Pathway to Japanese Literature

One: A Certain Cold Winter Night

It was a bitterly cold night.

I had been sitting at my desk since early evening, concentrating with all my might to finally begin writing the piece I’d been meaning to work on for days.――But the cold was so intense that my fingers—which should have been holding a pen—ended up hovering over the brazier instead. Outside the window, a layer of cold so thick it was visible lingered quietly like a lake. With eyes warmed over the brazier, gazing through glass at that cold dark scene made even someone like me imagine mysterious fairy tales――and feel "winter night" as something profoundly dear and delightful from the heart. I thought how infinitely better it would be to keep soaking in this winter night forever like this, rather than doing troublesome things like writing. That famous “Winter’s Tale” by Shakespeare—a cold winter night where people gather around a blazing stove while watching ceaseless silent snow fall outside the window; where an old lamp on the table illuminates the profiles of listeners leaning intently toward a poet reciting his newly crafted story…a winter night enveloped in roaring flames, relentless snow, and the scent of wine…I thought how perfectly such an imagined scene might align with my mood. ――Though snow wasn’t falling, the damp night’s black sky had seeped all the way to my window. It felt as though I were sitting at the bottom of a lake. I would mistake a single paulownia leaf that fluttered down past the window for a fish swimming in a lake, or take the flowers Mother had arranged in the alcove that morning for seaweed at the water’s bottom. With the feeling of having become a fish, I kept puffing on my cigarette and watched the smoke until it dissolved completely into the room’s air. When the smoke vanished, I took another puff.—No matter how much time passed, there was no end to it. Even when I tried to rouse myself from reverie with "Alright, time to write," remaining locked in a staring contest with the night still felt like dwelling in a far more beautiful world—I simply couldn’t bring myself to take up the pen.

Since there was no end to staying like this indefinitely, thinking I would talk with Mother for a while to regain my composure, I went to the tea room leaving my room in great disarray.

In the tea room, my sister Michiko was gathered around the brazier with Mother, engaged in what seemed like an amusing conversation. “Just now, I had something I didn’t understand with Big brother, so I was going to go ask him,” she said, “but Mother told me ‘Big brother is studying now—do it later,’ so I’ve been waiting here.” “Is it about school?” “Yes, that’s right,” Michiko said as she ran off toward her room. “If it’s not inconvenient,” Mother told me, “please teach her a little. She’s been waiting since earlier.” When Mother said this, I realized she and Michiko had been considerate enough to think I was actually studying—though I hadn’t been doing anything of the sort—and I felt an urge to laugh mixed with pity and loneliness... To put it plainly, guilt.

"Ha ha ha," I laughed. "It wasn't any trouble at all though," I said while heading to Michiko's room. Just as I had finished reviewing Michiko’s reader, her friend and neighbor Tsuyako-san came over, saying it was Saturday today.

“Big brother, won’t you tell us a story?” Michiko said. This routine always troubled me most, so I tried to pretend I hadn’t heard and make my escape when—“That’s sneaky of you! We made a promise last time—today we won’t let you escape!” With that, the two of them forcibly made me sit back down again. “I, you see,” I said, putting on a slightly serious face here, “truly cannot tell stories meant to please everyone, even if I wanted to.” Even so, the two of them would not easily forgive me.

And so, having no other choice, “...Well then, once upon a time there was an old man...” I began to say, when the two shook their heads violently, “No way! Not something like that. If it’s that old-fashioned, we don’t need to specially ask you—Grandma would tell it much better!” They immediately dismissed it and demanded something newer, refusing to back down. This left even me utterly perplexed. If I’d known it would come to this, I should have read some Western storybook in advance during all that time—I deeply regretted this now.

Though it was scarcely past eight in the early evening, not a sound could be heard in the surroundings. There was no sound of light rain striking the eaves—only the crackle of charcoal in the brazier and the ticking of the small clock on Michiko’s desk remained, as if the entire world beyond had fallen asleep. For I had fallen silent in thought, utterly unable to tell a story, and the two of them were poised with bated breath, waiting for me to begin…

Here I must briefly explain to you, dear readers, that Michiko’s room contained a rather large two-fold golden screen. Upon it was painted a single peacock of such beauty it might have been real. Yet this peacock stood utterly alone upon its golden ground—no flowers, no trees, no grasses accompanied it. Indeed, one could almost imagine someone had cut the peacock’s image from another painting and affixed it to this gold foil expanse. Precisely this isolation made the creature appear solitary beyond measure, so that depending on how one looked at it, the peacock seemed to have drifted into Michiko’s room like a faint apparition.

“Michiko-san, I have come all the way from distant India specifically to show you these beautiful feathers of mine—that is my intention.” “Now then, look closely.” “And imagine that my country is as magnificently splendid as befits this beautiful me spreading my feathers and strutting about.” “That is precisely why I deliberately stand here alone before this screen with nothing painted upon it.” “A background worthy of my form could never be confined to such a petty little screen.” As I stared fixedly at the peacock on the screen, it appeared to wear an expression as though it might at any moment utter those very words.

At that moment, since I simply couldn't come up with a story, I turned my face toward the screen—not that I was actually thinking up a story, but unless I at least pretended to be deep in thought, there was no way the two would have forgiven me—so I silently kept gazing at the peacock painting.

