Pathway to Japanese Literature

"I'll go get a haircut."

Yes, having thought that, he threw down the evening paper on his lap and stood up abruptly from his seated position.
Having stood up, he let out a big stretch and groaned "Ugh" in an utterly bored manner.
That stretch of his was something he did deliberately.
The abruptness of his standing-up motion—or so he felt—had suddenly made him aware of his aunt’s gaze, giving him a faint yet awkward sensation of being exposed; thus, with a mind to resolve it naturally through nonchalance, he did so.

“Studying?” Aunt stopped her sewing and, as if inadvertently drawn into a break by him, let her shoulders drop slightly as she looked up.
Just as his stretch was about to end.
The sound of a koto drifted from the neighboring house.
It was a quiet, tepid early evening with winter drawing to a close.
Aunt immediately resumed moving her fingertips.

When she casually said this to him, he felt a pointless anxiety.

...Right now, lying here, I'm just making utterly meaningless conversation with Aunt to distract myself from boredom—and Aunt is a perfectly sufficient partner for me.
The two of them each maintained the atmosphere between them with an equal measure of effort.
Yet even while doing so, Aunt admirably carried on with her own work.
In other words, all my strength was easily constrained by just a fraction of Aunt's.

"It's true…"

A moment earlier, he had been quite strongly agitated by such foolish thoughts, and for that reason alone, he had likely returned from his reclined state to a proper sitting position.
—And then, he now suddenly stood up.
So he felt that having thought, “I’ll go get a haircut,” was like making an excuse for that strange anxiety-like state of mind, and by the time his stretch ended, the idea of going out already felt burdensome.

“Your exams are soon, aren’t they?”

“No.”

“But…”

He had almost said something terrible to Aunt.
—But gripping his belt, he vigorously lowered both arms without forcing a conciliatory tone,

“Man, I really overate a bit. Ugh.” Muttering this to himself, he sat back down again.
Then he tapped the iron kettle’s rounded belly with his fingertips—tink-tink.

“I wonder if it’ll rain,” said Aunt.

Answering such questions felt lonely.
Feeling as though he were lonely, he remained silent and tried to observe his own heart from a detached perspective.

“Since this evening, the weather’s suddenly turned mild—I tell you, this feels suspicious. It’s going to rain, definitely.”

Aunt still wouldn’t let up, he thought.
—And so, he found his own foolish suspicions pitiable precisely because they concerned such trivial matters, and he came to intensely hate himself.
But now, with nothing but presumptuous feelings taking precedence—though the truth behind his resolution to align himself with Aunt was pure weariness—he had no choice but to—

“I wonder if it’ll rain?” he managed to reply, echoing his aunt’s words. And then he looked toward Aunt. Even though Aunt did not respond to this, the atmosphere there was extremely natural. Aunt was diligently moving her fingertips. There, he found a sense of familiarity and, for the first time, immersed himself in a relieved silence. Because his mind was so utterly empty and light, he felt like adding some weight to that lightness.

Three minutes later (he had actually watched the clock’s hands move that much), he thought, “Will it rain? Or maybe it will… Or will it hold off?” In that manner, he found himself doing nothing but intently pondering the proposal his aunt had made earlier.

He watched the tip of Aunt’s needle skillfully moving without blinking.
Apart from the fact that he was watching, it was simply the pleasant sensation of keeping his eyes fixed there that made him savor that sweetness.

"I'm such a nervous wreck," he thought. Yet in truth, his mind lacked both the neurotic intensity he imagined as illness and the refined acuity suggested by such words—rather, its unconscious half contained nothing but an immense, desolate expanse of glaring foolishness.

He blinked rapidly with exaggerated motions, furrowed his brows in visible distress, and while prodding his temple with an index finger, gazed up at the old framed scroll in the transom.

It was a framed scroll bearing eerie characters that read *Hanxu Huntaiqing* (Encompassing emptiness, blending with the great purity). He hadn’t bothered to consider its meaning, yet foolishly, the scroll struck him as unpleasant.

“Are you going out somewhere?”
When he was about to leave the room, Aunt asked him this:

“Yes, just a quick errand,” he said with deliberate nonchalance, though he knew Aunt would undoubtedly feel uneasy if he answered this way.
He disliked how Aunt’s words and demeanor carried a distinctly supervisory air.
Of course, having failed the previous year’s exams, he was in no position to say anything embarrassing—not just in front of his parents, but especially before his aunt, who had taken on the responsibility of overseeing him.

