Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The moonlit evenings continued.
Finding the moon inviting, I took a fan and stepped out onto the veranda.
Whether it be me or the moon shining two shaku above the square shadow of the neighboring two-story house—when I looked at the moon, I couldn't help but indulge in fantasy.
I found myself thinking of my daughter.

The daughter who had gone to her fiancé's parents' household for domestic training hadn't sent even a brief note lately.
Had she forgotten me—become utterly absorbed in her novel new life?
If that were all, perhaps it would be fine—but yielding to the children's pleas of "This summer too," I had somehow rented an outrageously priced villa in Oiso.
I had planned to invite the young couple there as well, hoping to spend a lively summer that might restore my spirits, and had informed my daughter of this arrangement some time ago—yet there'd been no response whatsoever.
Might the Aoki family think I was overstepping?
Theirs was a modest household in all things.
And might even my daughter be thinking the same way?

I found myself growing overly sensitive toward the Aoki household—particularly that young man Takao who was meant to become my son-in-law. This stemmed from how I had initially opposed the engagement before reluctantly consenting to it. For this arrangement had materialized as something utterly alien to the marriage I had fantasized about since Akiko first entered elementary school.

Not that I ever sought to marry my daughter off for wealth. But an engagement formed through this modern fashion—where some youth notices my daughter, confesses to his own parents first, then directs the proposal toward us—could never sit well with an old-fashioned man like me. Unless conducted through proper channels, I felt I'd be failing the wife who left our children in my care. Yet I too am a father. Knowing my daughter's eagerness, I relented and approved it all. And as matchmakers, Professor and Mrs. Ichigaya—benefactors to both the Aoki patriarch and myself—had graciously agreed to mediate. The honor moved me deeply. When matters concluded at the Professor's residence, I wept openly before everyone.

But afterward, I came to know that even the final pleasure I had carefully preserved in my heart as a father had been mercilessly shattered.
It was that young Takao—whose literary-type neuroticism exceeded even what I'd heard described—looking down upon this "philistine" me, which these eyes came to recognize.
At our first meeting, the young man who was supposed to become my son-in-law maintained an utterly sullen demeanor, barely managing even the most basic formal greetings.
Knowing they were aware I had initially opposed this match, I tried to smooth over our mutual awkwardness—this ill-suited tension forbidden on such auspicious occasions—by showering pleasantries upon a man forty years my junior. Yet faced with such sullen rudeness, even a worldly man like myself found no foothold for engagement.
When I happened to mention Kabutocho's business conditions to the other father during some conversation, I didn't fail to notice how the young man openly showed a disgusted expression.
And as for the mother, with her "Oh, such a difficult child he is," she half concealed and half flaunted her extraordinary blind devotion to her own child.
Even then, I had already secretly thought that things couldn’t continue like this.
The son-in-law becomes a second son, providing tearful care to his aging father-in-law.
I have seen several such beautiful scenes.
And exactly such things were my old fantasies.
It had been a cherished fantasy from long ago.
That had been mercilessly destroyed.
And wasn’t the one who destroyed it that young man—a complete stranger to our previously uninterrupted family life?

The son was an Imperial University graduate.
When I saw that son of theirs—an Imperial University graduate and academic purist—posturing arrogantly toward me (though now I must honestly confess all my foolishness), I suddenly recalled the fragile envy I had felt over thirty years earlier toward crowds of Imperial University students encountered along Hongō-dōri, back when I was still an auditing student at a private university lazing about in boarding houses.
After all, society in those days had held even greater reverence for state-run universities...
This memory remained an unpleasant one even to myself.
Afterward, I had resolved to abandon academic credentials and managed to get by through my own two hands, a swaggering demeanor, and the patronage of my Great Teacher.
I undertook several businesses and saved some money.
But when I faced Takao’s arrogant attitude for the first time in decades, couldn’t I help feeling an odd fixation on my perennial lack of formal education?
There was also the reason of wanting to be a parent who didn’t make my daughter feel ashamed.
After all, I who was supposed to be meritocratic found myself becoming aware of my own lack of education in each conversation.
I feared he might despise me for that.
And indeed, that was precisely how I had been despised.

