Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Yamane Kensaku exited the Sannomiya tram stop and walked toward the coast. Though this marked Kensaku’s second time setting foot in this area, he still couldn’t grasp its layout. That had been fourteen years earlier—when he’d come from Tokyo to visit a senior at the steamship company there, he had stayed about two weeks, but after promptly departing for China and not returning to mainland Japan until this year, only vague outlines lingered in his memory.

Kensaku ran a grocery store in Taiwan. Through connections with a senior at the steamship company, he had become a clerk on a Shanghai-bound vessel but fallen ill en route; during his hospitalization at a Shanghai hospital affiliated with that company he befriended a man from Fukuoka Prefecture．Together they went to Guangdong then crossed to Taiwan．While moving about here and there he eventually came to independently manage his current store．He acquired a wife and children．Having gained some financial flexibility he now returned under pretext of business matters to visit family graves．

The air was cold under a quietly hazed sky, where a lackluster sunset dimly illuminated the surroundings. He redirected his gaze—eyes that had been fixed on the sunlight—toward the building before him. It stood as a long wooden Western-style structure with peeling blue paint, its ground floor cluttered with shops displaying foodstuffs at the entrance. At the storefront hung raw cuts of meat, prepared roasts, and various animal carcasses, where two burly men chopped something with kitchen knives. Three or four customers were present—among them an elderly Chinese woman wearing hoop earrings, holding the hand of a girl around five years old who appeared to be her granddaughter. Closer inspection revealed another robust Chinese woman with hoop earrings lined up to the elderly woman’s right. To this woman’s right stood a Chinese man bearing white pockmarks, his appearance suggesting a laborer.

He suddenly realized this was Chinatown. While thinking this, he surveyed his surroundings. The area formed a narrow soot-darkened street where shops selling foodstuffs crowded one side, with Chinese people predominantly moving through it. Shops displaying what resembled large sake bottles, shops arrayed with vegetables, and shops lined with dried objects that might have been snakes or fish - or perhaps yams or tree roots - drew his gaze. Red paper strips resembling narrow ceremonial slips could be seen pasted across the shopfronts' glass doors and interior lintels. This was the chromatic signature of Chinatown that Kensaku knew well.

Kensaku remembered the sake. And now that he had returned to mainland Japan, he began to feel a faint pang of lingering regret at having to bid farewell to the Nada sake he’d grown accustomed to drinking over the past month. He hadn’t yet decided exactly where to wait for the six o’clock departing ship, so he thought he might as well have a drink somewhere nearby while waiting. He had already secured a cabin in a town some ten ri ahead and loaded all his luggage; now wearing the same Western suit he had on, with nothing but a rattan cane in hand—a state of unencumbered freedom—he had no lingering concerns about his immediate affairs. He slightly raised his left hand and looked at the watch on his wrist. The watch had just passed three o'clock. There were still three hours until six; he thought two hours would be fine to spend leisurely anywhere. He cast his eyes ahead, searching for some simple, suitable place to enter. Immediately to his right stood a red post box; beyond it lay the mouth of a side street, and at the far corner where they met hung a Western-style restaurant draped in yellow curtains.

Western food wouldn't do; Japanese cuisine would be preferable if possible, he thought, though he doubted any could be found here. Not that he absolutely disliked Western food, mind you. He figured even a Western kitchen should at least manage a decent fish fry. He found himself already standing before the restaurant. Perhaps something better lay further ahead, he considered. Pausing mid-step, he weighed whether to press forward or enter, but decided it foolish to waste time deliberating. He approached the establishment from the side street.

The frosted glass shoji stood slightly ajar. In the dimly lit dirt-floored area that already felt like evening, seven or eight round tables were placed about, with three or so customers sitting separately at them. Kensaku’s eyes immediately went to the profile of a man sitting at the entrance table facing inward—a man in a tea-colored, tattered Western suit whose nationality was unclear, neither distinctly Japanese nor Chinese. In the far right corner sat a woman with thick hair in an updo, her brocade-like haori showing only its back as she faced forward. The jeweled comb in her bun glimmered intermittently in the dimness like serpent eyes.

"What a fine woman," Kensaku fleetingly thought—the sort of notion any man might have—as he headed to a table on the right side and sat with back against the white-painted plank wall, positioning himself to keep the profile of the man in tattered Western clothes within view. One of the sturdy waitresses fluttered over like a butterfly before him. "What would you like?" Kensaku propped the rattan cane against the right wall. "I want fish, but maybe I’ll have some fried fish instead. What kind of fry do you have?"

“We can prepare either sea bream or Spanish mackerel. If you require the Fish House special, we can provide that as well.” Kensaku was glad. “Ah! Ah! You have the Fish House special? That’s a relief. Well then, Miss, I’ll have that Fish House special and the fry.” “Certainly. Would you care to partake in some sake as well?” “Right, the sake’s my primary objective here—since I won’t be drinking proper stuff for ages once I board. Before that ship sails, I mean to guzzle my fill of the real local brew without regrets. Bring me a good batch.”