And yet, over such trivial wording, he already felt resentment; despite having actually thought about going upstairs to study for his exams when he stood up just now, he ended up giving such a reply. And so he thought, “No choice—I’ll go get a haircut.” “I wish there were somewhere more interesting,” he also thought.

On the desk were three or four notebooks borrowed from friends, piled up.
One lay reverently spread open, a red pencil and such placed beside it.
When he saw the “study setup” he had arranged to guard against Aunt’s occasional subtle checks, he felt pathetic.

When he thought of having to return those notebooks by the next day, his heart could not help but grow irritated.

“These things are so trivial.”
Between such self-complacent delusion and the material fear born from time’s urgency,

“Let’s just do it—all at once,” I muttered to myself.
While sitting, he lightly struck his own head with a tightly clenched fist, producing a light thud.

………………

He, who had fixed his eyes on the notebooks with “concentration,” found that this very mental act had become the sole counterpoint to his efforts—and so, though he tried to endure how utterly artificial it was……he could no longer overcome that foolish stubbornness…… He imagined Aunt downstairs, who must have been thinking, “Well, things seem to be going smoothly…”

And so, recalling Aunt’s smile, he suddenly felt he had to maintain the self that had said, “Just a quick errand,” and left the room. In his rational mind, he clearly dismissed such foolish pride... Yet as he dwelled on those trivial thoughts, something welled up inside him—a feeling oddly akin to delight, absurdity, and refreshment—and he found himself chuckling for no reason as he stood up. “Anyway, I’ll go get a haircut,” he thought.

When he tucked the towel into his pocket and reached the entrance, as if suddenly remembering, he picked up the hat and coat.

“Well then, Aunt—I’ll be off for a bit,” he called out loudly.
Aunt, who harbored unwelcome suspicions about this outing, deliberately ran out to the entrance,
“Don’t stay out too late,” she said, eyeing his coat-clad figure with a vacant gaze.

“Serves her right,” he thought to himself as

With a dismissive “Yeah, yeah,” he feigned nonchalance and hastily slipped out through the small side door. Just as Aunt suspected—if only he had a lover, the social finesse to casually mingle even with women from the pleasure quarters, and above all enough money for such occasions, then his feelings might amount to something… Once these thoughts took hold, nothing remained but an overwhelming urge to go out—no matter how forced. …Looking back, lately he’d been leaving home nightly in this aimless way, killing time at cafés, ducking into movie theaters or vaudeville shows or theater standing sections, rarely returning before nearly midnight. In truth, he detested going out for solitary walks.

"Maybe I can actually go have some fun."

When he suddenly thought that, even before he could begin to grasp how it might unfold, his chest pounded excitedly with sheer delight.
He immersed himself only in the euphoria of going, asking, "Can I go? Can I not?"
Even calculating such things felt too troublesome.

He took out his wallet from his pocket and began meticulously calculating even the small change.
Since it was the beginning of the month, most of his monthly allowance remained.
Moreover, he was—quite contrary to his aunt’s expectations—rather stingy and meticulous with money, and he had almost no experience with leisure activities to begin with. Yet when he unexpectedly discovered he possessed just enough funds to “barely scrape together some fun,” he suddenly felt as though he had stumbled upon a “radiant new world.”
His chest throbbed uncontrollably.
—He imagined various romantic scenarios.

“First, be crisp and clear.”
He thought such things.
He tried humming a song under his breath.

He hurriedly turned back home.

“I just forgot something—the notebooks.”
“There’s something I need to ask a friend about.”

He found himself unbearably pleased that he had managed to tell such a resolute lie for the sake of the contrast he had so neatly established.

“I’d like to buy about three books tonight—Aunt, could you give me around seven yen?”

With this, he had crafted his pretext.

“It’s ten yen, but—do you have three yen?”

“Let me see,” he said, checking his wallet. Despite indeed having three yen,

“Well…?” she said.

“We’ll settle this when you return,” Aunt said as she handed him a ten-yen note.
While he felt a bitter resentment at having been scorned by Aunt’s words, he also took pleasure in how this three yen had, by chance, heightened his sense of reassurance.