However, if my daughter were truly happy—that’s what I tell myself. But could even she find happiness with that son’s neuroticism and those parents’ doting?—It’s precisely why whenever word from her ceases for even a short while, I instinctively grow irritated.
The sake loses its flavor.
This is no mere exaggeration.
Within two or three days, I mean to hear their response about the Oiso matter and—while at it—pay a visit to the Aoki household.
Though truth be told, I make every effort to avoid going there too often.

II

I feared that by visiting at an inconvenient time, I’d receive some mismatched response from the young man.
There had been such an incident once.
At that time, I felt desolate.

So I sent a letter to my daughter, wondering when might be a good time to visit.
If this happened to coincide with him being in the thick of drafting his thesis manuscript, postponing for three or four days would be acceptable.
Tell me frankly what’s inconvenient.—In this manner, I wrote and sent phrases I didn’t truly mean with emphasis.
There was a touch of resentment too.
But what was her reply?—"Taking you at your word to make this selfish request, but right now we have some pressing matters here."
Please postpone it for a while.
"In due time we will come to visit in the afternoon," she wrote.

What?
What did she mean by 'pressing matters'?
The prospect of my daughter coming to visit was something to look forward to, but her writing so curtly about being occupied—this now troubled me.

III

About ten days passed without any word.

It was a sweltering evening.
As was my custom before sleeping, I was cooling off on the veranda.
The incense had burned out, and the swarm of mosquitoes under the eaves had regained their vigor. Just as I was about to enter the mosquito net, the entrance door suddenly slid open without warning.
The housemaid was taking a bath.
"Who is it?" I called out.
There was no reply.
I felt a stir of uneasiness.
I stood up and slid open the shoji screen—there stood Akiko beneath the yellowish electric light, holding a bundle and looking utterly dejected.

In my confusion, I ushered her into the tea room regardless.
“Why did you come so late?”
“Did something happen?”
Even when pressed like this, she remained insensately silent.
I could sense she was afraid my temper might flare up.
This time I changed tactics and adopted a gentle, humble approach.
Then my daughter began to sob quietly, covering her face with a handkerchief and doing nothing else.
I felt pathetic.
When I tried to raise my voice, even I could feel it trembling sentimentally.

The housemaid also came out of the bath in surprise.
The two of us worked together to calm and coax a confession out of her.—As expected, she had returned because it had become unbearable.

“So it was true after all!”
I let out a loud sigh.
The daughter’s seemingly sorrowful state was itself sorrowful.
When this engagement had been settled long ago, I called my daughter and said, “Do not come back again after this.
“And don’t come relying on me anymore.”
I told her that.
That ultimatum had been torn up so quickly after all.
I felt her misfortune as misfortune.

But separate from that, there was an emotion that had clearly welled up within me.
It was an indescribable satisfaction toward that state of mind—my daughter not adhering to my words as given, not drifting elsewhere when things became unbearable, but returning to me prepared for reprimand.
It was an indescribable relief.—And then—an instinctive joy that this young man, so clearly unsuitable in my eyes, now appeared somehow unsuitable to my daughter as well.
It was a feeling toward him charged with a kind of bracing clarity and gratifying sharpness.
And as though I had finally found an outlet for my pent-up emotions, I set my jaw and launched into a tirade against that young man.

When I questioned the housemaid back and forth, it seemed Takao was indeed an extraordinarily neurotic man.
When in the mood, he would write his thesis manuscript from morning till night; when it didn't go well, he'd become sullen.
The splashes of irritation were directed at Akiko.
Akiko grew timid, and even her responses to Takao's occasional attempts at conversation became awkward.
Then, seething, his displeasure would intensify further.
Even with his parents present, everything was treated as perfectly reasonable even when forced.
Takao used this to his advantage, deliberately avoiding conversation with Akiko even before his parents.
For my daughter, this was more painful than anything.
That must be it!
But such matters ultimately seemed to settle into the conclusion that Akiko's lack of worldly experience invited silent critical gazes from the parents.
The daughter grew increasingly timid.
And grew somewhat resentful.
When that happened, though unspoken, the criticism converged on my daughter...