Kensaku showed a slight smile on his cheek, tanned and firm from the Taiwanese sun. “Certainly.” The woman also showed a smile at the corner of her mouth before turning away and left. Kensaku, feeling pleasantly at ease, took out a pack of Shikishima cigarettes from his coat pocket, pulled one out, lit it, and as he slowly smoked, his gaze drifted toward the man in tattered Western clothes without any particular intent. The man in tattered Western clothes remained with his cup held to his lips, his eyes glazed as if lost in thought. At the table in front of him as well, with his back to the street, a burly man resembling a shop employee in a hunting cap and straight sleeves moved a knife and fork. There, one of the waitresses sat on a nearby chair talking with that man.

Kensaku suddenly remembered the woman and looked to his right. From the comb in her updo came intermittent glints like serpent eyes, but perhaps because she was drinking something, she leaned back slightly and bent her right hand at an angle. “Thank you for waiting.” The first waitress brought a sake flask and cup, having already set out the cup. “Oh, thanks.” Kensaku placed his cigarette stub into the ashtray before him, then took his cup and had her pour him a drink.

“It might be slightly lukewarm; if you’d like it warmed further, I can adjust it. How would you prefer it?” The sake had been heated to drinking temperature. “That’s fine, that’s fine.” “Then I’ll bring your meal straightaway.”

The woman put down the sake flask and spun around to face away.

“Hey! Sake.”

The man in tattered Western clothes lightly tapped the table with the tips of his right fingers. The woman who had started to leave Kensaku’s table stopped in her tracks. “Will you still be partaking?” That was a charmless phrase that provoked resentment in its listener. The man in tattered Western clothes’ table thudded. “Hey! What’s this ‘still’ nonsense? Don’t mock me, Miss! I ain’t drinking your recommendations here. But fine—just shut up and bring the damn sake.”

The woman, perhaps startled by the man in tattered Western clothes’ outburst, went straight over there. “If I had that jewel…” After muttering this to himself, the man in tattered Western clothes tapped the table again as if letting his thoughts race into the distance—and in that motion, a glimpse of one bloodshot eye flashed. Kensaku wondered what this “jewel” business was about and tried to figure it out, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. “Thank you for waiting.” The woman came carrying plates of the Fish House special and fried fish.

“Ah, this looks good—soak the next batch right away. I’ve got a little time, see? Since I’m about to board my ship.” “Where might you be headed?” “I’m heading back to Taiwan.” “Oh, Taiwan! That must be quite an undertaking, isn’t it?”

“Ah, ah, well, the journey’s a bit far, you see.” Kensaku split the disposable chopsticks that came with the Fish House special and added the wasabi garnish into the soy sauce.

“Taiwan’s nice. Were you there?” This was a remark the man in tattered Western clothes had directed at him. Kensaku stopped his chopsticks and looked up. The man turned his ruddy-black, narrow face toward him. “That’s right. I’ve been doing business there for over ten years now.” “Keelung? Taichung?”

“Taichung.” “Is that so? Taiwan’s a laid-back, pleasant place indeed. I’ve spent some time there myself, you know. Why, I’ve traipsed through every famous port in the Orient—Singapore, Batavia, Canton, Manila, Shanghai, Nanjing—you name it.” “Is that so? I’ve been to Shanghai and Canton briefly myself—on business, perhaps?” Kensaku said, though he privately thought that judging by the man’s disheveled appearance, he was likely some down-and-out low-ranking sailor with wanderlust.

“Just a wanderer, you see. I’ve been searching for something, but... well, it’s hopeless now.” The man in tattered Western clothes thumped the table again with his dirty hand.

“What is it? Some kind of lucrative opportunity?”

Having said that, Kensaku put the Fish House special in his mouth, then took his cup. “It’s not that sort of thing. A stone—a peculiar stone.” Kensaku suddenly recalled the man in tattered Western clothes’ earlier words—“If I had that jewel…”—and felt his curiosity stir. “Is that so?”

Just then, the woman brought another sake flask. Kensaku, recalling that the man in tattered Western clothes had previously ordered sake, slightly pointed his finger toward the man. “This customer was here first. Well, serve him first then. Mine can wait.” The woman made a slightly odd face but silently took it over to the man in tattered Western clothes. “Miss, come now, don’t bristle so. It’s the customer’s goodwill—just give it here.” The man in tattered Western clothes laughed mockingly, immediately seizing the sake flask the woman had set down and pouring into his cup.

“What’s this stone? Is it some kind of gem?”

Kensaku asked while keeping cautious not to probe too deeply. Whatever passed through the tattered man’s mind, he gulped down the cup that had been hovering at his lips, set it aside, rose abruptly, and dragged a chair before Kensaku.

“I’ll tell you a story—a rather strange one. Will you hear me out?” Having said that, the man in tattered Western clothes sat down. Kensaku thought it would be troublesome if this turned into an annoying conversation, but since he couldn’t refuse, he reluctantly held out his cup. “Let me pour you one.” The man in tattered Western clothes moved to block it with one hand.