“What do you suppose would happen if one were to become this painted peacock?” “But that would be awful!” “You’d be turned into part of the screen!” “You wouldn’t be able to move at all, would you?” Because I wasn’t speaking much—perhaps having grown a bit bored—the two were laughing amusingly while making such trivial talk. I didn’t know how many candlepower it measured, but an intensely bright electric lamp glowed beneath its crimson shade as though daylight filled the room. The space had grown thoroughly warm. So much so that I half-suspected spring had arrived unannounced. As I sat silent in that luminous room, my mind drifted unbidden into some fantastical realm. The winter-night warmth of that bright chamber—the golden screen with its peacock motif—the girls’ crystalline laughter—all conspired to carry me away to an exquisite land. Yet this vision bore no resemblance to those trite magazine illustrations anyone might imagine—no springtime paradise where princesses frolicked with peacocks—no cheerful goddess plucking her koto along some galactic stream’s verdant banks. This scene proved too novel—too startling—something sure to make you all gasp “Ah!” without fail. And then—I suddenly felt elated. Whatever others might say—at least Michiko and Tsuyako would find delight here—this conviction steadied me. My heart blazed like that incandescent lamp—my chest trembled like a peacock unfurling its glorious plumage. This story surfacing now—or rather—this sky suffusing whatever world had claimed me—shimmered with impossible hues.

“Well then, shall we begin the story?” I said with the triumphant joy of a warrior, turning my face—which until now had been gazing at the screen while lost in thought—toward the two girls. Whether Michiko and Tsuyako-san had resigned themselves to me being utterly incapable of telling a story or not, when I said this with a grin, they wore expressions of genuine surprise. Through my eyes, Michiko’s room now appeared even brighter—a realm from dreams. The screen’s peacock seemed poised to approach me and speak—so I straightened my posture with a deliberate “Ahem.” The silent night air itself seemed to hush for my tale—the hours deepening in quiet anticipation.

Now then, what kind of tale will I—so poor at storytelling—begin?

II. The Enchanted Realm

"Tsuyako-chan and Michi-chan, close your eyes for a moment," I commanded them both. Just when they expected me to begin the story, I made this unexpected request instead, making Michiko and Tsuyako-san shake their heads in unison with vexed expressions, "No way! You're just saying that again to trick us, Big brother!" they protested, refusing to comply. Of course their resistance was reasonable—after all, I had indeed tried evading storytelling this way before—but this time, not the slightest thought of deception crossed my mind.

“No no, today I’m not trying to trick you.” “My stories differ quite in nature from ordinary tales—you must first listen properly before they can properly begin.” “My tales aren’t carried by plot twists or such things—both teller and listener must first, before the story even starts, truly feel they’ve entered the world I’m about to recount.” “Of course, a skilled storyteller would naturally draw you into the tale—but as you both know (here I gestured grandly at myself), this person here is hopeless at storytelling, so we need some stage-setting first.” “Understand?” I said, whereupon the two found my theatrics so amusing they doubled over laughing. I couldn’t endure being laughed at like this, so I quickly pressed on,

“If you keep laughing like this, I won’t tell the story,” I said with a mildly scolding look, then continued: “Now then, both of you close your eyes properly as I told you.” And so Michiko and Tsuyako-san obediently closed their eyes, albeit reluctantly. When I saw how solemnly the two were sitting upright, I too somehow found it comical and nearly burst out laughing, but knowing full well the consequences if I did, I barely managed to restrain myself. The two had not the slightest notion that I was stifling my amusement and waited with bated breath. I briefly considered slipping away then and there, but that would have been too unkind—not to mention I could well imagine their fury afterward—and so at last I resolved to begin fashioning the opening strands of my tale. Now then, I turned toward the two with their eyes still closed,

“If you keep doing that, something should appear before your eyes,” I inquired. At this, the two girls fidgeted hesitantly for a while, but finally managed to— “Yes,” they replied.

"What do you see?" I immediately asked back. "We see something bright," they said. "A bright thing? Hmm, that's good." "Now take a good look at that bright thing." I continued speaking.

“If you do that, that bright thing should begin taking on various forms.” “And then, things as you imagine them should begin to appear.”

The two girls began intently immersing themselves in the thought, exactly as I had instructed. "Yes, it does," they said.

“It should take shape.” “In the bright world, a golden swirl should be spiraling.” “Yes,” they replied. “You’ll no longer feel like you’re sitting in your room listening to my story.” “You should forget it’s a winter night—forget you’re here under this bright electric lamp. If you can’t imagine it, force yourself.” “Do that, and something beautiful ought to appear before your eyes.” I spoke these words with a magician’s radiant confidence. And indeed, they seemed to have fallen under my spell—both now lost in their imaginings exactly as I’d instructed.

“What do you see?” I asked. “—” The two said nothing. It was only natural they couldn’t answer. For in such cases, what appears before one’s eyes is merely a vague, beautiful rainbow—if told to see it as a flower, they could think of it as a flower; if told to see it as a beautiful scene, they could think of it as that too—so it was only natural they couldn’t succinctly answer what exactly it was. Since I knew such things, here I resolutely—

“Think about the peacock,” I said. My instruction worked like magic—the beautiful golden haze that had hovered before their eyes now coalesced into a single peacock. “Yes, we see it!” they replied. At this response, I permitted them to open their eyes.

Why did I have to put on such a contrived performance? If telling a peacock story, one might think it sufficient to simply mention a single peacock—anyone would surely think so. However, I cannot help but assert emphatically: "The protagonist of 'The Sorrowful Peacock'—merely stating it in a single phrase—is insufficient for me." ――In a hazy brightness like spring mist—within that beautiful radiance no words could ever capture (for my pen cannot depict it save by having you, dear readers, imagine it freely as we do now)—a magnificent peacock bathed in golden light stands motionless, tears streaming steadily down.

