Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. One Cold Winter Night

It was an exceedingly cold night. I had been sitting at my desk since early evening, concentrating with all my might on finally beginning to write something I’d been meaning to for some time now.—But it was so cold that before I knew it, my fingertips—which should have been gripping a pen—ended up hovering over the hibachi instead. Outside the window, a layer of cold so thick it was visible lingered quietly like a lake. With eyes warmed by holding them over the hibachi, gazing through the glass at that cold, dark scene even brought mysterious fairy tales to mind for someone like me—so much so that “winter nights” came to feel genuinely dear and delightful to my heart; I thought how much better it might be to remain like this forever, savoring the winter night to my very core, rather than engaging in such troublesome things as writing. I thought how much more it might resonate with my heart to imagine that famous Winter’s Tale of Shakespeare’s—a cold winter night where, while watching snow fall soundlessly and ceaselessly outside the window, a crowd gathers around a blazing stove as a poet tells a story he recently composed; the lamplight on the table illuminates their profiles like a painting as they listen intently…a winter night cradled by roaring flames, endlessly falling snow, and the scent of wine…than to remain here as I was. Though snow wasn’t falling, the damp night’s black sky had seeped right up to my window. I felt as though I were sitting at the bottom of a lake. I would mistake a single Chinese parasol tree leaf that fluttered down past the window for a fish swimming in the lake, or imagine the flowers Mother had arranged in the alcove that morning as algae at the water’s depths. With the feeling as though I had become a fish, I kept puffing briskly on my cigarette and watched until the smoke dissolved completely into the room’s air. When the smoke disappeared, I blew again.—No matter how much time passed, there was no end. Even when I forcibly roused myself from the dream with a “Come on, let’s write!”, remaining locked in a silent contest with the night still felt like dwelling in a far more beautiful world—I simply couldn’t bring myself to take up my pen.

Since remaining like this indefinitely would be endless, I decided to talk with Mother for a while to regain my composure and—leaving my room in disarray—went to the tearoom. In the tearoom, my younger sister Michiko had gathered around the hibachi and was engaged in what seemed to be an amusing conversation with Mother. “Just now, when I was about to go ask Brother about something I didn’t understand, Mother said, ‘He’s studying right now, so wait until later,’ so I’ve been waiting here.”

“Is it about school?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Michiko as she ran off toward her own room. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you kindly explain it to her? She’s been waiting for some time now.” When Mother said this to me, I realized that she and Michiko had gone out of their way to be considerate—though I hadn’t been studying or doing anything at all—and felt an urge to laugh mixed with pity and loneliness…or to put it plainly, guilt.

“Ha ha ha,” I laughed. “It wasn’t even related, though.” With that, I headed to Michiko’s room. Just as I finished reviewing Michiko’s reader, her friend and neighbor Tsuya-ko came visiting because it was Saturday. “Brother, won’t you tell us a story?” Michiko said. This storytelling business always troubled me most, so when I pretended not to hear and tried to slip away—“That’s not fair! “We made a promise the other day—today we won’t let you escape!” With that, the two of them forcibly made me sit back down again.

“Well, I…” Here I put on a slightly serious face. “I truly can’t craft stories meant to please everyone.” Even so, the two of them did not readily forgive me. So, having no choice, I began, “—Uh, once upon a time there was an old man…” but the two of them shook their heads violently, “No, no! That kind of thing… If it’s that old-fashioned, we wouldn’t need to specially ask Brother—Grandma could tell it much better anyway,” they immediately dismissed it and demanded something newer, refusing to accept anything less. At this, I found myself utterly at a loss. If I had known it would come to this, I should have spent the past few days reading some Western storybooks in preparation—I profoundly regretted not having done so.

Though it was still early evening, not yet eight o’clock, not a sound could be heard. There was no sound of light rain striking the eaves—save for the faint shifting of charcoal in the hibachi and the small clock ticking on Michiko’s desk, the rest of the world seemed to have fallen entirely asleep. For I had fallen silent, unable to tell a story, and the two girls were poised with bated breath, waiting for me to begin…

At this point, I must briefly explain to you all that there existed a rather large bi-fold golden screen in Michiko’s room. And on it was depicted a single Peacock as beautiful as if it were real. However, it was truly just a single Peacock painted upon the gold leaf—there were no flowers, trees, grass, or anything else depicted besides. So much so that one might say it was as though a peacock painting had been cut out from elsewhere and pasted onto the gold foil. And precisely because of this, the Peacock had become a solitary entity, so that depending on one’s perspective, it almost seemed as though the Peacock appeared to hazily visit Michiko’s room.

“Michiko-san, I have come all the way from distant India specifically to show you these beautiful feathers of mine—that being my very purpose.” “Now, look closely.” “And then imagine how magnificently splendid my country must be—worthy of this beautiful me spreading my feathers to stride about.” “For that reason alone do I deliberately linger here solitary before this screen with naught else depicted.” “A background matching my body’s beauty could never be rendered upon such a paltry little screen.” As I stared fixedly at the Peacock upon the screen, it seemed to wear an expression as if on the verge of uttering precisely such words.

At that moment, unable to come up with a story no matter how hard I tried, I turned my face toward the screen. Though I wasn’t actually thinking up a story, unless I at least pretended to be deep in thought, there was no way the two would let me off the hook—so I sat silently gazing at the peacock on the screen. “What if someone grew attached to this painted peacock?” “But that would be terrible!” “You’d get turned into the screen itself!” “You wouldn’t be able to move at all then, would you?”

Because I wasn’t speaking much, perhaps having grown a bit bored, the two of them were laughing in an amused way while making such trivial conversation.