“No, I won’t have that. Such formalities are bothersome—I’ll decline. Please drink without concern for me. If I want more, I’ll fetch it myself.” “Very well, then I won’t offer any.” “Please do that. It would suit me better to act freely.” “Then by all means.” Kensaku poured sake into his own cup and drank while waiting for the man in tattered Western clothes to begin his story.

“Well then, I’ll tell you a story now—a bit strange, you see. In this modern age of Einstein and whatnot, it’s a rather peculiar tale.” “Well then, go on and tell it.” “Well then, I’ll begin—but mark you, I shan’t name my birthplace. When in China, I speak Chinese; when in Java, Javanese. Let my origins remain your conjecture. My family ranked among the wealthiest in our region—my father kept seven concubines. As an only child with no siblings, I was doted upon excessively by both parents. They hired two tutors—a Frenchman and an Italian—to educate me in all conventional matters. Yet I harbored peculiar tastes—had I been born later, I’d have taken to airplanes! Whenever novel amusements or spectacles arose, I’d spend fortunes mastering them. This led me to host a troupe of Indian sorceresses at my villa, from whom I learned various tricks: tossing stones that became fluttering doves, laying canes that slithered like snakes, producing dogs from hats. All mere contraptions, tedious once deciphered—yet spectators marveled, and their wonder amused me to no end. I’d invite neighbors and friends to the backyard for demonstrations. Yes—I was seventeen then. The crux comes next, but pray—drink freely without minding me.”

The man in tattered Western clothes said this and, as if suddenly remembering something, thrust both hands into his overcoat.

“Ah.” Kensaku nodded. The man in tattered Western clothes took out a cigar and matches, lighting it with an air of bother.

“The incident comes later, but... you see. One day—it was summer—my backyard had a large jujube tree heavy with ripe jujubes. I placed a trick box beneath that tree, performed two or three of my signature magic tricks, then threw a stone that transformed into a dove and sent it flying—” (Hmph.) “Some burst into mocking laughter as if they found it utterly ridiculous. Deeming them insufferable, I looked up to see an old man wearing a red hat—white-bearded, sparsely at that—laughing. Depending on his next words, I resolved to thrash him soundly, and as I glared at his face—”

“Young master, these childish tricks won’t do. Shall I show you my magic?”

When he said that, I grew furious—how could this empty-handed old man, devoid of any gimmicks or contraptions, manage anything clever? I resolved to make him attempt something and, should he fail, give him a proper thrashing. “I see. Then show me—what exactly can you do?” When I said this, the old man smirked slyly, “Young master, I can do anything. If you command me to turn you into a monkey, I shall truly make you one. But rather than that—let me first demonstrate something swift. Young master—shall I wither that large jujube tree?”

He said this, but no matter how skilled one’s magic might be, a standing tree couldn’t simply be withered. I thought the old man was spouting nonsense to amuse himself and extort money from me—and my anger only grew fiercer, “Stop with the nonsense—if this jujube tree can be withered, then go ahead and wither it.” When I said this, the old man removed the platinum chain he had been wearing around his neck like a cross, took out a small bag attached to the chain, and clenched it in his right palm.

“That one will wither immediately.” With that, he raised his hand as if to curse the jujube tree—and what do you think happened? The once-vibrant green jujube leaves suddenly began to wilt, and the fruits came clattering down. I felt not so much astonished as truly terrified. Then the old man— “Well, Young master? I wasn’t lying, was I?” he said with perfect composure, “It was wrong of me to doubt you—please forgive me.”

I had no choice but to apologize to the old man—then he, “If you understand now, Young master, it would be a pity to wither this tree—I shall revive it.” With that, when he moved his hand sideways two or three times, the jujube fruits that had been falling stopped at once, and the withered leaves turned vividly green before my eyes. I began to regard the old man as a deity. Abandoning my magic trick boxes right there, I ushered him into the main house, summoned both my father and mother to meet him, lavished him with hospitality, and resolved to have him stay with us from that day onward. But when I proposed this to the old man, he—

“Young master, while I deeply appreciate your kindness, I cannot impose on you alone here as I have family with me.”

Since he said that, even if I suggested bringing his family along to stay together, "No—I shall trouble you again. Since my sorcery seems to have caught your fancy, Young master, I shall teach it to you in due time. However, this differs from mere tricks—it’s wondrous magic impossible to impart without true resolve. Once you’ve cultivated such resolve, I’ll instruct you anytime. From now on, I’ll drop by occasionally."