“Why are you crying so much?”—anyone who saw that peacock could not help but ask this. So sorrowfully was the peacock crying. At that voice, the peacock stood up with a start.

"Oh my!" we couldn't help but exclaim—for it was no ordinary peacock. How could we remain unstartled? Was this not the Princess who had climbed from a perfumed spring on a moonlit night—she who once wondered, "How beautiful must the human world be?" Or rather, since both sky and earth glittered as though studded with gold and diamonds, rendering night indistinguishable from day, we thought we might have been spirited away to some ancient kingdom's pleasure palace. Now there were nothing but wonders around us, yet strangest of all was this—though we had been astonished to learn the peacock was truly a beautiful Princess, we felt no surprise whatsoever at finding ourselves drawn before such fantastical sights. Michiko, Tsuyako-san, and I (and you readers too) seemed concerned solely with why this peacock-robed Princess wept so bitterly. Then Michiko stomped over to the peacock's side,

“Hey, um... Princess?” she called out. Then, the princess quivered her peacock-patterned gauze robe as if it were tears and finally raised her face. Her eyes shone beautifully and sorrowfully, like the sixteenth-night moon drenched in spring rain.

“What’s making you so sad?” When Michiko asked this again, the peacock looked up dazedly as if roused from a dream, “Was I crying?” she said. “Oh my! You were crying so much—have you already forgotten?” Tsuyako-san could not help but ask this, so unexpected was the peacock’s response. I alone was not so much astonished by the peacock’s answer as I was amazed that Tsuyako-san and Michiko could converse so casually with such an extraordinary princess—it was this alone that filled me with wonder. And somehow I began to feel frightened, so

“Hey, Michi-chan, let’s go home already,” I whispered to Michiko. “You’re really heartless, Big brother,” Michiko said with a scolding look, and I was truly taken aback. Michiko was being so familiar with the peacock that I even thought about asking, “Do you have such a friend?” “Miss Michiko, won’t you come to my garden?” Suddenly, the peacock said this.

“Yes, let’s go.” As if they had forgotten the peacock that had been crying, Michiko and Tsuyako replied.

I was at a loss for what to do. It was utterly absurd, but I began to worry that some wicked witch had transformed herself into this creature to deceive the two of them.—I alone remained unaffected by the magic, I thought, retaining ordinary sensibilities.

Amidst them, the Peacock, Michiko, and Tsuyako-san began walking hand in hand in perfect unison.—This is bad, I thought.—This isn’t a joke! I muttered through clenched teeth.

The three of them walked briskly while singing cheerfully. "Hey! Hey! Enough with tricking people already! We need to go home now!" I called out hoarsely, yet the three didn't even glance back. Driven by anxiety like having lost a neighbor's child I'd taken to a festival, I desperately chased after them. Their pace gradually quickened until a considerable distance opened between us. "What in blazes is happening?" I muttered, growing increasingly frantic, yet still trailing them despite thinking I couldn't possibly abandon those two here.

“Hey, isn’t that Makino?” Suddenly hearing a voice call out to me, I turned around in surprise—and there was my close friend Hamanō. You see, he wrote a poem called “Crimson Dream” last month—I’m sure all of you are well aware.

Hamanō Eiji—.

“When I went to your place just now, they said you’d just left for Ginza, so I hurried here.” “I’ve got some business to discuss.”

“Ah, right, but…” Since I was in no position to do so, I frantically said, “Go after Michiko quickly!” At this, Hamanō stared at my face as if dumbfounded—but suddenly,

“Ha ha ha! This isn’t a joke—what the hell are you saying?” By then, all that remained was the three figures’ small backs fluttering like butterflies, darting in and out of the focus of my anxious gaze.

IV. The Dreadful Instant

Chasing after the two, I ran desperately but ultimately lost sight of them. Though I should have been in Tokyo's very center, I could no longer tell where in the world I now found myself. So thoroughly were my surroundings at that moment shrouded in this mysterious hue.

Thinking this must surely be some delusion of the mind, I steadied my heart and tried to sweep away the fog before my eyes—but that effort ultimately proved futile. This was precisely what it meant to be lost in an impenetrable fog. Amidst this, the fog that had enveloped the area grew steadily thicker by the moment. I could no longer see even an inch ahead. If I carelessly took even a single step—given how uncanny this place was—I might at any moment plunge into a thousand-fathom lake. And so, though my heart raced like an arrow, I found myself forced to a complete standstill. It is said that even a brave warship must halt when the fog thickens, but for those who have never encountered such a thing, its terror lies beyond imagination.

Even this alone had rendered me completely immobile—why did heaven intend to torment this innocent me to such lengths?—when suddenly a violent rain came pouring down, so fierce it stifled my very breath. The fierce rain lashing my cheeks roared with a thunderous sound. My state of mind at that moment was something words or pen could never convey—what in the world was to become of me? But more pressing than my own plight was the question of where Michiko and Tsuyako-san had been taken—what could be happening to them now?—as the rain and fog grew ever denser. I found even breathing difficult. Of course I could not make a sound—the rain was striking my face like a violent waterfall. No matter how courageous I was—I had become utterly powerless. Though I was not one to shed tears often, at this moment alone, jewel-like tears had begun streaming down my cheeks without my notice. More than my own life, the fact that I had lost Michiko and Tsuyako-san was entirely my fault—and I was tormented by this.

