear. He also recalled how, for the March Festival on this river, they would take boat outings with children in tow—boarding the Senma ferry with boxed lunches of sushi and simmered dishes to venture out onto the water. He recalled his stepmother and elder sister’s Hina dolls. He remembered how neighborhood girls had come to see them, and how Lady Tsuruko of the Tamiya family had also come—Lady Tsuruko, whom he had thought such a beautiful girl with those large bright eyes that even speaking to her had made him shy. I wonder if she’s married by now. Since going to Tokyo, he hadn’t heard anything about what had become of Lady Tsuruko—and as these thoughts continued swirling through his mind, Eiichi arrived at the school that had taken care of him between his first and second years of higher school. When he had briefly returned four summers prior, the school had still been standing, but now not a trace remained—only the stone foundation.

Where could the school have moved to? When I think back to how that cocky Kobe-bred brat used to swagger around at this Ushiyajima school, I feel ashamed. There had been an instance where I held a farewell party with the graduates and drank sake on the second floor of Hamaguchiya with a thirty-five-sen fee, even before taking the entrance exam. Thirty graduates and five teachers all got drunk. The custodian who had been drinking alone in the corner also got drunk. ……Thinking about the custodian made him shudder. He was a custodian who loved alcohol—with a pallid face sporting bloodshot eyes, hair cropped about one and a half sun high in front and left to grow wild, a man who grew silent the more he drank. That man’s daughter must have been around eight years old at the time. The girl suddenly died during the summer vacation of her second year. And the name of her illness began with the character ‘rib.’ However, a rumor arose that the girl had died because Eiichi had poked her side with a Western umbrella and broken her third rib, and Eiichi was shocked to hear about something he had absolutely no involvement in. And there had been an instance where he spent two days and two nights crying through till dawn inside the mosquito net in the sitting room. As a result, he took the five yen he had saved as condolence money and went himself. When he wondered if he had been so mischievous as to warrant such rumors, now resenting this misunderstanding, he reflected that since childhood he had always been inclined to care for others. Now he understood that the girl had been stepping on a waterwheel, fallen from above, and contracted pleuritis—but even now, he thought nothing was as sorrowful as misunderstanding. He came to Hara’s Monnagaya where soy sauce was manufactured. There had been an incident where, by this gate, he was asked by Tsunekou the cooper—whose eyes were round—"Young master, didn’t they say you killed the custodian’s daughter?" which so startled him that he fled back home. When he wondered if even after ten years that misunderstanding still lingered in this village, it pained him to set foot here.

At Kawaguchiya—a thicket-enveloped lodging house where guests paid firewood fees—there had once been a tall, pale-complexioned plump woman around twenty years old. What might she be doing now? Walking along the embankment past sacred sakaki branches triggered memories of his cousin Okane-san who came here as a bride only to be divorced when her mother-in-law proved intolerable. The great Japanese cedar still bore its sickle atop unchanged from olden days. The riverside shack belonged to Tanekichi of Taneya Cooperage—his son Tsunekichi now served as chief clerk at Umazume Manor. Next stood the dwelling of Suke-the-outcast. That roof with its spread netting—how intently he'd stared at it as a child. Suke worked nightwatch at Umazume Manor; on each month's first and fifteenth days he'd wait mournfully by backgate gutters for his rice payment—one or two to measures. A faint glimmer showed at Tamiya Beach. Likely from ferryman's watchhut. Memory conjured Tatsu—ferryman's son with festering eyes. Being wealthy man's child meant having many followers; among them Tatsu reigned supreme. Even when children gambled at New Year gatherings Tatsu stayed loyally beneath him. Whether swimming or playing hide-and-seek Tatsu clung close. Swimming memories brought competition against Lady Tsuruko's brother in diving contests. Back then Lord Tokiyuki—already fifteen or sixteen—became fast friends with him; lending magazines earned summer pomelos. Leaving Ushiyajima behind he finally entered his village. Through riverside thickets lay horse moxibustion sites. Three chō onward stood nothing. Between flanking thickets spread northern Horie Plain. Perhaps three-quarters ri to Kitayama? At mountain's foot lay Ōtani town.

At the edge of that town lay Emperor Tsuchimikado’s cremation ground. Along the mountain path, fires burned here and there, desolate. At this embankment’s riverside where I would go to school on winter mornings, I often recall being warmed by the sun. Upon entering Higashiumazume, the first hut was Masa the woodcutter’s residence. Masa had attached himself to the child-bearing widow of this hut. He believed the child’s name was Chōbei. He was a rough child who made it his daily routine to say vulgar things and pick fights. Half a chō from this hut stood the residence of Ichibashi Genzaburō, who had been the manager of Shinmi’s indigo sales office. Genzaburō died at the sales office in Kanazawa. Behind it lay the site of Ichibashi Kumazo’s residence—he had moved to Hokkaido during his second year of middle school. Now, only the black persimmon tree beside the gate ruins remained, beaten by the rain.

The western neighbor of Genzaburō was called Higashi's new residence—they said it once had a grand estate, but now only a small house stood within a hedge. In front was a thicket. Beneath the thicket lay a deep pool—the place where the old man from "Nishira" often used to fish. He was finally approaching his own house. After descending the embankment was Torakichi-san’s house. The neighboring house was Masakichi-san’s. Passing by the water gate and emerging next to Gonnosuke-san’s place where Tanukizuki’s landlady once lived, the large gate of his house came into view. Next to Masakichi-san was Bando no Taira-san, who had been a tobacco cutter merchant—what could he be doing now? In those days, it had still been a grand house—if you spoke of Ima, there was none in the vicinity who did not know them as landowners—but now only the main residence remained, and the estate had become fields. Even in lullabies:

“The Tamiyas were rich, the Imas were landowners,” “The Kanauchis next door had daughters” so the song went. Kanauchi-san referred to the Shinmi family, who were said to have had many beauties. Going around the back of Saito’s Shin-san, what shocked him was that not a trace remained of the Tamiya estate. Only a red pine—which he thought must measure three armfuls in girth—stood in a corner of the parched area, lonely and battered by the rain in the darkness. Eiichi merely found it strange. "If there were no Tamiya in Higashiumazume, “After that comes Kawano’s vanishing plain” Not a trace remained of the Tamiya estate that had been extolled as belonging to the samurai-class.

A road ran from behind the Tamiya family gravesite—where a large enoki tree grew surrounded by a podocarpus hedge—turning right until it reached before the Shinmi gate. The Shinmi main family residence had been the largest in Higashiumazume even since Tamiya's time, where the previous head Morihira had served as chief village headman over eighteen villages. A man of stout courage, he built a large indigo drying bed measuring twenty-four ken by five ken, and erected western sleeping quarters measuring four ken by twelve ken. What they called Higashi-naya was the larger structure, while Nishi-naya referred to the smaller one. The Maenaya stood as a large two-story edifice. On its eastern side rose an imposing gatehouse.

It was already half past nine; Eiichi stood beneath the eaves of this gatehouse with Shizuka. He felt various emotions welling up within him. He knocked on the gate and waited, listening for any sound from inside the mansion. In the west storehouse, a horse kicked against the wooden wall with rhythmic clattering sounds. After waiting a moment and knocking again, the main house door opened with a woman's voice sounding. "Who is it?—" It was unmistakably Emiko's voice. Then another young woman's voice came from outside as the two exchanged urgent whispers about something.

“I—” Eiichi answered in a low voice, but “Who could it be at this hour?” came Emiko’s voice, mingling with that of a young woman as they conversed. Soon followed the sound of two people walking along the long eaves—a dialect term for the storehouse’s overhang. Their footsteps echoed with metallic clangs. As he wondered whether the clerk was present, the wicket gate creaked open. The horse whinnied again, its hooves thudding against the wooden wall. “If it isn’t Brother?" “What brings you here?” Emiko inquired. A young woman lingered hidden in shadow. Eiichi stepped through the gate while,

“Isn’t the clerk 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 so frightening that I came to open it with Ms. Shizuka.” "You returned in this downpour?" “I truly thought it was someone else!” Eiichi said, eyeing the young woman. “When I thought Ms. Emiko was still in Tokushima—you’d already returned.”

The young woman said, “Young Master, this is my first time meeting you.” “I am Tsunekichi’s younger sister,” she said with a bow. His younger sister also—

“This is Shizuka—Tsunekichi’s younger sister—” she introduced. When he compared his sister and Shizuka, the maid proved far more beautiful. Though the light from her hexagonal lantern made details unclear, he could discern her elegantly shaped hairline, straight brows like a Jizō statue’s, and kind single-lidded eyes framed by translucent skin—marking her as a rare beauty for rural parts. In contrast stood his sister—reddish-haired, swarthy-complexioned, merely sturdy-built—their difference as stark as snow against charcoal.

Eiichi returned a proper bow, but her striking beauty made him too shy to look directly at her face. The three proceeded along the eaves toward the main house—Emiko and Shizuka walking together—when one of them remarked, "We thought it must be someone." "Goodness gracious!" Shizuka continued, her voice trembling slightly. "I was so frightened—I thought perhaps burglars had broken in!" "How is Mother?" Eiichi inquired. "It seems she's been experiencing some rheumatism of late," Shizuka replied with deference. "Since when?" "About ten days ago... I was summoned to Tokushima on an errand." "That's why I returned."

The three of them clambered from the eaves of the sleeping quarters to those of the main house, ascended five or six stone steps, and entered the entrance hall. (In this region, mansions are typically built six to nine meters above the surrounding flatland. This is because the Yoshino River inevitably floods two or three times every year around August and September.) Having entered the entrance hall, Eiichi asked, “Where is Mother?” When someone answered “The back room,” he headed toward it. Because Eiichi had returned, his stepmother rose to her feet and sat back down. After exchanging seasonal greetings and inquiring about Eiichi’s reason for returning this time, their conversation turned to Tamiya. The stepmother began to speak while fiddling with her chin between the thumb and index finger of her left hand, occasionally smoothing down disheveled strands at her temples with her right.

“The world is truly heartless... No matter how high someone’s status, once they fall into poverty, people won’t give them the time of day.” “Even the Tamiyas—when they had money, everyone kept flattering them with ‘Tamiya this, Tamiya that’—but now they’re pitiable.”

Mother was a small-faced woman with fair skin, narrow eyes, and single eyelids. The round paper lantern cast a dim glow. "It was autumn when you came back that year, wasn't it?" "That would've been the first or second day of the tenth month by the old calendar." "From morning there were five or six men in square-sleeved coats pacing before the house—and on the embankment too, what looked like an inspector and two or three constables standing watch." "No sooner had they entered Tamiya's residence than Mr. Makoto was taken from the ferry landing to Tokushima Prison Office." "I was shocked through and through." "He'd been serving as village headman, hadn't he?" "They say he lost money on timber and silkworms, then squandered public funds—two or three thousand yen—on some woman from the tavern beside the village office." "And before his trial even concluded, he hanged himself in that jail cell—how dreadful! When she heard, his wife went mad and threw herself in the river! Between pity and horror, I wept myself sick when they found her drowned body. After that scandal broke, they tore down the estate." "Nowhere left to set foot." "The retired master, Lady Tsuruko, and Lady Masa stayed in our back rooms from New Year's through Bon—using that dressing chamber yonder as their kitchen and these two rooms here as living quarters." "But Lady Tsuruko alone was taken in last April by her uncle—the one who became a teacher at Tokushima Normal School—and she must've graduated from girls' school this year." "It's built back-to-back with the City Hall residence." "And what of the Tamiya relatives' house?" she asked Emiko 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 Bon ended, the retired master took Lady Masa and returned to their hometown—no doubt the eldest son Tokiyuki had gone to stay with relatives in Tokyo as well.” “Well, things do change, don’t they?” “When the Tamiya mansion first vanished, it felt rather lonesome, I tell you.” “No, Master Eiichi, this isn’t about the Tamiyas.” “Our house may not be long before meeting the same fate as the Tamiyas.” “Father is truly impossible!” “Master Eiichi, please have a word with him.”

From Emiko’s words, Eiichi imagined that the beautiful woman he had seen from the second floor at four o’clock that afternoon had been Lady Tsuruko. Then Lady Tsuruko had grown into quite a beauty. Eiichi did not mention having quarreled with his father. Nor did he say anything too pessimistic. “Did the second one go on the Shikoku pilgrimage?” he asked idly. “Well every year the village sends one person to Shikoku, but this year’s lottery didn’t fall to our house. The first couldn’t go because his wife was pregnant, so they ended up sending the second. As of today it’s been twenty-eight days since he left,” Mother said. Eiichi imagined idle countryfolk chanting Buddha’s name while receiving alms on their pilgrimage.

Amidst the sound of dripping rain, the voice of the fire watch could be heard.

"Is Suke still making the fire watch rounds?" "Ah, still," she answered. "Still, it's fortunate Mother's illness isn't too serious," Eiichi said. "Thank you. It's only that my right leg won't move properly." "No need to worry yourself—I'm certain it'll mend soon enough," she replied. When the fire watch came round from the west storehouse toward the back room, they heard voices talking within, "Young Mistress, the ledger room door remains unclosed," someone cautioned.

“Emi—the ledger room door remains unclosed!” the stepmother rebuked. “Ah—I’d forgotten,” she said, rising from her seat. “Earlier I thought someone was at the gate—it stayed open after I looked—” “Close it this instant and return!” commanded the stepmother. Emiko hurried along the veranda toward the main house. The stepmother muttered to Eiichi: “That girl’s slowness tries one’s patience.”

The rain was still falling heavily.

Seven

“The sun truly shines brilliantly!”

Lying on his back on the veranda of the front room while gazing at the sun, Eiichi said.

It was already 1:30 PM. Last night’s rain left a trace of dampness in the garden and hid somewhere. Today, from morning onward, the “brilliantly shining” sun emerged, and spring revived all at once.

Because it was too dazzling，Eiichi made a small hole in his left fist and looked at the sun through it. A beautiful radiation formed. “Beautiful radiation! It’s just like a rainbow!” Eiichi whispered to himself，lost in thought. “The sunlight is beautiful．Has this traveled ninety-three million miles!? They say this light becomes pure violet beyond our atmosphere… What a beautiful world that must be．How mysterious light is—” he thought，letting his imagination wander once more．

But Eiichi, who had barely endured yesterday’s gloom, found little joy in today’s sun. He had been muttering curses under his breath. Eiichi sat up and vacantly stared at the corner of the garden’s stepping stones. Then suddenly, as though jolted awake, he shuddered and wiped his face with both hands. And immediately,

“Ah. Pointless, pointless. God has committed suicide, I suppose!” he muttered something nonsensical and stepped down into the garden. In the southeast corner stood a 'mochi' tree. It must have measured two arm spans around. Each green leaf shone beautifully. Occasionally their tips would rustle and dance. To its west stood a white camellia. Its blossoms had already fallen. Beside it grew a withered five-needle pine. It was a familiar tree—one I had planted before the bathhouse. Beyond these grew osmanthus and gardenias before the clothing storehouse beside the bathhouse, with nandina bushes and Japanese spindle shrubs clustered in corners. The not particularly spacious garden was crammed full of plants and trees.

Eiichi put on his wooden clogs and wandered from one garden stepping stone to another, sinking into deep thought. Handwoven striped women's clothing and a younger brother's soldier's obi. The color was blue; the eyes were exceedingly sharp. Eiichi's contemplation gradually descended into delusion. ……Why do I take walks? Because I am alive, I take walks. Why am I living. Because I am living, I am living. No—I live because I don’t want to die. No—that isn’t it either. I want to die by suicide, but I live because I don’t want to enter the 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… Speaking of life—lately I’ve had no appetite at all. On top of that, hard barley rice both morning and noon. The stepmother was frugal to the point of stinginess. That’s why I hate the countryside. I grew sick of it. This is no place for a genius like me to live. When in the capital, one imagines it’s wonderful, but upon coming here, even poetry vanishes. I feel pathetic being buried in the countryside... but what would I even say if I went to the city? Socialism?

Well, that's about all there is to it. But I'd somehow grown weary of socialism too. This ideology called socialism is truly beggars' work. Though I suppose it's better than nationalism. Now then—since philosophy feels like a plaything for know-it-alls and I've no desire to gain honor through it, yet being kept idle by bowing to the state doesn't appeal either—it still comes down to ○○○-ism or socialism. But if someone were to loudly preach ○○○-ism in the city, those red-robed authorities would pounce immediately. Absurd! ...Because this world still has things like war. Because Japan still has things called warships. So then—go to the city, mock this armed world, get thrown into prison once or twice...? At any rate, I should stop imitating Tolstoy and Chōmei. ...And even if I became an elementary school teacher in this village, if that old janitor were still around, I'd have to tremble every time our eyes met. "...but going to the city means bread will be scarce..." With this thought, he stopped on a stone. When he glared at his own shadow, the sun blazed brighter still, making the shadow ever more distinct. Yet that shadow looked utterly pitiful.

Emiko opened the sitting room's shoji screen and peered out. Eiichi, "Emiko, when did this five-needle pine wither?" he asked. "Brother, that one?" She turned her gaze toward the pine. "Ha!" Eiichi likewise looked at the tree. "That? Mother had it replanted and it died." "But I planted it before the bathhouse?" he protested. "They say five-needle pines bring poverty when planted in the estate's southeast corner. Around January this year, she dug it up with her own hands and moved it there."

Eiichi sat down on the veranda edge,

“Hasn’t Tsunekichi returned yet? It’s already two o’clock, isn’t it?” “That’s right. It’s already past two o’clock.” “Is lunch at our house always this late?”

“It’s always around this time.” “Usually half past one.” “That’s why we don’t even get five meals a day.” “True enough.” “Brother, what’s Tokyo like?” “Nothing special—just a dull place.” “But it must be bigger than Tokushima and more beautiful! Even than Kobe!” “Speaking of Tokushima—how many months were you there, Emiko?” “Not even a month and a half.” “Why did you go to Tokushima?” “Why? I couldn’t possibly speak of such things.”

“Since I’m your Brother, it’s alright to tell me, right?”

“That Stepmother—I can’t speak of it.” “There were... tangled matters there,” she said, bowing her head. Emiko’s hair was speckled with ash—likely from burning wheat straw under the large hearth. “Emiko, how can there be things you cannot tell me? Since I’m your brother, you must tell me!” “Please!” “Because Stepmother rebuked me too harshly—that’s why I fled to Tokushima.”

“Why?” “Because she hits and strikes me,” she mumbled, biting her sleeve. “So Stepmother is being unreasonable, huh?” “My sewing must be terribly poor. And she says there’s no reason I can’t do it—‘If you’re so inept, then you should go downstairs and let the maid come up to sew!’” Emiko hid her hands, chapped from water work. Eiichi’s eyes welled with tears. “What were you doing in Tokushima?” “I was acting as a substitute maid under Oume.”

“At Father’s place?” The brother turned his face away and wept. “Oume didn’t treat me cruelly…… I truly don’t want to speak of anything related to Tokushima,” she sobbed. “Why were you lingering in such a place?” “Because there was nowhere else for me to go—” “Emiko, weren’t there any maids at Father’s place?” “There were maids, but when I went there, they left after about two days, then came back and left again.” “The Komansan who came this time arrived three days before I returned.” “Oume isn’t being unreasonable.”

“Emiko, Oume—how old is she really? She’s making herself look young, but—” “She’s thirty-two as she is.” “She’s anxious because next year will be her calamitous year.” "My Mother must have succumbed to the thirty-third-year calamity—if only Mother were still alive." "She isn’t even a proper Elder Sister." "Not a single day passes without me wishing my Mother were alive." “If Mother were here, I wouldn’t have such painful worries—yet even so, I couldn’t properly attend school,” she said resentfully.

Eiichi had never felt affection for this younger sister since childhood, for she was neither as beautiful as his Elder Sister nor accomplished in her studies. But now he found her somehow pitiable too, and when he thought of how she skillfully navigated her relationship with her stepmother with a woman’s heart, he felt compelled to praise her as admirable. “Emiko, there’s no need to despair. I won’t be dawdling forever either—if you keep dwelling on Mother and such things endlessly, please stop worrying.”

“But even so, it’s still painful enough to die—” “There isn’t a single night I don’t enter my bedroom and cry.” “I cry every time I look at Mother’s photo—cry every time I look at Mother’s photo—though even if she were alive somewhere now, not by my side… I can’t help thinking that if I died, I might meet her again…… And since last spring, with these women’s troubles and all, I feel so stifled—so unbearably stifled.” “I had Shizuka secretly buy Chūjō-yu tonic for me and drank it many times over, but the effects never showed—even though I wanted to see a doctor, mentioning it would earn me scoldings, and there was no money.” “June, July, August—three whole months spent languishing in bed.” “Yet no one came to care for me—instead, Stepmother would say, ‘Emiko’s illness has no name.’” “‘Just a sickness of crying… That sort of ailment—why, if you’d just strengthen your resolve, it would clear up at once.’” “‘If it were me, I wouldn’t take to bed like that,’ she’d snap from dawn till dusk.” “In that moment, I truly wished to die—but couldn’t.” “Yet thinking how dying now would trouble both Brother and Father—I sold Mother’s keepsakes too… her golden hairpin and damask obi… scraped together medicine money… and forced myself to recover—” she recounted through tears. Eiichi was made to weep.

“In Tokushima, didn’t Father give you anything?” “When I was leaving, Oume gave me one old half-collar. “Just that.” “Then Emiko, how did you manage to get the five yen you gave me?” “I’ve had it since before.” “From selling clothes and such.” “When you say clothes—how do you sell them?” “There’s no Okiyo-san from Ushiyajima—there’s a granny who sells dried small fish.” “That person doesn’t do any favors—she sells them for me.”

A chicken passed through the main courtyard. "They were cheap, weren't they?" "Even if they were cheap, there was nothing to be done—life isn't something you can trade," she said, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "Emiko, did you sell any other mementos of Mother's?" When it came to his mother's mementos, he somehow felt reluctant and wanted to preserve them, which was why he had asked.

“Yes, I sold quite a lot,” said Emiko, her mournful tone rising slightly too high as she finally raised her face to gaze into Eiichi’s. A face that closely resembled Mother’s. The line from eyebrows to nose bridge, the tidy set of her mouth—every feature mirrored Mother’s, lovely and gentle. Those large double-lidded eyes—the warm gaze spilling from their dark pupils was unmistakably that of a woman.

“Brother, I think of you as Mother, so Brother, please cherish me. “I have no one to rely on but you, Brother,” she said, bowing her head again. Eiichi, being trusted this much by his sister who had been distant until now, thought that siblings were strange beings. He had no words to respond. As he remained silent,

“Brother!” she called. “What is it?” “Had Father still been sending you tuition funds?” “Ah, I was receiving them.” “Weren’t you troubled? Father built such a grand house, didn’t he? And despite existing debts all along—people must come demanding repayment constantly. Yet Father remains unperturbed... I believe I heard him say he’d stop sending you tuition funds.” “He isn’t shocked.” “He’d spend one hundred or two hundred yen on Oume’s finery without hesitation—yet acts as if sending Brother fifteen or twenty yen monthly is impossible! It’s unthinkable!”

"But such things are fine either way," Eiichi made it appear as though he didn't consider it a problem. "But since Brother entered a Christian school, Father has been furious about it." "I suppose so. I've grown too weary for anger or tears, Emiko," he said with a furrow between his brows. Emiko found this strange and fell silent.

After a moment, “Brother, has your illness completely healed now? But your complexion still looks poor,” she inquired. “If my lungs rest and I feast, they’ll heal naturally—but with no money, I can’t afford to recuperate. Lung disease and stomach disease are rich men’s ailments,” Eiichi said with a brief laugh. Emiko laughed too. Still laughing, she looked up at the sun.

“It’s such fine weather today,” she said.

The sound of geta clogs came from the gate. A man in his fifties wearing a tube-sleeved kimono entered. “Ah, Hikokichi has come again. “He’s here to spread Tenrikyo again—because Mother’s illness worsened. How embarrassing—I’ll go inside,” said my sister, closing the shoji screen. “If he saw my disheveled hair like this!” came her voice from behind the screen, followed by footsteps fading into the distance. Hikokichi approached the middle gate in the front garden, “Who do we have here—if it isn’t the Young Master? “An age since last I had the honor. “I’ve been neglectful in my visits. “Bunzō will be troubling your household again for some time. “...Five or six years since our last meeting—you’ve grown so splendidly I scarce recognized you. “Why, I’d surely pass you by on the road without knowing, I tell you! “I heard your condition worsened—what troubles you?” he proclaimed with perfect composure, bending at the waist, rubbing his hands together, and turning his head this way and that.

“Madam has been unwell again with something like rheumatism; her condition is truly poor.” “However, at present, there is nothing particularly amiss, so please rest assured,” he said courteously. There was something different about Tenrikyo followers. Eiichi also offered an appropriate greeting in return. “If I may say so, the weather is truly splendid today,” said Hikokichi, shifting his gaze from the white camellia tree to the sun while searching for the tobacco pouch at his waist. “Well, today has cleared up beautifully.—Please do take a seat here,” Shinmi urged.

“No, this will do quite nicely,” he said, settling onto the rock beneath the white camellia tree. “In Edo, there must indeed be many novel things—how many days has it been since you returned here?” “Yesterday——” he answered, but conversing face-to-face with Hikokichi felt somehow wearisome, his head growing heavy. Hikokichi kneaded the tobacco and transferred it to his large-bowled pipe while— “This five-needle pine has not withered,” he said. Eiichi,

“Ah, it has withered—” he answered briefly and continued, “Mr. Hikokichi, are you a Tenrikyo believer?” he asked. “Yes.” “What exactly is Tenrikyo?” he asked with a smile. “Well now, though I speak of Tenrikyo in one breath, I cannot explain it in mere fragments—yet it is quite an august teaching, I tell you,” he said, tapping ash from his pipe. Eiichi’s curiosity was slightly stirred.

“Might I ask you to tell me one thing? So, about that O-Miki woman they often mention—what kind of person is she?” “Well now, Nakayama Miki—the revered Princess of True Path Spreading Wisdom, that is to say, what the world calls Old Lady O-Miki—is none other than the founder of Tenrikyo, I tell you,” he said, puffing his upper eyelids slightly with an air of bashfulness. “Ah—Yamato Province, then—where Nakayama Miki was born.” “Well now, it’s in Samida Village, Yamabe District, Yamato Province, I tell you.”

“Has that person passed away long ago?” “No—she passed away on September 26, Meiji 20 [1887]. Now regarding Tenri-sama’s origins—Miki had been a beauty since childhood, and at thirteen was already wed to Zenbē Nakayama of Mishima district in Tanba City.” “This Zenbē’s household followed the carpentry trade, their marriage taking place on the fifteenth day of the ninth month in Bunka 7 [1810].” “They lived harmoniously as husband and wife and raised one son and five daughters.” “But when smallpox swept through in a great epidemic, all five children of the neighboring Adachi family—wealthy landowners—perished. Only their sixth son remained, said to have been nursed with Lady Miki’s own milk.” “Thus Lady Miki strained every effort to protect this child alone from death—yet he too fell to smallpox and met his end.” “Thereupon Lady Miki became convinced this was where divine succor might be sought, praying with all her strength to gods and buddhas alike.” “Then miraculously her entreaties were answered—the child revived.” “This marks Tenrikyo’s founding—though the Founder’s holy virtues remain beyond tallying… Lung diseases wholly cured… Bowel sufferers restored through Tenri-sama’s grace—such cases defy numbering.” “Beyond all counting!” he proclaimed proudly, thin lips stretching wide as he prattled on. There was an indefinable coarseness about Hikokichi that filled Eiichi with unutterable distaste. Yet recalling prophetesses like Deborah, he also weighed Miki’s self-awareness and far-reaching influence.

“So, what exactly does it mean when they sell their houses and bring [the proceeds] to the church?” “Well now, that was when Nakayama Miki, at forty years of age, resolved she absolutely must spread Tenri-sama’s teachings throughout the world—so she dedicated all her fields and tools to Tenri-sama.” “This being the origin, when one becomes a believer, everyone donates their houses and land to Tenri-sama, I tell you.” “No matter what they do to make pilgrimage to the headquarters in Yamato, it doesn’t cost a single penny—that’s how splendid it is, I tell you.” “As for me—this jaundice I’ve suffered for years—thanks to Tenri-sama’s grace, I’ve made full recovery now, and it’s truly a blessing, I tell you—” He spat, his final words trailing off. Eiichi somehow felt pity. Hikokichi wiped his lips with his hand as if they’d soured and spoke again.

“The headquarters in Yamato is truly grand—I made a pilgrimage there last year—why, even if I were to speak of Kyoto’s Hongan-ji or Chion-in, they wouldn’t hold a candle to it, I tell you! The New Year’s sacred mirror rice cakes are enormous ones measuring one or even two koku in size, I tell you. When they’re distributed, they’re sawn into small pieces with a lumber-cutting saw, I tell you. They make zōni stew from it for everyone to eat, so it’s no trifling matter, I tell you.” A bee emerged from the white camellia’s half-scattered blossoms. It was quiet.

“Then that would be the principle of universal brotherhood, wouldn’t it?” “Humanity’s origin does not stem from the two deities Izanagi and Izanami,” Hikokichi spat again, scraping the spittle away with his geta. He fell silent for a moment, his swollen eyelids drooping downward. Eiichi stared fixedly at him—the bluish complexion streaked with white hairs, soiled cylindrical sleeves, white tabi socks revealing big toe tips, the faded navy threading through his black Kogura-stiff obi. “In Tenrikyo, are the gods Izanagi and Izanami?”

“There are ten deities, but these ten deities separated from the two deities of the sun and moon—well now, one could say there are two deities in essence,” Hikokichi said. Hearing footsteps at the gate, he stood up briefly and peered through the ornamental lattice gaps in the fence. Tsunekichi returned. Eiichi merely fixed his gaze on his toes.

"Ten Deities? Separated from two deities?... The bride called Concept gave birth to the child called Fantasy, and Fantasy's child in turn conceived a god. Those who spoke of religion and ideals had to lose even their very selves. Therefore...to prevent the self from hiding, he gathered all selves at the tips of his feet. The toes were the reality of the objective world. One must not lose oneself in concepts. Reality? The shadow of reality danced at his toes—such thoughts swirled through his mind. His vision grew dull; shapes and colors became disordered in various ways. His mind emptied of all thought. Only time and shadow drifted meaninglessly. A dragonfly flew in."

Hikokichi was smoking tobacco. At that moment, Tsunekichi peeked through the middle gate, saw that the Young Master was there, and entered. "Oh, Mr. Hikokichi?" I wondered who it was. "Another Tenrikyo sermon?" "Ahahaha!" he laughed. "What nonsense are you spouting? I've come back because—" "Tsunekichi's been acting a bit odd lately too, hasn't he?" All three laughed. Tsunekichi immediately turned serious,

“Young Master, the Mayor and Madam have most graciously conveyed their wishes.” “Was Father present?”

"He returned at noon and had the honor of meeting." "What did you do with the luggage?" "They will keep it, so he commanded that you be told to come to town today without fail." "They told me to come?" "Is that so?" "Thank you very much." "I'm truly sorry to have sent you on this errand." "What about lunch?" he asked politely, though anxiety drove his words.

"Yes. We had it in town." "Tsune-san," he said, fixing him with a gaze. "You lingered and treated yourself to a meal, didn’t you? Why stay till evening? Off buying some Twopenny Princess from behind the wall?" He laughed—"Aha"—and lit his tobacco. Tsunekichi reached out and flicked the matchbox to the floor. "Tenri-Ō-no-Mikoto, save us..." he chuckled, then hurriedly added, "Will there be anything else, Young Master?" before darting out through the middle gate. Hikokichi gathered the scattered matches while—

“Now Tsunekichi’s gone and done something bad again, ehehe. He’s a hopeless one.” “No matter how much you revere Tenri-sama, you ought to at least stop Tsune from his mischief.” “Ahahaha!” “You’ve even made your wife bear children, yet still act troublemaking—how old are you?” “Thirty.” “Still young.” “Mr. Hikokichi—” Tsunekichi called, clapping his hands palms-outward. “Sell the mansion, take loans, pawn the fields! Tenri-Ō-no-Mikoto!” He sneered “Ahahaha…” and walked toward the Nishinaya stable. The horse neighed as someone came with its midday feed.

Yoshitaka finished school and returned home. He briefly stuck his head out from the middle gate, “Brother, I’m home,” he said curtly and entered through the entrance into the interior. Hikokichi remarked, “My, how our little master has grown!” “If we leave for town now,” came the response about someone’s growth—presumably self-deprecating humor masked as formality—“will we arrive before sunset?” “Plenty of time yet,” came Hikokichi’s reassurance. “Lord Sun still rides high.” “Then let us depart now. Do come inside first though—Mr.Hikokichi.”

“Yes, thank you.” The two entered inside. In the Nishinaya, a song could be heard. “Ah... Wanna sleep—better just sleep—” “Better yet sleep with a lord—even sweeter—shon gae...”

The horse was also neighing.

VIII

When he arrived at Tamiya Beach, the low tide had left the entire shore exposed. Tatsu’s parent had ferried them across, but when he asked about Tatsu in the boat, they said with a laugh that he had died of dysentery. He felt no sense of comfort. Crossing over to Shinden, he passed through his family's moorland for about two chō. There was a time when I had come to this moorland as a child with female companions to pick susuki flowers. Among them was Lady Tsuruko Tamiya, enthusiastically gathering stalks. I gave all thirty or forty susuki flowers I had picked to Lady Tsuruko. Then the next day at school, everyone teased me. Another time I found a skylark's nest here and left it untouched, but when I returned the following day someone had already destroyed it.

The reed sprouts were budding forth with the arrival of spring. Birch brown, blue, and russet blended together beautifully. A skylark's song could be heard. Fourteen or fifteen chō ahead, a large embankment could be seen. Up to that point, it was all wheat fields. They were bearing grain abundantly. When he looked back, Furuta’s embankment was covered with thicket. Under it flowed blue water, and on Tamiya Beach stood a zelkova tree—its trunk four or five arm spans thick—sprouting indescribably beautiful buds. Upstream, Tokushima's Shiroyama stood clearly visible. There were no boats passing through the river. Only at the reed fields along the riverbank near Furuta did the wind pass through, rippling waves across the new, slender blue-green leaves that had emerged this year.

The reed fields ended, and he passed through his family’s wheat fields toward the western Shinden paddies. No sooner had he thought the skylark’s song resembled cicadas than it ceased mid-trill and dropped from sight. The prospect of facing Father in Tokushima tightened his chest. If only he could build a hut in this sunlit field and commune with nature—that would bring him nearer to God. But this skylark-filled field wasn’t the entire world. Nor was rural life the sum of existence. Eiichi kept walking the ridge path, thoughts churning.

What was there to fear in Father’s anger? What did Oume’s persecution matter? Eiichi was a man. A Meiji-era knight-errant idealist. One who bore the responsibility to cast off all positions of authority and bring forth peace and equality. For eternal peace and equality’s sake, he must never relinquish fire and sword. He carried within him the fervor of Christ who had cried out: “to set father against child, son-in-law against bride, bride against mother-in-law.” The customary patriarchal system! What was a father? In the Apocrypha, Christ had declared: “Call no man on earth your father; for one alone is your Father—He who dwells in heaven.” This was it. What was a father? What was authority?

While pondering those matters, I climbed up the embankment. A high embankment that I estimated to be five or six ken tall. This embankment had been newly built after breaking in a flood when I was small. There was a time when I came with Tatsu, Hatsu-chan, and Ichi-chan to collect the golden rectangular crystals—about one or two bu in size—clinging to the bluish foundation stones. As my thoughts wandered further, I recalled carving wax stones; being locked in the storehouse by my sister and urinating inside; falling from the sudachi tree in our yard; how two indigo merchants from Echizen came and enshrined Aizen-san in our alcove to worship; then when Ichikawa Ichijuro came touring the countryside and performed Banzuiin Chōbei at Ushiyajima—how we imitated it by staging plays under the eaves of Nishira's stable and Mr. Ichikawa Kaniichi's storehouse.

Thinking back to that time, I found myself laughing alone—. I had sneaked out Elder Sister’s kimono from our house, brought out a mirror and white powder from the dressing room, and applied my makeup in the dim light beneath the Yoriki window—intending to transform into a woman—before appearing on the sundeck stage to wait for the straw-mat curtain to open. Soon enough, the curtain parted. Only the woman had come out, but the man wouldn’t readily appear. I entered the storehouse again and urged Kaniichi to hurry out. Lord Kaniichi was putting on the clothes I had discarded—inside out—while applying three or four red circles on his face and tightening his obi. When he finished tightening it,

“You come out after me, Bōbō,” he said, appearing on stage. And then he kept repeating something like “Etsasassa, etsasassa,” apparently pretending to go on an errand. Both the girls and boys watching were all laughing. Wanting to make them laugh too, I peeked once more into the mirror—and finding myself beautiful after all—grasped the hem of Elder Sister’s long silk garment. With bowed head, I made my entrance with an utterly wilted air. Of course, my hair was Ichi-chan’s black apron tied up into a bun. However, unexpectedly, this seemed to impress everyone. Lady Tsuruko, who was watching from the back, said to Mr. Sakae Kawakami,

“How beautiful.” I heard her whisper. I grew ashamed at Lady Tsuruko’s words, but didn’t know what to do on stage. Yet I remember Kaniichi’s lackey binding me, kicking and stomping as he dragged me backstage. During the intermission, as I washed off the white powder—intending to transform into Katō Kiyomasa again—Lady Tsuruko slipped in alone. “How lovely you were as a woman,” she praised, hastily tucking something into my pocket. I didn’t know what it was—a thin square of cardstock. “Don’t you dare tell anyone,” she declared before slipping out. Fortunately, Mr. Kaniichi had gone home for costumes while Ichi-chan and Shinichi-chan adjusted the straw-mat curtain onstage—so none of the others noticed.

Having gone outside, Lady Tsuruko called out to Mr. Sakae Kawakami,

“I just went to look—Shinmi’s Bōbō has become Katō Kiyomasa this very moment! You must go see for yourself!” she shouted. At this, the storehouse abruptly burst into commotion as six or seven girls came flooding in. Among them was Mr. Kaniichi, who had gone to fetch the costumes—yet returned empty-handed, bringing neither garments nor anything else.

“Let’s stop, Bōbō—Mother scolded us,” he said as he came. And so the play came to an end. I had been doted on and praised by Lady Tsuruko, and on top of that, the play we had planned couldn’t be performed—ending up abandoned midway—so with my heart pounding the way it does in moments of cowardice, I made my way home. And when I looked at the thick paper I had received from Lady Tsuruko, it was a scenic photograph of Suma. However, after performing this play—with summer vacation approaching and consequently being unable to grow closer to Lady Tsuruko—I went to play at the Hyogo shop instead; whether it was love or mutual affection or something else I cannot say, but the beautiful sentiments of childhood were temporarily suspended. Even after returning in September, the rumor in the village that Lady Tsuruko was fond of Bōbō had grown so widespread that I became too ashamed to even look at her face. In April of the following year—after I entered middle school—we could no longer keep in touch at all; when I think of such things, the past feels somehow lonely. If the beauty I saw yesterday was indeed Lady Tsuruko, then somehow an even stranger resonance stirs within my chest.

And then, as I crossed the long, meandering slope of Kita Shitaraki and walked toward Kita Village, various memories from the past came welling up. I recalled stealing sugar from the closet; painting a copper coin black to pass it off as a one-mon piece; stuffing matchboxes with soybean flour I loved and gobbling it down while hiding beside the front storehouse; though I'd be scolded for buying snacks, how I'd steal five-rin or one-sen coins to frequently purchase 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 temple. I recalled those summer nights when mosquitoes devoured me without letting me sleep a wink; how on the 21st for Daishi's festival day, I'd receive two or three sen spending money and go worship with Hatsu-chan, Ichi-chan, and the young monk from Nishira's new house; how I carried seven pouches back then; then the torchlight processions on summer nights for driving away insects—the custom of shouting "Lord Sanemori is passing through!" while extinguishing pine torches at the village edge, something they didn't do in Higashiumazume but performed yearly in Ōtani along the mountain path, which I watched through the lattice of the back room; and also how, at summer's end and autumn's beginning when the world grew quiet and cool winds blew through rice fields, the practicing lion dance drums along the mountain path would startle me awake—the small drums piercing like eardrums bursting, the large drums muffled as if tugging earlobes—lonely yet somehow crystalline in sound, making my twelve- or thirteen-year-old heart fear that my stepmother, elder sister, and I—the three of us in the household—might be attacked by something and vanish at any moment. Then what comes to mind is the Bon Jizo dance. In the garden of Sahē of Ishikawa—the oblong-faced village caretaker who was always smiling—they stacked five or six cooling platforms, erected four bamboo pillars atop them, stretched curtains around, started rhythmic chants, and to that beat everyone danced in perfect coordination. Most of the dancers wore woven hats, but there were also some who struck strange poses. The chants skillfully incorporated highlights from pieces like "The Tenth Chapter of Taikōki" and "The Third Chapter of Nino Gunki," with Masu-san of Nishira regularly handling the shamisen, while the young men performing the chants along with Masu-san would ascend the platform.

"Yoooi, yoooi, yoitokosa, Dawn breaks—the temple bell—rings…" And so they began. There had been a time when I too practiced the tenth chapter of Taikōki under Masu-san’s father and once ascended the stage, but my voice failed to project sufficiently over the shamisen, so we stopped midway—receiving nothing but a plain fan as consolation prize before returning home disappointed. When I think back on all these things, it occurs to me that what we call a person's past is ultimately a shameful thing.

I entered Kita Village and boarded a carriage. Eiichi entered his father’s house in Tokushima Honmachi a little past five o’clock. The city was somehow restless.

9

Four days had already passed since Eiichi had become an elementary school teacher. As his father was away in Tokyo on official city business, he finished dinner earlier than usual and went out for a walk.

It had been exactly one week since his return from Tokyo, and that day was a Saturday. In the town, students began trickling out for walks. He strolled as far as Sako, and since the sun had completely set, he was trudging back through Higashishinmachi. When he came to the corner of Ichōme, a crowd of people stood under the eaves, and the sound of hymns could be heard from within. When Eiichi stood to peer inside, there was an earthen-floored room measuring four ken in frontage and approximately five ken in depth, with about ten benches placed within. On these, children sat packed together. The two-ken width to the right of the front was boarded up with planks, before which stood a crude ladder leading up to the second floor. Next to the ladder hung a sheet of paper with hymns written in large characters, while the left two-ken area was recessed with tatami mats laid out. In front of this zashiki was a veranda about three shaku wide. On this too, girls jostled to sit down. In the center of the zashiki stood a desk draped with a white tablecloth; to its right loomed a large organ; above this organ hung a lamp with a rusted tin shade; on the adjacent yellow wall hung an aged Jewish map; the shoji screens at the rear of the zashiki bore brown paper torn in places. In the center of both walls stood exposed slender, sooty columns riddled with wormholes. On the right pillar, pasted together with washi paper spanning about four shaku, was written in cramped characters: "Bible Study Group—Every Tuesday at 7:00 PM at the residence of Matsukenji 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 side, pushed into the corner, sat a roasted sweet potato vendor’s cart.

Passersby would invariably peek inside the preaching hall at least once. When one peered inside, the first thing that caught the eye was a beautiful woman of about twenty—or perhaps eighteen or nineteen—teaching hymns to children. Her hair was styled in marcel waves, and she wore purple hakama. Her eyes were large and black, with double eyelids and a double chin—a woman of plump, prosperous appearance. As for the shape of her eyebrows, they formed curves so beautiful they defied description. Her cheeks held a rosy hue, completing features of unadorned simplicity.

Eiichi thought to himself, "Lady Tsuruko..." and slipped into the crowd of twenty or thirty curious onlookers to peer inside. The hymn ended, and the children on the benches began making a commotion. A twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy acting as their leader had five or six subordinates arguing over seating space. After a moment, the leader advanced to the veranda edge and drove away the girls, whereupon all five or six followers complied. From within their group came a shrill voice— When someone began singing "For our struggle is not against flesh...", it infected them all and they started belting it out loudly. They ended by simply shouting "Whoo-hey!" Those standing at the entrance and those seated on benches all laughed. A Western-suited man who appeared to be a pastor—about fifty years old with hair parted an inch wide, sporting an eight-shaped mustache above broad lips whose right side twisted slightly downward—stood before the table holding an open small New Testament. The children continued making an uproar.

The pastor politely cautioned, “I will begin my talk now, so please quiet down, children.” 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 walked out. All his underlings mimicked the gesture and followed. This was their imitation of the pastor’s distinctive features. Once outside, they began shouting, “Crooked mouths! Crooked mouths!”

One of the girls noticed Eiichi’s presence, “The new teacher!” she whispered. Then, within moments, they all began feigning meekness. However, this pretense lasted only briefly; as one left, then two left, until most of the children had fled away. The pastor finished his silent prayer and said, “We will sing one hymn,” while turning over each sheet of paper hanging next to the ladder one by one. Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus—for salvation Do not leave even me behind—receive me in, O Thou

O Lord, O Lord, hearken Thou The broken heart’s supplications to Thee Then, selecting the hymn written first, he showed it to the beautiful woman, saying, "This one." The beautiful woman sat down before the organ and began to play and sing. The hymn seeped into Shinmi's very being. The song ended, and the beautiful woman sat in the shadow of the table with her head bowed. The pastor began his sermon. As the sermon progressed considerably, those who had formed a dark cluster before the lecture hall began to leave—one by one, then two by two—until only five remained seated on the benches. A short-statured woman around forty years old, with her hair done in a marumage bun, sat at the very front; this woman seemed to have drunk some sake, her face red as she dozed off. Immediately behind her sat the landlord of this lecture hall and the master of the neighboring Yoshida Tailor Shop, holding a sleeping girl of about three years old and pretending to listen. Against the wall on the left-side bench sat a twenty-five or twenty-six-year-old youth wearing a straight-sleeved kimono fastened with a white cloth sash. A man with pockmarks and a limp. This was the caretaker of this lecture hall, closing his eyes to pray as if piously receiving some divine inspiration, then opening them to focus on the pastor’s words.

Sitting two benches away from the tailor shop owner was a youth of about twenty-one or twenty-two—also wearing a straight-sleeved kimono with a black heko obi, his trim build clad in geta whose wide, paper-thin soles resembled bamboo shoot husks, fastened with vertical palm-fiber cords. He appeared to be a laborer. The other was Shinmi Eiichi, wearing a kasuri-patterned haori as he sat on the bench behind the lecture hall's caretaker with a somewhat restless demeanor. Besides these, in the shadow of the desk, Tsuruko was listening.

The pastor was extremely earnest. At one moment he would shift his gaze as if addressing the brooding laborer youth; in the next instant, turn as though speaking to Eiichi—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. Those eyes burned with flame. When the rickshaw puller departed with a loud creak, at the sound Tsuruko slightly raised her head and looked out at the street.

The sermon was a long one, lasting about an hour. When the sermon ended, the beautiful woman reappeared before the organ. The sake-drinking woman with the marumage chignon awoke. Then she stood up with a swish and departed. The final hymn went: Overflowing with divine grace—Immanuel’s In the fountain of blood and water, wash away sins Even the thieves upon the cross Seeing this fountain, they rejoiced Thus went the hymn. As he listened, Shinmi felt as though he had truly become a disciple of Jesus. Lady Tsuruko’s high voice pierced sharply through his chest. Eiichi closed his eyes and listened intently to Lady Tsuruko’s chanting. When the hymn ended, the pastor began to pray. Yet while keeping his eyes closed, Eiichi pondered many things.

Christ was tempted atop the great tower of the capital—told, "Thou, go on and jump from here"—and yet He did not jump; that was cowardly. If I had the courage to leap down, I would kneel before Him... But since life lacks such tower-leaping courage, I am wearied. Had Christ jumped then, all life's problems would have been solved. If human, being human would have sufficed. The world wanders lost solely because Christ refrained from leaping. Even were the Apocrypha to write that angels caught Him mid-fall—people would laugh and call it miracle—since Christ was fated for crucifixion regardless, He should have shown us humans how to die like ephemeral mayflies when death comes. He leads the world astray. We grow weary. Philosophers without fervor all fall asleep. Therefore—might we not need Elijah's fire... Let us keep iron tongs eternally aflame. Rip open the slumbering philosopher's mouth, yank out that flaccid tongue, thrust blazing tongs into it with terrible force... When seared blood fills the mouth, you taste salt-bitter iron. My jaw twitches sporadically. My medulla grows leaden. The nerve center birthing fantastical philosophies crumbles. What remains can only spawn mathematical philosophies stacked like stones. In short—unless humans rage mad-eyed—no philosophical systems arise... yet I'm exhausted. Having returned from Tokyo, I've grown sick unto death of people. I want only to curse life itself...

When the prayer concluded, those who joined in "Amen" were two people: the caretaker and Lady Tsuruko. The pastor, having finished praying, immediately slipped on his geta and came over to Eiichi. He bowed politely,

“Excuse me, but have you heard of Christianity before?”

"Haah," he answered lightly, glancing at Tsuruko before looking down again and fidgeting with his fingers. "Where did you hear about it?"

“I was in Tokyo until a week ago.” “Were you attending school there?” “Yes.” “Which school?” “Meiji Gakuin.” “Ah, I see. So you were at Meiji Gakuin? Then are you a believer?”

Tsuruko approached. “Well, I’m not yet a believer, but…” “Please do come visit my home as well. I reside behind Toorimachi Church.” “Excuse me, but where is your residence?” he continued asking. Tsuruko moved closer to the pastor,

“Mr. Hashimoto, pardon my intrusion,” she said with a polite bow. “Goodnight,” and made to leave. “Ms. Tamiya, shall we walk back together? Please wait a moment—are you in haste?” “Not at all,” Tsuruko answered, then noticing the lame caretaker struggling with the front door, went to assist him. Eiichi replied, “In Tokushima Honmachi,” when— “Which part of Tokushima Honmachi do you reside in?” she inquired.

“Shinmi,” he answered, but Hashimoto apparently didn’t realize he was the mayor’s son. “Are you perhaps near a laundry shop?” she inquired.

“Next to the laundry shop.”

“Then you’re Mr. Mayor’s—” “Yes.” Tsuruko, who had closed the door and stood outside, peered inside upon hearing "Shinmi" followed by "mayor." She then exclaimed in surprise, "I... no—I truly hadn't recognized you. I must apologize!" she cried, rushing back in. For Tsuruko, bowing to this young handsome man felt undeniably sinful—yet

"Is that you, Mr. Shinmi? You've grown so much I hardly recognized you," she said with a laugh, bowing politely. "Ah, Lady Tsuruko," Eiichi replied as he rose to greet her. "Have you been well all this time?" "And you?" Pastor Hashimoto chuckled as well. "Ms. Tamiya, are you acquainted with Mr. Shinmi?" "Why yes—we were classmates from opposite ends of the same village... Mr. Shinmi is even distantly related... But it's been so long since last we met that I'd completely forgotten." "You've grown quite tall, Mr. Shinmi."

She spoke with effortless gestures and a charming way of speaking. “Has it been long since you last met?” “Let me see—it must be about seven years now.” “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Shinmi?” “Indeed. It must have been seven years.”

The three of them crossed Shinmachibashi Bridge together and returned through Toorimachi. From Nichōme, Tsuruko and Eiichi made their way back while talking as the two of them.

The night air was cold.

Ten

The gate was closed. It was already half past nine. The Shinmi household typically retired early to rise at dawn, but with the master away tonight, they had gone to bed even earlier than usual. He had the houseboy Kichisaburo let him in, but the indoor air hung oppressively heavy, and the smell of the walls turned his stomach. When he peered into the back, an andon lamp was lit. Oume lay sleeping on this side, Masunori on that. Half past nine meant he was half an hour past curfew. Yet Oume showed no sign of reprimanding him. Having met Tsuruko and felt newly stirred, Eiichi resolved to begin studying immediately.

"The lamp!" I had to open the closet door and take out the lamp. Opening that large closet door made a fierce noise. I'll disrupt Oume's peaceful sleep! Half past nine! Thinking 'This studying now will surely get me scolded tomorrow morning,' I timidly took out the lamp from the entrance closet. "Matches! The kitchen corner." Searching without making a sound, I found none there. He went and took matches from the back andon stand's tray. When trying to ascend to the second floor, persimmon-tanned paper had been laid on the steps. Muttering to himself about stinginess, he began climbing as quietly as possible, but the new house made its wood groan with every step.

"Since I'm going up to study, it's fine if it creaks," he declared boldly as he ascended without minding his footsteps, but the groaning only intensified until it seemed to shake every corner of the house like a great tremor. "This was ill-considered," he thought while continuing upward despite the noise, straining his ears for any sign of Oume's scolding voice from below—the situation felt absurdly comical. Before long came Oume's shrill cry from beneath: "Who do you think you are, thundering up to the second floor like that? People are trying to sleep!"

"I did wrong, but how insolent—'Who do you think you are?' She knows it's me," I thought, but... "Yes, it's me," she replied meekly. "Brother? Starting your studies now?" After answering "Yes," he thudded up the stairs, paying no mind to whatever Oume might say, and slid open the fusuma door to his study. In the study too, a persimmon tannin paper underlay had been spread out. Eiichi was not a little surprised. "Oume thinks I have no sense of beauty whatsoever. Ah well... Oh, I forgot to close the door again tonight. Tomorrow morning I'll have to listen to another scolding. I wonder if Lady Tsuruko is still studying?" he thought, sliding open a door to look northwest where a two-story house still had its door open, lamplight glowing within. A black shadow flickered on the shoji screen.

That was a woman’s shadow. If he were to remove just one shoji screen, Lady Tsuruko of Magaretto would appear. The woman was adorable—he wanted to fly over there…… But he should study. With that, Eiichi slammed the door shut and sat down at his desk. The lamp oil was low, and the chimney hadn’t been cleaned. The thought that even Kichisaburo looked down on him made his blood boil. The inkstone box had also been changed. When he thought about having gone out for a walk, he felt sorrowful about walking; when he thought that the room’s condition had changed within three hours, he hated time.

"But complaining is not humanity's duty." I should try writing something in my meditation journal—though my thoughts lack coherence tonight, this issue demands obtaining a complete resolution as soon as possible... Didn't I just hear a voice from below? I get the feeling that Oume bastard is coming up to the second floor—is it my imagination? Well, I'll just grind some ink... What's with this brush? Frayed and worn-out. Wait.—Well, I'll endure it—I'll try writing something. Eiichi took up the brush, opened a notebook containing roughly three hundred sheets of manuscript paper, and wrote "The Reality Conception of Materialism (May 12)."

The ink was too thin. The characters bled. Such vulgar ink! Even something large would be worse than dung if its quality were poor; even a scrap from Kobai-en would be better. It was abuse... Well, he'd endure it. But they really did abuse him in every possible way. Bastard! How impudent he thought as he set down his brush. The concept of electrical matter advanced its research with tremendous velocity. I recently saw in a certain newspaper an article discussing the form of electrons. In the near future, a time may come when human self-awareness is explained through this electron theory.—

"Hmm, don't I hear a voice from below? I think Oume is coming up to the second floor, but why should I care? I will study. Abuse? What abuse could there possibly be? I will study, rising above both pessimism and optimism. I will develop all of my abilities. What has no such meaning as 'For' or 'And'. The philosopher who seeks truth is transparent. In oneself exists neither color nor fragrance, neither tears nor joy, neither contours nor shadows. It is merely transparent glass. It has no relation to the dust and grime of the mundane world... Yet Tsuruko is beautiful, lovely, and pitiable. Brother is being transferred to the post office in Taiwan this time? Parting must be painful. The sole elder brother is going to Taiwan, where the climate is unfavorable. I sympathize. Lady Tsuruko said that as soon as the girls' high school was established, she was admitted to the second year. Now she's completing the supplementary course... And then—"

"However, even when that time comes, the teleological view contained within self-awareness cannot be conquered by blind mechanical theory. Being relative, it is ultimately impossible to prove that ions—manifested within mysterious spacetime and containing infinite reality, namely what Kant termed Ding an sich—constitute absolute reality.—" Thinking of Kant’s phenomenology and Hamilton’s relativism, he felt as if cold water had been poured down his spine.…

The day Lady Tsuruko received her baptism was February 21 of last year—a day that ought to have been blessed. When I touched upon socialism in our conversation, she mentioned having read Mr. Abe Isoo's Suisei and the Heiminsha's LaSalle. Her face lit up when I spoke of attending Meiji Gakuin! Though she seemed faintly disappointed when I confessed I wasn't a believer, her words—"Yet isn't it strange how both you and I still lend our ears to Christ?"—set my heart aquiver. Christ stands truly magnificent. He embodies love's most sacred symbol across all creation. Yet epistemology remains deaf to entreaty. Cognition knows naught of God—...were this materialist conception of reality ever resolved, were one to declare that some idealistic deity wrought the world through divine power, then would I believe in Christ. Tch—there I went wandering through fantasy again.

"...When we perceive reality, the perceiver being energy constitutes an evident fact. Even when discussing electron forms, these remain subjective fantasies or assumptions; while we may posit ions with form as objective facts, modern psychology forbids recognizing them as absolute reality. Should we deem this Force blind, our consciousness must then be its evolved manifestation. Yet cognition remains relative—to comprehend mechanistic perspectives requires teleological understanding..."

This was getting tedious. With this line of reasoning of mine, I might end up in idealism. Delving into epistemology would be troublesome. The brush wouldn't move. There was no room left in my mind to contemplate philosophy. Tsuruko had completely occupied everything. ......Yet for a philosopher to be in such a state was problematic. If I intended to contribute to Japan's philosophical world, I had to become more impartial and dispassionate. This century was the time when—as Karl Marx said—philosophers must emerge and resolve society from its very foundations. The world was seeking a true philosophical system in place of prophets. ......It was no use. To have philosophy stolen by love! The world's greatest philosophers were all ascetic celibates. Not to mention Christ and Buddha—Epictetus, Augustine, Spinoza, Leibniz, Kant, Hume, Locke, Mill, Schopenhauer too. And what of Buddhism and Christianity's many saint-philosophers—could I alone not break free from carnal desires and firmly grasp reason's key? ......But which was more fundamental—reason or carnal desire? If philosophy was the most fundamental thing, then flesh was philosophy's most sacred aspect......I had already been captured by Tsuruko.

I need not expound much on views of women. Men too are girls. Men give birth to women again. I want to bear a child! I want to bear a child! I somehow feel like wanting to bear a child after falling in love. For the first time since being born, I am thinking of such a thing. How would I ever have a child? Among all artistic creations, could there possibly exist a work as magnificent as bearing a child? A human child is plump and bounces around! Love! Procreation! There’s no need to write six or seven hundred pages about views on women like Mr. Igakoma Kichirō. Love! I want to be with a woman! I shall resolve all philosophy. Echoing in the depths of my ears are Tsuruko’s final words from when we parted just now!

“Good night!” My body went completely limp. I, who had only interacted with maids, inn attendants, and milk hall ladies, found myself walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the beautiful Lady Tsuruko on our way back—the tumult within my heart at that moment. I suddenly wanted to leap forward, embrace her, and take her into Shiroyama Forest—Lady Tsuruko was so gentle—at the very least, I wanted to hold her hand when we parted. But at the voice saying “love detached from flesh,” my hand timidly shrank back. She is my idol. I cannot do anything impure. Yet again, I couldn’t bring myself to reach out, intimidated by her dignity. I want to hold her hand. But to transcend carnal desire?… In the end, I am one who suffers. If I were to catch even a glimpse of Lady Tsuruko’s face in such moments—ah, I would just go to sleep and cling to her in my dreams. “Ah, I’m sleepy!” Eiichi exclaimed, sticking his legs under the desk and lying on his back.

"Ah, I miss Lady Tsuruko." "If only someone would go call..." he murmured, curling up and covering his face with both hands. At that very moment, suddenly—

“Brother, you should go to bed now,” came a voice from beyond the sliding door at the entrance.

Eiichi sprang up reflexively, leaned against the desk, and looked behind him. However, Oume was not there. It was his own nerves. So I thought I might try reading again, but my head felt heavy and I couldn’t muster the courage to read. And, "Ah, I miss Lady Tsuruko. If I’m this lovesick, I shouldn’t have parted from her in the first place," he thought as he lay on his back. He occasionally glanced toward the entrance, worried that Oume might find him lying on his back like that, but she showed no signs of coming upstairs. And then, for a while, he lay there imagining Tsuruko’s appearance and gestures,

“Good night, Brother. Get into the futon—” came a voice from the entrance. When he looked toward the entrance, there stood Oume in her nightgown. Startled, he sat up abruptly, planted both elbows on the desk, and hung his head in silence. “Brother, if you keep sleeping like that and end up kicking over the lamp on the desk with your feet—if you started a fire, it would be disastrous. It’s dangerous with Father away.” "You know, it’s said you should sleep early at night and rise early in the morning." “Brother, go downstairs already and go to bed!”

“Start a fire?” He thought of retorting grandly but remained silent. “Brother, “Brother, you should go to bed now.” Eiichi did not even show his face. “It’s already eleven o’clock,” Oume said, but Eiichi made no move to stand. Oume tossed over her shoulder, “Go on to bed now,” and started down the ladder stairs—but then turned back again, “Brother, there’s no floor mat in this sitting room.” “Since the tatami are new, placing desks or bookshelves will leave impressions and soil the clean tatami.” “Kichisaburo and I briefly took it out from the storehouse and laid it down in the evening.” “Since you’ve been silent this whole time, I can’t tell—but if you’re angry about the floor mat issue, please don’t get upset over such a trivial reason,” she continued making excuses.

Eiichi briefly turned his face toward Oume and scrutinized her from her feet to her head. Oume, “Brother, I’m going downstairs now, so please come down soon,” she started to leave but turned back again, opening the window shutters to check whether the door was properly closed. “It was Kichisaburo who closed it.” “Young Master didn’t close them in the evening—” she said, staring fixedly at Eiichi’s profile. Eiichi directed a sharp gaze at Oume. So Oume,

“You should go to bed now,” she said, starting to go downstairs—but when she reached the sliding door partition, Eiichi was laughing. Perhaps thinking she was being laughed at, “That’s such an unpleasant way to laugh…” And then, perhaps wanting some sort of revenge, she paused to consider, “Brother, haven’t you come down yet? I’ll take the lamp down and put it out, so you go on ahead,” she tried saying, but there was no reply. “If you stay up too late, you’ll neglect the fire watch—so I’m putting out this lamp now,” she declared menacingly. She approached Eiichi’s spot and blew out the lamp.

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

Eleven

Three days later, it was Tuesday evening. Shinmi stood vacantly before the stern gate, neither looking at the people passing by nor engaging in any particular thought, idly passing the time—when suddenly he noticed two children running toward him from the direction of Fukushima Bridge. The first child wore a navy-blue tube-sleeved garment—faded to a pale indigo from repeated washing and torn in places—with straw sandals as large as boats on his feet. The child was about ten or eleven years old and looked mischievous. In his hand, he held an old patterned hand towel wrapped around some grains. The obi had come undone, perhaps from running.

The child chasing from behind appeared to be from a respectable middle-class family. He was barefoot. Shinmi had discerned that the first child was being tormented by the one behind him, and was about to go intervene when the two came running near the corner of Shinmi’s estate—whereupon the second child suddenly shoved the poor boy in front of him. The poor child threw 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 cry at all, but upon seeing the rice from his hand towel scattered, he let out a loud cry. The child who had pushed him away swelled with triumph. With a triumphant “Woo-hee!”, he dashed back toward the distant cluster of children gathered across town, raising a victory cry.

Shinmi smiled faintly and approached the child. Pitifully, the child merely watched the retreating figure of the mischievous urchin running off toward town, crying plaintively. “There, there, you mustn’t cry. You’re adorable,” Eiichi repeated, shaking out the child’s clothes. As soon as that figure vanished into the crowd, the child spread out the hand towel and began gathering up the scattered rice, sand, and pebbles all together. And under his breath, “If I go home, Dad’ll get mad at me, waaah—” he cried. Sympathizing, Eiichi helped the child gather the scattered rice and asked him:

“Where is your home?” He asked this two or three times, but the child stubbornly refused to answer. After asking four or five times, finally, “That way,” he pointed with his chin without specifying the exact place. But under his breath, he continued, “If I go home, Dad’ll get mad at me,” he sobbed. “Well then, shall I take you home?” The child shook his head with an “Uh-uh.” “If I bring a stranger there, I’ll get scolded,” he muttered again under his breath.

“Why?” “It’s just—” he hurriedly gathered the scattered rice. Then showing a demeanor of rejection toward Shinmi, he sprang to his feet and started running. Shinmi reached out to grab the child,

“I’ll go with you and make excuses for you, okay?” he offered kindly, but the child kept running silently without answering. He caught up again with the fleeing child, “Your father will scold you for spilling all that rice. I’ll go to your house and apologize to your father. You’ve stopped crying now.” This time the child didn’t resist Eiichi. Yet he still wept quietly. Matching his steps to the child’s pace as they walked together, Eiichi inquired: “Why did that boy push you like that?... Where’s that boy from?”

“The kid from the Iwagaki Chifu household.”

“What’s wrong?” The child tried to answer but burst into tears once more. “There. Since you’re so adorable, you mustn’t cry… What’s wrong?” “Um... well... when I went to buy rice at the shop by Fukushima Bridge, that kid was there with all his friends. They said, ‘This one’s the beggar from Senba the other day!’ and thumped me on the head. When I tried to run away, they all came chasing after me, saying they’d make me cry…”

“I see. What a bad kid,” Eiichi replied, but tears welled in his eyes as he considered both the child’s bold confession and the cruelty of capitalist children. After that, no words passed between them. The day had darkened completely, with no crows crying from Shiroyama. Led by the child, they crossed Fukushima Bridge and turned right. Before they’d gone half a chō, they found a sunken path wedged between tenement houses—a clog maker’s shop on one side and a potato vendor’s on the other. Winding through this zigzagging alleyway, they first encountered the unbearable stench of rotting pickled radish that betrayed the slum’s presence. They had stumbled into a realm beyond imagination. The child sprinted ahead and vanished into shadow. An inconceivable world. Low roofs capped dwellings partitioned so narrowly they lacked even the earthen entryways of ordinary homes. Eiichi wondered whether humans truly needed to compartmentalize living spaces to such extremes. Most doors stood shut without light; where illumination existed at all, it came from feeble bean-oil lamps or tin-can wicks burning low. As Eiichi moved through while surveying both sides, a woman’s shrill voice erupted from the third lit house on the left...

“You idiot! I sent you on an errand to Fukushima Bridge, and if it’s taken this long, then…!” Then came the sound of a child being struck, followed by his cries and screams erupting. Shinmi hurriedly appeared before this house. “Forgive me,” said a woman of thirty-five or thirty-six, kneeling before the hearth and tending the fire with iron tongs. Eiichi glanced back briefly; the opposite side was smoky. A girl of about nine or ten sat before the hearth, while an elderly person—likely physically disabled—lay facing the street. This smoke and this decrepitude! Eiichi felt a cowardly impulse stir within him. If it ever comes to me having to take care of someone like that old person, I’d be done for. Would even someone like that want to go on living? He furrowed his brow.

The woman said, “Now please do come inside—though it’s truly a dreary place,” attempting a welcoming manner with sharp eyes as she looked at Shinmi. Her hair—pulled tight and uniformly damp—likely resulted from working at a thread shop or weaving workshop. Even when invited inside, the thought of that old man lying four shaku behind made him want to turn back immediately—to go see some beautiful face and refresh his spirits—rendering him unable to enter. Was this what they called a slum—such a wretched place? If one spoke of a middle-aged person lying ill, there remained hope; but with senility, there could be no reckoning. He shuddered.