He would say this and leave no matter how much I tried to stop him. Even when I asked where he lived, he’d reply that I’d find out soon enough without giving a proper answer. This made me increasingly regard him as an extraordinary foreigner. After that, he began appearing every two or three days as if drifting in from nowhere. He’d perform feats like turning stones into frogs or making women’s figures appear on walls, then partake in our hospitality before departing. About a month later, a great misfortune befell my household. My father—who had been drinking afternoon tea—collapsed and died without any prior illness. With no close relatives to rely on, my mother directed the hired help to manage the funeral. Then, on the tenth morning after my father’s death, she too was found dead in her bed where she had lain down the previous evening. This truth I only learned later—ignorant at the time, I believed the old man was now my sole support. After my mother’s passing, I consulted him about handling her affairs. Yet still he refused to stay overnight at our house. Then one day, he arrived accompanied by a strikingly beautiful young woman—his daughter. She came with him three times in total. On the third visit, she stayed overnight at our home. From that evening onward, she and I were no longer strangers to each other. But this marked the beginning of terror—both my parents had perished by that sorcerer’s hand, and I too was nearly destined to meet death through his machinations. The next day, when she said she would return home, I accompanied her—only to find her dwelling was a suspicious boat moored at the inlet’s edge. I was ushered into one of its cabins as if being imprisoned. Had I tried forcing my way back, her sister’s swords and the old man’s poisoned hands awaited me. Her sister was an ugly, lame woman who wielded seven daggers. The way she tossed them skyward one after another made it seem as though demonic hands aided her throws. When I arrived, the old man summoned this sister under the pretense of hospitality and ordered her to demonstrate her blades—a death sentence for me. Yet the younger woman shielded me. Knowing nothing of their schemes, I had no choice but to stay when the old man refused to let me leave. That midnight, I awoke to hear her arguing fiercely with her sister in the next room...

“Isn’t this too pitiful? I cannot endure it. Please spare him—by my entreaty.”

Following that voice came the sister’s words, “Messing around with that man, are you? Idiot—if you won’t do it, I will.” I was to be killed that very night. My teeth chattered uncontrollably as I trembled, but soon the voices next door fell silent, leaving an eerie stillness. I prayed the woman who favored me would somehow save me—if money could buy my way out, I’d gladly have thrown away my entire fortune. Just as I resolved to tell her this and beg for help, dawn approached, and she slipped into the room. Without a word, she pressed into my hand a small bag-like object attached to a chain,

“This is my father’s Matara Jewel. If danger arises, you need only wield this. With this alone, everything will bend to your will. So long as you hold it, neither my father nor sister can harm you. Go now—we shall never meet again.” After saying this, she began to cry. Had I been composed enough, I might have said something to her—but my terror had not yet subsided. I simply hurriedly opened the door and fled to the prow. When I regained my senses, I could hear the old man’s groaning, furious voice. Dawn had already broken, paling the eastern sky. I returned home afterward, yet remained unsettled about the woman and wary of the old man. I armed five or six strapping men with rifles and went to check the inlet’s shore—but the boat had vanished, likely fled. Still preoccupied with the woman, I later commissioned investigations through intermediaries, but ultimately discovered nothing. The jewel was a lapis lazuli-blue stone shaped like a leaf. What did I do after obtaining it? With my vast wealth, I had no need to play at robbery—I used it on women instead. I became involved with governors’ wives, ambassadors’ wives, mayors’ sisters, courtesans, actresses… Just as society began scrutinizing me, an opera troupe arrived—Japanese performers born in Manila. Undeterred by past follies, I set my sights on their prima donna and entangled myself with her—only to have her steal the jewel from me. Weary of society’s attacks and regretting its loss, I liquidated all my assets… and then for over ten years…”

Just as the man in tattered Western clothes was about to continue speaking up to that point, a light sound of rubber soles echoed. Kensaku abruptly raised his head. The woman who had been at the front corner table was preparing to leave. Revealing an oblong face with gravid allure, she emerged from behind the tattered man's seat while adjusting the collar of her long bluish scarf. Though Kensaku found her retreating figure pleasing, what truly arrested him was thinking *She's quite a beauty* as he became momentarily transfixed by her features. Then the tattered man lifted his face. Upon seeing the woman's countenance, the man's eyes widened in shock—he stared fixedly for an instant before suddenly springing upright as if catapulted from his chair.

“Hey! Aren’t you Tenka?”

Kensaku compared the face of the man in tattered Western clothes with that of the woman, as if waking from a dream. The woman wore a cold expression. “Yes, Tenka! Tenka!” The man in tattered Western clothes tried to reach for the woman’s shoulder area, turned his body, and ended up facing away. The woman strode past without so much as a glance.

“Wait!” The man in tattered Western clothes’ hand reached toward the woman’s left shoulder area. “What are you doing? How rude!” At the woman’s sharp cry—somehow—the man in tattered Western clothes fell backward onto the dirt floor. With that, the glass door opened, and the woman’s figure vanished outside. “You thief!”

The moment he sprang up, the man in tattered Western clothes threw open the glass door the woman had been closing and dashed out.

“Wait! Wait!” The waitress attending Kensaku and the tattered Western-suited man’s table hurriedly chased after him. It struck Kensaku—could this woman be the very actress who had stolen that man’s Matara Jewel? Yet given how wildly implausible that tale seemed—how divorced from reality—he found himself unable to reconcile it with the woman before him. Abruptly, Kensaku wondered—might that man simply be a madman?