The more I panicked—I had to do something—the more the fog and rain assailed my mouth and nose like poison gas. It was exactly like those nightmares where you’re being chased by a monster—the more you thrash about trying to escape, the less control you have over your body—except this was no dream but a reality unfolding before my very eyes. No matter how strong I was, there was nothing I could do. I sat down heavily on the ground. —and at that very moment, the faces of Mother and friends worrying at home came vividly to mind.

"What an unfilial thing I'd done," I thought, "how worried my friends must be, searching for our whereabouts—" I removed my haori and pressed it over my face. I might very well be smothered by this relentless fog and rain. As the sound of rain had lessened slightly—until then, I hadn't been able to open my eyes at all—I carefully peeked my face out through the gap in my haori. And then—oh my! What do you know—what beauty! The rain was shimmering in prismatic colors, wasn't it? And could it be that the fog was a low-hanging rainbow, for it bore a seven-colored luster?

This time, that beautiful rain and fog swirled like flames and came surging toward me. This is it—the moment my breath was about to give out!

What a wonder this was!

The rain stopped abruptly. The fog swiftly dissipated, just as a peacock folds its wings. I collapsed limply into the field. Having been saved from death, I had become utterly exhausted. Then before my eyes, the Peacock appeared again. And there it was—in the same form as before, shedding tears just as quietly as it had earlier—wasn’t it?! I jolted upright.

"I won’t be fooled by those tears anymore—" I told myself, clenching every muscle in my body—

“Please return them,” I said, barely suppressing a voice that threatened to tremble. The Peacock raised her face—her eyes as beautiful as stars, with a beauty that seemed to peer from beneath a spring haze blurred by silver rain—. And after a brief silence had passed,

"Please listen to my story," she began haltingly, starting into the following tale. I couldn’t exactly say I disliked it, and so—all the while wondering if the peacock might mention the two girls—I listened attentively.

V. The Peacock’s Tale “I assure you, I am no magician.” “Since you wouldn’t understand unless I begin with my past circumstances, I must ask you to bear with me and listen for a while.”

“To tell the truth, I am a dancer,” she said. “I was born to an Indian noble family, though I had been exceptionally skilled at dance since childhood. My voice was so exquisite it made even palace musicians shed tears. Moreover, being born with this radiant form—when I first sang an impromptu poem for the Moon at age seven on my family’s terrace during a moonlit night—it instantly became the talk of the realm. The king specially summoned a metalworker from Tibet to craft a golden crown for me. The queen herself removed her silver necklace and bestowed it upon me. Roses drenched in night dew showered perfume like rain upon my robes as I stood on that terrace. How resplendent I appeared that night—words could never do it justice. Yet you who now behold my undiminished beauty can easily envision that scene. The very moon halted its course. They say even the Ganges stayed its flow that single night.”

"You are truly fortunate." "What a blessed soul you are, to converse with one as beautiful as myself." "In my land, none but gods were permitted to behold me." (So declared the Peacock with pride, though I remained too distraught to care.) (My thoughts churned with worry for Michiko and Tsuyako-san.)

“From that moment on, I resolved to become a dancing maiden no matter what,” she said. “Having long heard tell of Indrani’s Forest, I knew there existed a host of celestial maidens called Apsara. The celestial maidens of Apsara are as beautiful as mermaids. In Indrani’s Forest, there is no distinction between day and night; flowers bloom in profusion all year round, and small birds sing on the banks of a gently flowing brook. The work of celestial maidens consists solely of singing and dancing. They would row swan-shaped boats called Ailāvīta with silver oars, drink a beautiful beverage called Soma, and in an eternal spring beneath an everlasting moon and stars, their sole duty was to sing to their hearts’ content.”

“In any given land, only the most beautiful and purest maiden may become one of the Apsara celestial maidens.” “In Apsara’s realm, not a single utterance of ‘falsehood’ is permitted.” “There exists only the solitary character ‘Beauty.’” “Out in the world, beauty of form alone generally suffices, but there—beyond mere form—beauty of heart is demanded.” “The maiden who sings beneath the moon’s pure radiance must maintain a heart as limpid as the sky.” “Thus, only those maidens deemed ‘Beauty’ incarnate in every particular may enter Indrani’s Forest.” “Enter that forest, and ‘age’ ceases to be.” “Beautiful maidens may dwell there eternally—radiant and pure, untouched by sorrow or suffering—reveling in perpetual bliss.”

“Since my voice was so beautiful, and my dancing was truly exceptional enough to earn even the king’s praise, I came to believe I would surely be able to join the ranks of the Apsara goddesses.”

“So I, one night—a night when the moon was beautiful—trampled the garden roses without a second thought—”

Just as the Peacock was about to continue—since despite all this time passing, she showed no sign of mentioning Michiko, and I no longer had the composure to listen any longer—

"By the way, I am terribly worried about those two. Though this lies within the story, might I first beg you to tell me about their whereabouts?" I inquired.

At this, the Peacock suddenly flushed with anger and said, “What a foolish question you ask.” “I’m utterly appalled.” “No matter where you search in this world, there is absolutely no tale as beautiful as the one I am about to tell—yet if you let this story slip by, you will surely regret it later.” “What I am about to tell—you must listen to it slowly and attentively.” “What a considerate peacock I am,” she said, glaring at me.

――To me, the Peacock did not seem kind in the slightest―if that was kindness, then surely there were far easier acts for her to perform that would have been kinder to me. As I fidgeted, the Peacock made to resume her story.

Then, from afar, the mysterious sound of an orchestra quietly resounded. I involuntarily turned my eyes in that direction.