I stiffened.
I did not raise my daughter to be a flatterer.
How could that inexperienced girl of eighteen or nineteen possibly possess the wiles to constantly divert a man’s heart?
When I heard such things, I felt as if my daughter’s purity had been insulted, and I couldn’t remain composed.
“Very well!
“I’ll sue that bastard and fight him to the bitter end!”
I even blurted out such things.
I had to say something—it was unbearable not to.
Yet when my daughter heard this, she continued crying with an anguished, tormented expression.
Seeing her disheveled state, I burned with impatience to demand, “Why that man?”
……When my daughter reproached me for some harsh remark of mine as if finding it unbearable to hear, I roughly shoved her.
And then I was restrained by the housemaid.

Before long, the housemaid properly calmed me down and diligently went about changing the bathwater, encouraging my daughter to take a bath.
As my daughter, exhausted with a vacant look, was unfastening her obi in the next room, the younger brothers rose from their beds at the noise.
While surrounding their sister with sleepy eyes, they were asking something.
Looking at that from this side of the sliding door, I felt a strange sadness.
Beneath the same roof, sharing both joy and sorrow—I was crushed by this emotion of blood relatives bound together.

After my daughter fell asleep beside her brothers, I remained awake for a long time.
I was at a loss with my own emotions.
I faced the moonlit desk, lit the lamp, and wrote a long, vehement letter to the Aoki family.
The clock struck two.
Exhausted, I sealed it without rereading the contents.
It was also because I feared that if I were to read it over again when calm, the commonsensical part of me would gradually revise those harsh words.
But as a father with children, I wrote honestly.
For my daughter’s sake and for my own sake, that would do.
This state of things as they are was just fine.

IV

Madam from Ichigaya came by rickshaw in surprise.
Given that my report and the Aoki family’s report had clashed at her residence, it was no wonder she’d been startled.

From my side, I voiced my grievances against the Aoki family.
The Aoki family, for their part, had apparently expressed their displeasure over my daughter’s unauthorized departure and the heated tone of my letter.
In Madam’s carefully measured words, I could sense the contours of that situation.

The moment I saw her face, I blurted out like this:

“Madam.”
"What in the world is this?"
"I too left my wife and indulged in my own pleasures."
"But when at home, I took good care of her for decades."
"I never did such petty things as sulking to cause trouble."
"But today's youth..."

Madam, confronted by my furious bearing, wore an expression that said this was becoming troublesome.

“Well now, Takao’s conduct must certainly be most improper, and as for the Aoki parents too, they have been excessively indulging their only son until now.”
“I will take care to caution them on that point.”
“However, Mr. Matsuyama, should the other party offer a renewed apology, I trust you will also cleanly and completely hand Akiko-san over to the Aoki household in an amicable manner.”

I was told such a thing.

But I hesitated at this gracious response.
My daughter was actually suffering from a nervous breakdown.
This had to be healed under a parent's care.
Even if we set aside her breakdown, I simply could not bring myself to hand my daughter back to them in exchange for mere formal apologies and make her endure that hardship again.
Moreover, how could an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old girl endure the critical atmosphere surrounding her if she—having once left without permission—were to return to the Aoki household?
Takao was indeed desperately trying to take back my daughter.
But I would not be drawn in anymore.
I was done.
I was absolutely sick of this engagement itself.
The fact that the biological father genuinely detests something—isn’t that itself a valid reason?

According to what my daughter told the housemaid, it seems she had been quite resolved at one point.
It wasn't impossible.
It had been dangerous.
It had been dangerous—when I now looked upon her haggard face as she helped the housemaid with chores, I felt keenly how my daughter remained as powerless and unresisting as some domesticated rabbit.
She still possessed not a shred of immunity within her against even minor life events.
...sending such a young girl—not yet twenty—to another household had been the first mistake.
I, though her parent, had ended up doing such a pitiful thing.
I'd had more than enough.