I don’t know how many candlepower it was, but in any case, an extremely bright electric lamp was shining beneath a crimson shade as if it were daytime. And the room was already sufficiently warm—so warm that one might suspect spring had suddenly arrived. As I sat silent in that bright room, my mind flew away to some strange world. The bright room warmed on a winter’s night, the golden screen, the Peacock, and the girls’ bright laughter transported me to a beautiful land. That said, it was no scene anyone could readily imagine—not some frontispiece from an old magazine depicting princesses frolicking with a Peacock in a springtime paradise, nor a cheerful goddess strumming her harp along emerald banks beneath the Milky Way’s flow.—That was so bizarre and unexpected that there was no doubt everyone would surely exclaim “Ah!” in astonishment.—And I suddenly felt happy. You all may say what you will, but in any case, I felt relieved that I could make Michiko and Tsuya-ko happy. My heart shone like a bright electric lamp, and my chest trembled with joy like the Peacock’s beautiful wings. So intense was the story I recalled in that moment—or rather, the sky of that world into which I was drawn shone with a mysterious color.

“Well then, shall I begin the story?” I said with the triumphant joy of a victorious warrior, turning toward the two girls the face that had until now been gazing at the screen while lost in thought. Michiko and Miss Tsuya had perhaps already resigned themselves to the idea that I was utterly incapable of telling a proper story, for when I said this with a grin, they looked rather taken aback. In my eyes, Michiko’s room appeared even brighter, like a dreamland. The peacock on the screen appeared as though it might come right up to me and say something at any moment—so I cleared my throat with a deliberate “ahem” and straightened my posture. The quiet night air itself seemed to fall silent to listen to my tale—the night deepened in stillness.

Now then, what kind of story would I—this poor storyteller—begin?

II The Mysterious Land

“Tsuya-chan, Michi-chan—close your eyes for a moment,” I commanded the two girls. Just when they expected me to begin the story, I made this unexpected demand again, so Michiko and Miss Tsuya shook their heads in perfect unison, their faces burning with impatience. “No! Brother’s trying to trick us again!” they protested, refusing outright. Of course their resistance was reasonable—I had indeed used similar ploys to escape before—but this time not the faintest thought of deception existed in my mind.

“No, no—today I’m not tricking you at all.” “My story differs greatly from ordinary tales in nature, so first you must listen properly before it can properly begin.” “My story doesn’t advance through interesting plots or such—both teller and listener must first—before the tale even starts—truly feel they’ve entered the world I’m about to describe.” “Of course, a skilled storyteller would naturally draw listeners into the tale—but as you both well know (here I gestured grandly at myself), this person here is hopeless at storytelling, so we need some setup before beginning.” “Understand?” I said. The two girls found my gesticulations amusing and clutched their stomachs laughing. Finding such laughter unbearable, I immediately continued speaking—

“If you keep laughing, I won’t tell the story,” I said with a lightly scolding look. “Now, both of you close your eyes properly, just as I said.” And so, with no other choice, Michiko and Tsuya-chan obediently closed their eyes. When I saw the two girls sitting there so earnestly, I too somehow found it amusing and was about to burst out laughing, but thinking it would be disastrous to laugh, I managed to hold it back. The two girls had no inkling that I was suppressing my amusement, and so they waited with bated breath. I thought about sneaking away as things were, but that would be too unfair to the two of them, and I had no idea how furious they’d be afterward, so I finally resolved to begin weaving the threads of my tale. Now then, I turned toward the two with their eyes closed,

“If you keep doing that, something should appear before your eyes,” I asked. Then, for a while, the two girls fidgeted awkwardly, but finally, “Yes,” they answered. “What can you see?” I immediately asked back.

“A bright thing appears,” they said. “A bright thing? Hmm, that will do.” “Now gaze properly at that bright thing.” I kept speaking like this.

“If you do that, the bright thing will begin taking various shapes.” “Then what you envision should manifest exactly as imagined.”

The two girls began focusing intently, surrendering to a vision exactly as I had told them. "Yes, it's taking shape," they said. "It should form." "In this luminous world, a golden whirlpool ought to be swirling." "Yes." "You'll soon cease feeling like you're sitting in your room hearing my tale." "You'll forget it's a winter's night—forget you're seated before this glaring electric lamp. If it doesn't come naturally, will it into being." "Do this, and something beautiful must manifest before your eyes." I declared this with a magisterial air, as though I'd transformed into an actual sorcerer. And indeed—the pair now seemed ensnared by my spellcraft, following every instruction to lose themselves in manifold visions.

“What can you see?” I asked. “――”

The two girls said nothing. It was only natural they couldn't answer. For in such moments, what floats before one's eyes is merely a faint, beautiful rainbow—if told to see it as flowers, one might imagine flowers; if told to see it as a landscape, one might imagine that too—so being unable to give a definite response was perfectly understandable. Since I knew this well, I steeled myself and—

“Go on and think about the peacock,” I said. What I had said worked like a charm, and the beautiful golden rainbow that had been before the two girls’ eyes until now transformed into a single peacock.

“Yes, we can see the peacock,” the two answered. So I told them they could open their eyes now.

Why did I have to put on such an artificial display?

Anyone would think that if one were to tell a peacock story, simply saying "a peacock" would suffice. But—I must state emphatically—it does not. "The protagonist of 'The Sorrowful Peacock' is insufficient for me if merely stated in a single breath." In a hazy brightness—like spring’s thin mist—within that indescribably beautiful radiance (which I can only present by having all of you imagine it freely as we are now doing, rather than through my pen), a splendid peacock bathed in golden light stood motionless, its tears streaming steadily down.