VI. The Allure of Music

“What could it be?” I asked the Peacock, turning toward the music echoing beyond the beautiful clouds. My expression and voice must have shown tremendous surprise, for the Peacock—likely unable to contain herself—laughed, pressing her rose-like lips with her hands as beautiful as white blossoms as she chuckled in amusement. And just like the Peacock’s laughter, as though the music were being conducted under her direction, its tone lowered and rolled resonantly.

The dream of spring dawns scattered into countless fragments—a pale crimson smile, silver fountains clattering across the sky, a single petal that makes one forget tears when softly blown—the refreshment after crying through the night until dawn... With such scattered words alone could I describe my heart entranced by that mysterious music—no, I knew no way to explain that indescribably divine yet opulent atmosphere surrounding us at that moment. On the lawn where I sat, the shimmering heat haze’s edges had become a five-hued cloud settled low.

Before I knew it, my heart—having forgotten all worries—felt as clear and beautiful as the sky. As for me—me who had been so greatly troubled before—that beautiful scene which made me feel no anxiety and even allowed me to sink into a dreamlike state bathed in sunlight, I could only leave to your imagination. I quietly closed my eyes. The yellow light that had seeped into the corners of my eyes—transformed into the score of a fantasia played upon keys—danced quietly yet vivaciously, like a butterfly brimming with both joy and sorrow.

Now, our tale briefly diverges here—though I have just used the phrase 'like a butterfly brimming with both joy and sorrow,' I feel compelled to offer some small explanation regarding this notion of experiencing sadness and delight simultaneously.

For instance, if I were to say you all spent a cheerful, lively day at school, some might object: "It wasn’t all that 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 "Waited for this!" through their fiercely raised hands cutting through the air like blades aimed at the teacher’s eyes—but Tsuyako-san, who had forgotten—But—but how cruel, Teacher! What’s Sunday even for? Studying on Sunday—that’s impossible!—could only seethe with such thoughts while silently looking down, feeling her cheeks burning hotter and hotter, that agony utterly beyond words or pen—and then Tsuyako-san would say, "And yet you claim school is nothing but fun?"

"No use saying such things—it’s your own fault—but still, Tsuyako-san, listen well: After school let out, perhaps from all that worrying, when you returned home and took off your hakama, your stomach was growling—growling so fiercely it made you feel ill—and when you devoured five whole castella cakes Mother had given you—Tsuyako-san, When you sit at your desk and try to begin reviewing, you’d grow sleepy—though earlier at school you’d suffered such distress, upon returning home and reflecting, doesn’t it all somehow seem like it was actually enjoyable? After devouring castella until your stomach swelled—that was certainly joy—even the sorrowful things from earlier now stir an inexplicable nostalgia… That dreamlike haze enveloping both emotions… See, you understand? If not yet, I could cite countless other examples—but anyway, when you deeply contemplate what seemed sad, it transforms into something joyful. Things that once brought joy, when pondered deeply, inevitably turn sorrowful. ――That sorrow and joy―the tranquil state where emotions converge at their final point―when expressed in slightly more challenging terms, people call this serenity 'ecstasy.' A warm, quiet room on a winter’s night; an early spring evening where mist clings to the eaves like lingering haze—if one sits alone at their desk in deep contemplation, I believe most people can enter this state of ecstasy—those faint tears born of senseless sorrow and delight. When China’s renowned poet Bai Juyi wrote, 'A spring night’s moment is worth a thousand gold pieces,' he was singing of this very joy of ecstasy."

“Well then, let us return to our tale.” At that moment, my heart had clearly entered a state of “ecstasy.” Before I knew it, tears of joy were trickling down my cheeks. “Are you sad?” the Peacock inquired with puzzlement. “No—far from sad, I am shedding tears of joy,” I answered truthfully. “What is making you so happy?” “What do you mean—can’t you tell?”

“I don’t understand in the slightest,” “But weren’t you so terribly worried about Michiko-san and Tsuyako-san’s whereabouts all this time?” “...”

Even after being told this by the Peacock... I still did not begin to worry about Michiko and Tsuyako-san. For the music’s resonance still came from beneath the clouds—now low, now high, seeming to cease only to immediately burst forth like a flower blooming—and thus I found myself utterly unable to tear my heart away from it.

The Peacock seemed to be muttering something in a small voice—but by now, I could no longer hear a word of what she was saying. Had that music played a "song of joy," I surely would have trembled bodily from uncontainable elation—had it played a "song of sorrow," I surely would have been powerless to stem my overflowing tears—yet its melody refused such paltry distinctions as joy or grief through mere monotony.

Within a single resonant note—a ringing *Giiin*—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 it continued ringing—*Giiin*, *Viiin*, *Giiin*—there was no time left to feel sorrow or joy; there was nothing to do but drift blankly yet with a taut heart—immersed in contemplation and ecstasy.

――What mysterious music this was. What captivating music this was. What magnificent music this was. Could such solemn music—so grand, so sublime, and yet so delicate... such quiet music—ever be found again in this world we inhabited? "Ah—could there exist any human as happy as myself?" I muttered involuntarily.

“That’s right—you are certainly happy. Which is why I’ve been telling you since earlier—how many times must I repeat?—that you’re happy.” “No, no—that’s entirely mistaken.”

“The happiness you speak of—I still do not understand it,” I answered. “I never thought meeting you constituted happiness.” “If that’s your definition of happiness, then haven’t I been unhappy from the start? I can’t endure your self-conceit any longer.” “I don’t consider you nearly as beautiful as you claim to be.” “Truth be told, I’ve grown weary of your very presence.” “Just leave already.” “I’m sick of conversing with a liar like you.” My desperate desire to listen to the music alone drove me to utter such harsh words. All I wished for was the Peacock’s angry departure.