Feigning a trip to retrieve the notebooks, he went up to the second floor and, while furtively keeping an eye on the downstairs, quietly pulled out his outing clothes from the bottom of the trunk.

“On my way back, if I have time, I’ll stop by the barber, so in any case, I’ll be a bit late,” he said.
He found it almost laughably effortless how what had been his sole secret from Aunt just moments earlier—“going for a haircut”—had now transformed into an entirely plausible pretextual lie.
“What an idiot I am,” he thought, but he was far too exhilarated by sentimental brilliance to be pulled back by sentimental reason.

“I’ll keep it open no matter how late you are, though I might fall asleep.”
Aunt, whose attitude had completely changed from when she had sent him off earlier, said in a relieved tone.

He tried to board the train but suddenly stopped and began walking briskly.
When he reached the corner of Hamacho, he began to consider whether to head toward Ryogoku or Suiten-gu.
On Ningyocho Street was the barber shop he always went to.
After leaving home, it struck him that during the time it took to come here, he hadn’t thought once about “going out to have fun.”

“I’ll get my hair cut first and then go,” he resolved, boarding the train in front of Suitengu.

It was the fifth day—a festival day.
The shrill peep of a balloon whistle reached his ears from afar.
When he came within five or six ken of the barber shop, he took out his watch from his obi to check the time.
“There’s no time for that,” he thought.
When he felt his chin, its rough stubble bothered him so much that he considered “just a quick shave,” but imagining himself sprawled motionless in the chair made the prospect intolerable.
He also remembered how the barber was an insufferably chatty flatterer.

He walked straight past the front of it.
He was filled with nothing but the desire to hurry home.
A moral sentiment toward Aunt welled up within him, and he vividly imagined the wholesome pleasure of showing her his freshly cut head while thinking, “Ah, that’s refreshing.”
He was also extremely worried about the exams.

But when something else crossed his mind again, he merely paused briefly before resuming his walk without turning back.
By then, even he himself couldn’t comprehend his own feelings anymore.
To put it bluntly, he found it both tedious and absurdly foolish to dwell on his emotions—a ugliness he keenly felt—but his simple mind had already grown so tangled over this alone that he couldn’t begin to trace back to the trivial sentiments that had caused it.
He kept walking, his head blankly dazed.

He had come all the way to the Horidome Sanchome tram stop.
"Ah—I’m still thinking about Teruko after all."
When he realized this, he found himself intensely irritated.
"What even was someone like that?"

But now that it had come to this, he couldn’t help but stop by.
"I wonder if there’s some errand I can use as an excuse," he thought repeatedly while turning toward Yayoi-cho, then immediately began approaching Teruko’s house located further along that path.

…………………

When he entered the tearoom, Teruko was alone, leaning against a ceramic brazier under a lamp set apart from the long brazier, looking at *Engei Gahō*.

“Where’s your uncle?”
Without sitting down, he asked this.

“He hasn’t come back yet.”

“And your mother?”

“Oh, Jun, you didn’t come from your house, did you?”

“Ah,” he said.

“I heard someone went out earlier saying they were heading to Jun’s place.”

“Will your uncle be late coming home?”

“Who knows? He’s been acting all busy like a fool these past few days, so I’m sure he’ll be late.”

“That’s a problem.”
He half-crouched by Teruko’s brazier, frantically rustling his hands together as he held them out toward the heat.

“Playing the meek little house-sitter, are we?”
The strange melancholy from moments earlier had vanished so completely it felt absurd; he spoke in a flippant, buoyant tone.

“That’s a lie—I only just got back myself.”

“Off to a play with Mr. Yamashita again, like always?”

“Don’t joke about that—I already had a fight with that guy ages ago.”

“Well! What a magnificent act,” he said.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to do it—that guy keeps spouting such vile things,” Teruko replied.
He secretly wished Teruko would have a proper falling-out with this Yamashita fellow.

“I figured it’d come to that.”
He sneered, letting his theatrical manner drop.