What time was it now? Kensaku suddenly grew conscious of the hour. He hurriedly glanced at his wristwatch. The time had become 4:10.

There were still two hours left, but if I lingered here, who knew what new entanglements might arise—I decided I might as well board the ship and have a drink on board. Kensaku looked up, intending to settle the bill and leave. The three waitresses, concerned about their fellow waitress who had gone out, stood by the open glass door looking outside.

“Hey, Miss.” When Kensaku lightly tapped the table with his right knuckles, a woman came immediately. “I’d like to settle the bill. How much is it?” The waitress took stock of the plates and sake flask with her eyes but immediately stated the price. It was two yen and a bit more. Kensaku produced three yen in small change. “You can have the miss from before handle the rest.” Kensaku watched the woman take the money away, then took out a cigarette, lit it with a match, took a drag, and stood up.

“It’s terrible! It’s terrible!”

The woman who had gone out while letting out a frightened voice now showed herself at the glass door. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” “No matter what you say, it’s terrible! That customer just stabbed his own neck! I didn’t know what to do!”

Kensaku dropped the cigarette. “He ran all the way to the front of that fruit shop in the side street, then suddenly pulled out a dagger and stabbed his own neck! It was terrifying!”

“What do you suppose happened? He must’ve been chasing after that woman.”

“That’s right! But the woman was nowhere to be seen.”

“What in the world happened? Could he have been a madman?” “Well, he’s a madman! If he’d held a grudge against her, he should’ve just killed her instead!” When Kensaku heard those words, he realized that man had indeed been unhinged—that’s why he’d said such things. And recalling that he himself had been keeping company with that man, he thought it would be disastrous if some entanglement were to prevent his departure.

“That’s turned into a dreadful affair.” Kensaku exited past the woman while murmuring things he seemed utterly unconcerned about, but without so much as a glance toward the side street, he hurried off down the main thoroughfare as if fleeing.

Ⅱ

Before he knew it, the electric lights had been lit. The feeling of being pursued that Kensaku had when leaving the Western restaurant had subsided, and he now walked along the dim twilight street with measured steps.

Had the weather changed? The oppressive air lingered against his sake-flushed cheeks with a strange warmth. The impression of that suspicious man in tattered Western clothes who had committed suicide lingered in his mind, yet it felt like something from years past—an event from an entirely different world.

He suddenly remembered the cigarette. He paused briefly, tucked his cane under his left arm, pulled out a cigarette from the tobacco pouch in his coat pocket and placed it between his lips, then struck a match, lit it while dropping the spent matchstick to the ground, took a drag intending to resume walking, raised his face and let his gaze wander deliberately to the right. There stood a Western-style mansion with brightly lit second-floor windows, from one of which a woman with an oblong face revealed herself from the chest up. The woman's face broke into a sly smile. Kensaku stared intently at the woman’s face, for it seemed familiar to him. That was the woman who had been at the Western restaurant earlier. Kensaku faintly recalled the name Tenka that the suspicious man in tattered Western clothes had mentioned. The woman inclined her head.

“I must apologize for earlier. Please do come in—I’d be happy to offer you some tea.” Kensaku wasn’t worried about the time, but not knowing the woman’s background made him uneasy about casually entering the home of someone he’d only briefly encountered at a Western restaurant. Moreover, there was something faintly sinister about such a refined woman being overly familiar, so he hesitated. “Do come up now—there’s no one else here to trouble you.”

Kensaku suddenly thought. This woman’s demeanor and appearance were unmistakably not those of a respectable family’s daughter—she must be a former actress or ex-geisha. And considering she was here alone, he wondered if she was traveling or perhaps belonged to that class of women who waited for moneyed men. He thought there was still time before the ship departed.

“Well, please do come in.” “Well then, I’ll impose on you briefly.”

Kensaku discarded the cigarette butt and turned his attention toward the entrance. The glass entrance door with its dimly lit lantern came immediately into view.

“Please enter through that entrance, ascend the stairs on your right—it’s the fourth room.”

Kensaku glanced briefly at the woman’s face before walking toward the entrance. There, a glass door with white dust clinging like frosted glass seemed to await his arrival, its handle having come loose to leave a narrow slit. He opened the glass door with a light heart. At the entranceway, he saw the window glass of a protruding room resembling a reception area, inside which a plump-cheeked, ruddy-faced old woman wearing spectacles with large lenses attached to a black cord resembling pince-nez sat turned sideways, peering at a small Western book with a faded russet cover. To both the right and left of the room were dimly lit wooden-floored areas, and before them could be seen steep ladder-like stairs. Kensaku carefully wiped the mud from his boots with the palm-fiber doormat attached to the edge of the right wooden-floored area, then slowly ascended the stairs.

As he climbed the white brick stairs step by step, he thought that if he carelessly yielded to the woman’s temptations, he might even lose his return travel funds; therefore, should matters appear troublesome, he resolved to leave something equivalent to a tip and make a swift escape. He emerged onto the second-floor corridor feeling a pleasant satisfaction with his own mind from which good ideas kept arising.