Madam must have been greatly troubled by my stubbornness.
"In that case, let us leave it at neither advancing this matter any further nor allowing it to be broken off for the time being."
Having said this, she departed.

Well then, I too would relax—deciding to move promptly to Oiso tomorrow or the day after—and then we'd all compete to become robust and sunburned. The children were constantly voicing their complaints, saying things like how the departure was already several days later than last year.

V

I came to Oiso.
Of course, the cool, scenic high ground remained beyond someone like my means, but with fresh fish at dawn and dusk, crabs scuttling across the sandy garden, and swimsuits hung drying at the neighbor's well area, I still sensed that carefree resort comfort.
Behind the house stretched an expansive wheat field.
The railway ran on the other side of it.
The boys were thrilled they could see trains from here.

I too bought swimwear along with them.
When I emerged from the sea, I had the children sprinkle sand around my midsection to ward off chill.
Even Akiko grew amused enough to help with this.
I was happy.
It seemed my methods hadn't been mistaken after all.
—I took the lead in carefully measuring everyone's weight using the teahouse scale.
I discreetly observed my daughter's health recovery through this.

...In the evening, we all walked nearly four kilometers along the seashore for exercise. At such times, when we encountered groups of students passing by from the opposite direction, my daughter would stiffen while putting on some sort of act. I did not overlook those nimble, almost unconscious actions she performed. But as a daughter, this was perhaps natural. However, for example, when we grew tired from walking and plopped down onto the white sand. The younger brother promptly set to work building a sandhill on the calm shore. The daughter, who had been helping in her tomboyish way, would sometimes abruptly make her assistance seem oddly distant. I grew suspicious and looked around. Then, upon a distant sand dune, there would be an observer. And this observer was not some delinquent student with covetous eyes, but rather a boy who seemed every bit the scion of a good family, politely observing the amusements of another household—that’s how it was. At such moments, I grew strangely neurotic about my daughter's every movement. When we started walking again and my daughter moved three or four steps ahead, leaving firm footprints as she went, I found myself wanting to peer into her heart. With the evening darkness closing in from the sea between us, I strangely felt the distance between myself and my daughter. I feel that my life and my daughter’s life were running parallel yet separate. ……This way, it’s as if I’d ended up taking on even the mother’s role all by myself.

A letter came from the Aoki household.
It contained both an apology and a formal inquiry regarding Akiko.
They avoided delving too deeply and thereby disturbing my emotions, writing in an extremely matter-of-fact manner.
So I too wrote a perfunctory—though mild-mannered, thoroughly perfunctory—reply.

When I returned after mailing it, I saw my daughter—who had been reading the letter during my absence—hurriedly stand up and leave. So I too immediately went down to the back and threw the letter into the bath's kindling.

VI

A clear day when the sound of waves near the 210th day could be heard distinctly.
The children were taking a rest, worn out from their morning sea bathing.
The sound of a train echoed from afar, ceased for a time, then came the noise of steam departing the station.
The air was crisp, and this had repeated cheerfully since morning, resounding clearly.
Then, following that, while weaving through the wheat fields, people heading toward inns and villas began moving about in scattered groups.
Such was the scene.
On this second floor with such a view, I brought out a Go board and began studying alone.

……There came the sound of footsteps steadily treading along the gravel path beneath the window. As I thought it must be the group that had just disembarked, the housemaid came up the stairs. She was acting flustered. While peering at my expression, she said, “A visitor has come from Aoki-san.” The mere sound of “Aoki” filled me with loathing, as if encountering something detestable. But when I went down to the entrance and peered inside, I was met with even more indescribable disgust. The housemaid, fearing me, had not stated it clearly—there stood Takao himself, holding a box of sweets.

Both parties showed an awkward hesitation.

“Was it you?”
I made a show of being openly surprised.

Takao bowed his head and untied the box of sweets while explaining that both his parents had been affected by the summer heat and couldn’t come along.
In that stiff speech, I felt I had glimpsed a rare moment of vulnerability in him.