“Maybe I’ll go visit Mr. Yamashita’s boarding house tomorrow,” Teruko said.
Teruko often spoke of this man Yamashita, but he knew well that in reality, she wasn’t as close to him as she claimed.
Regarding this matter, he had discreetly inquired about the situation through Teruko’s friends and had ample proof that there was no cause for concern (after all, he had only encountered Yamashita two or three times at karuta gatherings hosted by Teruko’s friends, with no personal interaction whatsoever). Yet if he carelessly ventured to probe further in that direction—Teruko would casually say something so blatantly provocative that merely hearing it would make him unbearably jealous, and terrified of this, he simply could not muster the courage.

He fell silent for a moment.
The thought “Would she really go?” alone made him feel a seething jealousy that brought tears welling up within him.

“Ah, I’m hungry.”

“Shall I treat you? Don’t let appearances fool you—I’m feeling rather flush today.”

“Huh?”
“My, how novel! Have I ever treated you before, Jun? Truly?”
“Anytime from little old me.”

“So there you go.”

“But I’m scared of what comes after. Instead of that, how about repaying the five yen I lent you the other day? If you’re so flush with cash.”

“Well, let’s skip the petty stuff! Anyway, what’s the plan?” he blurted out cheerfully.

When Teruko said, “Shall we head out?” he suddenly felt repulsed.

“Yeah, I guess…” he replied noncommittally.

“Is my face a little red?”

“Not at all.”

“I kind of feel like drinking a bit more.”

“Where did you go?”

“……”
He deliberately put on a meaningful, unpleasant grin.

“You’re not the type to blush much, are you, Jun?”

“That’s right.”

“Anyway, I’ll put up with Western food.”
“Osato will be back from her errand soon…” Teruko said as she stood up, pulled open the drawer, disliked the first *haori* she took out, and put on a different one.

“Somewhere around there, I tell ya.”

“How annoying—it’s got to be T!”
“It’s annoying because you don’t even know how ridiculous you look—if I’m not careful.”

“I hate walking.”
In truth, he was actually quite exhausted from having walked all the way here.

“What’s that supposed to mean, cheapskate!”
When Teruko said this to him, he truly (unexpectedly for Teruko) had no choice but to be exactly so, and to hide his embarrassment,

“Ha ha ha,” he laughed with forced mirth.
Needless to say, Teruko took that laughter as well-meaning.

“Teruko, haven’t you eaten dinner yet?”

“I’ve just been snacking here and there and completely forgot.”
“Plus, Mother was supposed to pick something up on her way back, but it’s bound to be nothing decent anyway.”

“I really can’t hold back anymore!” he said, though he wasn’t joking in the slightest.

When he imagined walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Teruko, he couldn’t help but feel happy.
As he gazed up at Teruko’s retreating figure, he imagined and savored “the feelings of a husband at a certain time.”
Teruko was rummaging noisily through the drawers, searching for something.

“I have returned,” said the maid as she arranged the rice cakes in a large ceramic bowl and placed them there, whereupon he—

“This deer-spotted rice cake looks delicious,” he said, stuffing a whole piece into his mouth at once.
The cold sweetness felt intensely pleasant on his tongue, which had been overworked by too many cigarettes.
And, as he tried to eat another one,

“Oh my, stop that! You’ll bloat your stomach,” Teruko said.
“Well then, let’s head out—thanks for waiting.—Osato, you eat this.”

The deer-spotted rice cakes and yokan glittered brightly under the bright electric light.
He swallowed his saliva.

“Go ahead and have one,” Teruko said, munching on yokan as she went out through the entrance ahead of him.

The T——軒 restaurant was still rather crowded.
Fortunately, a table by the window was free, so they took seats opposite each other there.
He had been smoking the Three Castles cigarette that Teruko bought him along the way, and though it had grown quite short, he kept puffing on it until she pointed this out and he stubbed it out.

“I’ll have the A on the table.”
“And you, Jun? What’ll you drink?”
Teruko glanced his way, but when he hesitated, she immediately told the waiter, “One whiskey.”
“Vermouth for me.”

When the waiter left, he—
“I won’t be responsible if you get drunk,” she said resentfully.
He was thinking about “play.”
When he thought about how this plan was being needlessly destroyed by such trivial matters, he felt unbearably disappointed; and when he thought about how he had actually come to want to buy books rather than engage in something like play—he was mildly surprised.

“Where exactly are you coming back from today?”

“Let’s just agree not to discuss that.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”
“If you actually went out and had some fun, you might gain some charm… But really, where are you trying to go?”