In front of a dim corridor resembling a cavernous passageway stood an open door，its bright light from within illuminating a figure who pressed her back against it．Kensaku thought it must be that woman，so he walked toward her．It was indeed his counterpart．

“Welcome.”

“Excuse me.” Kensaku made a slight bow while giving an ambiguous reply.

“What a dreadful place this is. Please, do come in.”

“Excuse me.” Kensaku stepped inside. A folding screen that glittered like mica stood there, so he moved left to skirt around it. At the room’s center stood a square table bearing a pot of rose-like blooms, surrounded by crimson velvet chairs and armchairs. Green curtains draped toward the window. Beneath it lay a crimson velvet chaise longue flanked by various chairs, all arranged with elegant precision.

When Kensaku saw that arrangement, he felt obliged to remove his coat. He looked to the left wondering if there might be a hat rack. There stood a small three-tiered shelf. He went to its side, placed his cane and hat on the bottom tier, then started taking off his coat. A softly warm hand touched his back. “Allow me.” The coat was deftly slipped from his shoulders. Kensaku felt self-conscious.

“Well, this is most kind.” “Then please do have a seat.” As she spoke, the woman folded the coat in two and placed it on the shelf. Kensaku headed toward the table while glancing at his wristwatch. The watch showed four forty.

“I must take my leave shortly, as I’m supposed to board the ship.”

“Even so, do please stay and talk with me a little longer.”

The woman had already come beside him and, turning the opening of the rotating chair this way, offered it. Kensaku sat in it and turned his gaze to the pale flowers in the pot.

“I must apologize for earlier—you see, I’m here all alone like this, and when loneliness strikes, I end up wandering to such places by myself. But earlier, getting involved with that strange man gave me quite a fright! What could that have been about? He called me Tenka or something like that, you know.” The woman was sitting in the chair to the right. “That’s right—he was a madman! And then something dreadful happened afterward—you wouldn’t know about that now would you?”

“I hadn’t the slightest idea. Since he seemed to be chasing me, I fled through those strange backstreets to get here—though something did happen…” “He went out chasing after you and apparently stabbed his own throat right there—I didn’t see it myself, but the maid went afterward and came back with the story. He really was a madman, wasn’t he?” “Well, to stab his own throat—what could have driven him to that? How dreadful, don’t you think?”

“How pitiful—he came to my table saying people had stolen something called the Matara Jewel, so he’d been wandering from port to port across Asia searching for it. Since he kept rambling those strange, dreamlike things, he simply had to be a madman.” “Is that so? Even so, isn’t it pitiful? I wonder where he was from.” “Well, he does seem rather Chinese, don’t you think?”

“Is that so?”

At this moment, Kensaku thought that this woman was not the sort he had imagined and felt a slight disappointment. He decided to cut the conversation short and took out a cigarette from his coat pocket.

“I’ll bring something now, so please make yourself comfortable—I’ve been so dreadfully lonely all alone here, you see.” The woman raised her body—which had been clinging to the table with one hand—and struck a match from behind the flower pot. Kensaku offered his cigarette to the flame. “Excuse me, I’ll have one cup of tea before I go. I’m supposed to board the six o’clock ship.” “But staying a little longer will be quite all right.”

At that very moment, the door creaked open and someone entered.

It was a sturdy woman wearing a white apron who had brought a tray carrying a gourd-shaped ceramic bottle and a small, long-stemmed cup placed beside it. “Bring it here.” The woman in the white apron wore her hair in a Shimada updo. She placed the tray at the corner of the table, then bowed and exited.

“Since I happen to have this trifling thing here, I’ll give it to you—something may yet come of it in time.”

The woman took the bottle, poured its contents into the glass, and set it before Kensaku. Kensaku thought that if he dawdled there any longer, he would miss the ship, so he decided he would leave immediately after having one drink. “In that case, since you’ve gone to the trouble, I’ll have one cup.” Kensaku gave a slight bow, placed his cigarette in the ashtray before him, and brought the faintly blue liquid to his lips. It was something with a faintly whiskey-like taste. Then, whether it was the scent of that liquid or perhaps the fragrance from the potted flowers, a pleasant odor reminiscent of burdock root seemed to permeate his brain.

“How does it suit your palate?”

Kensaku drank it down in two gulps and set the glass aside.

“This is quite sweet… Well, it’s getting late, so I must take my leave now.”

Kensaku said this and tried to rise. The soft tip of the woman’s foot was gently touching his right ankle. Kensaku felt it would be a shame to move that foot away. Kensaku did so and turned his gaze to the potted flowers. The flowers that had until now appeared faintly white were now dyed a vivid crimson. He looked at the woman’s face in surprise. The woman’s voluptuous, long-eyed face seemed to float into vivid relief.

“If it pleases you, do have two or three more cups in succession—it will put you in a most agreeable state.” The woman took the bottle and poured a second serving. At the same time, he felt the woman’s two foot tips entwine around his right ankle. Kensaku squinted and lowered his gaze.