“As for my conduct the other day—” Takao flushed red at my fierce demeanor and spoke with effort.
“I believe I was in the wrong.”
“Today, I offer my apologies for that.”

He abruptly bowed his head. But I still had only tasted loathing toward what should be detested. I had only tasted loathing toward all the steps that would lead to losing my daughter again. I made no reply, thrusting my hands into my obi and coldly letting his words wash over me. Because I surmised that someone with his strong pride would be unable to endure such a situation and would promptly take his leave. However, in this case, Takao endured and did not readily withdraw. I detested his persistence.

“Well, Akiko-san,” Takao finally resolved to say.
“How has she been since then?”

“She is extremely fatigued.”
I answered curtly.

“That must be the case.”
“I truly am sorry.”

I pretended not to hear.

“How about it… I was thinking I’d like to meet and talk with her briefly today.”

“Out of the question! Didn’t I just write you the other day that she requires absolute rest now?”

“But I believe meeting would be preferable.” Takao too began manifesting a scholar’s restless impatience as he countered. “If we meet, any emotional misalignments will instantly clarify themselves. That which would clarify remains unresolved through our avoidance—I find this absurd. Were I to meet her, even just this matter of Akiko-san leaving without notice—this inconvenience imposed upon me—could first be rectified.”

“That is precisely why I cannot permit you to meet her.”
“For a woman to leave the marital home she chose—this is no light matter.”
“You must consider that point—it’s untenable otherwise.”
“You come here attempting to sway her mind about this grave decision through your eloquence.”
“I cannot countenance such a thing.”
“Is she not still a mere girl who lacks the capacity to judge her own welfare?”
“This time I shall absolutely oversee her convalescence, whatever it takes.”
“If you’re truly an educated man, you ought to comprehend this much.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, glaring at me intently. “The troubles between Akiko-san and me… weren’t as serious as those around us made them out to be. On the contrary, I think it’s the people around us—including my parents—who have blown it out of proportion.”

Impudent, I thought.

“Hmph.”
“That’s quite enough insult from you.”
“For someone like you, one or two other people’s daughters coming to ruin wouldn’t matter much, would they?”
“Akiko has declined completely as you see, and I myself have spent many sleepless nights worrying—such matters probably wouldn’t occur to a scholar like you.”

“That is also your responsibility.”
Takao had become fully confrontational.
“You tell Akiko-san ill of me and my parents.
“That’s why Akiko-san was perpetually tormented by anxiety—such matters would naturally escape your comprehension.”

“Is that so?” I said, no longer able to restrain myself, injecting as much venom into my voice as possible.
“Let me make this unequivocally clear—I haven’t the slightest intention of entrusting my precious daughter to an eccentric like you any longer.”
“As her parent, I find this repulsive.”
“In today’s circumstances too, as her parent, I forbid you from meeting her.”
“Should you persist in squatting here and agitating my daughter’s peace until the bitter end, know that I stand ready to act!”

I did not think this statement was unjust.
This was a natural fear as a parent.
"Shall I have you arrested by the police?"
Such threatening notions also flitted through my mind.

"You truly are someone who understands nothing but what's base."
Takao clenched both hands and said each word with intense force.

“What did you say?!”
“Get out!”
“Why aren’t you leaving?”
I too finally raised my voice.

“That’s right. It was foolish of me to have this conversation with someone like you.”
With a hoarse, trembling voice, Takao resolutely exited through the entrance.

“Take this back with you. Filthy as they are.” I pointed at the box of sweets.

“Yeah.”
“I’ll take them back, of course.”

As he stepped over the threshold holding the box, Takao caught his sleeve on the nail for the shoe-brush on the wooden door. But he acted recklessly and yanked his sleeve with all his strength. The white hemp cloth ripped several inches with a tearing sound, and with the force of the movement, his elbow jutted out sharply. However, Takao, pressing down the wound along with his sleeve, exited through the gate with a gait made unsteady by his agitation, roughly treading the sandy ground. ……Left behind, I was overcome by a peculiar feeling. It was a strangely deflated feeling stemming from never having experienced pretending not to see a stranger who had caused such a wound in my own home.