“Ha ha ha! You’re quite the fool, aren’t you?” I expected the Peacock to be furious, but instead she laughed derisively with pride and said, “Just who do you think has been playing that music?”

“I have no words to answer such a question. I just need to keep listening like this. You must leave this place at once. You’re impossible to bear—truly an insufferable Peacock!” “Ha ha ha!” “What are you laughing at? You’re so annoying!” “Well, I simply cannot help but laugh.” “If you keep mocking people like this…” I was just about to stand up when the Peacock calmly said—. “Be quiet. That music you so praise—then I shall teach you about it. Do not be surprised.—”

“That is I who play it—though one as unenlightened as you could never comprehend such a thing—you see, all of that is merely the reverberation of my voice! This exquisite voice of mine—the very voice now speaking to you—echoes through forests and rivers. Yet you mistake it for music. How can you refrain from laughter? With such obstinacy, how could you ever hope to discover Michiko-san and Tsuyako-san’s whereabouts? You must exchange it for a calmer heart. Poor Young Fellow!（あはれな若者よ。）” The Peacock wore a smile of utmost frigidity.

VII. The Peacock's Tale, Once Again

From my previous explanation, you have likely come to understand in general terms how beautiful the Peacock Princess truly was. Having misjudged things to such an extent, I found myself now utterly unable to face the Peacock. From that point onward, even had I been made into the Peacock’s attendant, I could no longer offer any response. From my eyes, I did not notice that tears—whose reason for flowing even I myself could not comprehend—were tracing their own path down my cheeks. I had completely forgotten about Michiko, about Tsuyako-san—even about why I was doing such things. My state of mind clearly felt “happiness.” Given this, what struck me as most mysterious was how the Peacock—this Peacock so beautiful, this Peacock Princess of such resplendence that even imagining her in our world would be unthinkable—could possibly harbor something like sorrow. I could not help but wonder. I imagine that Cleopatra, Queen of Rome—she who was hailed as the most beautiful in the human world—never knew sorrow. Princess Salome of the Jewish King—it is believed that she too, being beautiful in body alone, never once felt sorrow until her death. And yet—is it any wonder I found it most perplexing of all that this beautiful Peacock Princess, whose very existence surpassed in beauty not only Cleopatra and Salome but even Yang Guifei and Yu to the extent that not a single strand of her hair could be matched by theirs—this Peacock whose splendor would not permit even a phantom flower to exist in the human world—was weeping so bitterly? And so, citing the examples of Cleopatra and Salome, I renewed my words and posed a fresh inquiry: “Why were you lamenting in such a manner?”

“Therefore, am I not just now beginning to explain that very reason? By mistaking my voice for music or some such thing, you are hardly qualified to hear my tale,” she laughed. But I pleaded earnestly: “As you say, I am but a poor young fellow—please do tell me.”

“At this critical juncture, you started an unnecessary commotion, so I’ve completely forgotten where I was in my story,” said the Peacock. I—that night… “It was on a moonlit night when I crushed the roses of the palace garden without hesitation—just as I was stealthily leaving to join the ranks of the Apsara goddesses—” When I said this, she— “You admirably did not forget my exact words—very well, I shall tell you what follows. Since you who can truly listen to my tale this time are undoubtedly the happiest person in all the world, you must sit quietly and listen.” Having said this, she at last proceeded to continue her story.

(The general outline of the Peacock's story is roughly as follows: I will briefly outline only the main plot here.)

From the palace to Indrani’s Forest, one had to cross seven mountain passes and three rivers—but just then, the winged god Garuda appeared, “Princess, if thou wouldst sing the ritual song *Tsurukazuruka* for me with thy fair voice, I shall bear thee to Indrani in but a moment,” said he. As the Princess had been deliberating how to proceed, she at once sang a verse of *Tsurukazuruka*. Garuda gladly carried the Princess to Indrani for her.

When the Princess arrived at the forest, the divine maidens were on the riverbank—their lips dipped in Soma wine—about to board the swan-shaped boat Airavita and row out onto the river. When the Princess ran up and pleaded, “I’ve come all this way for this very reason—please let me join you,” the divine maidens were so delighted that they said, “Then board this boat at once! We’re just now heading to Queen Parvati’s palace,” and gave her a single silver oar. Her long-cherished dream had come true exactly as she had envisioned, so she skipped with joy and leaped aboard the boat. The divine maidens’ flowing robes, fluttering even at the birdsong trilling from here and there along both banks, quietly ascended the verdant spring river.

Queen Parvati, like the other goddesses, was exceptionally pleased by the Princess’s arrival. Then she bestowed upon the Princess a white peacock gauze and a golden harp. With this, the Princess had now become an Apsara goddess in every aspect. If one were to explain using permitted words, it was indeed most fitting to call Indrani’s Forest "Heaven." (See Chapter Five) Of course, the Princess who could place herself in Heaven was able to become intoxicated with happiness. However, the Princess could not become intoxicated merely with the happiness before her eyes. The Princess still could not help but recall her father’s palace. Enshrouded in the scent of roses on the garden terrace, she could not help but recall those times when she had sung alone under the moon. In those days, she had dreamed only of the "Forest of Happiness," thinking of her present self as a lonely soul. But when she came to view even those days through the haze called memory, they still proved no less beautiful, no less joyous... How could she have felt such yearning?—it seemed incomprehensible even to herself, for she had been dwelling in a dream so blissful.