“With the old woman pouring your drink, it’s rather pitiful, but...” Kensaku half-smiled and took the cup.

“I shall have some as well.”

By the time Kensaku looked her way, the woman had already brought the cup to her flushed lips and was showing an alluring smile. Around Kensaku had spread a world of dazzling splendor.

“What is your name?”

“I don’t have a name. Ah… Well then, shall we go with Tenka?”

Kensaku felt a warm hand freshly touch his own right hand placed on the edge of the table. He impatiently grasped that hand.

III

Kensaku awoke from a suffocating sleep. It was as if the wings of a bird—perhaps a peacock—that had been madly frolicking through a flower garden had suddenly scattered down. He took several deep breaths and then opened his eyes. A white warm naked body lay covered by a grass-green feather quilt.

Kensaku was startled. At the same time, a strange poetic impression surged back into his mind. He felt pale fully-dawned light stream through fissures in that impression. He remembered he had missed the ship.

“This is…” Kensaku lay prone. He deeply regretted. He remembered having sent a telegram saying he would return on yesterday’s ship. In that moment, he envisioned before his eyes the scene of an eight-year-old girl and a five-year-old boy waiting for him and gossiping with their mother about him. He was unbearably tormented. He could not stay lying down. He suddenly tried to sit up and noticed that he himself was naked. “It’s still early. Do rest a bit longer.”

The woman’s eyes were half-open. Kensaku could not remain still.

"No—I can’t stay like this. Where are the clothes?"

On the stand by the bed’s pillow, he could see a disorderly box containing his suit and shirts placed inside. He smoothly slipped out from the feather quilt to the side and got down. “What are you going to do now?” “I’m going to the steamship company now.” Kensaku said as he put on his shirt. “But there’s no ship, is there?” The woman said nonchalantly. Kensaku loathed that.

“There isn’t one today, but since there’s a ship on the third day, I’ll just go and come back.” “Is that so.” The woman said with a sneer. Kensaku hurriedly put on his dress shirt, fastened his trousers, and since there were shoes, slipped those on as well. Then, as he thrust his hands into his jacket, he saw that both his watch and wallet had been properly placed inside the box. He suddenly wondered if something had happened to his money, but since he couldn’t check it there, he slipped it into his jacket’s inner pocket and fastened the watch to his wrist.

“Even if you rush around like that, do you really think you’ll find the company?” The woman lay sleeping on the same pillow as before. “Well, if you go to Kaigan-dori, it’s there. I’ll just go and come back.”

“What about breakfast?”

“I’ll have it somewhere.” “Is that so.”

Kensaku headed toward what seemed to be the entrance and opened the door there. It was the same room he had seen in the evening. He crossed the room and headed toward where the folding screen stood. On the right-hand shelf there, his coat, hat, and cane remained just as they had been left the previous evening. He took those and hurried outside.

The hallway was bright. When Kensaku stepped into the hallway, he reached into his inner pocket and took out his wallet. The money showed no signs of tampering. He thought he should leave some money for the woman, but it all felt rather absurd. He descended the stairs just as he was. As he reached for the door to go outside, he heard something like a low, muffled chuckle—fu-fu-fu. When he looked back, there in the watchtower window was the same old woman from the evening, her large glasses glinting. Kensaku felt uncomfortable, so he went outside without looking closely.

The morning sun coldly stained the roof tiles on the opposite side. Workers moved in crowds through the narrow street. Kensaku had lost all sense of the coast’s direction. He considered asking someone. “Pardon me—could you tell me how to reach the coast?”

He spotted one of three carpenters shouldering toolboxes and tried asking. “We’re heading to the coast ourselves, but where exactly is it?” “It’s where the steamship company for the Taiwan route is located, you see.” “Then it’s right ahead—just follow us.” Kensaku followed after the three. After emerging from the narrow backstreet onto the tram thoroughfare, crossing the tracks, and entering the broad avenue on the other side, the three carpenters had vanished somewhere.

“Excuse me—could you tell me how to reach the coast? Specifically, where the steamship company for the Taiwan route is located?”

Kensaku asked a man with a sailor-like pipe clenched between his teeth. “That way—go down this alley, then take the third street on your right.”

The man with the sailor-like pipe pointed to the alley branching left just ahead. Kensaku walked in that direction. And having found the third street, he turned right and went, but neither reached the coast nor found any building resembling the company.

“Is the coast still far?” Kensaku asked an elderly man unloading a load of loach soup.

“This here’s Yamate—you’d go that way for Arima Onsen, but the coast is the opposite direction.” The elderly man pointed back the way he had come. Kensaku had no choice but to trudge back. And as he walked, he lost his way. “How should I go to reach the coast?” “If you go to the right from here, that’s the way—but it’s quite a distance.” Kensaku headed in that direction once more. However, the coast still did not come.

“Is there somewhere to eat around here? Anywhere would be fine.”