I returned from the entranceway, but in the room beyond the sliding doors, the children made not a sound.
Having already raised my voice moments before, I thought I would slide open the door with a clatter and forcefully assert my case to make them listen, yet what lay beyond remained eerily still.
They were utterly terrified of me.
From the foot of the stairs I glanced toward the kitchen; the housemaid kept her back turned in silent industry.
With an unfulfilled, solitary heaviness in my chest, I ascended to the second floor.
I sprawled limply across the tatami.

I tried to validate myself while staring at the ceiling.
That too had been unavoidable—I attempted to persuade myself of this.
It would have been catastrophic to display such heedless fixation before a daughter who still lacked her own convictions.
That was permissible.
I resolved to think this way.
And I came to profoundly reflect upon this internalized "fatherhood" that had rendered me so inflexible, with bitter self-recognition.
……I too exist.
I too yearn to be happy.

From the second floor I called out and sent the children off to sea bathing.
Then for a long time I lay on my back watching the bright shadows shifting across the ceiling.

VII

About a week had passed.
Ever since that incident, I had been struggling with my daughter’s dazed silence—both she and the housemaid kept their distance from me while maintaining an air of unspoken grievances.
I could no longer endure their demeanor.
I brusquely confronted them myself.
What fault could there possibly have been in me?!
Yet there they were—my daughter and the maid—huddled together in the corner of the room as though trying to merge into one entity.
At last I struck my daughter who persisted in this stubborn silence—or so her posture suggested.
The sickening sensation of impact lingered bleakly in my palm.
She wept; I too found myself shedding tears.
Later when tempers cooled, I repeatedly justified myself with pathetic declarations like “This harshness comes only from caring for you.”
The chill of morning-after sobriety pierced me—this dread of her growing alienation felt colder than any hangover’s remorse.
And indeed from roughly the next day onward came that renewed silence.
No approach of mine could soften its edges.
I instituted new measures—even dispatching the housemaid as chaperone during their seaside excursions… Left alone in this empty house now filled with shadows where laughter once rang clear through summer afternoons bygone—here among dust motes dancing through slanting light beams—here where ghosts of better days mocked every creaking floorboard—here did anxious thoughts of what must come next gnaw ceaselessly at my resolve.
Daily I resolved to address concrete matters with her—daily did fear of worsening our estrangement stay my tongue—until weeks dissolved like salt crystals in relentless tides.

Again today I sent everyone to the shore.
It was past five o'clock.
When the children returned—their voices carrying from afar—Akiko was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's your sister?" I asked.
"She said she had a headache and went home earlier."
Hearing this, I did seem to recall faint clattering downstairs.
I went to the sliding door of her four-and-a-half-mat room and called out, "What's the matter?"
With that declaration I opened it—utterly vacant.
But my eye caught a paper scrap on the desk.

――The usual farewell note!
My daughter had returned to the Aoki household.

"What about my position!" I thought. "Do as you please," I thought. I skimmed through the girls' school-style prose with lingering reluctance.

“……It is true that I had become what might be called hysterical.
My circumstances changed too abruptly, surrounded by nothing but matters requiring attention—(this does not mean they were painful)—until they gradually became a burden, and I began dwelling on even trivial things.
I ended up tormenting myself with such groundless misery, until finally I resorted to that behavior.
But looking back now, I still feel I cannot find peace unless I return to Aoki.
This does not seem to be mere caprice—as you often say, Honorable Father—or so I have come to believe.
“...””

"So that's it."
I felt hollow, as though outmaneuvered.
I crossed my arms and paced around the four-and-a-half-mat room.
I put on a hat and went outside.

At any rate, I went to the train station.
But this wasn't born from some frantic urge to chase after her even if it meant boarding the next train—it was simply to soothe my own agitated emotions.
Even the previous train had departed forty minutes earlier.
However, given how relatively composed the wording of the note was, I found myself scarcely feeling any concern for my daughter's situation.
I wrote a telegram to the Aoki family at the telegraph counter.
For me, it required some effort.
……In the station during the lamplighting hour when no trains came or went, I stood on the deserted concrete floor and wondered if there was anything else I had failed to consider.
When I turned back onto the main street, the crescent moon hung dimly yellow, and the signal had changed to its nighttime electric lighting configuration.