“Now, now…”

“Liar!”

“Guess I am.”

“Teru’s had enough of this…”

……He resolved that he would go out and have fun no matter what.
First and foremost, he felt tremendously inconvenienced by his near-total lack of technique in that sort of thing.

“What’s this? You still haven’t gotten your haircut? You’ve already forgotten what I told you the other day! I can’t stand walking around with you when your head looks like a bird’s nest!” Teruko had nearly emptied her second glass of wine, her face flushed from cheeks to eyelids. “For one thing, it doesn’t suit your style at all.”

The fact that Teruko’s foolishness was visibly growing more pronounced by the day was, for him, gratifying enough to take pity on her. The thought that she might have long been toying with that man Yamashita—how much more satisfying that would be—when such notions suddenly crossed his mind, he felt an indescribable pleasure.

“You better get that haircut tomorrow, or I won’t take you along anywhere anymore.”

“Hey, just because you’re two or three years older doesn’t mean you can act so sisterly—” he muttered inwardly, telling himself he ought to say it to her, yet—

“Yeah,” he answered weakly.
……But he was glad he hadn’t gone into the barbershop earlier, he thought.

After finally emptying his glass, his body—utterly defenseless against alcohol—began to feel as though he were on a swing, swaying rhythmically up and down. Thinking it would be disastrous to be seen through like this, he barely managed to keep both eyes open and smoked a cigarette with forced composure. His head grew hot and pounding, while a chill crept into his toes.

When the waiter came, Teruko had him pour more alcohol into the cup. Before the pouring had even finished, he reached for it with his fingertips as if drinking more were only natural. But though he meant to grasp the cup, his trembling fingers knocked it over instead. The neck of the cup snapped clean off.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Teruko said to the waiter.
While the waiter was wiping the table, Teruko deftly—
"I'm terribly sorry," she said while stomping hard on his foot.

“Shall I replace it?”

“Please do.”
Teruko said lightly.
The new glass was filled to the brim with alcohol.

Before long, the two left that place.

"It’s not something worth getting so upset over," he muttered while steadying his unsteady steps.

Teruko was walking far apart from him.
He—having thought intensely about how he absolutely had to improve Teruko’s mood—plotted to make up for everything by turning it all into jokes and laughter; he,
“Teruko, walk a bit slower, will you?” he called out, deliberately catching up to her while acting as though he didn’t know her true feelings.
She felt like her face was on fire.
Because there was a reply, he felt somewhat relieved.

“It was just a blunder, so forgive me, okay?”
“That’s not what this is about.”

“Huh! And how’s that unshakable mood of yours?” he asked, grinning with feigned nonchalance as he stared at Teruko, his mouth hanging open.

“Do you actually think that half-assed tip of yours was acceptable?”

“Yeah, yeah, my bad,” he laughed airily.

“Why do you tense up over every little place we go?”

He flinched.
And now, he felt intensely ashamed of himself for having become so uncharacteristically talkative compared to just a short while ago.
The mood that had just begun to brighten with effort turned into a different kind of melancholy.

“I’ve gotten pretty drunk.”
He felt the ease of having told the truth for the first time.

“I’ve just got no backbone to begin with.”
“What a joke.”

“I give up.”

Teruko’s mood had already recovered completely, and saying she wanted to eat sweet bean candy, she ordered him to go buy some, putting him to work.

“Going home still seems a bit too early, don’t you think?” he said.
Yet despite this, he was so exhausted he could barely lift his feet.
Even so, he wanted to somehow show Teruko his clever skills, but he couldn’t bear even thinking about drinking alcohol.

“Will you be returning to the countryside during your exam break?”
Teruko declared triumphantly.
“How many persimmon trees were there at that country house?”

“How many are there?”

“One autumn when I visited—you climbed a tree and got persimmons for me, didn’t you?”

“Was there such a thing?”

“Ah—I want persimmons now.”

“Idiot.—What should I do? It’s still too early.”

“It’s not like going home to study would do you any good.”
“I’d hate it if you got all mopey again.”
“Don’t joke around so much.”

“Back in my school days, I...”
“Let’s drop that subject—how about we check out the M Theater?”
“I saw it the day before yesterday.”
“But it should be fine—since that person’s in it.”