“Thank you,” Shinmi politely declined. He wanted to look back once more, but when he visualized that old man in the thin futon before his eyes, seeing him again became terrifying. The woman finished exchanging pleasantries with Eiichi and turned to her son lying facedown on the floor three shaku higher than the earthen entrance, clutching his bundle as he wept. “You—won’t you take out the rice? “What are you dawdling for? “Stop crying and go tend the hearth,” she said. Perceiving a crisis approaching, Shinmi stepped inside.

"Auntie, actually I came to explain things on behalf of your child..." he began, but before he could finish, "Oh? Has my child done something wrong again?" "My child isn't some incorrigible brat." "If he's done anything bad, please forgive him," she rattled off, showing neither particular regard for Eiichi nor any hint of deference.

“Why don’t you go check under the hearth already?” came a voice as someone struck his head once and seized his rice bundle. Seeing this, Eiichi, “Would you be so kind as to lend me that bundle? I will cover the cost of the rice separately,” he proposed. However, the woman, “What’s all this about?” she said while examining the rice by the hearth’s firelight. She didn’t seem to find it particularly strange that stones and sand were mixed in. But she put the rice on the shelf, briskly came to the child’s side, and struck his head once more. The child cried and screamed. The woman,

"Hurry up and check over there already!" she barked loudly, then turned toward the corner and said, "Father, the rice is all mixed with sand and stones—we can’t eat this tonight." Then, from the corner, “Sir, do come in and have a seat for a moment. “It’s truly a dreary place,” he said, sticking his head partway out from the futon and bowing to Shinmi. Shinmi was shocked. This house was built as a single three-tatami-mat room with a one-tsubo earthen floor, so anyone beyond the two of them would surely have been noticed. To tell the truth, when he had entered—though the child had repeatedly cried "Father! Father!"—he could see no figure resembling a male parent. He thought there had been only a futon left rolled up in the corner as it was since morning—he realized that was all there was. But it was only when there came a voice that he noticed. This futon was the father. His hair had grown long; his pallid complexion and lackluster lips were unsettling. Eiichi leaned one hand against the entrance pillar while raising the tip of his left geta,

“Ah, thank you very much. 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, no—it’s not exactly an illness, you understand. Until March, I had been working for the railway, you see. But early in March at Kamojima, my leg was crushed by a train—heh heh… Lost all hope of ever standing again. Since then, I’ve just been idling about… Please, do have a seat.”

As the woman crouched before the hearth, her husband’s face disappeared from view. The child still faced downward and did not show their face. “Is that so?” “Oh dear, how truly dreadful,” the woman said as she turned to look at Eiichi, “Honestly, sir, I’ve reached my limit with living.” “Even after my husband suffered such injuries, the railway company cast us aside with a mere twenty yen in sympathy money.” “With nowhere left to turn, I’m at the weaving shop from dawn till dusk winding thread—barely keeping smoke in our chimney—but a lone woman can’t feed two men no matter how she tries.” “Tonight he said he wanted proper rice for once, so I went and bought five gō of fifth-grade rice—but look how it turned out,” she said resentfully, her tone utterly pitiful.

“You see, Auntie, while I was watching, your child was returning quite cleverly when someone—I don’t know which child—pushed them from behind. This child fell down and spilled the rice onto the street, you see. It’s not that your child is at fault……” “Is that truly how it was? And you—though I know not who you may be—have been so kind as to come here and make explanations on his behalf? I truly don’t know how to express my gratitude. No—my child is indeed a bad one, so there’s truly nothing to be done about it. Even if we tell him to go to school, he simply won’t go—such is the child I must say, so we parents are truly at our wits’ end.”

“Why does your child dislike school?” “No—it’s not that he dislikes it—it was the day after the March festival, you see. I told him we had nothing to eat today and sent him out to beg wherever he could, making sure he knew to bring back whatever he could get for us to eat. But around noon he came back crying and complaining of a headache before collapsing. The very next day was when school was to start again, but he refused to go... His father can’t read a single character, which troubles us greatly today, so I wanted at least to have him graduate elementary school. We barely managed to send him through third grade by skimping on food... No—when you’re poor, even your children lose their freedom.”

The woman had spoken this far when, the smoke becoming too much, she grabbed the bellows and covered her mouth. Eiichi could mostly discern the child’s confession from what the woman had said. But he did not know what to do for these people. “Did your child make it to third grade?” “If we had been able to continue sending them, your child would be in fourth grade now. After he advanced to fourth grade, we withdrew him immediately—since we had him do childcare for a year, he fell behind.” Eiichi’s heart was torn in two. One voice insisted he needn’t force philanthropy in such wretched places—that he should flee back to read philosophy in his fine tatami-matted house, warning that meddling with such matters would forever keep him one step from mediocrity. Simultaneously, another voice declared kindness life itself—that in society’s organic body, some must become sacrifices for others to survive.

“Pardon my asking, but where might your home be?” the woman inquired. “Well, it’s not far from here… — What is your child doing now?” “There’s nothing particular he does now—sometimes runs errands for his father, other times helps me wind thread." "If you cross Fukushima Bridge, there’s a barber shop." "They said they’d take him as an apprentice there—I’m thinking of letting him go, but..." “I worry whether he’ll endure until he becomes skilled… Please—don’t stand like that—do sit awhile,” she said while lifting the lid to check the boiling barley. She took the corner bucket and moved toward the doorway. She must have gone to fetch water.

Shinmi apparently didn’t want to stay in such a gloomy place any longer. “The barber shop? Well then, that should suffice... I must take my leave now, as I have other matters to attend to—this is farewell. Please, I beg you not to scold your child after I leave,” he said. There was no particular need to hand over money for the rice. “Thank you ever so much. Please do come again sometime for a chat—though it is a squalid place,” the woman said, standing outside the door. Eiichi turned toward the sick man,

“Goodbye. Please take care of yourself,” he said. But in his heart, he laughed at himself for uttering such meaningless hypocrisy.

“Thank you for your kindness. “Goodbye. I’m truly being a bother, but do come by for conversation sometime.” “Thank you. I shall call again,” he replied. But in his heart, Shinmi thought: It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the paupers—he simply feared that fixating solely on such wretched places would make humanity shrivel away.

Eiichi emerged from the dark path with dream-like thoughts. A red weather signal had been raised on Shiroyama. At the corner of Fukushima Honcho, he met the houseboy Kichisaburo and returned home together.

However, with Kichisaburo, he exchanged no words.

After finishing dinner, and as there had been an arrangement, he visited Lady Tsuruko.

Twelve

Shinmi now stood quietly before his residence. Tonight, he was late past curfew again. For some time now, no matter how much he knocked, they wouldn't open for him, leaving him growing restless. He stepped out briefly to check the street, but all of Tokushima Honcho lay fast asleep. And no wonder—it was already slightly past twelve. Since returning from Tokyo, this marked the third time he had been late. The first occurred two nights prior on Sunday evening when Kichisaburo returned just as they were closing the gate after making fire-watch rounds clapping wooden clappers; then came his tardiness the previous Saturday night; and now tonight—bringing the total to three times.

There was a reason for being late tonight. Eiichi had visited Tsuruko and ended up late. The reason being that on Sunday evening after returning from church, he had been told that since Lady Tsuruko's elder brother Tokiyuki-san had returned home, he absolutely must come visit once within these 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 declared the gate would not be opened after nine o'clock under any circumstances. Moreover, since his father had also returned from Tokyo tonight, he was actually holding back from knocking vigorously. Because he felt terribly sorry for disturbing Kichisaburo’s peaceful sleep, he had returned from Tsuruko’s residence around eleven o’clock but, out of consideration, refrained from knocking and instead took a walk toward Sukemoto Bridge for about an hour. No—in truth, I had gone out intending to impose a punishment of making a round trip to a place four or five ri away, but between growing weary along the way and deciding that even if I didn't teach the students reading tomorrow at school, I must at least instruct them to keep their eyes open during daytime hours—not wanting to show them a sleepy face—I had returned to knock on the door again, though I felt sorry for Kichisaburo. The more I thought I must sleep, the sleepier I truly became. Even the stars appeared sleepy.

Eiichi moved closer to try knocking on the gate door once more, but when he clenched his fist to strike it, each knock felt like driving nails into his father’s chest. Therefore—thinking his father’s wrath would retaliate against him through this act that seemed akin to crucifying myself—even stepping on paving stones with geta filled him with terror until he crouched beneath the mailbox and sank into brooding contemplation.

"Why must I always show such deference to my true father like this? Why must I be exposed to the cold air outside the house and crouch beside the gate? Do I truly have no right to expect any kindness from my father? …But Tsuruko’s adorable manner of receiving me tonight? Brother was supposed to return from Muyo but never did, yet I was rather satisfied. After the old man and old woman had gone to sleep, when I was led to Lady Tsuruko’s study! I nodded. I knew the temperament of modern schoolgirls. But in Tsuruko’s case, never… No—if I were to say I loved Lady Tsuruko, even a frivolous schoolgirl would not be disagreeable… But in Tsuruko’s circumstances, all such frivolous aspects had been stripped away. Lady Tsuruko was a plump American beauty, yet her dignified aspects were distinctly Gothic. Her style differed from the French type."

However, even I was surprised when, as we discussed Western history at the desk, we naturally took each other's hands—no, rather, I was glad. When Lady Tsuruko began speaking of the past and we both wept, I felt both embarrassment and joy at having her weep upon my lap.

Truly, Tsuruko's sorrow was only natural. Working as a maid under a step-grandfather and grandmother must be grueling. There could be no denying this in the constricted heart of a woman. Had Father and Mother not met such an end, Lady Tsuruko would never have been treated as a stranger even by a step—yet whenever personal matters arose among friends, she would likely tremble and withdraw. Even I felt no pleasure in being called the child of a concubine... Lady Tsuruko had become a Christian and lost friends, yet declared she felt no loneliness having joined the circle of kind church matrons—this was indeed cause for celebration. I've always liked anyone bearing the title of Madam. That's precisely why I liked Tsuruko among those Madams. In Japan, a wife might be indistinguishable from a maid or childbearing machine—yet a woman weeping while bearing many children isn't detestable at all. A charming creature where the beauty of suffering mingles with vital strength.

I want to love Tsuruko. I love. I devote my entire being to love. ...But how utterly meaningless this all is. I am in love without knowing life's ultimate course. An aimless human? To advance human history through evolution? Meaningless evolution theory! Where in my life is there evolution?... Chance!... Ah, humans possess neither chance nor the authority to call it fate's evolution... Humanity simply sinks into a cold sea. Loving Tsuruko is merely sinking another foot deeper. To call it aimless would be to state it's aimless. Not aimless—blind. But if asked whether to die or love since it's aimless—of course I want to live and share a day's pain with Tsuruko. Yet for me to share pleasure with a lover is meaningless. It means weeping with a lover. And ending in lovers' suicide? Thus love is consummated. But what exactly is love?...

But when love forms suddenly like tonight, it feels somehow utterly foolish, like something out of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Is love truly such a thing as that? But Tsuruko has captured me completely. By my own will, I can do nothing. To tell the truth, I never thought I would have such a beautiful lover... But love is such a foolish thing. Am I not galloping down the long racecourse called love for the sake of some fleeting pleasure or another? Sacredness and love? Utterly absurd! It's as if I'm reciting lines from a jōruri libretto in a dream. How pointless!

Ah, I'm already sick of it. I've grown weary of love. My love needs nothing beyond these mere notions. I'm sick of concepts too. Pleasure lasts but an instant. Love is pain. The aftermath of sobering brings agony. I detest love—it gives me headaches—and loving a woman ultimately amounts to gorging on painful pleasure. Do humans take wives just to breed children? Meaningless! They bear children solely to bear children. They embrace and sleep purely to embrace and sleep. If I can sleep soundly, I need no beauty. Buddha! Hinayana thinking! The extinction of all beings! All things nirvana! I am but one wave in the vast sea. Let me sink swiftly to the cold sunken depths of dark blue-black waters. Humans! Such nuisances. Hah. Hmm. Che! I want to bite through my tongue and die.

To live is to reek of aristocracy. I hate the smell of perfume. It’s socialism—nirvana and death! ‘Socialism is only for this moment…’ …Eiichi stood up. He pounded the splendid door of straight-grained cypress planks with a clenched fist so violently it seemed the roof tiles would fall. But there was no reaction. The world remained asleep. The dead did not come flying out of their graves. The world seemed to have finally passed from one sleep into another. So he did it once more, now even more violently. But still there was no response. When he looked up at the sky, the stars were scowling. From the eaves across the way, sparrows took flight one after another and hid beneath the eaves of the fifth house.

"Without waking Father, I roused the sparrows. The sin is grave. But capitalists remain more deeply sinful. The sin runs deep because they erect fences and gates, build mansions to restrict human movement, and swagger about arrogantly. Jesus' priests too bear heavy sins—spouting 'Let those in Christ rejoice,' damn them! Content with their hereditary religion patched together from this-worldism, aristocratism, individual-private-property-ism, and bandit-ism... Will God's kingdom ever come?... I can no longer endure this anguish. Buddha—nirvana—fever—tears freeze. Yet dying demands too much courage. Remember? A Nio's imposing stance? Lion's roar? Now—this very moment—the revolution begins. Grant me freedom. If not, ensure eternal life. Otherwise—death! Tears of torment flow unknowingly. Though unaware to others, the universe stirs revolution within my breast. Ah—while I squat here idle—in Fukushima-hama's slums others curse God. A life of suffering. Still—still I want to live. ...I who was once called meek now hold power to make stars rain down and parch the seas."

I have no obligation to hold back and dawdle there like that. Evil often proves wiser than good. I must knock on the door. That's the bell of revolution. Revolution too must be Buddhist revolution... Buddhism's essence lies in its Hinayana aspects— The Mahayana dissolves like slugs in rain. Yet Shakyamuni remained a failed revolutionary. He lit no fires in this world—only in the afterlife. The Brahmanic delusions held merit, but neglecting [...] India's states was pure folly. As for Japanese monks—greater fools still! Mahayana Buddhism! Dharmakāya Buddha! State religion! Honganji! This surpasses mere foolishness! Though Buddha taught life as blind [...] chains reaching nirvana, they now lick government boots. Therefore I shall launch this Buddhist revolution! In this revolution, commoners lack participation rights. Yet spiritual realms hold resonance. Fruit shall surely form. In Tokushima's small confines, few know I breathe.

"But who in Nazareth knew they had Jesus among them? ○○!" Eiichi trembled violently as an agonizing urge to rebel surged through him. While shaking uncontrollably, finding his fist inadequate to produce a satisfying impact, he seized his right geta and swung it upward. The entrance door rattled open. Eiichi had been anticipating someone else might answer, but it was his father who appeared holding a hand-candle. The moment Eiichi passed through the gate, his father scrutinized him intently. Then without a word, he suddenly balled his fist and struck Eiichi's left cheek.

Eiichi, choked by tears, shut himself in his room.

He leaned against the desk and sat blankly weeping. When he cried, his mind calmed considerably. After a while—perhaps thinking that staying like this was pointless—he wiped his tears and raised his head, only to find the bust of Carlyle hanging on the wall turned sideways with a grim expression.

Eiichi thought of *Sartor Resartus* and, while not entirely dismissing the Goethean school of philosophers of failed love as feeble, found himself compelled to weep over his own tragic fate and the hell that was capitalist society. And he could not help but think that he himself was digging step by step into an 'eternal void' within his own breast.

“Alas. Eternal void! What could fill Eiichi’s void? I am but a shadow. Yes—this painful dream I endure. What appears as life is but my dream.

What a pain. Although my father came to the Shinmi family as an adopted son, he abandoned his legal wife and kept my mother as his concubine. When my mother died, he brought in Oume. Life was quite hectic. During that time, Father became a Diet member, became a House of Peers secretary, and this time quit being a Diet member to become mayor. Even as mayor, he remained busy. The house had to be rebuilt. He had to take bribes. He had to keep Oume in good humor. In the meantime, he had to manage the Tokushima Railway as well. Even managing that kept him busy. Occasionally, incidents occurred where workers got injured—...that pitiful worker’s household in Tokushima Honmachi! If my father, the director, had shown a bit more restraint, such a family tragedy would not have occurred. Should I take Father’s place in caring for people? No— When I could barely manage my own life, how could I possibly care for the poor? This very moment! My body was simply burning. Even for this single moment—I wanted to get drunk on alcohol or whatever and escape this pain. I wanted to desperately grab some woman and share a kiss that felt like dying.

Ah, this very moment! This moment! A dream! Dream! Shadow! Shadow! Void!

When my thoughts condensed into seeing the world as blind and myself as void, a smile born of religious ecstasy welled up. White lotuses bloomed in the marsh. Yet... this too was a trivial, loathsome fragment of life... In truth, a lie wrapped in mystery... Still I longed for Tsuruko. Longing? Very well!—I would grasp reality and hide within love's fleeting dream. A moment's pleasure sufficed! If vanishing—then vanish! If perishing—then perish! Where struck, strike; when doomed, be doomed! Ah, I wanted to die by my own hand. Wanted to die two deaths, three deaths over.

But Tsuruko, Tsuruko—will you conceal me in mystery? At any rate, will you love me? You are dear. Beautiful. Radiant. And should she become mine, I would be saved. May both spirit and flesh love Eiichi; you, you—though I am but temporarily unhinged now, if you do not love me, I shall become fully deranged. I am content, content—if going mad for your sake. Since the world has already lost its reason, becoming mad for you would be a nobler madness indeed. Love. I have at last been seized by love. And I consent to being seized. Love demands madness. So be it—I shall become madness incarnate to possess Tsuruko. Ah, bliss... There lies nirvana. Women are deities... Father's brute force! Do I endorse bestial principles? I'll destroy him too. Yet that Father struck me thus? I shall speak no more of it. I will utter nothing further. Only grant me love.

But I'm tired…

Fatigue once again lured Eiichi into a dream within dreams. He slid his feet under the desk, lay on his back, and slept briefly. But when startled awake by creaking sounds, there stood Oume again at the room's entrance. His heart raced as if newly discovered, but resignedly he lowered his head and leaned against the desk. "Good night—your father has retired, Mr. Eiichi," Oume said with venom permeating her words. "Thank you very much," Eiichi replied gently, resolving to descend from the second floor.

"But no matter how I think it through, life seems serious yet isn't serious at all." "Am I meant to sleep now?" "How utterly pointless!" "Sleep?" "Are you mocking me!" "Do they mean to thrust those who wake to madness into dark beds and steal away my consciousness and life for even a few hours?" "Fine then!" Eiichi stood up and began descending the stairs.

"You haven't closed the second-floor door yet, have you, Mr. Eiichi?" "Damn it!" Eiichi returned to the room and began closing the door, but Tsuruko's room on the northwest side remained faintly lit. The figure was likely Tsuruko. He wondered what she could still be doing up so late, but upon hearing his door closing, Tsuruko too slid open her shoji screen and began shutting hers. In that instant, Eiichi felt satisfied. Having finished closing it, he descended to the entrance hall. Eiichi fully embraced being a madman. "For a little while, I'll act mad so others won't notice," he tried pulling a futon from the entrance closet, but—

"After all, I'm mad. After all, I'll just be bullied by Father and Oume anyway. While Father and Oume are asleep, even if just for that time, I'll stretch out my limbs. I'll stay awake tonight. Not just tonight—I'll stay awake until I die. Until death? 'No—I won't die,' he thought, and with that resolve collapsed right there. For a while, he pretended to practice Zen in the dark, dark closet."

Was that pretending to practice Zen? This too is trivial. It only makes me tired. Tomorrow’s lecture probably won’t be interesting. At any rate, I'll just sleep. And let me see some small, faint dream. There’s no need to move to the middle room anymore. I'll sleep here.

And so, spreading his bedding next to Kichisaburo without changing into sleepwear, he crawled into the futon as he was. The futon felt unexpectedly comfortable. "In that case, I should change properly," he thought, rising once more to put on his sleepwear. Eiichi lay thinking. "In the futon alone there are no enemies—unpleasant sleep becomes final salvation." ...Better to sleep than endure that woman...

Thirteen Ever since being scolded and struck by Father, he felt an even greater rift between himself and his father. Not only that, but there was the unpleasantness of even his younger brother Masunori—along with Oume, of course—looking down on him as if he were a fool. If he dismissed them as fools who mindlessly followed without knowing any of the circumstances, that would be one thing—but when he considered how even within his own family his sphere of influence had become so constricted, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat pessimistic. But instead, this stirred a rebellious spirit in Eiichi—he found himself both reading and meditating more frequently while believing his dreams and mystical feelings toward Tsuruko were growing.

These past two or three days had mainly been spent meditating on mechanical and teleological views of the universe, but regarding this matter, Eiichi never opened any books. He believed books held no authority whatsoever. Even if such authority existed, since he was staking his life on this research, he naturally had no time to consult books. Moreover, with pressures from both family and health matters weighing on him, Eiichi's heart contained more than he could fathom. Eiichi was merely living, yet he still moved. Of course, his movements lacked any systematic method. However, one could say that visiting Tsuruko whenever possible, returning to the countryside to see his sister, and attending church on Sundays differed slightly from all his other aimless activities by possessing somewhat more direction.

As for his going to church on Sundays, there was no particular reason. One might say it was for Lady Tsuruko playing the organ, but that alone wasn't it. At times he would completely erase thoughts of Tsuruko from his mind. To explain—Eiichi considered whether there might be some element in the pastor's sermons about Christ that could stimulate him and rekindle that fervent blood akin to Christ's; another reason was Eiichi's peculiar habit of enjoying crowded places. He particularly liked stations, theaters, schools, and churches where he could study people's clothing and physiognomy. And then the final reason was that staying home held no enjoyment—yet having nowhere else to go for amusement, he attended church to pass the time.

But Eiichi did not limit his churchgoing recommendations to himself alone. He also recommended church attendance to his younger brother Masunori. That Christianity served as excellent medicine for children and women was his firm opinion. However, when he took Masunori along, Oume voiced her dissatisfaction. Father was also angry. Masunori was also exasperated. As a result, the rift between Father and himself grew even deeper. To make matters worse, since Eiichi was frequently returning to his lawful wife in the countryside, both Father and Oume were making bitter faces. The situation progressing in this way was becoming increasingly troublesome. Eiichi had not sat at the meal tray together with Father lately.

Eiichi had just finished teaching at school and was about to enter the gate of his house.

Beside the gate stood a pilgrim’s cart, inside which sat an unpleasant-looking child—who couldn’t have been more than twelve—adopting an air of feigned helplessness as he watched Eiichi enter. As Eiichi tried to pass through the middle gate beside the entrance, he suddenly came face to face with a female beggar aged forty-five or six to fifty-two or three. She stooped forward with her head lowered, holding a bowl and a sheet of coarse paper as she emerged. “I was thinking I’d like some tea— Madam...”

Shinmi thought this wretch was rather impudent, but at any rate, she undoubtedly wanted something. "If she wants it, I’ll give it to her," he thought, “Um… do you need tea? “If you need tea, then follow me.” “Are you the Young Master?” “Thank you very much.” “Thank you very much,” she repeated. "I did make a request to Madam earlier… but she scolded me for coming through the middle gate—how outrageous—and yet, your kindness…" "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 forward, flicking her thin lips repeatedly. The mouth was made to be moved, but one had to wonder—was it really acceptable to move it this much? She was so talkative it became unbearable. Mr. Eiichi was utterly exasperated by this classical beggar’s antics.

Eiichi entered the kitchen thinking there might be boiling water, but upon looking around found none was boiling. He went to the back and brought an iron kettle. In the long hearth there was always a fire with water boiling. When he came to the kitchen, the female beggar was prostrating herself before the back entrance's threshold. The maid with side-parted hair doing needlework was astonished. Stepping forward, "Please come in here. There." "I'll give you some hot water," he said, standing on the raised platform in front of the hearth, but— "I am most unworthy." "I am most unworthy," she said, but no matter what she wouldn't come in.

“Very well,” said Eiichi, putting on his wooden clogs and walking over to where the beggar was. As he tilted the iron kettle, the beggar placed coarse paper over her bowl to receive it. “What a strange thing to do.” “I am most unworthy.” “To have you give me hot water in such an inconvenient bowl would be...” “I am most unworthy,” she said, but she absolutely would not accept the hot water directly into her bowl. Thinking there truly was a quintessential beggar before him, he poured hot water over the coarse paper with a sense of being mocked, then entered carrying the iron kettle. The beggar also left.

But thinking "That beggar probably wants money—the hot water was just a pretext," he declared, "If you want money, I'll give it to you." Resolving to keep giving until she refused, he abruptly circled around from the back entrance and emerged at the middle gate. What he saw shocked him. She had placed upon a square bamboo basket— This person wishes to return home but lacks travel funds We humbly beg your generous alms —a board approximately forty-five centimeters square bearing these words, before prostrating herself beside the middle gate. "I am most unworthy." "My eyes overflow with gratitude."

"You need money? ...If so, I'll give you this," he said, taking out a one-yen note from his pocket. "Young Master—to offer one yen to a traveling beggar like myself—such kindness overwhelms me—though such kindness overwhelms me—Young Master who brought hot water in an iron kettle—to now offer one yen coin—I am most unworthy." With that, she stood up, closed her begging stall, and returned to her cart. That imploring voice, that suspicious voice, that astonished voice, that voice of feigned humiliation—all confirmed she was a classical beggar. Her face bore unpleasant features. Yet abandoning her for this alone contradicted his true intent.

“Then take this,” he said, chasing after her to the gate and presenting a twenty-sen silver coin. “I am most unworthy. I’m so grateful that tears spill from my eyes… But even for a beggar like me, to receive one whole yen as you offer—I simply cannot accept it,” she said, stowing the bamboo basket into her cart and placing her hands on the shafts to pull it away. However, the child in the cart wore a hateful look as he grabbed hold of a pillar supporting the cart’s roof—likely demanding “Give it! Give it!”—and began shaking it violently, starting a great commotion.

“You don’t want it? Coming here to beg...” “If I’m offering it, you should just take it and keep it!” he pressed firmly. The woman walked a few meters and stopped the cart. She turned back and,

“I am most unworthy,” she said while prostrating herself before Eiichi and holding out her basket. Eiichi was surprised by this beggar’s bizarre movements, but “Then please take this, though it’s only a little,” he said with a faint smile, placing the silver coin into the basket. And then he immediately entered the gate. In his heart, he cursed his own charity. With an indifferent face, he entered his room and sat down at the desk. He wondered what he should do, but there was no particular book he could name to read. He took the small mirror beside him and gazed into it. The question was whether Tsuruko would fall for this face. But holding it in his hand, he thought, I have a beautiful face. “If there were such a woman, I would fall in love,” he tried saying. After opening his mouth wide, smiling, and making a glaring face—gazing into the mirror for a long time—the voices of Kichisaburo and a beggar mingled outside the gate. He strained his ears and listened. “Are there still beggars here?”

The pilgrim was likely hesitant about the one-yen coin; as Eiichi entered the gate, in his place came Kichisaburo, the errand boy dispatched by Oume to track down the beggar. "This is most presumptuous of me to ask, but if you would kindly grant me another audience with the Young Master who was here just now... I wish to meet him once more to express my gratitude. For a traveling beggar such as myself to receive such consideration from you..." She bent at the waist, rubbing her left hand against the ground as she pleaded, her manner pitiful yet grating. Kichisaburo, the errand boy, looked down at the beggar,

“How should I know?” “You’ve already got your handout—ain’t it time you scrammed?” “The Young Master’s gone inside already, hasn’t he?” he snapped. “When you offered a whole yen earlier—it felt too grand a gesture—so I declined at first—” “The Young Master said he’d give a whole yen?” “To you beggars? Ridiculous!” Kichisaburo stared in disbelief, thinking what in blazes their Young Master was playing at. Then— “The kid keeps sayin’, ‘What’re we s’posed to do?’ So now he wants us to go get that yen after all.” “You ain’t usin’ it proper-like.” “You already took the money, didn’tcha?”

“I had declined the one yen when you stated you would give twenty sen instead, and did receive those twenty sen, but my child says this: Though we intend to return to our home, being troubled by lack of funds forces us to go begging house-to-house—so why not accept that one yen? Whether receiving from one house or a hundred houses, is not the act of receiving ultimately the same? If you say you’ll give it, then wouldn’t we end up in trouble if we don’t take it? That is what we humbly submit. Could you possibly have the Young Master come out here once more?” she pleaded, prostrating herself completely.

“But the Young Master has already gone inside,” said the errand boy, placing his left hand on his hip with an air of indifference toward the beggar. He turned his head from side to side to survey both ends of the street, then briefly looked down at her with a thoroughly haughty demeanor. “This is most presumptuous of me to ask, but if I could but meet him once more... To the Young Master who would give even one yen to this pilgrim. Please, errand boy, I humbly beg you to convey my request to the Young Master once more.”

Kichisaburo was again surveying the street east and west when, looking westward, he saw a gentleman in a frock coat carrying a stick approaching. Having discerned the master’s return, Kichisaburo began employing even more forceful diplomatic measures. “You! You keep saying you’ll scram back home, but how many days have you been dawdling around this Tokushima? Since I first noticed you, it’s been nearly a month! And what’s more—didn’t they say you were thieving something by Terashima Ironworks the other day and got yourself kicked by the workers?” “You’re too damn greedy.” “You’ve already got twenty sen—ain’t that enough? Take what you got and scram already! What’s this nonsense about wanting a whole yen?” “Move along! Move along!”

Before he could finish speaking, the beggar flung herself into a full prostration, pressing her face against the ground. The mayor drew ever closer. Kichisaburo wore a slightly perplexed expression, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he bared his protruding front teeth in a smile. Oume, who had slightly opened the entrance shoji to look, opened it a bit wider and stuck out just her face. The Lord Mayor finally arrived on the scene. Kichisaburo politely greeted him with “Welcome back.”

“Kichisaburo.” “What’s all this?” “When the Young Master went and gave her twenty sen, this wretch got above herself and kept pestering us for a whole yen... She’s got a nasty character to boot—why, just the other day she stole something near Terashima Ironworks and got herself beaten by the workers.” “Is she crying?” “I don’t know if she’s crying or what, but she’s probably thinking if she does this, they’ll give her money.”

From the kitchen, the maid also came out. From the neighboring laundry shop—whose proprietor had been watching with only his neck craning out from the middle gate—the master emerged. Mrs. Sumida across the way had opened her shoji just a crack and was peering through. The child in the cart, “Mom—Mom—Mom—” he kept crying. “You think this is some kinda place? This ain’t no sleeping spot.” “Get movin’ already! Keep loiterin’ and I’ll fetch the constable!” barked the errand boy, swelling with self-importance as he stood flanking the Mayor. Yet the beggar remained motionless.

“Kichisaburo. Go fetch another two sen from the back and give it to her,” said the Mayor, leaving these words behind as he moved toward the entrance. Kichisaburo looked at the master of the neighboring laundry shop, “Who’d give two sen to such a wretch? Eh? To this trash,” he sneered. The neighboring laundry shop owner made a strange face, “What’s all this about?” “Well, our Young Master’s too kind for his own good, see? This one got all uppity—I mean, he must’ve gone and shown her a whole yen. Now she keeps yammering ‘Gimme that! Gimme that!’ Greedy bitch. And when I say she ain’t gotten it yet, she claims she has—twenty sen!”

“Whoa, twenty sen?!”

When the Mayor entered, the maid who had gone inside brought two-sen copper coins. And while handing them to Kichisaburo, “Give her this and send her away—and if she still won’t leave, have a constable called,” she said, putting particular emphasis on the word “constable.” The maid looked at the laundry shop owner,

"Good day," she greeted. "Oh, hello—what's happened to this person?" "Well, I couldn't say what's come over her." "Earlier too, she came holding oilpaper and a bowl, opened the middle gate without a word, went around back, prostrated herself at the rear entrance, and demanded tea—I was quite startled." "Then Madam told us to send her away, so we made her leave." "And then the Young Master being so kind as he is..." "Hmm." The maid was about to continue when Oume's voice called "Hey! Hey!" from the entrance; without even bowing to the laundry owner, she wordlessly went inside. Kichisaburo took the maid's place and started talking.

“This wretch got beaten by workers near Terashima Ironworks just the other day.” “She apparently stole something.” “What a crafty wretch!” “Hmm, this beggar hasn’t been in Tokushima long.” “Even then… Well, it’s already been fifteen or twenty days… She was in Nishisenba,” responded the laundry shop owner.

The female beggar—perhaps seized by some thought—stood up abruptly as the laundry shop owner was still speaking, “You wretch of an errand boy! “Mark my words, damn you!” “Hey! How dare you humiliate me before all these people!” “Mark my words, damn you!” she barked, lurching toward the cart. As she drew near, the child burst into loud wails. Kichisaburo stood dumbstruck by this frontal assault, unable to speak. His face flushed crimson with shame as an awkward smile escaped him, his eyes darting toward the laundry shop owner. The laundry shop owner responded with a hollow chuckle. But Kichisaburo—as if suddenly remembering his duty—scrambled to the cart’s side,

“Here’s two sen for you!” he said, tossed them into the cart and returned to the gate. When the cart had circled three or four times, the beggar picked up the two-sen coins from inside it, turned slightly away, and threw them on the ground with a “I don’t want your filthy money!” At this unsettling gesture, Kichisaburo— “Now here’s a fine beggar—offers money but won’t take it!” “Outrageous!” “Hoho...” He laughed—a barbed chuckle that pricked like thorns. “What a heartless creature!” the laundry shop owner chimed in.

Eiichi had known roughly eighty percent of how matters had unfolded from the beginning, but finding it somehow contradictory, he discarded the mirror and sat lost in thought. Then from downstairs came the maid's voice saying, "It was improper for the Young Master to show even a single yen to that beggar." At this, he felt both compelled to defend himself and struck by a self-amazed gratitude toward his own charitable impulse. He also thought that half-hearted philanthropy amounted to neither paste nor excrement. Yet he simultaneously felt like crying from pure instinct at how pitiable the beggar's circumstances were. When he imagined himself abandoning his father's house to live a mad beggar's existence—placing himself within this implausible fantasy of encountering such a fate—tears began falling without any discernible reason.

Half-sobbing, he emerged onto the second-floor landing of the entranceway, “Kichisaburo! Has the pilgrim left yet?” he asked. “Yes, she’s just turned the corner ahead.” “Still at the corner ahead?” He hurriedly ran down from the second floor and emerged at the entrance. However, finding no geta in the entranceway, he rushed around to the rear. His frantic movements apparently held some significance, for Oume appeared from the inner rooms, “Brother, Father has commanded that you must not give even a single yen to the pilgrim,” she announced.

but he pretended not to hear and went out toward the gate. Ah, how cruel! Capitalists are cruel. Even if Tolstoy condemns charity based on his own failed experiences, I will give away everything I have. If I give, there will be nothing left to give. If I have nothing left, then I don't need to do charity either. The sin lies with society. Even if it's a deceitful beggar, I don't care. I'll give the money—his heart churned at the thought as he chased after the pilgrim's trail. He caught up with her right on Fukushima Bridge, threw a one-yen note into the basket, and dashed back home.

However, since the laundry shop owner and Kichisaburo still stood at his gate, he abandoned any thought of returning home and turned one block early toward the town containing Tsuruko's house. He drowned in tears of anguish no ordinary person could fathom. 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 while she finished some tasks in the kitchen before coming upstairs. "How is Grandmother today?"

“Both Grandfather and Grandmother are out,” “I’ve been keeping house all alone.” “You came all this way for me?” “But our meetings like this will soon end.” “It’s been decided I’m to go to Hiroshima by June’s end,” she began in a voice tinged with both sorrow and pride. “Is that so? “June’s end – that’s just next month, then?” “Yes.”

While saying this, she placed a zabuton cushion beside her desk. “Please do sit down.” “What brings you to Hiroshima?” “For the kindergarten.” “So? For study?” “Ah, to the nursery training institute.” “Is that so? That’s wonderful.” “Children are such dear things, aren’t they?” Tsuruko suddenly fixed him with an odd look, scrutinizing Eiichi’s face intently— “Did you... cry a little just now?” “What’s wrong?” she asked. Caught between joy and anguish at having been found out, Shinmi merely replied: “Ah.”

“Ah…” he answered. “What’s wrong? Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” “I suppose so... I could tell you, but—” “Tell me, please. Is it something you can’t tell me?” she said, sliding open the shoji screen before her, thinking she’d heard footsteps in the garden, and peered out. However, since there was no one there, she closed it again, her cool eyes shining as she— “Won’t you tell me… If you love me, please tell me—” Tsuruko mustered all her courage to say this. With that single phrase—“If you love me”—Eiichi melted like butter,

“Lady Tsuruko. Do you love me?” he asked, reaching for Tsuruko’s hand and drawing closer. “Lady Tsuruko. Shall I truly open my heart?” “Do open your heart.”

“Shall I say it?” “Please tell me.” “Hoho… Will you truly listen?” “Of course I’ll listen—how could I not?” Before she even finished speaking, Tsuruko kissed Eiichi’s hand. Eiichi returned it. “Well then. “Lady Tsuruko.” “I’ll say it.” "...Even so, I feel ashamed to say it." “S-shamed…” Eiichi slightly drew back his head. “Well. Earlier, I... should I say it or not?” “Please do tell me.” “What’s wrong?” “Today you’re unusually lacking in energy, aren’t you?” “What’s wrong?” “Earlier?”

“Earlier, I gave a beggar one yen. I was crying thinking about that beggar.” “Yes. That’s a good thing you did,” Tsuruko said without particular surprise. But with those cool eyes fixed on Eiichi’s, she tightened her grip on his hand. She extended one hand and asked for Eiichi’s left. Eiichi, embarrassed by Tsuruko’s beautiful gaze, momentarily averted his face—but under her intense scrutiny, found himself gazing back at her features. The longer he gazed, the more beautiful Tsuruko appeared. Her cheeks, smooth as silk with a rosy hue—he wondered why she could be so beautiful. Their gazes met for a long time, and the two became intoxicated by the joy of their shared silence.

But the spirited Tsuruko broke the silence: "Is that all? There must be more—go on and tell me everything." "You see... Tsuruko... I too believe my stay at Father's house will only be temporary." "Why?" "But..." "Why?"

Eiichi hesitated strangely like a woman or child, trying to draw sympathy. Tsuruko for her part strove to show sympathy in feminine fashion. "You must know about Oume—" "I do." "What about Father's situation?" "You see...Father." His voice caught. "I can't bear watching him consort with that filthy woman and make Mother back home weep." "That's true. But what do you mean to do about it?"

“That’s precisely why I’m troubled.” “Oh, do sit down.”

“No—I prefer to stand.”

“Very well—then you shall remain standing.” “I want Father to expel that woman—what do you think?” “I rather think not—”

“Why?”

“You know—it was his mistress who encouraged Augustine to repent and become a believer, wasn’t it?” “What was it—when Augustine intended to take a wife—a young wife—and was consulting everyone, the mistress he’d kept all along declared she wouldn’t abandon him even if cast aside, then hid away in Arabia? That’s how it ended, wasn’t it?” “That became the motive for Augustine’s transformation into a pure saint, they say.” “I’ve been contemplating that.” “When there exists something one loves, who can measure how gentle humans might become?” “If we expel her merely for being a mistress, it might instead displease Father—who knows what consequences could follow—” Tsuruko began speaking with sage-like composure. Eiichi felt unbearable joy hearing these words from the woman he yearned for. But—

“But…” he ventured. “As a Christian, I wish 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 pursue them even into hell to bring salvation through Christ—Augustine spoke of such things too, didn’t he? I also think—if two people have truly loved each other, they would live not just one lifetime but two or three lifetimes in monogamy, and would long to do so. I believe even your Father doesn’t engage in womanizing willingly or eagerly…”

“Do you truly believe that?” “Can Platonic love ever be realized?” “Well of course—if the world moved as smoothly as abacus beads, monogamy would be both an ideal and something realizable—” Eiichi whispered lowly. “Therefore, if Lady Oume alone is being loved at present, that should suffice,” she said, disregarding Eiichi’s specious logic. Eiichi marveled at the expansiveness of this bold judgment. The beautiful Tsuruko somehow appeared luminous. Tsuruko’s eyes had widened and shone brilliantly precisely when she finished speaking. And so,

“Lady Tsuruko, you truly possess a magnanimous heart,” he found himself compelled to praise. Praised, she looked down but then gazed at his nose bridge, “But I fully understand your heart.” “So… you understand me?” He was already tearing up. “Lady Tsuruko, I’ve grown so sick of 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,” said the adorable Tsuruko as she kissed Shinmi’s cold, pallid cheek. Overcome by love, Eiichi clasped Tsuruko tightly. And in a faint voice, “Even if we fall into hell like this, I shall voice no complaints to God,” he whispered. “I too…” Tsuruko answered, her voice breaking with sobs. Tsuruko whispered through her tears.

“You too are suffering, but I am truly unhappy as well. “Just think of me—you can’t know how happy you might be.” “Truly.” “I sympathize with you, Lady Tsuruko.” “I sympathize with you to such an extent that I would even die for Lady Tsuruko’s sake.” “Oh hoho.” “How delightful… Would you die for me?” “Then, shall both of us die like this?” “Then we can go straight to heaven.”

“Really?” The lovers intoxicated with love created their world from one moment to the next. “...If dying means I cannot meet Lady Tsuruko, then I will endure any pain or sorrow. I wish to remain in this fleeting world.”

“I too,” Eiichi murmured, his beautiful eyes fixed intently. Eiichi stared so intently it seemed his gaze might pierce from his eyes into Tsuruko’s breast. “Why are you so beautiful, Lady Tsuruko?” he repeated, gradually sinking into the joy of silence.

But Tsuruko asked again.

“Then what do you intend to do?” “Why, I’ll start a revolution,” Eiichi said with a laugh.

“Revolution?” “What a dreadful thing to say.” “Ohoho.” “Well, anything will do.” “But please do not forget that the ultimate victory lies in love and silence.” Eiichi felt as though he were hearing a sermon. But he silently kissed Tsuruko’s lips. And quietly opening his mouth: “That may be so.” “However, I detest imitating a blank-slate human.” “I want to coat myself in white.” “Yes, that’s true.” “Yet forcing one’s assertions upon others against their will is an enemy of truth—since none are God, those who govern themselves become those who govern others.” “I have been thoroughly contemplating such matters lately.” “Whenever I try to gain sympathy and seek comfort from everyone at church or my grandfather and grandmother, I never receive any comfort—it becomes unbearably painful.” “That’s right—even in deciding to go to Hiroshima this time, I suppose I have various concerns.” “Well, Mrs.Taylor is taking care of the tuition, but there are other worries too.” “Whenever I try to have others show concern for me, there’s nothing but disappointment.” “You haven’t been here this past week?” “In the meantime, I took about three days off from school.”

“Why?” “Why? Because I was ill.” “What sort of illness?” “Just a slight headache—” “What happened?” “Nothing serious, but I grew so terribly anxious that I finally took to bed... The relatives say I’m too old now and should be sent away, while my uncle insists I attend Higher Normal School. As for me, I suppose I’d like to enter Kobe Women’s College or Tokyo Women’s College.” “It was truly agonizing.” “I had thought that if even you came, I might have you by my bedside and hear some amusing stories...” “Where have you been all this time?”

“You see, I’ve been going out every night too much—there’s suspicion at home, and Father is furious, you know.” “Well, on nights like when Mr. Tokiyuki stopped returning home and we talked late into the evening, I was even struck by Father, you see. I thought going out at night was improper, so I refrained from doing so.”

“Oh— That first night you came? “How cruel!” “Did he strike you?” “Mr. Eiichi?” “My dear you?” “Why?” “If only I had been struck instead.” “Did he scold you because it got late?” “Ah.” “Then why didn’t you come stay at my house? “My house is full of elderly folks—they’d have gladly offered you lodging.” “From now on, if you’re late, you should come stay at my house.” “The old man and old woman at my house are good people, you know.” “They’d be delighted even if you came to stay every night.” “…So you were struck by Father. If you are to be struck again next time, I will surely be struck in your place,” she said, brushing back her hair at the temple and tilting her head to the left.

“Lady Tsuruko. “Have you been resting for three whole days?” “Three whole days?” “Ah, precisely three days is how long I stayed in bed.” "My head was unwell, you see." “It was truly agonizing.” “Then I should’ve come—that would’ve been better.” “Did you stay in bed for three whole days?” “Next time you fall ill, I will certainly come to nurse you.” “Please do come. “Let’s have that settled as a promise now.” “If you come and nurse me, I’ll recover right away… And how is your lung?”

“My lungs? They must be better now.” "But I mustn't push myself too hard."

“You speak of your own illness as if it were someone else’s affair.” “Even so, this illness alone remains incomprehensible—even to myself.” “Since you promise to come nurse me when I’m ill, should you ever fall sick with lung trouble yourself, I’ll fly back from Hiroshima itself to care for you." “Send a telegram—I’ll return at once.” “Without fail?” "How delightful." “Lady Tsuruko’s nursing?” “Even were I dead like Lazarus, should Lady Tsuruko say ‘Arise!’, that single word would revive me.”

“Revive? Then even if I were to die before you pass away, I would have to come back to life, wouldn’t I?” “I suppose so.” “Then who will revive me?”

“There, I will.” “Then you and I will revive together, won’t we? And then we’ll never die again?” “Even if we die, will we revive again?” “You say such strange things. After that, we would go to heaven, I suppose. Shall we go to heaven together?” “Will you be my guide?” “I will certainly guide you, Ohoho.” “Is that ‘The Woman-Soul leadeth usupward and on!’?”

The two of them wandered from one love to another, from illusion to illusion, even discussing plans for their resurrection as they whiled away the time. Thus they failed to notice the sun setting. At dusk, the grandmother returned and welcomed Eiichi with delight. Having been invited to share dinner, they ate together and talked until around nine o'clock. When the time came to part, he gave Tsuruko a warm kiss and flew back to his own home.

Fifteen

The council chamber descended into chaos, and nothing could be made sense of at all. The chairman hoarsely bellowed "I must ask for order!" again and again. However, that was ineffective. Beneath the chairman’s podium, Enomoto Koukichi of the Civic faction and Masuda Takatoku of the Saturday Club were exchanging insults. Enomoto was a leading figure of the Civic faction who managed a third-class post office. At the center, Honda Tokihiko, head of the Engineering Department, and "Katsuben" Kusumoto Harutsugu were grappling with three members of the Terajima faction—Inoue, Yuki, and the neutral Mitani. Kusumoto was a first-class councilor elected from the Tomita red-light district and a firebrand of the Civic faction, but he earned the nickname "Katsuben" because his speeches were said to perfectly mimic the cadence of a benshi's narration.

Even on the right side of the chairman’s seat, Deputy Mayor Hatakeyama was clashing with Kitada of the Saturday Club. Today, the recent issues causing controversy in the newspapers—the Port Light Railway problem and the Tomita River Dredging Incident—were being debated in the city council. The Saturday Club of the Nationalist faction had been ruthlessly criticizing Mayor Shinmi in their party newspaper and attacking his underhanded methods, so today the public gallery was packed.

Eiichi had hidden himself in a corner of the public gallery both to observe his father’s manipulation of council members and to escape the monotony of rural life. 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 Civic faction broke their oral agreement with the Terajima faction—despite having pledged support for endorsing someone from the Terajima faction to fill the vacancy left by their councilman Mr. Hosoda Tamotsu—only to suddenly campaign at the February election's eleventh hour for selecting Hanada Masami, supervisor of assignation houses in the Tomita red-light district, as their third-class candidate, succeeding splendidly in securing victory through the Political Friends faction's influence. Ever since then, the Terajima faction had schemed to torment Mayor Shinmi of the Civic faction at every turn, reaching a state where they opposed anything—good or bad—at least once on principle alone; in the council chamber too, they would reflexively counter with “Since this is a Civic faction proposal, we oppose it,” without even hearing the first argument. The most extreme example of this was the current Port Light Railway problem. The Political Friends faction, under their active policy, always rejoiced in launching projects that would profit council members and please constituents—yet they took no joy in the Port Light Railway issue alone. This was because the issue had initially been introduced to the city council by lawyer colleagues—that is, the Terajima faction. The initial proposal was that the Port Light Railway was necessary for the city’s prosperity. Now, this was naturally deemed proper to undertake as a municipal enterprise of Tokushima City with government subsidies, but the reason the Political Friends faction opposed it was that, although they included influential figures in the city such as Shinmi, they believed agreeing to the Terajima faction’s proposal would let proposers seize most profits. However, upon further investigation, since many landowners belonged to the Political Friends faction, they ultimately came to support it. The central point of the city council's debate was why municipal authorities neglected dredging the Tomita River. Moreover, the Terajima faction spread word that some form of bribery was occurring there. Moreover, that the dredging ship costing 140,000 yen had become practically scrap after barely two or three years of use—now moored at Shipbuilder Island—was not only due to the Mayor's incompetence, but rumors persisted about misconduct regarding new dredging ship orders. Thus, when the Tomita River Dredging Issue first came up on the agenda, Masuda Takatoku of the Saturday Club raised questions first.

“Chairman, Number 23—I wish to question the Mayor himself regarding the dredging issue.” “Therefore, I earnestly request that the Mayor attend the chamber.” In response, the chairman answered that since the Mayor was currently in a separate room consulting with Diet members regarding the dredging issue, he could not make an appearance at the moment. “Then the Head of the Engineering Department will do,” he said, and proceeded to question: “I request an explanation as to why the dredging ship recently returned from repairs in Osaka has been sitting idle at Shipbuilder Island every day.”

"In response, the Head of the Engineering Department stated: 'It is not idle. Although we dredge five hundred to six hundred tons of soil daily, with such antiquated machinery we simply cannot manage this vast riverbed. Moreover, when it rains even once and sediment flows downstream, some thirty thousand to fifty thousand tons of sand fill the dredged areas anew, rendering our efforts utterly futile. Therefore, we have resigned ourselves to being unable to overcome nature's force majeure.'"

he answered. The phrase "we have resigned ourselves" sounded so pitiable that all the council members burst into laughter. So Masuda asked why they had sent it for repairs if they were just going to give up, but Honda, head of the Engineering Department, as if laughing at the council members’ ignorance, “That was not something we requested. Both the City Board of Aldermen and municipal authorities had completely abandoned hope for Tokushima Port, having declared Tomita River dredging utterly ineffective. Yet you all forced this decision upon us through majority vote.” “Now that matters have reached this point, attempting to shift responsibility onto us is utterly unreasonable.”

At that moment, Masuda visibly bristled with irritation, “I’m not trying to shift responsibility.” “If you understood that, then why didn’t you advise the city council sooner? That’s what I want to ask.” “Until today, I had never heard anyone declare Tokushima Port useless.” As a transportation businessman, Masuda had an acute stake in the dredging issue. “Yet even if I offer explanations, you refuse to heed them.” “These matters should be entrusted to specialists.”

“Then, Head of the Engineering Department—are you saying the city council is useless?” shouted lawyer Inoue, remaining seated without the chairman’s permission. “What nonsense are you spouting? Step up here!” Yuki bellowed. “Bring out the Mayor! Bring out the Mayor!” Mitani shouted. Deputy Mayor Hatakeyama dashed off to the mayor’s office. The clerk was whispering something into the chairman’s ear. “They’re making fools of the city council,” Yuki muttered under his breath.

“Make him apologize!” Inoue shouted from the seats.

In the public gallery, Eiichi was already astonished by these voices erupting sporadically throughout the council chamber. The newspaper reporters were laughing uproariously about something. The chairman glared at them. However, the newspaper reporters did not think anything of such things. The council chamber had only thirty-eight attendees, yet it was as raucous as if they were at some club.

Inoue stood up. And,

“Chairman,” Inoue proposed through his motion, “we demand that Mr. Honda apologize for his current remarks constituting an insult to this city council.”

Voices of "Agreed, agreed" spilled from numerous mouths. Even those of the Political Friends faction were shouting their approval for bullying the department head.

At that moment, Kusumoto Harutsugu, the master benshi, stood up thinking now was the time to rescue the Head of the Engineering Department. "What kind of apology is this? I can't make heads or tails of it!" he shouted. "Shut your mouth, Katsuben!" "Get lost, brothel keeper!" Voices hurling abuse at Kusumoto spilled from the council members' mouths. Hearing these jeers, Kusumoto turned to Inoue: "I don't understand a damn thing you're saying." "I've no business with you," Inoue shot back. "What's this 'you' nonsense?" Kusumoto left his seat and advanced on Inoue. Yuki boomed:

“Chairman! Apology! Apology!” Yuki shouted. Then the Head of the Engineering Department muttered, “How absurd. What’s the point of this?” At this, Yuki’s face turned red as he began raging. “What do you mean ‘idiot’? You’re the idiot—grabbing me like that!” Hearing this, Honda—who had until now maintained a facade of silence—veins bulging, retorted: “Where’s your proof I grabbed you? Keep spouting such nonsense and I won’t stand for it!”

“You’re the one who grabbed me, so don’t just claim you did—ask your damn conscience!”

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

Deputy Mayor Hatakeyama entered. Kitada of the Saturday Club vacated his seat and ran over to Hatakeyama.

“We need to get the mayor out here fast—what’s wrong with you(,) Shinmi?”

“No—he’ll be here shortly. The discussions had seemed to progress considerably.” “However, we must make Honda apologize, Mr. Hatakeyama.” “What need is there for any apology?” “That’s exactly why you people get called bureaucratic types!” Inoue had his chest seized by Kusumoto and they stood on the verge of fighting. Then Kusumoto struck Inoue. Mitani and Yuki rushed over. Those outside watched in bewilderment. The Political Friends faction members shrank back. Particularly, the beardless, nearsighted Hanada Masami turned deathly pale and trembled.

Masuda Takatoku was repeatedly calling for the chairman. The chairman was repeatedly calling for the attendant. It seemed they were intending to send for the mayor.

Masuda approached the chairman’s seat. And from below the chairman’s seat, “Chairman, please assign Kusumoto to the disciplinary committee,” someone was already raising the disciplinary issue. At that moment, Enomoto Koukichi, the third-class post office manager who prided himself on being the chairman’s ally, “No need for discipline! No need for discipline!” Enomoto was shouting. However, from the mouths of the Political Friends faction, “It was Inoue who started this!”

“Inoue, apologize! Inoue, apologize!” voices from the Political Friends faction chanted.

At that moment, the Mayor entered. And took his reserved seat. His demeanor appeared both composed and dignified, exuding an air of authority. Eiichi was thoroughly impressed by his father’s completely unfazed attitude toward the council chamber. And when the Mayor entered, the council seats once again became absurdly quiet. And both the disciplinary issue and the apology matter seemed to be forgotten, with everyone returning to their seats. Inoue remained leaning against his own desk, not showing his face. Honda had reseated himself in the reserved seat and was wiping his tears with a handkerchief.

Chairman Nishimura announced, "At this time, the Mayor will provide an explanation regarding the dredging issue," and

Mayor Shinmi very briefly said the following. "I believe you gentlemen are already well aware that the Tomita River has become entirely defunct." "Therefore, having consulted with both the Ministry of Home Affairs and prefectural authorities this time, if research confirms that rehabilitation is indeed impossible, we have decided to establish a port railway link between Tokushima City and either Komatsushima or Furukawa Port, and regrettably abandon Tokushima Port." "Consequently, as we can no longer endure squandering over 100,000 yen annually on the Tomita River dredging issue either, we shall sell off the current dredging vessels and continue relying on manual dredging methods—as remain operational even now—to maintain barge traffic." "Having reached this decision through consultations with Diet members across all factions, I earnestly hope you gentlemen will extend your gracious understanding to this matter."

In response to this, not a single word of question came from the council seats. That was because the earlier fight between Inoue and Kusumoto had caused the council seats to reactively demand quiet.

The Chairman declared, “With that, we will adjourn today’s session.” And the council members, each chatting amongst themselves, flowed toward the restroom. Eiichi, feeling as if possessed by a fox, exited the public gallery. And with those very feet, he immediately visited Tsuruko and proceeded to extol the triviality of parliamentary politics, how even in a city council of fewer than forty members there were up to two brothel owners, and his father’s greatness within the council chamber. The next morning, at the meal table, Eiichi briefly praised his father. This was the first time Eiichi had praised his father. To this, Father simply replied, "I see. So you were there too."

**Sixteen**

Elementary schools are peculiar institutions. Eiichi had been put in charge of fifty-three third-year elementary students in Class B, though it was a group with many low-ability children. Whenever Eiichi wrote something on the blackboard, the students would immediately begin clamoring. Ishikawa Tsuneji—said to be a cart-puller's child—was an eleven-year-old boy who caused the greatest commotion. Whether from violent tendencies or sheer lack of focus, he would sprawl across his desk like a flat spider—the desk being too low for him—alternately taking out his inkstone, chewing his pencil, doodling in his notebook, then suddenly snatching the slate from his neighbor. The neighboring child would cry. The entire class would erupt in noise, leaving Eiichi utterly exasperated.

In the class, it was still children from middle-class families or above who performed well. The second son of Masuda Takatoku—who served as both lawyer and city council member—and likewise the child of Kawai, another lawyer-councilman, performed well. Of course there existed children like the quiet Tanimoto from impoverished families who did well academically, but those with soiled clothing still tended to perform poorly. Therefore Eiichi concluded that social reform was necessary here too. Applying his self-devised educational psychology, he paid considerable attention to concentration of attention, cultivation of interest, 'repetition', and appeals to linguistic centers and visual perception. Yet the classroom din refused to abate. This stemmed from both the classroom's cramped conditions and the practice of cramming together children of differing psychological capacities into a single room for instruction.

Eiichi called his classroom the “Pig Classroom.” It was not uncommon for Ishikawa Tsuneji to make eleven children cry during a ten-minute recess. Therefore, Eiichi thought he couldn’t conduct proper lessons as long as Ishikawa Tsuneji remained in his classroom. However, he lacked the courage to speak to either the head teacher or the principal. As Eiichi’s classroom grew increasingly chaotic, Sawamura—a normal school graduate overseeing the neighboring fourth-year class—came to investigate. “You must keep this noise under control—it’s unacceptable!” he said.

At the weekly Monday faculty meetings, the Head Teacher and the Principal would simply repeat "discipline, discipline" over and over. When Eiichi thought this was directed at himself, he couldn't lift his head. Therefore, when he peeked in to see how the Head Teacher conducted his lessons, he found fourth-grade female students quietly attending class. He was impressed. However, Eiichi also thought that if they were female students, that degree of quiet could be maintained.

The classroom remained chaotic every day. This led to the principal starting to attend regularly. Yet even with the principal observing from his seat, Ishii Tsuneji refused to stay quiet. Consequently, Eiichi resigned himself to viewing Tsuneji as a child with abnormal psychology. Sawamura and Head Teacher Hayashi would make insulting remarks about Eiichi. However, believing they lacked any understanding of deviant psychology, he deliberately avoided confronting them. Teaching proved thoroughly unpleasant. The creation of detailed lesson plans reached particularly absurd extremes. He couldn't muster the courage to write such idiocy. Eiichi concluded Japanese elementary schools existed to destroy human potential.

The atmosphere in the teachers' room was particularly unpleasant. With mere differences of one yen or fifty sen in monthly salaries, all twenty-six teachers were divided into hierarchical classes; Eiichi ranked fifth from the bottom. Those inferior to Eiichi were four individuals: two young male teachers fresh out of the junior teacher training institute who knew nothing, one female teacher, and a nineteen-year-old youth—the eldest son of Fukushima Elementary School’s principal who had graduated from middle school that past April. However, in terms of actual academic ability, there was not a single teacher among them who could stand shoulder to shoulder with Eiichi. Eiichi could read English and German with ease, and there was no book in science, religion, social issues, literature, or art that he could not read. Therefore, during class breaks, Eiichi would read German philosophy books and the like.

Therefore, neither the Head Teacher nor Sawamura harassed him excessively. Even within the same teachers' room, male and female teachers rarely spoke to each other. Everyone seemed to regard such interaction as tantamount to committing a sin. Yet the romantic scandal that had occurred last year between teachers at this elementary school became an amusing topic of gossip among the staff. The pair had since married and moved to teach deep in the mountains of Mima District, but their colleagues spoke of them as though they were death-row convicts.

Military drills and moral education alone were utterly chaotic. Eiichi was shocked by the toxic effects of this formal militaristic education. Eiichi thought the elementary school was no place for him to remain long. Yet the students were pitiable. When he considered how a nation capable of global greatness was having its very sprouts mercilessly slaughtered today, he found it unbearable. Eiichi concluded that Japanese education aimed to mold humans into dolls. And cursing Japanese education, he recalled Rousseau's Émile and Sophia—educational philosophies that must encompass even romantic love.

And when he thought of the romantic education in Sophia and Émile, he would bless his own relationship with Tsuruko as a happy one and go to meet her every evening.

Eiichi rejoiced in his romantic success yet began to feel an inexpressible pain. But believing that a single minute conversing with his lover could redeem twenty-four hours of anguish, he visited Tsuruko constantly. When he thought they must part again in another month, a sorrow so novelistic welled up within him that his romantic ardor seemed to intensify all the more. Yet at home, they grew deeply suspicious of Eiichi's new nightly excursions. Kichisaburo still knew nothing of the secret, and Madam remained unaware that Eiichi was visiting Tsuruko. Thus those in the inner quarters speculated there must be some intrigue afoot—from instances like maid Yoshi leaving nightly claiming to visit her aunt's house, or from Eiichi's habitual over-kindness toward the maids.

However, on the evening of what was to be the last day of May, the maid "Nao"—whose real name was Oyama Komatsu—received leave from Oume and was set to return home. The reason given was that she would now become a nurse. In the inner quarters, from morning till night, they were consumed by rumors about Eiichi and Komatsu's relationship. Kichisaburo declared in a loud, shrill voice that he had once seen Komatsu weeping in Eiichi's study—a claim calculated to stoke Oume's curiosity. Oyama Komatsu left at May's end. Thereupon Oume dispatched Kichisaburo to the employment agency, charging him to find a reasonably attractive maid. Yet no immediate replacement materialized—days passed, then nearly a week went by without a maid. Each day the new servant's arrival was delayed became another day Eiichi's resentment festered. Oume spread slander both covertly and overtly: that Eiichi had dismissed the maid out of hatred for the household, that he'd sent her away precisely to cause them hardship.

However, it was the evening of June 7th. As Eiichi, sunk in contemplation, was returning from his walk, he unexpectedly encountered Komatsu at Terajima's edge. Komatsu now appeared as a proper schoolgirl without any remnant of her former maid-like countenance, and with eyes devoid of resentment, she began stating she had an apology to make to Eiichi. "An apology?" Eiichi inquired. "But," she whispered mournfully, "Madam has taken to believing that when I received leave from your household this time, it was because some relationship existed between you and me." At this, Eiichi—

“There actually is a relationship, isn’t there? Since I was the one who recommended you become a nurse, it can’t exactly be said there’s no relationship between us. Wait—but from whom exactly did you hear that Madam holds such thoughts?”

When asked, Komatsu flushed red and, “The other day when I happened to meet Kichisaburo on the road and heard about it, I went to your residence just now to offer my thanks, when Madam said, ‘You and Master Eiichi must be enjoying yourselves together these days as you’d hoped,’ which gave me such a shock——” “You’re being cowardly, aren’t you? "Yes, I go out carousing wildly every night. “Hey, what of it?” “And what about you?” “That’s all well and good if I say so.” “If you put it that way, Oume must’ve been left speechless in the end,” Eiichi declared vehemently. Then Komatsu covered her face with the sarasa-patterned furoshiki she held in her hand,

“Oh ho ho ho, how can you tell such lies?” she laughed with a nervous trill. “But words are mere constructs,” he countered. “Putting it the other way around might make things click into place.”

“Even so... Oh ho ho ho”

“I’d be delighted if people said I had a relationship with you.” “Young Master.” “That’s no joking matter.” “Oh ho ho.” “Would it interfere with your marriage?” “In that case, they wouldn’t say there’s a relationship.” “But I don’t care a whit about others’ misunderstandings, so don’t you worry on that account.” “No matter what that Oume bastard says, don’t you worry about such things.” “By the way, have you already been admitted?”

“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 don’t become like them, you can still become a splendid mother to children.” “I’m studying as hard as I can. “For this entrance exam too, only graduates from girls’ high schools applied. “Out of them all, they only permitted two people to enroll,” she said, glancing at the street as if expecting someone to pass by.

“Is that so? That’s good to hear. Actually, even if you call them girls’ high school students these days, they’re hardly reliable, you see. After all, those who study independently and find satisfaction in it are truly the greatest. It may sound strange coming from someone like me, but the things I was genuinely taught in school were few indeed. Even at a nurse training institute, someone like you must study on your own.”

As he advised her like both a brother and a friend, Komatsu too was satisfied, “Yes. Thank you very much. Though I’ve had but little interaction with you, Young Master, I shall never forget the kindnesses I’ve received. I will most certainly repay your benevolence.”

“Repayment this and that—you’re putting on quite the kabuki act.” “There’s no obligation between us whatsoever.” “You—look fifty years ahead. Maidservants will become relics of the past.” “If you don’t become a nurse now and make yourself unworthy of mockery, you’ll grow old in disgrace, understand?” Passersby eyed the pair curiously as they walked past, but Eiichi defiantly met their stares. “Even so, had your lordship not intervened, I could never have dared dream of becoming a nurse.”

"You don't need to bow so much." "Truly, Young Master is such a kind person. And why doesn't Father dote on you so much?" "A good person?" "Are you mocking me?" "I'll take my leave now." "I have to go back and do some studying." "Well then, I'll see you again," and the two parted ways. However, when Komatsu had walked about one block after parting ways, she saw Kichisaburo approaching from the opposite direction carrying a furoshiki bundle. Kichisaburo asked who Komatsu had been talking to. When she answered that it was with Young Master, her face slightly reddening, Kichisaburo walked past with a bitter smile. And after taking a few steps,

“How strange!” he exclaimed, then turned around and shouted “Who’s there?” before quickening his pace.

The next morning, as usual, Eiichi came down from the second-floor study to the kitchen below about fifteen minutes before eight o'clock, intending to have breakfast after his father and Oume. 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 made a strange face and, from in front of the sink,

“Good morning. You’re later than usual today, aren’t you?” “No, it’s the same as always.” “It should be before eight o’clock.” “Eight o’clock already?” “As for someone like me, I’ve already properly finished my breakfast around six-thirty and then started on my chores… The chores are so rushed it’s overwhelming.” “Why, I’ve already spent two hours doing nothing but chores.” Kichisaburo was just then eating his meal in the doma, but Oume turned toward Kichisaburo,

“Kichisaburo, mornings are truly hectic.” “It becomes problematic when you keep hours like the Young Master.” “And when he reads books until such ungodly hours.” “You’d better wrap things up by seven at latest, hear me?” Her manner of speaking grated. Kichisaburo merely kept laughing.

“Even with two maidservants here, if we only assigned one to you, Young Master, and made you handle all the chores yourself from start to finish—that would be just perfect.” “But with no maids actually here, having to wait until eight o’clock for chores becomes rather inconvenient, don’t you think?” “Well, Kichisaburo?” “Heh heh...” Kichisaburo merely laughed while staring at Eiichi’s face. “Young Master Eiichi—Miss Komatsu came by yesterday.” “She told me to give you her regards.”

“Is that so?” “Thank you very much,” he answered lightly, refusing to engage with Oume. Having taunted him expecting Eiichi to become angry, she found his casual response disarming. “The Young Master must have had such interesting talks with Komatsu yesterday.” “Don’t you think, Kichisaburo?” Eiichi showed no surprise, assuming Kichisaburo had told Oume everything. “How amusing it must be watching Madam and Kichisaburo struggle without any maids—quite satisfying from the sidelines.” “Komatsu probably said it’s punishment for Madam being difficult.” “Young Master Eiichi.”

“Did she say that, I wonder?” “How gratifying.” “You see? It’s not just Father and your honorable brother who suffer—even a worthless creature like me has her troubles.” "Young Master Eiichi, you must be having such cozy talks every night with that charming Miss Komatsu lately." “She’s grown quite lovely these days, hasn’t she?” Left unchecked, she indulged in her petty vengeance. But Eiichi remained unperturbed. “Indeed.” “Komatsu has become rather beautiful.”