Returning alone by train to the Aoki household, with which relations had deteriorated so severely.
When I considered whether such vigor had existed within that daughter's body, I truly could not help being astonished.
"The psychological state of young people—utterly incomprehensible!"—I lamented as I blankly trod along the darkening railroad ties beneath my feet, guided by their feel underfoot.
Yet for me, there remained no small measure of exhausted relief.
Now that matters had come to this, they no longer aligned with my yardstick of reasoned judgment.
The psychological states of all people were all too newfangled for me.

“Did their foolish lovers’ quarrel escalate into something more?”

I deliberately feigned cold indifference.

Returning home, I ate a meal that had gone cold.
I looked at the pillar clock and tried gauging the time, thinking, "She must have reached Shinagawa by now."
Now I found myself depending on the resolve of my daughter who had stepped over that "imposing threshold" of the Aokis of her own accord.
And regarding my wife—no longer living, as insensate as the unfeeling ground itself—I had thought her simply quiet in her unknowing.
I thought it tranquil.

I drew the electric lamp closer across the desk and promptly drafted a report for the honorable teacher couple.
“Should all things be deemed parental folly?”—When I employed this phrase as one might use an adjective, it somehow struck me favorably now.

8

Three days later, I went up to Tokyo at Madam's summons.

The gate of the Madam's residence in Ichigaya, thick with pomegranate bushes, proved cumbersome to pass through.
To be honest, the reason my daughter had initially fled the Aoki household still eluded my understanding, and I still couldn't grasp what lay between Akiko and Takao—but if keeping silent would make everything work out in this situation, I resolved to hold my peace for now.—I had been formally notified that Aoki's father had also been summoned.
But when I stepped into the inner entranceway, I saw the geta of every Aoki family member arrayed in full.
There among them, Akiko's sandals with their elegant straps mingled conspicuously, tossed aside beside her mother's plain wooden clogs.
I felt inexplicably moved.
It was an emotion befitting an old man...... Uncharacteristically, I wasn't immediately ushered into the parlor; I waited some ten minutes or so in a separate room.

At any rate, I am a foolish father.
And this thought brings me no discomfort whatsoever.
As a father among men, I am neither outstanding nor wise, but a parent who has laid bare the foolishness inherent in parenthood.
That I consider myself a foolish parent may contain some measure of self-justifying sentiment regarding my own conduct in this matter.
But now that someone like me—an ordinary man who has passed fifty without achieving any particular success—finds that beyond the matter of how my child will fare, there remains the undeniable fact that the world holds no great allure for me anymore.

I have been scraping flesh from bone for my children.
This was especially true after I passed fifty.
That my children should fully pursue both the studies I ultimately couldn’t complete and the self-care I never managed—this is my obsession.
Excluding great teachers, for someone like me—an uneducated ordinary man who remains unable to transcend my awareness of being uneducated, a failure—toiling to raise children better than myself, reducing three meals to two, aging prematurely for their sake, even dying in the end may not be meaningless.
This must be the parting gift befitting someone like me.……But someday, when such a parent’s such will has piled up like dust—if my children fail, then my grandchildren; if even my grandchildren prove unworthy, then in my great-grandchildren’s generation—someone may emerge as if by chance, achieve great learning, and settle accounts for the life of an uneducated man like me who lived hand to mouth—or so I think.
If my later years increasingly bear down on me henceforth, this conviction may become all the more the creed by which I live.

……Madam called out from the hushed daytime corridor.
I stood up and went.
When I stepped into the entrance of the corner room—darkened by sunshade blinds—I caught a glimpse of Aoki’s father sitting directly across from me.
Whether due to his gauze clothing or some other reason, he appeared unnaturally slender as he sat formally near the veranda edge with the dazzling garden at his back.—In those cheeks and shoulders that couldn’t conceal their weariness, I thought I saw my own shadow.

(November 1922)