“Why are you crying so much?”—anyone who saw that Peacock could not help but ask this. The Peacock was crying so sorrowfully indeed. At that voice, the Peacock startled and rose to her feet. “Oh my,” we could not help but exclaim in surprise—for it was not a real peacock. Well, how could we not be startled? Was this not the Dragon Palace Princess who had emerged from a perfumed spring on a moonlit night—How beautiful must the human world be?—or perhaps, since both sky and earth glittered as if studded with gold and diamonds, shining so brilliantly that whether it was night or day was impossible to discern, we thought we might have been whisked away in an instant to some ancient kingdom’s palace of revelry. Now that things had come to this, there were nothing but wonders—yet the most wondrous of all was that while we had been astonished to discover the peacock was actually a beautiful Dragon Palace Princess, we felt not the slightest surprise at being drawn before such a fantastical spectacle. Michiko, Tsuya-chan, and I (and all of you as well) seemed solely preoccupied with worrying about why the princess clad in peacock garments was crying so bitterly. Michiko strode briskly to the Peacock’s side,

“Hey, excuse me, Princess,” she called out. Then the Princess shook her peacock-patterned gauze robe as if scattering tears and finally raised her face. Her eyes shone beautifully and sorrowfully, like the sixteenth-night moon drenched in spring rain. “What is making you so sad?” Michiko asked again, whereupon the Peacock—as if roused from a dream—stared blankly, “Was I crying?” she said. “Goodness, you were weeping so bitterly—and yet you’ve already forgotten?” Tsuya-ko found the Peacock’s reply so unexpected that she could not help posing this question. I alone felt less surprised by the Peacock’s answer than astonished that Tsuya-ko and Michiko could converse so casually with such an extraordinary Princess—this alone filled me with wonder. And so I began to feel a creeping sense of dread,

“Hey, Michi-chan, let’s go home already,” I whispered to Michiko. “You’re quite the inconsiderate brother, aren’t you?” Michiko said with a scolding expression, leaving me truly taken aback. So familiar had Michiko become with the peacock that I even thought of asking her, “Do you have such a friend?” “Michiko-san, would you care to visit my garden?” Suddenly, the Peacock spoke these words.

“Yes, let’s go.” Michiko and Tsuya-ko answered as though they had forgotten the weeping Peacock. I no longer knew what to do. It was quite absurd, but I began to worry that a sorceress witch might be disguising herself as this creature to deceive the two—I thought that I alone remained unaffected by the magic, someone with ordinary thoughts. In their midst, the Peacock, Michiko, and Tsuya-ko began walking hand in hand in unison—This is bad! I thought—This isn’t a joke! I muttered forcefully.

The three of them walked on and on, singing songs as if thoroughly amused.

“Hey now, isn’t it about time you stopped deceiving people? We really must go home now!” I called out hoarsely, yet the three did not even glance back. Driven by anxiety akin to having lost the neighbor’s baby I’d taken to a festival, I desperately followed after them. Their pace gradually quickened until the distance between us grew quite far. “What in the world was happening?” I grew all the more impatient, yet thinking I couldn’t possibly abandon the two and return home like this, I continued following nonetheless.

“Hey there, isn’t that Makino?”

Suddenly hearing a voice call out to me, I turned around in surprise—and there was my dear friend Hamanouchi. “Look—the one who wrote the poem *Red Dream* last month, right? You all know him well.” Hamanouchi Eiji—

“When I went to your place just now, they said you’d left for Ginza moments ago—so I rushed here.” “I’ve got some business to attend to.” “Ah, yes, but…” I said—since I wasn’t there myself—and panicking, added, “Quickly chase after Michiko for me!” Then Hamanouchi stared at my face as if dumbfounded, but suddenly— “Ha ha ha! Quit joking—what are you talking about?” he said.

By then, the retreating figures of the three were already fluttering like tiny butterflies within the target of my anxious gaze—nothing more remained.

IV. The Terrifying Moment

Chasing after them both, I ran desperately until at last I lost sight of their figures. Though I should have been in central Tokyo, I could no longer tell what part of the world I now occupied. So thoroughly was my surroundings shrouded in strange hues at that moment. Certain this must be some delusion of the mind, I steadied myself and tried to sweep aside the fog before me—but all my efforts proved futile. This was truly what they call being lost in an impenetrable fog. Even within this miasma, the mist clinging about us grew denser with each passing moment. I could no longer see even an inch ahead. Were I to carelessly take a single step—for this was such an uncanny place—I might plunge at any instant into a lake a thousand fathoms deep. Thus though my heart raced like a loosed arrow, I found myself utterly immobilized. They say even stalwart warships must halt when fog grows thick—but none who've never faced it could imagine how dreadful this truly was.

Even though I was already completely immobilized by this alone—why does Heaven intend to torment this innocent me to such lengths?—a sudden violent rain began to fall, pressing down on my very breath. The fierce rain striking my cheeks made a terrifying roaring sound. The state of my heart at that moment was something no words or pen could ever capture—what on earth would become of me? More than that—where were Michiko and Tsuya-chan being taken—what must they have been doing now—the rain and fog grew increasingly dense. I found even breathing difficult. Of course I couldn’t make a sound—the rain was striking my face like a waterfall after all. No matter how brave I was—I became completely unable to do anything. Though I rarely shed tears normally, jewel-like tears began trickling down without my notice at this moment alone. More than my own life—the fact that I had lost Michiko and Tsuya-chan was entirely my responsibility—and I was perplexed by it.