“She must be pleased now that she’s grown pretty.” “I’m delighted.” “See? Water work sullies even a beauty’s looks.” "When she served at the main house, Komatsu stayed clean enough." “Water chores truly are poison.” "My hands and face lost their glow in just seven days, I tell you." "Hey, Kichisaburo." “Right? Look how coarse Madam’s hands have turned.” “What do you say to that?”

Eiichi inwardly ridiculed Oume’s petty nature. However, believing he had sufficiently vented his malice toward her in his mind, he resolved to eat his fill of the unpalatable meal as calmly as possible despite her nagging. “Hey, Kichisaburo. From now on, while there are no maids, everyone shouldn’t have to cook and eat their own meals—there’s someone who says it’s fine if he just reads books…” Still, Eiichi did not get angry.

“Young Master Eiichi, today’s lunchbox hasn’t been prepared.” “Mr. Masunori’s wasn’t finished either...” Oume pressed with escalating threats. But Eiichi remained utterly indifferent. “Ahh—finally done with chores." "I’ve had enough of this drudgery." “Young Master Eiichi, I must tend to my hair now—you’ll wash that tray and teacup yourself.” “What a bother,” she declared, wiping her hands on her apron as she retreated from the sink toward the back room. Kichisaburo had finished eating and now clutched the meal tray’s lid. Oume laughed frostily. “Do manage.”

Eiichi quietly carried the meal tray to the sink as instructed. Oume had stood watching to see how Eiichi would react, but now laughed while washing dishes. She felt uneasy, "What a strange one!" she sneered under her breath, though her words never reached Eiichi's ears. Her laughter persisted. "My, he truly is a ridiculous person," Oume repeated. This time, the jeering voice reached him faintly.

At that moment, as he finished washing the bowl and was about to take it out from the tub, Eiichi grabbed the bowl and hurled it at the paving stones to shatter it into dust. The bowl shattered. Eiichi— “Ah! It shattered.” “Ah ha ha...” he let out a dreamy, light laugh. Oume exclaimed, “I was shocked! That was dangerous! Thank goodness none of the fragments flew into my eyes!” she said, retreating into the back room.

Eiichi hurried to school but, after getting through the day's classes in an oddly amusing manner, hid himself away somewhere. He did not return home for about three days. Nor did he go back to the countryside. Nor was he at Tsuruko's place. Of course, he didn't visit Komatsu's place either.

On the evening of the third day, he returned with a ghostly pale, lifeless, emaciated face. When he returned, a single maid was working faithfully in the kitchen in place of Komatsu. Tsuruko had been advising Eiichi that he must never rebel against his father. However, Eiichi thought that Tsuruko’s tolerance lacked the modern character imbued with Lutheran Protestantism. He had even considered it acceptable to go mad if that would prompt his father’s self-reflection. He did not for a moment believe that remonstrating would be futile. Eiichi enumerated each matter that should prompt his father’s self-reflection: first, concerning the very value of money itself; second, the dream of striking it rich through stocks; third, the very worth of the Mayor himself; fourth, womanizing; fifth, having him clearly define the arrangements regarding Oume, the legal wife, and us children—he agonized. He believed that father would surely come to share his perspective. He did not think it was hopeless. Yet he also concluded that ordinary means would never suffice to convince his father on these points.

He even felt an impulse to smile and permit with oceanic tolerance the womanizing and keeping of concubines. However, when he thought of the many saints like Christ—those flowing with fiery passion and blood—he felt compelled to oppose, murmuring "No, no."

Living together made it feel somehow strange to suddenly seize Father and admonish him, so he kept putting it off until thirty days had passed. The act of remonstrating was ultimately impossible. On the evening he returned after a three-day fast from unknown whereabouts—having found Father and Oume sitting with a long charcoal brazier between them smoking tobacco—he deemed the moment opportune and appeared before them. “I have returned,” Eiichi said, placing his hands on the floor in a calm apology. “I’m sorry for causing you such concern.”

Father remained silent, feigning ignorance. Oume looked shocked, “Welcome back.” "You can’t possibly imagine how worried we’ve been at home." “Young Master Eiichi... where have you been?” “Well, I had a few things to think about—” Father glanced briefly at Eiichi with a domineering look, “Eiichi, there’s no unfilial wretch like you… reflect on this thoroughly,” he said in a cold, composed tone. The group remained motionless for a while. However, Eiichi raised his head and assumed a stern, inviolable demeanor. Father leaned both arms on the edge of the long charcoal brazier, feigning indifference to Eiichi’s movements. Oume also did the same. However, both of them were inwardly worried, unable to predict what Eiichi might do next.

But Eiichi would not open his mouth. He kept his father fixed with a gaze brimming with haughty regal air.

Father’s body had naturally begun to tremble and become frightened because,

“Eiichi, have you gone mad? What’s wrong with you? What is this impertinent attitude you’re showing me?” he scolded.

Oume too, "Young Master Eiichi's gaze. "What a dreadful look. "You mustn't—mustn't make such dreadful eyes at me," she said with an anguished smile, unable to refrain from checking him. Eiichi suddenly suffused his pale, gaunt cheeks with a gentle smile, his eyelids moving as though brimming with joy. "Father," he uttered in a low voice, sweetly feminine in its loveliness. He called out "Father" once more, but now his voice had grown clouded. And when he cried "Father" a third time, it came out tear-choked. Yet through all three calls, Father never once replied.

Eiichi was streaming tears while, “Father, I beg you with all my life—please listen to what I have to say,” he pleaded, but choked up before he could finish, unable to clearly articulate the ending.

Oume, still anxious about the harsh words she had spoken just four days prior, grew irritated at Eiichi’s slowness in broaching the subject.

A little while later, Eiichi lacked even the courage to raise his face. “Father, am I truly your child? “I don’t know why, but I cannot love you from the bottom of my heart. “But thinking that I might be able to love you truly and deeply from the bottom of my heart, I do nothing but cry day after day. “I have spent these three days at Osasayama contemplating—how I might truly love you, Father. “If there exists some thread-like thing in this world that connects human hearts, I have prayed that its mysterious power might convey my thoughts to your heart, Father...” he said, bowing his head and falling silent while weeping. However, in his heart,

Admonish? What a trite imitation! In the Shigemori era such things still held value, but in the twentieth century not a single man admonishes his father—leaving home to live off a woman suffices. "In recent novels there’s not one protagonist who does such trite things as admonishing their father..." A mocking voice arose.

Drowning out that inner voice, Eiichi once again— “Father…” he called out. “I—Father— "There are several matters I must humbly bring to your attention." "Forgive my bluntness, but do you truly believe your recent way of living follows humanity’s proper path?" "I cannot help but feel Father’s current lifestyle deviates from the straight course of human morality." "I’ve tried—repeatedly tried—to voice this, but my fear of your reprimand made me cowardly... kept me from speaking…"

Father hung his head, but Oume maintained an air of ignorance as she smoked her tobacco.

Eiichi resumed speaking, “Every time I return to the countryside, I cannot help but think how cruel Father is to Mother-san.” “Merciless?!” Father shouted. “What nonsense are you spouting!” “That’s right—it’s merciless. Utterly merciless.” Though tears streamed down his face, Eiichi declared: “You’re the one burying a living, lovely woman in a grave.” But within him raged—All is past. He was trying to warm the long-cold relationship between Father and his legal wife. Father was fifty-six! Thirty years separated from his proper spouse. If those decades could be reclaimed, perhaps affection might bloom anew—No, there’d been no affection from the start. Can I leave this unspoken?— The conflict tore at him.

“What am I saying—me, a concubine’s child,” Eiichi mocked himself inwardly. Today, unlike his usual self, Father was speaking up a lot—

“Silence! Eiichi. If you keep spouting such impertinent nonsense, I won’t stand for it! Haven’t I provided Oku with her own share of food?”

Oume abruptly stood up and went out to the toilet. Eiichi found that large round chignon unsightly. Seeing off Oume’s retreating figure, he became somewhat composed, “Even if you scold me, Father, I will say what I must say.” “Please bear with me just a little longer and listen.” “If you would but listen, I would be content even to die.” “Father.” “According to Mother-san from Umazume, Father has apparently suffered significant losses in stocks recently.” “This is the plea of my entire life.” “Father, please—I beg you to stop the speculation.” “They say even the Umazume estate has been entirely mortgaged... Father, how will you explain this to the Shinmi ancestors?” Eiichi suddenly felt like he had become a Confucian scholar. “What I do is my own business, isn’t it?” “This isn’t any of your business.” “What impertinent nonsense are you spouting, you insolent brat?” “Then what do you plan to do with yourself?” “I’ll let you do as you damn well please.” “Since I’m old and useless now, I’ll let you do as you damn well please,” Father declared.

“Do you assert it’s acceptable to gamble with your own money?” Eiichi said to his father, though knowing it was impertinent yet steeling himself to speak. “Hmph! What do you insolent student brats know?” “You dare spout such cheek to the parent who’s fed you till now—!” Blue veins bulged on Father’s forehead. Father hunched over the hibachi, lost in contemplation— This household’s ruin was all fate’s doing. He who’d been adopted at sixteen would have ended his days as a liquor merchant’s second son in Ōtsu Village, had he not entered the Shinmi family. Without the Shinmi name, he’d never have gained education nor campaign funds. But taking Kame as concubine stemmed from irrepressible passion. Bringing in Oume too obeyed instincts beyond restraint. When he installed Kame, Oku had protested. Now installing Oume drew objections from Kame’s child—all fate’s wheel. Had he curbed his urges, this tragedy wouldn’t be. Better never adopted by that thirteen-year-old girl Oku…… Fate—fate—thus absolving himself of blame. Eiichi pressed on.

“Then Father—may I see this ‘money of yours’ you speak of? You’ve squandered every last scrap of the Shinmi family’s assets—where in blazes does this ‘money of yours’ exist?!”

He found this fierce confrontation unbearable.

“Say all you want,” “But rest assured I didn’t steal the Shinmi family’s assets.” “So not stealing makes it right?” Eiichi retorted. “Spout whatever nonsense you want! If a thief, then a thief I’ll be! If a gambler, then a gambler I’ll be! No matter how grandly you talk, such a house could never be built by these hands. Thief or robber matters not—you should learn to dwell in grand houses yourself! The world’s had its share of splendid thieves. A thief in the mayor’s chair, eh? A carefree, fair-minded thief. A thief who grips administrative power.” “—”

Eiichi was silenced. However, after a short while, he mustered his courage again, “Father, if that is truly how things stand, then what provisions will you make for us?” “For my sister—Emiko and Yoshitaka—…”

“However it turns out, that’s my decision to make.” “I won’t have you meddlin’.” “Whether I let ’em live or die’s my own affair.” “You’re dead wrong thinkin’ eldest sons get talkin’ rights.” “Mean to hand over inheritance rights to Masunori soon enough… here in this house.” “Wise lad like you can’t be inheritin’ no thief’s household.” “Nah, course not.” “Won’t be lettin’ you have it neither.” “Right? Best you resign yourself to that.” “No—I want not a single coin from others. If Masunori wants them rights, I’ll yield ’em gladly—” Having said this, Eiichi found his tears dried up, every measure of goodness gone, feeling as though an iron machine churned in his chest.

But since he hadn’t yet voiced all that he was thinking in his heart, “Father... Are you truly my father?” he uttered in a daze. He could not utter anything beyond this. Because Eiichi, with a lunatic-like strange expression, posed this bizarre question, “I ain’t your father,” he declared.

Eiichi was losing his mind, yet he made no attempt to restrain himself. He let out a laugh verging on tears—his eyes brimming as he tried once more to call out, “Father.” And while standing up, “Father, why won’t you dote on me?” Father, why wouldn’t you dote on Eiichi? “Father, why did you bring Oume into the household so soon after Mother died?” he began muttering to himself as he leaned against a pillar.

Eiichi noticed that he himself was pretending to be mad. He recalled how his sister occasionally pretended to be mad and troubled the lawful wife in the countryside. However, when I consider whether the psychological state of my sister when people say she goes mad refers to times like these, I feel sympathy. I imagine that what we call going mad is when a high fever psychological state lasts longer than in ordinary people. And this aspect of the high fever psychological state feels somehow refreshing—so interesting that I don't want to suppress it.

“Father.” “I love Father.” “But I dislike that Father dabbles in stocks and speculation and wastes himself on womanizing,” he said, feeling as though Tsuruko had suddenly possessed him, adopting her feminine speech patterns and speaking in a gentle voice. "Why did Father dislike me? Was it wrong that I enrolled at Meiji Gakuin? Ah—but who in this misguided world of ours would be fool enough to become an official or lawyer? Was it wrong that I returned from Meiji Gakuin? Father—do you blame me without even hearing my reasons? But I... That’s right. I won’t say another word. ‘I’ll study on my own—’” he declared aloud. Eiichi thought that having said this much, Father would understand.

Father had been crying from the start, his head pressed against the iron kettle. Yet he felt terrified, sensing something supernatural in Eiichi's demeanor. Oume had gone out to the veranda to eavesdrop, but when the two fell silent, she returned inside. Immediately, "Young Master Eiichi seems to have gone mad, hasn't he?" she said, sitting before the long brazier with a tobacco box on her knees as she picked up her pipe. She began smoking with affected nonchalance.

Eiichi looked at Oume’s vulgar attitude, snorted derisively through his nose, and left the house. He was going to visit Tsuruko. Oume saw her husband crying and laughed loudly.

“Husband, why are you crying? How utterly absurd! What Young Master Eiichi says amounts to nothing. I don’t give a whit about his prattling. Haven’t I always told you this? You should hurry and find Young Master Eiichi a mistress already. Keep a pretty thing at his side, and he won’t utter a word against you. When you refuse to heed my advice, you only bring trouble upon yourself—” she said triumphantly, her tone oscillating between lecturing and feigned consolation.

Father Kiichi remained silent, lost in reminiscence of the past. From time to time he watched the veranda near the toilet, wondering if the ghost of Eiichi's mother - or something akin to it - might emerge. Eiichi's face kept flickering before his eyes, transmuted into Okame's visage.

**Seventeen**

He left the house and visited Tsuruko for the first time in a long while. Tsuruko was startled by Eiichi's haggard appearance. She asked about the cause, but Eiichi gave no answer. Eiichi might have responded had he received a passionate kiss from the outset, but he stayed silent because she seemed to be affectating proper manners. In that moment, he understood Tsuruko was not a woman capable of offering him true sympathy. Thinking she likely knew nothing of modern men—that she remained merely provincial—he kept silent.

Eiichi felt that even what people called lovers held no meaning. He doubted what sweetness love could offer in such a contradictory world. Yet love grows sweeter precisely through such doubt. Melancholy love! Nothing in this world seemed stranger than this. As Eiichi maintained his silence,Tsuruko grew agitated. She took his hand. But Eiichi made no move to kindle any amorous feelings. He felt he had come today to mock love itself,a sorrowful passion burning within him. With his hand clasped,he recalled Oasayama's forest...those three days spent in woods rumored to harbor tengu. He remembered fasting and meditating in a small shrine nestled among cedars with trunks three arm spans thick...On that tenth night when winds lashed cedar branches and a bluish moon peered into his shrine,the moment he snapped open eyes brimming with lonely exaltation to gaze upward. At that time,he had resolved never to perform love's dramas—those plays infested with ego—in this world. "But,"he mused—even through humanity's muddied voices and Tsuruko's shrill chatter—the mystic sound of wind through lofty pines resonated,making him tilt his head to look up at her. Gazing at Tsuruko's face,he wondered what purpose that glow between her brows served.Yet embracing her felt disturbingly like loving a child. "When I stilled Oasayama's raging storms with one word,"he thought,"when I snuffed that blue moon's light with raised hand—wasn't that precisely when I should've relaxed into love's embrace?" "And when I find nothingness between sky and sky—wouldn't that bring true joy?"The absurdity made staying beside Tsuruko unbearable.

Eiichi embraced Tsuruko and closed his eyes. And he thought that if Tsuruko were to vanish instantly and then appear within his illusions, that would be true love. However, even in his illusions, she did not appear. Only the fragrance of the perfume Tsuruko was wearing lingered. Eiichi shifted from thought to thought, doubting whether all the blood vessels in his body were illusions. And he resolved in his heart to transform reality into a dream within his brain and objectivity into an illusion carried away by the wind, intending to bring it all to an end. Objectivity was no longer reality—for him, reality was illusion and illusion was reality. Objectivity was no longer reality. The entire world went mad and ended.

Eiichi brought his lips close to Tsuruko,

“Lady Tsuruko. “The world’s axis 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 his meaning but remained silent. Yet she thought Eiichi had discerned in people’s gentle affection toward her—and in their sympathy—some ineffably noble virtue surpassing ordinary Christian devotion, likely imagining he suffered again for another’s sake. Tsuruko kissed him. And in a voice low with sorrow,

“What’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her eyes.

“Lady Tsuruko, when are you leaving for Hiroshima?”

“Me?” Tsuruko tilted her face at an angle, “I... I don’t want to go to Hiroshima—”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you look so sorrowful these days as a husband?” “Somehow, I feel uneasy about abandoning you and going to Hiroshima...” “Please stay by my side—that’s it!” “I too hate parting with Lady Tsuruko.” “I will not allow Lady Tsuruko to go to Hiroshima even if she says she will!” “Lady Tsuruko! Even if you say you’ll go—I won’t allow it!”

“Ah, I won’t go either.” Shall we remain like this until we die? “Oh right—thank you for cleaning the garden the other day.” “Not at all.” “Before that, you filled the bath with water and ran errands for me. I’m truly… so sorry to trouble you.” “Why? For your sake, I would even discard my life.” “Even so, I don’t want to make use of my beloved. You see, you are my beloved. The bond between you and me cannot be severed even by God…”

“By the way, Lady Tsuruko. I intend to leave Father’s house soon—” he said, but Tsuruko looked startled. “What’s wrong?” “The truth is… You mustn’t get angry. Because everyone will talk about it. I’ve just had another fight with Father—” “A fight? Even though I told you not to fight—” Tsuruko’s expression darkened slightly.

“Lady Tsuruko.” “There’s no need to look down like that.” “Please listen until I explain the reason.” “The relationship between me and Father remains just as I’ve described each time.” “You see, Lady Tsuruko... It will inevitably rupture soon.” “What’s wrong?” “What do you mean by ‘rupture’?” “I’ve already been stripped of my inheritance rights.” “To whom?” “Father is transferring them to Masunori.” “How cruel of Father!” “You see—when I’m in Tokyo, they don’t send enough for my expenses, and when I return home, I’m treated like a stepchild. Right?”

“I truly sympathize with you.”

"I don't find being made a quasi-ward painful in itself." "What's unbearably sad is how society treats me just as Father does." "Oh... Does Father dislike you that much—then can't you stay at home?" "If I remain like this, I think there's nothing left but to be killed by Father." "You'll be killed? If you were killed—what would become of you then?"

“I’ve been thinking I too might go somewhere soon, you know.”

“Where to?”

“Well—shall I go along with you to where you’re headed?” “To Hiroshima? Then what? And what will you do?” “Anything will do. Even a shop boy, even an apprentice, even a farmer…” “A farmer? I hate farmers!” “Huh? The young lady dislikes farmers? Hmm—you dislike farmers? If I thought you were different from ordinary schoolgirls, you’re just the same as them after all… Is there anything as sacred as farmers? There is much truth in Tolstoy’s simple-life doctrine.”

“Well, I was merely testing the idea.” “There’s no need to attack me so head-on.” “Amos was originally a farmer too.” Though Tsuruko tried to smooth things over, Eiichi nevertheless attempted to justify his position: “Actually, I miss farming so intensely I can scarcely bear it, but since I don’t believe a life of carefree farming constitutes the whole of existence, that’s why I’m teaching at an elementary school now.” “Truly, no life could be more sacred than that of a farmer,” Tsuruko now concurred with agrarian principles, but when Grandmother’s voice called from below, they had no choice but to descend.

Eiichi opened the window and thought about various things. The nearly full moon illuminated the garden, making the persimmon leaves, mandarin orange leaves, and peach leaves glisten. The neighborhood lay utterly quiet, with no light visible in any house. The moon raced across the sky. There came the sound of the front gate opening—Tsuruko seemed to be going out on some errand. Eiichi sank into solitary contemplation…… When I compare my reasons for abandoning Meiji Gakuin with this current meaningless existence, I feel utterly desolate. And I keenly sense life's decline.

But on the other hand, if I were to set my mind this time to studying chemistry or physics and make some great invention, then perhaps life wouldn’t be so meaningless, nor would school. Abandon these fanciful pursuits like social reform and religion—a voice within urged me to enter an engineering university instead and make some grand invention.

......The moon emerged from the clouds. Every corner of the garden became visible. He dismissed this positivism too with mockery. For humans to labor like machines inventing machines held no meaning. Humans ought to play. Science, religion, morality, life—they all serve as grand toys! Art engages by crafting elaborate costumes; morality by fashioning small dolls; religion too engages by molding grand humans. Life becomes theater. To play defines humanity; failure to play well defines beasts.

Modern people were mistaken in their way of playing. There was a need to teach humans how to play. He retorted that admonishing Father was due to his mistaken way of playing, thereby defending his own philosophical pursuits up to now—which had been like mere play. Tsuruko returned earlier than expected. Even when Tsuruko came up to the second floor, Eiichi kept thinking with a feigned look of ignorance. “It would be best if you didn’t think so much anymore.” “But this is troubling.” “But God knows what is truly good for humans,” Tsuruko said immediately.

“Leave everything to God,” he said but remained silent. Tsuruko wondered if he was angry at her earlier statement about hating farmers, “Wait a moment, I must apologize to you. “Was it wrong of me to oppose you?” “If that has made you angry, I beg your forgiveness.” “Since I truly apologize from the bottom of my heart,” she pleaded.

Eiichi wasn't particularly angry, but he didn't utter a single word for about ten minutes. Tsuruko too leaned against the window frame with an air of feigned ignorance and remained silent. Yet she also seemed to be crying about something. Without paying any heed to Tsuruko's tears, Eiichi tried weeping alone in his heart. However, after a short while, Eiichi suggested to Tsuruko that they read some of Shelley's poetry together. And they read Shelley together until around one o'clock, when Tsuruko said, "It was interesting." That night, Eiichi was compelled to stay at Tsuruko's house. Tsuruko laid out Eiichi's bedding in her room, but while she was arranging it, he spoke about topics ranging from Shelley to the activities of socialist party members in Tokyo. Tsuruko kept repeating, "How pleasant."

Tsuruko leaned against the desk, read a chapter of the Bible, went downstairs, and slept. Eiichi got into bed but could not sleep, seeing only dreams.

Eighteen

From that evening onward, Eiichi's mind grew disordered, feeling a violent trembling ceaselessly arising in his chest. This intense trembling feared nothing, yet when he turned inward to examine himself, he would occasionally discover startling things; moreover, when this trembling manifested strongly in the external world, he began losing all distinction between dream and reality. On the evening after staying at Tsuruko's house, when ordered to water the front garden, Eiichi suddenly wanted to destroy the buckets and ladles - smashing them to pieces in wild abandon. Pitying both himself and his situation, he let tears flow in an attempt to cry. After weeping, he sought refuge in Shiroyama Forest; without eating dinner, he sobbed beneath a great camphor tree's shadow until midnight approached. Near midnight, he roused Tsuruko and again secured lodging through her mercy.

Kichisaburo and Oume started proclaiming that Eiichi had completely lost his mind. However, the next day, Eiichi again wondered whether something called a knife could carve even such a beautiful pillar, thinking that if it could carve at all, he might as well try carving it once. This pillar was a symbol of Father's extravagance, he reasoned, and tried carving two or three spots on the main hinoki pillar of the front alcove. When he carved into it, the pillar's appearance became considerably marred, making him feel like laughing, so he tried laughing aloud. That kind of laughter felt strangely good. He thought about living seventy-five days longer or thereabouts.

Again, it was the next morning. Because he thought Kichisaburo was a detestable yet pitiable fellow whom he wanted to strike once and then pat affectionately on the head, he suddenly delivered a punch to his head. However, detesting Kichisaburo's impudent retort of “Young Master, what are you doing?” he dragged him down right there, mounted him like a horse, and pulled his ears as hard as he could. Then, perhaps because Kichisaburo finally felt something after all, 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 whenever he found a clever, beautiful girl, he would hug her and weep inwardly. The female students were delighted to be hugged by Mr. Shinmi. Eiichi wanted to cry immediately whenever he saw Tsuruko. Because he thought Tsuruko's soul never fully entered his palm—and when it did enter, it would slip through his fingers like some sort of ghostly entity. Even so, he longed for Tsuruko; moreover, since there were neither competitors trying to interfere with their relationship nor parents to object, day after day they would meet—crying and talking, talking and crying until late at night—in unbearable rapture.

I didn't particularly think I'd gone mad, but aware all the while that I was doing strange things, I spent four or five days engaged in various pranks that passed in a flash. During this time too, I would sometimes take a knife from my pocket and delight in it, or hurriedly spend my days scrawling large characters like "Transcendence," "Greatness," and "Incarnation" across the new white warehouse walls.

Tsuruko was scheduled to depart for Hiroshima on the 10 PM steamship of June 26th. June 26th arrived. It was a Saturday when he received a letter from his legal wife in the countryside urging him to return home as there was something she urgently needed to discuss.—This letter had already been opened. However, he did not get angry at all; instead, he steeled his resolve, thinking that no matter what suspicions Oume and Kichisaburo might harbor or what evil schemes they might devise, he would dismiss them as trivial concerns, and so took leave from school and set out for home.

As he left the town behind, the Yoshino River plain spread out before him in all directions. Already, rice fields stretched across the land, making the world appear vibrant. The sincere hues of birch brown emerged on scattered thatched roofs, filling the air with an atmosphere of tranquil peace.

Eiichi found it both amusing and pitiable that he himself had destroyed the buckets and ladles. Why hadn't I immediately come out to that sunlit plain spread open before me, I wondered—why had I instead engaged in such childish acts of madness? However, if one were to live in the human world, one must occasionally summon the courage to shatter even a single bowl. No—that wasn't the point. It needed to be shown. It wasn't necessary. It had been planned. I do not carve the alcove pillar willingly or with any liking. I merely carved it because I somehow felt compelled, as if ordered....recalling those events, I defended that the circumstances had been unavoidable.

Mile after mile, I had drawn considerably closer to my house, and when I reached the Ushiyajima Ferry, "Ah, embracing a lover would be better than nature. No—that's not right. Being with a lover who appreciates nature would be better. Walking alone like that made me unbearably lonely. Though of course when alone, there's nothing to provoke anger. No—how joyful it would be to live with a lover in desolate wilderness. With no one in the wilderness to reproach us. There likely wouldn't be people like Oume or Kichisaburo speaking ill of us—that's how it would be. If only I'd gone away with Tsuruko. No—no, Tsuruko feels too ashamed to return to Umazume Village. Ah—how I yearned for Tsuruko. I longed for Tsuruko; I simply couldn't endure a day without seeing her. Today I must return without fail. Since she departs the day after tomorrow, I should seize every extra hour to see her face. 'I'll go back and immediately...' I thought as I walked.

When he saw the site of his lover's estate, he paused briefly, murmured "Lady Tsuruko" under his breath, and continued walking toward his own house.

When he entered the house with excessive solemnity, his mother and younger sister seemed to be doing needlework in the back room; they weren't in the main house. When he moved along the veranda toward the back room,

“You really are slow.” “You can’t even sew that part properly，let alone the collar?” “With work like that，do you think you can get married—” I heard Stepmother scolding Emiko through her laughter. Eiichi remained standing outside the veranda，

“Stepmother. How is your illness today?” he asked. From inside came the sound of a sliding screen opening. “Young Master Eiichi. How kind of you to come,” she said. “Did the letter arrive?” “Thank you.” “Thanks to you, I’m gradually…” Her voice trailed off somberly.

“Young Master Eiichi. Miss Emiko truly is slow and causing trouble.” “She can’t even properly sew a single lined kimono by herself yet,” Oume remarked, gazing at Emiko. Emiko kept her head bowed as she stitched the collar. “I must be causing you trouble, but I humbly ask for your understanding.” “However, it is most fortunate that your condition is gradually improving... Stepmother.” “What matter brings you here today?” “Today.” “Oh, do come inside and sit properly on the tatami.” “Please don’t crouch there at the edge of the veranda like that.” “Why don’t you take it easy today?” “Tomorrow is Sunday, isn’t it? Miss Emiko, bring a cushion here for a moment.”

Emiko silently stood up and ran to the kitchen. Eiichi watched her retreating figure—the plain cotton kimono with its red Chinese crepe obi, so clumsily worn that the tightly fastened thin obi looked especially distasteful. Her hair was disheveled, grime clinging darkly to her neck. The sight of those large feet slapping heavily against the ground as she ran was something he could never accept as belonging to his own sibling.

“Oh, thank you.” “However today there’s something I absolutely must return home for.”

“Young Master Eiichi.” “You’re saying such strange things today, unlike your usual self.” “Do stay here tonight.” “I’ve been feeling somewhat better these past few days—well enough to sit up like this today, you see. That’s why I thought we might have a proper conversation tonight.” “Even about Tokyo matters—” “No—there’s something I absolutely must return home for tonight.” “Is that so?” “This errand—what sort of errand do you mean?” “It’s not precisely an errand per se, but a friend of mine departs for Hiroshima on the 28th—there are matters I must discuss.”

Emiko brought the futon. “Now lay that out… Miss Emi, the tea… Is that so? If that’s the sort of errand, I won’t stand in your way.” “The matter for which I asked Young Master Eiichi to come today isn’t anything significant—it’s nothing external—but Father has suddenly decided to raise this autumn’s tax by four-tenths…” “When did he come to say such a thing?” “When? Why, the day before yesterday, that Kamekou came out from town and had already gone around spreading the word.” “That Kamekou spends more time at his own place in town than here at the house, doesn’t he?” “He knows nothing about the house.” “However, yesterday, the people from Shinden all came here to voice their dissatisfaction—oh, it was terrifying.” “Hey, Emi, yesterday morning was terrifying, wasn’t it?” she said, pulling Emiko—who had brought the tea—into the conversation.

“Brother, you can’t imagine how terrifying it was,” she responded while gauging her stepmother’s mood. “What exactly happened?” “They were all lined up at the entrance making a fuss. “Now Miss Emi—how many were there again? “There must have been eight or nine people, wouldn’t you say?” “That’s right. “It might have been as many as ten.” “Ten?! “Did ten people actually come?” “Well—they just kept quiet saying they wanted an audience with the master, all calm-like, then came crowding into the entrance—it was dreadful!”

“Who went out?” “I was too frightened to go out.” “At first, the maid went out.” “And then Miss Emi went out afterward—right, Miss Emi?” “And then when they went out?” “When they had informed them that ‘The master is away,’ Kamekou came and said, ‘If you’re dissatisfied, come to Umazume.’” “They insisted that the master must have returned, but in truth, Father had not come back at all, and the household likely knew nothing about the tax matters.” “So they must have been told by someone from town, but we know nothing about it here. If you have any complaints, we said you should go to town—but there’s no such place to direct you.” “There’s no way such a thing could happen—after all, Kamekou has already come to spread the word, so there can’t be any mistake.” “And there’s no reason for them to claim ignorance when they’re part of the Shinmi household.” “If you claim not to know, then we won’t pay the taxes until you do.” “If that’s not possible—if the master isn’t here—then they said even the mistress should come out.” “So then, when we said Madam was unwell, the maid came back saying, ‘Then have the young lady come out instead.’ But Miss Emi said she was too embarrassed and absolutely refused to go out. Then they said they wouldn’t leave unless even the young lady came out.” “When we had no choice but to send Miss Emi out, they began loudly laying out their arguments—so loud it carried to the back room—‘Had you informed us when we prepared the rice seedlings that you intended to raise the tax, we might have made arrangements accordingly. But to declare a four-tenths increase now, when the rice has already grown tall and we’ve applied fertilizer twice—this is something we simply cannot manage on our part.” “If we were to make unreasonable demands, the police would likely get involved, so we will not make any unreasonable demands.” “But how splendidly you go about troubling poor folks like us.” “We shall return the favor in due time, so kindly have Madam convey our message to the master in town.” “If you impose unreasonable demands from your side, we too will make unreasonable demands.” “Since we’ll have the police collect our taxes either way, we’ve decided to go to them ourselves first—so you’d best prepare for that,” they said with infuriating composure, clearly lowering their tone thinking they were dealing with mere women, until my stomach turned. “No matter if we’re women—”

“Well, that’s quite something that happened,” Eiichi said, laughing without any particular surprise. “It was truly terrifying. “So then I thought—what would we do if ten people suddenly rioted? “There were no men here, and I’m ill. “All three of us would’ve been killed. “Soon—” she added with slight exaggeration, “Hmm, Father does unconscionable things.” “He knows full well how much this troubles us, yet goes and does such things. “This is truly unbearable.”

“You were truly troubled, weren’t you? So what happened then? And then?”

In the back moat, two or three children were lowering shrimp nets and making a commotion. A shrike was clamorously chirping in the persimmon tree. “Since those of us in the household know nothing about it, we told them that after making inquiries in town, we would have a proper discussion.”

“Did they leave when you said that?” “Well, they were having some sort of discussion among themselves for about an hour before they finally left. But last night, I was so worried they might come back to cause trouble that I stayed up all night without sleeping.” “Did you tell the police?”

“It would be best to tell the police, but... “It’d be like airing our family’s shame, you see.” “And thinking we might get waylaid on the way to tell them, none of us dared go at all.” “……But Young Master Eiichi, you can’t imagine how worried I was yesterday.” “What about the steward?” “Even if we call him a steward, he’s not one of ours—how shameful that Father raised taxes four-tenths! Now we can’t even claim the new tenants came threatening us.”

“Mother, what will you do about it?” “So then I thought to have you come urgently today and consult with you about it?” “Well.” “Still, I found myself troubled over how to manage it.” “But what can we do?” “Hmm.” “Is it truly true that Kamekou went around spreading this?”

“It seems unbelievable.” “But if it were a lie, they likely wouldn’t have gotten so angry.” “Given Father’s ways, it must be true.” “They must be struggling because they can’t pay the interest.” she said half-jokingly, “Probably about that much.” “But when poverty sets in, all sorts of unpleasant things do start happening.” “Rumors say Father lost sixty thousand yen in stocks this time—isn’t that so?” “Is that true?”

“What do you think? I only heard about it from Mother when I came back last time. Lost sixty thousand yen, they say?” “Even if you stayed by his side, he wouldn’t notice a thing. They say he lost sixty thousand yen. Kamekou was spreading those rumors.” “Oh, that’s such a nuisance—”

“It really is,” she said. “I’ve grown so tired of all this. After all, I think this house and estate will end up being taken by others before long.” “What does it matter if others take it?” Oume countered. “Since we were born naked, shouldn’t we live naked? Don’t birds sleep and wake wearing only what nature gave them?” Her mind drifted to Christ’s parable about Solomon’s splendor even as she spoke. “But if I wore clothes as beautiful as a bird’s plumage, I wouldn’t complain either,” Emiko replied. “Young Master Eiichi—since you’re a man, you can voice such selfish notions. But if one were a woman, those words wouldn’t pass one’s lips so easily—”

“Just because one’s a woman doesn’t mean there’s any real difference from men,” she said. “Who’s to say humans aren’t more beautiful naked than clothed?” And thus she began espousing her Shinmi-brand nudism. “Well now, logically speaking I suppose that’s so,” came the reply. “But you can’t run the world on logic alone.” “What nonsense—if logic didn’t align with reality, how could we live by it? Reason exists precisely because it matches the world’s workings.”

“I can’t keep up with Eiichi-sama anymore.” “If you corner me like this.” “Ohohoho… Then what should we do? From Eiichi-sama’s logic—what about this current matter?” “This matter? There’s nothing particularly troubling about it.” “From my perspective…” “Nothing? “How’re they gonna handle the house? Don’t you get it?” “Whether the house gets burned down or destroyed—it makes no difference.” “Even if people are killed, there’s no need to fret over their souls being destroyed,” she argued with extremity.

"But I really don't want the house burned down." "Now now, Emi, that's not how it works." Emiko merely laughed.

“Oh, Young Master Eiichi.” “Let’s not speak of such things—what should we do about this current matter?” “Won’t I have ten or fifteen people coming to threaten me again?” “That’s cowardly.” “Madam, what are ten or twenty people?” “Don’t make such grand proclamations.” “Oho ho ho… Young Master Eiichi has changed quite significantly as a person.” “Don’t you agree, Emi?” “That’s right, isn’t it?” Emiko gave another evasive reply. “But truly… what should we do?” “Even if we go ask Father and find it’s true, there’s no way we can do anything about it here.” “What a fine spectacle this is.”

“Stepmother.” “There’s nothing to worry about at all.” “I will take care of it.” “There’s nothing complicated about it.” “Stepmother.” “There’s no need for worry.” “The tenant farmers’ ledger must be at the house.” Eiichi gazed at the waterless pond in the inner garden. The moss was filthy. Under the edge of the kitchen lay purple medicine bottles and broken glass pieces. A spider had spun its web on this eave. The sun shone brightly, making the spider’s web glisten. “Oh, it is here... So what will you do?”

“I’ll look into it and send a notice.” “We said we’d raise it by four percent last time, but circumstances require postponement.” “In Father’s name?” “Either Father’s name or mine will suffice.” “There he goes again—Father will be furious.” “Even if he rages, I shan’t mind.” “Just because Father got angry—” Eiichi turned to Emiko, “Emi, prepare lunch now.” “...But do as you please—I’m through with worrying.”

Emi ran toward the kitchen veranda. “Since Father acts arbitrarily,” said Eiichi after inquiring about the ledger’s location while having the maid purchase stationery， “shouldn’t we also act as we please?...” He then wrote a notice postponing the land tax increase. After finishing lunch，the writing took until around two o’clock。 On his way to relieve himself，when he entered the kitchen，he saw Emi standing at the sink，picking up rice grains washed out from the pot and eating them。 He found it truly pitiful。

As soon as he finished writing, he attempted to depart Batsume and head back. When he passed through the gate, someone came chasing after him in geta sandals. "Brother," called a voice. Turning, he found it was Emiko. Eiichi had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Tsuruko that he'd completely forgotten about his sister. Tears streaked Emiko's face. "What's wrong, Emi?" he inquired. "Brother, there's something I need you to hear."

“What do you mean?” “Since everyone can see us here, let’s go somewhere like the shore.” “Emi, “What do you mean, Emi?” “Emi, you got scolded today, didn’t you?” “That must have been so hard for you.”

Emiko was silent.

And after another brief moment,

“Brother, hurry. Let’s go somewhere where people won’t see us.” She seemed to intensely dislike being observed. “Then shall we go to the shore at Higashi Shintaku?” “Anywhere’s fine, but if someone tells Stepmother again, I’ll be scolded,” she said, glancing toward the gate and fidgeting.

“Then I’ll go quickly—follow me,” Eiichi said as he began walking briskly. Emi trotted after him. They climbed the embankment and concealed themselves in the bush shadows at Higashi Shintaku Beach. Eiichi gazed at the green paddies and blue river while questioning her. “Emi, what did you mean?”

“Brother, I’m so miserable I could die...” she choked out before falling silent. Eiichi stared fixedly at Emiko until tears welled up in his own eyes.

“Emi, why do you say such things?” “I can’t endure Batsume any longer. Yesterday when I broke just one plate, everyone who came by went around calling me a clumsy oaf, a clumsy oaf. Today too I was scolded from morning on. If only I had my real mother...” Eiichi remained silent. A ferry crossed from Tamiya Beach to Shinden. In the crystal-clear water, reeds were reflected. “That seventeen-year-old girl from Tashika will likely come to Mr.Takayuki’s place in Nishino Shintaku. They say she sews her own wedding clothes by hand—then yesterday Uncle from Tashika—Oume’s cousin—came to the house and said right before me: ‘Our girl here’s too dull to be any use.’ ‘Doesn’t even know how to hold a needle yet,’ Stepmother would probably add, ‘can’t properly wash a single bowl.’ At that moment I thought I might as well die—”

“Emi, you mustn’t lose your temper like that.” “But Brother, please understand—I wake up earlier than anyone else to light the fire under the large pot, rouse the maids and clerks to start preparing breakfast, and when evening comes, they make me work late until around nine o’clock. Even after working that much, she keeps saying ‘The work isn’t enough! The work isn’t enough!’ pressuring me. And even if I break a single plate, she tells me to compensate for it.’”

“Are you compensating for it?” “Huh? I already paid five sen yesterday.” “Does Stepmother take that money?”

“Stepmother does take it,” she said through tears.

“Brother—truly—you must understand my heart… Having lost Mother to death and Father being as he is—under Stepmother’s thumb I endure harsher trials than any maid… I simply cannot bear it any longer.” "...Not three days ago..." she said before falling silent. Emiko’s heart was in turmoil, not knowing where to begin. She recalled being scolded about ten days prior for sneaking food in the kitchen; being told her rice-serving technique was clumsy by Stepmother; being blamed when a chicken went missing about seven days earlier; being reprimanded for poor cleaning of the household Buddhist altar; being chastised for always inserting four wicks into the lantern—Emi they called wasteful; receiving constant criticism about the miso soup’s morning and evening seasoning… As these memories advanced one after another, the sharpest recollection surfaced newest—three days ago, when Stepmother claimed the one-yen bill she’d slept atop beneath her futon had gone missing, falsely accusing her of theft. She tried to articulate her feelings about this incident from the beginning, but the words simply wouldn’t come out. She recalls 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 it, Stepmother says I stole the money." "One yen—." "Well... Stepmother claimed that the one she had placed under the futon when she went to bed was gone by morning—." "But Emi, you didn’t steal it yourself, right? If you didn’t steal it, then there’s no need to be so troubled about it."

“Even so, if I’m accused of stealing something I didn’t take, it’s unbearable.” “Oh, come now—it’s just something like that.” “In town, Emi—Miss Komatsu has become a nurse now, that maid.” “Then at home they think I’m causing trouble just by having her become a nurse—they’ve gone that far. What’s the use of being someone who fears others’ misunderstandings?” “Well, Emi must be having a hard time.” “But consider me.” “There’s nothing hard about it at all.” “I don’t even get three proper meals a day.” “As for shirts, of course I wash them myself.” “And right now, I only have this one left,” he said, showing his sweat-stained knit undershirt.

Emi took one look and burst into tears. Eiichi, "If you cry so loudly, people passing upstairs will grow suspicious," he admonished. "If you speak of Father—he remains Father—even when his own child suffers so, he feigns ignorance..." Emiko said resentfully. "Emi, that's still better than nothing," he said. "Lately they don't even prepare lunch when I go to school." "And since studying at night requires too much lamp oil, they tell me to study mornings instead." "If Father goes that far—"

“If it ended there, that would be one thing,” “But now they say they’re transferring the succession to Masunori.” “Replacing you?” “Brother…?” Emiko gasped in shock. Eiichi wiped his tears and gazed at the river, where small waves rose on the calm, smooth sea. Some areas shone particularly bright and white, while others appeared blue like patterned fabric. It was truly beautiful. “Emi, don’t cry. While I live, I’ll never let hardship touch you.” “All right? Just wait a little longer for me.”

“But I’ve grown tired of living in the countryside,” said Emiko. “If I’m just being scolded from morning till night like this, I’ll either be killed or die one day.” Eiichi urged her: “But please endure it—just a little longer now. Emiko, there’s nothing we can do right now.” “Even so, Brother—I’ve grown tired of staying in Umazume for even ten days.” Her voice broke as she added: “Ah, being the child of a concubine is truly hard…” When these words struck his chest like a physical blow, Eiichi’s expression hardened with resolve.

“Emi, it’s fine. “Then follow me. “Let’s go to Kobe. “Are you resolved to work as a maid?” he pressed urgently. “A maid? “How much better that would be than staying in Umazume…” “Emi—can you go right now as you are?” “I need nothing for myself. “If Brother doesn’t mind, I’ll follow. “But what about money?”

“It’s fine, Emi. There’s no need to worry about money—about ten yen still remains from my salary. With this, we can get to Kobe without any problem. Let’s go together. Let’s hurry! Before the house notices.” “Then, Brother, will you take me with you?” she asked, raising her face while wiping tears with her sleeve. Her face showed the fragile dependence of a lovely young woman.

The figures of the two vanished into Ushiyajima. They hurried to Tokushima by car. They arrived in Tokushima around five o'clock. In the car, Eiichi found himself thinking how today he had made his sister shed tears for tears' sake— Having nowhere to go, they had someone take them to Taki no Yama and walked about its slopes. When he thought about 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 below, Eiichi said to Emiko:

“I don’t want to make you do something like maid service… you know.” “Brother, even so, it’s just how fate turns. When the stars are ill-aligned, what else can we do?” she declared with full resolve. Yet Eiichi grieved that after having helped one maid advance not long ago, he now had to send his own sister into service within less than a month.

“Emi, even if you enter service somewhere in Kobe, you can’t write to Brother saying you’re lonely.” “The thought of that pains me terribly.” “But Emi, I’ll surely come to see you once a month or every two months.” “Brother, when I think of that too, it hurts...” “Yet being with you like this makes me feel as though I’m in paradise.” “Though it pains me that I can’t write you letters, Brother—still better than being reduced to tears by Stepmother back home...” she said with forced composure. She looked utterly pitiful.

“Ah, Brother, the electric lights have come on in Nakasu. “How beautiful! Look,” she said with some cheer. Yet as Eiichi watched Emi gazing at the electric lights with no awareness of her future, he thought of the prospects awaiting this country girl, and could not help shedding tears out of concern for sending her into a city full of temptations that would dazzle the eyes and dull the conscience.

“Brother, are you still crying?” Emiko said, turning to face him as he gave no reply.

“Emi,” he said, “it’s good that you’re going to Kobe, but I can’t help worrying—what will we do if you get sick?” “Brother,” she replied, “if I thought such things, how could I ever leave home? It’s because Brother is sickly that you think this way. Would a healthy young person like me ever get sick?” She smiled with forced vigor. “But Emi,” he cautioned, “I worry because your spirits are too high. That’s precisely why country people face troubles when they go to the city. The city’s full of novel things, you see. You’ll get carried away—it’ll be fun for a while, your spirits bright—but gradually the dream will fade. When people go to town and get beriberi, who among them ever imagines they’ll fall ill from the start?” As he admonished her in various ways, Emiko fell silent and wilted. Seeing her wilted like this, she became dear to him again, and he thought of letting her escape to Kobe.

Seeing her wilted and feeling such pity,

“Emi, shall we have some Taki’s grilled rice cakes?” he said. “Brother, please stop. Shouldn’t we avoid spending even ten sen right now?” she chided.

“Brother, let’s go to Nakasu already.” “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.” “I wonder what time it is now?” “It must be seven o’clock already—it’s grown quite dark.” “Better to stay calm.” “Don’t get too agitated.” “Still, I’m anxious if we don’t board the steamship—” “There’s nothing to worry about.” “Brother is here with me.” “But aren’t you hungry, Emi?” “Shall we get some soba?” “Soba?” “I don’t want anything, but Brother must be hungry.” “Go downstairs and eat something, Brother.”

So from Sankitei, they passed in front of Shiraito-tei and came out before the statue of Emperor Jimmu. At Shiraito-tei's entrance was pasted a paper boldly inscribed “Celebration for the Completion of Tomita Bridge.” From the third floor came the sounds of shamisen and boisterous voices. Eiichi said to Emiko, “Emi, Father is probably among this crowd too.” “How carefree he can be.” “Ahaha…” he laughed as he spoke. Emiko and Eiichi went to Kobe on the eight o'clock evening steamship. Then they visited the labor broker in Aioi-cho, but when told a guarantor was required, returned to Yoshida Yutaro’s residence—the boatman’s home—where they explained their situation and earnestly requested his help in arranging everything, repeatedly entreating him to keep it all secret from Father before departing on the noon steamship.

Emiko had come to see him off as far as the pier. As Eiichi moved to board the steamship, he glanced back at her. "Emi, I might return altogether before long," he began, but "Brother, you must come out without fail. I'll be waiting," Emiko implored. "It's still too early to board. Shall we talk a bit more?" He led her to the pier's far end where others couldn't hear. "Emi, please work diligently there. I beg you," he said, staring intently at her face. She nodded, head bowed. Though her complexion was dark, spots of red bloomed on her cheeks like seals of resolve. He continued,

“I feel like I don’t want to go back at all anymore, but I intend to try talking to Father once or twice more, so I’ll be returning home. And if I decide it’s hopeless, I’ll come out,” he said. But at that moment, he was thinking more of Tsuruko than of Father. He imagined Tsuruko’s beautiful rosy cheeks and disheveled hair—her appearance beyond description. Emiko said, “There, that way is better. If we both hide, they’ll surely come looking for us afterward. That would only complicate matters,” she agreed with her brother’s opinion.

While they were talking, the steam whistle sounded, so Eiichi hurriedly boarded. The ship soon departed from the pier. He watched Emi—left behind—standing lonesome on the pier, but deeming such sentiment unmanly, descended to the third-class cabin. Yet in the cabin's shadowed corner materialized Hyōgo Pier, where he saw a pitiful woman standing bowed: short-statured with frizzed hair, cheeks flushed against dusk-toned skin, eyes gaping wide, hands chapped and raw.

Nineteen

Eiichi returned home feigning ignorance at seven in the evening. Father had been having an evening drink with Oume and appeared surprised at Eiichi’s return. Father immediately asked, “What happened to Emiko?” Because a messenger had immediately come from the countryside yesterday, Father had already found out. However, Eiichi did not answer. Eiichi, cradling his heavy head, visited Tsuruko. Tsuruko saw that Eiichi’s eyelids were swollen again,

“What’s happened today as well?” she asked. “Ah, I’ve gone and acted out another tragedy.” “Who with?” “With Father.” “What’s wrong?”

“I hid my sister.” “Where?” “No—” “Won’t you tell me?”

“No—it’s too shameful to say. You can probably imagine. You can imagine it.” “I can imagine most of it. But you had another clash with Father, didn’t you?” “Ahh, we clashed.” “Now—what did you do to your sister?” “I left her in Kobe.” “To Kobe? When did you manage that? Did you go too?” “Today—I just returned now.” “Today?” “You’re quite the interesting one. What did you do to your sister? Did you take her to Kobe?”

“She ended up as a maid.” “A maid? Oh, that’s cruel.” “Calling it cruel—well, that’s because you don’t know the circumstances.”

“Please let me hear the reason.” “Can’t you say it?”

Eiichi gradually began to speak. And shedding tears while feigning sadness - thinking people would say he lacked sympathy if he didn't cry - he sought Tsuruko's compassion. That conclusion was love. One might say Eiichi's heart had already completely lost its balance. Even when the day came for his beloved Tsuruko to leave Tokushima, he felt no particular sorrow. Naturally, when he went to school that day too, he couldn't play cheerfully with the children.

Around eight in the evening, Eiichi suddenly went to Tsuruko's house and spent about an hour making the sorts of gestures lovers do when parting. Of that time, twenty minutes passed in silence, while the remaining forty were spent repeating conversations that seemed to lament their inability to proclaim themselves as husband and wife to the world. Yet both shed tears. When he went to see her off at Nakasu, many female friends had gathered with their hair styled in fashionable contemporary ways and pretty faces. Among them was Mrs.Taylor. There were teachers from the girls' school. Classmates and underclassmen were present too. The only men seeing her off were the pastor and Eiichi.

Perhaps Eiichi thought to catch a glimpse of Tsuruko’s beautiful friends—or perhaps not—as he went to the second-class cabin where she was staying, disregarding the crowd of lovely women present. “Don’t forget to write,” he said before leaving. Tsuruko had urged him—“There’s still about twenty minutes until departure—won’t you stay and talk a while longer?”—without truly pressing him, but he emerged anyway, thinking it somehow unbecoming of a man.

When peering into the exit of the second-class cabin, “Who is that handsome gentleman?” someone asked Tsuruko.

"That gentleman is the mayor's son," he heard Tsuruko answer proudly. At the very moment of departure, Margaret Tsuruko—her fair complexion glowing—stood on the deck wrapped in lustrous silks. She seemed to gaze directly toward Eiichi. The ship vanished into trailing smoke. Eiichi returned home and straight to bed. He tried conjuring Tsuruko's face—could sketch her profile faintly, but her full visage eluded capture. Not merely eluded. He felt her features slipping from memory. Instead materialized a vision—his dusky-skinned sister, petite and russet-haired, weeping with bowed head. So Eiichi whispered into emptiness: "Tsuruko's fled already."

Twenty

The next morning, he had a dream.

He dreamed of an American farmer named Saabi from Virginia. The war that would arise between America and Germany was due to a conspirator; if this conspirator fasted for thirty-eight days, they would be captured. If this conspirator were captured, not only would the war between Germany and America cease, but wars throughout the world would completely disappear. Therefore came the suggestion: “Try fasting.” So Saabi tried fasting exactly as in the dream—the thirty-eight-day fast proved not particularly difficult, the conspirator was easily captured, and wars ceased not only between Germany and America but across all nations—such was the dream.

He thought it was a rather disjointed dream, but since Switzerland and Belgium were neutral countries in this world of dreams, people who hated war should just naturalize to Switzerland or Belgium. They ought to secure naturalization rights quickly. But would they naturalize? Who?... What? An idol? Hegel! "It was something like a ghost..." he mused as if still dreaming.

Because he had slept in unusually late, his father was opening the shutters and praying to God. Usually he would say, "Eiichi, get up and open the shutters," but today he remained silent. Since he stayed quiet, I stayed in bed too. "Newspaper!" came a voice from the entranceway followed by the thud of its delivery, so I decided I might as well read it. It would be easier living out one's life reading newspapers than bothering with tiresome studies like philosophy. There are plenty who spend their whole lives just reading papers. Though reading papers alone won't put food on the table... Still, I'll read a bit. "I'll just read the paper," he told himself like making a request, then rushed to the entryway still in nightclothes. Crouching where he was, he began reading.

The editorial was about some crisis in the Republic of China... Ah, so the land of Laozi and Zhuangzi is in peril?... Whether it perishes or not, it's none of my concern... Even if it falls, as long as I keep living, that's good enough. Even if enemies attack and kill me, my ghost will remain. If a ghost remains, then that's good enough. The so-called crisis of the Republic of China is nothing but a fabricated game by those who want to dominate the world. "Well, none of my concern—" I glanced over the page and turned to page two, but it was filled with London telegrams, New York telegrams, and this-and-that sort of telegrams. Among them were also visible words such as "an unprecedented grand soirée." I felt a slight urge to attend such a soirée and try dancing with Western beauties. When I turned to the third page, it was filled with phrases such as "the drowned beauty of Ōmori," "Kegon Falls again," and "girl abduction." When I read about the drowned beauty, it stated that she had drowned herself out of distress over her lover’s change of heart. I thought being loved by such a woman must be blissful, and when I read about Kegon Falls, it stated she had suffered heartbreak. If one suffers heartbreak, they should wait for time to pass and find love with a second beauty—I considered that perhaps she had attempted some strange acrobatic feat in an effort to recapture her lover’s heart, only to ruin her life…… Yet I nodded, acknowledging there was some validity to it.

When I read such phrases, I realized love was a strange thing. People in love are happy. Because such incidents occasionally occur and lend value to love—thinking this—I immediately turned my thoughts to my relationship with Tsuruko. He kissed the newspaper.

When he looked at the fourth page's advertisements, there were notices for new philosophy books and novels. An entry for Iwanaga Ken's Studies on Lotze appeared, accompanied by a lengthy list of purported benefits and priced at 1 yen and 70 sen. Seeing this advertisement made him feel like a loser in life's struggle for survival. If I abandoned social reform and home improvement projects to study properly for two or three years, I could easily produce work of this caliber, he thought. Then he remembered having told Tsuruko he would publish a volume of philosophical writings in the near future. But now with his heart grown sluggish and muscles twitching spasmodically, he felt incapable of writing even a single page of philosophical work. Nausea rising, he tried tearing the newspaper to shreds, but when he turned back a page, he discovered a new publications column he'd initially overlooked. There within lay a critique titled Studies on Lotze by Iwanaga Ken. "The prose is laborious," it declared, "leaving readers uncertain where its arguments lie." Eiichi thought, "Ah! What if I write something only to receive criticism like this? What if society casts me aside?" "Rotten air!" he exclaimed, hurling the newspaper onto the tatami before retreating to the inner room. As he started to enter, he collided abruptly with Oume heading out to worship at the household altar. Oume—

“I haven’t… yet,” Oume muttered and went out to the veranda. Eiichi changed his clothes in silence, thinking how absurd it was that he couldn’t find satisfaction even as an elementary school teacher—how utterly worthless people like him were in society’s eyes. Today, he decided to skip breakfast too and resolved to read through a philosophy book. Once resolved, he hastily rolled up the futon, shoved it into the entrance closet, rushed up to the second-floor study, and leaned against the desk.

He couldn't tell what would be best to read. "Well, I might as well read this History of Christian Doctrine I borrowed from the missionary," he resolved, "and examine how Christian dogmas evolved through materialist historiography." But the problem became whether to open Harnack or Orr. The missionary had once warned that Harnack was heretical and required caution, so he considered opening Harnack first - only to remember it spanned five volumes. To finish reading within a day, Orr would be more practical. Orr's work was a mere three hundred and sixty pages. He estimated this would make for manageable day's work. Yet Harnack's volumes were weighty with substance. Now he placed both books on the desk - two volumes side by side - and opened each to their first pages.

Harnack's volume was printed on smooth paper with crisp clarity. Orr's used large characters on paper resembling Japanese-style sheets that held an elegant charm. "Which should I read?" "Ah, Harnack then—the substantial one," I muttered, shoving Orr into the bookcase and cradling my head as I began reading Harnack. But then—"What does reading this achieve?" "Can I purchase any honor through this?" When I'd told Tsuruko I was reading Harnack, she'd said "You're such a scholar," but even were she to grant me a kiss, she'd already departed for Hiroshima... That's right—Tsuruko must be riding a train near Okayama by now. I know nothing west of Okayama. Tsuruko must be rejoicing over the scenery, exclaiming how splendid it looks. Tomorrow a letter will arrive. Within it will likely be—

"Having parted from you whom I long for, lacking even the strength to behold the Inland Sea's sunset, with no leisure to enjoy nature's beauty—thus do I gaze southward, conjuring your lovely form in visions. Were wings mine, I would fly to embrace you—such thoughts linger as unwitting tears dampen my sleeves......" Such phrases must be written there. If I do that, in colloquial style and as modern as possible,

"The figure of you standing on the deck... that visage of my beloved! Whether I closed my eyes or opened them, what appeared before me was your figure! That kiss you once bestowed in the study—how could I ever forget it! Every evening when I had nowhere to go and opened the study to look at the laundry area, there stood the two-story house whose owner had left, remaining unopened. I cried, thinking you had gone forever. 'Should I write it in a style like......?' My mind grew increasingly disordered as it raced ahead. I couldn't make heads or tails of what I was reading."

"This won't do! My genius lies in philosophy." "I mustn't let women interfere with my philosophical studies," he reaffirmed to himself. Upon starting to reread the section from the beginning, it began to make some sense. He had come to understand most of it and was feeling pleased with himself when—

“Young Master, haven’t you folded and put away the futon?” Oume shouted from the entrance. She was spouting impertinent things again. Hadn’t folding it that thoroughly been sufficient? “Let them deal with it,” he thought, pretending not to hear as he read his book when Kichisaburo came upstairs. “Young Master, Madam says you should fold the futon and put it away in the closet.” He kept up his pretense of reading. The maid came up.

“Young Master, Madam says you should have your meal… and she instructed that you fold the futon in the entrance hall and put it away properly,” Kichisaburo relayed. Nevertheless, he remained silent. The maid too remained silent, waiting for a response. Feeling sorry for the maid, “You may go downstairs now,” he said—a meaningless reply but one he made regardless—sending the maid back down. “Is Oume even inspecting my futon? Day by day. What an infuriating bastard!” With a grunt, he stood up and went downstairs. When he appeared in the entranceway, Oume was folding the futon, her eyes scanning it from corner to corner. Eiichi suddenly stepped forward and,

"How insolent!" he exclaimed, snatching the futon from Oume, stuffing it haphazardly into the closet, and slamming the door shut.

“Hmm. What a strange man,” Oume sneered. “Though I offered to fold it for you, you refused and did as you pleased. In return, no matter how filthy it becomes, I won’t wash it for you.”

Father appeared. The instant Father emerged, he struck Eiichi across the cheek from ear to jaw with the long tobacco pipe he held.

"Agh!" Eiichi collapsed there. However, he immediately jumped up and left the house. He did not return all that day. Without even eating lunch, he climbed the mountain and meditated. And in the evening, he wandered around Seimi's Ema Hall until about nine o'clock. But it was unbearably cold, so he decided to return. The vigor from his three-day fast at Mt. Ōsa had now vanished somewhere, and Eiichi stood before the forlornly closed gate. The rain began falling in a light drizzle. The gate would never open, no matter how much time passed. Eiichi wept like a woman. After about an hour had passed, the maid came out to the toilet, so he called her and was allowed inside.

21

The rain from yesterday still had not stopped when around six o'clock, a letter arrived from a woman under the name "From Hiroshima, A Certain Person." Of course, it was from Tsuruko. She wrote that she longed unbearably for him—wondering how one could continue studying in Hiroshima for three whole years while being so lovesick over him. Yet when he examined this letter, he found no mention of becoming husband and wife forever or publicly announcing their engagement. Moreover, he felt the affection directed toward him remained insufficient.

But when I thought about my relationship with Tsuruko, my relationship with Father, and my relationship with Oume, I felt like I wanted to vanish right then and there. And I felt that someone like me, in an unbeautiful situation compared to a beautiful woman like Tsuruko, could never become eternal spouses. As I was thinking about various things: "It doesn’t matter anymore. Ah, I want to die... If I can't die, I might as well kill someone," was the only feeling that arose. Even I myself, when such dangerous emotions arose, felt like taking matches and trying to burn down the house. So I went to the kitchen, fetched some matches, and felt like trying to burn the entranceway’s shoji screens. However, thinking the entrance would be too conspicuous, he tried briefly applying the flame to the shoji screens in the middle room. I worried it might actually catch fire, but "Ah, it’s fine if it burns. It’s fine if it turns to ashes. Let me burn and turn to ashes too." I thought, "Rather than living in such a world, becoming ashes would leave me feeling more at ease." He set fire to the second shoji screen from the south in the middle room. It flared up, but contrary to his expectation that the shoji’s latticework, the tatami mats, and even the entire house would catch fire, nothing burned or ignited. It burned upward and came to a stop at the lintel. So I thought I’d try burning one more and applied it to the third one from the south as well. This time, it was more successful than before—the paper burned vigorously, and the shoji was severely charred. He considered burning one more but stopped upon realizing that actually setting the house ablaze would only cause an unpleasant commotion in the neighborhood. Taking the opportunity, he set fire to Tsuruko’s letter and burned it completely.

Fortunately, while he was acting so violently, neither Oume, Father, Kichisaburo, nor Masunori came out, which was fortunate. He had thought that no matter who emerged, it would lead to bloodshed, but even so, telling himself it was better not to clash than to come out and fight, he left the house. However, he did not attend school that day either.

Having left the house, where should I go? Today it was raining. I couldn't sit in zazen at Nugahara like yesterday. Nor did I have the courage to imitate my Mt. Ōsa feat either. So thinking I might go wander toward Komatsushima, I crossed Tokushima Bridge, passed before the Prefectural Office, traversed Tomita Bridge, and found myself before the Tokushima Shinpo building. Looking up at the newspaper hung beneath the eaves, I saw three pages of the Inaka Shinbun filled with the sort of poorly-written serial novels typical of provincial papers, complete with crude illustrations. Below one particularly clumsy drawing ran a headline reading,

“Though this story is somewhat old, during the recent Tomita Bridge completion celebration held at Shiraito-tei, Yamato-ro’s Sanshichi and Nishiki-ro’s Naruto received substantial congratulatory gifts from the Mayor. After the event concluded, both were summoned by the Mayor to San-gi-tei and reportedly left sneaking away early the next morning—the sort of stylish behavior one might expect from our refined Mayor.”

The implication that states as much appears here. Eiichi now realized more than ever that the world was a place where one could do as they pleased. A world where if you had money, you could embrace and sleep with a thousand beauties all at once. "Until now," he thought, "I had unknowingly built this barrier called morality and suffered under it—but the world destroyed that barrier long ago." Humans had been liberating themselves since ancient times—how strange this world truly was—he mused while dragging his heavy clogs toward Nakamachi.

What rose before my eyes was the vision of flames I'd set upon the shoji screens... crackling... fluttering... then whooshing up like a galloping horse - but when they snuffed out abruptly, I felt like Urashima opening the tamatebako. The way it burned! Something kept flickering before my eyes. I thought it had extinguished on its own since I'd immediately fled the house—or maybe considering it might have reignited into a great fire by now—I tried to imagine.

However, the absence of alarm bells proved there was no fire. Still, having done something like start a blaze, Father and Oume might confront me with impossible demands. They might even enlist the police to inflict some cruelty upon me. Even if I went to Komatsushima for leisure now, I remained in transparent confinement—a man shackled hand and foot. What schemes were Oume and Father concocting at this very moment? I burned to know. Were I a ghost, I could soar back to eavesdrop—but no use lamenting this flesh-bound specter. As this thought crystallized, rain came crashing down... pelting distant roofs, nearby eaves, and the oilpaper umbrella Eiichi carried like hurled pebbles. The clatter of rickshaw wheels and hasty shutter-closing by confectionery apprentices alike drowned beneath the deluge. This rendered all action futile. I lacked the courage to reach Komatsushima in such rain. But where else? Well then—walk until walking fails. Dragging my feet to prolong the journey, I spotted two or three elementary pupils emerging from a side street—hakama hems soaked, struggling with heavy umbrellas en route to school. Envious.

I thought it must already be eleven o'clock, but it was still seven-thirty. When I headed toward Nikenya, I arrived at the police box on the corner of the main street. It was perfectly clear I couldn't reach Komatsushima. Since this was obvious, I thought of visiting my aunt in Higashinmachi for the first time in ages. To Aunt's place? To that filthy little house? To my shabby aunt with all those children? To that complaining, uneducated, pitiful-looking aunt? I should stop this, I should stop. I might manage an hour or thirty minutes of conversation with Aunt, but three or four hours would be impossible. Aunt's stories were mostly the same old thing.

“Nephew, even though we’re this poor, not a single relative comes to help us.” “Even Brother Shibafu, for all his wealth, hasn’t lent us a single penny.” “Even when I occasionally visit that brother in Tokushima Honmachi—the one who became mayor and even a congressman—he never asks me to stay overnight. These days he won’t so much as send seasonal greetings. When I beg him for two or three yen just to survive, he shuts me down with ‘We haven’t got that sort of money this time.’” “My own father lazes about without working—it makes living in this wretched world truly unbearable...” When she launched into these same old complaints delivered in that country dialect, I couldn’t endure it. The other day when we met on the street and she told me to visit, I went thinking it too cruel to refuse—but sitting there listening silently brought nothing but grievances. If I wanted to hear weeping complaints, I’d have done better visiting Taki Daishido Hall on festival days to listen to pilgrim beggars sobbing by the roadside. Going to Aunt’s place would be fine if not for the crying. Are you prepared? You’re already mired in drudgery at home—must you seek out more unpleasantness abroad?……

While asking myself such questions, I 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 stood on either side where people conducted their business. I knew that among the businesses there were antique shops, clock shops, and pawnshops. However, I couldn't clearly distinguish which was a pawnshop and which a confectionery shop. No matter how many ken I walked, I continued vacantly in a manner as if treading on spheres or riding the wind. A night soil cart came. After all, I hadn't noticed.