One day, the Princess left the company of the goddesses and lingered by a stream. As she gazed at the river’s surface—clear as a mirror—her own beautiful face was distinctly reflected within it. The wind’s breath that rippled the water’s surface was but a wisp; the depths below, remaining perfectly clear as they were, mirrored the azure expanse of sky with crystalline precision.

The Princess stared fixedly—stared fixedly without moving a muscle, as if possessed by something. Then, a strange thought floated into the Princess’s head.— ―And so—as she contemplated herself who was thinking and herself reflected in the water—when she looked to see which was her true self, there lay before her feet a scenery in the water identical in every detail to her surroundings. The water’s presence there projecting it was so vivid that she could scarcely comprehend it—she could not help doubting: which was the real world? When she thought to look at the world below, it was indeed the same, yet somehow appeared even more beautiful than the world above. Her reflected self even seemed more beautiful than her real (?) self. If she were to jump into this, she felt she could reach an even more splendid world. The Princess was filled with yearning once more. From the water world, a voice seemed to call out: “Beautiful Princess, come quickly— ‘In our world, we have been waiting solely for Your arrival, decorating it thus beautifully, and waiting only for that alone.’ Such was the voice that seemed to call out.”

“Even if that place be called Indrani’s Forest where divine maidens dwell, it remains insufficient for one as beautiful as you to reside in.” “O Princess, O Princess of such surpassing beauty—your happiness has yet to be fulfilled.” “Could it be that you knowest not yet of a world far surpassing Indrani’s Forest in beauty?” “O unfortunate Princess, O pitiable Princess, O beautiful Princess”—she felt a voice resound thus. “Should I just run away from this forest altogether?” murmured the Princess. No sooner had she thought this than everywhere she looked within the forest, places that left her dissatisfied began to catch her eye. The fact that she herself—more beautiful than the goddesses—was singing without complaint just like them left the Princess feeling unsatisfied. Back when she resided in the palace of her homeland, people would recite poetry in unison, extolling nothing but the Princess’s beauty; yet after coming to the forest, surrounded only by goddesses, there were none left who praised her beauty to such an extent. “This body of mine, so beautiful,” the Princess thought, this too leaving her unsatisfied.

"I must be a queen—I am far too beautiful to remain a mere songstress. I have no need for companions. My very birth was destined by the world to make me its queen," thought the Princess. And so, she resolved to set out to discover a new country where she could become queen.

Then before the Princess’s eyes appeared two unfamiliar gods. “Princess,” they said, “you have found a worthy place. We have been waiting for this moment. The true world where you should go is known to us. We have come to welcome you as our queen. Now allow us to guide you.” Having said this, they waited as the Princess lifted her eyes from the water’s surface and turned toward them. The Princess had no inkling who these two gods were—but in truth they were Shiva and Panchaanana, terrible gods governing destruction.

(Note).

The characters I present here do not form a single passage of prose. In truth, I would have preferred to compose a musical score and insert it here, but alas, I lack the skill to do so. Thus, I have no choice but to string together characters. Therefore, you must not take this as the plot of a story. Instead, you must attune your mind as though listening to a sublime orchestral performance in a grand concert hall. A rather demanding request, I admit. Therefore, it is not a problem at all if you do not understand the meaning; you need only 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 quiet heart. Is that clear? With that understanding, do not pause to reread—instead, proceed smoothly and swiftly (as one might read dominoes) and finish it in one breath.

If at that time, a faint sadness and joy—like that which lingers after hearing music—remained in your heart like wisps of smoke, then that—that alone—would bring me complete satisfaction.

VIII

THE VALLAY OF LAMENTATION.

THE VALLAY OF LAMENTATION

(Unrhymed Long Poem Section)

A lamenting heart――

Suppressing the tremors of my quivering heart, I alone choked back sobs in the misty Valley of Lamentation—though it had been but a fleeting dream—and when I looked back upon the path I had walked... Ah, now even lamentation proved futile—the sunflower’s pride perished in morning dew; the silver moonlight that once gleamed in nocturnal birds’ eyes sank beyond the sea; and the azure-clad demon dancing in darkness lay prostrate upon the earth, staring fixedly in my direction alone. My final wish—that I might become the dream of my longing: a purple rainbow blooming in twilight’s hour, an aurora borealis shimmering in northern midnight, or silver tears spilling upon a bronzen shield borne by some vanquished knight—yet even to pray this exhausted my strength—my lyre of joy, strung with golden strings—

My lyre of joy floated upon seven-colored clouds, or resounded brightly with lapis lazuli tones in a shimmering marble palace— Oh, that sound—when I think of that beautiful resonance, my heart sinks ever deeper into sorrow; though when I ponder it, all is but a flower of tears—yet from a spring of radiance gushes forth that golden lyre’s sound. O, the eternal moon has long sunk beyond—ah, would that I enter the embrace of this lodestar wrought of tears… Yet the lapis lazuli radiance brimming with divine grace—ah, it shall not come; though I stretch out both hands in pleading, there is no means to pursue the rose petals that scatter and vanish.

“When I reached the first gate, the flame trembled; when I reached the second gate, the flame whispered; when I reached the third gate, the lamp was extinguished.” “Ah—the key sank into the sea; I reached the echoing cavern and found a golden key upon the chained gate—yet could not open it,

“...only to knock vainly upon the locked gate.” The glimmer of roaring waves shattered fiercely; like my very soul, it turned into swan’s feathers and vanished—only for the dreadful sound to surge forth once more, I stood upon the crag and cried out—O friends, O friends—what shall I do with these severed lyre strings? The sea wind billowing through gauze robes tangled golden hair; even as I strove to scream, my voice failed—Ah, shall I cast this flower of pride into the churning waves, into the depths of the night sea? No moon, no stars—in the stillness of the receding waves…

＊

Here, the music thus came to an abrupt halt. The Princess, robbed of her precious golden lyre by Shiva, in the excess of her sorrow… began to tremble and weep once more as she recalled it.