The more I panicked, thinking I had to do something, the more the fog and rain invaded my mouth and nose like poison gas. It was exactly like those moments in dreams where, chased by a monster, the more I struggled to flee, the less control I had over my body—except this was no dream, but a reality that now confronted me. No matter how strong I was, there was nothing I could do. I plopped down heavily onto the ground. At the same moment, the faces of Mother and friends worrying at home appeared vividly before me.

What an unfilial thing I had done—how worried my friends must have been searching for us—I took off my haori and pressed it over my face. I might have had my life choked out by this violent fog and rain if I remained like this.

As the sound of the rain had lessened slightly—until then, I hadn’t been able to open my eyes at all—I cautiously peeked my face out from the gap in my haori. Well, what do you know—what beauty! The rain glowed in five colors, didn’t it? And was that fog a low-hanging rainbow? It bore an iridescent sheen of seven colors. This time, that beautiful rain and fog swirled like flames and came attacking.

I’m done for—the moment my breath was about to stop completely!

What an astonishing turn of events! The rain stopped dead. The fog vanished in the blink of an eye, just as a peacock folds its wings. I collapsed limply onto the field. Having been saved from death, I was utterly exhausted.

Then before my eyes appeared the Peacock once more. And wasn’t she in the very same form as before, shedding tears just as silently and copiously as she had been earlier! I jolted to my feet. “I won’t be fooled by those tears anymore,” I thought, clenching every muscle in my body—

“Please return the two,” I said, barely suppressing a voice that threatened to tremble. The Peacock raised her face—her eyes as beautiful as stars, their loveliness akin to gazing out from beneath a spring haze softly blurred by silvery rain—. And after a brief silence had fallen,

“Please listen to my story,” she began haltingly, embarking on the following tale. I couldn’t bring myself to refuse, and while thinking the Peacock might mention the two girls at any moment, I listened just as I was.

V. The Peacock’s Tale “I am certainly no sorcerer, so please rest assured.” “Since my tale would remain unintelligible unless I begin with my circumstances from long ago, please bear with me and listen for a while.” “To tell the truth, I am a dancer.” “I was born the daughter of an Indian noble, and from a young age, I was exceptionally skilled at dance.” “And my voice was so beautiful it made even the palace musicians shed tears.” “Moreover, since I was born with such a beautiful form—when I was seven years old, for the first time on the terrace of my house on a moonlit night, I sang my improvised poem for Lady Moon—it instantly became renowned.” “The king specially summoned a metalworker from Tibet to make a golden crown for me.” “The queen graciously removed her own silver necklace and bestowed it upon me.” “The roses in the garden, drenched in night dew, showered perfume like rain upon my robe as I stood on the terrace.” “How beautiful my form was that night—I cannot possibly describe it now.” “But you who now behold my still-radiant form before your eyes can easily envision that scene. The moon stood still in solemn silence.” “It is even said that on that night alone, the Ganges River ceased its flow.”

"You are truly fortunate." "What a fortunate person you are, to converse with one as beautiful as myself." "In my country, none but gods could behold me." (The Peacock declared this proudly, but I was in no state to care—I was worried about Michiko and Tsuya-chan.)

“From that time onward, I resolved that I would become a dancer no matter what,” “I had long heard tales of the Forest of Indrani and knew there existed a host of divine maidens called Apsaras there.” “The Apsaras divine maidens are as beautiful as mermaids.” “In the Forest of Indrani, there was no distinction between day and night; flowers bloomed in profusion all year round, and birds sang on the banks of babbling streams.” “The divine maidens’ work consisted solely of singing and dancing.” “They would row a swan-shaped boat called *Ailāvīta* with silver oars, drink a beautiful beverage called *Soma*, and in an eternal springtime, their sole duty was to sing to their hearts’ content for the everlasting moon and stars.”

“In any country, only the single most beautiful and purest maiden can become an Apsaras divine maiden. In the realm of Apsaras, not a single utterance of falsehood is permitted. There exists only the solitary word ‘beauty.’ In your world, mere comeliness of form generally suffices—but there, beauty of heart must surpass mere appearance. The maidens who sing beneath the moon’s immaculate radiance must keep their hearts ever limpid as the sky. Thus, only those maidens deemed ‘beauty’ in every particular may enter the Forest of Indrani. Within that forest, ‘old age’ holds no dominion. Beautiful maidens may dwell forever fair and pure—liberated from sorrow and anguish—living joyously through eternity.”

Because my voice was so beautiful, and my dance was so extraordinary that it had even received the king's praise, I became convinced I would surely be permitted to join the company of Apsaras goddesses. "So I—one night when the moon shone beautifully—trampled through the garden roses without hesitation—" Just as the Peacock tried to continue her story, I—since she still hadn't mentioned Michiko despite all this time—found myself unable to endure listening any longer, and—

“By the way, I am terribly worried about those two. Though we are in the midst of a story, could you not first tell me about their whereabouts?” I asked.

At this, the Peacock suddenly showed a look of anger. “What a foolish question you ask.” “I am truly appalled.” “No matter where you search in this world—there is absolutely no story as beautiful as what I am about to tell—yet if you let this tale slip by without hearing it through properly now—you will surely come to regret it later.” “What I am about to say—you must listen carefully.” “What an exceptionally kind Peacock I am,” she declared while glaring at me.

I didn't think the Peacock was being kind in the slightest—if that's what you call kindness, then surely there must be something far easier for the Peacock to do that would actually count as kindness toward me. While I was fidgeting, the Peacock paid no heed and tried to continue the story. Then, from far away, the ethereal sound of an orchestra resounded quietly. I inadvertently turned my eyes in that direction.