“Hey, look out!” When someone called out to him, he finally noticed. The objective world that had been dark until now suddenly brightened—here was a barbershop, here was a kimono shop. Ah, here was a greengrocer—he could now distinguish each shop clearly. And so he resolved to go to his aunt’s place. He turned back at the police box corner, took the second left in Daikumachi, and entered Higashinmachi; lining the left side were Matsuura's long-term rental houses. The closest long-term rental house here was his aunt’s residence; when he opened the lattice door and entered, his aunt happened to be cleaning.

“Oh, Young Master Eiichi! What brings you here today? Did you quit school?” she asked in surprise. “Do you have some business here?” she pressed without waiting for a reply. “Well, there’s no particular business—it’s just that my mind’s gone strange, as if I’ve developed neurasthenia, so I’ve been taking time off from school lately. Since it’s raining today and staying home isn’t very enjoyable, I came to visit—” As he spoke, Aunt laughed while... “Well then, do come up,” she said as Eiichi began ascending,

“Young Master Eiichi—they say Brother received quite a lot of *this* recently…” She formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger to demonstrate. Eiichi made a bitter face and answered lightly, “I don’t know,” then— “There’s no call for playin’ dumb now. Livin’ in the same house—” She sidled up to Eiichi and patted his back. “I truly don’t know,” he stated truthfully. Still she persisted— “At that embankment by Tomita Bridge… Clever lad like you must be hidin’ it for him.” I couldn’t endure this pressing.

"I truly don't know. Did Father receive bribes at Tomita Bridge and the embankment?" "That's what they're saying," she replied with a bitter smile, making an odd gesture. "I see. I truly didn't know about that." "That's right—better you don't know. At home, Uncle hears such talk, you see. And there's this foreman from Oshiro way—comes round our place lately with his laborers—whenever the subject comes up, they say Brother's been cooking up shady deals——’"

“Would such shady dealings really go that smoothly?” “Well now, you know Kusunoki from Ushiyajima, ain’t that right? That’s Kusunoki from Ushiyajima village next to Umazume… the house our Hana married into, you know.”

“Ah, I do know about that,” Eiichi answered, recalling his elementary school days. His cousin Hana had indeed married into the Kusunoki family of Ushiyajima. However, she had been divorced— “That Kusunoki’s gotten involved in public works projects lately, you see. Since Brother and him are thick as thieves, they’re probably covering up shady dealings around here……Though if I say such things in your presence, he might get angry……Anyway Young Master Eiichi, rather than staying down here—today everyone’s out at school or elsewhere so the house is empty—why don’t you come on upstairs……”

“Oh, thank you,” he said silently, climbing up the steep, narrow staircase as he followed his aunt. “I’ll light the fire.” “Sorry ‘bout the mess—been rummagin’ through things here,” said Aunt. Just as she’d described, the room was in disarray. In a room that combined a six-tatami and four-tatami space, two small desks stood side by side by the window. This was because Aunt had taken in a relative's girl whom she assisted monthly to send to girls' school, and these were the desks belonging to those two female students. Not only the desks' surfaces, but also the trunks and Chinese-style bags by the wall were left scattered about—their lids unclosed and clothes unfolded. Eiichi sat in the center of the room. Aunt sat placing the fireless brazier before her.

“Since you don’t smoke tobacco, there’s no fire lit.” “Well, if there ain’t no fire downstairs—or maybe there is—who knows? Guess I won’t bother lighting one here then…,” said Aunt indifferently, making light of the situation. “But Father really can do such things, can’t he?” he said again. “But isn’t that perfectly acceptable? When you become mayor, you have to do at least that much. With an annual salary of twelve hundred yen or so, living in such a big house—the accounts don’t balance,” Aunt said as if stating something obvious.

“However, Aunt. In the city there are councilors and assembly members—even constructing a small bridge requires extensive consultation among many people—” “But even so, if you just wave a bit of money under their noses, they’ll do whatever you say. People these days are all clever—they’ll side with whoever’s got more money. Moreover, when the Mayor himself declares he’ll take charge because the contracted work isn’t progressing—it doesn’t stop there,” Aunt explained, her gaunt face glowing with self-satisfaction.

Eiichi pulled closer and looked at the Women’s Education World that had been discarded by his side. When he looked at the table of contents, he found quite a few interesting things written there. Aunt saw this and,

“People these days—even girls—buy and read all sorts of books like magazines and novels.” “It’s not about making money at all—there are books like Tokyo Puck and Pack that are quite interesting.” “It’s a bit old, mind you—had pictures of a woman waiting for some man she fell for after a karuta gathering, and another man who’s sweet on her… Quite sappy stuff written there…… Don’t know where that book’s gone—thought it was around here……” She stood up to search around the desk, flipping through various magazines but couldn’t find it.

“I can’t find it——” she said, returning to her original spot.

Eiichi was earnestly examining *Women’s Education World*.

“Young Master Eiichi. “Ain’t there anything interesting in there?” “If there’s anything interesting, do let me hear it,” she said, peering into the magazine. “Hmm...” he replied dazedly, then began reading passages titled “The Dispositions of Female Students Around the World” with such intensity that he nearly forgot he was at his aunt’s house. Reading the section about American schoolgirls' free love stories, he chuckled to himself. “What’s so funny?” “Tell me, will you?” said Aunt, looking up. Even so, Eiichi continued reading. Aunt too was starting to act a bit foolishly,

“Young Master Eiichi, why don’t you have your meal here at Aunt’s house today before heading home? It’s nothing fancy, but if you’re not going back...” she said, standing up and approaching the staircase.

"Thank you," he replied tersely and kept reading. When Aunt went downstairs, Eiichi thought.

"I should have replied more courteously." Even in her poverty, precisely because she considered me her nephew, she offered me lunch—though nowadays, unlike before, three extra bowls of rice would cause trouble... Yet when someone sincerely invites you to share a meal, regardless of their reasons, it brings genuine joy. Aunt deserved pity—Uncle had bankrupted them through brothel visits and scandals at his mistress's house. When people spoke of Ōi from Ōshiro, he'd been wealthy enough that no one in neighboring villages didn't know him, yet he too went bankrupt at the dawn of Meiji. "Even if Uncle's fate was karmic retribution, Aunt bears no blame—she's pitiable. But our household will surely end up like Ōi's," I thought while skimming through Women's Education World. Various imaginings surfaced. When I last visited Aunt's house, Uncle had been there. I recalled how after earnestly discussing tanuki possession and declaring my own belief in it, Aunt mentioned Uncle now did nothing but worship at Aiba Beach's Grand Shrine—never working, performing strange incantations whenever idle. Then it appeared like a dream—Uncle with his buzz-cut grown out white, three-tenths unkempt mustache, eyes deeply creased at the corners forming triangular jaws, gaunt copper cheeks—aimlessly wandering town. An inexplicable loneliness. The stench of grime clung to clothes. The torn fusuma propped against the wall caught my eye. The wastepaper beneath the desk began feeling repulsively filthy. Spiderwebs in sooty ceiling corners and hemp threads dangling three inches down seemed utterly unartistic. The tatami looked soiled. Gazing out back through the window—toilets, laundry areas, potato fields, the medicinal bathhouse's smokestack all chaotically arranged—nausea rose. The rain-clouded sky felt oppressive. An urgent desire to escape somewhere—anywhere—surged through me. Yet I knew there was nowhere to go. I resumed reading the magazine.

It was at least somewhat interesting. And he hadn’t realized that noon had arrived.

He finished his midday meal of pickles, soup, and rice but afterward didn't know what would be good to do—thinking that if he went back upstairs and read magazines through the long afternoon until dusk fell naturally on its own account—he went up and read magazines until schoolgirls came home returning at four o'clock. It was four in the afternoon. Belatedly realizing how quickly time had passed—staying too long would surely displease Aunt—he made appropriate remarks and awkwardly left her house. But from that point onward he had absolutely no idea what to do. As the rain let up night drew near. There being no alternative perhaps he should find an inn somewhere tonight? That seemed right. An inn was indeed a good idea. Since he carried only about two yen twenty sen even mid-level lodgings costing fifty sen would leave him some remainder. But where should he stay? Nikenya? He would try Nikenya. Yet checking in this early felt somehow strange. Maybe visiting Konpira Shrine at Seimi... With this thought he briskly headed toward Seimi though knowing full well its futility. Realizing his aimless wandering he found himself oddly amused and laughing climbed stone steps. Immediately entering Ema Hall he sat at its sweets shop. He tried eating yōkan jelly dessert. Finding it merely sweet yet ultimately uninteresting he gazed down at all Tokushima from Ema Hall feeling nothing toward its scenery.

Houses were meaninglessly lined up. Smoke rose meaninglessly from here and there. Eiichi thought, “There’s nothing particularly unpleasant about spending day after day idling and wandering like I do. Being a minister and putting on airs with a great many followers in tow is far less interesting. Wandering about so freely has become quite enjoyable, I tell you…”

I can't stay here much longer. The old woman at the sweets shop had begun closing up. "Well then," I thought, "I'll be off." Not going back—I'll go somewhere. But it was still too early for the inn. I decided to walk to the edge of Nikenya. "Right then," I clattered down the stone steps in my tall geta. At the police box below, an officer tapped away at paperwork. Chuckling inwardly at this meaningless bustle, I reached the kimono shop and mused how clothing exists because humans shame their nakedness—yet daylight still lingered when I reached the town's edge. "Just a bit further," I kept thinking until I'd walked the full ri to Hokke Bridge. Dusk had properly fallen now. Turning back now would time perfectly with inn-checking. "Very well," I pivoted and walked from outskirts toward town. Entering the town proper brought me to a rice mill. Next stood a blacksmith—two houses fronting open fields. Beyond the third house lay the opposite side. The blacksmith's neighbor was a lodging house—ah, I'd try staying there tonight as experiment. Yet embarrassment prickled—this splashed-pattern yukata and hunting cap. But courage must hold. After all, with houses lit up now, who'd notice?

He had walked about a block past it but turned back,

“Excuse me—could you let me stay tonight?” he asked. A fortyish man with a beard and a ruddy face who had been drinking evening sake before a square brazier peered at Eiichi’s face and answered, “It’s cramped, but if you want to stay...” Then he inquired, “Have you eaten dinner yet?” “Not yet,” Eiichi replied. “I’ll lend you a pot—light the fire in that brazier over there and cook your rice,” the man offered.

“What about rice and charcoal?” he asked. “How much rice will you need? Will three gō be enough?” the man asked. “Hmm, could I have about three gō?” he said, whereupon the man took out three gō of rice from the rice chest under the dark Buddhist altar and handed it to him. He put it into the yukihira pot and handed it over, saying, “Take this to the well out back and wash it.” When he went out back, a woman was staring at the fire under the stove. Because Eiichi had gone out, she glanced briefly his way. Eiichi drew water from the well while thinking this was his first time washing rice since birth, but when he looked across, he saw fine rain falling on the rice paddies with Mount Seimi hazily visible through the mist. In that sorrowfully damp landscape, there lingered an indescribable elegance.

While washing the rice, I thought: I am truly a romantic person. Romantic... free will... this sorrow—but—what extraordinary fortune I had encountered. I was happy. I had been able to experience such a beautiful moment. I contemplated cooking rice with my own hands on this rainy night.

After washing the rice and bringing it inside, the owner said, “Here, I’ll give ya some charcoal. If there’s a two-sen’s worth, that should do ya,” he said, handing over the charcoal. “There’s a brazier in this room,” he said, sliding open the shoji to the adjacent room separated by an earthen-floored area of about two shaku. When opened, the room was about ten tatami mats in size. A three-wick lamp hung in the very center. He couldn’t see clearly from corner to corner, but toward the far side, six men and women lay sleeping in three pairs, embracing each other. Among them, some had a child between them, while others lay naked with their clothes placed atop an extremely thin futon. There were mosquitoes, but no mosquito nets seemed to be hung. There was an iron brazier in the corner by this entrance. The owner—

“Use that brazier—” he indicated. Fortunately, there was a fire starter. He put in two-sen worth of charcoal and lit the fire. Realizing he would have to wait quite a while, Eiichi sat facing the corner. Yet three pairs of men and women still flickered before his eyes. After seventeen or eighteen minutes, it came to a boil. Not knowing whether removing the lid was advisable but fearing the fire would go out if he didn’t, he took it off and watched it bubble. “I’m idle.” “I’m idle,” he screamed from within his head. “Philosophical problems are far too agonizing. “I’ll just take pleasure in objective reality,” he answered himself, watching with fascination as rice grains moved like sumo wrestlers locked in combat. “I’m idle! I’m idle!” he screamed from within his head. The rice was cooked. He borrowed a rice bowl and chopsticks... then began eating with pickled plums and dried fish the owner had brought him as side dishes.

When he began eating, a narrow-eyed, fiftyish man with a shaved head came in. His face was copper-colored and tinged with drink. But there was a certain charm about him. The man seemed slightly startled upon seeing Eiichi, but Eiichi did not put on a rude expression,

“Good evening,” I greeted him first. At that, the man too,

“Good evening. It’s coming down steadily,” he replied.

The man stepped up into the tatami room, sat down beside the brazier, and began lighting his kiseru pipe while, "Excuse me, but might I ask where you’re from, sir?" he inquired. “Well, I reside here. "But I was born in Kobe—” “Is that so? So Kobe would be across a sea then.”

“And you?” Eiichi asked. “I am from Etchū.” “That’s quite a distant land. What do you do?” he asked. When asked, the man turned his gaze toward the charcoal fire and remained silent for a moment before briefly looking around. “Yes, well—campaigning for an afforestation project, making rounds through the countryside,” he said. “For now...” His voice trailed off briefly. Eiichi thought, *An afforestation campaign… this man speaks grandly*, but when he looked at him—wearing a torn shirt patched here and there and a lined kimono with narrow sleeves—he saw nothing of a distinguished air about the man.

“What exactly does this campaigning entail?” he asked in a loud voice,

“Please lower your voice—everyone’s asleep,” he admonished, trying to avoid loud conversation.

Eiichi found this old man’s movements unbearably strange. The man in the narrow-sleeved kimono said in a low voice, “As this is an afforestation recruitment campaign, we go around visiting houses.” “In that village for three days, in this village for five days—we visit house after house and expound on the path of afforestation.”

“Is that so? That seems an excellent notion,” he said in agreement. “And what might your profession be?” inquired the man. “Well, I remain a student with no occupation to speak of. These days my mind has been unwell, so I’ve been drifting idly.” “Is that so? From where have you come today?” When posed this question, Eiichi found himself unable to respond.

For a time, the two remained silent as the rain began falling heavily again, a dreadful sound roaring outside the door. Eiichi felt his emotions stirring for no particular reason. Yet in his chest surged tragic blood. In a small voice, pressing his head against the man's, he asked, "What sort of people are those sleeping here?" "Why, they're all beggars," he replied, glancing briefly over his shoulder with an air that suggested even while sharing lodgings with beggars, his own status remained distinct.

“Are they all married couples?” he asked. “Nah, when they get together, they just bed down with whoever’s around. That lot don’t fuss over husband-and-wife formalities.” “Is that so?” Eiichi replied, his tone betraying surprise. Eiichi pressed further: “Are they all beggars? "And these people here? "They get by alright, don’t they?" “Why, it’s common for ’em to get a sho or even a sho and a half of rice each day.” “Then they come round here to sell it—three or four sen per gō.”

Eiichi hummed in admiration. The conversation was sweeter than the rice. Yet the rice with dried fish was unexpectedly sweet. He ate four bowls and set aside a little for tomorrow morning.

The man spoke in a slightly louder voice, “Where will you go tomorrow morning?” he asked. “Well, I don’t know where exactly, but I do enjoy wandering,” Eiichi replied. “But even when I go around campaigning, folks won’t put their trust in me—it’s a real bother,” the man muttered as if to himself. Eiichi was tidying the bowl and chopsticks into the corner while, “Why is that?” he asked. “Putting on such airs won’t get you anywhere,” he remarked, eyeing Eiichi’s new kasuri-patterned clothes.

“Anything would do, I suppose. As long as my principles prevail,” he said with a derisive laugh. “People in this world don’t read minds,” the man retorted. “Unless you deem everyone in this world fools, you can’t embark on any enterprise… You need conviction,” Eiichi spoke as if divining the old man’s thoughts. The man adopted a grave tone: “Precisely so. Let me confess—I too am a priest of Kōrin-ji Temple in Etchū. But witnessing today’s monks wallowing in wine and women filled me with such anguish that I resolved to leave the temple—even if it meant feigning beggary—to campaign for an afforestation project none had conceived, all for Japan’s sake, for our nation’s sake, sparing no personal sacrifice… Ten years have passed since I quit the temple, enduring every conceivable hardship… Yet truly, I can only conclude that worldly people are fools through and through.”

“I see. You’ve striven quite earnestly, haven’t you?” “I’ve done my share over the years.” “But what exactly do you mean by ‘afforestation’?” “Nothing complicated. Though Japan’s a timber nation, if we keep clear-cutting, we’ll ruin the scenery and foul city airs before long.” “House-building lumber’ll grow scarce too.” “So we must plant varied trees—paulownia grows fastest, maturing in thirty years. I propose each household member plants one paulownia. With fifty million people, that’s fifty million trees. At five yen per tree after thirty years—five times five being twenty-five—that makes two hundred fifty million yen.” “When postwar Japan wallowed in poverty, I thought we’d only grow poorer forgetting such moneymaking ways—so after the Sino-Japanese War ended, I left my temple… Ah, but people turn deaf ears!” He laughed coldly, wrinkles forming beneath downcast eyes as he packed tobacco into his pipe.

From beyond the shoji screen came the master’s cursing voice, yet only the sound of cursing—the one being cursed remained unknown. The master was drunk. Eiichi, enveloped in smoke, could only force a bitter smile—thinking that even this old man still harbored a youthful, Don Quixote-style patriotism. Indeed, such Don Quixote-style notions truly do spring forth abundantly in the minds of elderly men from that feudal era. Bushido is fundamentally Don Quixote-style, hence it makes for a desolate life. When contemplating this old monk's life of solitary passion, there inexplicably came to mind the image of winter-withered paulownia leaves falling one by one, their straight trunks tinged bluish-gray standing rigidly upright, with merely two or three branches remaining at their crowns trembling upward in the western wind. Yet somehow, he couldn’t help but think of the old monk as resembling a swindler. However, he couldn’t help but find the society of the lodging house class vibrant precisely because of this.

“So, how effective has that been?” he asked—when suddenly a crash came from upstairs, followed by a woman’s screaming voice. In the master’s voice, “You damned beast!” came raving. Eiichi opened the shoji and stood up to find a woman collapsed in tears under the ladder steps next to the Buddhist altar. From the second floor, three or four rough faces peered down, their eyes gleaming. They were all laborers. The master, with a composed face, was pouring sake into his cup again.

“What's going on?” a face peering down from upstairs shouted. “They dragged her down—the one who’d fled upstairs and come all the way over there,” someone was saying.

The old monk sat composedly smoking tobacco. He did not appear in the least perturbed. “It’s like this every night—quite troubling. The lower classes,” he trailed off, his voice rising slightly. Shinmi felt as though he were viewing a Gorky novel unfolding panoramically before him. His chest felt heavy, as though being compressed. Yet within the lodging house, there was a certain vitality filling the air. It seemed as if life’s very waters were surging forth. “That’s not all of it. Just two nights ago—there was a dreadful fight when the son returned. From what I gather, the master here seems to have taken up with the mistress afterward. Since the son appears to be from the previous wife…”

Eiichi, still wanting to hear more of the old man’s dream-like tales of experience, “How have the results of your campaigning been?” he asked again. “At present, it’s no good. It seems they think of me as a beggar and won’t trust me.” When he tried to close the open shoji and looked across, the master was drinking contentedly. Shinmi felt as if his throat had gone dry. The six beggars were sleeping quietly.

"In other words, they don't trust you because of your appearance?" “Well, that’s about the size of it.” "I had this kesa until a month ago, but when I stayed one night at a cheap lodging house, my wallet and everything were taken—so I left behind the remaining kesa as payment for lodging, and now I’m reduced to nothing but this single ragged kimono sleeve." “It’s only natural that people don’t trust me.”

“Well then, shall we exchange your garments and my clothes?”

he tried saying.

“This is no joke.” “Rags crawling with lice and your fine kasuri garments—” he dismissed the proposal. “Come now, let’s exchange. As long as you don’t mind,” he insisted earnestly again. “This is no damn joke!” he refused in a loud voice. Eiichi thought he should strike a romantic pose here, so

“What’s this? You’re fussing over just a couple of garments? It’s not like anyone would care if I went naked, right? Don’t you ever accept things people offer? Then I guess you don’t know how to give either—” he said, putting on a bit of a chivalrous act. The old monk responded with utmost seriousness, “I’m impressed. When you phrase it that way, I can’t refuse. Very well, I’ll take them. …But you’re extraordinary. There are precious few upstanding people like you in this world…” he praised.

Eiichi took off his shirt and trousers and sat before the brazier wearing nothing but a loincloth. The old monk also removed his garments. The two looked each other in the face, laughed cheerfully, and sat in silence for a time. Outside, rain fell heavily with a pounding sound. Eiichi had done something romantic—he had imitated a saint who removes his clothes for others. Laughing to himself—I too am among the saints—he wrapped himself in the thin futon and slept that night.

Twenty-Two

The next morning in the darkness, Eiichi rose from the thin futon rented for five sen a night and returned home in his tattered kimono with tube sleeves, swinging his arms grandly.

As he hurried along the main road from below Seimi’s Kompira, he thought— "When humans grow larger, composure begins to emerge. When composure arises, one ceases to be surprised by anything. Life seems like an imitation. Good becomes nothing particularly praiseworthy, and evil ceases to be something bad. ...When one stops condemning evil and starts sympathizing with it, the capacity for evil takes root in one’s heart... In its place, good grows as rare as jewels. And that moment marks humanity’s crisis. A saint? A villain?—If not that, then a criminal?" While turning these thoughts over, he arrived at his house’s gate at half past five in the morning.

At home, they had been in an uproar all day yesterday over Eiichi having done something like starting a fire, and Father, finally claiming a headache, did not attend the city office but shut himself away to discuss with Oume how best to deal with Eiichi. But since they had no good ideas, they summoned Dr.Miki Hiroshi and, after making him promise never to speak of it to others, informed him that Eiichi had completely lost his mind. Dr.Miki, upon hearing the circumstances, said to send him to the mental hospital without any reason, but Shinmi, while laughing,

“If it gets into the papers that my own son’s gone mad over some woman, it’ll tarnish the mayor’s reputation—so I’ll handle this quietly as I can, but—” Yet having no alternatives, they resolved to send him first to Kobe’s Minatoyama Mental Hospital—using Tokushima’s lack of such facilities as pretext—

Therefore, they were sleeping peacefully this morning.

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, headed into the inner rooms. In the inner rooms, the andon lamp still burned as Masunori, Oume, and Father all slept. Eiichi sat formally at his father’s bedside—

“Father. “It is Eiichi, it is Eiichi… There is something I wish to tell you, Father, so I have returned,” he said, rousing his father while feigning as gentle a voice as he could muster. After some time, Father woke up and spoke as if unconsciously, “Eiichi?” “Today I have important business, so you must not go out,” he said in an extremely calm manner. At this, he asked, "Father, what business might that be?" whereupon Father silently buried his head in the futon. Eiichi couldn’t bear the suspicion that Father would claim to have urgent business at such an hour. For a while, Eiichi remained silent, but Father slightly stuck out his neck and looked at Oume,

“Eiichi, I have business today, so you must not leave the eastern room on the second floor,” he commanded with scolding emphasis. The maid came to Father’s bedside with letters, announcing “Master, the post has arrived.” Eiichi suddenly looked through the four or five letters she had brought, his heart leaping with certainty that one must be from Tsuruko.

Is this it? Is this it? Noticing the thick, heavy envelope must contain it, he grabbed it saying "This is mine," and tore it open. As he read on, Eiichi felt his limbs tremble and chest thunder. Tsuruko had completely written him off as a fool. She kept reiterating her intention to live by lifelong celibacy. Beneath those words lay veiled dissatisfaction with the Shinmi household. Yet this didn't constitute total severance of their connection. She appeared to lack courage for passionate love yet feared letting affection freeze entirely. Still, the letter's overall tone remained 'negative'. Eiichi felt cast out from Earth itself.

"If I had known it would come to this..." Eiichi bitterly thought of how Tsuruko had betrayed him. But there was no helping it. Repeating "school regulations" over and over, she wrote that they could no longer correspond, adding that she had penned this at midnight by the hallway's electric light after curfew. Unable to endure reading further, he suddenly stood up intending to enter the second-floor study, kicked open the sliding door, and raced upstairs. To his shock, his study had been overturned for futon laundering. Though infuriated, Tsuruko's betrayal burned more hatefully. Overcome by the need to weep, he plunged into the eastern room and collapsed. And he wept. However much he wept, it proved insufficient. He cried until his cheek muscles prickled with strain, yet still it wasn't enough. His very flesh trembled. When he thought he'd wept his fill, Masunori came upstairs.

“Father says you must not go to school today…” came the message. "Why?" he asked himself, but could not find an answer. He could only feel his terror of the future and his imaginings of his own room being ransacked mingling together, making his heart pound violently. But this would not do. He thought that someone who adheres to principles should not shudder at mere fears of the future or the ransacking of his own study, so he rose and stood by the window to look out. Against the clear morning sky, the green of the old pine trees growing along the river stood in stark contrast. To the north, there were those sticking their necks out from the windows of the Sewing Girls' School dormitory to look this way. Because he thought they were carefree, he leaned against the corner of the room and considered how such a carefree world was unsuitable for him. He read Tsuruko’s letter again. As he was reading,

“Eiichi! Eiichi! Where are you?” Father came up to the second floor. Eiichi did not answer， but his father， seeing him in the eastern corner， said， his face darkening， “Eiichi， you’re out of your mind． You should quit school for a while and rest—what do you say to that?” “Father， I am not at all mad． I’m neither mad nor anything of the sort!” Eiichi answered， but Father glared at his tattered short sleeves．

“Then why did you burn the house and carve up the tokonoma?” he demanded, glaring fiercely. Eiichi, who had been waiting for this question, “I only wanted to make Father better—I only wanted you to understand my heart,” he answered. Father let out a detestable laugh and, “Improve me? If you’re insane, how could you possibly improve me?” he said coldly. “If Father hadn’t been infatuated with Oume and those other women… I wouldn’t have gone mad at all…” he muttered tearfully to himself before falling silent. But at that time, he also considered, Would they call someone like me mad?

“What are those rags you’re wearing?” “You return home dressed like that and dare say you’re not mad?” Father laughed mockingly. Then, adopting a more measured tone: “Eiichi, even if you’re calm now, it’ll be trouble should you go mad again. While you’re still composed—until this madness leaves you entirely—I’ll have you committed to a mental hospital. Go there,” he declared.

Upon hearing "mental hospital," Eiichi suddenly stood up and began approaching his father. And while staring at his father’s face, “Can I even get into a mental hospital?” "I'll enter." “As you say.” “If staying at home might cause me to harm you or the rest of the household, as you say… But Father—when will you ever listen to what I say?” he asked, wiping his tears. Father, utterly unconcerned, “Then you’ll go?” he pressed, attempting to leave. At that moment, Eiichi hesitated slightly but resolutely stepped forward—grabbing his father’s sleeve as if suddenly reverting to a childlike state—

“Father. Why are you putting me in a place like a mental hospital?” he asked. But Father glared into Eiichi’s eyes, “If your gaze becomes like that of a normal person, I’ll let you out... Eiichi, let go there,” he said. “Let go, Eiichi—there!” he tried to twist away. And so Eiichi... “Father, if that’s how it is, I will never meet you again in this lifetime. Our paths have diverged too far... Father, with this, I bid you farewell for life. I will hasten along my path. And you—please follow your own decayed old path. Instead of going to a small mental hospital, I will now depart for the great asylum of the world. ...Well then, Father, goodbye... Father who brought me into this world, goodbye... For the last time, I shall bow to you and take this as my final sight of you in this life.” With these words, Eiichi pressed his hands together in prayer before his father, wiped away his tears, and left the house just like that.

Outside, the morning sun was shining. Eiichi involuntarily muttered to himself. "Ah, why are Japanese homes so dark when the outside world shines so brightly?"

That evening, Eiichi borrowed a small amount of money from his aunt and became a third-class passenger bound for Kobe. ...in the very same short sleeves that the beggar monk had worn.

Twenty-Three

Having landed in Kobe, Eiichi intentionally did not stop by the shops in Kajiyamachi. Through the mediation of the labor broker in Minatomachi 4-chome, he was immediately sent to Gonzo’s dockworker lodging in Higashidecho. Eiichi believed this to be the bitter cup he must receive himself. He 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 Higashidecho. Life at Gonzo’s lodging proved unbearably harsh. They were packed two to a tatami mat and made to sleep in a cramped storage-like space with low ceilings. For Eiichi, revolution and socialism—all matters of ideals—vanished at once. He realized society had grown too corrupt to permit even social reform. He was sent daily to assist laborers. At times they made him carry iron sacks. He had cherished the ideal of becoming a dockhand or winch operator, but came to see this as mere fantasy. It became clear that unskilled workers couldn’t even become proper dockhands. The lodgers immediately dubbed him “Blue Gourd.” Eiichi discovered that transporting roofing soil suited him best—he volunteered daily for this task, hired by laborers to haul earth from distant Wakihama to Mikage. Eiichi had utterly killed his ideals. He even found something darkly amusing in each passing day, thinking survival itself sufficient achievement. Yet he soon made a friend—Sakai, a fifty-year-old labor boss with two prior convictions who showed him unexpected kindness. But on their fifteenth day at Gonzo’s lodging, those awaiting payment grew despondent when told wages would be delayed until month’s end. The lodging’s exploitative practices revealed themselves quickly enough.

When the end of the month arrived, Eiichi received a mere two yen and thirty sen for twenty-three days of labor. The rest of his wages were pocketed by Gonzo’s lodging owner under some pretext. Eiichi craved newspapers. For what amounted to twenty-four or twenty-five days, he had not seen anything resembling a newspaper. He had not received a single letter. Lice had infested even his shirt, making him itch constantly. But when he returned from work, he couldn't muster the will to do the laundry. When he returned from work, even climbing up to the second floor felt laborious to him. He didn’t even have the energy to change his clothes. And so about once every three days, he would sleep just like that. There were times when he became so agitated that he couldn't sleep at all. At such times, he envied his companions who were drinking. However, he lacked the courage to drink alcohol. Many laborers returned from work and went to see moving pictures in Shin Kaigai. Others went to gawk at the Fukuhara brothel district. However, Eiichi lacked the stamina to walk another kilometer or more just to see those things. The lewd crowd were telling stories about visiting prostitutes. However, Eiichi didn’t even have the vitality to stir up any sexual desire. He had become neuter-like. Now he had neither ideals, nor sexual desire, nor hope, nor close friends, nor culture, nor newspapers, nor money, nor clothes, nor a robust physique, nor a peaceful bed, nor books—he had nothing at all.

He told himself, "Now I am a passive saint." He was indeed a saint. He was supposed to receive sixty-five sen per day as wages, but that was merely superficial—when fifty sen was deducted for food expenses, only fifteen sen per day remained. Yet he even relinquished ownership of those fifteen sen. His hair grew long. Yet there was no need for a haircut. A scraggly mustache sprouted. Yet he felt no desire to shave it. At times he would stand before the ornate shelves of grand shops or glass-paned doors, lamenting his wretched appearance, but would resign himself to its inevitability.

He wanted to curse all of society. Having fallen to rock bottom, he finally learned how to curse society. But he had neither pen nor paper nor desk nor electric lamp. At Gonzo’s lodging, twenty-two men slept packed into a ten-tatami room with only one five-candlepower bulb. At work, he endured daily insults from a man called “Kōgansei” – who reveled in tormenting him. This nickname came from Kōgansei having only one testicle. The man boasted of being “the second fire hose nozzle,” prattling endlessly about fires until Eiichi could barely feign interest. From day one, Kōgansei sneered “That student-type Blue Gourd gets airs,” making unreasonable demands even during “iron cannon carries” – when they hauled roof soil in buckets slung rifle-like over shoulders. Once, claiming Eiichi worked too slow, Kōgansei shoved him off the roof; only catching a pillar mid-fall saved him. Eiichi counted Sakai a savior because he always intervened during these torments. Eiichi wept every time they bullied him. He yearned to pray for freedom. Yet even when realizing he lived worse than a slave, he found no faith left for prayer. He simply scavenged a discarded pencil and Jitsugyō no Nihon magazine to write his “Bullying Diary.”

That “Bullying Diary” was truly harrowing. Eiichi cursed existence from rock bottom. At times he contemplated suicide. At others, socialism. Yet he also reasoned that even should society turn socialist, enduring magistrates like this 'Kōgansei' would prove insufferable. With the initial two yen thirty-three sen received at Gonzo’s lodging, he purchased a secondhand summer kimono. It cost two yen per garment. For fifteen sen, he had his head shaved clean. Feeling marginally human for the first time in weeks, he visited the Kajiya-machi shop. He wanted to peruse twenty days’ worth of bundled newspapers; but of course, he also meant to inquire after his father.

Murai sat in a Western suit on the shop chair. Outside stood no one. When Eiichi entered, Murai was intently writing on some legal paper. He kept feigning ignorance until Eiichi leaned against the "bar" partitioning shop from garden. Eiichi then greeted him: "Mr. Murai, good day..." Murai answered in a disinterested tone,

"Oh, Young Master, what brings you here? Have you written to your father at all?"

“Well… Did he say anything?” “When the master stopped by during his recent visit to Tokyo, I humbly inquired after your health—‘Is Young Master well?’ He said you’d left home over two weeks prior without a word… So you’ve been here all along? With that shaved head, I wouldn’t have recognized you even if we’d met… You’ve grown terribly thin—quite sunburnt too. Where on earth have you been staying?”

“Was my father worried?” “Well, not particularly,” Murai said, hurriedly writing a letter. Murai’s attitude toward Eiichi was utterly cold. Yet he did not particularly mind it. He knew well that those without money or power went disrespected in this world. Still, he was astonished by the stark difference between the reception he had received upon returning from Tokyo and today’s treatment. Feeling somehow saddened and lacking the courage to ask for the newspaper, he simply returned dejectedly to Gonzo’s lodging in Higashide-machi. Then, wrapped in a thin futon, he cried. As he left the shop, Murai asked for Eiichi’s address, but Eiichi deliberately gave no reply and fled back.

After that, nothing but hardships followed for Eiichi. He sustained injuries daily at work. And daily he endured bullying from Kōgansei. Yet poetry persisted. When he trod the tiled roofs each noon to haul soil, the blazing sun overhead setting the tiles aglow like jewels, he contemplated labor's sanctity. In those moments, he touched something profoundly religious. No progress came. No growth. He began calling this existence his "Copper Wire Life" - merely stretching forward through time, devoid of any hope for evolution.

The rain continued to fall. And all the men at Gonzo’s lodging were lazing about at home every day. Gambling broke out. The ones who did not gamble were only a sickly thirty-year-old man commonly known as "Sanuki" and Eiichi. Fights also occurred daily. A funeral was also held. It concerned a laborer employed at Kawasaki Shipyard who had been struck by an iron plate and died instantly, but at that funeral, Eiichi too was made to keenly feel the sorrows of workers' lives.

Day after day, the rain continued, and for nine full days, they did nothing but eat without working a single day. And so all their food expenses during that time became debt. And so Eiichi, realizing he would have to work for two months just to pay off this debt, came to think this was not Lassalle’s “Iron Law of Wages” but rather a “Wage Hell.” When Eiichi passed by secondhand clothing stores—when he walked past rice cake shops—he felt, for the first time in his life, the desire to steal.

He stared at his hands and feet. He gazed at his own form. He wept at his wretched state. Society had solidified beyond any possibility of reform, rendering his dreams of labor movements mere illusions. Japanese workers were too exhausted to awaken. He repeated this exhausting daily routine day after day. He had even forgotten what date or day of the week it was. On that first clear afternoon after days of rain, as Eiichi returned from Yamaguchi's construction site in Wakinohama with a crowd of workers, he unexpectedly encountered Hozumi from the Hyogo shop at Ujigawajiri. Though Hozumi couldn't possibly have recognized him, Eiichi called out first. Dressed in a workman's short coat and straw sandals, Eiichi left Hozumi astonished.

“Young Master… What’re you doin’ lookin’ like that?” “Quite the odd duck, ain’t ya?” Hozumi sneered. To this, Eiichi offered no reply. “Get yourself home now—I’ll sweet-talk ’em proper for ya… But listen here, your old man’s caught himself a right nasty sickness, they say.” “Done for, they’re sayin’… Typhoid fever.” “Home with ya, Eiichi! Filthy ungrateful brat—this’s why I can’t stand educated folk. Turns ’em into your sort.”

“Huh? Father… is ill?” “He’s… already beyond help?”

“By the time I get back home today, there’ll probably be a telegram saying ‘He’s dead’ waiting for you.”

Eiichi became extremely depressed. So at last,

“If a telegram comes saying Father has passed, will you inform me?” The words escaped his throat. “How could we not inform you? Aren’t you the heir? But Eiichi, where in blazes have you been staying? I only heard from Murai that you’d shown up at the shop looking like some pauper the other day—since I didn’t know where you were holed up at all, I should’ve told you about your father sooner. My apologies for being rude.”

Eiichi sincerely appreciated Hozumi’s kindness. So Eiichi explained in detail about his lodgings—that is, where Gonzo’s place was located. Upon hearing this, Hozumi said: “Ah! I know it—course I know it! That’s by Second Fire Brigade squad leader Shibata’s place, ain’t it? Know that fella right well.”

Eiichi then parted with Hozumi, but that evening, as he was eating while standing in Shibata’s narrow garden, the shop boy Rokurobei from the Shinmi store came with a letter from Murai. It reported his father’s death. Eiichi left his meal half-eaten, explained his reasons to landlord Shibata, and requested leave. At that moment, the landlady—her hair frizzy, eyes narrow, and gaze piercing—came out and inquired, “Since you’ve incurred a debt of four yen and fifty sen here, would you kindly settle it now?” Eiichi then mentioned the Hyogo shop for the first time and promptly said, “Come with me to retrieve it.” The one ordered to collect the money was Kougyoku Masamichi, who happened to be present. The landlady remained thoroughly suspicious. Kougyoku Masamichi and Eiichi walked in silence. They traversed from Higashide Town to Kajiya Town for over twenty minutes without exchanging a single word.

Murai paid off Eiichi’s debt. Kougyoku Masamichi received it with a strange look and departed.

That evening, Eiichi boarded the ship bound for Tokushima. Murai also boarded the same ship. Eiichi did not show his face much to Murai. And he did not speak either. Having witnessed Sanuki’s death in Gonzo’s room, he did not consider his father’s death to hold any particular significance. He was at rock bottom, and he had come to believe that the only thing he had learned was that his will must be like iron.

On the day of the funeral, Eiichi had resolved to remain as indifferent as possible. However, at Zuiganji Temple's funeral hall, when he followed behind the monks from twelve temples and circled the coffin three times, he could not maintain his indifference. As he walked in silence, the interactions between his father and himself during their lives unfolded before him like a panorama. And so Eiichi wept—with greater wonder at and sorrow for reality than Hamlet had felt upon seeing Ophelia's funeral procession, or so he believed in that moment. Everything was mysterious. The utterly unmusical clang of bronze bells... the discordant notes of Indian-style sutra chanting... Listening to this meaningless funeral dirge, Eiichi hardened his resolve—he must transcend all boundaries marked by 'death' and wage war against convention, expediency, tradition, and delusion.

Before him now lay a vast world. It was the large mental hospital that Eiichi had once spoken of to his father... A planet-sized mental hospital tormented by militarism and capitalist 'paranoia'. Whether Eiichi was the one going mad or the Earth was going mad, he resolved that the battle would begin now.

Twenty-Four

Father had died without leaving any will or instructions, so when the family council investigated the inheritance, they were utterly astonished to find the house and land properties had been mortgaged in two or even three different places.

Eiichi did not participate in any of the meetings and devoted himself day by day to his studies. For about two weeks, Eiichi remained completely uncertain about how things would unfold, but when his Osaka-based uncle Yasui inquired about the circumstances and he explained everything in detail, his uncle was astonished. Then his uncle said sympathetically, “You’ve been managing the Hyogo shop too leniently—go take proper charge there. I’ll take in Masunori and Yoshitaka and look after them, so you needn’t worry about a thing. As for your mother back home—though it’s rather pitiful—she has considerable savings of her own, and we’ve decided to leave her the back room, so she can stay quietly there…” he said kindly. Uncle had completely forgotten about Emiko. And that was only natural—Emiko hadn’t even known their father had died, and of course she hadn’t returned.

All matters proceeded.

The large house was to be received by Matsuda of Tōrimachi as mortgage collateral. The legal wife moved into the back room. The large storehouse and all the indigo bedding were scheduled to be demolished. Masunori and Yoshitaka were to go to Osaka, and Oume received 2,500 yen to open a restaurant.

Eiichi came to the Hyogo shipping business. Eiichi did not believe he had any genius for business. Of course, it had never been his hope. Yet he currently lacked the courage to immediately plunge into the lower rungs of society. Gonzo’s room and the cheap lodging house had been too dark for him. And so, rationalizing that experiencing commerce firsthand might prove necessary for his ideological movement, he resolved to follow Uncle Yasui’s counsel. Now Eiichi strove to forget those two agonizing months spent in Gonzo’s room.

Since Eiichi had come to Hyogo, Eiichi had become aware that the world had changed. "I am the master—or rather, first and foremost, a capitalist." Yet the self casting a shadow upon the objective world remained distant still, and the self had yet to discover its true form, he thought with sorrow. Now he resolved to discard his entire self and become one with society. The courage and fervor of early May had already vanished; the bitter authority of objectivity had bound him fast, leaving him unable to weep or cry out, with a sensation of being dragged down into the depths of a dark sea. Lately, he could not help but think of his own destruction.

During his wanderings, he had not received a single letter from Tsuruko. Nor had he been able to send even one letter himself. Moreover, during those drifting days, he had come to believe that the pains of such a combative life were ultimately beyond what fragile beings like women could endure. Having concluded that even Tsuruko could not withstand the arduous struggles awaiting them in the future together, he had discarded love as a kind of sin. Strangely enough, he found himself forgetting this love during daylight hours. Or rather, he was making conscious efforts to forget it.

However, when he went out into humanity's feverish cities and began his transportation enterprise, he could not help realizing that this bag called himself had no bottom whatsoever. In places called schools - those realms divorced from society - being bottomless had been permissible enough; now a bottom was required. What constituted this bottom? No scrap of cloth would suffice. "A woman? Woman Soul?" Eiichi pressed a hand to his chest. But now he could secure no honors; his love lay shattered; his very self contracted daily. He imagined wings once stretched infinitely now shedding feathers one by one - their very tendons fraying toward severance.

He began a transportation business. He gazed out at the sea like an aged Faust. But where was Mephistopheles lurking? Where was the mystery? Where should one build a dike to drain the sea?

Eiichi held no prestige. He worked with utmost humility - at the shipping company, his own shop, even aboard vessels moored offshore. The realization of socialism or anarchist freedom had never crossed his mind. The great Minnesota Maru seemed to laugh as it bore him along. He rose at five each morning to study. From eight he would load ships with apprentice Rokurokuya, never returning before eight at night. His evening homecoming brought neither meat nor sake. No beloved awaited him. No spark of romantic interest kindled. He felt lonely without women - particularly since coming to Kobe - yet whenever he pondered their purpose, weariness swiftly overtook him. Were one to define women as mere vessels of soft flesh and smooth skin offering transient pleasure when approached, mightn't such pleasure prove insufficient for five years? Ten? "Books, books," became his mantra - whenever funds allowed, he ordered philosophy texts from Tokyo's Maruzen. Returning from the docks, he'd cast himself among these volumes, sipping milk and raw eggs as he lay sprawled. Only when O-Toku - the Awaji-born maid nearing forty - announced "Young Master, dinner will be delayed..." would he set aside his foreign journals. Lonely. Even at mealtimes he maintained vegetarian discipline. No feasts could be expected. He savored nori with audible relish. "Ah, had I a sister like Hume's!" he mused, though sister nor cat graced his quarters. Upon reaching Kobe he'd immediately sought Emiko's whereabouts, yet her hiding place eluded discovery.

Even Yoshida Yutaro, whom he had asked to help, was speaking of his sister as if she were a fool. Apparently, she hadn’t even gone near Yutaro’s house. When bedtime came, he thought how nice it would be to have a male friend, but it saddened him that he’d never had a single true friend until now. But when he recalled Tsuruko... he remembered the past when they had held hands and embraced each other, those delicate threads of fraternal affection. "If we set aside 'sex,' then Tsuruko is a good friend..." he felt both longing and nostalgia. "Tsuruko is an admirable woman," he muttered to himself, yearning for that very friendship. When he repeated "Tsuruko as a friend!" it was as if a holy spring welled up in his chest. Lying in his futon, he would read a book while thinking of such things, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep. This was a day.

However, it wasn't all unpleasantness. The apprentice, head clerk, and maid grew increasingly amiable as he treated them kindly. Moreover, finding financial matters more flexible than anticipated, he raised his employees' salaries. Thus if this trend continued, he began envisioning expanding the business through a profit-sharing principle with his workers. This could not be called disagreeable.

This was at the end of October.

From the beginning of November, he began attending theater performances. Having conceived the idea to study the history of human emotions, on the night of November's full moon, Eiichi picked up a kitten. It was past midnight in the dead of night, on his way back from the Aioi-za theater. A kitten was crying in the vacant lot of Minatogawa. It was still a small kitten, its eyelids still mostly red. It had a thin red crepe collar with a bell, but was terribly emaciated, and its mottled white and black fur seemed unusually long.

The compassionate Eiichi picked it up. When he tucked it into his bosom, the kitten that had been crying until now stopped its tears and only made gurgling sounds in its throat. From time to time it would start making a commotion inside his bosom. Eiichi laughed as the kitten—when left abandoned—would gradually climb up his chest, sniff at his breath, and let out a meow. Then it pressed its small, soft, moist nose tip against Eiichi’s nose. Though somewhat unpleasant, he found himself unable to hate it. After a while, it would meow again and crawl back into his bosom. When he let only its head stick out from his collar, it seemed to gaze at the moon. Eiichi felt as though he were embracing a lover weary of life. The contrast with the moon proved particularly striking. As he walked through Honmachi pondering various things, the kitten remained endearing. Moonlight fell on the tile roofs where night dew gathered thickest, making those spots glisten. The shadows of telegraph poles and wires cast upon the road resembled patterns dyed onto white silk. Even in the city, the moonlit night appeared beautiful. Yet holding the cat, Eiichi contemplated what might be called this urban beauty. Suddenly, like a phantom, there arose the love suicide drama of Akane-ya Hanshichi and Mitsukyo he had just witnessed earlier. The tile roofs shone like silver.

The next morning, the kitten became the talk of the shop. Hozumi began making a great commotion, shouting, “This one’s a female!” Hosokawa jeered, “Wouldn’t it be just perfect if Young Master cuddled up and slept with it?” For four days straight, everyone laughed over this cat from dawn till dusk. Each night Eiichi would hold it as he slept, but come morning it would crawl out from beneath him, sniff at his breath with that small soft damp nose of hers, press against his nostrils, and lick his upper lip. “A cat’s kiss!” Eiichi chuckled to himself—only to find upon rising that it had pissed and shat beneath the futon. When he told the shop staff about this mishap, they all cried out: “It’s not just Young Master!” “Mine too!” “And mine!” they chorused. On the fourth rainy afternoon when the creature shamelessly soiled Hozumi’s happi coat once more, the enraged clerk ordered apprentice Rokuyo to dispose of it at the beach. The flat-faced apprentice—his large nose protruding above thin lips—emitted mocking snorts through those lips as he departed on his errand. Though Rokuyo normally ignored Hozumi’s orders entirely, he decided to play along and see this farce through to its conclusion. The Young Master awaited his return before inquiring: “What became of it?” “Felt too sorry for the thing,” came the reply. “Took it to a sweetshop by the shore.” Thus concluded this comic interlude.

When late November arrived, the shop staff began openly discussing brothels before the young master, and Hosokawa even produced erotic prints from his tobacco pouch to show Eiichi. They had grown overly familiar and consequently become presumptuous. Eiichi did not particularly find this temptation frightening, though neither did he consider it an interesting phenomenon.

The evening after the cat incident was resolved, he went for a walk with Hozumi and Mr. Kusunoki. Hozumi dragged Eiichi to the archery hall. Eiichi made some gentlemanly remark and started turning back. Yet Hozumi casually entered anyway. Eiichi regretted lacking Hozumi’s boldness. This counted as social research. When he returned to the archery hall thinking he must observe everything, an astonishingly beautiful coquette emerged and pulled at Eiichi. “Your friend’s already gone inside,” she said in Kobe dialect. “No need t’leave so quick-like.” Then another woman appeared and tugged his sleeve. Hozumi came out urging, “We’ll leave soon enough—come wait inside awhile.” Reluctantly he entered. Hozumi seized a pretty woman and traded jests. Eiichi kept feigning disinterest. Hozumi prattled to her about Eiichi’s vegetarian habits and the cat affair. Eiichi felt no particular discomfort. They emerged shortly after. The two women saw them off with “Do come again now.” Eiichi stood amazed at women’s bewitching power. Hozumi rambled on about various females. Still Eiichi held firm.

25 In Tokyo, after the Shinkigen faction and the Kashiwagi faction split, Shinkigen ceased publication; Mr. I and Ms. F took over its legacy to launch a small newspaper but were constantly fined. Shinmi heard about this from an ideologue living deep in the mountains of Mikawa and sent ten yen—a modest sum—toward those fines. Eiichi thought that democratic ideas needed to be more thoroughly propagated in Japan, but in his current position, there was nothing he could do. In Eiichi, the hope to spend his life among the poor like the British social reformer Toynbee was growing ever stronger.

Therefore, Eiichi attempted to suppress all sexual desires. However, the temptations surrounding him were far too overwhelming. And the influence of naturalist literature that had recently emerged was also keenly felt in Eiichi’s heart. Eiichi felt that being defeated by beauty and women somehow seemed like a victory.

It was exactly the end of November. Eiichi had been asked by Murai and found himself obligated to campaign in Kobe’s third-class city council member by-election. At that time, the owner of Torii Transport Shop in Sakaecho 3-chome had run as a third-class candidate, but because they were fellow transport workers, Eiichi was forcibly dragged into campaigning. Eiichi had said he would give at least one speech, but the speech meeting ended up being held only once, and even that was at a vaudeville hall called Kikusuitei near the Fukuhara red-light district, which could barely hold about four hundred people. The speakers were mostly magazine and newspaper publishers—those that put out issues maybe once a month, specialized in advertisements, and published once every three months in a way that didn’t violate the Newspaper Law. They were local politics specialists—quasi-political fixers attached to grandiose-sounding publications like the *Nippon Kanamono Shimbun* ("Japan Metalware News"), *Kansai Shōyu Shimbun* ("Kansai Soy Sauce News"), *Zaimoku Shimbun* ("Timber News"), *Hanshin Sengu Shimbun* ("Hanshin Marine Equipment News"), and at the extreme end, something called *Umi no Dai-Nippon* ("Great Japan of the Seas")—but their speeches were uniformly clumsy. Therefore, Eiichi’s novel ideas and well-trained oratory profoundly moved the audience. The next day’s newspapers wrote that Mr.Shinmi Eiichi’s eloquence had particularly moved the audience. It probably wasn’t the reason, but three days later, Mr.Torii was elected.

And so the election celebration was held at Tsutsui Kadan in Kaigeyama, where Kobata, president of Kaiun Geppō ("Shipping Monthly"), came to extend an invitation, earnestly requesting that Mr.Shinmi attend the event. And Eiichi went to Tsutsui Kadan together with Kobata. There, for the first time in his life, Eiichi had a geisha pour him sake and drank just one cup. And for the first time, he saw a geisha's dance performed for such an intimate gathering. At this moment, Eiichi realized for the first time how inevitable it was that so many people succumbed to corruption. Those attending the banquet—including Mr.Torii—numbered thirty-one in total; apart from Shinmi himself, they were all merely reporters from those insignificant monthly newspapers mentioned earlier. And here, Eiichi came to fully grasp the true nature of local politics. According to Murai at the shop, this Mr.Torii was a graduate of Waseda Specialist School who had long been engaged in the shipping business in Kobe. He seemed a mild-mannered man. Yet they never broached any substantive matters with Eiichi.

However, Kobata spread what he heard from Murai to his comrades. In these rumors, Shinmi was said to be quite a great scholar. At the banquet, Shinmi was quite popular. Kobata, appearing particularly well-acquainted with matters in geisha circles, not only sat next to Eiichi and taught him the geisha names but also introduced him to them. The banquet ended after twelve-thirty, but Kobata invited Eiichi to a second party, suggesting they go to Hanakuma with three geishas and others. And Eiichi, as a seeker of beauty, could not bring himself to refuse. Amidst the many beautiful electric lights of Hanakuma, five cars stopped beneath a sign that read "Tamanoie." When the cars stopped, a woman’s shrill voice could be heard from behind the lattice door. They came out to greet the five emerging from the cars. Here, no alcohol or anything else was served. However, a senior geisha named Kiyonosuke treated Eiichi with special care. Koshū—a twenty-one- or twenty-two-year-old woman whom Eiichi also found beautiful, who had returned with them from the flower garden—appeared shy and spoke little. Among those who had returned together was another named Umehaku, but claiming a headache, he immediately went upstairs to sleep. Kobata announced that he would stay here tonight. And he insisted that Shinmi must stay as well. Gathered around the long brazier, everyone sat inhaling the women’s fragrance while Eiichi settled into their joking banter and found no courage to rise and leave. Kiyonosuke also kindly urged them to stay the night before heading back since it was late. Then soon enough, Koshū informed them that two beds had been laid out side by side. Eiichi was impressed that the world was so conveniently arranged. Even though it was called a geisha house, there was nothing vulgar or obscene about the place at all.

Compared to staying at his father's house in Tokushima, it felt warmer and more full of human warmth. Therefore, he expressed gratitude for everyone's kindness, and that night slept in the same room as Kobata. The next day, Eiichi left Tamanoie around eight o'clock, but Kiyonosuke—bringing Koshū along—asked whether it would be all right to visit Eiichi's shop. Eiichi replied, "Please do come visit," before returning home.

Twenty-Six

The next day, Kiyonosuke had a rickshaw puller deliver a long letter to Shinmi’s shop in Kajiyamachi. Eiichi, having opened it, showed it to the shop people. Then Murai, Roku, Hozumi, and the maid O-Toku all laughed loudly.

That afternoon, two distinguished gentlemen wearing Western suits arrived by car at the shop. Eiichi thought it strange, but they were people from Kobe Marine Insurance. Murai welcomed those people and spoke at length with them for about an hour in the second-floor reception room, but after the two left, Murai came to where Eiichi was writing shipping invoices,

“Young Master, something terrible has happened!” Eiichi was flustered,

“What is it?” Eiichi asked. “The Daifukumaru was wrecked in a storm about a week ago off Enshū Nada—mast snapped, rudder torn off, a third of its cargo lost. They drifted until the America-bound Koreya Maru discovered them and rescued the nine boatmen. But—here’s the thing—the rescuers told them to abandon ship and cargo entirely if they wanted to live. The boatmen couldn’t bring themselves to leave their vessel, so they took just the provisions and kept drifting. Before they knew it, they’d neared Izu Ōshima. The islanders, thinking it a derelict ship, sent a rescue boat straightaway and brought her into port. But those villagers… greedy bastards stole about half the cargo still left onboard.” “Kobe Marine Insurance received this telegram the day before yesterday and straightaway sent someone to some port in Izu... The matter they came to consult about concerns five hundred bales of ammonia from Maruni’s Tokyo shipment.” “It seems half of that cargo has been washed away.” “But they say about two hundred bales remain undamaged and should be fine... The insurance company claims that since this wasn’t a sinking but a jettisoning—and what’s more, since the boatmen 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 someone had either scuttled the ship by drilling holes in its bottom or made sure all cargo was lost overboard, they’d pay the full sum without question.” “So I asked them—if we were to drill holes in the ship’s bottom even now, while it’s docked in port, would we still receive the insurance money? And they said, ‘We would pay out.’”

“This is troubling… Does Maruni know about this?”

“They say two people from Maruni came by earlier… Apparently, when Ishida’s ship was wrecked off Shikama in Harima, something similar happened… They deliberately poured water on the remaining ammonia to ruin it and collected the full insurance money.” “Is doing such a thing really acceptable?” Eiichi immediately retorted, “Capitalist economics is an absurd system.” “See, there’s no issue with that,” Murai countered. “According to Kobe Marine Insurance’s explanation, Maruni pays about twenty-five thousand yen annually in premiums.” “The total insured value for this shipment is just under forty thousand yen.” “Since they need to keep your future business, they’ll pay out fully if you either scuttle the ship or render all cargo unusable.”

“What a strange thing to say... I don’t understand such matters.” “So here’s the thing—since I can’t sink the ship, I think it’d be best to either throw all the cargo into the sea or get it soaked in water.” While they were talking, a phone call came through from Maruni’s shop. The conversation was indeed about that matter. Murai was struggling. Since the ammonia stock was slightly insufficient, even Maruni stated they wanted it. That being said, they wanted the insurance money and, in any case, were insisting that someone be sent to investigate.

Therefore, after consulting with Murai, Eiichi decided to send Hozumi and informed Maruni of this over the phone. And so Eiichi finished his lunch quickly and promptly set out to search for Hozumi at the harbor. Hozumi departed for Izu Ōshima on the 7:30 PM first- and second-class express from Kobe, accompanied by an employee from Maruni Fertilizer Co., Ltd.

That evening, Eiichi felt drawn toward Kiyonosuke and Koshū, so he trudged toward Hanakuma. But he felt unbearably self-conscious. Just as he reached Fukuwaraguchi, the sound of drumming made him wonder what was happening; looking around, he saw the Gospel Propagation Team preaching by the roadside. That night, Eiichi's religious fervor surged with unusual intensity. He compared himself to the young man speaking and grew indignant at his own inadequacy. Abandoning his trip to Hanakuma, he followed them to the Gospel Propagation Hall in Tamon-dori 4-chome. He listened until the sermon ended. Shinmi remained unmoved by the sermon but was deeply affected by a laborer's testimony. A man of thirty-five or six—an apparently simple-minded dockworker from Kawasaki Shipyard—testified earnestly about being saved through Jesus Christ's grace from his past as a ruffian, calling it divine mercy. Eiichi found himself utterly moved, tears streaming down uncontrollably. He contemplated his current state and the maze of indulgence ensnaring him. Resolving himself, he considered becoming a Christian. Yet philosophy still hindered Shinmi. He could not reconcile himself with religious dogmas—the Trinity, the Virgin Birth, the Ascension, miracles—all incomprehensible mysteries of faith.

The man called pastor was a tall, gaunt figure in his forties—thoroughly sentimental or rather hysterical—who kept repeating the same things. To the audience—there were only twenty or thirty people—he said, "Let those who are saved come forth to the Seat of Grace." Two or three individuals did indeed step forward briskly, but Eiichi found himself wanting that very courage.

Eiichi desperately wanted to repent. Yet the beautiful woman he was meant to meet tonight—particularly Koshū's temptation—overpowered religious devotion. Thus lacking the courage to approach the Seat of Grace for repentance, Eiichi slipped away furtively. Then he hastened toward Hanakuma.

Hanakuma was bright. Eiichi found himself wondering why the Gospel Propagation Hall had been so dark inside. After all, Yamate's geisha quarter was radiant. A woman in a splendid kimono passed him on the narrow path - her large eyes framed by pale skin, glossy black hair arranged in a Shimada coiffure that seemed to drip liquid darkness - and this simple encounter filled Eiichi with inexplicable joy.

At Tamanoie, Kiyonosuke and Koshū had received invitations but deliberately declined them, waiting for Shinmi to come, it was said. When it was put that way, he somehow thought that if he had come a bit earlier, it would have been better. Koshū was an Akita beauty and truly beautiful. Tonight, she looked especially beautiful. Eiichi thought that merely sitting by her side was a great privilege.

Eiichi, Koshū, Kiyonosuke, and the proprietress—the four of them sat around the long brazier. The woman they called the proprietress didn’t have the slightest air of a proprietress about her. She carried herself like the wife of some merchant. According to Kobata’s pillow talk last night, it was said that she was the mistress of some hat shop in Motomachi.

Tea was served, sweets were served, and Kiyonosuke broke the silence by saying, “I was hoping you might take me to see a play tonight,” but Eiichi’s unresponsiveness made the atmosphere turn awkward. Eiichi’s hope was rather to spend time with Koshū alone, just as he had once freely engaged in love’s play with Tsuruko. However, because Kiyonosuke was so earnest toward Eiichi, he naturally couldn’t make such a request. Kiyonosuke kept talking by himself. From the rumors about Kobata, Koshū abruptly declared, “I dislike Kobata-san.” She also said she disliked Kiyonosuke. Koshū imitated Kobata’s way of smoking tobacco. “That way of smoking closely resembles the mayor of Kobe’s,” Kiyonosuke said. Then began the takedown of the mayor. Kiyonosuke told the story about how the mayor had struggled to deliver a congratulatory speech at the housewarming celebration for the mistress’s residence of Mr. Yagi, the master of a sake shop in Nada. Koshū asked if they hadn’t seen the criticism of the mayor in the next day’s Kobe Shimbun regarding that matter. Shinmi answered that he did not know. Koshū gave the report. Shinmi smiled bitterly, thinking that it wasn’t only the mayor of Tokushima who was corrupt.

Then, the attack on the mayor began. The relationship between the mayor and a geisha became the subject of rumors. Then,

“Hey, Sis, you know what?” Koshū loudly interrupted, then blurted out: “They say even Mr. Yamada from the prefectural engineering department and Mr. Shinoda from the mail steamship company are frequenting the place opposite Mr. Kobata’s Matsuura-ro!” “Is Mr. Yamada from the Engineering Department going to visit brothels?” Kiyonosuke asked, his eyes widening.

“Yeah.” “Doesn’t he have any children?”

“They say he has five children.” “And why would he go there?” “Apparently it was when his wife was pregnant with them, or so they say.” Then Eiichi heard from Kiyonosuke about Shinoda from the mail steamship company and his antics. And when he learned about the hidden side of this arrogant Shinoda, he could only smile bitterly.

While they were engaged in such talk, Umemaro returned from outside. Umemaro talked about the banquet's proceedings. He said happily that tomorrow night, Master Nakao would take him to see Kabuki. Hearing this, Koshū turned to Shinmi,

“Mr. Shinmi, please take me to the Kabukiza tomorrow evening,” she implored. Shinmi immediately agreed. Kiyonosuke, “I’d like that too,” he said. Of course, Eiichi lacked the courage to refuse. Umemaro was asking about the time. The landlady answered that it was eleven o'clock with sleepy-looking eyes. So Umemaro declared he was going to bed. Then Kiyonosuke,

“Mr. Shinmi, I’ll lay out bedding between the three of us tonight, so you’d best stay... With just us women around, it gets too lonely, so I want us to talk while lying down.” Of course, Eiichi lacked the courage to refuse this. And so Eiichi had bedding laid out between Koshū and Kiyonosuke and went to sleep. The perfume the women wore gave off a pleasant fragrance, and Eiichi—forgetting all his problems—trembled under the covers at the temptation of sex and flesh. Yet Eiichi also realized these geishas’ character was more upstanding than even Tsuruko’s, and thought that even were he to fall prey to some temptation from these women, it would hardly be worth lamenting.

Twenty-Seven

The end of the year drew near. And with cargo appearing in great quantities, transportation companies everywhere were in a rush. Hoizumi returned from Izu on the fifth day, but since the ship was safe and half the cargo had been salvaged, he said they probably couldn't claim insurance money. Nevertheless, he reported that if they had the courage to completely drench all their current cargo, Kobe Marine Insurance would likely pay out the insurance money. When Murai called "Maruni" to inquire by phone, they said they would soak all the cargo and collect the insurance money.

Two or three days had passed since then. When he looked at the Kobe Shimbun, there was an article about Murai's domestic dispute. It appeared to have been written because his wife—after being beaten by Murai—had made a scene and filed a report with the police station. However, it also stated that Murai had been involved with a "contracted geisha." The shop employees had been gossiping about Murai's involvement with this geisha two or three weeks prior; they had merely laughed it off as rumors, saying things like "That stingy man's chasing other women while his wife is pregnant!" But now that it had escalated to being reported in the newspaper, they somehow felt sorry for him. That day, though the shop was extremely busy, Murai never showed his face there the entire day.

That evening, as Eiichi was calculating commission fees, Roku returned from the harbor and reported that according to rumors at the docks, Hosokawa from the shop had impregnated the daughter of a confectionery shop there—the same shop where Rokuyo had previously delivered kittens. When it came to the confectionery shop’s daughter—she being only fifteen or sixteen—Eiichi thought there was a good ten-year difference between her and Hosokawa, but since he had his own weaknesses, he didn’t say anything. However, that evening, even Hosokawa the head clerk who had returned from offshore, along with Yamada and Hoizumi, showed no change in their expressions. However, the next morning, though Eiichi couldn’t grasp what it was about, Hoizumi and Hosokawa were in the kitchen shouting insults at each other. And then Hoizumi came over to Eiichi's desk,

“Boss, you’ve got to watch out for Hosokawa!” he warned. Eiichi didn’t understand what that meant. But Hosokawa never returned that evening. He didn’t come back the next day either—nor the day after that. And Murai hadn’t shown up for exactly three days. So with Hoizumi, Yamada—who wasn’t yet twenty—the errand boy Rokuyo, and himself, the four of them worked until their vision blurred loading the ship. The real problem was having not a single sen to cover the marine insurance. Since Murai held the bankbook—which should still have contained five or six hundred yen—Eiichi was at his wit’s end. Murai was supposed to have taken the seven hundred yen commission from Kashima. “Maruni can’t claim commission fees until this mess gets sorted.” With no other choice, they diverted the three hundred thirty yen freight payment that had come through Kondo in Tokushima.

On the morning of December 9th, as Eiichi was reading the newspaper in his second-floor study, Rokuyo came and informed him that the master of Shōda from Kashima had arrived. When they met, it became clear that Hosokawa had committed fraud. It turned out that while Hoizumi was away in Izu, someone had removed fifty koku from the one hundred and fifty koku of rice from Hokkaido's Otaru that were supposed to have been loaded onto the Hakata Maru departing Kobe on December 1st. Eiichi was utterly astonished but sent Shōda back, saying they would investigate the matter properly later.

Murai came to the shop immediately after Shōda left that morning, wearing an unperturbed expression. Eiichi said nothing about Murai. However, when he mentioned the Shōda incident, Murai became indignant, saying, “That bastard Hosokawa did it!” Murai had been making calls all over the place, but the only thing he discovered was that Hosokawa had gone to Tokyo. And Yamada related that the fifty koku of rice had been purchased by a broker named Tani’i in Higashikawasaki-cho, Fourth District. And Yamada, who had been completely unaware, informed Murai that he hadn’t known about Hosokawa’s fraud until today. “What can you do?!” Murai clicked his tongue.

When I asked Murai how much remained in the deposit, he replied curtly, "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 arrived," said the errand boy Rokuyo as he came upstairs. (The "pier" refers to the pier branch office of Nippon Yusen Kaisha, an office located at the shipping company's pier next to Kawasaki Shipyard.)