“I don’t want to go to Tozuppō,” Teruko said, glancing at her watch. “Maybe now would be okay—let’s give it a try.”

When he leaned against the railing of the standing gallery, the drunkenness he had suppressed until then erupted all at once, and his head slumped heavily without warning.
Closing his eyes for just a moment, he saw something like a dream—

“Look.”
Poked awake by Teruko, he opened his eyes to find Bansui-cho or some such character on stage bulging his eyes and emitting an unpleasant noise.
His eyelids refused to stay open for five minutes.
All he wanted was to collapse right where he stood.
Teruko watched with her shawl pressed to her nose.
He felt his legs no longer belonged to him.

“××屋”—A magnificent sound boomed near his ears, and he jolted awake from his dream.

The theater was hushed.
He was terribly startled, but for some reason, he found himself thinking that this must be how things were supposed to be as he stared blankly at the stage.
—The next moment, he did so in an extremely loud voice,

“Da Tachibanaa!” he bellowed.

“Silence!” A voice came from somewhere.
But what surprised him more was recognizing Teruko’s figure slipping out with feigned nonchalance, her footsteps muffled as she hurried away.

Realizing he had made a grave mistake and acting discreetly, he waited until Teruko had gone outside, then—ignoring voices that said “He’s drunk!”—left the spot.

“Please be quiet.”
He was told off like that in the end.

At the base of the bridge, Teruko stood with her back turned, forlorn.
He timidly approached her side.
He wanted to say, "You actually waited—I never thought you'd wait!"—but then noticed something more terrifying than her departure—Idiot!—and braced for an abrupt scolding... He couldn't avoid steeling himself.
He had steeled himself, yet felt unbearably glad she'd stayed.
——Through this timorous shock, he sensed all prior drunkenness had now wholly faded within his awareness.

——But he, at a complete loss for what to say, found himself helplessly tormented—though not exactly in pain—and slumped against the railing,

“Ugh... Uu... Uuugh... It hurts...” he groaned.
The way this moan sounded so pitiful to his own ears struck him as comical.

“Jun, Jun, what’s wrong with you? Oh dear, what a mess… Well, if you’re in such pain and can’t hold it in, just get it out already. Here, come on.” Bustling behind him, Teruko began earnestly patting his back and pressing on his stomach.—He was more than a little flustered by this utterly unexpected turn of events.
And he thought, “Got her!”

“It’s unbearably painful.”
He uttered a voice that sounded breathless.
“Ugh... It hurts.”

“What should I do? I’m in such a fix. My fault, all right? Do forgive me.”

“……”

“You ought to just vomit it out.”

Teruko pressed so insistently on his lower abdomen that he felt something he didn’t even want to regurgitate rising unnaturally, an utterly wretched sensation.

“Still not coming?—Just commit to it…
Press your tongue down with your finger.”

Could Teruko’s arms really contain such strength? he marveled.
With no alternative, he pantomimed putting fingers in his mouth and produced exaggerated gagging noises.

“Once you’ve calmed down, please stay quiet for a bit. I’ll go get some water.”

“Nah, I’m all right now,” he said. “Let’s walk a bit.” Having said this, he left the railing—his legs wobbling so unsteadily that even he found it comical—paused briefly, then deliberately staggered.

“Oh my, that’s dangerous!” Teruko exclaimed as she hurriedly chased after him and firmly embraced his arm. “If walking seems better—let’s head toward the riverbank. We can’t go home looking like this.”

“Ah, let’s do that,” he agreed.

Like a stage soldier who had lost the battle, he clung to Teruko and staggered along unsteadily.

“Today was entirely my fault, but since alcohol doesn’t agree with you, Jun-chan, you mustn’t drink anymore no matter what happens from now on.”

When Teruko’s face peered close into his, tears welled in his eyes.

The riverside was a quiet night, with only the occasional sounds from the sterns of black boats reaching them.
Two or three cars carrying geisha passed by occasionally.
He disliked even looking that way.

“The family mothers and aunts are all very worried about you, Jun-chan, so you really must be careful from now on…”

“Taking advantage of this side’s defeat,”
When Teruko so blatantly displayed her softhearted nature, he found himself intensely loathing his own perversely twisted, foolishly suspicious idiocy.
He had also started thinking about his aunt.