VI. The Allure of Music

“What could it be?” I asked the Peacock, turning toward the music resounding beyond the beautiful clouds. My expression and voice must have shown an extraordinary look of astonishment—the Peacock, upon hearing that voice of mine—must have involuntarily burst into laughter—placing her palm, beautiful as a white flower, against her rose-like lips—and laughed in an amused manner. And just like the Peacock’s laughter—as though guided by her direction—the music lowered its tone and rolled forth in a tinkling cascade.

The dream of a spring dawn scattered a thousandfold—a faint crimson smile, a silver fountain clattering across the sky, a single petal that vanishes with a breath and erases tears—the cleansing clarity after weeping through the night until dawn… With such disjointed phrases alone could I describe my trance-like state under that mysterious music’s spell—no, I found no way to articulate the ineffably sacred yet opulent atmosphere surrounding us at that moment. At the periphery of the shimmering heat haze over the lawn where I sat, it had condensed into a low-hanging cloud of five-colored light.

At some point my heart—having forgotten all worries—came to feel as clear and pure as the sky. As for me—me who had been acting under such immense anxieties—to have been made to slip into this dreamlike state bathed in sunlight without a single care surfacing—that beautiful scene I can only leave to your imagination. I quietly closed my eyes. The yellow light seeping into the corners of my eyes—transformed into the score of a fantasia played upon some unseen instrument—danced quietly yet vivaciously, brimming with joy and sorrow like a butterfly.

Here the story briefly diverged from its main thread, but having used the phrase "filled with joy and sorrow like a butterfly," I felt compelled to offer some explanation about what it means to experience sorrow and joy simultaneously.

“For instance, if I were to say everyone spends a day at school cheerfully and energetically, some might retort, ‘Not every moment is so pleasant!’ But please listen quietly—when the teacher solemnly declared, ‘Those who completed their Japanese-to-English translation homework, raise your hands. Since yesterday was Sunday, surely no one forgot,’ those who had done it would practically shout ‘I’ve been waiting for this!’—raising their hands with such vigor that their fingertips sliced through the air, their sharp gazes fixed on the teacher—while Tsuya-chan, who had forgotten, could only think resentfully, ‘But—but this is unfair! What’s Sunday even for? Expecting us to study on Sunday—it’s impossible!’—yet she’d say nothing, staring down in silence, feeling her cheeks burning hot—and in that moment, her anguish defied all words or written description—” Then Tsuya-chan added, “And you still claim school is nothing but fun?”

“Saying such things won’t work—it’s your own fault—but still, listen well, Tsuya-chan: after school let out, perhaps from all that worrying, when you returned home and took off your hakama, your stomach was growling so fiercely it felt sickening—and when you devoured five whole castella cakes Mother had given you, Tsuya-chan— When you sit at your desk and try to begin reviewing, you’d grow sleepy, wouldn’t you? Even though you had such an awful time at school earlier—but when you return home and think about it, doesn’t it somehow feel like even that could be considered enjoyable? After devouring the castella until your stomach was full—that’s undeniably joy—and even the sadness from before now wells up as nostalgia… That dreamlike state softly enveloping both these emotions… See, you understand now? If not, I could give endless other examples—but anyway, things you thought were sad turn into happiness when you ponder them deeply. Things you thought were happy also become sad when pondered deeply.—That sadness and happiness, in other words, the quiet feeling at the final point of emotion—if I may use slightly difficult words, people call that quiet feeling ‘spiritual ecstasy.’ A warm, quiet room on a winter’s night; an early spring evening where mist clings to the eaves like hazy blossoms—if one sits intently alone before a desk, I imagine most people could enter this state of spiritual ecstasy—those faint tears born of senseless sorrow and joy. When Bai Juyi, the renowned Chinese poet, wrote, ‘A spring night’s moment is worth a thousand gold pieces,’ he too was singing of the joy found in spiritual ecstasy.”

So, let’s return to the story. At that moment, my state of mind clearly entered spiritual ecstasy. Before I knew it, tears of joy were streaming down my cheeks.

“Are you sad?” the Peacock asked curiously.

“No—far from sad, I’m shedding tears of joy,” I answered truthfully. “What could possibly make you so happy?” “What do you mean? Shouldn’t you know?” “I don’t understand in the slightest, but—” “But haven’t you been worried about Miss Michiko and Miss Tsuya-ko’s whereabouts all this time until now?”

“—.”

Even though the Peacock said that to me……I still did not begin to worry about Michiko and Miss Tsuya-ko at all. For the music’s resonance still came sounding from beneath the clouds—now low, now high, seeming to cease only to burst forth again like a flower blooming open—and I could not possibly divert my mind from that music. The Peacock seemed to be muttering something incessantly in a small voice, but—by then, nothing of what she said reached my ears at all.

Had that music played a “Song of Joy,” I surely would have trembled uncontrollably, my whole body quaking with irrepressible delight; had it played a “Song of Sorrow,” I surely would have been unable to stem the overflowing tears—yet the melody was no monotonous thing that allowed for such trivial distinctions as “happy” or “sad.” In the single resonant note that rang out—*twang*—I could simultaneously feel joy akin to facing the morning sun and sorrow akin to facing the vast sea. Since a single note—a mere second of sound—could hold such immense emotion, when they continued to ring out—*twang*, *hum*, *twang*—there was no time left to feel sorrow or joy; I could only sink into Spiritual Ecstasy, in a daze yet with a heart stretched taut—utterly absorbed.

――What a wondrous music this was. What enchanting music this was. What splendid music this was. Could there ever be—in this world we inhabit—another music as solemn, as grand, as sublime, and yet as subtle... as this quiet melody? “Ah, could there be a human as happy as myself?” I murmured involuntarily. “Indeed, you are certainly happy,” said the Peacock. “Haven’t I told you repeatedly—‘You are happy’—countless times now?”