"I wonder what his business is... Have him come up to the second floor," Eiichi said without much concern. The maid Toku... "Mr. Shinoda? “Does he often come to that shop?” “The corpulent one with the handlebar mustache and gold-rimmed glasses?” she asked while taking the cushion from behind the folding screen bearing Suichiku-sensei’s calligraphy. Shinoda was well acquainted with Eiichi at the pier. He had also come to the shop three or four times since Eiichi had started frequenting it. However, he had never gone up to the formal reception room. For three or four minutes, he would say playful things in a loud voice with Murai while smoking a cigar, only to abruptly leave. And it was customary for Murai to later laugh boisterously in a loud voice.

After a short while, a loud noise came from the direction of the staircase. A large man in his forties came up. He was dressed in a morning coat. Shinoda,

“Ah, my apologies, Mr. Shinmi. It’s fine weather today, isn’t it?” he said, tossing his bowler hat onto the tatami, wiping his handlebar mustache with a handkerchief, standing upright and giving a slight bow. Four or five sparrows were chirping on the roof of the back warehouse. Eiichi placed his hands on the floor and bowed. “Now, please—this way,” he said. Shinoda looked at the Western books on the bookshelf in the alcove. “You read a lot, don’t you, Mr. Shinmi!” he shouted in a loud voice while moving closer to the bookshelf. “May I take a look at one of these books?”

“Hmm, nothing but philosophy books.” "But ah, here's Karl Marx's Capital." “So you're not even a philosopher then?" "Oh, Westermarck's The History of Human Marriage too." “You read nothing but things we can't understand,” he said calmly. Shinoda was an earnest scholar by nature who remained perpetually cheerful. This made him popular at the pier too. After silently perusing the books for a while— “What a waste for the shipping agent's proprietor—few Kobe bookshops stock this many philosophy texts... This town truly doesn't read—hence all these fools." “...so many fools." He laughed alone. The sound boomed extraordinarily loud.

Eiichi remained silent, watching Shinoda search through the books. Shinoda spoke again: "Mr. Shinmi. You should quit this shipping agency business and become a professor at some technical college. If it's just a middle school ethics teacher position, perhaps I could arrange something?" he blurted out his sudden thought. "Though I must decline any middle school ethics teaching positions," Eiichi replied. "Wait now—actually, a friend of mine runs a private middle school in Toyohashi, Mikawa with about two hundred students. He says he'll pay seventy yen monthly for someone around Kobe who understands philosophy and speaks proper English—you see, I'm currently searching for such a man."

“In Kobe, someone who understands philosophy?” “In Kobe, wearing a red necktie and managing brief English greetings should do just fine.” “But there are men who occasionally graduate from American seminaries and loiter around Kobe’s trading firms.” “They’re likely targeting those types.” “If you find a high-character man who studied philosophy in America, he’ll command respect even in rural areas.” “True enough.” “Seminary graduates do exist.” The young servant brought tea from downstairs.

“But you have interesting books. You read poetry often, don’t you?” he said while sitting cross-legged on the provided zabuton cushion. He was a carefree man.

The maid O-Toku brought a tobacco tray and placed it before Shinoda. Shinoda took a cigar from his pocket and lit it as he asked, "Do you smoke?" "I don't." "That's impressive. Then I suppose you don't drink either?" "Oh, I haven't been drinking lately. To me, abstaining causes no particular hardship." O-Toku interjected from beside them, "He doesn't eat meat or fish either." "That's rather extreme." "What exactly would drive someone to such extremes?" "He's a vegetarian, you see... and an exceptionally strict one at that."

“I’ve started doing some strange things, haven’t I?” “But it’s strange that humans eat meat. From a physiological standpoint—even examining stomach structure or teeth—we’re herbivorous creatures... And even without that, he liberates mosquitoes, lice and fleas, giving them freedom and life!” She burst into raucous laughter. “Strange to eat meat? If someone with your flabby physique ate meat, they’d drop dead! You.” “Nonsense! If avoiding meat meant death, every farmer in Japan would’ve perished long ago—”

Shinoda examined the ledger on the desk while remarking, "The truth is, humans aren’t supposed to eat meat." "After all, even Buddha prohibited killing living beings... But I eat meat," he boomed with laughter. "What's that?" "It's nothing worth mentioning—just a log from my mind." "And those papers piled over there?" "This?" Eiichi sifted through two or three hundred folded sheets. "You mustn't mock this—it's a study called 'The History of Human Faces.'"

“Well, that’s eccentric!” Again, Shinoda laughed loudly.

For a while, the two remained silent, then Shinoda composed himself slightly and—

“Mr. Shinmi. “Today… I actually came with a small request—will you hear me out?” “I’ll hear it.” “Since it’s you we’re talking about, haha…” He laughed lightly. It was probably about money. He imagined that because Shinoda engaged in the kind of play being rumored in Hananuma lately, he must be struggling financially. “Since it’s you, I thought you’d hear me out—and since it’s your family’s affair, I figured there’d be some influence… So here I am. Honestly, this is quite embarrassing, but could you lend me a bit of money?” Shinoda said without a trace of shame.

“Ah, very well.” “How much?” “I need about 100 yen.” Eiichi had agreed, but “A hundred yen?” he wondered inwardly—yet maintained a manly composure. “Do you need it today?” “Well, it needn’t be today, but I must have it by the end of this month, you see.”

“By the end of the month? I should be able to manage that. I should be able to arrange it by around the 25th. I can manage about 100 yen.”

“Thank you.” “I must trouble you with this request… My wife back home has fallen ill and insists I send money, you understand.” “Ah, very well.” “I shall most certainly arrange it.”

“Well then, since I’ve got no more business here, I’ll be off—I’ve been rude since early this morning. Mr. Shinmi,” he said nonchalantly. Yet beneath his glasses, the skin under his eyes reddened slightly as his pupils fidgeted restlessly. “I see. Then I’ll take my leave,” said Shinmi, who made no particular effort to stop him.

Shinoda picked up his bowler hat again and went downstairs. Shinmi did not even see him off,

“Well then, I’ll take my leave now,” he said, sitting back down at his desk.

The maid escorted him to the shop and then came back upstairs. The apprentice Rokuro also came up. He had come to retrieve the tobacco tray. And then, looking at Eiichi, "Boss, did that Shinoda come to borrow money today? "That guy’s always acting all high and mighty at the pier, but today he was bowing and scraping like a servant. "That guy’s the cockiest bastard at the pier, I tell ya," he said, still standing. "But Mr. Shinoda is the most respected at the pier, isn’t he?" Eiichi replied.

“Is it true he’s a graduate of Tokyo Higher Commercial School?” “Does graduating from that school let you strut around like that?” Rokuro glanced toward the drying platform. “Ah, it’s a fine day today.” “I want to go play in the mountains!” he said, dashing toward the window. Rokuro was fourteen years old. He was in the prime of his mischievousness.

“Hey, Roku! If you run around like that, you’ll kick up dust!” Even as Eiichi scolded him, Rokuro feigned ignorance and stepped out to the drying platform. “I can see Anchorage Mountain, Anchorage Mountain! I want to go play in the mountains, ah!” Rokuro was shouting.

O-Toku addressed Rokuro,

“What does Mr. Shinoda even do at the pier all day?” she asked. “Since he’s the vice branch manager, he just sits there in his chair putting on airs,” Rokuro answered, mimicking Shinoda’s pompous mannerisms. “Just putting on airs?” “That guy leaves his wife back home while he goes off carousing in Fukuhara—no self-control at all, I tell ya.” Rokuro swung his legs where he’d perched on the threshold. “You hear that, Boss?”

“The way he declares things so grandly,” the maid laughed. “But that guy’s got real sway, I tell ya. “All the other apprentices tremble before him. “Only I go mess with him at his desk!” “That’s quite something!” the maid continued laughing.

"I had Shinoda teach me a whole lot of English the other day, you know, Boss. ...So 'dog' means dog, 'steamer' means the main ship, and 'launch' is just launch. And then 'web' must mean wave, right? With just that, I've already forgotten everything. Ah, but I still remember some! Is 'chimney' 'fuel,' right?" "You remember well." "Boss, could you teach me a bit of English?" "If you know that much, it should be more than enough." "If I could just really read all the books here smooth-like—then I wouldn't be stuck being some apprentice at Shinmi Shipping, I tell ya. If you could actually speak English proper, Boss, I'd go down to the pier and show off like mad—just rattle away in English all 'Clang! Choon! Kich! Paa!' I tell ya. If I can't grab some foreigner and talk to 'em proper-like, there's no fun in it at all."

O-Toku doubled over with laughter. "Is acting high-and-mighty all it takes?" "By acting high-and-mighty, he makes money." "How greedy." "People who act high-and-mighty never have any money." "If just acting high-and-mighty is enough, Young Master, could you teach me some English?" "Shall I send you to night school?" "Night school for English?" "I'll go, if you'll arrange it."

“Roku, what time is it now?” “I suppose it’s nine o’clock.” “Has Muraii come or not? Go down and check.” “Mr.Miyoshi won’t be coming today.” “Boss, you saw the other day’s newspaper, didn’t you?” “Yeah, I saw it.”

From below came a call: “Roku—” It was unmistakably Muraii Sankichi’s voice. “Ah, Sankichi’s come.” “He’s calling out to someone in that loud voice again, damn him.” “I don’t know, I tell ya.” “They say ‘speak of the devil’ for a reason, I tell ya.” “O-Toku... There’s no mistake that Muraii is having his blood sucked dry by those high-class prostitutes from Yamanote.” …Boss. “When it comes to the house in Kita-Nagasa, that’s a filthy place, I tell ya.” “Is that so? “Roku, have you been there?” “I’ve been there many times, I tell ya.” Again from below came a shout: “Roku—”

“I don’t know, I tell ya… Hey, Boss, Muraii’s wife is a nasty piece of work, I tell ya. Stingy, stingy—that’s stingy—”

O-Toku looked at Roku’s face,

"You’re making such a funny face… But Mr. Roku, if you don’t go down, Mr. Muraii will get angry again. Please go on down." "Hmm, what’s so scary about that Miyoshi getting angry…" [Rokuro thrust his head forward, baring his teeth] "Sticking his neck out like this—shoving his arms out to show contempt… And hey, Boss, he’s got three kids, but every last one of ’em’s a bratty little squirt, I tell ya. They’re all just rowdy brats, I tell ya—Oh, Miyoshi’s coming up!" Hearing the footsteps on the ladder stairs, the houseboy hurriedly dashed out to the drying area and hid on the roof.

Sure enough, the footsteps belonged to Muraii. He emerged halfway from behind the sliding door without so much as a nod to Eiichi. “Roku, you bastard! Hiding again, are you? There was a voice on the second floor just now,” he muttered as he went back downstairs.

With that muttering, he went back downstairs. Eiichi and the maid, feeling pity, couldn't bring themselves to look at Muraii's face; after Muraii had gone downstairs, they exchanged glances and laughed. Roku too came down from the roof and laughed. So Eiichi took Roku and went to load ships offshore again. And loading ships offshore was what Eiichi found most enjoyable of all.

29 Eiichi profoundly realized he was ill-suited to be a merchant. And he considered that he was someone fundamentally incompatible with the current social structure. Yet he still lacked the courage to abandon the business immediately. He couldn't muster the resolve to enter Gonzō's room as he had that summer; though wanting to become a newspaper reporter, he also lacked the nerve to join those political types he'd met during the council elections—he felt himself growing sick of his own being.

He found no interest in anything he did. He couldn’t help but feel that labor had him bound. And he thought about how his heart had been utterly ravaged for Kiyonoshin and Kohide ever since the election campaign. Even so, he knew no way to overcome it. As he now fell into corruption, he saw everything around him descending into ruin as well. And he thought that Shinmi Shipping Agency’s fate would not last much longer either. He now believed nothing but a woman could bring him solace. Yet simultaneously within him surged a fierce will—to sanctify himself and serve society.

And so he did not go again to Tama no ie after taking Kiyonoshin and Kohide to the theater at November's end. In this crisis of his life, he came to acutely realize that only through religion could he find deliverance. Thus as year's end approached and his religious fervor intensified further, he began attending Fukuharaguchi Gospel Hall nightly. He was not entirely free from discomfort. Yet he could no longer muster the will to rail against external forms and doctrines. And so he always sat silent through sermons and testimonies. Gradually he came to grasp something of that religious essence which only he could perceive.

The year-end accounting was anything but stable. Despite having nothing, he had lent 100 yen to Shinoda, but the insurance premiums he had advanced to "Maruni" did not come in, he was forced to write promissory notes for the nearly 1,000 yen lost to Hosokawa’s default, and he couldn’t help but feel some anxiety about what the coming year would bring. However, he thought of freeing himself as soon as possible and rushing headlong into the labor movement. However, even though it was small and had established credit with a shop, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon it entirely.

The final day of Meiji 41 (1908) arrived. And Eiichi attended the New Year's Eve prayer meeting, resolved to spend the year's last day in prayer. Fukuharaguchi buzzed with inexplicable commotion, making full immersion in the vigil's solemnity impossible, yet he prayed that Meiji 42 (1909) would surely see the labor movement take its first decisive step.

The year's end had been harsh, but the New Year arrived cheerfully. Muraii, Hozumi, Yamada, Rokuro, and the maid O-Toku all seemed merry from their New Year's sake. Eiichi too strove to adopt this cheerfulness. Yet it proved impossible. Though some undefined impulse made him feel he must abandon himself completely to religious sentiment and entrust everything to the "Heavenly Father," his philosophical torment—now an ingrained habit cultivated over years—left him without the courage to fully commit to religion.

Especially when he heard that everyone else was going off to Hanakuma and Fukuhara in their beautiful kimonos for New Year’s festivities, being left alone in the cold air seemed utterly pitiful to him.

And so, Eiichi decided to embark on a solitary journey to the Kyoto-Nara region.

On the morning of January 2nd, Eiichi arrived in Kyoto—shrouded in thick haze—his body jostled by the Kyoto-bound train. He raced by carriage to visit the museum. Then he toured by carriage from Ginkaku-ji Temple to the Omuro district. Yet nothing held even passing interest. The next day he went to Nara, but found it equally dreary. So Eiichi quoted from Faust: He repeated the emperor's words from the first act of Part Two. Ich habe satt das ewige Wie und Wenn; Es fehlt an Geld, nun gut, Do Schoff es denn.

"I’ve grown sick of the eternal ‘how’ and ‘if’!" "I want money—that’s all I need—give it to me now!" Exactly at 5:52 PM on the fifth day after leaving home, when the train passed westward through small Horyuji Station, when the shadow of the darkened temple complex disappearing into mist within the northeastern forest vanished from view, an unspeakable sorrow welled up in his chest. Eiichi looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment. Eiichi had grown weary of traveling. And he had grown weary of life itself. "If… if lying down on the rails would make everything turn to nothingness, then I could resolve myself right now to die beneath the next train and be done with it. I continue this ghostly existence only because I feel that not everything has vanished yet… Ah— No amount of oil can fix a broken machine born into the wrong world. Even looking at Kohide does nothing. It has been five days since I left home—what has filled this void in my chest? No one has come forth to save me. Is that God? No—even when I pray, God’s reach falls short. A woman? Women are even smaller than God! Money? Money? Ah, filthy— I’m done for, I’m done for—"

With his feverish, aching head pressed against the glass window, Eiichi closed his eyes. His head throbbed dully. The train raced onward with a terrible noise. He thought how good it would be if the passenger car were made entirely of glass.

From Tennōji, the train stopped at an irritating number of stations. Through the window, station corner lamps displayed characteristically unpoetic Osaka names like Tenma and Tamatsukuri. Between stations stretched desert-like expanses of tiled roofs beneath streaming black smoke. Nighttime Osaka was truly dreadful. It resembled a storm-ravaged sea.

When the train ran along the banks of the Yodo River, he suddenly remembered it was a famous spot for double suicides. And he recalled the double suicide play of Akeya Hanshichi and Mikatsu that someone had performed at Kobe’s Aioi Theater some time ago. A double suicide in nighttime Osaka? He couldn't discern what connection existed, but he felt there must be some terrifyingly intimate relationship. And Osaka was terrifying... he thought any place where people gathered was terrifying.

The shop had achieved fairly good results. On January 2nd for the first shipment of the year, Oguri (the rice broker from Shimagami-cho) had sent 5,000 units of rice bound for Otaru; they hadn't handled such a large consignment in recent times. Murai— "This year's sure to bring us good luck, eh?"—he let out an uncharacteristic laugh through those crocodilian jaws of his.

However, the handling of indigo balls—which had been their major client for over twenty years—was said to have established a new contract, and at last would be routed directly to the main ship without passing through Shinmi's hands. Rokurokuya, the houseboy, was greatly indignant in front of Eiichi, saying he felt sick to his stomach. The manner of his indignation was amusing. “I can’t stand working at such a stingy shipping agency anymore. “I’ll just go back home and become a farmer…” he declared. Murai was saying that their policy from this year onward lay entirely in “joining hands with Hyogo rice wholesalers.”

However, January saw relatively poor business even in rice wholesalers' circles; after shipping out 5,000 units, Oguri had merely sent 1,000 to Muroran. In Tokyo, voices of caution among banks grew louder. The payment to Shoda couldn't be made. The January payment was postponed to February 5th. From Shoda came no rice shipments in February. Day after day, with only two hundred or three hundred units of rice to handle, the five clerks sat at their bookkeeping desks while reading newspapers became their work. Despite the lull, the houseboy Rokurokuya lazed about and failed to tidy the newspapers, leaving the shop strewn with papers that gave it the appearance of bustling activity. Yet this was not the only thing creating that impression of commotion. Groups migrating from Awa's mountain depths to Hokkaido came pressing in by the dozens—thirty or forty at a time—lending it an air of prosperity as well. However, amidst all this chaos, Eiichi could not discover why humans must live.

30

For Eiichi, one path remained.

That is: death. A cold, quiet death. So he wondered whether he could die or not, and wanted to recklessly charge headlong into something. Ordinary deaths—drowning, hanging, being run over, dynamite deaths—execution in prison, death by illness, death by poison—such things held no interest. In any case, he thought it would be best to run and run like in a marathon race, push through to the end, and then have his heart burst all at once and die.

However, he thought about how one could possibly accomplish such a death—suicide. So at times he would throw his own body onto the road when he found no one was watching. "You wretched carcass, just die!" But even then, he couldn't seem to die. Yet he remained in constant danger of committing suicide at any moment. Whether seeing a knife, gazing at the sea, or passing a pharmacy, he would always think of death.

He resolved to abuse his own body as much as possible. He wandered along the Suma-Akashi coast seeking any opportunity to die. Yet when he finally steeled himself for death, even his exhausted eyes became filled with the astonishment of existence. Particularly when seeing children's faces peering over women's backs in the streets, Eiichi perceived this astonishment of existence with heightened intensity. Still, he lacked the sensory capacity to probe deeper into this astonishment's depths. Thus he wandered between the astonishment of existence and death.

He wept every day, shut up listlessly in his room as if possessed by a demon. He felt his body swelling up like waterlogged manure. He felt his hands and feet growing absurdly large. He imagined his brain and chest were gradually shrinking—until finally his body would become covered in powdery scales like a leper’s. His breathing grew labored, his tongue clinging dry to the roof of his mouth. The "now" called "now"—even for an instant—no—I want to see a dream. I want to stop breathing, if only for an instant.

I wanted to cry from the depths of my chest—to cry until there was nothing left. And so Eiichi burst into hysterical sobs. I am ash... The world is a crematorium: inside the furnace flames burn consuming flesh and blood; outside ice spreads unbroken. A throat-rending north wind blew from hell's depths. Ah, the crematorium! Half my body thrusts into this furnace while the other half rots in ice... But... soon... how can I not rebel against death's authority? ?? Smash this furnace—with these rotten hands seize the blazing fire and hurl it upon the ice where I stand!

The ice melted. And I lost my footing. And I went plummeting somewhere! Plummeting somewhere! Plummeting somewhere! Somewhere... and then, the eternal dream would begin. What was society? What was the nation? What was civilization? What was Father? What was a lover? What was reality? What was God? What was value? What was beauty?... That was all nothingness! It fell... It fell—everything would vanish with death—with Earth’s destruction—with the annihilation of self—wasn’t it?! Wouldn’t all social structures built upon ambition, misunderstanding, superstition, falsehood, and tradition scatter into fragments along with the shattering of self?!

In short, life was but toying with a flower that had bloomed upon this void. Ah, vanity of vanities—negation of negations! Must I yet live atop this? ?? No—no, I would let myself be dragged along. Reality! O blind guide! Quickly, come to the edge of the cosmos! I wanted to leap from there and soar to the world beyond death's realm! He thought and tormented himself thus. Neither women nor books nor the sun could comfort him. He grew 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 existence seized him too firmly.

The wonder of existence had finally triumphed over him. He resolved to affirm everything. The affirmation of all—yes, he decided to embrace every manifestation flowing through life and time. He emerged from the abyss of despair into a world of wonder. He steeled himself to live fiercely in the realm of reality through death's power. Everything was wonder... Death and self, land and stone, sand and rice, women and maidens, steamships—even the void they pursued was wonder. Hues and light-rays, contours and roses, the crimson of young lips—all wonder. Black blood and sin, tainted hearts—all wonder. He affirmed it all. He resolved to live fiercely. And he danced upon time's flow, striving to charge forward bravely. To this end, he sought to accept all reality—religion and every last one of its symbols. He resolved to confront everything with suicide's courage.

Having resolved thus, he gradually drew closer to Christ. He told himself that he would not throw himself into the sea, but rather cast himself into this world of wonders from now on and drown there. And so, on February 11th, he finally resolved to confess himself as a disciple of Jesus. His church was the Japan Christ Lecture Hall in Mizuki-dori Sanchome, Hyogo—the smallest in Kobe—run by the American missionary Dr. Williams. Dr. Williams had long resided in Tokushima City years prior; during middle school days, Eiichi had gone to learn Bible conversations in English from him. But finding the Gospel Evangelism Hall too boisterous, while searching for something that suited his temperament, he discovered Dr. Williams’ lecture hall and decided to go there. He received baptism on the second Sunday after finding that small lecture hall.

However, Eiichi liked the simple faith of the Gospel Evangelism Hall; particularly, Pastor T’s sincere attitude was generally warm and kind in his interactions with people. Eiichi liked the poor believers there. Thus, every Sunday, Eiichi would invariably conduct street preaching at Minatogawa Park alongside the Evangelism Hall’s trainees—those individuals studying the Bible under Pastor T and Missionary W to become evangelists. Having become a disciple of Jesus, Eiichi resolved with all his might that he must possess a faith that would not be defeated by anyone. However, Eiichi's first experience of street preaching was a shameful one. He was terribly afraid that someone might know his past and expose his flaws.

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 Kobe's eastern edge. This was a place Eiichi had frequented last summer when he had been with Gonzō—among Japan's slums, none was considered more utterly foul than here. The most wretched area was Rokugachō, where over eight thousand people lived. In two-tatami row houses numbering some eighty units—each dwelling measuring just six square meters—families of nine crammed themselves to sleep. Eiichi first resolved that he must enter and dwell here. Yet having no acquaintances there, he determined to conduct street preaching as means to forge connections.

When he began singing hymns alone and started preaching by himself, many poor people in tattered clothes and laborers with strange faces gathered around. The town's electric lamps shone beautifully. "Cast away the filth of the earth and look to heaven!" he cried out, and when he himself looked up at the sky, there in the boundlessly clear spring night, countless stars were shining. It was truly beautiful. Even the electric wires stretched long beneath the stars were beautiful tonight—and only tonight. Eiichi deeply contemplated that he was a voice crying in the wilderness—a prophet.

He had to be strong. Having rebelled against school, his father, his family, and society, he preached Jesus' gospel while tearfully resolving that he must live resolutely alone. For thirty or forty minutes he preached about God's love and Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, but among the listeners some jeered "What's this fool yammering about?", others muttered "What's he on?", while still others sneered "That supposed to be an 'Amen'?" Yet Eiichi had come prepared to be pelted. Thus he remained unshaken by such abuse.

At that moment, a ferocious-looking man—nearly thirty years old, wearing tube-sleeved clothes, pockmarked, short and ill-proportioned, with eyes that clearly suggested a criminal past—approached Shinmi. “Hey, mind letting me testify too?” Shinmi thought he was a strange man, but upon looking, he saw that the man was holding a five-sen Bible. Finding it increasingly strange, Shinmi wondered what would happen next, but said, “Please wait a moment,” and finished his talk,

“I would like to introduce this gentleman, who will now present his testimony,” he announced.

The man’s so-called 'testimony' was as follows. It went: "I'm Ueki Toratarō, fresh outta prison—everyone in Shinagawa knows me as bad news. Got locked up at fifteen when wicked notions took hold an' I torched Rokken-dō. Whole damn neighborhood went up—they rebuilt it now—an' I caught nine years' hard labor. Just got out recent-like. Can't read Scripture proper, but I studied my 'irohani' from scratch inside, scored this Good Book here, an' now I'm tellin' folks it's got solid truth. So y'all oughta buy it too—just five sen! Go on—read up!" "I ain't sayin' I'm all saintly yet, but check Murakami Senshirō up in Yamate—he was Kansai's top dip back in the day, but now he's straight-up repentin'," he rambled, floundering to wrap up his testimony coherently.

And so, with the street preaching concluded, as he was about to leave, that man called Ueki Toratarō— “Hey, there’s somethin’ I wanna ask you—could you come over here for a sec?”

called out to stop him. Taken aback by the impertinent, rough-edged manner of speech yet drawing on his experience living in Gonzo's quarters—which had granted him some grasp of lower-class laborers' psychology—Shinmi followed behind Ueki. So Ueki led him deep into a shadow-cloaked alleyway and halted before a row house. "You one of them Christian preachers?" he demanded bluntly. "No—I'm neither teacher nor anything of the sort." "You—not being no teacher—can still preach?"

"I can." "You know a preacher called Murakami Senshirō?" "No, I don’t know." "Strange—then you’re still green in Christianity, huh? If I say Murakami Senshirō of Okuhirano, everyone in Kobe knows him—he’s the one helping all them folks fresh outta prison... Look here, I wanna go ’round preachin’ Christianity like you too—where’s a fella supposed to go?... Where’s this Jesus headquarters in Kobe anyway?" He spoke as if making sense while making none.

“There’s no such thing as a headquarters for Jesus.” “So where’s your church at?” “Hyogo’s Mizuki-dori 3-chome Lecture Hall.” “There was a church in such a place?!” “Don’t know!... What’s the teacher’s name?” “It’s an American named Williams.” “Foreigners, eh?... Foreigners are kind folk... You—’scuse my rudeness—but I gotta ask, don’t get mad now—if I went ’round preachin’ like you, how much salary’d I pull in?”

“I don’t receive any salary at all… I’m doing this missionary work of my own volition.” “That can’t be right—there’s gotta be wages! Must be twenty-five yen a month at least—that’s what they say! You lyin’ to me?... You know that book ‘Twenty-Three Years in Iron Cells’? That fella turned preacher straight outta stir! I’m fixin’ to do same... But no connections—that’s why askin’ ’bout headquarters... Stayin’ with these folks here—” he jerked his chin at the row house “—since my release. Lazing ’bout daily... They don’t mind—raised me since knee-high. Could mooch for months an’ they’d not peep... But I’m brassic—not a sen for smokes... Ain’t there some cushy job like messenger work?... Lookit this—” he thrust out his stunted right hand “—half-cripple like... Got stories to tell... Wanna hear?... Where you shack up anyway?”

Eiichi was shocked by the man’s rough language and worried it would be troublesome if this man were to visit his shop in Kajiyamachi, but— “It’s in Hyogo’s Kajiyamachi—if you mention Shinmi Shipping Agency, they’ll know immediately.” “Shinmi Shipping Agency?” “Hyogo’s Kajiyamachi, ain’t it?” “You headin’ back tonight? Gotta say—comin’ alone to street preach in this freezin’ cold shows you’re real devout-like. So I wanna bend your ear ’bout how I should get my life squared away.”

Shinmi, saying "It's a bit of a walk, so I'll take my leave," began to leave the alley, but Ueki declared, "I'll see you that far," and followed him. In short, he was desperate because he had no work, asking whether he could become a preacher or, failing that, if they would lend him capital for a rice cake business. However, Eiichi had less than one yen on him. Therefore, he couldn't provide the capital right away. Moreover, not knowing Ueki's true nature, he tried to end things there—but when the moment came to part,

“I’m real sorry to ask, but could ya lend me twenty or thirty sen for pocket money? Just if ya don’t mind…” he pleaded desperately. And so, Eiichi took out all the money from his wallet and gave it. However, it was eighty-one sen in total. Ueki didn’t even say “Thank you” for that; instead, he tossed out a “I’ll take my leave now” and went off. Eiichi was astonished that there could exist a man of such peculiar character, but through Ueki, he came to fully understand just what an unsettling place the slums truly were.

The next day being Sunday, Eiichi went to the lecture hall on Mizuki-dori only to find Ueki waiting upon his return. Murai and all the shop staff wore peculiar expressions. When Ueki asked him to step outside briefly, Shinmi went before the shop where Ueki declared he wanted to start a rice cake business and demanded a twenty-yen loan as capital. Though deeming it unreasonable, Eiichi—determined to follow Jesus' teachings—promised "Very well, I'll lend it," then returned inside to ask Murai for twenty yen,

“Mr. Eiichi, what’re ya doin’? Are ya lendin’ to that man? In this cruel world, is there any fool who’d lend twenty yen to someone like that? Five yen’s enough—five yen’s enough,” he said, taking out just five yen from the safe.

And so Eiichi took the five yen, made his excuses, and had Ueki go home. However, from then on, Ueki came to visit Shinmi's shop every day. However, as Shinmi Eiichi was usually out working cargo at sea, they never met. On Thursday evening, when he went to the lecture hall, Dr.Williams— When Dr.Williams asked, “Mr.Shinmi, do you know someone called Ueki?” and he replied, “What about him? I do know him,” Dr.Williams continued: “He came saying you told him to get fifteen yen from me.” “So I gave him only five yen,” he said.

Though he thought the man was suspicious, Shinmi told Dr.Williams everything about that man’s past, beginning with their first street preaching in the slums. Then Dr.Williams, contrary to expectations, became greatly delighted and declared: “In that case, I shall go with you to conduct street preaching in those slums.” However, Shinmi declined it. He explained that having a Westerner come along would only lead to misunderstandings and instead expressed his wish to receive support behind the scenes.

From around this time, Shinmi resolved to entrust all shop matters to Murai and devote himself more earnestly to religious pursuits.

Thirty-One Eiichi remained fervently devoted to his religious pursuits. Yet this spiritual zeal did nothing to salvage his shipping business. Both Murai and Hozumi showed complete indifference toward matters of faith. Even when he delivered open-air sermons at Minatogawa Park, they offered no comment. “You’ve grown quite passionate about Christianity lately, Eiichi-san,” was Murai’s sole remark on the matter. Hozumi kept his silence entirely. Strangely, they’d ceased their visits to the pleasure quarters of late. The Hosokawa affair appeared to have left them all thoroughly chastened.

Amidst this, as Eiichi had settled into the branch shop, he began reading works by Sunday, Hills, Schweitzer, and others every morning with the intention of writing something like "A History of Jesus Biography Research." And every Sunday he would help at Sunday school and conduct street preaching alone among other things. However, after that he only went to the Fukiai slums two or three times with trainees from the mission house; thinking it was somewhat far and that half-hearted efforts wouldn’t suffice, he stopped going.

In the meantime, the cherry blossoms at Suma Park bloomed and scattered, and the time came when somen from Banshu was distributed nationwide. As a result, Shinmi's shop also became somewhat busier. And so…

“Three hundred somen from Shōda? “Shōda’s not sending anything out—they’re just routing shipments internally to get Hosokawa to repay that thousand yen. “Once they pay up, we’ll damn well ship through Takagi Shipping! “…What’s come from Awa today? “Not a single shipment from Awa either—drowning in free time here!” The times they heard Ochame Rokuyu muttering such things grew fewer. When April came, Murai proposed to Eiichi: “Let’s borrow money from Miyoshi at Kita-Nagasa Rail Freight Transport using the telephone as collateral and pass it to Shōda.” Of course Eiichi didn’t object.

Miyoshi referred to the transport company in Kita-Nagasa, and Murai had mentioned that Miyoshi had expressed a desire to acquire Shinmi’s shop.

Summer came.

And Eiichi continued to lead a rather ordinary life. It was a monotonous life that had forgotten all about women and love, but he had written 150 to 160 pages of A History of Jesus Biography Research. He still commuted to the docks. Among the dockworkers too, he made many friends. For Eiichi, joining his dockworker friends and bantering loudly with them became his greatest pleasure.

When the dockworkers finished loading cargo on summer noons, they would all strip naked and jump into the sea. Their auburn-hued frames flowed across the waves. White foam rose on the blue waves. The sun blazed down mercilessly from above. The harbor shone beautifully, and an indescribable resonance of life’s joy seemed to drift through the air. One of the dockworkers, “Here comes the great general Shinmi!” called out. Two or three voices called to Eiichi again. Eiichi too stripped down to his fundoshi and leapt from the ship’s deck.

With a splash, he plunged straight down to the seafloor. White soda bubbles rose. When he had descended so far that he worried how much deeper he might go, he tried to rise back to the surface—parting the blue water with both hands, holding his breath, looking around—and found that even the depths of the sea were beautiful. Everything in the sea was magnificent. Therefore, he could not help but praise the summer sun and the sea. However, returning from such a place to the dim house in Kajiyamachi, everything seemed diminished. On such days especially, Murai's talk was uninteresting. It was because the accounting at Shinmi Shipping Agency had completely stalled that Murai kept droning on about nothing but 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. Since parting from you, Brother, I have known nothing but hardship. Thirteen times I changed employers until finally, unwittingly entering service at the home of my schoolfriend Takeda, through that household's master's arrangements I became wife to the Taiwan branch manager and now reside here as written. Yet Taiwan's climate being unfavorable, I intend to return home at the earliest chance. Lately being with child and showing beriberi symptoms, I think daily of swift repatriation. A month past, anxious about you Brother, I sent inquiries to Madam Oume at Mazume only to learn Father had died and you were at the Hyogo shop - since when I weep daily... A wretch denied even Father's deathbed. Yet I deem this too some karmic fate and resign myself. Brother, cherish your health. You alone remain my reliance - if you hold me in thought at all, preserve yourself."

Thus it was written.

July had passed. Three months' salary for Hozumi and four months' for Rokuyu remained unpaid. This was because Hozumi and Rokuyu knew the shop was failing and deliberately refrained from collecting their wages. Hozumi had been raised at Shinmi's shop since childhood, so he regarded it as his own home and dedicated himself to its service. Eiichi could not help feeling grateful for this.

"The two would say, 'Since we can't get our paychecks, we'll make up for it by stuffing ourselves with rice!' and indeed ate voraciously." Their ravenous way of eating proved so comical that everyone in the shop clutched their bellies laughing. The shop's decline stemmed from vanishing shipments. Back when his father lived, ninety percent of Tokushima Prefecture's freight had passed through Shinmi's agency to reach every corner of the nation. But after the old man's downfall, it became nothing but dead weight - crushed under salaries and petty expenses that ate away at what remained.

Therefore, Eiichi held the hope of transferring his shop to someone else and entering a stable position as a clerk somewhere. And Murai was proceeding with discussions with Miyoshi. And Eiichi came to be employed by a clerk from Kobe Marine in Motomachi with whom he had become acquainted through the Maruni Incident, and after the Bon Festival, he began commuting to the insurance company in Motomachi. The course of events during this period was almost like a storm. Eiichi was filled with melancholy every day, as if assailed by a low-pressure system.

It was the second day of September.

Around eight in the morning, Shinmi was hurrying through Honmachi toward Minatogawa to commute to the insurance company. (Eiichi’s manner of walking when in a hurry was the talk of the shop.) He walked with his head bent forward, swinging his upper body from side to side.

From ahead came a dark-skinned, stout, tall man with a shaven head, wearing a lined haori jacket with stripes, making his way down the middle of the road. He immediately recognized him as Miyoshi but felt awkward because the interest payment was overdue. Eiichi wore a Western suit, though his shoes remained unpolished, his trousers lacked creases, and his collar was soiled. Shinmi considered avoiding a bow to Miyoshi, but gathering courage with the thought that a simple greeting would suffice, they met precisely before Komaya - the confectionery once celebrated as Hyogo's finest.

Miyoshi slightly lowered his shaven head forward, “Mr. Shinmi, where are you off to?” he stopped and bowed politely from across the way. Eiichi was taken aback and found himself at a loss, but he returned the bow. “To work,” he said curtly. “I was just on my way to your place—has Mr. Murai already arrived?” “Ah, he has come.”

“Well then, I’ll take my leave,” he said and passed by. Shinmi was as happy as if he had escaped a demon’s grasp. Miyoshi too seemed about to say something, but whether out of pity or because he thought it improper in public, he refrained and went on his way. Eiichi crossed Minatogawa as well and hurried through Aioicho while thinking, “Anyway, humans are strange creatures—” ……Miyoshi was a kinder man than he had thought. Humans cannot come to know each other to the depths of their hearts through just a day or two of interaction… He hadn’t expected Miyoshi to bow to him this morning— Lowering his head and staring at the pebbles on the path, he imagined the area in front of Komaya. As he crossed Aioibashi...

I am tormented by capitalists and troubled by interest, but from their perspective this makes perfect sense. To hate capitalists would be wrong. If some wish to live through capital and interest alone, let them. If one grows envious seeing others at leisure, they should never have labored at all. Unless we consider others' joys our own, humanity has no worth. Do not beggars find comfort in poverty through knowing wealth exists elsewhere? None may claim enlightenment without achieving transparency of thought. Emerson's historical theories touch upon this truth. Yet I do not abandon socialism. My socialism remains expansive—

In the end, Miyoshi sucks my blood and grows fat. Miyoshi growing fat means I grow fat. "If Miyoshi and I were equally plump, would that logic eliminate 'fat people' from the world—making everything too simple and tiresome?" They say even if all humanity wastes away, having one 'Umegatani' remain corpulent would suffice. "They claim they desire a sliver of 'greatness' over endless mediocrity." Exactly. Socialism too must stand upon this logic (?)—otherwise there's no hope of realizing pure socialism. Isn't rejoicing in others' betterment socialism's fundamental principle? Is lifting one's own status to match others' what socialism means? Why must we position ourselves at others' level? Doesn't this logic suggest others' happiness depends on elevating our own standing? Or does socialism mean dragging others down to our position? If society is an organism (a rather oppressive fabricated term), then we must discover it between equality and discrimination. ...The conclusion? Were I crushed under train wheels—steam or electric—a civilized sacrificial Christianity could be born. Ah ha ha. Look—a steam train approaches from the east. Coming from Tokyo, it pulses with vitality. I adore steam trains...

But I'm done for. Today too I must write life's diary in numbers upon the bookkeeping desk. It's a battle of wills with the iron pen nib. —— Ah, if only Christian orphanages were larger and would take in a man like me... But such matters are my 'secret'. On days when I face outward toward others, I'll show them where Jirikishū persevered. This is what we call the philosopher's 'secret'. That's why there are so many hypocrites among philosophers. ...What did I gain from Harnack's History of Dogma? What does Theodore Hall's Social Interpretation of the British Religious Movement teach? A large orphanage for men is needed. Religion cannot grasp the 'reality of love' unless it becomes incarnate. The rise of religious fervor during economic hardship is every nation's historical pattern. The modern British people particularly exemplify this. Build adult orphanages, adult orphanages! The greatest demand of modern times isn't orphanages for children. Not George Müller. Nor Ishii Jūji. "Is it the artistic 'society=anarchy'ism of Greek Judaism?" It's an orphanage for great people.

In this orphanage, I will admit men and women acclaimed as greats of the world along with those who perceive themselves as greats. Because deep in their hearts lies that 'secret'... because they have no 'father'... and Christ too is a great orphan. He was a man who could not help but cry out, "Father!"

When one descended Aioi Bridge, beef shops lined the street. There was a splendid barbershop. From the opposite direction came a tall, Western-dressed Japanese gentleman. His shoes gleamed like lacquer. ……I too felt like becoming that Western-dressed. I had no money. I wanted money.

While thinking this, he came to the corner of the stone insurance company building. A Western beauty came rushing through the side street. She had a beautiful face. Wondering why Westerners were so beautiful, he pushed open the door and rushed to his third-floor bookkeeping desk. He unwrapped the package, placed Volume 2 of Ruskin's Modern Painters beside his desk, bowed to his colleague Shigeta, took out the ledger left unfinished yesterday afternoon, and began entering numbers. As he wrote,

...Why do humans bow by lowering their heads and bending their waists forward—what reason could there possibly be? In Kabuki, when princesses cry, why do they raise their arms to their shoulders and shake their heads? Why does stubbornness and grace manifest more in arching backward than bowing forward? How might one interpret this mechanically?—he found himself entertaining this peculiar question. Entering numbers while pondering such matters had been simple enough. It felt pleasant… That’s the principle of acceleration. Since ancient times, terms like “high” and “low” for the head had indeed been used in etiquette as classical mechanical terminology. When extending straight upward, one’s sphere of activity broadened and became spiritualized. When extending horizontally, it transformed into “expansion” and materialized. This was etiquette’s fundamental principle. Crawling on all fours… imitating animals… that constituted its ultimate form.

No—that's going too far. However, I want to try interpreting habits and heredity systematically and physically. ——With such thoughts arising from Ruskin's art theories, he dipped his pen into the inkwell. Since his nose seemed about to come out from his throat into his mouth, he went to spit into the spittoon beneath the window. (Eiichi had a habit where his nose would emerge from his throat into his mouth.) When he glanced down from the window at the street below, a Western-dressed woman was walking along with a schoolgirl. She was still in summer attire, wearing a dashing white lace shawl, chattering about something.

"Why don't you look up at me for a moment?" he thought, but they passed by. At the Tanaka Western Goods Store across the way, three or four Westerners entered. A rickshaw carrying a Chinese person ran by. From behind, a bicycle passed. Two errand boys walked by chatting; a handcart passed. He concluded that "Society is a plurality" and returned to his seat once more. Picking up the pen, he laughed while thinking, "If it were Ruskin, he would deny such urban beauty as this," and entered the number 1.785. Then he found himself thinking that numbers were rather charming things. Around four in the afternoon, he returned home while reading Modern Painters along the way. "...The world isn't such a hateful place after all. 'Wherever people move, it fits just about right...'" he thought when he saw a rickshaw being overtaken from behind.

When he returned home，both Murai and Miyoshi were waiting for him—or so it was said. “Though you must have mostly expected this，”Miyoshi said，“the collaboration has finally been settled and we’ve decided to form a joint venture．Please be happy about this．”

Eiichi didn't make any bitter expression; whether it would succeed or not mattered little to him, but he thought that if it did come to fruition, that would be fine... "Is that so? "Congratulations are in order!" he said in a tone that positioned himself as a third-party observer. Then he continued, "Mr. Miyoshi, have you been at this since morning?" he asked. "Why, Murai-kun treated me," he replied, creasing wrinkles beneath his eyes and forming fleshy mounds on both cheeks as he laughed.

"Is that so? I wonder if there was a treat," he said, and Murai— "I had some decent fish delivered," Murai replied earnestly, thrusting out his chin. "And then"—he continued—"the Young Master had given his full approval to the collaboration, hadn't he?" pressing Eiichi—who remained oblivious to both details and broader context—for formal consent. However, Eiichi thought it wasn't the time to inquire about the details.

“Of course, I agree,” he answered.

“Then how about I treat you to some chicken to celebrate?” proposed Murai. Miyoshi also agreed. Murai called Roku, took out two one-yen bills from his wallet, and ordered him to buy chicken with this. Eiichi glanced at Murai’s wallet and saw that it contained a considerable amount of money. Murai was wealthier than Eiichi. When chicken and wine were served and they had become quite drunk, Murai and Miyoshi praised Eiichi’s father. They went on about how he had been an orator, a genius, how women fell for him instantly, how one must be the type whom women could adore, and finally transitioned to evaluating Koshun from *The House of Jewels*—concluding that Eiichi closely resembled his father in being a brilliant character, which one could tell by observing how women became enamored with him. “If someone were to provide this man with even twenty thousand yen and he were to start South American trade, why, he could accomplish great things”—they began saying.

From what he gathered in their conversation, it seemed Miyoshi wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with Eiichi’s father either. Miyoshi said he had met him several times at Mr. Tashima Kuromaro’s home. When it was said that he and his father closely resembled each other, he would nod in agreement. When he wondered if he had inherited his father’s lust, he shuddered. Not only that—the fact that he could incur debts without feeling anything meant he had inherited all his father’s worst traits—heredity of sin?—he pondered, shuddering... Even if he tried to defend himself by saying it was something like what Osadotsuku spoke of, it still felt like an inescapable fate.

Around nine in the evening, Miyoshi walked home. Eiichi stopped Murai—who had declined a rickshaw ride in his frugality—as he prepared to leave, and asked about the collaboration's details. However, Murai launched into an eager explanation. “If our name alone carries fifteen hundred yen's value, isn't that favorable?” “With Miyoshi investing three thousand yen in capital, there's no sweeter arrangement.” “Should you join us formally, we'll match your current insurance company salary.” “Once everything's settled, we'll advertise vigorously and make client visits.” “If shipments flow steadily, it'll work splendidly... Naturally, Miyoshi's existing eleven hundred yen loan counts toward his share, requiring an additional nineteen hundred yen payment.” “Yes... The interest gets factored into the total contribution too.” ..." he rattled off without pausing for breath.

“Then dividends will of course be distributed according to capital contributions?” Shinmi inquired. “That’s correct.” “Meaning that’s how it gets calculated.”

Eiichi did not particularly object. Yet through the telephone lines and account books—whether called trademark value or advertising fees—he couldn't help feeling twenty years of the Shinmi name's existence came too cheap at fifteen hundred yen. But Eiichi had already grown weary of the shop. And so he said nothing.

Thirty-Two

Eiichi, now that the shop was finally settled, resolved to advance into an intense religious campaign. And beginning on September 5th, he started conducting street preaching alone every day at the corner of Ichida Photo Studio in Motomachi 2-chōme. He remained unfazed even when a light rain fell. He felt dissatisfied with the church's timid restraint that day. And so, he resolved to press forward resolutely along the path he believed in. He continued street preaching every night in Motomachi throughout September. Occasionally there would be police interference forcing discontinuation. Yet he was not one to wilt from such obstacles.

On the street, he preached Tolstoy and George Fox's doctrine of non-resistance. He also proclaimed internationalism and the fundamental reformation of civilization. Yet among the people, not a single soul believed what he said. He had persisted in street preaching for exactly one full month, yet his sermons showed no effect. To God he let out a cry more tragic than Jonah's in Nineveh. From the moment he first began this persistent street preaching, his insurance company colleagues treated him as a madman. Thus he could form no close friendships.

From late September onward, he began experiencing fevers unlike any he'd felt in years. Exactly one month later on October 5th around nine in the evening—as he preached roadside—a squall struck. Still Eiichi didn't cease his sermon. For over a week his voice had been failing him from utter exhaustion. Yet this religion of his was no idle fancy. He'd resolved to go out and roar with every ounce of courage in him. When the deluge hit, dizziness washed over him like a suffocating tide. A terrible chill gripped his bones. Through this numbness came the swift burn of mounting fever. But he—

“Finally I say this: God is love! I’ll keep saying it until I collapse—this isn’t about some invisible God being love, but that life and God reveal themselves where love exists!” Having flung these words aside, he dragged his feverish body—heavy and ready to collapse—through the soaking rain until reaching the front of Motomachi Third District’s gas company. His vision blurring, he leaned against the gas company office’s large glass window while muttering to himself: “Ah—ah—I’m about to fall… Gonna vomit… Oh—gonna fall.” Though he tried summoning courage to keep walking, he finally collapsed with a thud into the rain. He felt every muscle in his lower body convulse. Then a strange thought arose: “I want to rest peacefully here awhile.” As he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, he faintly heard the commotion of people gathering around him.

And he heard voices exclaiming from all around: “That’s the young man who preached at Motomachi!” “He’s collapsed!” “Collapsed!” “Collapsed!”

“Where’s this fellow from?” someone in the crowd asked. “That’s the young master from Shinmi Shipping Agency in Hyōgo Kajiyamachi, I tell ya.” Shinmi now knew his body would not obey him. Yet he believed there were people nearby who recognized him. He lay collapsed in the rain for fifteen minutes. Then he fully regained his strength and stood up unaided. Throughout those fifteen minutes of collapse, not one person offered to help him inside. Society is heartless, he thought. But now he could stand firmly. He plodded to the carriage office at Motomachi Fourth District’s corner. The watching crowd merely muttered “How pitiful” as Eiichi—clothes and body drenched—rocked in the carriage back to Kajiyamachi. But upon reaching the shop, he lacked even the courage to crawl up to the second-floor parlor. He collapsed again at the entrance. “What’s wrong, young master?” Hozumi cried, rushing from his desk. He called Yamada down from upstairs, and together they laid Eiichi on the floor before phoning for a doctor.

The doctor declared this was quite grave, that there were signs of pneumonia, and left, but for the following week, Eiichi could not sleep peacefully and endured nothing but unrelenting suffering. The fever never dropped below forty degrees. On two or three occasions it fell to around thirty-eight degrees in the morning, but by afternoon would promptly climb back above forty. He lay tormented by a cough that clogged his throat. The phlegm came streaked with blood. Hozumi and Rokuja diligently provided ice packs and cold compresses, attending to his every need without fail, yet Eiichi thought that in such times, only a woman's touch could properly tend to one's vulnerable places.

That said, 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 thinking how nice it would be if there were a kind woman like Kiyonosuke or Tsuruko here at such a time, though of course he now had no courage left to even recall someone like Kiyonosuke. The maid O-toku was too busy with kitchen work to attend to him, and in his agony, Eiichi kept repeating, "It would be better to die than suffer like this." On October 12th, Dr.Williams came to visit for the first time. Until that moment, 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 push yourself too hard, Mr. Shinmi," he said before leaving. In his place came Kubo Tamae—a woman missionary eight or nine years Eiichi's senior. She tended to him through the long hours. Shinmi felt immeasurable gratitude. He pleaded with her to stay and care for him as long as possible. Thus the kind-hearted—though not particularly well-regarded, being a woman who'd suffered prior heartbreak—Ms. Kubo kept vigil through the night. Witnessing her compassion, Eiichi became convinced Christianity alone could sustain such virtue.

Then, in a small voice, he whispered into Ms. Kubo’s ear.

“If I recover this time, I will most certainly enter the Fukiai Shinagawa slums and devote my entire life to God. If I do get better, it will be entirely thanks to the kindness of all of you,” he expressed his gratitude.

More than ten days had passed since he took to bed, but Eiichi’s condition showed no improvement at all. The bloody sputum stopped, but his pulse became irregular. It started beating 122 times per minute. At times, his pulse would stop. His heart malfunctioned. The doctor who saw this finally delivered a death sentence to Eiichi. He did not tell Eiichi this, but said so to Murai and Ms.Kubo.

Around seven o'clock on the evening of October 16th, at Eiichi's bedside, Dr. Williams along with four or five church members who knew him all gathered. And they held a final farewell prayer meeting. All the people were silently praying. Eiichi faintly heard that only Ms. Kubo was offering a beautiful prayer aloud. Eiichi grasped his own wrist to check his pulse and was shocked to find none. However, Eiichi held an unshakable conviction that he would not die until he had achieved his sacred ambition—a certain undertaking God had entrusted to him, which was his desire to manifest the spirit of Jesus through addressing poverty—by spending his entire life in the slums.

He clung to a conviction that he had vaulted over death and plunged into a mystical realm. Fixing his eyes on the point where electric light glinted from the pillar in the alcove, he stared unblinking - one minute, two minutes, three, four, five, ten, fifteen. Within that duration, he became ensnared once more by an ineffable marvel beyond mortal comprehension. The luminous speck he focused on shimmered rainbow-like; the chamber where he lay transfigured into paradise; his plain, unlovely futon seemed woven from brocade. He felt the concrete joy of being clasped in his Father God's hand - no... something more intimate than paternal divinity, a presence dwelling within his very being - the palpable joy of immersion in God Himself. The instant this joy took hold, his fever plummeted and pulse normalized completely, leaving him awestruck.

The next morning, Eiichi had two dreams.

The first was an unpleasant dream where he went swimming while it was still too early in the season when suddenly a chill gripped him, his chronic lung condition flared up again, each cough sending blood gushing from his mouth to stain the white sandy beach crimson. When dawn broke in his dreamscape, Eiichi found himself having abandoned his shop and walking alone toward Korea until he reached a desert-like expanse. "Ah—that village ahead must be where Kant was born," he suddenly realized. As he trudged onward through the sandscape came another revelation—Kant wasn't German at all but Japanese! The whole world had been mistaken. These memories clarified themselves gradually—of Kant being a man from about a century ago who'd been friends with Motoori Norinaga. The path narrowed until barely wide enough for a single cart. Sandy soil bore deep wheel ruts from past travelers. Turning left revealed a vast forest sheltering a small house with latticed windows and tiled roof. Before it stood a crude chest-high fence like those found on ranches, an entrance lamp fixed to its post. The lamp's face bore triple repetitions of KANT in bold lettering followed by pseudo-kana approximations of German script. Just as he wondered if this marked Kant's home another path branched left flanked by mulberry fields. Following this brought him to what must have been Kant's childhood foster home after parental loss. He recalled how Kant's orphaned state had birthed such magnificent yet sorrowful philosophy. While musing thus appeared young Kant—hair in dragonfly chignon wearing ankle-length narrow-sleeved robe secured by stiff sash—herding cattle through mulberry rows. "You brat!" No sooner had he thought how much this resembled Ninomiya Sontoku than Kant vanished replaced by a modest temple. "What? A temple?" As he puzzled over this monks began chanting sutras. "Wait—are they worshipping Kant as Buddha now?" Indeed crowds prostrated before Kant enshrined as principal deity. Looking closer two Christian pastors joined the worship.

To the left of the main hall was a garden, surrounded by a hedge. To the right were steps, and descending them revealed something like a pond or spring. When he read the origin story sold at the main hall, he found that here and there it included illustrations and contained anecdotes from Kant’s childhood. Among them was even an illustration of Kant performing a Yoshitsune-style legendary leap, written in grandiose terms. Furthermore, among these materials was an explanation that the spring to the right of this main hall—dug by Kant himself—was an even deeper spring than the over-two-hundred-shaku-deep one Yamamoto Kansuke had reportedly dug at Kunōzan, its bottom ultimately unknowable. When viewed from above, the spring was littered with votive sticks—evidence that devout men and women had prayed here for increased wisdom. When he was standing in front of the main hall, a Christian pastor asked him, “Which school did you attend?” When he answered that he had attended Meiji Gakuin in Shiba Shirogane, the two of them said, “We attended Doshisha.” Both men were heavily bearded. Eiichi asked, “Did you come here to proselytize Christianity?” and they answered that they had come for street preaching. When he asked where they would preach, they answered that it would be in this garden. Thinking this was a strange form of Christianity, he left the temple.

As he passed through the village, marveling at how fervently Kant was worshipped in this region, he saw Kant and Motoori Norinaga entering a public bathhouse. Norinaga, scrubbing Immanuel Kant’s back, declared: “Your study of Japanese history is an unprecedented masterpiece—nothing like my trifling research on the Kojiki. You’ve only published one volume so far, but when the complete work emerges, it will ignite revolution across Japan!” He punctuated this by pouring hot water.

However, Kant remained silent, smiling. “Ah, your keen insight leaves me in awe. “My works are utterly worthless since they completely lack critical analysis,” he said. Eiichi had seen and heard amusing things. When he went to the next village, there was a store selling elementary school textbooks. The name of that reader was Kant. Looking inside, there were anecdotes from Kant's childhood resembling fairy tales. Eiichi was utterly astonished that Kant fever had spread so widely across the world, and when he incidentally asked the village’s name, someone explained that this place called 'Kotsubo' had once been entirely sea but had now become a sandy plain. Eiichi thought it might be around Kojima in Okayama Prefecture. When he asked what the temple enshrining Kant was called, they said it belonged to the Shingon sect.

With this, the dream ended. Kant was indeed German after all.

Strangely enough, from that point on, Eiichi gradually regained his health. And he came to take pleasure in reading psalms in bed nearly every day.

After lying in bed for exactly three weeks, he finally resolved to enter the Fukiai Shinagawa slums. And so, having regained some ability to walk, on that first afternoon he went to visit the house at 253 Kita-Honmachi 6-chome under the gardener’s care. The gardener was out for sanitation work ("dust and trash hauling"), Mrs. Masuda, who was under the gardener's care, informed him. As he emerged from the roadside, a child of about five, who had been fighting with a larger child and was being chased, fled this way but collapsed with a thud at the entrance to the path. Perhaps he’d been injured by a pebble—blood was flowing from his forehead. Upon seeing the blood, the child let out a loud cry and started wailing. Eiichi dashed over and picked him up; when he looked at the child’s forehead, there was a wound about an inch long on it. He took out the handkerchief he had and wiped the blood,

“Where is your house?” he asked.

“Over there! Over there!”

The child pointed to a house with an imposing gate, and through this gesture Shinmi learned that the boy was the son of the neighborhood's great boss Mizuta. And so, Eiichi kindly accompanied the child and delivered him to that house. At the house, twelve or thirteen young men of terrifying appearance had gathered and were gambling. From the back emerged a still-young wife with a beautiful face, who received the child, “Bonbon, you’re always getting made to cry by other kids because you pick fights,” she said while expressing her gratitude to Shinmi.

“I heard footsteps and thought someone was coming...” “I thought it might be a policeman.” “Ah, it’s the Jesus preacher… the one who’s always preaching at the crossroads.” “How kind.” And the young men all spoke at once, voicing all sorts of comments. This became the catalyst for Shinmi to grow close to the Mizuta clan. And so, on the evening of December 24th, he finally decided to rent a house in the slums—and that house turned out to be one belonging to this Mizuta family. Eiichi continued as before, working at the insurance company during the day and spending his nights engaged in writing and street preaching. The illness wasn’t exactly good, but it wasn’t something to worry about. Every afternoon, a “four o’clock fever” was running its course. However, he had grown accustomed to this and was unperturbed.

After all, I'll die soon enough—whether in a year or two, or at most three years from lung disease—so I resolved to live the best life possible with all the courage I could muster until death came. He had come to lean completely toward the Christian socialism of Toynbee, Frederick Maurice, and Charles Kingsley. And he could no longer find satisfaction in merely materialistic Marxism. Yet he opposed how modern churches preached love divorced from flesh and detached from economic issues. He believed love must be robed in flesh. He conceived of love as the unity of flesh and spirit—that the will extending through time was spirit, while the will expanding through space was flesh. Therefore, unless one assumed flesh, all things lacked meaning; unless God manifested in fleshly form, He remained incomprehensible to us. In other words, he concluded that Logos—that is to say, "Incarnation"—constituted religion's profound mystery.

And so he began murmuring, in place of Takayama Chogyu’s maxim “We must transcend modernity,” a new phrase: “We must incarnate ourselves into modernity.” And he thought of how the 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 resolved that should an opportunity arise to initiate a labor union movement among slum dwellers and workers, he would immediately shift his efforts in that direction.

Around this time, Shinmi borrowed and read John Wesley’s diary from Pastor T of the Gospel Evangelism Hall. And yet, despite Wesley suffering from lung disease, he felt astonishment at how such grand achievements had been possible. He was deeply moved upon reading about how the Pietists crossing the Atlantic by sailboat, though vomiting blood from seasickness themselves, nursed others. And he resolved that no matter what, "Even if it means death, I will go to the slums."

Around this time, the literary world was in the heyday of naturalist literature, and he heard that many young people in the church were falling into decadence because of it.

Thirty-Three Ueki worked as a garbage collector for the city office, earning sixty-two sen each day, but he was not as much of a villain as one might have expected. And regarding Eiichi’s entry into the slums, he took care of all sorts of arrangements. It was also Ueki who had informed him that there was a vacant house. So Eiichi went with Ueki to inspect the house—located by entering west along Kita-Honmachi 6-chome’s main street, taking the first side road into the hillside—the second dwelling from the east in a row of ten connected tenements. The house measured five tatami mats: three in the front room and two in the back. According to Ueki’s account, someone had been killed there at last year’s end; neighbors claimed a ghost haunted it, so none would enter—which kept it vacant.

This explanation piqued Eiichi's curiosity. So Eiichi went to landlord Mizuta's house and applied to rent it. Since they had become acquainted through the child's injury incident, Mizuta immediately agreed. The daily rent of seven sen would amount to two yen and ten sen per month, but he discounted it to two yen monthly. This was the beginning of December, and from then on Eiichi rushed to move each day, but as his maritime insurance work kept him busy, it ultimately got postponed until Christmas Eve.

And so, on Christmas Eve, December 24th, amidst churches bustling with cries of "Christmas! Christmas!" in celebration, Eiichi began moving around two in the afternoon with Ueki's assistance. At that time, Eiichi wore a cotton-striped straight-sleeved kimono and hauled a cart himself from Kaji-machi in Hyogo to Shinkawa in Fukiai. The cart carried a futon, one bundle of clothes, one bundle of books, and a bamboo bookshelf. Meanwhile, Ueki swept beneath the floorboards and arranged the tatami mats properly. Then he and Ueki went to buy tatami mats. However, he lacked sufficient money for five mats. So he purchased only three used tatami mats at one yen and twenty sen each. Together with Ueki, they laid these in the south-facing three-mat room. As there were still no shoji screens, they went again to buy old ones. They acquired one set of four panels for a 1.5-ken space and two sets of two panels for 1-ken spaces. These proved convenient with their pre-pasted paper. They promptly installed them, and that night—without even a lamp in the pitch darkness—simply spread their futon and slept.

The next day, Ueki came while Eiichi still lay in bed. "Will you let me stay here with you starting tonight?" he asked. He proceeded to explain his reasons at length. Yet Eiichi found himself unable to trust Ueki somehow. Thus he couldn't give a definite answer. About thirty minutes later arrived Hayashi the gambler and Tomita—a tall man claiming to be one of Mizuta's underlings. "Hayashi here wants to keep someone in the next room," said Tomita, adding, "How about letting my man Uchiyama stay?" "He's stuck without lodging money in this slump—a heavy drinker too—but swears he's devoted to your teachings now and will reform," he continued. Shinmi was taken aback. Why were all these strangers clamoring "Let us stay! Let us stay!"? he wondered.

Then Hayashi abruptly withdrew his own argument and backed Tomita up, saying, “Let Kyogashima [referring to Uchiyama] stay here.” Ueki also chimed in, “Look, I’d really like you to let Uchiyama stay too.” With the three of them being so unanimous, there was no way around it. And so Eiichi,

“I shall meet that person tonight,” he replied, but Tomita— “Hey Ueki, go to Awaya—the flophouse—and call Kyogashima [Uchiyama’s construction boss; in the slums, underlings respond by their boss’s name] here, will you?” “Right away!” Ueki dashed off. After Ueki had dashed off, Tomita turned to Hayashi, “That guy’s bad news… He set fire to Rokken Street… And got out of prison about three months back… Mr. Shinmi, you can’t let your guard down around the likes of him, or you’ll end up in real trouble.”

“That guy’s a real bad egg,” Hayashi chimed in. Eiichi replied, “Is that so? Is that so?” Tomita was a man who carried himself with a boss-like air. He was a tall man with a sinister-looking face. Yet he wore a haori and kept up at least a neat appearance. Hayashi wore a navy-blue straight-sleeved kimono with a square obi fastened about him. His completely shaven head framed a face that looked rather shrewd.

“It’s cold—not a lick of fire here,” Hayashi said as he plopped down on the threshold. He struck a match and lit a hand-rolled cigarette. “Tomita, you’ve gone rotten lately too. What’d you do with that Bear’s woman? Still shackin’ up with her?” “Mr.Shinmi... Can’t trust Ueki neither, and you sure can’t trust this bastard here... Specializes in snatchin’ other men’s wives, he does.”

“Hayashi, cut it out—stop talking nonsense.” “But ‘Bear’s’ really pitiable... Tomita, how many mistresses you got?” Tomita stood in the narrow half-tsubo garden with hands tucked in sleeves, “Eleven at my place.” “Mr.Shinmi, this guy’s bad news—keeps eleven other men’s wives as mistresses! Where... where they all at?” “Five across the river, three in Shinkawa, two in Tsutsui, one in Hyogo... But only five actually involved...”

“Is Oto among them?” “Does that even matter?” “Do you find stealing other people’s wives fun?” “I ain’t doin’ no stealin’ or nothin’, but since they come to me on their own, there’s nothin’ I can do about it.” “Nah, that ain’t how it is… Tomita, you still keepin’ prostitutes at your place?” “Don’t go sayin’ that stuff already—makes a bad impression on the newcomer here…” “Mr.Shinmi, this man’s a real bad egg, I tell ya—keeps eleven or even fifteen prostitutes and skims off their Bon festival earnings, he does.”

“But Hayashi, unlike your place, I ain’t sendin’ wives out as whores… Got no prostitutes here no more…” “Even if you say that, Tomita—unlike your joint where you make girls turn tricks to eat—you can’t survive ’less you pimp out wives too… What ’bout you? They still around?” “They’re inside.”

“Still got ’em working as prostitutes?”

“Uh-huh…” “Then they’re still there, ain’t they? What about Osada?” “Osada’s here too.” “What about Osono?” “Osono went back to Osaka.” “Osono’s gonna come back again, that one. She seems to really love whores, huh? What about Oshika?” “Oshika’s here too…” “Are they gone already?” “There’s another one… I wasn’t gonna keep her on my second floor, but once you got one stayin’, they all come flockin’ around… So what can you do?...”

Eiichi had been listening in surprise to the two men's conversation from the start. Since this world was completely unknown to Eiichi, he found himself wanting to hear more. "Mr. Shinmi, this Tomita's a real bad egg—took another man's wife and nearly got himself killed over it... Ain't that right, Tomita..." "Damn it all, Hayashi—when it's this cold, the stitched part still aches..." As he spoke, Tomita spread open his chest, attempting to show the wound on his stomach. Beneath a freshly wrapped strip of white cotton cloth ran a sword wound over a foot long, cutting straight from top to bottom. He was recounting the story of when the enemy had attacked with theatrical flair.

In the middle of the conversation, a man of about fifty with a perfectly round head, wearing a marked happi coat and straw sandals, was brought in by Ueki. Eiichi got up from the floor and looked at Uchiyama; the man's face was one he recognized. He was a man who often stood at the gate of Awaya.

As soon as Tomita saw Uchiyama, “Kyogashima, starting tonight—I’d already arranged for you to stay here. Come sleep over here—it’ll save your lodging fee.” “Huh… Well—” Uchiyama, who seemed to have poor eyesight, blinked rapidly. However, being a man of few words, he said nothing beyond “Huh… Well—”. Tomita turned to Shinmi, “Well, just think of him as the temple’s treasurer monk and leave it at that.” Though Shinmi hadn’t properly responded, they’d already made the decision over there. And then,

“Since Christianity’s about helpin’ folks, we gotta help poor wretches like Kyogashima here… But Uchiyama’s a lazy one too… Just standin’ there in straw sandals at Awaya’s gate all day without budgin’ an inch—what a strange bird… Uchiyama, listen good—you’re stayin’ here startin’ tonight, got it?...”

“Huh…” Uchiyama said nothing beyond that “Huh…”. However, Shinmi too found himself overwhelmed—with Uchiyama having been brought along and forced upon him, he was cornered by their persistent entreaties. Meanwhile, Eiichi went to wash his face by the water supply, changed into his Western clothes, and headed out for the insurance company—whereupon Tomita, Hayashi, Ueki, and Uchiyama trailed out one after another and departed. And when Eiichi returned from the company to the slums at four o’clock that afternoon, he found Uchiyama sleeping in the futon, still wearing his marked happi coat.