“Aren’t you cold?”
Teruko covered his shoulder with her sleeve.
“Does it still hurt? Has it passed?”

“Isn’t there somewhere we can go in?”
“I want to rest.”
“I want to drink a bit more.”

He knew he could act selfishly in such situations—exactly like when dealing with family members during an illness.

“Drinking was just a joke—but I need to sober up properly or I’ll be stuck.”
“I’m not even drunk! I want to drink more and liven things up.”
“Though honestly, with you here, Teruko—it’s not like it’ll get anywhere anyway…”

“There, there…”
Teruko simply wouldn’t oppose him no matter what.

“I’m really not drunk.”

“No more.”
“What should I do?” Teruko murmured.

………………

Not long after that, Teruko truly became angry.
Because he was getting too carried away with his nonsensical chatter, she seemed to be trying to threaten him into submission by feigning exasperation.

“Even if I had my own place, I’d never let someone like you through the door,” she declared.

“I’m going home.” Teruko began striding purposefully toward the tram stop.
If she leaves now, everything falls apart, he thought.
Moreover—though he couldn’t explain why—the idea of sending Teruko home in this state felt unbearably cruel.
I need to restore her good mood before letting her go—that conviction took hold of him.

“Then I won’t drink alcohol or anything.”
Finally, he said this.

“This is unbearable… It never ends…”

“Well, just a bit longer.”
He suddenly perked up and pulled Teruko’s hand.

“You look ridiculous.”
With no other choice, Teruko followed along with a laugh.
This time for sure, he thought.

“If we rest here in the park for a bit, that should be fine.”

“Ugh, no—if we’re going to rest, let’s go somewhere else. A place like this will just make people suspicious.”

He denied it in an extremely unnatural way.

“Well, let’s just get through here... I’ll walk you partway—walking a bit more... will help me sober up... Ah, I really am drunk after all, ha ha ha!” He laughed exaggeratedly to humor Teruko.

“Obviously.”
Teruko finally followed him.

In the small park on Hirokoji, three or four dim blue gas lamps glowed.
Not a single human figure remained.
From the vaudeville theater across the way came the persistent rasp of a voice beckoning customers.
For reasons he couldn't quite grasp, he felt an intense restlessness.
And he couldn't shake the conviction that everything would collapse once they passed through this place.
He tried to walk as slowly as possible, yet Teruko's mood felt inexplicably distant from his own—moreover, she kept completely silent, as if worn down to numb exhaustion.

“I’ve never been here before,” he said, still not starting to walk.

“Neither have I.”

“It’s really cramped here.”

“That’s right.”

“They should’ve made it a bit wider.”

“What are you talking about? Hurry up and come here.”

“Let’s sit on that bench over there for a bit.”

“But I told you I don’t want to!”

“Teruko, can you ride that swinging log?”

“That thing’s childish.”

“Then try riding it! You couldn’t even walk straight!”

“I don’t care about that.”

“……”
He lit his second cigarette.

“…………”

“You probably don’t know this, but I was once champion of mechanical gymnastics.”

“I don’t know.”

“How about I show you a bit of my skill?”

“You’re talking like a child,” Teruko sneered, but when he noticed a flicker of curiosity beneath her contempt, he felt his chest leap inexplicably. “Just watch for a second,” he said, handing her his hat and coat before approaching the equipment.

When he stood on the stepping platform, he realized how terrifyingly tense his mind was.

He spat into his palm with a sharp *ptui* and said, “Here goes.”

In the darkness, only Teruko’s pale face looked bored as she stared in his direction.

He couldn’t see the horizontal bar clearly, making him afraid to leap—but with a “Yah!”, he suddenly jumped up.
He felt a fleeting relief, as though he had grasped the horizontal bar entirely by chance.
And, having regained his vigor, he attempted an elbow stand.

“Not bad, huh?”

“Tch!” said the pale face beneath his gaze.

Thinking that if he got down now it would be hard to jump back up again, he stretched out his arms and hung there, deciding to try one more thing as he was.

As he slowly began to raise his toes to attempt a backward ascent—he suddenly noticed a star shining above his feet.

“Tomorrow’s sure to be another fine day.”

While thinking this, he kept staring fixedly at the star.

(March of the 10th year)