“No, no—that’s not it at all.”

“The happiness you speak of—I still don’t understand it,” I answered. “I don’t consider encountering you to be any sort of happiness at all. If that’s what you mean, then haven’t I been thinking myself unfortunate from the very start? I can’t stand your self-conceit. I do not think you’re half as beautiful as you claim to be. To be frank, even your very presence has grown tiresome. Please leave at once. I’ve grown weary of conversing with a liar like you.”

Because I could no longer bear wanting to listen to the music alone and in silence, I ended up blurting out such harsh words. All I wanted was for the Peacock to leave in anger. “Ha! You’re quite the fool.” The Peacock—whom I expected to be furious—instead laughed haughtily and said, “Just who do you think is playing that music?” “I have no words to answer such a question.” “All I need is to listen like this.” “Please leave this place at once.” “You’re insufferably meddlesome—a truly tiresome Peacock.”

“Ha ha ha.” “What are you laughing at? You’re annoying.” “But I simply cannot help laughing.” “If you mock people too much…” I was just about to stand up when the Peacock said calmly— “Be quiet.” “As for that music you praise so highly—then I shall teach it to you. Do not be surprised.—” It is I who am playing that music—though I suppose my slow-witted you would not comprehend even if told. Ah, all of that is but the echo of my voice! This beautiful voice of mine, the very one speaking to you now, reverberates through forests and rivers—and you mistake it for music. “How could you possibly keep from laughing?” “With that attitude, how could you possibly find Miss Michiko and Miss Tsuya-ko’s whereabouts?” “Replace that heart of yours with a calmer one—now.” “Poor young fellow!” The Peacock wore an ice-cold smile.

Seven: The Peacock’s Tale, Once Again

By now, you must have generally come to understand just how beautiful the Peacock Princess is.

Having misjudged her to such an extent, I could no longer hold my head up before the Peacock. Even if made into the Peacock’s servant, I could no longer muster any reply. From my eyes, I did not notice tears—tears whose reason for flowing even I myself did not understand—streaming down my cheeks of their own accord. I had completely forgotten about Michiko, about Miss Tsuya-ko, and even why I was doing this. My heart was unmistakably feeling “happiness.” Given this, what struck me as most perplexing was how a being as beautiful as the Peacock—no, a Peacock Princess so magnificent that even imagining her likeness would be forbidden in our world—could harbor something like sorrow. I could not help but wonder. In the human world, that Queen Cleopatra of Rome—hailed as the most beautiful—is thought never to have known sorrow. Princess Salome of the Jewish King, too, is thought never once to have felt sorrow until her death, merely for being beautiful in her very being. And yet, given that this beautiful Peacock—whom even Cleopatra, Salome, Yang Guifei, or Yu could never hope to match in beauty, not even a single strand of the Peacock Princess’s hair; a phantom flower forbidden even in the human world—is it any wonder that I found it most perplexing why this beautiful Peacock wept as she did? So I cited the examples of Cleopatra and Salome, rephrased my words, and asked anew: “Why were you lamenting in such a manner?”

“Haven’t I just now begun explaining that very reason? You’ve mistaken my voice for music and such—with that, you’re hardly qualified to hear my tale,” she laughed, but I earnestly pleaded, “As you say, I am but a pitiful youth—please, do tell me.”

“Just when you started an unnecessary commotion at this critical moment, I’ve completely forgotten where I was in my story,” said the Peacock, so I—a single night— “It was on a moonlit night when I trampled the roses of the garden without hesitation—slipping out of the palace to join the Apsara goddesses—and when I recounted this, you said, ‘Ah, that’s right.’” “You have admirably not forgotten a word of what I said. Very well, I shall tell you the rest. Since this time you are truly capable of hearing my tale—undoubtedly the happiest person in all the world—you must listen quietly now.” With that, she at last deigned to continue her story. (The general outline of the Peacock’s story is roughly as follows; here I will briefly summarize its main plot.)

From the palace to the Forest of Indrani lay seven mountain passes and three rivers to cross; just then, a winged god named Garuda appeared. “Princess, if you would grace me with your fair voice and sing the ritual song *Tsurukazuruka*, I shall transport you to Indrani in but a moment,” said Garuda. The Princess—who had been pondering her path—promptly sang a verse of *Tsurukazuruka*. Garuda gladly carried the Princess to Indrani.

When the Princess arrived at the forest, the divine maidens were on the riverbank dipping their lips in soma wine and about to board the swan-shaped boat Airavata to row out onto the river. When the Princess ran up to them and pleaded, “I’ve come all this way for this very reason—please allow me to join your company,” the divine maidens were greatly delighted. “Then board this boat at once,” they said, “for we are just now heading to Queen Parvati’s palace,” and handed her a silver oar. The Princess—her long-cherished dream realized exactly as she had envisioned—fluttered with excitement and leapt aboard the vessel. The gauze robes of the divine maidens fluttered in response to the chirping birds scattered along both banks, quietly ascending the emerald-green spring river.

Queen Parvati, like the other goddesses, was exceptionally pleased by the Princess’s arrival. She then bestowed upon the Princess a white peacock gauze and a golden harp. With this, the Princess could now become an Apsara goddess from every angle.