Eiichi thought he had come to a strange place, but that evening, when he attended the Christmas event at the lecture hall on Mizuki-dori and returned to the slums,

“Since there is no light, I borrowed a lamp from Tomita’s place,” Uchiyama said as he lit it and waited for Eiichi to return. His face had turned crimson from alcohol. That night, Eiichi burrowed into the futon alongside Uchiyama and slept. The next morning, when he looked at the back of Uchiyama’s hand, scabies had broken out across it entirely, festering and bleeding.

Thirty-Four The following afternoon, a rickshaw puller delivered two bundles of toys from Dr. Williams, said to be from the Westerners' church Sunday school. So early in the morning on the 27th, he distributed them to the children of the slums. Two to three hundred children swarmed into Shinmi’s place. Upon hearing this, Hayashi, Ueki, and Tomita also came. And Tomita, with shameless audacity, began arbitrarily selecting his preferred toys, “Make sure to give some to my Katsue, will ya?”

he said. Following his example, Hayashi and Ueki also took toys. Adults also came—fifteen or sixteen of them—and demanded toys. Eiichi spotted among them the disheveled woman who often begged on Sannomiya-suji. She relentlessly demanded toys. As a result, Eiichi found himself at a loss over how to distribute the toys; he ended up giving all he had to the children and practically fled to the insurance company. In the evening, funded by Dr. Williams, they borrowed the hall at Awaya and held a Christmas event for the slums. And they distributed one piece of sweets and one hand towel each to one hundred impoverished people living in two-mat rooms at the boarding house.

Since Eiichi had arrived, Uchiyama had hardly eaten any meals and done nothing but sleep. Upon inquiry, it was learned that on the 26th he hadn’t eaten at all, and on the 27th had only eaten breakfast after receiving ten sen from Tomita in the morning. It appeared Uchiyama had misunderstood—thinking that since he was becoming a Christian treasurer monk, they would provide for him. Though Uchiyama seemed decent enough and was kindhearted enough that letting him stay posed no issue, whenever Eiichi thought about having to support him, it somehow felt like a heavy burden. The truth was that Shinmi himself had been skipping breakfast while eating oyakodon bowls at a udon shop for lunch and dinner; however, feeling too sorry for Uchiyama, he promptly bought rice, an earthenware pot, and a charcoal stove to cook and eat meals together.

On the evening of the 28th, as Eiichi was conducting roadside preaching, a gaunt, rheumatic man in his mid-forties named Izu—whom he had met the previous night at Awaya—appeared, his sickly frame beset by troubles. "I hear Kyogashima is being cared for... How splendid... Might I too receive such kindness—what would you say?" he pressed. When Eiichi mentioned there was no futon, Izu said he would bring one. When told there were no tatami mats, he offered to bring straw mats. With no further grounds for refusal, Eiichi finally said, "Well then, do come," to which Izu immediately asked, "Might I begin staying tonight?" When granted permission, the shadowy figure dragged his heavy feet through the darkness and vanished.

When he finished preaching and returned home, there was a man calling “Boss! Boss!” from behind. Looking back, he saw a man around fifty who looked like a dockworker. He was thoroughly drunk. “Boss—I’m beggin’ ya! Take care of Oyuki!” he kept repeating. Eiichi couldn’t make heads or tails of it. “I’m Yoshida—the brat next door to your place! Beggin’ ya… just beggin’… Drank ’cause my gut’s been turnin’ somersaults… Beggin’ ya, Boss!” he slurred. When Eiichi turned toward home, the man followed right behind him. Then he stumbled into the western neighboring house.

There was no lamp whatsoever—they had lit a lantern instead—and inside the house lay not a single tatami mat. On the aged floorboards serving as flooring, Nankin rice sacks appeared to be spread out for bedding. In the corner crouched something small and blackened. This seemed to be Yoshida’s daughter Oyuki. She slept still clad in her kimono, without any covering. “Oyuki! Hey, Oyuki! Go buy me sake!” he roared. Eiichi, finding the scene too wretched, withdrew without intervening and entered his room. There he found Mr. Izu already settled, having laid out a straw mat in the adjacent room to sleep. Uchiyama—who of course had been idle and sleeping since noon—had burrowed into Eiichi’s warm, decent futon.

“Mr. Izu, where did you get that futon?” he asked.

“I borrowed a rental futon for two sen a night,” he said. Under the lamp’s light, he saw the pattern bore countless characters reading “Kashibuton: Shichi-ire okotowari.” “I see,” Eiichi nodded in understanding. “What is your occupation, Mr. Izu?” he asked. To this, he replied that starting tomorrow, he would be going to do “rope collecting.” Eiichi was unable to get a full night’s sleep due to the contagious itch from Uchiyama’s scabies. Uchiyama too scratched vigorously throughout the night.

Around ten o'clock that night, as Eiichi lay sleeping, a violent quarrel erupted in the house across from him where a couple with the strange surname Hiyama lived. Listening carefully, he gathered that a thug-like man was making a commotion because someone had failed to repay a high-interest loan from Lower ③. Eiichi rushed over and discovered it concerned a mere fifty sen. He paid the amount himself. At this, Hiyama began worshipping Eiichi as though he were a deity.

The next day, Ueki came again from early morning. And saying there was no help for the recession—that he’d go to the beach come spring to run a mochi shop—he came once more to ask for a loan of five yen. So Eiichi refused, saying Ueki had deceived him before. Then Ueki declared, “I’ve got my own plans here—if you don’t lend it, I won’t take no for an answer. Got something sharp with me,” and showed Eiichi a dossu—a concealed dagger. And Ueki’s complexion gradually changed.

At that moment, Hayashi too appeared there, “Hey, if you don’t lend me some money here, what’re you gonna do about it?” he said, coming over. Then turning to Ueki, “What’re you doing here? “And if you come here whinin’ again, I ain’t gonna let it slide!” he reproached. For some reason, Ueki couldn’t hold his head up in front of Hayashi. “Go home! Go home!” he said, and they dejectedly left. This time, Hayashi demanded, “You must lend me ten yen!” And he searched Eiichi’s wallet. And then he took out the concealed dagger from his breast pocket and showed it. At that moment, Tomita came over.

“Hayashi! What’re you doing bringing a dagger here?” “Go home! Get out!” he barked. When Hayashi fell silent, Tomita turned and demanded thirty yen for himself this time. He pulled out a pistol now instead. Eiichi felt like he was being toyed with by street thugs, yet neither blade nor gun struck fear in him. If anything, he found it darkly amusing. Without these absurd confrontations, he mused, there’d be no meaning left in slum life at all. He kept silent. Not a single word escaped him. One response would’ve given them purchase—he knew their game. Then Tomita and Hayashi began brawling between themselves. Uchiyama roused himself to separate the scrapping pair. Eiichi rose quietly and slipped out to wash his face at the water spigot. When he returned, both men had vanished.

So Uchiyama meticulously explained to Eiichi the methods of 'yusuri'. "They start fights and pretend to mediate—that's how they pull their yusuri scams. Don't get angry even a bit...... But with Tomita that riled up, he'll come raging here tonight for sure. You should hide out somewhere, Teacher," he said. "And seems there's money coming in for New Year's Eve the day after tomorrow," he added.

That night, sure enough, Tomita came rampaging. Around seven o'clock, as Eiichi was about to head out to visit the slums, Tomita came over. "Fuckin' arrogant bastard!" he spat while shoving Eiichi and slapping his cheeks three or four times. Eiichi had no idea what this was about. It seemed that in Boss Shinkawa's territory, refusing to comply with Tomita's demands was considered "arrogant." Furthermore, Tomita, "I'll kill you!"

With that, he drew a dagger about nine sun long—roughly twenty-seven centimeters. It was an utterly terrifying sight. Yet Eiichi didn’t so much as twitch. He had already resolved to die when charging into this confrontation; being cut down held no hesitation for him. As an absolute adherent of non-resistance, he naturally offered no defiance. When Tomita raised the dagger, Uchiyama—who had been warming himself by the charcoal brazier—sprang forward. “Brother, what’re you doing?… C’mon now, no call to rage like this,” he said, wrenching the blade away.

Then Tomita leapt toward the charcoal brazier, intending to hurl it at Eiichi standing in the garden, but suddenly—who knows what came over him—smashed it onto the tatami instead. The embers that had been burning like a mountain scattered throughout the tatami room. Uchiyama leapt up and went to gather the scattered embers. In the meantime, Eiichi slipped out through the back door and went to pray at the coast.

When Eiichi returned around eleven o'clock, a single shoji screen had been smashed to pieces. Eiichi thought it was a cruel act but remained silent and went to sleep. On both morning and evening of the 30th, Tomita came rampaging. So Uchiyama finally advised Eiichi, “Teacher, just give Tomita twenty yen or so. In the end, that’s more virtuous than getting yourself hurt.” Thereupon, Eiichi became resolved and decided to give Tomita twenty yen from the meager year-end bonus he had received from the insurance company—a single month’s salary of twenty-five yen. However, upon learning this, Ueki refused to accept it. In the end, he took away the remaining five yen. Eiichi still had a small portion of his salary remaining, but after purchasing tatami mats and a shoji screen for the neighboring two-tatami room, he was left penniless.

Meiji 42 (1909) found him spending such a desolate year's end in the slums. Yet for Eiichi, his sole joy was that in his mere four days of slum life, friends had come into being. Of course, old man Uchiyama was one of them, but Izusan was another.

However，here a new group formed that looked up to Shinmi as “Teacher”. They were the slum children. The slum children grew very fond of Eiichi. And Eiichi also liked them. Jinko，Toraichi，Hanae，and Kazusan—Kumazō，who could hardly wait for Eiichi’s return around four in the afternoon—came to play from morning onward; during his absence，they played on the narrow road in front of his small house throughout the day，waiting for him. When they saw Eiichi’s face at four in the afternoon，they would come running from one end of the narrow road to the other to welcome him. And the first thing they said was，

“Teacher, don’t you have any toys today?” That was what they said. Eiichi first stroked Jinko’s head, then proceeded to place his hand on Toraichi’s, Hanae’s, and each of the children’s heads in turn. When he did so, all the children would take hold of Teacher’s coat hem, grasp his sleeves, and follow him all the way to Eiichi’s house. Moreover, for Eiichi, a believer had come into being for the first time in his life. There was a man nearing forty who could not walk, carried on his wife’s back from a two-tatami tenement house in Azumadori 6-chōme to attend Awaya’s Christmas charity event for the poor on the 27th. It was said that the man had rheumatism and hadn’t been able to stand for four months, but on the evening of the 28th, his gentle-seeming wife came to Eiichi’s place,

“Teacher, I’m terribly sorry to ask this of you, but might you be able to offer a prayer to Jesus?” Eiichi promptly went and prayed for the illness to be cured. Then on the morning of the 30th, as Eiichi was leaving for work on the year’s final day, Deguchi—who supposedly couldn’t stand—came hobbling from across the road, leaning on a long bamboo cane. His hair hung straight like that of the infamous bandit Ishikawa Goemon, his pallid face bearing the indelible stamp of slum life.

Deguchi had come to express his gratitude, saying that thanks to Eiichi’s prayers, he had been able to stand on his legs since that day. 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 narrow five-tatami room and went around evangelizing in the slums, Deguchi brought six or seven friends from a two-tatami tenement in Azumabashi 6-chōme, filling the cramped space to capacity. Among them were Ito the rope scrap collector; the Ishino couple, well cleaners—this couple had brought along a child—the old man from the "rau pipe repair shop"; and there was also an elderly paper scrap collector. With Izusan and Uchiyama joining in, the evening service was truly joyous.

Eiichi was happy. Eiichi spoke as plainly as possible. And then, everyone prayed one by one and returned home. One of them, mistaking "prayer" for "thanksgiving," prayed with words like "I humbly give thanks for the illness being healed."

However, Eiichi could not comprehend why Christianity was propagating so swiftly. Yet after the worship service, he came to fully grasp it through Deguchi's explanation. This was because Deguchi had been circulating and instructing others about it. At any rate, life in the slums proved thoroughly adequate to agitate Eiichi's youthful blood.

35

Early in the morning on January 2nd, Ueki came over with a man named Marui. (Ueki had a habit of catching Eiichi before he could get up.) Now, Marui was a laborer who wove rush mats by cart, but his sister's husband was a gambler currently away in prison; the foster child had died last night, and since there wasn't a single penny for funeral expenses, he was asking if they could give him money to hold the funeral. Eiichi promptly agreed and went to see the house. In a five-tatami room on Azumadori 6-chōme, Marui’s family of six lived in the front three-tatami area, while his sister lived in the back two-tatami area with two girls. The dead foster child was less than a hundred days old; having neither breast milk nor money to buy cow's milk, they had only fed it rice gruel and hot water, which they said caused its death. They had laid the corpse in a dirty borrowed futon and hung up the muslin-lined kimono the baby had worn. When Eiichi removed that lined kimono and saw the corpse’s face, he was struck by an indescribably revolting feeling. The child's eyelids were red and peeled as if ulcerated, the flesh of the cheeks had completely fallen away, and the hands were parched like withered leaves.

So when Eiichi questioned Marui about the circumstances, he learned that despite knowing they had to kill the child due to their dire poverty, the sister had taken in the child, her eyes blinded by the mere five yen. So Eiichi first returned to his house, took out a lined kasuri-patterned kimono and haori jacket from his trunk, brought them to the pawnshop to borrow six yen and thirty sen, then handed just five yen to Marui. Marui consulted with Ueki and came to ask ‘Taberau’—who lived across from Shinmi and was cohabiting with ‘Oinu’ (until about half a year prior, Yoshida’s wife from the west neighboring house)—to dispose of the corpse. "Taberau"—also known as "Oitaberaou"—made his living by single-handedly disposing of corpses for slum dwellers unable to hold funerals, packing them into tobacco crates or mandarin orange boxes which he carried on his back to Kasugano Crematorium. That day as well, in the evening, he packed the baby’s corpse into a mandarin orange box and carried it out from Marui’s residence.

Seeing this, Eiichi sank into utter despondency. Suddenly revolted by the slums and their horrifying sins, he let out a despairing scream and wished to curse God. God was not love—he wanted to revile Him as the creator of darkness, despair, death, and poverty. Yet the spiteful God would not let Eiichi off simply for having faced death on January 2nd. On the morning of January 5th, Ishino the well cleaner—who had attended the New Year's Eve service—came begging Eiichi to conduct another funeral for his dead child. Eiichi took on this task too. When he went to Ishino's rented home in Fujimoto's Azumadori 6-chōme tenement, he found Ishino and his wife sitting blankly. The dead child's status as a foster kid became immediately apparent.

When Eiichi arrived, Ishino—

“The one who died is this child,” said Ishino as he brought out a baby’s corpse from the corner—even smaller than the one at Marui’s house. He had tightly wrapped three floor cushions around it with a child’s sash, making it look exactly like an unglazed clay doll. The face, unlike the child from Marui’s residence, showed no destroyed eyes but belonged to an ugly infant with bluish skin and eczema on its head. If the child was this repulsive, Eiichi felt, there would naturally be no will to raise it. Since this required a death examination, someone rushed to fetch Dr. Tazawa, the nearest physician. Dr. Tazawa, wearing his reading glasses, remained standing in the garden—whether out of disgust for the dirt or mere laziness—without stepping up onto the tatami mats.

“Bring that child here!” he said. Then Ishino made a show of presenting it to Eiichi before showing it to the doctor. Dr. Tazawa,

“Ah, there there. This one? “Malnutrition!” ‘I know already, I know!’ he said, standing without taking the child’s pulse or touching the corpse before leaving outright. When Eiichi followed behind, “That fellow makes his living off foster children... Nothing but that sort in this neighborhood,” he was saying. After obtaining the death certificate and stopping by the exit, he continued badmouthing Ishino.

“This makes the third time for Ishino... Taking in foster children just to let them die, taking in foster children just to let them die—each time they move houses to avoid shame in the neighborhood... They say judgment comes to those acting like that, but his wife’s a lazy lump through and through. Every night Ishino makes her sell herself while he—at his age—stands watch over her prostitution to scrape by... This morning he came to me saying there’s no funeral money, so ‘ask the Christian teacher.’ If you go around saying such things, judgment’ll strike you! When taking in foster children, they get dazzled by five or ten yen, then when the kid dies they go borrowing from neighbors about lacking funeral funds—such beastly behavior! I told him I couldn’t do it... But since you’ve come to this wretched Shinagawa trying to save us paupers, if there’s any way to help them, please do... After this I’ll properly talk sense into them too,” he repeated to Eiichi.

In any case, having now fully understood Ishino’s family circumstances, Eiichi immediately went straight to Ishino’s place. “I’ll bring the money for the funeral later,” he said and left.

Uchiyama, keenly aware of Eiichi’s state of mind, “Teacher, I’ll go to the pawnshop for you,” he said, then grabbed two of Eiichi’s lined kimonos and ran off. And another five yen was secured. So he took that money and ran to Ishino’s place. In Eiichi’s trunk, there now remained only one lined kimono, one padded kimono with narrow sleeves, two yukata, and one tattered hakama—five garments in total. Eiichi grew stronger each time he encountered heart-pounding trials of various kinds. Eiichi, even after returning from Kobe Kaijo that day and learning that Ishino’s coffin still hadn’t been taken out—because they had said they wanted Shinmi to hold a Christian funeral and were waiting for his return—conducted his first-ever Christian funeral in a three-tatami room of the slums.

However, there was no special sermon to speak of for it. "It would be happier to fly off to heaven quickly like this dead infant than to see such an ugly world," he merely stated. When the funeral ended, Ishino took the coffin himself and carried it to Kasugano. Eiichi also followed behind Ishino in silence. As the early-setting New Year's sun sank behind Tekkai Mountain in Suma, Eiichi stood before Kasugano Crematorium and wept, hiding his face from Ishino. In the streets of Kobe, electric lights began to glitter. The undertaker was making the coffin-carrying cart clatter.

36

"Why was I created to suffer so?" Eiichi pondered as he walked back from the bright streets of Motomachi to the dimly lit Shinagawa.

Was I created to weep like Jeremiah? When I have cried my fill for myself, I must cry for others.

But in this world gone wrong, a creature like me could fret and strive all I might, yet it would amount to nothing... The plague had entered the slums. The prostitute girl with a tattoo on her back of a snake crawling into her △△△ had died the day before yesterday. And yesterday, her father had been sent to the isolation hospital. This morning came word that Kawamata, a dockworker from Gifuya, had likewise been taken by plague. Horrifying. Horrifying. Yet within this pestilence, Shinmi Eiichi—a man seemingly fashioned solely to serve even one lost sheep—what an unfilial wretch he must be. ......Yes, I should let the plague infect me and die swiftly. That way, I might cease witnessing the universe's anguish sooner.

It would be good to have money and engage in relief work, but he has not a single coin—having eliminated lunch and reduced himself to two meals a day to share food with two housemates…and even that requires enduring rice porridge with pickled plums—what an unfortunate man is he who has been instilled with ideals.

In a world where there exist graceful women, silk kimonos, theater performances, and music—why must I alone dream of social reform, be stationed at the heart of the slums, and through tears be tasked with disposing of corpses? Society has strayed too far. ……But I shall not voice this. I will simply await a grand era of social reform. Until then, I shall console the impoverished as best I can and anticipate the dawn of a new day. In place of today's decayed morals of the affluent, let us birth fresh Christian ethics. "The path of the cross runs through the byways of the slums.—"

Thinking thus, Eiichi would always cross Higurashi Bridge that spanned the Shin-Ikuta River. And the name of that bridge—so perfectly suited to the day-to-day paupers and laborers—would make him stop and be struck by poetic inspiration. From Sunday, January 7th, he began holding Sunday school in that narrow five-mat room. Because about seventy people came, it was just noisy, and they couldn’t manage any proper discussion. However, by now, all the children in Shinagawa had come to know Shinmi well. He attended morning worship at the lecture hall in Hyogo, but afterward, Dr.Williams told him that from now on he would provide a monthly subsidy of twenty yen for the slum ministry, urging him to carry it out vigorously. Shinmi accepted it with gratitude. That afternoon, two members of the Women's Christian Temperance Union came, saw Shinmi’s house, and left weeping. However, Shinmi thought that if they were going to cry for him, why didn’t they come live there instead.

Ueki continued demanding money through extortion. During an ongoing prayer meeting, when Eiichi entreated "Grant us the spirit to love our enemies," Ueki grew enraged, denouncing this as improper. "If by 'enemies' you mean me... Since your God supposedly answers prayers—try praying He stops these flames!" he shouted, upending the charcoal brazier in the room's center.

When Ito and Ishino hurriedly put the fire back into the charcoal brazier, “Look at that! Even God can’t put out a fire properly!” he ranted. Then again, after the prayer meeting ended and everyone had left, he—drunk—was performing military-style exercises barefoot on the road beneath the cold, clear moon.

“Forward march… Hey, right face!”

“Right face—forward march… Hey!” “Return to righteousness… Hey!” someone shouted. Then Yoshida—who had also come back drunk from town and crawled into a burlap sack to sleep—bellowed from inside the house, “Damn it all, you bastard! Keep quiet!” like a wolf roaring.

To this, Ueki did not put up much resistance. And he would simply curse at Eiichi. That day, Ueki—intending to borrow money—had apparently wandered all over from the Shinmi Shipping Agency in Hyogo to the Mizuki-dori Lecture Hall and Ikuta Church, searching for Eiichi. However, in the end, when Kyogashima entered the house and it came time for him to replace Ueki Toratarō in apologizing to Eiichi, Ueki was tearing his striped, narrow-sleeved lined kimono from the hem with his teeth, ripping it apart with a loud tearing sound. And,

“I was wrong! “I was wrong,” he said. And he said, “Let me sleep with you tonight.” Then Eiichi said, “All right, go wash your feet,” to which Ueki replied, “I’ll go to the water’s edge and douse myself to sober up,” before heading out. Eventually, trembling violently, he crawled into Eiichi’s futon and pressed his chilled body against him. No sooner would he be acting like this than, once the money ran out, he’d take up a dagger and chase after Eiichi. So Eiichi did his best to hide. Knowing full well that Eiichi wouldn’t report him to the police, he intensified his threats all the more violently. He slashed the Bible with his dagger,

“Shinmi—I’ll do the same to you soon enough,” he repeated. However, though Eiichi resolved not to give Ueki the opportunity to commit a crime and even fled, he never once found the sword frightening. To Eiichi, the lineage and psychology of villains were gradually becoming clear. Therefore, he was not afraid at all. Amidst such crowding, a sick man named Shibata Tadekatsu arrived, saying he had been told by Awa-ya—a cheap lodging house—to come here because he couldn’t pay his lodging fee. He was reportedly a Tomozome textile worker in Osaka, and though he was now twenty-eight years old, his registered domicile was in Kobe; his real father had passed away, and now his stepfather served as the second fire brigade group leader in Higashide-machi, Hyogo. He declared that as a result of his debauchery, he had ended up like this and could not return home.

And so Eiichi immediately realized that the difficult life he had led in Gonzo's room three summers ago had been at Shibata's stepfather's house. He immediately decided to take care of the man. However, the house was truly cramped. When they showed him to a doctor, it was determined to be intestinal tuberculosis. As one week then two weeks passed, Shibata could no longer stand. His rectal tissue began to prolapse. The stench was unbearable. This became something Eiichi and Uchiyama had to tend to together. Since they felt too sorry for Ms. Izu who had been sleeping alongside them, they had her move into the adjacent room and converted the two-mat space into a sickroom. With the house now impossibly cramped, they began thinking they needed to rent another place.

Just at that time—since Mr. Takeda, Mr. Yao, and Mr. Hashida from the Kwansei Gakuin Theology Department had kindly offered to take charge of the slums' Sunday school, and since the house was also too cramped for the Sunday school's needs, they decided to rent the six-mat house two doors down to the west.

And since this place was one tatami mat larger，Shinmi and Uchiyama moved there．Both the Sunday school and evening sermons were now held in the six-mat house．However，the west neighbor of that house—where the toilet stood—was home to Oshika，a prostitute．As a result，Eiichi became acquainted with three prostitutes lodging at that neighboring house．Through this，he came to fully understand not only those in Shinkawa slums but also Osaka’s Tobita and Nagara district prostitutes．As they grew closer，Shinmi discovered one was Ochika—the hermaphroditic prostitute sensationalized in December newspapers．Though she had buckteeth and an ugly face，Shinmi urged her to repent．

Then Ochika said that if someone would secure her a livelihood, she would repent starting that very day. So Eiichi immediately went to Ms. Tomishima Nobue at the Kobe Nursing Home, explained the reason, and arranged for Ochika to be taken in. And Eiichi brought Ochika’s cloth-wrapped bundle and delivered Ochika to Ms. Tomishima’s place.

37

Izu went to gather rope every day. Uchiyama idled every day. However, he faithfully rose early each morning to cook meals for Eiichi and for the patient. Eiichi was impressed by this. Slum life had become perfectly suited to Eiichi. From the day he was born until now, Eiichi had never experienced a life as perfectly matched to him, nor as intensely lived, as his existence in the slums. Early in the morning and late at night, when he patrolled every corner of the slums, he saw that even in their small ways, everyone was striving to survive. Eiichi was not a little moved by those small efforts.

One time, while Eiichi was making his rounds, he encountered Ofuji—a thirty-year-old woman with an ugly limp who had formerly been a prostitute—being driven out by her landlord for owing eight days' rent on her two-mat room at three sen per day. Ofuji was crying out loud. Beside her, her smallpox-scarred, ugly only daughter was also crying. When Eiichi looked inside the house, a man who appeared to be a ruffian—likely a rent collector—was peeling up the tatami mats. “Even if I don’t rent to the likes of you, there’s plenty of folks lining up for my rooms… You think I can keep this up with you making a racket every damn night?” he muttered as if talking to himself.

“I don’t have any ‘ashi’ (cash), so there’s nothing to be done. Yesterday and the day before, I ain’t even cooked proper meals… haven’t eaten a thing… If I had any ‘ashi’ (cash), I’d bring it straightaway, but with times bein’ so hard, even when I go scavengin’, there’s nothin’ to be found… See, if I was like others and stole cotton from folks’ carts and such, I wouldn’t be in such a fix… but I really ain’t got no money…”

A great many poor people were sympathizing with Ofuji. Haru, a female beggar, upon seeing Eiichi, “Teacher, please help her! Ofuji’s truly pitiful—she ain’t eaten a bite in two days, truly pitiful—”

And so Eiichi paid eight days' worth of rent for Ofuji's sake, promised to give her just one sho of rice, and returned home. Having witnessed such things and returned home, Omasa—the wife of An-san from the neighboring house behind—was washing something dusky black at the wellside, unrecognizable as rice or anything else, her eyes red and swollen as she carried her baby on her back. Since she had no clothes, she bore the child directly against her skin in thin winter garments. "Ma'am—why are you crying?" Eiichi asked.

“Teacher, oh please listen,” she pleaded. “My An-san won’t even buy a single sho of rice—he beats me for it—but I’m stuck goin’ to funerals every day myself with no money for rice. You know how it is, Teacher—we’ve got six or seven hungry mouths at home.” Her voice cracked. “We’ve borrowed from every place that’ll lend. ‘Scrounge up cash for rice somehow!’ he yells. ‘Can’t even manage that much… Useless woman!’ But I ain’t got the guts to sell myself like others do. I go to Nada’s breweries, gather grains from the dirt like this—” She gestured at the blackened mass in her bucket. “—make porridge… but with all this soil mixed in, we can’t eat it! And An-san—he blames everything on me! Threatens to kill me! Beat me!”

Having said that, the wife let her tears fall one after another into the bucket. Eiichi too immediately began crying in sympathy, and without giving any response, came to the toilet area and wept like someone in hysterics.

“God, why must the poor suffer so??” In that very moment, Eiichi resolved and vowed to God that until these impoverished people were saved, he would never wear more than two layers of clothing nor eat meat or fish. He determined to sell off all remaining garments, give them to the poor, and become an apostle clad in a single kimono. He immediately asked Uchiyama to pawn everything—though “everything” amounted merely to one lined kimono, two yukata, one Western suit, and one hakama—leaving only a single cotton-padded kimono with narrow sleeves. However, Uchiyama advised Eiichi in grandfatherly fashion,

“Teacher, even if you pawn Western clothes like these, they’ll fetch a pittance—just one yen or one yen fifty sen at most. It’s better for you to keep wearing them than that,” he said, not taking them to the pawnshop. And so, having no other choice, he had everything except the Western clothes pawned, which altogether amounted to seven yen and twenty-six sen. With that money, Eiichi immediately set out for An-san’s place at the back. When Eiichi entered through the back door, he found An-san—a one-eyed man—inside a house devoid of shoji screens or any such furnishings. Despite it being broad daylight, the door was shut. With no proper clothes to wear, An-san lay curled up in a rented futon caked with grime, still dressed in his happi coat. Beside An-san lay a sickly-looking child who had also crawled into the same futon from the foot end and was sleeping.

The wife was cooking millet mixed with sand while burning old geta under the stove. The porridge was just about to come to a boil.

Eiichi silently stood behind the wife,

“Ma’am, this is only a small amount, but please use it for rice,” he said, handing over a five-yen bill. “Oh my, this is too much.” “This much...? An-san!” Eiichi simply remained silent, placed the banknote at the entrance of the two-mat room at the back, and left. Then, right away, he went to Ofuji’s place and left two yen. That evening, An-san used the five yen he had received to drink himself dead drunk and came to offer his thanks. And, “Mr. Shinmi, you’re honest-to-God a saint—I’d worship you proper… But Shinkawa’s a right troublesome place, see? Who knows what’ll happen to you here. When that time comes, I swear I’ll throw away my whole life to save you!” he slurred drunkenly, pleading with alcohol-fueled earnestness.

38

Sending Ohatsu to the nursing home had hurt the neighbors' feelings. So on the fourth day, Oshika’s husband finally came barging in. This man, with a sword over two shaku five or six sun (approximately thirty inches) long still drawn,

“Is Shinmi here?” he demanded as he came in.

At that exact moment, Eiichi was eating his meal but showed no particular panic,

“What is it?” he said, “What do you mean, ‘What is it?’ What the hell is this?!” No sooner had he said this than he struck the center of the makeshift dining table hard with the back of his sword. Then tea bowls, plates, dishes, and rice scattered in all directions.

Uchiyama, who had been doing odd jobs in the back, hurriedly came rushing in. “Ah, there’s no need to get so angry. Brother, if we talk it out properly, you’ll understand—just calm yourself a bit more.” “………………………”

Uchiyama stood with his wet hands still open, blinking his trachoma-affected eyes... "Brother, I've heard you're angry about Ohatsu," he said. "But Teacher came all the way here to Shinkawa to help people, so he helps everyone in trouble... Ohatsu asked Teacher for help herself, saying she wanted to repent... Maybe Teacher should've told you first—that was wrong of him—but he thought Ohatsu had already explained things to you..."

A large crowd of people gathered at the entrance.

Everyone was watching to see what would happen. Eiichi was sitting there looking troubled. Oshika’s husband—commonly known as "Osaka"—ranted aggressively. “No—listen here, Uchiyama! That Teacher came to Shinkawa to help people too, right? So I ain’t sayin’ it’s wrong for him to be here… But actin’ all high and mighty—Shinkawa’s got its own ways, see? I’m out here takin’ cuts from prostitutes too, so student types like Shinmi look down on me… But hell, I don’t wanna make other women sell themselves neither! We gotta eat, ain’t got no choice… Hey, Shinmi—!” he shouted, raising his sword again toward Eiichi, who sat silently praying before the meal tray.

And so Uchiyama grappled with him by the arm, “Brother, this is dangerous! If you lose your temper and end up in jail, that’d be trouble for everyone. Let me take that blade for now,” he said, trying to seize the sword, but the man wouldn’t relent. Still locked in a grapple, Oshika’s husband kept shouting... “Hey Shinmi! Where’d you hide Ohatsu, huh? Mark my words… You’re tryin’ to starve me out, ain’t ya?… I don’t wanna rot forever in this Shinkawa slum playin’ pimp neither… If me bein’ here’s such a nuisance… I’ll clear out right now… Just give me travel money… Hey Shinmi! What the hell you take me for?… A hundred yen—a hundred yen—hand over a hundred yen and I’ll leave Shinkawa anytime…”

“Because it’s dangerous—I’ll take that blade for now, Brother,” Uchiyama pleaded desperately. Oshika came. Two prostitutes also arrived. They were silently watching. A crowd had gathered along the roadside. From the back, An, the funeral director, came out.

“An-san’s here! An-san’s here!” five or six people outside called out. An-san had earned himself the nickname “Brawler An” through his reputation, and because he loved to pick fights so recklessly, the people outside were worried things would escalate into a full-blown brawl. Eiichi also thought that An’s arrival had created a troublesome situation. Of course, from An-san’s perspective, he had come to help intending to return the favor for the assistance he had received previously. “Hey, ‘Osaka’! What the hell are you blabbering about here, huh?!”

An had marked Osaka from the get-go. Osaka, his body covered in tattoos and face fearsome-looking, fell abruptly silent when he saw the one-eyed An and handed his sword to Uchiyama. Uchiyama seized this good chance,

“Brother, you get the picture, so go on home,” Uchiyama said, and Osaka started to leave in silence. An, who appeared to have been napping until now, stood planted in the garden with a grim expression, ignoring the cold and wearing only a patterned workman’s jacket as he questioned Eiichi about what had happened. Uchiyama forcibly dragged Osaka out. As the voices of the prostitutes, Oshika, and “Osaka” carried westward along the road—and when those voices finally faded—the large crowd also moved west, gathering at the western neighbor’s place following “Osaka”.

After that, An kept boasting about how good he was at fighting. Then there was a little girl peering from the front of the garden. This was Kiyo-chan—a well-mannered twelve-year-old who had been taken into Osaka's household. Since Eiichi had given her a doll at Christmas, she'd grown fond of him and came to his place every day, but now she looked at Eiichi with a bright face and smiled as if she'd completely forgotten about her stepfather's recent violent outburst. And so, Eiichi—

“Kiyo-chan!” he called out, and she withdrew her face. Troubled by An, Eiichi went out to divert his attention and brought Kiyo-chan into the house.

“Kiyo-chan, has your father been angry?” he asked. “I don’t know… Teacher, please forgive him,” she said lightly. Eiichi teared up at her gentle demeanor.

Thirty-Nine

After that, Oshika, "Osaka," and Kiyo-chan didn’t show their faces for one or two weeks. Shibata’s illness grew increasingly severe by the day. Because Shinmi Eiichi had to commute daily to the marine insurance company, he entrusted Uchiyama with daytime nursing duties; upon returning after four in the afternoon, he would immediately visit Shibata. Every day, Shibata grew weaker. His hair, having fallen out from illness, looked pitiful, and his face was swollen and bluishly bloated—every inch the patient—yet whenever he saw Eiichi, he would bow as if worshiping an idol. However, whether the tuberculosis had reached his throat or not, he could no longer speak clearly. However, his gratitude remained clearly evident.

Eiichi was kind to the sick. "Izu," who slept in the next room, marveled, “I could never imitate Teacher.” As Eiichi wondered why Izu praised him so effusively, a week after the "Osaka" incident, [Izu] spoke up: “Teacher, Sanko from the tofu shop... He’s stuck at that Gifuya flophouse and can’t manage... That ailing Sanko keeps begging me to ask—couldn’t you take him in? I’d let him sleep right beside me if you would.”

And so Eiichi immediately agreed with a “Very well.” Sanko of the Tofu Shop (real name Fujita Misaburō) came over immediately. Unlike Izu, he was an idler. Uchiyama disliked going out to work but did household tasks diligently. However, even when staying inside, Sanko never tried to help with cooking. He sat motionless with a face swollen and blue from edema. He had a heart condition. However, he also had syphilis, as he himself said. This man, unlike Izu, had come with the intention of not even going to collect ropes and having Eiichi provide him with food. And so, Eiichi ended up having to feed four people on his monthly salary of twenty-five yen. The rice was fourteen sen per shō, but with four people eating, there were never any leftovers. And so Eiichi decided he would forgo lunch and proposed that the four of them get by on porridge, pickled plums, and miso soup. For some reason, Uchiyama said as if he understood, “That’s fine, that’s fine.” The patient was also grateful for this. Sanko alone did nothing but complain. As a result, Uchiyama and Sanko were doing nothing but clash every day. And each time, Uchiyama would harshly berate Sanko, but when scolded, Sanko would remain silent. However, he never stopped saying the porridge tasted bad. Therefore, without fail, Sanko and Uchiyama would argue three times a day.

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 age. He had grown his hair long in the Ishikawa Goemon style and left it completely unkempt. He was a terrible coward who would never go to the toilet alone at night, claiming ghosts appeared there. This was why: Raised as an orphan since childhood, he had been employed at a tofu shop from an early age. About four years prior, while working as a vendor at a tofu shop on Nakamichi Street, he had gone to sell tofu in Wakihama when a drunkard charged into him, completely destroying his load of tofu. In anger, he struck the drunkard with his carrying pole—the blow landing fatally, killing the man instantly. A policeman soon arrived and took Sanko to the police station. He spent a year in prison before being released due to insufficient evidence. Yet from that time on, ghosts began appearing to him. Consequently, he grew extremely timid and ceased going to work altogether—for whenever he went to a different workplace, the face of the man he had killed would manifest in various forms, or so he claimed.

Eiichi felt pity for Sanko. So Eiichi told Uchiyama, "Please be kind to Sanko. That man has no allies left," and resolved to keep feeding him.

Forty Eiichi busily set out each day for his pen-pushing work. It was utterly ordinary. He had no connection to the insurance company's lofty policies. His task was daily number-crunching in ledgers. Though fourteen or fifteen colleagues surrounded him, he ranked among their most unremarkable. Yet he floated above such concerns. Having survived pneumonia the previous autumn - when death seemed certain - he'd sworn to voice no complaints about his occupation. While rejecting capitalism's tenets, he found himself unable to hate the company president or managers. He bowed punctiliously to these superiors, never once defying their orders. Well he knew this labor swelled their surplus value. But now he recognized no path save dutiful service. Whether this served others or himself mattered not. Let others profit - so be it. I would plunge wholly into servitude, quietly awaiting capitalism's overthrow. Thus he discharged his duties gladly. He pondered anew: Even should socialism dawn, only through service matching today's capitalist devotion could true society emerge. Therefore today's service became socialism's prologue. He revered all people.

He respected all people in the slums. He respected Uchiyama, Izu, and Fujita as well. Even though 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, Hayashi, and Ueki as well. Discovering that they too had qualities worthy of love, Eiichi came to respect those aspects. He respected all beggars and all prostitutes in the slums. As long as they possessed the precious reality of being human, he respected them as people who should be granted time to repent, even if they had taken an erroneous path. That is, Eiichi had now entered into the awareness of Jesus who had descended as the savior of the world. To save all, he had to respect all. That is because those unworthy of respect need not be saved.

In this sense, Eiichi respected all people. He hated capitalism, but he could not hate humans. He loved capitalists in the same sense that he loved prostitutes and gamblers. Therefore, even at Kobe Kaijo, he was loved as a kind man. Particularly Miyamoto and Taruya, who had become acquainted with him through the Maruni Incident, held Shinmi in special esteem. And at the company, Eiichi's slum project had become quite renowned. Due to having grown up in a poor family himself, Taruya felt particular sympathy for Eiichi and one day at four in the afternoon when leaving work, 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 he received this, Eiichi felt lonely. Somehow, I also felt as though I were an utterly incompetent being. He also felt as though he were being insulted. Yet Eiichi received it with gratitude in God’s name. Manager Kobayashi Eisaku also heard about Shinmi from Taruya and donated ten sen. Eiichi accepted this too with goodwill. Those at Kobe Kaijo came to understand Eiichi well. And when beggars passed under the company,

They would often tease him with remarks like, “Hey, Mr. Shinmi! Your friends are here!” yet held him in profound respect.

Forty-One

Eiichi had been running a persistent fever. When leaving work utterly exhausted, dragging his heavy feet toward the slums, he felt as though his body didn't belong to him. Returning to the slums, he would collapse at the entrance still wearing his Western suit, waiting for the fever to break. The thermometer routinely showed nearly thirty-eight degrees. He remained acutely aware that his illness hadn't fully healed. During these periods, catching even a slight cold would bring up bloody specks from his bronchial tubes when he sneezed - a sight that unsettled him deeply. Catching those blood-flecked droplets in his palm, staring at them while contemplating his fate, he grew increasingly desolate and fearful. Death seemed to hover before his eyes. "I'll die soon," he thought. "I've left nothing of value in this world." Neither slum reform nor writings nor coherent systems of thought - nothing remained of faith or art worth preserving. Yet each afternoon without fail, the fever returned. "Who would care for me if I became bedridden now?" The anxiety tightened his chest. "No - Uchiyama might help then," he corrected himself bitterly, "but even that's uncertain." "When I consider who might provide financial support..." The loneliness of existence threatened to overwhelm him.

“Ah, this is it! This is why the poor cannot rise up! It’s not that people become poor because they’re destitute—they become poor because they’re lonely. The true suffering of the poor lies in having no acquaintances in the big cities,” he reasoned from his own circumstances and attempted to sympathize with them.

From late January through the end of February, Eiichi completely damaged his throat from street preaching and could not produce a good voice. Eiichi worried that he might have been afflicted with oral tuberculosis.

It was his usual habit to lie tossing and turning at the entrance of the six-tatami-mat room in the slums, worrying and thinking about such things. And it was precisely at such times that he would recall his stepmother back in rural Awa—wondering how she fared now—or think of his two brothers who had gone to their uncle in Osaka, or remember Emiko who had gone far away to Taiwan yet promised to return soon; contemplating his own family’s scattered and tragic fate, he would weep as was usual for him. He would sometimes tell himself, "I have finally become a pauper." “Ah, if only Emiko were here—then when I’m sick, I could have someone take care of me,” he would sometimes say to himself. It was precisely at such times that he would recall Tamiya Tsuruko, who hadn’t sent a single letter since then. However, Eiichi had already ceased placing his hopes in Tamiya Tsuruko.

But just when one might think he was moping like this, he would immediately leap up, silently head out to the two-mat tenement below, gather children from every corner of the streets, take them to the square, and it was common to see them making a boisterous commotion. The children of the slums were all beautiful. So, hugging a beautiful baby and delighting himself by proclaiming "God is love," he would pass the lonely winter evenings in lively fashion, and before he knew it, his fever would subside. So whenever Eiichi developed a fever, he would go play with the children in the two-mat tenement as a substitute for antipyretics. Jump rope, tag, hide-and-seek, hopscotch—he played whatever games the children requested. When he played like that, a large crowd would gather, and by around five-thirty at dusk, it was not uncommon for about a hundred children to assemble. When the crowd grew too large, he would have them sing songs and imitate goose steps like Western students often did; forming lines while chanting "The cat catches mice and chases weasels" repeatedly, they would also play "child stealing." Before long, the line even came to include Jinpachi, Torai, Hanae, Kazusan, Kumazou, and Kiyo-chan, who had recently become close. Both the boys and girls all liked Shinmi, and there were even those who would deliberately misbehave just to get him to touch them.

The Sunday school was crowded, and even Mr. Takeda, Mr. Yao, and Mr. Hashida from Kwansei Gakuin were worn out. Particularly, the children coming from the two-mat tenement below would arrive without wearing their geta, go upstairs as they were to listen to the talks, and in the midst of this would forget whether they had brought their geta or not—some would end up silently putting on whatever geta were there and going home, leaving the Sunday school teachers at their wits' end. Many of them wore old geta gathered from trash bins—mostly mismatched pairs at that—and since they couldn’t tell which ones were theirs, each time 120 to 130 worn-out geta were lined up, even with a teacher permanently stationed as the footwear attendant, utter chaos ensued when classes ended and it came time to go home. They couldn’t tell at all which geta were theirs. Fights would break out; scuffles would start; they couldn’t fathom at all what purpose the Sunday school served. In fact, one might have thought that having no Sunday school at all would be better, if only to allow them to cultivate a quieter disposition.

Moreover, compounding this overcrowding was Iwanuma Matsuzō—a twelve-year-old delinquent leader known throughout the neighborhood as the most troublesome youth, related to Kenka-yasu—who during Sunday school prayers would throw stones through the shoji screens, bring dogs to bark, and call five or six children outside, “Amen, ramen, cold noodles!” Making them repeat it again and again, or hiding innocent children’s geta—driven by these acts, Eiichi finally chased after Matsuzō, but it proved futile nonetheless. So, if he truly wanted to run the Sunday school and deeply influence the children in this neighborhood, he concluded there was no other way than to first take Iwanuma into his own home and care for him. After discussing it with Kenka-yasu, he finally decided to take Matsuzō in as well. So Shinmi’s family became a family of six.

Dr.Williams provided fifteen yen in assistance each month. Not only that, but he brought Mrs.Pearson—the wife of the renowned Presbyterian Church pastor from Fifth Avenue in New York City who had come sightseeing from America—to the slums and introduced her to Shinmi. Mrs.Pearson was deeply impressed by Eiichi's work, wrote a check for five hundred and fifty yen, handed it to Dr.Williams, and departed. Leaving word that they would meet leisurely when she returned after inspecting missionary conditions in China and Korea again, she crossed over to Korea. Eiichi was sincerely grateful for this five hundred and fifty yen. And he rejoiced as if Israel had gathered manna in the wilderness. This was because with 550 yen, five or six paupers could be sufficiently supported for about two years. He promptly changed their previous meals of rice gruel and pickled plums to regular rice. And he who had been skipping lunch and eating only two meals a day decided to return to three meals. At that moment Eiichi was wholeheartedly within the Lord's Prayer—

“Give us this day our daily bread.” He felt he understood the meaning of prayer for the first time. With the money that had come in, he bought bedding. He bought about ten old futons. He decided to sleep separately from Uchiyama. Thinking how pitiful Izu looked—still paying two sen each night for borrowed futons—he gave three futons each to Sanko and Izu. But even then, there still weren’t enough. And so it came to pass that Matsuzō the delinquent youth and Eiichi had no choice but to sleep together.

Forty-Two The drunkard came to cause trouble. Yoshida came. Mori the cart-puller came. “Empire” came. “Awa” came. Hiyama from across the way came. Just dealing with the drunkard required immense patience. Mori always did nothing but imitate theatrical performances and interfere with street preaching. This involved rolling his eyes wildly and waving his hands to deliver bizarre lines right in the middle of sermons, causing the audience to erupt into laughter. He was always drunk during the day. And starting around twelve o'clock, he would go out to pull a rickshaw near the Fukuhara brothel district. The house was in the two-mat tenement below, without even a futon or anything; he always slept there wrapped in a horse blanket. When drunk, “Empire” would come spouting nothing but incomprehensible nonsense. He was a good-natured man who never got angry, simply repeating “I’m begging you” over and over.

“When drunk, Awa would come saying ‘Enshrine me to Lord Jesus,’ bring a ten-sen silver coin or a twenty-sen silver coin, and then just leave.” Then just when you thought he was done, he would come again saying “Lend me thirty sen” or “Lend me fifty sen,” borrow the money, and leave. Hiyama across the way was a bit of a bad sort. When drunk, he would try to act violent. As for Yoshida next door, he was beyond being a problem. He made children cry, burned floorboards, and opposed the hymns during worship by shouting “That damn Jesus bastard’s racket makes it impossible to sleep!” Since it was just a single thin wall, his anger was indeed justified; however, when sober, he never said a word and was actually quite polite. Yoshida still had lingering feelings for the woman who had abandoned him and was now the wife of ‘Oitaberao.’ And from time to time, he would go shout persistently in front of ‘Oitaberao’s’ house. But there wasn’t a single soul who sympathized with Yoshida. Moreover, he didn’t pay rent and would tear apart the house to burn things, so Mizuta’s grandmother—the landlady—would come angrily. In response, Yoshida made as if to strike the old woman with a floorboard, which prompted Mizuta’s henchmen—who happened to be passing by—to beat him nearly to death. Witnessing this uproar, Eiichi asked Tomita to at least spare Yoshida’s life, finally calming the situation. After that, Yoshida lay in bed for four or five days, barely eating. However, he was by no means a man who would learn his lesson from that. He would drink again and come to Shinmi’s place. “What’s Mizuta got, huh? So he’s got seven hundred henchmen, eight hundred henchmen—even if I go barging in there, they couldn’t kill me!” he boasted.

During worship, he appeared completely naked without even a loincloth and asked, “I’m gonna become a Christian startin’ today too… Teacher, you said it don’t matter how I come, right? So here I am like this… S’alright, yeah?” “Put something on,” came the response. “Alright then, I’ll go put somethin’ on,” he said, and just when it seemed he’d obediently left, he returned wearing a straw mat and sat down properly, making everyone present burst into laughter. Deguchi, Itō, Ishino, Ueki—even the women sitting there laughed. Yet Yoshida remained unperturbed. For about ten minutes he stayed silent, dozing through Eiichi’s sermon while pretending to listen. Since Eiichi had theoretically declared that any attire was acceptable, he couldn’t object now—letting it be until Yoshida’s drowsiness waned and his drunkenness began to fade.

“I’ll be off now,” he said as he left.

However, what troubled Shinmi the most were the Western-style beggars Koga and Hamai. Koga was the son of a wealthy family in Kobe's Kumanouchi district who had taken up gambling during his fourth year of middle school through some impulsive act—this became the starting point of his downfall. Through associating with the Mizuta clan, a powerful group in the Fukiai Shinagawa slums, he eventually hit rock bottom. He had terrible drinking habits and turned violent when intoxicated. Though he worked as part of a dockworker crew, after being expelled from middle school he attended Kenki Gijuku where he gained some conversational skills. This led him to befriend Western beggars—mainly foreign sailors who'd missed their ships and taken to panhandling around Kobe and Osaka, drinking away all their collected money. Finding their lifestyle intensely romantic, he began imitating them by pretending to be Korean and begging exclusively at Western households.

When Shinmi entered the slums at Christmas in Meiji 42 (1909), the first person to approach him with an English conversation there was this Koga. Since he had read the Bible a little, “I know Bible, you see,” (I know Bible) Koga 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 on. And there was an instance where he ended up sleeping through the entire night. According to Uchiyama, Koga would steal storm shutters from his father’s rented house, sell them off in the slums, and use the money for gambling—such was his ferocity. Koga would often come saying things like “Lend me ten sen” or “Lend me fifteen sen.”

Koga was mild-mannered, but what troubled Shinmi the most was Koga’s friend Hamai. This man too was a beggar and ruffian who targeted Westerners, his appearance truly imposing. His face featured elongated eyes with thick, sharply defined eyebrows and an imperious Kaiser mustache, while his stature—likely around five shaku five or six sun (approximately 5'6")—marked him as an impressive man nearing thirty. Yet his facial skin bore a reddish-brown cast from alcohol. As for clothing, he trembled violently in nothing but a single lined winter kimono. The moment he encountered Eiichi, Hamai demanded: “Sir, Will youpleasegive me a shirt?” (“Could you spare me a shirt?”)

Even though Eiichi knew English well, when speaking with fellow Japanese he preferred to use Japanese, so he was momentarily taken aback at first but deliberately used polite Japanese. "I have no shirts except the one I'm wearing now, so please forgive me," he replied. Then,

“Give me the shirt you’re wearing!” he came at him. So Eiichi remained silent, removed his undergarment, took off the shirt he was wearing, and handed it to Hamai. “Here,” he said, offering it. At this, Hamai said “Thank you!”, took it, and promptly put it on. And then, switching to English, he demanded, “I don’t have money for lodging—lend me fifty sen.” When Eiichi said he didn’t have the money, Hamai called him a hypocrite and threatened him, saying, “You’re the one defrauding the wealthy under the guise of charity!” Yet even then, as Eiichi remained silent, Hamai grabbed him by the chest and shook him, then kicked him. As Eiichi thought, Is this how far humans can fall? while shedding tears yet remaining silent, this time Hamai grabbed his neatly parted hair and insulted him. Even as Eiichi remained silent, Uchiyama cried, “Oh! Something terrible has happened!” and went to call Yasu from the back; Yasu came running with a dagger. Then, Hamai silently went back home.

It was precisely at times like these that Hamai had been drinking strong liquor, his eyes glazed and lips turned purple; Eiichi thought this must be what they meant by “alcohol-induced rage”—a term that perfectly described Hamai’s state. However, Hamai’s insults toward Eiichi were not limited to one or two instances. If he knew he could get money, he would come daily—two or three times a day. And it seemed Eiichi wasn’t the only one from whom money was being taken. He also went daily to shake down the nursery teachers at the kindergarten run by the Baptist Missionary Society that stood near the slums. In the end, the kindergarten handed him over to the police, and Hamai was detained for two weeks—but once released, he simply resumed his old ways. Shinmi, the kindergarten, and all other tenement lodgings were extorted. He interfered with the roadside preaching. When the eight-member roadside preaching team—comprising slum believers and members from Kwansei Gakuin—was delivering a sermon after crossing Onozukuri Bridge, Hamai suddenly appeared. Without uttering a word, he smashed all eight lanterns and lunged at Eiichi. Eiichi was struck three or four times across the cheeks. Eiichi stood silently. Hayashi, who happened to be passing by, parted the crowd and entered the circle. The moment Hayashi saw Eiichi being overpowered by the large man, he immediately grabbed the wooden sandal from his right foot and hurled it at Hamai from behind. Eiichi shouted, “Mr. Hayashi, that’s not right! That’s not right!” but Hayashi wouldn’t listen. He kept landing thud after thud. At that moment, a police officer arrived. After the police arrived, Hamai and Hayashi began grappling with each other. However, since no one sympathized with Hamai, he was finally taken to the police box.

After the crowd dispersed, Eiichi thanked Hayashi and went to the police box to retrieve Hamai. The police officer knew Shinmi well, “Well, I’m fully aware." “But we’ve been waiting here ourselves to catch this guy in the act—he’s been extorting every last tenement lodging one by one,” said the officer, refusing to release him. Hamai was finally detained at the police station that night.

Upon learning that Hamai had been sent to the police station, Koga came rushing to Shinmi’s place. However, it seemed that Koga, too, had grown tired of Hamai, “That guy’s already been detained thirty-two times! Last year in Tokyo, he went on a rampage... He tried to extort money from some baron’s house, and when they refused to pay, he flew into a rage and kicked through the golden folding screen they had standing in their grand entrance—apparently caused quite a violent scene.” “Truly, I’ve never seen such a bad guy before,” he said.

The next morning's newspaper dutifully carried a small article on the third page about Shinmi Eiichi being struck.

43 All the prostitutes had grown close to Eiichi. They had grown close—and beyond mere closeness, there emerged those who admired him. Ohide, a moderately pretty twenty-three-year-old prostitute, often told Eiichi various stories about her life. This woman lived about halfway along the first street toward the waterfront from Eiichi’s neighborhood, having become something like the mistress of the brother of a young gang leader’s wife from the rice fields. She went out every night to sell herself, but when encountered during the day, she carried herself with such propriety that she resembled a respectable maiden rather than a prostitute. As Eiichi passed by her dwelling, Ohide called out from within. And then—

“Mr. Shinmi—won’t you take me as your wife? Even for one night—how I’d love to have someone like you hold me as we sleep... You’re like a god, aren’t you? Doing kindnesses no one else would—and still so young! It’s admirable!” she said. Eiichi remained standing on the roadside. “You shouldn’t mock me like that,” he said.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” she said, seeking agreement from the three prostitutes gathered there. They all praised Eiichi one after another. One said that Mr. Shinmi was truly a handsome man, and another praised that it was impressive how Eiichi remained unfazed even when struck. Then the conversation turned to Ohatsu’s story, followed by the tale of ‘Osaka’ barging in. “It’s true, you know—there’s no need to go barging in like Osaka. If you just explain things properly, Teacher wouldn’t abandon you completely. He’d hand over fifty or a hundred yen right away. But you shouldn’t give money to someone who storms in like that...” Ohide said sympathetically.

“And since I started selling myself at thirteen,” Ohide continued, “once you begin this life, it’s so absurd you can’t focus on proper work anymore. Even knowing I ought to regret it—if not for the debts and the mutual aid group’s payments, I’d quit selling myself anytime. But then I’d fall sick, wouldn’t I? And in the meantime—” “If I do that, debts pile up right away—and even if I keep selling myself, I can’t pay that money back,” she said.

When he asked how much debt she had, she replied that it was one hundred fifty or sixty yen. When he asked how she had accumulated so much debt, she replied that she had contracted typhoid fever last year. After ending the conversation at that point, Eiichi urged Ohide to repent and returned home. However, when he saw the newspaper four or five days later, there was an article stating that Ohide had conspired with a certain ruffian named Yagi to buy and sell a fourteen-year-old girl for one yen, forcibly compelling her into prostitution—an act that had been discovered, resulting in her being taken into custody at the police station. That beautiful woman—though he could scarcely believe it—he concluded that Ohide indeed belonged to the category of a femme fatale. However, Eiichi could not bring himself to believe that Ohide had been born a femme fatale. And he deeply contemplated the sins of circumstance—the sins forced upon people by the slums.

Among the prostitutes, Shinmi found himself confounded by Oharu—a simple-minded woman lodged at a tenement called Okayamaya who sold herself to its patrons. Obsessed with letter-writing, she would trail behind Eiichi and thrust love notes crudely scrawled in kana into his hands. Even slum dwellers and fellow prostitutes branded her a "nymphomaniac! Nymphomaniac!", yet this same Oharu appeared at dawn each day, clinging to Eiichi's quarters. "Teacher," she begged, "won't you let me stay here? I'll quit this whoring life—I swear I'll repent!" Though her pleas rang earnest, no madness clouded her eyes. Toward Eiichi she maintained an austere decorum, never once betraying lewd intent.

At dusk, prostitutes would bring leather-faced men one after another to the house labeled “Osaka” west of Eiichi’s dwelling; barely five minutes would pass before they emerged again.

However, Osaka’s barging into Eiichi’s place did not last long. One Saturday evening in March, when Eiichi returned home from the company, Uchiyama was there, “Teacher, that’s truly impressive,” he said in admiration. “What about, Mr. Uchiyama?” he asked. “Today, Teacher, Osaka from next door west and this girl Kiyo-chan came in multiple times with Hanako-san to ask where you had gone and when you’d return, saying they wouldn’t be able to see you anymore... “They probably came to ask when you’d return... Anyway, Osaka says he’s moving back to northern Osaka this time—claims there’s nothing interesting about staying in Kobe anymore. Guess having him next door wasn’t exactly thrilling either... But poor Kiyo-chan—she cried at your doorway for half a day, saying she’d never forget Teacher Shinmi and Jesus as long as she lived!”

Eiichi teared up upon hearing this. And within his heart, he thought: It’s the gospel’s victory, the gospel’s victory. Jesus and love are well understood by children’s hearts. How beautiful—she said she would never forget me and Jesus and cried for half a day. “I too want a yearning of the soul intense enough to make me cry for half a day,” he murmured to himself. So Eiichi peered into the west neighboring house to see if Kiyo-chan might still be there, but even after lifting the tatami mats, it was nothing but an empty void.

So when he asked Hanako-san, the eleven-year-old from the east neighboring house, she replied with her beautiful face: "Kiyo-chan cried at your doorway for half a day, Teacher... She said being taken to Nagara by her father only to be sold off right after was too hard. If she goes there, there'll be no Sunday school anymore—she'd be lonely... That's why she didn't want to go." "When did they leave here?" he asked. "Just a short while ago," came the only reply.

Eiichi walked here and there along the narrow path, pondering Kiyo-chan's soul and her fate.

Since coming to the slums, everything was nothing but unexpected to him. And because the problems were so immense, rather than improving the slums, it seemed as though they were being drawn into them. Shibata’s illness grew increasingly severe, with pus and blood oozing from him; the stench wafted from thirty to sixty feet away. Eiichi and Uchiyama took turns every day going early in the morning to Azuma-dori 4-chome and the large ditch at 3-chome to wash those swaddling clothes. Every time he washed those swaddling clothes, Eiichi contemplated various matters concerning spiritual discipline.

It was mid-February when Dr. Tanazawa wrote off Shibata as beyond hope, yet Shibata did not die. Day by day, Shibata's faith grew stronger—to an almost astonishing degree. From Eiichi's perspective, he had not said anything particularly evangelistic to Shibata. Eiichi believed forcing faith was a grave sin; thinking that giving his all would let faith arise naturally, he remained silent and loved Shibata with maternal devotion. As Shibata came to recognize his worsening condition, he began making unreasonable demands—for eggs, for milk. Eiichi obliged them all. Seeing this, Uchiyama appeared genuinely and profoundly impressed by Eiichi. It became clear Uchiyama was tending to Shibata with heartfelt sympathy. Uchiyama's faith deepened steadily. Eiichi came to regard Uchiyama as a saint. The man who until mere months prior had been considered laziness incarnate now devoted himself wholeheartedly to caring for someone within his capacity—a transformation that left Eiichi awestruck.

Eiichi heard Uchiyama praying aloud repeatedly for Shibata's sake. His habit was to go to the southwestern corner of the house, close his eyes, and pray. After praying, he would go to Shibata and recount in a very simple manner the gospel of Jesus he had heard from Shinmi. And Shibata would believe exactly so. Uchiyama's faith was simple. He said this to Eiichi: "Shibata's truly pitiable, but through Heavenly Father's grace like this, getting to go to Heaven's a blessing. It's precisely 'cause he came here that he received Lord Jesus' salvation."

Eiichi was satisfied with Uchiyama’s faith. Yet God did not heed Eiichi and Uchiyama’s prayers—Shibata finally fell into eternal sleep on March twenty-first. But this was a death of triumph. How deeply must that have carved through Eiichi’s breast. That morning, Eiichi had been at the insurance company. Then past ten o'clock, Ueki arrived as Uchiyama’s messenger. “Shibata’s going back to his father’s place—please return quickly.”

With just those words, he left. Eiichi didn't fully grasp their meaning. Returning to his father's place? Was he saying he'd return to his stepfather's house in Higashide-machi...? If it was because we couldn't care for him properly ourselves... That would be truly regrettable. But if he tried walking back in that condition, he'd surely collapse along the way. How pitiful - not understanding our kindness, he'd risk death itself to return to his stepfather... Even if he made it back to that Kenzō's place, surely no one there would look after him.

While thinking all this, Eiichi returned to the slums and found Uchiyama standing on the path.

“Teacher, Shibata has finally returned to his father’s place.” Eiichi still did not understand the meaning. “Huh? Returned to his father’s place… Higashide-machi’s…” “No—to the Heavenly Father’s place… Shibata truly returned in peace.” "He earnestly asked me to convey his regards to you, and at the end said, 'Mr. Uchiyama, I shall now be allowed to return to the Heavenly Father’s place,' then departed as if falling asleep."

Hearing this, Eiichi wept copious tears. Eiichi thought deeply. "Why don’t I possess the faith that Uchiyama and Shibata alone have?" "I had contemplated going to Heaven, but until this very moment, I had never considered returning to the Heavenly Father’s place." "There was no logic to it whatsoever." "For Uchiyama and Shibata, death meant returning to the Father’s house." "Ah, what profound faith and resolve! Yes—Shibata had gone before me to return to the Heavenly Father’s embrace." "Like the prodigal son returning to his father’s arms, he had marched home victorious."

"Amen, Amen," he repeated.

The funeral was scheduled for five in the afternoon. And by then, he had to complete the paperwork at the city office and report to Shibata's household in Higashide-machi. So he decided he would go to the city office himself and have Ueki go to Higashide-machi. Ueki was surprisingly useful at times like these. Since this was both the first funeral held from his own home in the slums and the first funeral in the slums for someone who had died bearing Jesus' name, he considered using a proper Christian-style lying-in coffin. But Kenka-Yasu, the labor boss from the funeral parlor, said that would likely exceed fifty yen, so he decided to forgo the special coffin and proceed with an ordinary one.

The departure had been scheduled for five in the afternoon, but when Shibata arrived with the entire second fire brigade around three o'clock, they decided to hold it at four. Eiichi and Uchiyama carefully performed the ritual washing and placed Shibata's corpse into the coffin. Ura no Yasu took charge of all funeral arrangements from the laborers onward. Eiichi delivered an extremely brief sermon as the coffin was about to depart. Shibata's stepfather and fifteen or sixteen firefighters crouched in a slightly open space between the back door and the toilet. They listened reverently to Eiichi's sermon. The preacher had been crying from beginning to end. This was because he doubted whether he himself could die with faith like Shibata's were he placed in that position. His habitual materialistic perspective made him think he might have died cursing God and man; yet comparing his own base nature to Shibata's guileless one filled him with shame.

Up until now, he had been utterly indifferent to the matter of eternal life. After reading James’s lecture on pragmatism, he had grown even more detached from this question. He valued the tangible reality of each fleeting moment. The religious significance inherent in every passing instant mattered to him above all else. Thus he believed that even should the typhoon of death strike at any hour, he would remain unshaken. He had hovered between life and death that September past. Even then, he had felt no fear of dying. He faced death with composure.

However, that merely amounted to not fearing death. He was not able to greet death with victory. Let alone reach the realm of bearing death's glory as Shibata had. In Shibata's case, death was a superb art; it soared high into the air, easily transcending death's realm. Eiichi was shown this solemn artistry of death and found himself utterly impressed. For him, this engraved the concept of faith into his heart more strongly than countless repetitions of Buddhist invocations or reading millions of books.

He stated that matter exactly as it was during his simple sermon. To the fire brigade members, it seemed they had scarcely any understanding of what it was about. They listened without moving a muscle, yet not a trace of emotion showed on their faces. However, Uchiyama and Ueki were crying. Fujita no Sankō had his mouth hanging open and was simply staring blankly.

44 After Shibata's death, Eiichi felt as though there was an emptiness in the depths of his chest. This stemmed from having come to think both that he still could not love others sufficiently and that Shibata's dying so soon might have been due to lapses in his own nursing care.

Eiichi had grown remarkably gloomy again. Moreover, the more he came to understand the slums—the more he became aware of their darkness: poverty, murder, crime, gambling, prostitution, filial impiety, and recklessness—the more he came to think it was only natural that Jesus had died on the cross. That was because he had concluded that those who earnestly confronted the world’s ugliness must inevitably die. And he reproached himself, reasoning that his continued clinging to life stemmed from lacking the resolve to thoroughly combat the world’s evils.

No one could comfort Eiichi's lonely soul. He had cast aside love, ambition, honor—even his thirst for knowledge—and now sought to devote himself entirely to God. He could not deny feeling surges of sexual desire. Yet these were momentary. When he had been near Tsuruko or dwelled on thoughts of Koshū, masturbation had become habitual; but after baptism and throwing himself into fervent street preaching, he had nearly forgotten such impulses. Upon entering the slums and embracing a savior-like awareness, the habit vanished completely. Even when hearing prostitutes' lewd, unrestrained talk, he felt no sexual arousal. Now at this stage, he found it rather perplexing that someone like Thomas Moore had slept in horsehair-woven shirts to suppress desire.

He resolved to become a saint. And he thought that if he could perform miracles like Jesus, he must 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. On Sundays—Sundays—he would rush into the mountains. And at times, in an oak grove along a mountain stream deep in Nunobiki, he would read through the entire Gospel of Matthew from chapter one to twenty-eight in three hours and forty minutes, praying all the while as he contemplated the path Jesus had walked. At other times, 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 babies comforted him best. Yet through this lonely period, what brought him the greatest happiness was that two or three outstanding Sunday school students like Okiyo-chan had emerged, and that Deguchi had taken the lead in making Sunday evening worship services increasingly vibrant. Recently even Kenka-yasu had started attending services. Usually fourteen or fifteen people gathered. There were always two or three who followed from street preaching. Moreover with never fewer than seventy or eighty Sunday school students crowding in daily，the house became cramped. Shinmi worried that children running wild during lessons must greatly trouble neighbors. Among them all，Eiichi remained most wary of Yoshida. The man hated Christianity，and since Eiichi forbade drinking，he became a constant irritant. Every gathering faced his inevitable disruptions. This led even Mizuta’s grandmother—the neighborhood boss—to sympathize: “Isn’t there some way to reform that villain Yoshida? I want him out of my rental already—he’s plaguing your place too，isn’t he?” Seeing opportunity，Eiichi proposed moving Yoshida across to a vacant house while renting his current unit—a convenient solution. Mizuta’s grandmother immediately approved，ordering Yoshida’s relocation. When met with expected refusal，Yoshida bargained: “Forgive my back rent，and I’ll move.” Thus Eiichi paid Mizuta one-and-a-half months’ rent for Yoshida，merging both houses. By early April，the merger completed. Eiichi tore down dividing walls，extended flooring into garden space，and created a seventeen-tatami hall. He deemed this adequate for slum ministry needs. While pleased with newfound space，Eiichi found greatest joy in Sunday school children’s delight.