Kensaku entered an inn driven by hunger—then it occurred to him that making a call from there would suffice. He went searching for an inn. "There's an inn just ahead." Kensaku went in the instructed direction but found no inn.

Kensaku, utterly exhausted, was walking the twilight streets.

“My, what have you been doing all this time? Your wife must be beside herself waiting for you.” Kensaku, finding this strange, looked in that direction. There, in the half-opened doorway of the Western-style building, a woman with a Shimada-style chignon stood half-revealed. That was the woman who had brought the drinks last night. Kensaku realized he had returned to the house from last night. “Ah, it’s you.”

Kensaku, having no choice, went up to the second floor. The lamp in the room was already lit. The woman was leaning against the table in the room, smiling as she watched him enter. “Did you go to the steamship company?” Since he couldn’t exactly claim ignorance, Kensaku gave an evasive reply as he approached her.

“You must be exhausted—please sit down. You must be hungry too—I’ll bring something right away.” The woman had been smiling all along, but there was something about it that seemed sarcastic. Kensaku reached for his coat pocket, thinking to smoke a cigarette. The cigarettes were gone, leaving only the empty Shikishima bag inside. He had no choice but to remain still. “Have you been at the company all this time?” “Well, not exactly—I was walking all over the place.”

Kensaku found the day’s events unbearably bizarre. He thought that his inability to find either the coast or the inn might mean he was losing his mind. He was terrified. The woman with the Shimada-style chignon brought in the food arranged on a wide-rimmed tray and placed it before the table. “I’ve already partaken, so please go ahead yourself.” Kensaku was hungry and immediately picked up the chopsticks. It was a Western-style meal that even came with bread. “Please drink last night’s sake; it will refresh your mind.”

The drink poured from the ceramic bottle passed from the woman’s hand. Kensaku set down the chopsticks and brought it to his mouth. Then before Kensaku came a brilliant world.

Morning came. Kensaku found his body in the same state as the day before. Kensaku resolved that today, at last, he would take a rickshaw and go to the company. He got up again and put on Western clothes. “And where are you off to now?” The woman remained lying down.

“I’ll be right back.” “Do give up on such trivial matters.” Kensaku nevertheless went out. The old woman’s laughter—a muffled “Hmm, hmm, hmm”—rang out mockingly. When he stepped outside, an empty rickshaw arrived. He first thought he would go to the inn for breakfast before heading to the company. “Take me to a good inn along the coast road.” The rickshaw started off with Kensaku aboard. It went from street to street without rest, but whether due to there being no inns or not, it never once stopped.

“Hey! No inns yet? If there’s no inn, even the Taiwan Steamship Company will do!” Even so, the rickshaw did not stop. Kensaku had no choice but to switch rickshaws and set off, but that one too refused to stop anywhere. The sun that had been beating down on the carriage all day had imperceptibly faded. “That’s enough—let me off.” Kensaku dismounted, paid the fare, and tried walking.

“Oh, welcome back.” The woman was leaning out from the second-floor window. As Kensaku stepped inside, he thought, “I must be losing my mind.”

The next day, Kensaku became so terrified for his own safety that he decided to request police protection and went to seek out the police station.

“The police station is just ahead.” No matter how far he went forward, there was no police station. If there was no police station, a police box would do, he thought. “The police box is just past this street.” However, he could not find any police boxes. Kensaku walked on dejectedly when, before he knew it, he had come before the Western-style building. In the second-floor window was that woman’s face.

The next day, Kensaku headed to Sannomiya Station intending to flee the town, but he could not find Sannomiya Station. When he focused his attention, the woman’s face was peering from the second-floor window.

That night, she brought Kensaku’s head to her chest and whispered something into his ear, but for some reason did not sit up. “Now then, dear boy, I’ll show you something wonderful.” After saying that, the woman put her right hand into her left sleeve and pulled out something she had been clutching. “Since this flower’s being impertinent, let’s make it wither.” Something pinged in Kensaku’s dreamlike head. Kensaku forced open his entranced eyes.

“Such a flower—wither away!” The woman thrust her right hand over the pot, and before his eyes the flower withered as its petals fell away in tatters. “Well, dear boy? What do you think?”

After briefly looking at it, Kensaku closed his eyes. “Oh, you’ve fallen asleep, have you?” Kensaku pretended to be asleep while aware that she and the Shimada woman were taking him to the bedroom. When dawn broke after Kensaku had stayed awake all night, his hand went to the woman’s left arm.

“What are you doing?”

The woman suddenly tried to sit up. And at the same moment, the bag that had been chained to her arm shifted into Kensaku's hand.

“Ah!”

The woman screamed and immediately jumped down like a rabbit and fled outside the bedroom. Kensaku clutched the bag in his teeth, swiftly donned his Western clothes, and went outside—but the woman was nowhere to be seen. The night was already over. Kensaku's mind was clear. He walked about a block, found an inn, and entered.

Kensaku had appeared aboard the Takao Maru—a Taiwan-bound steamer that had departed that evening.