*

“It’s like watching some botched moving picture, isn’t it?”

“If you say such things, I’ll stop.”

“But since we’re not calling it boring, isn’t that perfectly fine? Don’t you think so, Michi-chan?”

"But I'm getting rather bored now. Honestly Big brother—your stories are all prefaces and pomp! Making me rise early just to hear the continuation makes it seem like some grand epic, but—what nonsense." "Now that you mention it... he does threaten to quit at every turn, doesn't he?" "Ahem."

“Oh, you’ve already gotten angry!”

“Unfair?” “…I suppose.” ——My silent thought: “May sorrow befall them.” I smoked in silence.

“Why don’t you come to my house, Michi-chan?” “Oh, let’s go,” and with that, the two of them left the room.

I thought it wasn’t too noisy and just the right state of affairs—it was a Sunday morning with a fine drizzle falling steadily. Yet finding myself left alone, when I considered how troublesome it would be to go out in the rain, I began feeling somewhat at loose ends. And so, I vaguely pondered how to continue the story.

*

My heart was filled with a refreshing joy—to the extent that I feared tears of happiness might spill over at any moment. It was because when I became utterly absorbed in solitary fantasy, beautiful thoughts that were never permitted in the human world—truly like moving pictures—manifested themselves in wondrously diverse forms.

Michiko and Tsuyako-san were terribly quick to grow bored; they perpetually craved novelty, stirring only shallow yearnings—convinced there must be something more amusing, more satisfying than this, they ceaselessly pursued diversions. Yet wherever they went, they never found a place that fully satisfied them, for wherever one goes, there will always be some modicum of dissatisfaction or tedium. Thus we must, to a certain extent, forcibly accept our present circumstances as happiness and not indulge recklessly in dreams of longing—if we chase after dreams and labor toward them, we shall inevitably collide with sorrow. A perfect place does not exist, even were it Venice floating beneath the moon in a gondola. The Venetian girl—convinced there must indeed be far lovelier places elsewhere—longs wistfully for Japan and such lands. Therefore, we must not be led astray by external forms and instead cultivate only our own thoughts. Through our state of mind, we can feel every satisfaction simply by sitting in our own room. Poetry is by no means tears; it teaches us that within our minds exists a far vaster, more beautiful, and satisfying world than this one. We who can read must be satisfied—no, no—we who have been granted the freedom to think should rejoice in that alone. Those who can find satisfaction without seeing plays are far happier than those who delight in watching them—after all, aren’t all plays essentially the same sort of thing? Rather than going out of one’s way to attend concerts, staying in one’s tidy room and contemplating music not only spares one’s legs from weariness but also allows immersion in far more beautiful reveries. "If one plays and sings for oneself, we could always amuse ourselves pleasantly"—this was what I had actually intended to tell Michiko and Tsuyako-san. But knowing they would dismiss it with remarks like "Oh no, another lecture’s starting" if I carelessly spoke my mind outright, I instead crafted "The Tale of the Sorrowful Peacock"—how its feathers drift through the air like smoke, entering people’s hearts whenever they feel even a wisp of discontented longing, until ultimately they share the Peacock’s fate; for even something as beautiful as that Peacock could not escape such doom—this was what I had wanted to convey. Yet since they grew bored and left midway through the tale, there was nothing more to be done.

If that’s the case, you’ve likely grasped the general narrative up to this point. As for how it ultimately concludes—how I rescued them from the Peacock, why it attempted to abduct them, what circumstances render it worthy of sympathy, or why I frantically pursued those two whom it had taken—these matters I shall entrust to your imagination without tedious explanation here. However, since this tale holds profound interest for me, there may come a time when, feeling inclined to write again, I shall recount the final course of events in detail as "The Sorrowful Peacock: Later Part."

Here, as the conclusion to Part One, I shall leave for you all but a single chapter titled "The Valley of Lamentation."

The Peacock Princess is fated to lament eternally.

I had never intended to bring about such a hasty conclusion, but today it could no longer be helped—

That evening, Michiko and Tsuyako-san came to my room once more. Both of them wore somehow bored expressions. They must have gone somewhere to play, but it probably hadn’t satisfied them as much as they had hoped. Sure enough, the two of them apologized to me for earlier and earnestly begged me to tell another story. However, since the "golden lyre" of those two existed solely in my hands, they could do nothing but make their futile, empty pleas to me. Since I was someone who doted greatly on the two of them, I wanted to somehow make them understand through an entertaining tale—yet try as I might, no clever ideas would come, leaving me at my wit’s end.

I was looking out the window. The two were silently gazing at the peacock painting on the screen. Before long, Tsuyako-san brought a mandolin and, saying, "This time, as thanks for earlier," played it for me to hear.

While continuing to write "The Valley of Lamentation," I listened with rapt attention. The three of us, our hearts now unclouded, spoke merrily of countless things.

The light rain was gently pattering against the window. We were happy; there was no longer any need to explain "do not sorrow" to the two who knew nothing of lamentation. Songs of sorrow never bring forth tears of sadness; they only make one feel tears of joy welling up.

The night deepened quietly, moment by moment, as if forgotten——.