And seeing the Sunday school students rejoice, Eiichi was pleased once more.

45

On April 5th, a letter came from the Awa countryside saying his stepmother was ill and asking him to return. Eiichi submitted a leave notice to his company and went back to Itano District for about three days. The stepmother suffered from rheumatism to the point of losing mobility in her legs and hips. Yet more than sympathizing with her condition, what proved unbearable was seeing how the grand eastern storehouse, western storehouse, front storehouse, stables, two treasuries, and large two-story main house had all vanished, leaving her alone in mere two six-tatami back rooms. Her blood relatives resided rather in the Tamiya branch family called Nishi Shintaku, whose household head was Oku's sister's son—her true nephew. Though Oku should have been cared for by Nishi Shintaku instead of burdening Eiichi—with whom she shared no blood ties—the situation had changed since Oku's sister died around the time of Eiichi's father's passing. Not only did Nishi Shintaku treat Oku as a nuisance, but Ryōsuke—husband of Oku's deceased sister—had set his sights on her modest savings (some claimed two thousand yen, others three thousand) and proposed taking Oku as a replacement for her sister.

However, the current head of the household and Oku’s sister’s husband were related by marriage; Oku had married into a family and given birth to an eldest son and a second son before being widowed, after which she took Ryōsuke—who became the current head’s stepfather—as her husband from Nanto. Since Ryōsuke and Oku’s sister had four children together, the family grew even more discordant. When Oku's sister died, Ryōsuke approached a widow at Naka-no-shintaku and got her pregnant immediately, yet even while this was ongoing, he proposed that he and Oku become husband and wife. Eiichi returned to Higashiumazume and heard this story; he was utterly shocked to see that the countryside was just as corrupt as the slums—but Oku—

“If I stay here alone like this, Ryō-san will do me harm. Anywhere will do—please take me to your place,” she pleaded. And so Eiichi, sympathizing with Oku, told her that if the slums were acceptable, he would come to take her in around late May or early June, then returned to Kobe.

However, when he returned to the slums on the early morning of April 8th after being away for three days—what a disaster—Tomita had brought Okuma’s wife Otoku and was sleeping together with her in the six-tatami room. Just then, Okuma drew his sword and burst in wildly. Seeing this, Otoku—wearing nothing but a faded red flannel waistcloth over her completely naked body—was now attempting to escape through the back door.

Kumakō shouted, “Uchiyama! Which way did Otoku flee?” his drawn sword still in hand as he questioned Uchiyama. Kumakō did not put up much resistance against Tomita. This was because Tomita had a pistol.

Because Eiichi had returned much earlier than anticipated, everyone was astonished. The most flustered was Tomita. "Teacher, I'm sorry," he said, sitting up from the bedding and scratching his head. Eiichi thought only Tomita and Otoku had been staying over, but there lay a woman called Oshizu asleep. An ex-convict named Sawada was sleeping. Eiichi was utterly dumbfounded. When he asked why they'd let Oshizu in, "It's just helping someone out," Uchiyama answered lightly.

However, the one who couldn’t stay silent was Sankou. “Uchiyama was sleeping with Oshizu,” Sankou said.

Oshizu was a seventeen-year-old girl. Though naturally fair-skinned, she appeared ghostly pale from anemia, her disheveled hair framing a dissolute existence. Until four days earlier, she had lain paralyzed at the residence of Yagi Senzo—a man notorious for procuring local prostitutes. Just one or two months prior, she had kept house with a laborer thirty years her senior in a flophouse, but when illness struck, the man abandoned her, leaving her to throw herself on Yagi's mercy.

According to Uchiyama, on the night he met her, Oshizu had been driven out from Yagi’s residence and was saying she would sleep under a bridge, so he took her in. “However, I didn’t have any bad intentions,” he said. The man called Sawada was a two-time repeat offender of fraud and theft. He was said to be a friend of Otoku’s husband, Kumakō. Eiichi regretted that during his brief absence, the atmosphere of the Jesus Corps had been disrupted so severely. However, he resigned himself to this as being due to his own lack of foresight. And so, he promptly had Sawada leave and decided to have Oshizu sleep separately from Uchiyama at any rate.

And so the family became six again with the addition of a new woman. Tomita became self-destructive, came heavily drunk that afternoon, and tried to pick a fight with Eiichi. And so he avoided that and went out to pray at Chikkō. After that, Tomita, claiming it was a pistol test, wildly fired shots into the wall of Eiichi’s room. When Eiichi returned and looked, numerous bullets were embedded in the wall.

46

It was the afternoon of the third Thursday in April. Shinmi had received word that Kobe Church had gathered various items for the slums—old futons, worn-out geta, charcoal bales, and the like—and asked him to come collect them, so he went to pull the cart himself. The cargo was piled mountainously on the cart. While pulling it, he descended the slope and emerged onto Kita Nagasadori 4-chome. And on the street along the railway, he unexpectedly encountered Tamiya Tsuruko.

That day, Tsuruko carried a Western-style umbrella in her hand, wore fair-weather geta, and was dressed in an extremely modest striped gas-woven garment with tightly packed threads. Meanwhile, he had hitched up the sleeves of his only straight-sleeved work shirt and was straining to pull a cart heaped with charcoal bales. Had he not called out to Tsuruko from his side, she likely would have passed by without recognizing Shinmi. Shinmi drew the cart near the railway fence and exchanged a few minutes' worth of standing conversation. "Oh, Mr. Shinmi—what brings you here?" Tsuruko inquired.

“I’m collecting discarded items to take to the slums,” he replied. The day was cloudy, and the gray air along the railway felt especially oppressive. Tsuruko too looked somehow listless. That day, she was returning from Hiroshima to Awa. “Truly, that’s something I could never manage,” Tsuruko replied lightly. “I just can’t get into the swing of things at all.” At that, Eiichi immediately pressed further. “Tsuruko-san, what will you do about that matter?” “Are you referring to that matter?" “Since my uncle says such strange things, it’s no good for me now—I’ve resolved never to marry in my lifetime.” “This time there’s something I want to do… I plan to go into the mountains…”

“Into the mountains? Which ones?” “I’m thinking of becoming an elementary school teacher or something and going into the mountains somewhere.” “Exactly... it’s been two years now...”

“Yes… you’ve aged, haven’t you?”

“Is that so… Well, being in such a state, I suppose it’s only natural…” “I’ve just heard all about you from Mrs. Williams—it’s truly something unimaginable. I could never manage such a thing…” “Well then, Tsuruko-san—may I ask once more—is that matter truly concluded as settled?” “When you put it that way… it pains me so.” “I don’t think I can emulate someone as saintly as you…”

Tsuruko already had tears welling in her eyes and was biting her lips oddly.

“Well then, Tsuruko-san, I’ll take my leave now,” Shinmi said as he gripped the cart’s handle and

Tsuruko hurriedly—

“Please wait a moment, Mr. Shinmi…” she said, gripping the handle with one hand. And, taking out a handkerchief, she wiped her tears. “Please forgive me… you must… please forgive me.” The Tokaido upbound train passed with a loud roar. “...”

“I... your... There are so many things I want to say, but I cannot say them... Then... Farewell...” Eiichi began to weep in sympathy. Tears fell drop by drop into the street dust. However, thinking how improper it looked for such a young couple to be weeping in public, Eiichi gathered his courage and,

“Goodbye, Tsuruko-san. May God protect you too, and stay well,” he said as he pulled the cart forward two or three steps. At this, Tsuruko, heedless of onlookers, covered her face with a handkerchief and burst into sobs. As Shinmi continued pulling the cart five or six steps further, Tsuruko came hurrying after him from behind,

“Mr. Shinmi, please forgive me—I beg of you,” she said as she walked alongside him.

So Eiichi said: “There’s nothing requiring forgiveness—everything resides within God’s divine will. You must advance along your chosen path. As I mean to spend my life in the slums and die there... God shall protect both you and me.”

The two walked silently together as far as Ikuta-mae, but when they passed 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… Goodbye… Mr. Shinmi…” she uttered in broken fragments.

And so Eiichi said cheerfully— “Goodbye, Tsuruko-san... Forever...”

“Then…” Tsuruko raised her tear-filled eyelids and looked into Eiichi’s eyes. When their eyes met, Eiichi felt as though enveloped in the utmost of mystery. Tsuruko’s cheeks, outstanding in their wisdom-filled beauty, bore a vague shadow of sorrow. The two of them stared at each other for three or four seconds, but then Tsuruko cast her gaze back down to the dirt of the street. And without a word, she turned around and walked off westward. Eiichi did not look back and moved the cart forward. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Forty-Seven

Suddenly, Emiko returned from Taiwan.

It was a perfectly clear, beautifully sunny morning on April 18th. A call came from Murai in Kajiyamachi to the company, suggesting that they come meet him there. And so, Eiichi obtained permission from Manager Kobayashi and went to meet them in Kajiyamachi. As they hadn’t met in nearly three years, there was too much to say—so much that words failed them. “Father isn’t here either…” Emiko said, then fell silent and wept. 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 to that, Eiichi did not have the courage to say much. After crying silently for another three or four minutes, “I hear that large house in Higashiumazume has been torn down too…” she said. Emiko simply continued crying in silence. And so Eiichi also cried in silence.

Emiko wore her hair in a traditional married woman's chignon. She was a young bride. Her complexion appeared burnt to a pitiful degree. Those who had long resided in Taiwan were all like this—the ruddy hue seen in mainlanders' complexions had faded away, leaving their faces an ashen color. Emiko was not a woman with an ill-shaped face; she could not be called a beauty, yet neither was she ugly. Her complexion had simply darkened somewhat. However, when she was sixteen or seventeen—three or four years prior—her cheeks had flushed with healthy color as if rouged, and though her skin remained somewhat dark, she could at times appear beautiful; but Taiwan seemed ill-suited to her health—she had been completely scorched.

And so Eiichi, who cared deeply for his sister, found Emiko particularly pitiable and could not hold back his tears. Before long, Eiichi returned to the Fukiai slums, taking Emiko with him. Along the way, Eiichi asked Emiko in detail about each circumstance of the household she had married into. It was said she had been pregnant again, so he asked what had happened. At this, Emiko explained very simply that her husband was thirteen years older than herself, that he was hunchbacked, and that she had miscarried the child.

When he asked why she had returned, she said, "Because Mother in Tokushima has rheumatism and can't move properly—she sent a letter asking me to come care for her, so I came back." "Then when do you plan to return to Taiwan?" he asked. "I won't go back."

“Why won’t you go back?” he asked, but she did not state the reason. “Only that my husband’s mother is hard to deal with,” she answered. And so Eiichi no longer had even the courage to inquire further into Emiko’s sudden return. The two walked back to the slums in mostly silent steps. Though Eiichi wanted to prepare a feast to welcome her after her long absence, there was nothing he could do in the slums. Even when told to come up and sit, there were no cushions, and since the larger room hardly felt like a home regardless, he had her enter the six-tatami space they used as a kitchen. In the inner three-tatami area, Oshizu lay asleep. As it was exactly noon, they shared an exceedingly simple meal together, yet Emiko seemed inexplicably content. She said it felt as though she had returned to her own home. Hearing these words, Eiichi still shed tears.

After the meal, Emiko took up what Uchiyama was supposed to wash, tied a tasuki work sash over her outdoor clothes, and diligently attended to chores. Eiichi watched this and felt gladness in his heart that siblings were truly a good thing.

Forty-Eight

Eiichi pushed himself to go out every Friday around four in the morning to proselytize at Benten-hama in Kobe, where vagrant laborers gathered in greatest numbers. This sprang from his missionary heart that wondered if even one person might sense his fervor and turn toward Jesus. Through early summer mornings before sunrise, he would trudge from the slums to Benten-hama—a full fifteen or sixteen chō away—carrying a lantern marked with a cross. Each morning brought him new inspiration. He became aware of growing within divine grace. In the southern sky, Sirius seemed to shine for him alone, and he felt such gratitude toward the morning heavens that he wondered if even Mr. Morning Star had been positioned there expressly for his sake.

He couldn't help feeling a poignant awareness that he had been placed as one who seeks lost souls. He had no time to question whether he himself felt fulfilled as people outside his world might perceive fulfillment. 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 grieved over the slums' very existence—as if his chest were being gouged out, at times so intensely it made him want to weep. And it was precisely this same feeling that instilled in him the conviction that he must go proselytize to Benten-hama's dockworkers from dawn onward. Even when he shouted about socialism, people merely cowered and refused to listen; yet abandoning them was unthinkable. Thus he exerted his utmost effort, striving to preach Jesus' Gospel to the brink of death, survival, or madness. When he reached Benten-hama, night had already grown bright. A man resembling a Nickel Company foreman approached,

“No one’s come yet… (glancing briefly at Eiichi) Oh, Mr. Shinmi! You’re quite the dedicated one, aren’t you?” he said before heading off again. Eiichi stood dazedly on the breakwater watching as two or three hundred night soil carts were pulled by men and women inside the harbor, each being loaded onto traditional Japanese ships. The sea had turned turbid with sewage-brown water. A foul stench hung thick in the air. He pitied these laborers. The night soil collectors moved with remarkable quietness, swarming like ants along narrow pathways they called “stirrups” without uttering a word. Their silent dedication struck him as truly sublime.

In contrast, whenever the dockworkers gathered, gambling would start right there. Silver coins amounting to dozens of yen were placed before the banker. Sixty or seventy people had formed a circle around the banker and were playing chōhan. In the meantime, Eiichi distributed tracts to everyone, sang hymns in a loud voice, and began his sermon. Since there were also a few people who had come from the Shinagawa slums - among whom Eiichi was well-known - some listened gratefully to his words, though most remained indifferent. Eiichi wanted to laugh at his own efforts. Why did he have to go to such lengths to spread the Gospel of Jesus? he wondered, pitying even himself for it.

The garbage boats departed. The barges heading offshore, filled with laborers, departed. In Kawasaki, the hammers of the shipyards clamored noisily. Small launches darted about vigorously within the harbor. A large foreign ship entered. Creating beautiful white waves, a 400-500 ton-class steamship departed the harbor. The morning sun shone distinctly over the entire harbor. The demarcation of shadow and light grew stark, and the wood grain on the sides of the countless Japanese-style boats clustered around Benten-hama took on a golden hue.

The scenes from that day, the sight of dockworkers now gambling before Eiichi's eyes, and the nineteen-hundred-year-old story he preached—between these there appeared to be no connection, and it pained him.

As the sun rose, the sea's surface appeared to darken into a murky hue. A nameless sorrow welled up within him. The recent economic slump had drawn more young men to the docks than there was work—unemployed youths loitered blankly on the breakwater; some cried in desperation, "What's left but gambling?" while others trudged off muttering, "Let's try the pier—maybe they'll hire us over there." To Eiichi, their voices carried unbearable pathos. Though he typically followed dockworkers to the main ships to proselytize, on days like these he invariably retreated to the slums. There he would sip morning porridge prepared by Kyogashima alongside his ailing charge, then drag his exhausted frame straight to the insurance company without respite.

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 missionary zeal grew even stronger, and without fail, every Monday evening he went to proselytize at the Nickel Company's offshore laborers' dormitory in Nakayamate 8-chome.

Summer evenings saw quite a number of fights. In the back alleys, screams could be heard night after night. A father who had taken up with his wife's stepchild would start huge brawls. They drank alcohol and fought. Brothers fought over gambling debts. Those who intervened to mediate only exacerbated the conflicts. During daylight hours, quiet reigned as everyone worked elsewhere, but evenings always brought major disturbances when they returned home. Far more often than summer nights too sweltering for sleep, there were nights rendered sleepless by the tumult of fighting.

In the slums, summer made sleep nearly impossible. The residual heat from the sun beating down on roofs during daytime radiated through low ceilings at night, making it utterly unbearable. Moreover, when lamps were extinguished, bedbugs came crawling out in droves. And so they would relight the lamps to catch bedbugs, capturing forty or fifty each night. So Eiichi slept on the door, but the bedbugs clung to it again. He slept on the desk. They were clinging to the desk again. Because of this, he was gripped by a grief so profound it bordered on madness. However, Eiichi was not the only one tormented by bedbugs. All members of the household suffered alike. The one who suffered most was Emiko. Emiko developed boils from scratching bedbug bites. Uchiyama too had bedbug bites merge with scabies lesions, leaving his skin in a state unbearable to behold. Sanko was among those most plagued by bedbugs. There were frequent nights when Sanko would cry out—"The bedbugs are biting! I can't sleep!"—she'd wail. The delinquent youths Matsuzo and Izu remained unaffected. Oshizu stayed silent. One reason was that Oshizu, being physically disabled, worried excessive complaints might make them stop caring for her.

Eiichi had not been able to sleep for days. He found nothing more sorrowful than being unable to sleep. As a result, Eiichi felt his body weakening as if from neurasthenia.

At this point came Tokida Fumio—a friend from their Shirogane days known among companions as a Dante researcher, who served as pastor at Tokyo Shitaya Myojo Church—to visit. He said he had come down because he was getting married in Osaka this time. Since Eiichi was feeling lonely too, he recounted various stories from after leaving Shirogane. With three days remaining until the wedding, they agreed to spend the time conversing together—but when night fell and it came time to sleep, Tokida became tormented. He carried door planks from there to here, exchanged ones here—claiming they had too many bedbugs—for those over there, and in the dead of night rattled the planks in pitch darkness while agonizing, "I can't sleep! I can't sleep!"

However, Tokida somehow endured for three days. And on the evening of the third day, he assumed a solemn expression, donned a frock coat from the slums, and set out for the wedding venue at Nakano-shima 2-chome North Church in Osaka. Shinmi Eiichi had a brief errand and left the slums slightly later, but when he saw Tokida at the venue—the same Tokida who had been tormented by bedbug bites the previous night—now acting with solemnity, he nearly burst out laughing at the absurd contrast.

Of course, he lacked the courage to bring his stepmother Ohisa into such circumstances. So he had said he intended to bring Ohisa to the slums at the end of May or June, but that hope was now extinguished. And so he wrote and sent a letter asking her to come to Kobe in early autumn.

With the arrival of August, Oshizu fully recovered and became able to walk on her own. Therefore, she was to go to a boarding house. And she ended up with a stevedore thirty years her senior.

August proved quite hectic for Eiichi.

He wanted to take the slum children to Suma or Akashi and solicited donations from supporters. On August 16, he took about eighty children on an outing to Akashi. That day was one of joy for Eiichi. Matsuzō was in high spirits as he looked after many children. Jinko, Toraiichi, Hanae, and Kazu-san all tumbled about joyfully along Akashi’s coast. The only trouble came from the girls bathing completely naked without any shame. Since they showed no sense of embarrassment whatsoever, Eiichi found himself utterly flustered.

The infectious diseases of August were also detestable. There was cholera at Sakamoto-ya, a boarding house in the same neighborhood—yesterday thirty-six people had been quarantined at Wada Cape; today it was typhus, with the mistress of the barbershop on the back street being sent to Higashiyama Infectious Disease Hospital—such stories were heard daily. Yet Shinmi did not fear this in the slightest. He visited Iwanuma Matsuzō’s blind mother who had been sent to the isolation hospital with cholera. He went around the two-tatami-mat rooms issuing cholera warnings. Eiichi maintained his conviction that infectious diseases did not easily spread to those who had crossed death’s threshold. Thus every day after four in the afternoon and on Sundays, he made a point to visit such afflicted households.

Shortly after Obon had passed, Uchiyama himself requested that Eiichi hold a funeral for him. It concerned the death of Otsuta the beggar’s husband—who lived just down the lane from where Eiichi stayed—after a prolonged illness; the reason given was their lack of money. So Eiichi gladly accepted this task, purchasing everything from the coffin onward, and even assisted in placing the body inside before conducting the funeral procession. From then on, Otsuta came every day, holding Uchiyama in great respect. According to Uchiyama, Otsuta had been a beauty in Shinkawa before contracting smallpox several years earlier. But now she was a hideous woman, her appearance utterly ruined, her daily occupation being to go out begging with two infants strapped to her front and back. Thus she was an unpleasant-looking woman who appeared to be around forty or fifty years old, but Uchiyama states she was twenty-four. In any case, the intimacy between Otsuta and Uchiyama that arose from the funeral was no ordinary matter. Amidst this, despite not even two weeks having passed since the previous husband’s funeral, Uchiyama asked Eiichi to hold another funeral for Otsuta. Otsuta’s baby had died. And so Eiichi, having often seen Otsuta—who begged along San'nomiya Street—carrying two babies front and back on her body, asked “Which one is yours?” to which Uchiyama explained, “There’s only one.”

“Even so, aren’t you always carrying two children on your back?” he said. “Teacher, that’s one she borrows from nearby to make the begging go smoother.” “So does Otsuta only have one child of her own?” “To tell the truth, even that one child is adopted—she took him in when they were struggling with her husband’s medicine costs,” Uchiyama replied.

And so Eiichi understood everything. Even after nine months in the slums, he found himself astonished anew at how little he truly understood them. Thus he conducted another funeral for that adopted child. Returning from Kasugano Cemetery, Otsuta came pleading desperately to join the Christian faith. As Eiichi couldn't fully comprehend her request, he summoned Uchiyama for explanation. "Teacher," came the appeal, "I beg your pardon, but couldn't you take Otsuta as a maid in your household? She's utterly alone now with nowhere left to go."

Eiichi was astonished at the brazenness of this request,

"I can't take women into my household—you already forced Oshizu on me before, which caused me no end of trouble, so I must flatly refuse Otsuta," he replied. But upon closer inquiry, it became clear that Uchiyama and Otsuta had begun living together mere days after her husband's death. And so it became clear that they were proposing to cohabit. Knowing this, he found it strange to think how someone as slow-witted as Uchiyama could have managed such swift action, but upon closer reflection, he could only conclude that they must have gotten together while Eiichi was away working at the marine insurance company.

And so Eiichi, finding no alternative, considered expelling Uchiyama. Yet when he reflected from another angle, Uchiyama served as something of a guide in slum life—should a man like him disappear, they might face untold exploitation. This made Eiichi want to forgive minor transgressions. Moreover, establishing a separate household would likely require forty or fifty yen, money Eiichi didn't have to spare. Thus he decided to lend them the house where Oshizu had lived for the couple's use. And so the number of people in the household increased further, becoming seven. And so Uchiyama and Otsuta came to use the kitchen in the adjacent room, while Emiko slept in the kitchen proper; in the connected houses—one house over from Hanae-san's residence—Eiichi, Matsuzō, Izu, and Sankō slept across two neighboring dwellings that had been knocked through.

Forty-Nine Gambling was conducted daily at the heart of the Kita-hon Rokuchōme slums. Dozens would swarm around it every day. It happened on a certain day in late August. When twenty to thirty plainclothes officers were seen loitering around the Mizuta residence, the young master of the Mizuta household and seven gamblers were caught in the act and taken to the police station. Afterwards, gambling within the slums ceased entirely for several days. But barely four days later, gambling resumed in earnest with lookouts posted at a small clearing within the warren. Not long after came word that the big boss too had been caught red-handed at the Nishinomiya gambling den.

Each time Tomita came to visit Uchiyama, he would recount in exhaustive detail the circumstances of their apprehension before leaving. After Mizuta's big boss and his son were caught, Tomita's swaggering grew erratic. He—who had never been much of a drinker—began visiting Eiichi's place while guzzling copious alcohol. Hayashi too started appearing after long absences. When Tomita and Hayashi began frequenting the place regularly, Ueki likewise showed up. They would nap before departing. Emiko—left minding the house—heard these men's stories in shock; she waited for Eiichi's return from work and repeated each account to him verbatim.

According to the stories, Satō Kiyokuma—who operated under the alias Wakayama and ran both a firewood-fee lodging house and moneylending business along the main thoroughfare of Kita-Honmachi 6-chōme—and Tomita seemed to be clashing over assuming guardianship of the Mizuta household. It appeared Wakayama's henchmen and Mizuta's underlings were headed for a major confrontation in the near future. They said Wakayama had attained his current status by relying on Mizuta's boss over a dozen years prior. Tomita contended that if Wakayama possessed even a shred of gratitude, he ought to have offered some assistance; yet under the pretense of having gone straight, Wakayama showed not the slightest concern for the Mizuta family's present misfortune—a truly disgraceful attitude.

Indeed, it was the evening of August 31st. When pistol shots were heard at Wakayama-ya, the lodging house run by Wakayama, seven or eight of Mizuta's underlings drew their swords and stormed in.

“It’s a fight!” Hundreds from the slums swarmed over in an instant. Tomita was leading Mizuta’s gang. Eiichi heard the commotion and came running, but found Tomita dead drunk, a pistol clutched in his hand. “Wakayama’s got some gall!” “Think you’re hot shit ’cause you scraped together some petty cash? Don’t get cocky!” he kept slurring. His men hacked wildly with dull blades—tatami mats, sliding doors, paper screens—nothing spared. Through the crowd ran murmurs:

“Wakayama doesn’t seem to be here—if he were, this would’ve turned real bad… But that man’s not one to lose easily either, so he probably hasn’t been beaten.”

In the midst of this, a man who appeared to be a detective entered, "Now now, quiet down! Quiet down!" he ordered. As things had somewhat calmed down, Shinmi Eiichi called out to Tomita. But Tomita was so thoroughly drunk he'd lost all awareness of his surroundings. Eiichi and Uchiyama, who happened to be present, escorted Tomita back to his house. Along the way back—swaggering triumphantly— "What's it matter? That bastard Wakayama struts around like he owns the place—so what? If he'd been home tonight, I'd have smashed his skull in!" he kept repeating.

Even after Emiko had come, Uchiyama was still handling the household accounts. But what seemed strange was that despite fluctuations in rice prices and market volatility, whenever examining the monthly payments, the price per to remained exactly the same every time. Since it had remained completely unchanged since April, Eiichi decided to inquire about it for the first time. When he did so, Uchiyama was giving a strange answer.

“Well... The rice merchants keep proper accounts—when prices drop they send good rice, when prices rise they send bad rice—and handle things leniently on their end,” he explained. When Eiichi himself went to inquire at the rice shop, they gave the same explanation as Uchiyama. The only oddity was that the passbook’s price per shō remained slightly higher than the day’s market rate. When he pressed them about this discrepancy, they replied that they had added one month’s interest to the passbook. Eiichi grew deeply troubled upon hearing this. It was August’s final day when Ueki happened to visit and laid everything bare—from Uchiyama’s dealings with Otsuta to the commissions taken at the rice shop.

With that, Eiichi came to understand and decided to part ways with Uchiyama. Eiichi gave Uchiyama ten yen—knowing he had saved up about twenty yen in commissions—and arranged for him to establish his own household. Therefore, Emiko was put in charge of all accounting. Emiko labored gladly for Eiichi’s sake. Yet she always seemed despondent, and Eiichi struggled to discern why this was so. Thus one evening after September began, he questioned her about it. But Emiko gave no answer when suddenly a man claiming to be a monk from Taiwan came calling. He spoke to Emiko with undue familiarity. As dusk fell, the two departed. Eiichi found it unbearably suspicious. So Eiichi inquired who this person was.

That mysterious monk began visiting every two or three days without fail. Each time, Emiko would go out. Eiichi found this utterly perplexing. Compared to Emiko's childlike demeanor, the monk was a man in his mid-thirties with a cunning face that suggested hidden depths. Though Eiichi pitied her, he pressed her about the nature of her relationship with this man. Then Emiko finally confessed. She admitted there had been relations between her and the monk—that because her husband was a hunchback incapable of fathering children, she had become pregnant by this man, only to miscarry the child that spring.

“Did you have an abortion?” he asked. “No, it wasn’t like that,” she answered in a clouded voice, but offered nothing more. However, pressing further with questions was something Eiichi could not endure. Eiichi found himself utterly sympathizing with his sister. And he was frightened as if he himself were that very sinner. Sinking into solitary thought, he sat down in the kitchen garden and wept. Emiko also wept. Eiichi worried that no further disturbances should befall the anguished Emiko, fretting over various possibilities. The man referred to as that monk came to visit Emiko frequently. And finally, Emiko turned to Eiichi and,

“I am a wicked person, and since I cannot continue to impose on you, Brother, I will go away somewhere,” she declared.

These words were more painful to Eiichi than parting with his father.

And on the day when autumn winds first began to blow—with just three days remaining in September—Emiko left the house, disregarding Eiichi's attempts to restrain her. She neither revealed her destination nor mentioned joining that man, only repeating: "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused—since I can no longer face you, Brother—I must go somewhere." Eiichi found himself powerless to detain her. Had she spoken of suicide, he might have intervened with genuine concern, but her simple declaration of departure left him no grounds for action.

Emiko left the slums after breakfast; though he had many questions to ask, she insisted on leaving right away. With a cloth bundle in hand, Emiko vanished westward down the slum alley. Had it been a child's soul, he might have tried to tie it down, but a grown soul could not be tethered.

Emiko, stay well. May God protect you—the words rose to his lips unspoken—but watching her retreating figure, Eiichi simply wept.

“You know, that person’s someone who’s seen a ghost...” Oshin said, tending the fire beneath the stove as she looked at Omasa. Oshin was the wife of Okuyama Renzō, a sanitation worker at the city office, and appeared to be around forty-two or forty-three years old. She was an ugly woman with thick hair and smallpox scars that left her blind in one eye, yet known as the sharpest character in the neighborhood. On days when her health permitted, this candy seller would daub white powder over her pockmarks, balance a washbasin-like tray filled with sweets on her head, and stand at crossroads where children gathered, beating a small drum while singing “Hana wa yoi, yoi...” to peddle her wares. That her husband had once worked as a crematorium laborer perhaps explained her somewhat harsh demeanor. She was a talkative woman who had cornered Omasa from Kenka-yasu’s household and was gossiping about Ojū’s Inari exorcism rituals. Eiichi, intending to evangelize, had visited Oshin after returning from the company. Oshin’s house was located on a back alley behind Eiichi’s place, across from Kenka-yasu.

The autumn sun still lingered in the slum alleyways, with yellowish evening light remaining beneath the eaves. All of Oshin’s children were out in the street making a commotion. Omasa carried a newborn child on her back and held takuan pickles wrapped in newspaper. Seeing Shinmi sitting in Oshin’s house, she greeted him, but Oshin—who had been looking under the stove—insisted on stopping them. As their conversation shifted from neighborhood gossip to religious matters, it turned to talk of Ojū, the hairdresser’s wife on the same block who performed Inari spirit possession rituals and was very close with Oshin. Thus wanting Eiichi to hear everything she knew, Oshin was speaking indirectly through Omasa.

Omasa remained leaning against the entrance pillar, staring at the well across the way as she nodded along. “That’s right… She’s quite the eccentric one, ain’t she?”

Oshin scooped embers from beneath the stove with a fire shovel and transferred them into the filthy long brazier in the front room—already overflowing with matchstick scraps and cigarette butts—while... “Well now, but ain’t it somethin’ she keeps such a youthful spirit at her age? Even though she’s eleven or twelve years older than Mr. Shigezō there.” Eiichi knew Ojū well. Every night, she chanted "Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō" while beating a drum so vigorously that all the neighbors were greatly troubled.

Oshin picked up her long tobacco pipe and began smoking while chattering away. Omasa gradually came over to the side of the brazier and sat down beside Eiichi. “Truth be told, she’s still too youthful at heart… Though considerin’… those nightly quarrels don’t seem like ordinary marital spats… Looks like she can’t rest ’less she drags Shige-san along wherever she goes." “Ain’t those nightly fights all ’bout jealousy, Ms. Oshin?!” Oshin blew smoke through her nose while,

“Well… With that fiery spirit of hers, they say she’s gone through five men already—ain’t that something!” Eiichi stared at the red and yellow match labels pasted on the wall while silently listening to the two women’s story. “Oh, is that so? So she’s really gone through five men already?” “You mean you don’t know? And here you’ve been so close with Ojū-san! When she was sixteen down in Osaka, she had some man’s child… Then she got married once and bore two girls… You know those girls—there’s one who comes around here often… Now workin’ as a waitress or hostess somewhere—that’s her younger daughter…”

The tattoo on Oshin's upper arm caught Eiichi's eye. Omasa remained utterly engrossed in the conversation...

“That’s right, that’s right… That tall, round-faced, somewhat pretty one?” “That one’s from her first marriage, they say. The elder sister’s workin’ as a prostitute or somethin’ down in Yokohama… Then in that household—on account of the husband keepin’ another woman or whatnot—she was either kicked out or left on her own, and this time, well, became a second wife who got herself tied to that house where she saw the ghost—ain’t that right?” “That so? When she went there later?” “You mean that ghost she saw?”

Eiichi, finding the story so intriguing, was inadvertently drawn in, "Oshin-san, did that Inari spirit medium Auntie Ojū really see a ghost?" he asked. From outside came a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy who'd been babysitting, returning with a wailing child to nurse. Oshin-san scooped up the nursing baby and kept talking animatedly while feeding it milk. Steam hissed from the rice pot—whether done cooking or not—but Oshin-san kept right on spinning her tale, pretending not to notice.

“Well, they say when the first wife was dyin’, she called her husband and made him promise not to take another wife right after her death—but he went and brought in Ojū-san anyway, didn’t he? So then, startin’ from the seventh day after the weddin’, they say the ghost of his first wife came to haunt his dreams every single night—’”

Because the steam was rising too vigorously, she went to the front of the stove still holding the child, stoking the fire while continuing her story... “Well then, after that, they say that person went clean out of her mind—runnin’ through the streets in broad daylight shoutin’ ‘Ghost! Ghost!’” “So the household decided this was no ordinary matter—to help the first wife find peace, they resolved to chant ‘Namu Amida Butsu’ ten thousand times. Relatives and neighbors all came together to hold an all-night vigil before the Buddhist altar, chantin’ ‘Namu Amida Butsu.’ Then right at midnight, Ojū-san suddenly went ‘Unn—’ and collapsed dead away. After that came a huge commotion—callin’ doctors, nursin’ her—until finally she could speak again, and when they asked what happened—”

“A ghost came out of the Buddhist altar, kicked me, and went off somewhere—” or so she apparently said. "But since that happened, she went right back home—and then, as Ojū-san often says, she ended up becoming the priest’s mistress, or so she said.’" “Hmm… So she became Shige’s wife after that?” “And the priest’s mistress didn’t last long either—three and a half years ago, she ended up with the current hairdresser, didn’t she!”

Eiichi felt as though hearing the story of the Samaritan woman through this colorful exchange between the two women, though such tales were hardly rare in the slums. Yet Eiichi's interest stemmed from another reason altogether. This was because Ojū's current husband—the hairdresser Motoki Shigezō, a twenty-two-year-old left aged beyond his years by smallpox—had previously come to consult him about legal procedures for legitimizing their child's birth registration. During that visit, Shigezō had confessed his growing fascination with Christianity and nascent spiritual seeking, lamenting how his wife remained obstinately devoted to Inari shrines and Fudō Myō-ō worshipers' gatherings, forbidding his conversion—words that had lodged themselves in Eiichi's memory. Oshin and Ojū had forged their sisterhood through blood vows after descending into Shinkawa's depths, joining five or six other women from Azuma-dori Sixth District who bore matching tattoos on their right forearms—gathering periodically to drink cheap liquor and throw dice. The character for "strength" that Eiichi had earlier glimpsed on Oshin's arm formed part of this sisterly pact.

Eiichi was then told by Oshin about the neighborhood's "midnight flight" incident. Oshin was known as this area's matriarch and carried herself with a certain swagger; she also knew the neighborhood's domestic circumstances thoroughly.

Omasa—"I should be going now to prepare dinner—we’ve been talking in this place for ages." Even after she left, Oshin went on at length about the neighborhood’s family histories. And, going round and round, After hearing countless stories worthy of slum folklore—all winding their way to the conclusion of "If your household’s overflowin’ with money like that, why not spare a little for us?"—he had listened to them all.

From then on, whenever Eiichi wanted to hear stories about the slums, he would go to Oshin’s place to listen.

Fifty

As they grew closer, Oshin’s manly spirit made her useful in many ways. Even when Kenka-yasu came rampaging in, it became Oshin’s role to take him back home. In return, Oshin also made unreasonable demands. Occasionally, when she struggled with her tanomoshi-kō mutual aid association installments, she came to borrow money. Moreover, Oshin requested that someone take care of the elderly couple she knew. And since Oshin’s husband’s job—as a city sanitation worker—wasn’t very fulfilling, the old man wanted to purchase all the cargo for the “Rao” pipe exchange that he had been handling, so he asked to borrow four or five yen. Shinmi granted all the requests.

And so, the elderly Kishimoto couple that Oshin had brought came to reside permanently with the Jesus Group. And as the mediator, Oshin too began coming to church out of gratitude, declaring, “Let me join the Jesus faith too—I don’t understand a lick of it, but it’s a good teachin’. First off, it’s kind to folks.” Oshin dragged Motoki Shigezō the hairdresser along as well. And so the small church suddenly became lively. The hairdresser could read hiragana fluently, and so he earnestly read the New Testament and found it impressive.

And he was telling Eiichi each and every thing he found impressive— “First off, what amazes me is how Mary—without any husband—conceived a child through the power of the heavenly God… Such things must surely be possible for an almighty God.” “My Ojū also uttered such things.” “‘If you concentrate your spirit,’ she said, ‘you can bear a child without a man.’” “Her third son—they say he died at four—was apparently born when Ojū was most devoted to her faith. According to her tellin’, he came into this world without bein’ with a man.” “I’d thought it was some kinda lie,” he said, “but when I look at the Gospel of Matthew, turns out a child really can be born without a man, I tell you.” “When I hear what Ojū says, Mary’s case somehow seems true too, see—”

“And then, what’s amazin’ is how when Lord Jesus lays His hands on folks, the dead come back to life and the sick get healed… My wife’s offered up plenty of prayers herself and cured many a sick person… I tell you, such things do happen… Illness is all in the mind, see—so prayers’ power can surely heal it— “Another thing that amazes me is how Lord Jesus was crucified, died once, then came back to life—wouldn’t’ve been much of a god if He couldn’t do that—but Teacher, when He came outta that tomb… wasn’t that just a ghost? If it was a ghost, our Ojū’s seen plenty of those too, I tell ya. “In any case, Lord Jesus is truly an exalted one, I tell ya—”

Eiichi was somewhat taken aback by how easily Motoki had dismissed the story of Jesus. In contrast to the hairdresser being a miracle enthusiast, Oshin—being illiterate—could not read the Bible and simply could not comprehend the concept of an "invisible God"— “Teacher, let’s pray with our eyes squeezed shut.” “Then in the pitch darkness, a piercingly bright cloud appears, and within it comes something like Amida Buddha—would that be God? But for me, God just won’t show Himself plain to my eyes no matter what,” he said.

Eiichi had to seize upon these people and preach the Gospel of Jesus. Therefore, Eiichi first thought to meet Ojū-san, who was providing significant religious motivation to the hairdresser.

Ojū-san’s meeting place was far more flourishing than Shinmi’s church. Though merely a single five-mat row house in the alley behind Eiichi’s residence, thirty-six people of all ages had crammed themselves inside completely—keeping rhythm with wooden clappers and drums while shouting “Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō” repeatedly as they worshipped Amaterasu Ōmikami. When Eiichi went to observe on the evening of October 1st, he was startled to find Shigezō—the same man who prayed to “Heavenly Father” at the Christian gatherings—beating a drum there, while Oshin clacked ritual blocks. Among those attending were both the couple from west of the hairdresser’s shop and a blind masseur. Even the daughter of moneylender Otane had come—she who’d borne an illegitimate child that spring only to let it die recently. The watching proved tedious as nothing transpired beyond ten or twenty minutes of rhythmic repetition—endless chanting of “Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō” punctuated by drumbeats and clapper strikes. Yet Eiichi kept watching patiently. Then—no sooner had the clappers stilled, drums silenced, and chants faded than Ojū-san’s hands rose upward while pressed together. Trembling her arms and murmuring “Namu Aramitsu Daimyōjin” repeatedly in a small voice, she continued until abruptly—her whole body quaking—she stood upright...

“I am the fox spirit of Nose Myōken… Ask me anything… I know everything,” she declared. Eiichi, witnessing an Inari possession ritual for the first time in his life, found himself alternating between dread and absurdity—he nearly burst into laughter—yet remained standing in the doorway’s shadow to observe. The sunset had withdrawn, leaving the roadside hushed, but the soot-blackened six-by-three shaku alcove transformed into a shrine—two thick ritual candles burning within—projected an air of solemnity.

Because Eiichi was standing there, five or six passersby on the roadside stopped. They all watched with rapt attention. When Ojū declared herself the Nose fox spirit, the blind masseur next door, Oshin, and Shigezō spontaneously exclaimed in unison: “The Nose fox has come today… How wondrous.” “Today’s divinations’ll be spot-on—” said Oasa-san the beggar woman.

The blind masseur asked. "Fox Spirit of Nose, might I inquire—how old have you become?" Eiichi thought it a foolish question, but Ojū's fox spirit remained earnest. "Me?" "I am nine hundred and seventy-five years old." The blind masseur: "Is that so? "If I may ask—I'm suffering from rheumatism. Would you heal me, please?"

“Very well, come. If I touch you, you’ll be cured immediately,” declared the fox spirit. With that, she began stroking down from the blind masseur’s shoulders to his waist. Her eyes were closed with vertical wrinkles gathered between them, her complexion pale as she wore a soiled lined kimono with a narrow obi and navy-checked apron. Yet to Eiichi, Ojū’s appearance and altered psychological state seemed no ordinary matter. The patients stepped forward one after another and had the fox spirit stroke them. No sooner had five or six people been touched than another dialogue between the patients and the fox spirit began. The daughter of the moneylender Otane was asking.

“Has my child reached the Pure Land yet…” “No—your child hasn’t reached the Pure Land yet. They’re wandering lost at the crossroads of the Six Realms.”

Upon hearing this, Ms. Otane’s daughter let out a wail and collapsed in tears there.

“Don’t cry now—there’s nothing to be done about it anymore, there now, Miss Oya-e—” Oshin comforted her. The beggar Oasa was asking about her husband’s condition. “O Fox Spirit, will the patient at my place recover?”—Oasa’s husband was, as expected, a beggar laid up with peritonitis. “No—there’s no prospect of a full recovery.” “I suppose that’s how it is…” Oasa sighed, the ritual candle swaying quietly.

And so it seemed the questioning had temporarily concluded. Everyone fell silent. When the silence had continued for two or three minutes, Oshin— “O Fox Spirit, thank you for your hard work.” Following that, two or three others also— “Thank you for your hard work.” When that happened, Ojū’s fox spirit shuddered violently, crouched down, and collapsed forward. And then they remained silent for five or six minutes. Within that silence, the group of children who had been making noise across the way came to watch.

“Ah! It’s the fox spirit! It’s the fox spirit!” the crowd clamored. Among them were Jinkou, Toraiichi, Kumazou, and even three of Kenka-yasu’s children. “Hey, Kuma! You little brats! Can’t you be quiet?!” shouted Oshin from the back. Ojū’s fox spirit remained silent. The children watched Ojū with strange eyes—

Presently, Ojū sat up straight and, while smoothing her disheveled hair... "Ladies and gentlemen, you have come to worship," she said. In response to this, the congregation replied in unison, "Thank you for your hard work."

Oshin alone was holding up a child while, “Ojū-san, after doin’ all that, it’s exhaustin’, ain’t it?” came the bluntly realistic question. “What? I don’t know nothin’ at all.” “I s’pose that’s how it is,” Oasa marveled.

The children, clamoring "The fox has gone! Let's go over there, let's go over there!," dashed off westward down the road.

Eiichi walked westward along the road, lost in quiet thought. Then he encountered Oshin’s husband pulling the neat little cart of the 'Ra' Tobacco Exchange into the roadside.

Fifty-One

Inari-sama spread like contagion. Until now, neither the sound of wooden clappers nor Nichiren chants had been heard, but even at the moneylender Otane’s house—which abutted the back of Eiichi’s kitchen—they began beating drums in competition with the barber. Two or three days prior, Inari-sama had begun descending for the first time, so Otane-san was worried. At the cart-puller’s wife’s place across from Eiichi’s larger 17-tatami house with flower-patterned mats, it was said that Inari-sama had descended, and her husband was worried. For this reason, he had once bought a beautiful Inari shrine hall, enshrined it at the entrance’s front, and hung twenty or thirty small lanterns; however, because every morning there were too many descents [of the fox spirit], and she would neglect caring for the baby while spouting strange things, he grew furious and smashed up the Inari shrine hall—purchased not even ten days prior—before burning it on the roadside.

Eiichi had not known until then that Inari-sama descended upon the wife across the street. Because she conducted her activities too quietly indoors without beating drums or wooden clappers, he had been unable to tell. However, upon hearing the circumstances, the husband said things that seemed truly worthy of sympathy. "Four or five years back, we had this big ruckus 'bout Inari-sama comin' down, so we burned that shrine right quick an' moved... My woman's got awful hysterics, see... So these past four-five years, Inari-sama stayed away... But lately with all that drummin' nearby—well t'other day, she claims she saw foxes 'n raccoon dogs visitin' the barber's wife out back, an' since that day she's been actin' mighty strange... They say our fox's from Tsutsui... Once a fox takes hold, there's no shakin' it—she just wanders all day without doin' a lick o' work."

Inari-sama's hall had already burned down. There, the wife came out wearing an unperturbed expression.

“Hey! I’ve already burned down the Inari shrine hall! You need to drive out that fox spirit right now!”

The wife remained silent, smiling. This woman was a rare gentle spouse in the slums—a tall thirty-year-old with a face speckled with moles. "Jesus is truly grand—it's just as well Mr. Kenken don't come around no more," the husband told Eiichi. The Inari-sama craze wasn't confined to Kitamotomachi's slums. In Azumadori Street and Higuredori Street too, drums throbbed while Inari-oroshi performed their strange rites.

The newspaper reported that Kobe Police Station had also cracked down on 'Inari-oroshi,' imposing fines on over fifty individuals.

When one went to Tsutsui Village, a large red Inari torii gate stood before the tenement houses on Ōdōri Street. Eiichi found himself more than a little astonished at this resurgence of Inari worship.

Fifty-Two

Even in the slums, Eiichi remained unexpectedly carefree—when encountering listless individuals, he would study idlers; when standing before a clog shop's entrance, he would research the philosophy of aged clog makers. When making his rounds through two-tatami tenements, he would immediately contemplate Diogenes' Cynic philosophy. Within less than a year of dwelling in the slums, Eiichi had gained such thorough understanding of its residents that he compiled in his notebook a list of approximately eighty idlers—men and women combined. 1. Beginning with Sakurai, beneath each name he recorded degrees of indolence, followed by household types, causes of laziness, ages, health conditions, and other particulars.

In the back of his notebook on idler research, he had also written the following under the title *The Philosophy of Old Clogs*. “Men’s geta are eight sun in length. Women’s geta are seven sun. When using logs: seven sun five bu. Hiyori geta are drilled with seven-bu holes at a height of one sun two bu. Additionally, a five-bu thickness is visible from the side. The width should be as broad as possible, but the tooth ranges from three sun two bu to three sun eight bu. The thickness of the 'hama' on rainy-day tall geta ranges from two bu to two and a half bu. The Japanese people stand upon this two-bu hama. The height of tall geta ranges from 2 sun 7-8 bu for women to 3 sun for men. The Japanese people—even if they play at being hermits with their tall geta—can only transcend three sun above the earth—”

Moreover, Eiichi was an admirer of the two-tatami lifestyle. If one were single, he believed humans had no need for houses larger than two tatami mats. Therefore, he liked visiting the Cat Granny’s two-tatami room downstairs more than anything. Therefore, even when seven or eight people had to sleep in three five-tatami rooms, he never felt dissatisfied. Slum life was utterly fascinating. Yet whenever he returned from Motomachi in the evening and entered the slums, he always felt slight nausea, which he found painful. However, since Eiichi treated slum life as a kind of diversion—considering even this another form of amusement—he didn’t feel particularly unpleasant about it.

There was never a moment to feel lonely in the slums. Problems kept arising one after another to such an extent that all introspection and meditation had to be forgotten. Moreover, because the surrounding circumstances were too miserable, he was not afforded the leisure to become lost in thought. Yet whenever there was an opportunity to laugh, he would always join in laughing together with everyone. He came to understand laughter's true vocation for the first time since arriving in the slums. Laughter was God's precious safety valve. The poor would sometimes force themselves to laugh even when overwhelmed by sorrow that demanded tears. And so Eiichi laughed together with them. In the two-tatami room downstairs, none laughed more than Haru the beggar woman. She served as mistress to the tin shop owner out front while begging—plump, devoid of any beggar's stench, ever ready with laughter.

“Hey, Teacher! Crying ain’t no use, see? You’re always smilin’ away yourself! If seein’ things off with laughter’s a lifetime, an’ seein’ ’em off with tears’s a lifetime too, then not laughin’s just wastin’ your life!” “Laughter brings good fortune, don’t it, Teacher?” she laughed.

For those who were healthy, even while living in the slums, they could laugh fully. And in the slums—liberated from material concerns and vanity—there existed a laughter that was utterly naked: the most human and most physical kind. Eiichi was surprised to see how frequently the slum dwellers laughed. Contrary to the middle class where sullen faces abounded, the slums surprisingly contained many grinning faces. And it was precisely such people who proved easiest to feel close to. Eiichi had made many friends in the slums, but those he could never approach were the Haneda family, whose house stood sandwiched between his own two dwellings.

He hadn't fully grasped how tragic this family was until recently, but with their frequent sibling quarrels, he realized a demon dwelled within this household. Haneda-san had two older brothers and two older sisters. The eldest had become an actor and gone to Osaka, never returning. The next brother was nineteen this year and worked at the Match Company. The eldest sister was a one-eyed woman of thirty-one or thirty-two - an unfortunate soul who had married the son of a cheap lodging house owner. Her husband had tuberculosis and had been bedridden in one of the lodging rooms for years. To support him, she worked at the Match Company herself, but phosphorus exposure had rotted her lower jaw away, leaving all her front teeth gone. Between this tuberculosis patient and his one-eyed wife lay their six-year-old child - blind and afflicted with rickets. They said blindness came from poison entering the eyes during birth, while the rickets resulted from being dropped while carried on someone's back. To compound matters, the child was both mute and deaf, creating a sight too pitiful to bear.

Therefore, Haneda's daily task became carrying this six-year-old child on her back all day long and caring for him. The next eldest sister was a woman with a passably attractive face, whom a man named Tsuchida—showing slight signs of madness—had come to love. She bore dignified features, having once been the wife of a Yamato Kōriyama samurai retainer. Both the mother and Katsunosuke, her nineteen-year-old younger brother, vehemently opposed this relationship between Tsuchida and the second daughter. Thus Katsunosuke and the second daughter continued to clash.

When Eiichi saw the Hide that Haneda-san shouldered on her back, he felt as though he had come face to face with hell itself. This child would sleep through the day only to shriek unnatural cries at midnight, keeping everyone awake all night long. A night or two might have been bearable, but this dragged on for months. The family could be heard grumbling endlessly: "We can't sleep, we can't sleep." "It'd be better to kill that brat now, Sis... Want me to do it? Hey, Hide!" Katsunosuke's voice railing at the child became a regular midnight occurrence.

Then Sis would reply, “Really now, Katsuan—I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to end it all myself. But this too is karmic retribution from a past life. Please bear with me...” However, this older sister was a truly admirable person—through nearly ten years of marriage, while her husband had lain bedridden with tuberculosis for eight or nine years, she had nursed him with her own thin arms and raised their disabled child up to this very day. She was always silent, and every time Eiichi saw her, he was naturally struck by a solemn feeling as if oppressed by something.

However, for some reason, that family remained indifferent to Christianity. Even when Haneda-san came daily like clockwork, the woman serving as mother never once entered Eiichi's house—on the contrary, Eiichi would often go into the neighboring house himself to hear about their circumstances. Then in early October, her consumptive husband finally passed away. And shortly after that funeral concluded, the eldest daughter and her disabled child both took to their beds. When they had a doctor examine her, he diagnosed pulmonary tuberculosis. At the same time came divorce proceedings from the cheap lodging house, leaving the tubercular mother and child to stay at Haneda-san's house. Yet it proved impossible for six family members to be sustained by a seventeen-year-old youth and a younger sister earning only thirty sen a day. Driven to desperation, they came to Eiichi begging for medicine—but only after the patient had lain bedridden five days. The messenger was Katsunosuke.

Katsunosuke spoke in a tone as if addressing a friend—casually and rapidly— “Teacher, sorry to bother ya, but my sister’s lungs are real bad. Could ya spare some medicine? I’m beggin’ ya,” he said.

Eiichi readily accepted it. And he told them to summon Dr. Maeda of Yakumo-dori.

Thereafter, the patient's condition grew increasingly critical day by day, and the doctor pronounced it hopeless. However, the family members did not seem to regard it as anything particularly significant. At least Katsunosuke, “It’d be a mercy if they died quick! For one sickly soul, six of us’ll starve to death otherwise!” If you thought this was only Katsunosuke, even the mother and Haneda-san were all saying the same thing. Now, were they neglecting the patient’s care? It wasn’t necessarily so. They were providing attentive care, yet from the mouths of this six-person family suffering under financial hardship, such desperate words would inevitably spill out.

Eiichi earnestly comforted the family. He handed three yen, then five yen to the mother, urging her to care for the patient properly as he comforted them. The patient shed tears upon learning of this. Yet the patient never spoke a single word to Eiichi. Since it was tuberculosis, Eiichi felt particular sympathy, but the neighboring patient's illness did not last long before death. Around the seventh day, flesh began passing from the intestines; around 4 AM on the fourteenth day, they departed this world forever. With no money for the funeral, Eiichi contributed another eight yen.

However, the child still lived comparatively long. Every day Haneda-san would carry on her back this sickly, rickets-ridden child who resembled a corpse, having the stray hairs at her nape torn out by the child writhing in agony against her back. The compassion Eiichi showed this family led them to draw near to him as someone more dependable than their own relatives. From then on Katsunosuke in particular began visiting nearly every night, and even came to join him in street preaching.

Fifty-Three

From around this time, many young men began gathering at Eiichi’s place. The first young man to come was a good youth named Takeda. This young man had been guided during the time when the May rains were falling. Late at night, there came a fortune-teller—a fiftyish man with an impressive mustache—who requested that they teach Christianity to the children. That fortune-teller was an extreme eccentric who practiced his craft in Kobe’s Minatogawa Shinkaichi district, but whenever he encountered someone mentally anguished,

It was said he would always advise people: "That mental affliction of yours won't be cured unless you go west from this lower crossroads past five or six houses to the Christian mission hall there..." His sister being a believer, he himself had deeply studied and come to faith in Jesus Christ; particularly believing that present-day young men needed a Jesus-like spirit, he would urge this upon everyone he met. Yet somehow he couldn't persuade his own child, so he earnestly entreated them to teach the Bible to the youths.

Therefore, whenever Eiichi returned from the insurance company and had free time, he would go to a very small factory in Higurashi-dori 4-chome—five or six blocks from the slums—where young men had banded together to create a shell button workshop, and speak about Christianity. There, centered around Takeda and his friend Yamamoto, nine people labored in total: Asai, Motoyama, Kubo, Sasai, Enomoto, Inoue, and Takeda’s younger brother. Most of the youths were nineteen years old; only Enomoto and Inoue were fourteen or fifteen. Though engaged in manufacturing shell buttons, whenever Eiichi visited, they would coat their faces in shell powder like white makeup and do nothing but guffaw, showing no interest in hearing about Christianity.

However, after going two or three times, they came to sing one or two hymns. However, none developed such fervent seeking as to come to the slum church.

However, when autumn began, Takeda was the very first to come. Takeda, who had shaved his head bald and grown quite plump, began coming to listen to sermons while still wearing his short workman’s coat. He had attended Sunday school as a child and had a solid understanding of Christianity.

Even when Takeda began coming, the other youths hardly came at all. However, upon hearing that Katsu—Haneda-san’s immediate older brother—was going to church, three or four people began attending as well. Therefore, the small chapel in the row house—unlike its previous gatherings of elderly parishioners and Bible-illiterate scavengers—had somehow come alive with vitality. For Eiichi, this was supremely delightful.

Then on the evening of October 18, a tofu shop owner—discredited due to heavy drinking and dissolute habits—who had set out to commit suicide heard Shinmi's street preaching and underwent a conversion. As he began regularly attending the Jesus Group, the church suddenly grew lively. This tofu shop owner went by the name Machida Yosaburo; he had stabbed people eight times, been stabbed thirteen times, and in the end had an eye gouged out, leaving him half-blind. He had changed wives seven times and careers dozens over—so it was said—making him intimately acquainted with life’s bitter hardships. A refreshingly eloquent man, he began preaching at street corners the very day after his conversion—his talks were so engaging that from among the listeners...

“Tofu man, keep going a bit more!” became a frequent request. The relationship between the middle-aged tofu seller and the youths developed in an engaging manner. The youths liked the tofu seller and often listened to his reminiscences and critiques of society. Especially since the tofu seller had experience dealing in stocks up until then, he would speak naively about stock traders’ psychological states, so whenever a sermon ended, they would invariably gather around him and engage in casual conversation. As youths began gathering in the slums, a new problem arose for Shinmi. It was a labor problem centered around the youths. All the youths who gathered at Eiichi’s place were well acquainted with the conditions of the nearby factories. Katsunosuke was a worker at a match company. Motoyama, who came together with Takeda, was now engaged in manufacturing shell buttons, but until just two or three months prior, he had commuted for over three years to Japan’s leading Pacific Rubber Company.

Additionally, Asai had been commuting to the Premier Bicycle Company, so he was well-informed about those circumstances. Among these, the accounts of the match company and the rubber company appeared to be the most cruel. However, even so, the people waiting every morning before Pacific to be hired were not fifty or sixty—even when only one person could be admitted, nearly a hundred would stand waiting at the gate. And even when they struggled desperately to get hired, the work proved unbearable within two days; though most fled before enduring a week, if they ran away within that week they received none of their daily wages, for at hiring they were made to stamp seals on contracts stating they'd forfeit pay if quitting within seven days—so there was nothing to be done.

Eiichi realized that no matter how much he tried to save the slums through such means, it would all be futile unless those brutal practices were fundamentally addressed. To move toward that goal, he began devising various strategies. Therefore, Shinmi passionately emphasized to the youths the necessity of labor unions. Yet time passed without any real opportunity to form such unions being granted. Meanwhile, far more than five or ten impoverished souls came to depend on Eiichi. Among them was a man with an imposing jawline beard who mimicked Buddhist monks, wandering through town to collect alms. This man—well acquainted with Uchiyama—joined the Jesus Group and spent his days whittling bamboo 'ear picks'. In the slums, they called him "Beard". "Beard" brought his gardener friend Toda to the church. This gardener—already father to four children—had originally worked as a construction assistant before taking up gardening as a sideline; during summers he would venture into mountains to gather alpine plants and hang them at Sannomiya Shrine's night market.

When October neared its end, many came seeking relief due to the economic depression. Among them was a man called Ichikō "the Wandering Ballad". This was a man who had beaten his common-law wife to death with a pillow—corpulent in build yet bearing an ashen complexion. Having come pleading for help because syphilitic rheumatism left him immobile, Eiichi decided to take him in. At the same October's end arrived a man—the young master of a Nagasaki brothel who had served as a police kendo instructor—claiming he too needed travel funds for lack of work. Then one week later, after they'd come to rely on that brothel master Yanase, a hulking man named Tobita—six feet tall and formerly a police officer in Taiwan—came to join the Jesus Group. Thus the household suddenly numbered ten: Eiichi, the elderly Kishimoto couple, Matsuzō, Izu, Sankō, Beard, Ichikō "the Wandering Ballad", and two policemen.

Grandfather Kishimoto was fastidious, with a habit of waking at four every morning to cook rice, then returning to bed around five, only to start clattering about again when everyone else rose. Grandfather Kishimoto’s fastidiousness manifested itself in his wiping of the entrance threshold. Of course he kept the house tidy, but he wiped the dirt-covered threshold three or four times a day until it peeled white from being scrubbed, to such an extent that it became a topic of neighborhood gossip.

Matsuzō was attending elementary school. As he was both in one of the larger classes and the ringleader of mischief, he was often ordered by his teacher to stay after school. Moreover, since Matsuzō was frequently hauled off to the police box, each time Eiichi would bellow at him. Grandmother Kishimoto observed that Eiichi only raised his voice when preaching or reprimanding Matsuzō. Matsuzō never felt properly chastised when spoken to quietly—(in slums where all voices carried)—so they would deliberately strain their throats to produce thunderous rebukes. Matsuzō had once told Shinmi, “The scoldin’ ain’t scary—it’s that big voice o’ yours rattlin’ my bones!”

The two policemen commuted daily to Premier's rim buffing (polishing). Eiichi had grown accustomed to the slums. Thus he ceased finding them remarkable. And he perceived his disposition gradually coarsening. He grew so inured that he now casually called "Matsuzō-san" simply "Matsu," and when scolding Ichikō the Wandering Ballad, bluntly used "Ichi" instead of "Ichan."

Eiichi feared this—he despised himself for his innermost thoughts of acting high and mighty because he was the most prominent figure in the slums, the one with money, a full-fledged human being. However, the longer he stayed in the slums, the more he realized he was developing neurasthenia and growing increasingly arrogant. Even so, since taking a vacation proved impossible, he too had become worn down. He knew that having excessive work and feeling constantly rushed contributed to this state. In the slums, maintaining strict punctuality was impossible. To attempt it meant acting impatiently. Therefore, I had to become someone with absolutely nothing to do.

The slum dwellers and youths of the Jesus Group all seemed determined to keep Shinmi talking as long as they could, but if he humored them all, there'd be no time left for reading or contemplation. So whenever he'd blurt out "I'll take my leave," they'd retort "Teacher acts just like some Westerner," leaving him feeling strangely severed from both paupers and young believers alike. The Shinkawa folk—who approached every matter with unhurried deliberation, who'd plant themselves for hours demanding you slowly repeat the same points until they felt properly heard—detested how Eiichi would grasp just the gist and snap "I understand." "The teacher's got ants in his pants," some started muttering.

Eiichi considered stopping that, but doing so would mean abandoning the nourishment for his self-cultivation—reading. Eiichi was conflicted by this. Eiichi seemed to have nearly forgotten sexual desire—masturbation—for close to a year. One reason was that he secretly believed this stemmed from both his lack of opportunity to approach beautiful women and his inability to perform miracles; thus, he was living ascetically in order to manifest miraculous abilities. The vigor that surged through him felt strange even to himself. On a vegetarian diet—well, to think I still have such stamina—I marveled at myself.

Thus, apart from the fact that I often displayed an arrogant attitude, I had a mind so clear that I considered myself almost like an inanimate object or a withered tree. Eiichi seemed to have forgotten everything of the past. I considered myself as transparent as a silkworm spinning silk. Thus, I considered myself a hermit who had descended into the slums by my own will. My mind was so clear that I even considered whether, if by some chance, I might ascend to the heavens in broad daylight through the power of ninjutsu. However, I did not even consider wanting to ascend to the heavens in broad daylight. Death was, of course, not something frightening to Eiichi. Eiichi had come to believe—he knew not why—that swords could not cut his body. Therefore, whenever a fight broke out, he would immediately jump in to mediate. And whenever Eiichi appeared, no matter how massive the brawl, everyone would cease fighting out of respect for his presence.

It was around this time. Shinoda suddenly came to visit. The reason Shinoda invited Eiichi out by saying he would treat him to a feast at Suwayama’s Higashi Tokiwa—a first-class restaurant in Kobe—while flaunting his status as a nouveau riche was that Eiichi, being in a period where he desired some change, followed along. Shinoda said to Eiichi, “I caused you various troubles in the past, but since I’ve succeeded with my farm in Korea, I’d like to make a small contribution to your work as thanks,” and handed him 300 yen, combining it with the 100 yen he had borrowed some time before. Eiichi merely,

"Thank you," he said as he accepted it. Shinoda, because Eiichi had accepted it so readily, "You're awfully direct." When Shinoda said this, Eiichi, "If I use it, the money will come alive—so whether it's two hundred yen or three hundred yen, I'll put it to work for you," he answered plainly.

The room was a spacious ten-mat space with a fine view overlooking Kobe. Various delicacies were served. "Mr. Shinmi, shall I call Kohide?" Shinoda abruptly asked. "Spare me that, I beg you," he replied. "This'll be amusing—I'll summon Kohide and watch you squirm," Shinoda declared, delighting in Eiichi's discomfort as he dashed toward the telephone. His corpulent frame—seemingly ready to burst—thudded heavily down the corridor before disappearing.

The city of Kobe quietly faded into the evening dusk. The autumn evening air held an inexplicable clarity, and the streetlights glowed with crystalline purity. Below his eyes spread the Fukiai Shinkawa slums; from the port under construction came the great Kawasaki cranes, and further beyond in the Hyogo direction stood the Mitsubishi Shipyard and Kanebo’s smokestacks. Rounding Cape Wada, one could see Takatori Suma.

Shinoda returned down the corridor again.

“She’s coming—Kohide! When I told her you were here, she said, ‘Well now, that’s a rare occasion!’” As for how Shinoda knew about Eiichi’s past with Kohide—he had recently returned from Korea and heard about it when visiting her there. Eiichi felt as though a needle had pierced an old scar. Shinoda rambled about various money-making schemes. Eiichi listened to each one. “Wouldn’t you care to join me in business?” said Shinoda.

“How dull!” he answered curtly. “There’s no helping someone as selfless as you.” “It’s not that I’m without desire—it’s that my desires are too vast.” “You know, that might truly be the case.” Then the feast arrived, but when Eiichi declared “I keep vegetarian,” Shinoda faltered. The middle-aged serving woman mocked Eiichi by calling him a monk. “Then of course you won’t drink?” “Ah, I won’t drink,” replied Shinmi.

“You’re so stiff.” “No—I don’t want to eat or drink anything at all. Being with poor children brings me more joy than anything.” After this exchange, Shinoda continued teasing Eiichi in various ways; having made Shinmi drink cider, he himself started on the wine. “I don’t get too fat when I drink either, you know,” he said, taking a sip.

Eiichi didn't say anything particularly sermon-like. The view being fine made the rice taste sweet, and he kept eating while repeating, "Sweet, sweet." Shinoda suddenly blurted out: "Do you think Kohide is beautiful?" "I do think she's beautiful." "Then you're not dead wood after all." "I'm not dead wood..." "Kohide told me about your heartbreak." "Huh? Kohide did? My...?" "She said she fell for that heartbreak story of yours." "Please stop teasing me... I'm different now from who I was before—a practitioner of Christianity. For now, I've forgotten both love and carnal desires."

“Then would you refuse if Kohide proposed to become your wife? …Or rather, do you even have the right to refuse that?” “Please don’t concern yourself—I have the right to remain unloved.” Having said that, Eiichi fell silent. So Shinoda also fell silent. That silence continued for a while. Eiichi's face clouded over. The room was truly quiet. He loved that quietness beyond measure. Having lived from morning till night amidst the clamor of the slums and the insurance company, he had often thought how blissful it would be if he could remain silent in such a quiet place as this. Now that his friend’s kindness allowed him to remain quiet even for a short while, he wanted to stay silent for as long as possible.