To explain it using permitted words, the Forest of Indrani was indeed no different from what could most aptly be called “Heaven.” (See Chapter Five) The Princess, who had placed herself in Heaven, could of course become intoxicated with happiness. However, the Princess could not become intoxicated with merely the happiness before her eyes. The Princess still could not help but recall her father’s palace. On the garden terrace, wrapped in the scent of roses, she could not help recalling the time she had sung alone under the moon. At that time, she had dreamed only of the Forest of ‘Happiness,’ and considered her present self a lonely being. Yet when she came to view even those times through memory’s haze, they remained undeniably beautiful, undeniably joyful… How could she have felt such longing?—she wondered, though she had dwelt within so blissful a dream.

One day, the Princess left the group of goddesses and lingered by a stream. As she gazed into the mirror-like transparent surface of the river, her own beautiful face was clearly reflected there. Not a breath of wind stirred the water; the depths remained perfectly clear, mirroring the sapphire-spread sky with exact clarity. The Princess stared fixedly—stared without moving, as if possessed. Then a strange thought arose in the Princess's head.—

—And so, as she contemplated herself pondering these things and herself reflected in the water—which one was her true self?—she saw that the scenery within the water was identical in every detail to that around her, so vivid that she could not fathom it being merely a reflection cast by the water’s presence there, lying right at her feet—she could not help but doubt: which was the real world? When she thought “the world below” and looked, though it was identical, it somehow seemed even more beautiful than the world above. Her reflected self even appeared more beautiful than her real (?) self. If she were to leap into this, she felt she might reach an even grander world. The Princess felt longing stir within her once more. From the water’s world came what seemed a voice about to call out: “O beautiful Princess, come swiftly— In our world we have done nothing but await your noble arrival, adorning it thusly in splendor—awaiting that alone.” So the voice seemed to say.

“Even if that place is called the Forest of Indrani where divine maidens dwell, it still isn’t enough for a princess as beautiful as you to dwell in.” “O Princess, O Princess of such beauty, your happiness remains unfulfilled.” “Do you not yet know there exists a world far more beautiful than Indrani’s Forest?” She felt a voice resound: “O unfortunate Princess, O pitiable Princess, O beautiful Princess.” “Perhaps I should flee this forest altogether,” the Princess murmured. No sooner had she thought this than she began noticing points of dissatisfaction everywhere she looked. The fact that she—more beautiful than the goddesses—sang without complaint like them also left her feeling unsatisfied. When she had resided in her homeland’s palace, people would chant poetry in unison, praising nothing but her beauty; yet after coming to this forest filled solely with divine maidens, none remained to extol her beauty so lavishly. “This being of mine—so beautiful.” Even this thought left her dissatisfied.

"I must be queen; as songstress I am too beautiful. I need no companions—my very birth was destined by heaven to make me sovereign," thought the Princess. And so she resolved to seek out new realms where she might claim her rightful throne. Then two unfamiliar deities manifested before her: "Princess! You've discovered an auspicious place." "We've long awaited this moment." "The true realm meant for your reign lies within our knowledge." "We come bearing royal summons." "Now permit us to conduct you," they declared—whereupon she turned from watery reflections toward these new voices.

The Princess had no idea who those two gods were, but in truth, they were Shiva and Panchyanana—fearsome deities governing "destruction."

(Note).

The characters I present here are not a single sentence; truly, I wish to compose a musical score and insert it here, but alas, I lack the skill to do so. Thus, I had no choice but to string together words. Therefore, you must not think of this as the plot of a story—you must instead adopt the mindset of listening to sublime orchestral music in a grand concert hall. A rather difficult request, I admit. So, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t understand the meaning; simply read through it smoothly. Now before your very eyes, the “Lament” is about to be played. Music has no meaning; you need only listen intently to its resonance with a tranquil heart. Understood? Please read through it smoothly—without going back over anything—in one breath (as if reciting playing cards) and finish it all at once.

If at that time, a gentle sadness and joy akin to what lingers after hearing music remained like smoke in your heart—then, with that alone, I am fully satisfied.

Eight

THE VALLAY OF LAMENTATION.

Valley of Lamentation (Unrhymed Long Poem)

A heart that laments—

Quelling the quivering of my trembling heart, I—alone—sobbed amidst the haze of the Valley of Lamentation; though this had been but an ephemeral dream, when I looked back upon the path I had walked… Ah, now even lamenting was futile—the sunflower’s pride perished in morning dew; the silver moonlight that once gleamed in nightbirds’ eyes sank beyond the sea; and in the darkness, a blue-clad demon danced only to crouch and fix its gaze upon me. At least a wish—that I might become my own dream’s vision: a purple rainbow blooming in twilight’s hour, an aurora shimmering in northern midnight skies, silver tears spilling upon a bronze shield shattered in a knight’s defeat—yet even to pray this, my strength failed—my harp of joy strung with golden strings—

My harp of joy—which once floated upon seven-hued clouds and resounded with lapis tones through shimmering marble halls— Ah! That sound! That exquisite resonance! Yet dwelling on it makes my breast sink deeper into sorrow; though all becomes tear-blossoms when remembered, that golden harp’s voice still gushes like a fountain of radiance— Now the eternal moon sinks beyond horizons—would I might enter this lodestar’s bosom woven from tears… Yet lapis radiance brimming with divine grace—ah!—comes not; though I stretch both hands pleading, no means remains to pursue scattered rose petals—

“When I arrived at the first door, the flame trembled; when I arrived at the second door, the flame whispered; when I arrived at the third door, the lamp was extinguished.” “Ah, the key had sunk into the sea; having reached the resounding cave, upon the locked door once I found a golden key—yet even so, it would not open, “only to knock futilely on the locked door.” The faint roar of raging waves fiercely shattered; and the terrifying sound—like my sorrowing soul transformed into swan feathers—vanished only to crash ashore once more,

I stood upon the rocky peak and cried out—O friends, O friends—what shall I do with the severed harp strings? The sea wind tearing at gauze robes tangles golden hair; even when I try to cry out, my voice fails—Ah, shall I sink this flower of pride into the churning waves, into the depths of the night sea? No moon, no stars, in the stillness of ebbing waves….