Two minutes, three minutes, five minutes—the silence continued. Shinmi remained silent to such an extent that one might think Shinoda would grow angry. And with a mind as blank as white paper—thinking nothing, seeing nothing—he simply breathed quietly. Being quiet was good. Eiichi neither tried to eat nor drink anything, simply remaining still. The serving woman too had stayed silent from the beginning, but finding their stillness excessive,

“You gentlemen didn’t come all this way just to sit here like this, did you? C’mon now, liven things up a bit for me, won’t ya?”

“No need to worry. A beauty’s coming soon—once she arrives, this gentleman here’ll crack a smile or two.” Eiichi laughed casually.

In the midst of this, Kohide’s voice sounded in the corridor. She was talking with the attendant about something. “There she comes, Mr. Shinmi! The woman who’s been longing for you is here!”

The serving woman ran up to the shoji and slid it open,

“Good day to you,” she greeted. Kohide placed her hands on the threshold, "I'm sorry to be late," she apologized, approached the two men, then bowed respectfully once more. Kohide, with her hair styled in a Shimada coiffure drawn tightly back from the temples, wearing a silk kimono adorned with bold hem patterns, her beautiful eyes wide and clear, looked even more radiant today. Eiichi felt that under these circumstances, the corruption of men was only natural. As soon as Kohide sat between the two men, she poured wine into Shinoda’s glass,

“Mr. Shinmi, it’s been a while ain’t it? How many years now, I wonder?” “Can’t recall—I’ve forgotten.” “You’ve gone awful haggard lately—how’ve you been keeping yourself?” Shinoda cut in: “He’s entered the slums—the actual slums! Went to visit him there today myself—cruelest place you ever saw." “Oughta go see for yourself—proper education that’d be…… And here’s Mr.Shinmi living right among those paupers tending to ’em—can’t fathom how he manages it at all.”

“Well—I’ve occasionally heard about the rumors from someone at the newspaper—but in that case, might I trouble you to let me see it just once? Would it be all right if I went there, Mr. Shinmi—even for someone like me?” “But dressed like that, you can’t go.” “Of course I won’t go dressed like this. I’ll go in my everyday clothes—I want to see.” “If you go, they’ll get defiled, I tell you.” “Mr. Shinoda, please stop that—right? You don’t mind, do you, Mr. Shinmi?”

“Oh, go ahead and come!”

“Oh?” “Mr. Shinmi doesn’t drink alcohol, eat fish, or touch meat—yet women alone are permissible? What a peculiar ascetic you are!—” “Oh? So you don’t drink alcohol or eat fish either, Mr. Shinmi?” “My! You’ve changed so drastically of late.” “He’s turned Christian!” “I had heard as much.” “They say you’ve been holding street sermons in Motomachi too.” “...But how profoundly you’ve transformed.”

“Well, I haven’t really changed...” “What became of that person?” “Who is ‘that person’?” “Why, that person! Mr. Shinmi, don’t play dumb!” When she said this, Kohide looked bashful, her face flushing crimson in an instant. “The one from Hiroshima?” “Oh... What became of that person?” “It didn’t work out.” “Is that woman still in Hiroshima?”

“Well—she’s probably gone into the countryside of Tokushima and become an elementary school teacher—but since there’s been no word at all, I really don’t know.” “Kohide, right there—I was just talking about how you said you wanted to go to Mr.Shinmi’s place.” “Hoho, is that so? That’s very kind of you.” “You were serious, weren’t you—when you said that the other day?” “Oh, ohohoho…” “Why don’t you try making a direct proposal today?”

“You can’t be serious?” “So you were lying the other day, weren’t you?” “But Mr. Shinmi, there’s no reason you’d make someone like me your bride, right…?” “That’s not true—just try making the proposal.” The way he said it was so amusing that Kohide, Shinmi, and the serving woman all burst into laughter. Kohide was in unusually good spirits today, acting with an uncharacteristic briskness. With a nonchalant attitude, she poured drinks for Shinoda—

“Mr.Shinmi, will you make me your bride?” “That’s right! “That’s right! “You’re splendid—that’s exactly how you must charge in!”

“Is that true?!” Eiichi exclaimed. “It’s true,” Kohide replied with sudden seriousness. Her large eyes fixed intently on him.

However, Eiichi, too, having heard everything from the depths of carnal desire to the very lowest depths in the slums, did not think anything particular of it.

“Well, I’ll think about it,” Eiichi answered lightly.

“If this turns into a one-sided love, it’d be so dreary, you know.” “Can you bring yourself to love me? Unless I become deadwood, you can’t fall in love with me!” Eiichi said quietly.

“Then how can I become your wife?” “Well, you’d have to live in the slums.” “Oh, that’s nothing—I was poor originally myself. Becoming poor again means nothing.” “For love’s sake, I’d even sleep with beggars.” “That’s quite the determination!” “Mr. Shinoda… I’m serious, you know… Mr. Shinmi… You won’t take me because I’m a geisha, will you? That’s it, isn’t it?” “That’s it, isn’t it?” “Is your conduct so upright that you fear me?”

“You’re being quite serious—” “How rude! Mr. Shinmi, I’m being serious here!” Kohide was putting her all into it. Shinoda listened with apparent amusement, puffing on his cigar. “To be honest, Miss Kohide—I, you see—I can’t stand people who don’t work—” “That’s why—if I go to your place—I’ll definitely work.” “I’ll work stripped bare if I have to.” "Not long ago, Kuzuha—a geisha from Shinbashi in Tokyo—fell in love with some university student named Inoue and married him, didn’t she?" "I have at least as much courage as Kuzuha."

With these words, Eiichi could somewhat gauge Kohide’s heart. Eiichi couldn’t help seeing everything Kohide said as a play entirely staged by Shinoda. He moved to the back and leaned against the shoji screen. Kohide took a cigarette from Shinoda and began smoking. Eiichi found it amusing that a woman who spoke such words would blow smoke from her nose, quietly watching the trail emerging from Kohide’s nostrils. Purple smoke swirled upward toward the ceiling before vanishing. Outside had turned pitch black, with only the skies over Shinkaichi and Sannomiya blazing brightly. In the spacious room, the electric light burned incongruously dim while tobacco smoke curled through the air, creating an oppressive heaviness in one’s chest.

Eiichi suddenly thought of something and abruptly stood up,

“Shinoda, I’ll take my leave now.” “Thank you for the meal.” “Miss Kohide, I must excuse myself—I’ll be going now.” He moved to depart.

“Oh, isn’t this fine!” Shinoda interjected. “Let’s talk a bit more leisurely—if you leave now, we’ll be cutting things off halfway! The conversation between you and Miss Kohide has been quite fascinating to me. Couldn’t you two talk a little longer?!” “No—I’ve some business to attend to,” Eiichi replied. “Is it eight already?” “It’s seven-thirty now—still early by any measure!” “Mr. Shinmi, you mustn’t leave yet!” Kohide protested. “We’ve not had our proper talk!”

However, Eiichi stubbornly insisted on going home as if sulking. Even the waitress tried to stop him. Shinoda and Kohide were also overwhelmed by this and finally decided to let Eiichi leave.

Eiichi returned from Higashitokiwamachi and, since it was still early, immediately set out alone to Nakamichisuji for roadside preaching. And he had completely forgotten about the three hundred yen received from Shinoda and the love story proposed by Kohide, devoting himself entirely to proclaiming the Gospel of Jesus.

Fifty-Four

Around noon the next day, Shinoda came to Kobe Kaijo. He explained why Kohide had spoken to Eiichi with such fervor. He revealed he had previously promised to guarantee both Kohide's contractual release fee and living expenses. Thus Eiichi fully grasped the mastermind behind this sudden development. It became clear Shinoda—wishing to repay Eiichi for past kindnesses—had encouraged Kohide while intending to arrange a marriage for him.

And so, Eiichi sincerely thanked Shinoda for his kindness. Shinoda also praised Eiichi’s actions and said he would assist Eiichi’s movement as much as possible from now on. Moreover, he added that he had now become an honest man and that his wife and children were healthy, so they could rest assured—then offered his confession before leaving. Eiichi did not dwell much on Kohide. As always, he shared a bed with Matsuzō, the delinquent youth, continuing his days utterly devoid of sexual desire and romantic entanglements.

Three days after meeting Kohide, a long letter came fluttering in from her. Kohide proved unexpectedly earnest. It reiterated the same things she had said that previous evening. And so Eiichi wrote out a verse of poetry and sent it off without another word.

No one may love me—no one I am a child of God—a child of freedom Not bound by 'love's chains'.

Let no one cross this fence—the altar within my breast, the altar raised to God Surmounting freedom’s hedge. You must not love me, maidens— Love without freedom—what is it? What shall I do with sorrowful love? Within me lies a vow made Until the day of freedom comes Not bound by the chains of love. When Eiichi set out from the slums' path toward the postbox to send this poem, he felt an inexplicable pang of regret. He found himself wanting to be loved by a woman. No—more intensely still—he felt himself forcibly rejecting Kohide waiting there with open arms: her wide-eyed beauty, pale pink skin framed by that Shimada chignon; even as he thought this, the musky scent of her perfume seemed to haunt him. He felt he might be rejecting manhood itself. The joy of being loved by beauty proved undeniable. Yet Eiichi considered Kohide’s palpable anxiety and his own precarious health—this consumptive who knew not what tomorrow might bring—contemplating not love’s rejection but sexual desire’s refusal, this contradiction coiling within.

When he put the letter into the postbox, he was surprised by the strength of his own will. However, it remained an undeniable fact that even after sending such a poem, Eiichi waited wondering what reaction might come. Eiichi felt Shinoda was trying to bind Kohide to him again, attempting through some means to thrust him back into an unholy world of temptation. It seemed to have utterly disrupted that sacred world of his—a world that for a year and a half had permitted no intrusions.

It wasn't that he felt God had fled far away, but Eiichi found himself gripped by the fear of being abandoned in this contradictory, anxious world—a world where he could not embrace the love he ought to bear. I want to live beautifully. On one hand, he wanted to grow closer to Kohide; on the other, there was the contradiction that he remained ever a companion to ugliness—an apostle clad in a single robe, a humanitarian chasing after things devoid of beauty. If I want to become beautiful and be with a beauty, I must change my current living conditions. When he considered that this meant moving from the simple life of lying down beside lepers at a moment's notice to a world at least fit for a beauty to inhabit—a world where beautiful people must relocate to circumstances that make their beauty apparent—he realized he was suffering, caught between beauty and virtue.

Cast adrift in this anxiety, he resolved that whether the reply came today or tomorrow, if Kohide were to love him with mad intensity, he would incline toward her in accordance with that intensity.

However, Kohide did not show any particularly passionate love. For about two weeks, there was absolutely no communication or anything from Kohide.

During that time, Eiichi busily settled various matters. This was his final decision to resign from Kobe Kaijo in order to devote himself wholeheartedly to slum relief work. The primary reason was not only that Shinoda had sent three hundred yen, but also that a devout layman—an executive from a Georgia-based brick manufacturing company in the United States whom Dr. Williams had brought to tour the slums—had come to inspect missionary work in the Orient, been deeply impressed by Shinmi's efforts, and before departing promised to guarantee fifty dollars monthly for Shinmi's needs over the next two years.

Shinmi, now that this became his profession, resolved to help as many of the poor as possible. He first wanted to publish illustrated Bible stories for the slum children to read. It was November 17th. He finally resigned from Kobe Kaijo. And when he first sat down in the fifty-sen chair—more expensive than the thirty-sen desk he had bought from a secondhand dealer—he felt somehow unsettled.

With the same diligence he had shown working daily at Kobe Kaijo until now, he resolved to write several volumes of Bible stories, first setting his brush to the tale of friendship between David and Jonathan. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wield the pen as he had envisioned. However, he found this far more fulfilling than when he had been merely writing numbers at the company.

From morning till night, living in the slums brought about all manner of incidents. When Matsukou of "Ukarebushi" stole a futon and pawned it—with Shinmi none the wiser—a police detective discovered this and came to inform him. He went to the police to retrieve it. Matsukou came out of the prison cell. Having obtained permission, he took him back.

The delinquent Matsuzou, who had been stealing wire from utility poles and selling it to a scrap dealer, was discovered by a detective and taken to the police box; Shinmi obtained leniency from an officer and brought him back. Yanase and Tobita—two former policemen now working at Primya's bicycle factory—had apparently behaved properly on their first payday night, but from the second payday onward seemed to start visiting brothels. They wouldn't return before two in the morning. On November 17th, when Eiichi first quit his company job, they came back from a restaurant in Kobe Nakamachi with a hired horse in tow, ultimately making him pay five yen and seventy-two sen.

Next door, Yoshida had brought in a woman with a swollen face like an unripe gourd—where he found her, nobody knew—and kept her as his de facto wife, but on the fifth day she fled and took shelter at the home of Yagi, a local prostitution broker. When Yagi's wife protested she couldn't handle the woman and came begging Shinmi for help, Shinmi reluctantly considered taking her into his own quarters. But Yoshida still clung to her, roaring like a wild beast about the matter every night when drunk, making it too perilous to accept her. Thus he refused and instead resolved to send one sho of rice daily.

Since November began, there were people collapsing every day. Each time, someone would kindly notify Eiichi, even from afar. Of course they couldn't accommodate so many people, and though they negotiated with the City Office, the City Office told them to take it up with the Police Station. The Police Station said to tell the City Office. In the end, there were times when those who collapsed would die right there on the street corner. If they died, the City Office promptly took care of them. And so Eiichi once laughed—at how Kobe City Office couldn't be bothered to care for those who were alive, yet took such meticulous care of the dead.

Even if the City Office occasionally took care of someone, they would immediately run away. The City Office had no relief center for the poor, instead entrusting patients to a charity called Kobe Gokokukai at a rate of sixty sen per day. While this organization ran orphanages, nursing homes, and poor relief services, no matter how one calculated it, there was no way to properly care for a single patient on sixty sen daily. Because so many fled to Shinmi’s care, when he went to investigate, he found they had acquired an old school building from the City Office beneath the Minatogawa embankment—cramming six or seven patients into each six-tatami room—with five or six such rooms in total. Moreover, Eiichi had visited during lunchtime, but the food served was utterly unfit for patients. Shocked, Eiichi rushed out cursing—"Is this what capitalists call charity work?"—then returned to the slums. Finding the house across from his alley on the westernmost end vacant, he promptly rented it to accommodate patients there. There, he decided to house one person per room—two patients total in two rooms. The first occupant was a beriberi patient named Uno—a Shikoku pilgrim and male beggar who had escaped from Minatogawa City’s itinerant hospital. He was a quiet, refined man of about fifty. In another inner room entered Demon Oume—said to have been the former wife of "Oitabera"—with her child Masuichi. She earned her name through a frightfully emaciated face with prominent elongated canines, resembling a hannya mask. Stricken with third-stage syphilis, she had begged until becoming immobile; Eiichi carried her from the front of Meshiya shop on Azuma-dori 6-chome and housed her there.

Those who came seeking help did not stop at merely that. Despite having four children, Toda the gardener abandoned them, took up with another woman, and ran away. And so Eiichi ended up having to take responsibility for the entire family.

What a commotion it was. Though Toda’s still-young wife placed the infant in a washbasin while twisting hemp cord—hardly resembling a proper household—the baby’s wailing suddenly filled the house with frantic energy. Amidst all this—two weeks having passed since he had sent the poem to Kohide—she suddenly arrived by rickshaw. Dressed in an elegant black crepe haori with her hair done up in a modern chignon, she entered the alleyway with the air of a lady from some respectable household.

At that moment, Eiichi had come out to the alleyway and was lifting Toda’s infant high toward the sky. It was truly a day with a clear autumn sky—around two in the afternoon, the sun illuminated every corner of the alleyways, making for a pleasant time. Noticing Kohide, Eiichi—

“Oh, you’ve come, Kohide!” Eiichi welcomed her warmly upon seeing her. “Well, I thought you’d never come, but you’re quite lively yourself.” “I have that much energy myself, you know.”

The rickshaw driver following behind brought a package; Kohide accepted it and said to the driver, “Please wait here,” she said, whereupon the rickshaw driver wiped the sweat from his brow and disappeared from the alleyway.

Eiichi called Toda’s wife over, had her take the child, and ushered Kohide into the larger seventeen-mat room. Kohide sat down on a half-broken chair, “Is that baby yours?” “No, that’s Toda’s child—the gardener who abandoned his five family members with me and ran off with another woman.”

"I thought it was your child—it had such a cute face... Hohoho," she laughed. "So you must have been surprised at first." "Oh my, I truly was surprised! I thought you shouldn’t have any children or a wife." "In any case, it’s good you came today." Shinmi called for old man Kishimoto and ordered that tea be served. Toda's wife thoughtfully brought tea.

To see Kohide, children from the alleyway peeked into the room. “Beauty! Beauty!” shouted a cheeky brat without restraint. Then, imitating them, even the small children— “Beauty!” “Beauty!” they shouted.

Hearing this, Kohide was laughing.

“I’m mortified—being gawked at like this!” “But what can ya do?” “There aren’t any doors here—you don’t lock up?” “Nope—never locked up. Thieves want in? Let ’em come.” “Don’t they steal?” “Things get taken sometimes—but I’d never snitch to the cops.” “Truly—this is what happens when you turn saintly.”

“However, if we had money, there’d be a risk of theft—but when it comes to clothes, we’re wearing all we own. There’s nothing here worth stealing, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Then Kohide, seeing the faces of twelve or thirteen children peering through the glass, said, “I brought sweets for the neighborhood children,” and took out biscuits with star-shaped sugar decorations from an enormous confectionery box—one so large it could hold three or four kin—slid open the glass-paned shoji, and handed them out one by one. No sooner had a child who received one dashed home than thirty or forty came swarming.

“Teacher, give us sweets!” “Teacher, give me rice crackers!”

Kohide was astonished by the sheer number of people. Eiichi, too, was astonished by how rapidly their numbers had grown. Kohide had given out all the biscuits. "Oh, there's none left," she lamented. Then, turning to Eiichi, "You, please go exchange some money; let's give each child two sen!"

Eiichi stopped that.

“Please don’t give them money... It’ll corrupt the children’s nature.”

Kohide was inordinately pleased, acting as if she had become a queen.

“Is what you call the slum area large? Is this place really the slums? If it’s a place like this, I don’t find coming here hard at all—” “You, do you have the courage to live in the slums? There are bedbugs here.” “Bedbugs? I don’t like bedbugs. But you know, I’ve never actually seen one—what do bedbugs look like?” “Hmm, well—if you came a bit earlier, there’d be plenty around. On summer nights, you could catch fifty or sixty in a single night.”

“Well, that’s a problem… I’ll have to pass on that alone, you know. In that case, I suppose I won’t be coming to the slums much.”

After such questions and answers, Shinmi guided Kohide around the slums. As the beautiful Kohide passed by, from every doorway along the path, women and elderly people alike thrust out their faces and scrutinized her countenance with curiosity. Thirty or forty children trailed behind Kohide. About ten children clustered around Eiichi—some were having him lead them by the hand, while others were gripping his sleeves. Even this wasn't enough—they tried to grasp Kohide's black crepe sleeve with their dirty hands. Kohide was overwhelmed by this.

Kohide looked at Eiichi with a peculiar expression. So Eiichi instructed the children, "Don't grab the lady's sleeve—your hands are dirty..." Then that child tried to grab Eiichi's hem. So Eiichi gave him the end of his obi. When the procession of Shinmi, Kohide, and forty or fifty children made its way around the slums, those who knew Shinmi each bowed. When they went down to the two-mat room, there was Oharu—a female beggar with a plump boy strapped to her back—

“Teacher, you’ve brought a modern beauty with you today—quite the catch! Teacher, is this your wife?” she asked bluntly, without any courtesy or hesitation. “No, I don’t have a wife yet.”

“Teacher, take this beauty as your wife!” Kohide put on an innocent face and placed her finger on the chin of the child Oharu was carrying, playing “Gotcha!” with him. There, true to their expertise, they were bold in their actions. Eiichi was impressed by this. After touring the slums and returning, Kohide kept saying she had been astonished. And she declared she couldn’t possibly live in such a place even for a day. Having heard from Eiichi that Fukiai Shinkawa alone housed eleven thousand slum dwellers, she remained dumbfounded. Then Kohide—perhaps exhausted—announced she would return home, her complexion pale, when suddenly the back alleyway erupted with the pattering of running feet. Immediately came the sound of footsteps racing across the zinc roof over Shinmi’s kitchen. The children all ran toward the commotion. Someone came bursting into Eiichi’s quarters. It was Hayashi. He seemed startled to see Kohide, but

“Teacher, the net’s come down—please hide me for a bit!” he said. Eiichi remained silent. Then, Hayashi took out the futon that old man Kishimoto had carefully stacked and lay down there in a manner suggesting he was a sick person lying in bed. Two or three undercover detectives peered into Shinmi’s house,

“I think someone fled here.” “This is a Christian place,” they said, and immediately left. Kohide said in a low voice, “I was scared—what was that, Mr. Shinmi?” “They’ve cast the gambling net.” For a short while, the two of them remained silent, listening to the various conversations being held both in the back and front alleys. Those were truly intriguing conversations. They were saying things like who had fled how, who had climbed onto the zinc roof, and that whoever had leapt from this roof to the one across was a real hero. Synthesizing these accounts, it seemed the net had been cast but no one had been caught.

Hayashi had apparently been listening from under the futon. Like a turtle poking its head from its shell— “Ah, I was scared,” he said. “I was nearly caught... Teacher... you saved me.” Emerging from the bedding, he continued: “I lingered too long escaping—was the last one left in the gambling den... Ah, saved! Would’ve meant three or four months’ meals if caught, but Teacher here saved me.” Then he joined the street crowd and launched into tales of his escape adventure.

Kohide—

“I’m going home—I... I’m scared!” she said, stepping out into the street. The fourteen or fifteen adults standing in front of the neighboring Ms. Hanae’s house all turned their gazes toward Kohide. Kohide vanished from the street in dejected form.

It had been two days since Kohide had visited the slums. In the evening, Otonashi Shinji—who had been evangelizing in Shingū, Kishū—suddenly came calling. It was just at the time when Yoshida of Nonta across the way was grumbling over.

Eiichi, having no one to talk to, pressed Otonashi to share an interesting story. Yoshida was grumbling on the street. When he glanced over, those on the street weren't just Yoshida—there were two proper gentlemen in Western suits. Eiichi had assumed they were Otonashi's friends— "Please come in—it's rather shabby here," he called out, whereupon Otonashi— "Fine then, Shinmi—those men are spies! They follow me everywhere I go... Let's get to it—I came today to ask a favor. Could you take someone in?"

“Of course—if it’s you.” “I see—that’s very kind of you.” Otonashi wore a collar like those of English Christian church reverends—fashioned like a neck ring, concealing up to his neck with a tab and revealing just a sliver of white at his throat. He was healthy, his face round and plump, tinged with redness. He had let his hair grow somewhat long like a poet’s and had it neatly trimmed at the nape. It somehow failed to harmonize.

Otonashi continued. “Well now—there’s a man in trouble over that O incident, you see…” At first, Eiichi didn’t understand what Otonashi meant by the “O incident.” But he immediately realized it referred to O of Shingū who had been involved in the recent Yakamashii △△ Incident reported in newspapers. “There’s a man named Takami—they demanded his resignation from the elementary school because he’s a relative of O, and now he’s struggling to survive in the countryside. I thought of sending him to seminary… He’s one of my believers… Since he’ll be coming here soon, could you take him in?”

"If you don't mind such a noisy place." "That's fine—it'll make for good education... But you—living in a place like this—don't they have spies on you?"

“They aren’t following me at all.” “How strange.” “What brought you here… Was that your only business?” “Well, I came regarding Mrs. O’s affairs and had another matter to handle… Ah, what a relief—now that you’ve taken responsibility, I needn’t worry.” "I’d been anxious about where to place that man." “Ah, splendid! Simply splendid!” Otonashi exclaimed with delight. Otonashi and Shinmi had been old acquaintances from their Meiji Gakuin days. Though Otonashi was twelve or thirteen years senior—having served as orphanage director, newspaper president, and elementary school principal before entering the theology department’s special program—Eiichi perceived him as an uncle-like figure, preventing true intimacy. Yet they often strolled together debating theology, and after Shinmi returned to Tokushima while Otonashi proselytized in Shingū, they maintained correspondence. Notably, Shinmi had contributed short stories several times to *Sunset*—the modest newspaper-style magazine Otonashi co-published with Mr. O—after settling in Hyogo.

The two of them talked for about thirty minutes, but Otonashi, seeming to be in a hurry, promptly took his leave. And the two detectives also obediently followed Otonashi out from the street.

The day after receiving Otonashi’s visit, a man claiming to be a special higher police officer from Sannomiya Police Station arrived without delay. And he inquired about the content of my conversation with Otonashi, my relationship with him, my relationship with △△△△△, my relationship with Mr. O, and my opinions regarding socialism. And so Eiichi clearly declared, “I am a Christian socialist. However, at the same time, I am a non-resistance advocate. I came to the slums to provide relief and moral guidance to the poor. But don’t worry—I, who respect workers and seek to save the poor, would never plot something like murder, so rest assured. I respect all people. I respect all people, including workers. Therefore, rather than calling myself a Christian socialist, it would be better to say I am a Jesus-ist.”

“Who in the West advocates your theory?” “And who in Japan advocates it?” he pressed doggedly. Eiichi gave clear answers to each question. Yet with this，Eiichi was now fully registered on Kobe Police Station’s watch list．Detectives took to peering through the glass-paper doors every third day or so． The day after returning from the slums，Kohide sent a long letter penned in her elegant hand． She wrote that she couldn’t imitate him． Of their relationship，she wrote nothing．

Since November was nearing its end, Eiichi had to begin preparing for Christmas. Having completed the manuscript for *Bible Stories* about the friendship of David and Jonathan, Eiichi took it to Yoshino Matahei—manager of Kobe Printing Company and a Nunobiki Church member who deeply sympathized with Shinmi—to request that it be published by Christmas. Mr. Yoshino not only readily agreed to this but even said that he would have it published through the bookstore managed by his company.

Fifty-Five

It was a cold, rainy day at the end of November. Eiichi left Fukiai Shinkawa and returned to Awa to fetch his stepmother. On the fourth day, he came back to the slums with her. Just as he arrived, there was a man named Takami Tomoya—a thirty-two- or thirty-three-year-old who looked far older than his years and seemed kind-hearted—who had come through Otonashi's introduction. Shinmi rented another house—at two yen and fifty sen per month—for his stepmother to move into. Takami combed through Kobe City daily seeking work, but one evening he reported the following to Shinmi.

“The shipping company had advertised for two clerk positions about two weeks prior because they were hiring, but they received 5,700 resumes, and the person in charge was astonished.” “The world seems to be in quite a recession, doesn’t it?”

Truly, the world was in recession. Because of this, Shinmi handled various matters for several relief seekers every day. However, the Toda family was a kind of joy for Eiichi. Eiichi, who loved babies, loved that baby above all else. And Eiichi would repeat like a mantra, "Babies are the most beautiful of all God’s artworks." Takami listened to this and smiled with a lonely air. Takami had a wife and a daughter back in his hometown.

Christmas came. And Eiichi prepared an event to surpass last year's. Particularly with Takami helping this year, he rejoiced at creating something remarkable. He conceived a beggars' feast for December 25th. The plan involved pitching tents at Azuma-dori 6-chome plaza—hosting eight hundred impoverished children for Christmas festivities, then feeding a hundred beggars at noon. For this undertaking, his own efforts alone proved inadequate. He therefore consulted Dr.Williams and resolved to enlist churchwomen's assistance. The churchwomen gladly accepted this responsibility.

The Jesus Group did have female members. If one were to ask for help, Oshin-san and the Inari possession ritualists might not refuse to lend a hand. However, everyone was busy. Therefore, they couldn't ask anyone for help.

There was a woman of about twenty-five or twenty-six who had been attending church gatherings without fail for the past month or so. She always styled her hair in butterfly bows and brought her younger sister to the slum church, but they had not yet grown close enough for her to be asked to assist with church work. At first glance, that woman appeared to be someone's wife, but in reality she worked as the female foreman of the Oribe Division at Kobe Printing Company, and it was said she had already been with that printing company for seven years. On the first night, she followed along from the street preaching, listened to the sermon through the shoji of the Jesus Group at the end of the road, and returned home; but thereafter, she always came to church bringing her well-mannered sister of seventeen or eighteen. Shinmi thought that a sprout of faith was beginning to grow in her, but he had not heard any complicated discussions from her.

On December 21st, what could be called Shinmi's first book—a small booklet titled *Friendship*—was completed. Shinmi had drawn all the illustrations himself, and when he saw how crude his finished drawings were, he gave a wry smile; nevertheless, he felt considerable joy at having produced something that could be called his own book.

From the 22nd onward, Shinmi raced about making various preparations to erect the tents. At such times, he found great help from his yakuza comrades like Tomita, Hayashi, and Ueki—their assistance being a genuine relief. Thus by evening on the 24th, the tent stood properly completed. Tomita had insisted they post a guard, but Shinmi dismissed this as unnecessary. Yet when Christmas morning arrived and he went early to inspect the site, a woman beggar near death had crawled inside the tent to lie there. No matter how they called to her, she gave no response. With no alternative, they carried her to Shinmi's sickroom in Kitamotomachi 6-chome. She proved indeed to be what became of a neighborhood prostitute.

Around eight or nine in the morning, seven or eight members from the Kobe Church women's association arrived. Eiichi went to buy dishes for a hundred people at a pottery shop on Ikuta Shrine Street. By ten o'clock, rice was steaming in an enormous pot—large enough to hold one to five sho—on the stove built beside the tent. There was a grand festival atmosphere. Though the invitations had been distributed the previous evening, some recipients already waited inside the tent. Most of the young believers from the slums came to help. Takeda, Asai, Motoyama, and even Katsunosuke—Hanako's brother—lent their hands. Though no one had asked her, Ms. Higuchi took leave from the printing company to assist. Today she came alone without her sister, diligently drawing water by herself.

The church women worked busily with aprons over their kimonos, but their excessive refinement meant they made no headway. Since young assistants kept intervening in every task, Motoyama came to Eiichi and said: “Teacher, this isn’t working! The Yamate people are hopeless—Ms. Higuchi works twice as fast.” Indeed, Higuchi devoted herself completely to the labor—unlike the Yamate churchgoers with their pleasant chattering voices, she moved through her duties in silence. Her speed astonished Shinmi as he watched. He now understood Ms. Higuchi was no mere factory worker. Her refined demeanor and polite treatment of others instantly revealed her solid family background. From Yamate Church came three or four beautiful young women too—one a graduate of the Women’s College higher division, others who appeared to be daughters of respectable merchant households. Yet to Shinmi’s eyes they registered indistinctly. Only Higuchi’s actions left any real impression.

A little past twelve o'clock, 120 beggars had gathered for 100 invitation tickets. Having no choice, Shinmi had them sit on the carpet inside the large tent. And the women were assigned to serve them. The feast was simple. It consisted of red rice, simmered meat, a piece of yellowtail, clear soup, and konjac salad. In addition, a bag of rice crackers and five mandarin oranges were included. The feast took over an hour to eat through. There were those who didn't eat their own portions but first took half home, those who stood demanding their daughters be allowed to partake too, the outrageous ones who claimed to be saving two days' worth and came back seventeen times for helpings, some who packed their shares into lunchboxes brought from home, and the most savage of all who scooped five or six portions of red rice directly into their aprons or sleeves to carry away. The women serving them were utterly astonished by their blatantly beggarly behavior. Emerging from the tent, the servers roared with laughter—some mimicking ravenous eating, others pretending to pour bowls into their sleeves—so much so that Shinmi worried this beggars' banquet might turn into nothing but an insult to beggars. Yet through it all, the one who served in silence—outperforming even the educated women, never once laughing—was Ms. Higuchi. Ms. Higuchi, completely unfazed, was transferring red rice into the beggars’ sleeves. Her manner was so full of compassion and understanding of the beggars’ psychology that Shinmi, watching from outside the tent, felt tears spill down his cheeks. It was because the brazen attitudes of the beggars and the saintly demeanor of Ms. Higuchi had combined to form nothing less than a single magnificent painting.

All eyes gathered on Ms. Higuchi and the beggars receiving food. The Yamate ladies outside the tent—every last one of them— “Oh my, look at that!”

they said, laughing. Takeda watched with a serious expression. The other beggars outside—among them lame beggars, leprosy-afflicted beggars (up to two), Shikoku pilgrims, blind beggars, crawlers, and elderly—were all present, but every sighted person fixed their gaze on the greedy beggar—a man around forty with a large birthmark on the right side of his face. And they were laughing. Even though everyone was laughing, the beggars remained unfazed.

“Madam, put in as much as you can! There’s still room in this sleeve…” he shouted loudly. Witnessing this scene, the local gangster Tomita came around to Shinmi’s location.

“Beggars are greedy bastards, ain’t they? I’ve lived round this Shinkawa area near ten years, but never knew they could be this grasping... But that lady serving food—who’s she? Damn impressive woman... Properly raised, that one. You think them Yamate folks got anyone like her?” Tomita asked Shinmi. It seemed even the beggar guests recognized Higuchi’s kindness, for they specifically called her over,

“Miss, a bit more,” “Madam… Is there no more soup?” he pressed. Waiting for Ms. Higuchi to approach the tent, Takeda— “You’ve become quite the Madam yourself,” he said. Higuchi, who looked older than her years, indeed appeared as though she might be someone’s wife. And her considerate demeanor brought to light details that those who had never married would not have noticed.

That evening's eight hundred children reception was also a bustling event. This was mainly handled by the theology students from Kwansei Gakuin University taking central responsibility, so Shinmi didn’t have to exert himself much, but it was truly a bustling affair. In the evening, Higuchi attended the gathering, this time bringing her sister.

56

The December 26th newspaper carried a detailed two-column report titled "A Bustling Christmas in the Slums," thoroughly covering Shinmi's work. It had been exactly one year since Shinmi entered the slums, and now the newspapers were finally beginning to take notice.

Around noon that day, Kohide once again suddenly appeared. She stated that she had come because seeing today’s newspaper had made her envious. Shinmi did not make a particularly displeased face. Kohide’s face was beautiful whenever seen. For today too she looked exceptionally beautiful, and he felt he must express gratitude simply for her coming to show that face in the slums. That being said, Kohide’s attitude remained quite noncommittal. Of course, it wasn’t that Eiichi’s attitude lacked even greater noncommittal qualities; it was simply that Eiichi believed he could not engage in a love requiring monetary assistance.

Since Kohide was an intelligent woman, she should have been well aware of this fact. And Eiichi also knew full well that the reason Kohide herself could maintain her luxurious lifestyle until now was because some patron was funding it. Therefore, he knew full well that from Kohide’s perspective, she could never love Eiichi with a purely sincere heart. However, he also knew full well that there was something in Kohide’s heart that drew her toward Eiichi. However, making Kohide his own would require thousands of yen, and since he believed there was no need to purchase love even at such cost, while it would be special if she came rushing into his heart with pure sincerity, the fact remained that if she normally forgot about him—only visiting when Shineda told her of his reputation or when she read newspaper articles about him—then no matter how great a beauty she might be, he could not help but consider theirs to be a relationship of considerable distance.

However, when the two sat together on a broken-down chair in that seventeen-tatami room of the slums, he could not help but feel that some indescribable hand of fate was binding them together. Four eyes met. Kohide’s eyes were particularly beautiful. Her dark-dominated pupils appeared wide open, their corneas’ white parts faintly bluish; each rotation within silken lids brought soft movement, and when the long lashes—well-arranged with warm curvature—blinked, they created an utterly inexpressible expression. Eiichi had trachoma, so his eyes were not beautiful. Thus whenever he saw Kohide’s beautiful eyes, he felt compelled to hide his own unsightly ones, often finding himself looking down.

"Love is said to be the pursuit of beauty," he thought, "but if that's true, then love only succeeds when two people sit together like this. If love means possessing carnal desire, then love must separate from beauty. Beauty never settles permanently. Both beauty and love are bestowed only in these moments of shared stillness. Love should demand nothing beyond this."

Even when the two sat together, there were no particular topics of conversation. That being said, since asking "Do you love me?" would have been absurd, Eiichi remained silent. Then Kohide too fell silent, fidgeting with her hands. Those hands were also beautifully lovely. She wore a gold ring set with a sapphire that harmonized perfectly with her white, slender hand. Thus Eiichi was not entirely without desire to possess Kohide, but he came to consider that living together and love might be separate matters. However, Eiichi simply could not leave the slums. Were Kohide to come to the slums, her beauty would wither away in an instant—for he could not provide nourishment to beauty. And when doubting whether he who couldn't guarantee such nourishment had any right to possess it, he felt compelled to relinquish that claim. Yet within that resolve lay no small measure of his own anguish. That he had a stepmother, suffered from tuberculosis, and was poor—all these urged him to relinquish his claim on beauty. And now he possessed a will like stone. When he thought he might not love women, he could immediately shut the petals of his heart completely and become neuter. Even when frequent opportunities arose recently to meet the beautiful Kohide, the petals of sexual desire—which he had suppressed for over a year without feeling the slightest pain—did not tremble in the least.

However, therein lay the joy he found in approaching even Kohide with a heart of utmost purity. Were this to become an object of sexual desire for her, he might lose the ability to directly appreciate her beauty. Yet without dwelling on such thoughts, he faced her with an almost neuter heart. No—Eiichi was not without a certain feminine delicacy himself, so much so that he had occasionally considered how, had he been born a woman, he might have maintained a more beautiful heart; thus did he approach Kohide with the understanding one might extend to someone of the same gender.

He could rationalize it all he wanted, but Kohide remained undeniably beautiful. Yet he found it irritating that she wouldn't reach out. Rather than have her recount slum stories, he wanted her to speak solely of herself - love stories exclusively. He resolved that the petals suppressing his sexual desire would remain closed. Yet he determined to pursue beauty alone to its fullest extent, with God's sanction.

This Beatrice was considered by Eiichi to be both a guiding force and a beacon of light. Shinmi spoke about his stepmother's visit, how a friend had become involved in the O incident, and that he had come to entrust Takami-kun—a relative of Mr. O's. Kohide, who had read about the incident in the newspaper and knew it well, listened with keen interest. And then she sighed—

“Truly, Mr.Shinmi is admirable… I find myself utterly overwhelmed each time I meet you…” Widening her eyes dramatically, she said.

Eiichi then informed Kohide about the newly created pamphlet *Friendship*. Kohide asked to be shown it. Eiichi took it out, and the two sat side by side looking at the illustration. While looking at it, Kohide placed her own hand on top of the one Eiichi had resting on his desk. “Truly, I could never imitate you… I’m so impressed…” she repeated. Eiichi fixedly looked at Kohide’s beautiful white hand. And he deeply pondered what the layered meaning of that gesture signified. As he stared at it, he tried to conjure an image of Ms. Higuchi’s divine form from yesterday like a phantom. Kohide? Ms. Higuchi? Holiness? Beauty?

Eiichi wanted Kohide, and he wanted Ms. Higuchi too. He wanted something that would put Ms. Higuchi's soul into Kohide's body. Kohide kept flipping through *Friendship* with one hand for two or three minutes. It was not necessarily sweet.

After seeing off Kohide's retreating figure as she left, saying she wouldn't be able to come often since New Year's would keep her busy, Eiichi sank into deep thought for a while. Eiichi's stepmother Oku,

“Who is that beauty?” “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Oku inquired. In response, Eiichi clearly answered that she was a geisha.

57

Ms. Higuchi Kiekko began visiting Eiichi daily from the day after Christmas ended, bringing three or four factory girls during her thirty-minute lunch break. Since it was only two and a half chō from Kobe Printing, they could rush over immediately after finishing their meals and still have fifteen or twenty minutes to spare. At precisely ten past twelve, Ms. Higuchi would appear at the glass-paneled door where children always stuck out their heads, still wearing her navy blue sleeveless work coat and accompanied by thirteen-year-old Yayoi-chan, fifteen- or sixteen-year-old Kaji-san, and Tomiumi-san—said to be a year older than Kaji-san. Her round face had a complexion so pale it matched Westerners' skin—far fairer than Kohide's—to the point one might suspect mixed ancestry. Her hair curled in waves yet remained jet-black like lacquer, perfectly complementing her skin tone. Though not conventionally beautiful, her dignified and resolute features—suited to being called "the mistress" by slum residents—made her appear all the more mature.

Even when they came to visit, there was nothing particular to talk about, so Eiichi immediately sensed this was a sort of bridge spanning toward a shortcut to love. They talked about household matters, recounted how Ms. Higuchi had gone to Sunday school in Yokohama as a child, discussed Bible stories, and mainly repeated conversations about their contributions to Shinmi's recently created accordion-folded pamphlet *Friendship* that belonged to the four people gathered there.

That Ms. Higuchi was a woman from Kanto became immediately apparent when she spoke. In her clear pronunciation, skilled use of language, precise phrasing, and beautiful Kanto dialect, Shinmi discovered a woman of firm will and intelligence—though he couldn’t quite articulate why. However one might argue, Shinmi was a man of higher education while Higuchi was a factory worker who hadn’t even completed a year at girls’ school; thus, though romance might have blossomed had Higuchi been an exceptional beauty, mere ordinary intelligence alone could not kindle such feelings—and so Shinmi always maintained a neutral stance, handling the factory girls amiably.

However, Ms.Higuchi was always kind. She noticed even the smallest details—mending tears in torn hakama and meticulously cleaning every neglected corner of the seventeen-tatami room. Eiichi interpreted this not in any negative light but through a religious lens. During New Year's, morning worship services began daily at five. Shinmi lectured on the Bible at these gatherings. After services ended, he invited all seventeen household members—his stepmother; the Kishimoto couple; Yanase; two former Tobita policemen; Toda's family of five; the Bearded Man; Izu; Sanko; three patients; himself; plus the neighboring Katsu and Ms.Hanae's family who were too poor to pound mochi—to share ozoni. The sole diligent attendee of these consecutive dawn services was Ms.Higuchi—Ms.Higuchi who came from Wakinohama sixteen chō away. Each morning without fail she arrived with her younger sister. After helping prepare the ozoni without partaking herself, she would lead her sister home. Eiichi found himself inwardly marveling at this self-restraint.

The New Year saw more fights than the last. Matsukou of the merry tune had been invited to New Year's ozoni at the scrap collector's place next to Oshin-san's house in the back alley, but after drinking too much liquor, he started a brawl. Then Kenka-yasu barged in to mediate, only making the fight grow larger still. Mediation bred more mediation until the conflict splintered into five separate fights, with Matsukou heating an iron fire-poker in Shinmi's kitchen. When questioned about his intent, he declared he meant to brand his enemies with it. Though Shinmi stopped him outright, even on this New Year's Day of 1911, nineteen separate clashes had erupted by nine in the morning across just eight tenement blocks in Kitamachi.

And once again, just like last year, Eiichi had to arrange funerals early in the New Year. On New Year's Day, he arranged one funeral; on the 2nd, two; and on the 5th, another. Each time he held a funeral during New Year's, Shinmi recalled the monk Ikkyū Sōjun. "New Year's Day - a milestone on the journey to the netherworld; auspicious yet inauspicious." Eiichi felt nothing but inexpressible pain at these small, sorrowful deaths of paupers. However, when he thought that he must transcend these many deaths and continue forward, he could not help but consider how mysterious a thing life truly was.

When New Year came, the Bearded Man, who had been carving bamboo "earpicks," rented another house and moved out.

Takami began commuting to the newly established Kobe branch office of the *Osaka Morning News*. And Toda, who had been in a prison cell in Hokkaido, also returned. And he took in a family. As a result, the Shinmi clan suddenly decreased by six members. In mid-January, Mr. Takami also acquired a separate house at Nakayamate-dori Gochome and welcomed a family from Shingu in Kii Province.

The January 20th newspaper extra reported the execution of twenty-four members of Mr. O’s faction, beginning with Mr. K. Of those, twelve had been executed. Eiichi received the extra edition and felt it was "a sign of the times," but beyond that, he felt nothing else. That evening, Mr. Takami came over and talked late into the night. Lately he had not been receiving many visits, but on the day following the K Incident, he received a polite visit from a high-ranking special duty officer at Sannomiya Police Station.

“What are your thoughts regarding the K Incident?” the man inquired. Due to the recession, the port remained idle. Eiichi continued going to Benten-hama every Friday for evangelism. The recent economic slump meant three or four hundred workers often found themselves jobless. Some stowed away to Yokohama, others to Moji, Korea, or Dairen—the most desperate even sneaking into luggage bound for distant Hong Kong in search of livelihood. Brazilian immigrants had already packed Kobe’s emigration lodgings to capacity early in the New Year. On January 6th, the first ship departed carrying nearly six hundred souls, and with six or seven hundred more scheduled to leave by month’s end, groups of one or two hundred constantly streamed through the emigration disinfection center near Fukiai Shinkawa’s slums.

On the morning of January 27th, a nineteen-year-old youth named Soeda—who had been converted through Shinmi’s Friday evangelism at Benten-hama—suddenly came to visit. Soeda said he found life in Japan unbearable and would therefore join a group of emigrants aboard the Kamomaru, scheduled to depart on January 30th, to emigrate to Brazil. The conditions for Brazilian immigration were quite troublesome, requiring married couples to go, but he explained he would become someone’s adopted child and go under a false name. Shinmi found it odd that someone would convert only to adopt a pseudonym, but since the youth insisted he absolutely couldn’t stay in recession-stricken Japan and was determined to go breathe the air of the wider world, he blessed his future.

When times grew hard, the slum residents would go out each day searching for work, but it was no longer unusual to see even men assisting housewives with their side jobs of pasting matchboxes. However, as more people took to pasting matchboxes, the rate per thousand pieces dropped from 8 sen 5 rin to 8 sen. Even so, since they couldn’t earn the money for rice porridge without pasting them, matchbox pasting began here and there.

The business world was in a slump, and workers' wages continued to decline. The newspapers daily reported those who had committed suicide due to livelihood difficulties. Every time he saw this, Shinmi strongly felt in his heart that an era had come where things could no longer be left abandoned as they were.

However, everyone remained silent. Even uttering the character 'sha' from socialism was not permitted. Workers and intellectuals alike were all mute.

Only the northwestern wind blowing from Siberia was howling in the winter sky.

58 In February, Eiichi noticed that his neighbors—Hanako-san, Hikaru-san, and Katsunosuke—were idling about. So he laid down the brush from his newly started manuscript of *The Prophet Jeremiah* and called in Katsunosuke—who had been basking in the sun by the roadside—to inquire. Katsunosuke answered him,

“Lately, the company hasn’t been operating,” he said. “Why?” he asked. “We’re on strike!” he said. And so he proceeded to hear the details. “It started with this eleven-year-old girl named Sakai over in Azuma-dori Rokuchome getting burned real bad.” “From her legs up to her groin—almost half her body got burned.” “But that girl’s father’s in prison now for gambling, see? Felt so damn sorry for her, me and Akiyama—my supervisor—we went to get the burn ointment money ourselves.” “Teacher, so there we were, and the company ain’t paying a single sen, see? Their excuse is this—they’re saying since she got burned due to her own negligence, they ain’t coughing up a cent.” “Well, they ain’t wrong callin’ it negligence—after all, she’s just a small kid. When she was carryin’ those boxes coated with phosphorus outta the dryin’ room, she went and dropped one. So if you wanna call that negligence, guess it is.” “But havin' kids of ten or eleven do dangerous work—that’s where the company’s dead wrong, see? So I protested vehemently. Yet that girl Otome still ain’t been taken to no doctor—just left to rot.” “The company’s treatment’s too heartless, ain’t it? When my sister died, they didn’t send a single sen in condolence money! The doctor said my sister’s teeth fell out ’cause she was handling that poisonous phosphorus at the match company—the poison’s what made ’em rot out!” “Even though she worked until her teeth fell out, that heartless company didn’t even send ten sen in condolence money when she died—that’s when I started wanting to take ’em down, see? Been thinkin’ I’d get my revenge someday.” “…And with this recession lately, they’ve gone and cut our piece rates. This summer we were earning nearly one yen a day, but they slashed it twice—now we barely make seventy-five or seventy-six sen. So everyone’s furious, see? When I came out from the office and—”

"I went around shouting, 'Stop work! Stop!' and they all came over asking, 'What's goin' on?' So me and my supervisor explained the situation, but since everyone was already furious—" “Strike! Strike!” we shouted and stopped the machines. Then even the female workers came out asking, “What’s goin’ on?” so I gave ’em a speech. “Wages keep gettin’ cut, they ain’t payin’ a sen for burns even if you get scorched, and if you die for the company’s sake, they won’t give a single sen for your funeral—so there’s no point stayin’ with this damn company! Everyone’s got no choice but to strike… You told us ’bout those Western labor unions, Teacher… I said exactly what you taught us. Then even the girls started shoutin’, ‘Let’s go home! Let’s go home!’ and joined in.” “And then them two hundred forty to fifty kids—from women to big men—all went home.” “That was day before yesterday, right? Since then, every night just us men been gatherin’ at Akiyama’s place on Onogara Street.” “And today finally, Akiyama and me’ve become the reps—we’re headin’ to the company come noon, see?”

Katsunosuke proudly narrated his story. Katsunosuke had dropped out halfway through fourth grade and spent eight full years since then commuting daily to the Kobe Match Company with his two sisters. Though uneducated, he was a sharp-witted, good-looking youth whose words carried weight among the workers despite being barely nineteen. His growing closeness to Shinmi had deepened his grasp of labor issues, driving him to launch the strike without delay.

Shinmi asked Katsunosuke about the names of various company executives and the manager. And learned that those who actually held the real power were moneylenders named Osaka and Morioka, who owned the row houses in the slums. So Eiichi said to Katsunosuke: “Mr. Katsu, handle that properly.” “If we don’t subdue those bastards now, there’s no better time to act...” “Will you help us too, Teacher?” “If it’s merely as an advisor…”

“That’s splendid… Then won’t you come along with us today, Teacher? When we’re in front of those executives, we can’t speak proper-like…” “That’s nothing at all. If it’s just what you’ve said now, I’ll go with you.” “That’s splendid… Then I’ll dash over to Akiyama’s place right away! Teacher will come along with us.” Eiichi briefly stopped him.

"Mr. Katsu, have you finalized the demands to present to the company?" he asked. "We ain't drawn up those demands yet proper-like. What we settled last night was they won't cut wages no more, they'll pay proper compensation for injuries or burns, and they'll give at least some condolence money when workers die..." "That will do... Then go ahead," Shinmi said to Katsunosuke, who was stepping down into the garden.

59 That afternoon, a little past one o'clock, Shinmi went out to the Kobe Match Company with Katsunosuke and Akiyama, the three of them together. The factory was utterly devoid of people. And neither the manager nor any of the executives were there. Only three or four clerks in striped haori with aprons were fiddling with the account books.

When they stated their business to the clerks, "Please wait a moment," they said, keeping them waiting in front of the office while frantically making phone calls. They were summoning the manager and executives. From among them emerged an elderly, unpleasant-looking man, "Please come this way," he said, ushering the three to the reception room. He remained inexplicably curt throughout.

They waited ten minutes, twenty minutes. Even though it was called a reception room, there were no decorations. The desk was a crude thing, its surface entirely covered in dust. While waiting, Akiyama and Katsunosuke recounted to Shinmi various instances of the company’s mistreatment of workers and the executives’ indulgences with geishas and prostitutes. Akiyama said the following to Eiichi.

“The drying room here catches fire like clockwork every three months.” “Every time, two-three workers get burned bad, but what shocks you is how cruel the company acts even then.” “Last spring there was this madam who burned to death in a drying room fire… They paid out twenty yen condolence money and called it square… Twenty yen! And Manager Morioka—guy who supposedly came up from the workers—goes getting soused with aging geishas every damn night. Makes you sick, don’t it?—”

Akiyama was a large man with the bearing of an outlaw chieftain, his hair swept upward like Ishikawa Goemon's. At first glance he seemed fearsome with his ruddy, pimple-covered face, but upon speaking revealed himself to be quite an engaging character. During lulls in their talk, they would cock their ears listening for approaching footsteps, but still no one came.

When they had finally waited what felt like over an hour, the manager, Morioka, President Osaka, and another man arrived. They swaggered into the reception room with an air of self-importance. President Osaka was a gaunt man over fifty—tall and lean, with a receding hairline at his forehead, sparse eyebrows, and narrow eyes. Morioka stood at average height, sporting a French-cropped haircut that left his large eyes prominent above thin lips lined with gold teeth. Morioka opened his mouth first—

“Akiyama—what’s your business here?” “Ah, just a small request.” “Who’s this?” Morioka demanded. “This is Mr.Shinmi—a teacher of Jesus.” “What’s a Jesus-teacher doing dragged into this—(turning to Katsunosuke) Hey, Katsu! You ingrates—after we’ve kept you fed here for ten damn years—how dare you get uppity! And you—you’re the one who gave that strike-inciting speech—”

“Yes, it was me—” Katsunosuke rolled his large eyes, pursed his lips, and retorted. “Mr. Morioka, just think about it—I don’t understand a thing, but aren’t you the one being insolent here? While we workers slave from dawn till dusk for fifty sen or a yen a day, you’re out every night wallowing with middle-aged geishas—” “Hey Katsu! You here to pick a fight with me today? If it’s a fight you want, I’ll give you all you can handle!”

President Osaka lit a cigarette, “Now now, Mr. Morioka, if you get so worked up we can’t have a proper discussion—let’s hear what demands the workers have—(turning to Akiyama) What exactly are your demands to the company? I’d like you to tell us.” Thereupon, Akiyama took out a document written on blank paper from his pocket and placed it on the dust-covered desk.

Morioka took it up. It listed the demands that Shinmi had advised on. It was clearly Katsunosuke who had written it. It was written in clumsy handwriting as follows: The workers of Kobe Match Company hereby submit the following demands to the company: 1. Hereafter, wage reductions shall not be implemented. 2. Place greater emphasis on sanitary facilities within the factory and provide compensation to injured workers. 3. Provide appropriate compensation in the event of worker deaths.

Representative: Akiyama Kameatsu Yamauchi Katsunosuke Morioka passed it to Osaka. Osaka passed it to another unknown man. During this time, both sides maintained their silence. Morioka turned to Akiyama, "There’s no need to go on strike over something this trivial!" "But regarding Sakai Tome—the girl who got burned—that I mentioned the day before yesterday as well—what exactly do you intend to do about her? In a heartless company that won’t even give a single penny to someone who suffered such cruel burns, we can’t work with any peace of mind…"

“Sakai Tome?” “What’s there to do for her?” “We’ve done all we needed to do on our end.” “When was that?”

“I had it delivered immediately the day before yesterday!” “We ain’t here to listen to that! We went to Sakai’s place both the day before yesterday and yesterday, but not a word was said about any such thing!” “You’re one hell of a liar!”

Morioka fell silent, his face turning red. Eiichi watched their exchange and grew sick of the capitalists' ever-mounting arrogance. A man who appeared to be from the company side—unknown to Katsu—was staring holes through Eiichi's face.

Osaka addressed Akiyama in a composed tone, “If we listened to every single thing you workers said, the company couldn’t keep operating... Even if you demand we don’t lower wages from here on out—this is a business. When others start lowering theirs, we’ve got to cut wages too or we won’t survive. If we kept paying like before, we wouldn’t even be able to cover the interest payments.” Akiyama: “But if they’re cut any further, we won’t even be able to buy a single shō of rice... You might laugh at workers making a fuss over five or ten sen—pocket change in your eyes—but for us, that’s serious money. In my household alone—eight family members—we can’t survive on ninety sen or a yen a day. We need three shō of rice every day, which eats up seventy sen right there. How could we possibly educate our children like this?”

“Akiyama—who’s all in your household?” “There’s my old mother, the wife and me, twelve girls at the top, plus five children including this year’s nursing infant—makes eight in total.”

“They sure have been busy breedin', ain't they? Maybe try holdin' back a bit more.” “What’re we supposed to do—sleep with the wife and kids happen! Ain’t got no choice—might as well kill her…” “Mr. Morioka, what’re you plannin' to do about this?”

“Everyone, stop the strike and come back to work tomorrow—I’ll sweeten the deal if you do.” “Unconditionally, you mean?” “’Course that’s right! If we listened to every damn worker’s demand, we’d be belly-up!” “But we ain’t goin’ back empty-handed! Unless you accept these three demands, we ain’t got no face left to show the others!” “Now you—you’re the ringleader here, so maybe your pride’s shot—but give in to these demands and the company’s done for, Katsu! Y’know what happens to strikers here? Criminals—that’s what Japan calls ’em!”

“Even if we become criminals, ain’t no helpin’ it—gotta make sacrifices, so ain’t no choice… Mr. Morioka, so ya ain’t gonna listen to any of the three demands, huh?” “No—I ain’t listenin’. Let workers hear this kind of talk, they’ll get too cocky to handle.” “Even if workers contract phossy jaw disease and their lower jaws rot away, losin’ all their teeth like my sister did—your company still plans to turn a blind eye, huh?”

“Katsu, you’re downright impudent! What could you possibly know—a brat not even twenty? Our company’s fulfilled every legal obligation.” “We’ve done nothing worth criticism from your lot.” “Even if every poor soul starves, you’ll just keep lookin’ the other way?” “You some socialist now? Forgotten the ten years this company’s fed you?”

“You keep talkin’ ’bout the company’s kindness, the company’s kindness—but I ain’t felt no kindness from this company. There’s plenty of places that’d hire me. All we’ve done is make you profits—there’s been no kindness at all.” “It’s this company that took my sister’s life instead,” Katsu muttered as if to himself. “No matter how many times I explain it to you, you just don’t get it! Quit the company, Katsu!” “Mr. Morioka, ain’t that too cruel? What’s Katsu done wrong? He’s just come here representin’ over two hundred forty workers, that’s all.” “If you fire him here now, the other workers’ll blow their tops!”

“Akiyama, you’re fired effective today. We can’t consider demands like these.” “Come one by one.” “Then I’ll hear you out.” “Since we hired each of you individually, we’ll speak with each of you one by one.” “Even if you strike and stop the machines for two or three days, we won’t accept such demands.” “Aren’t strikes violating national law? Article Seventeen of the Public Order Police Law stipulates heavy imprisonment of one month or more and six months or less for strikers… Akiyama—you know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that,” said Akiyama. “Katsu, don’t you know?” “I know… But even if you threaten ’em with that, the workers can’t survive another wage cut… I’ll serve a month in jail anytime!” Katsunosuke, being a product of the slums, didn’t think much of something like prison. “So, Mr. Morioka—you ain’t gonna listen to what we’re sayin’ after all… And what’s this—me and Katsu gettin’ fired?”

“That’s right—I ain’t listenin’. And you and Katsu—you’ll have to leave the company. If we keep strike agitators like you around, this place’ll go under.”

Upon hearing that answer, Akiyama stood up from his chair. And glaring at Morioka, “Hey Morioka! You bastard—what the hell d’you take me for?” “Don’tcha know even an inchworm’s got half an inch of guts?!” “I’ve been breakin’ my back at this damn company since I was seventeen! Now you act like I owe you some favor for becomin’ the workers’ rep—then go and fire me?!” “Hey Morioka! You bastard—what the hell d’you take me for?!”

Just as Akiyama flew into a rage, he circled around the desk and advanced toward Morioka, who was seated across from him. Seeing this, Katsu tried to stop him, but Akiyama wouldn’t listen. “Now that I’ve been fired, I ain’t part of this company no more! If I’m gonna go to jail for striking anyway, I’d be a fool not to bash this bastard’s head three or four times before they take me in! A greedy, heartless brat like this needs to be taught a lesson!”

No sooner had he spoken than Akiyama grabbed Morioka by the lapels and struck his cheek four or five times with his right fist. So Morioka also stood up and fought back. Shinmi, who had been silently glaring at the suspicious man since earlier, stood up and tried to calm Akiyama. Akiyama absolutely would not listen. Katsu also tried to restrain Akiyama. Even so, he made no move to release his grip on Morioka’s lapel. Aisaka remained seated in his chair, perfectly composed. Then, the man Shinmi had thought suspicious,

“Akiyama, Katsu—you bastards, come to Kobe Police Station right now. We’ve got business,” he said in a low voice.

Upon hearing that, Akiyama was utterly astonished. And let go of Morioka’s chest. Akiyama asked, “Who are you?” “I’m a detective from Kobe Police Station. You two—come with me to the station.” “There’s no reason for us to be taken to Kobe Police Station—” “No—just come with me—” “Look at that! No matter how much you bastards act all high and mighty—” The detective led the two men out of the reception room. On the yellow-tinged road of a winter evening that darkened early, Eiichi saw their three figures walking straight west along Onogara-dori toward Sannomiya. Watching them go, Shinmi Eiichi let tears stream down onto the sandy dust before Kobe Match Company. But needing to report Akiyama and Katsu’s arrest immediately, he raced back to the slums at breakneck speed.

Shinmi reported to Katsu’s house and immediately visited the home of Sakai Tome one block up on Azuma-dori 6-chome. The house had two small tatami-mat rooms. In the back room lay an eleven-year-old girl with a round face, sunken eyes, and skin as pale as a Westerner’s—a complexion not uncommon among slum dwellers—her entire body smeared with a flour-like substance. The mother was a one-eyed, ugly woman who said she had six children. The father had gone to prison for stealing a single thirty-six-sen sake barrel, the mother said. (It became clear that the claim that Katsunosuke had gone to prison for gambling was a fallacy)

So Eiichi asked, "Did anyone from Kobe Match Company come to say anything?" Then the mother replied, "They came earlier... wrapped in paper... just three yen..." "Three yen?" Eiichi asked again, but the mother insisted it was three yen.

So Eiichi went to negotiate at the company with two others and finally reported that Akiyama and Katsunosuke had been taken to Kobe Police Station. Shinmi, worried about Otome-san’s condition, asked various questions, but since she still hadn’t been seen by a doctor, he immediately rushed to fetch Mr.Tazawa from the neighborhood. Mr.Tazawa examined her condition and said, “This is difficult,” then fell silent without another word. When Shinmi asked, “What should we do?” Tazawa replied, “It’s already too late—there’s nothing more to be done.”

“Will she die?” he asked. “If erysipelas takes hold here, you know,” he answered. The mother showed no particular reaction, but Shinmi grew despondent upon hearing this. Without offering further advice, Mr.Tazawa simply left. Shinmi, overwhelmed by this setback, crossed back over the river westward, ran eight blocks, and went to fetch Dr.Maeda. Dr.Maeda listened earnestly to Shinmi’s account of the situation, gathered ample bandages, and accompanied him. He mixed a flour-like substance into medicinal paste, applied it, and wrapped Otome-san’s wounds with bandages. The burned skin hung in ragged strips, leaving Eiichi aghast at its pitiful state.

When the bandaging was finished and Eiichi was listening to the landlady’s story, Hanae-san came to inform him: “Many people have gathered at Akiyama’s house to discuss matters—come right away.” So Shinmi hurried to Akiyama’s house on Onogara-dori. In a single-story house’s narrow room of four and six tatami mats, nearly thirty people had been crammed in until they could barely move. Among them was the older brother of Iwanuma Matsuzo—a delinquent youth whom Eiichi invited nightly to sleep over and looked after—and Toda, who had become infatuated with Katsu’s older sister and caused a neighborhood commotion last autumn. However, the most vocal was a seemingly shrewd middle-aged man named Horie.

From the outcome of that day's negotiations with the company, Eiichi explained to Sakai Tome that three yen had been sent from the company that day, and that with Akiyama and Katsu having been detained, there was truly no alternative but to fight to the bitter end. The unanimous decision was naturally to continue the strike. Toda, feeling profound sympathy for Katsunosuke, said, "Teacher, y'know how that company's shady dealings are famous? If you try pushin' 'em even a bit... you just can't keep goin'..."

Horie was worried about Akiyama's circumstances. So Shinmi carefully explained what Article Seventeen of the Public Order Police Law entailed.

The strike continued for another day. However, reports soon emerged that the workers' solidarity had already begun to crumble. Therefore, the workers' committee decided to post lookouts at the company entrance starting this morning. Toda came into Shinmi's tenement in Kitamachi 6-chome to report this development, but right after him, neighbors arrived bearing news that Sakai Tome had just died. And replacing them, Hirano—a well-fed, square-jawed man who frequently visited as a special higher police officer from Kobe Police Station—entered,

“Mr. Shinmi, the chief inspector of the judicial affairs division requests your presence this morning. Might you accompany me immediately?” came the courteous summons. At this, Shinmi finally accepted defeat. When he reached the police station, the judicial affairs chief already knew every detail of last night’s gathering. He adamantly accused Eiichi of instigating the strike. Yet Shinmi offered no rebuttal. “Regardless—I’ve a large household to manage. Let me first return home,” he told the chief inspector. “I’ll conduct Sakai Tome’s funeral rites before entering custody.” With this declaration, he departed.

Sixty On his way back, he ordered a coffin and laborers through Hanamatsu and immediately went to the Sakai residence. Otome-san had already closed her sunken eyes in her pale face, but what struck him as pitiful was how they had laid the baby to sleep beside the corpse for want of a futon. Eiichi hurried the funeral. He did so thinking he couldn't know when officers might come from the police to take him away. When the coffin arrived, Eiichi brought his only yukata and dressed Otome-san in it before placing her bandaged body inside.

As it was exactly noon, Ms. Higuchi had come to visit Shinmi as usual during her printing company’s lunch break, but upon hearing he was holding a funeral, she rushed over in her work clothes and helped out. Relieved by this, Eiichi and Ms. Higuchi finished conducting an extremely simple funeral consisting only of prayers and Bible readings with their own hands, and were standing at the entrance to begin the funeral procession when—this time a different man from Hirano—Arita, the chief of the high police section, a towering man standing five feet eight inches tall with tanned skin and glasses—arrived at the entrance of the Sakai residence on Azuma-dori 6-chome,

“Mr. Shinmi, the Prosecutor’s Office at Kobe District Court has instructed that you appear before the courthouse by 2:00 PM… If possible, I would request that you accompany me now…” With these words, he handed over a large gray document envelope stamped with the Prosecutor’s Office seal, containing the summons.

It was February in the depths of winter, but the sun shone so fiercely that the slum’s paths dried completely, creating a day that felt strangely pleasant. And so Eiichi received the summons and, gazing up at the midday sun, offered a silent prayer. Then, after briefly explaining the situation to Ms. Higuchi—“I’ll be going to the Prosecutor’s Office now and likely won’t return for five or six months. Please consult with Dr.Williams about continuing the missionary work”—and requesting her to see Sakai’s funeral through to Kasugano Crematorium, Eiichi departed down the road with the detective. After seeing him off, Ms. Higuchi was crying.

Detective Arita escorted Shinmi to Kobe District Court’s Prosecutor’s Office, arriving past one o’clock. Eiichi waited over an hour in a wide concrete corridor until summoned by the prosecutor. The detective left him stranded there. Shinmi sat on a narrow hard bench glaring at concrete floor tiles while awaiting interrogation. Having been taken directly from the funeral site, he had brought no books. He could only grasp at prayer and meditation, yet Sakai Tome’s corpse still burned behind his eyelids. He remembered Lincoln’s night of prayer before emancipation, sinking deeper into devotion on that unyielding bench. Eiichi knew this incident was a stumbling stone. Yet he felt no personal guilt. The world turned precisely through such mechanisms— this he understood completely. But his soul remained unshackleable. "I’ll pray five-six months in jail," he kept thinking.

He waited forty minutes, then fifty for the prosecutor. The Prosecutor’s Office, bathed in the western sun streaming through its windows, had apparently concluded its morning affairs and was summoning no one in the afternoon. The one waiting for the prosecutor was Eiichi alone. Still, five minutes, then ten minutes passed. Eiichi continued to pray quietly. The concrete floor tiles of the corridor shone beautifully.