*

Here, the music came to an abrupt halt—the Princess, who had her precious golden harp stolen by Shiva, trembled and began to weep once more… overwhelmed by grief as she recalled it.

* "It somehow looks like a botched silent film, doesn't it?" "If you say such things, I'll stop." "But we're not saying it's boring, so isn't that fine? Right, Michi-chan?" "But I'm getting a bit bored, honestly. When it comes to your stories, Brother, they're all preludes and pomp—threatening not to continue unless we wake up early makes it seem like some grand tale ought to unfold...what nonsense."

“Now that you mention it, you’re always threatening to stop at the drop of a hat… aren’t you?” “Ahem, ahem.”

“Oh, you’re already angry.” “Huh?”

"...I suppose." ——My silent wish: "May sorrow be abundant upon them." I was silently smoking tobacco. "Michi-chan, why don't we go to my house?"

“Okay, let’s go.” And with that, the two left the room. I thought it was noisy yet manageable—that drizzly Sunday morning. However, when I found myself left alone and saw that it was raining—making going outside a hassle—I began to feel somewhat at a loss for what to do. And so, I began absentmindedly thinking about the continuation of the story.

* My heart was filled with crisp joy, to the point where I feared tears of happiness might spill over at any moment. That was because when one becomes absorbed in solitary reverie with rapt attention, beautiful thoughts that would never be permitted in the human world manifested themselves in wondrously diverse forms, truly like a motion picture.

Michiko and Tsuya-ko were terribly fickle—they constantly craved novelty, stirring up nothing but shallow yearnings in their hearts—believing there must surely be something more amusing, something more fulfilling than this, they pursued one thing after another; yet wherever they went, they never found a place that truly satisfied them, for wherever one went, there would always be at least a modicum of dissatisfaction or tedium—thus we had to forcibly regard our present circumstances as happiness to a certain degree, and not lose ourselves recklessly in dreams of longing; chasing after those dreams and striving toward them would inevitably lead us to collide with sorrowful thoughts—a perfect place did not exist, even if it were Venice with gondolas floating beneath its moon. The Venetian girl must surely have believed there were even more beautiful places in Japan and such, and thus she yearned for them. Therefore, we had to cultivate only our own thoughts without being led astray by external forms. With the right state of mind, we could feel every satisfaction just by sitting in our own room. Poetry was by no means tears; it taught us that within our heads existed a more expansive, beautiful, and fulfilling world than this one. We who could read had to be satisfied—no—rather, we should have rejoiced simply for having been granted the freedom to think. Those who could find satisfaction without watching plays were far happier than those who delighted in watching them—weren’t all plays essentially the same sort of thing? Rather than going out of one’s way to attend concerts, staying in one’s own tidy room and contemplating music—firstly, without tiring one’s legs—allowed one to immerse oneself in far more beautiful thoughts. "If we played and sang ourselves, we could always enjoy ourselves"—this was what I had actually intended to tell Michiko and Tsuya-ko, but had I carelessly said it outright, they would have dismissed it with remarks like "Oh no, another lecture’s starting," so I crafted the "Tale of the Sorrowful Peacock"—how its feathers drifted through the air like smoke, slipping into people’s hearts the moment they felt even a flicker of discontented longing, until they too shared the Peacock’s fate—for even one as beautiful as it could not escape such an end—but since they grew bored and left, there had been nothing more to be done.

If that’s the case, you’ve likely grasped the general plot of the story up to this point. As for how it ultimately concludes hereafter—how I rescued the two from the Peacock, why the Peacock sought to abduct them, what circumstances render it deserving of sympathy, or why I frantically chased after those two whom the Peacock had taken—all such matters I shall leave to your imagination without droning on with explanations here. However, since this tale holds the greatest interest for me, there may yet come a time when my mood shifts and I feel compelled to write again—when I shall recount the final course of events in detail as *The Sorrowful Peacock: Part Two*. Here, as the conclusion to Part One, I shall leave behind only the chapter titled “Valley of Lamentation” for all of you. The Peacock Princess is one who must lament for eternity.

I never intended to conclude things in such a hurried manner, but today it simply could not be helped—.

When evening came that day, Michiko and Tsuya-ko-san came to my room again. Both wore somewhat bored expressions. They must have gone out somewhere to play, but likely hadn't found it as satisfying as they'd hoped.

Sure enough, the two of them apologized to me for what had happened earlier and earnestly begged me to tell another story. However, since the girls’ “golden harp” existed solely in my hands, they could only make fleeting, empty pleas to me. Since I was someone who cared deeply for the two of them, I wanted to tell a story that was both comprehensible and engaging, but I was at my wit’s end as no clever ideas came to mind.

I was looking out the window. The two of them were silently gazing at the peacock painting on the screen. Before long, Tsuya-ko brought a mandolin and, saying, “Well then, this time as thanks for earlier,” played it for me to hear. While continuing to write “Valley of Lamentation,” I listened joyfully. All three of us, with cheerful hearts, had a delightful conversation about all sorts of things.

The light rain pattered softly and steadily against the window. We were happy—there was no longer any need to explain "do not lament" to those two who knew nothing of lamentation. Songs of sorrow never induced tears of sadness; they only brought forth tears of joy that caught in one’s throat.

The night deepened quietly, moment by moment, as if something forgotten――.