Pathway to Japanese Literature

"Why am I such a useless fool? There’s no need to agonize over this trifling matter—if I just get ready quickly, it wouldn’t even take two hours… Yet Junzo chided himself into resolving, “Tomorrow for sure—”"
He was supposed to depart the day before yesterday—having already received travel funds from his aunt, which he’d carefully stored in his desk drawer—but ended up delayed yet again. As this pattern repeated, matters grew increasingly awkward, until that day found him claiming an intensifying headache from the afternoon onward and retreating to sleep in the second-floor room.
When he closed his eyes, a boundless blue sea lay calm under the spring sun… Soon his body brimmed with that joy alone—*“To rush to those shores as soon as possible—that’s my only genuine hope now,”* he thought, enraptured by imaginings of his destination, spinning out every detail of what would come after reaching Atami—indulging in the lazy pleasure of gazing at distant beauty through some metaphorical telescope—and thinking *it’s better this wasn’t today*, relishing the stretched-out laxness of time still left to wallow in these worn-out anticipations until tomorrow—this very indolence being something he ought to have sternly rebuked himself for right then.
And now, consumed by impatience that made even waiting until tomorrow seem unbearable, he suddenly adjusted his toes and kicked off his overcoat with terrifying force.
Like a snapped matchstick, his torso and legs stood nearly at a right angle; centered on his buttocks, it bobbed unsteadily two or three times in perfect Yajirobe fashion before thudding down comically.
“Think you can sit up like that with your arms folded?”
“Nothing else to it.”
“Then do it.”—When he felt such interest, he suddenly made his chest roar with a burst of energy and thought “Heave-ho.”
When he managed to sit up splendidly, he abruptly felt a childlike joy.

It was dusk, and white clouds drifted slowly.
He settled himself into the rattan chair at the edge of the veranda and gazed at the sky.
Only a sigh-like feeling spread through his chest, so much that it verged on anxiety.
Even his pleasant travel fantasies would slip toward “not thinking at all”—blending into the pale haze beyond—until he could no longer distinguish whether they were visions born of obsessive wanderlust or mere nonsensical delusions. … He made a convoluted face and violently shook his head.
As if it were the clapper of a hollow bell, it was merely light.
And then, he abruptly stilled its vibrations.
—The fragrance of winter daphne abruptly drifted by.
In his head, only a faint echo—like that lingering after a bell’s toll—drifted unsteadily.
Junzo’s consciousness did nothing but persistently pursue that echo.

"Even if I can manage things from tomorrow onward, what should I do tonight?"—Having thought this, yet now it seemed he was deliberately considering it without feeling inclined to devise any concrete plans beyond that mere contemplation.
He kept blowing smoke in short bursts.
Between his sighs lingered the scent of cloves.
It came from a flower blooming in the corner of the small garden... No sooner had the tepid warmth of a bubbling spring begun flowing gently through his chest than his foolish body started dissolving into the Land of Nothingness.
And so his mind became light as a soap bubble, his hollow limbs buoyant like a boat adrift on spring seas; the pleasure of being swept away to that "all-day-gently-swaying" shore smiled within the illusion, requiring no other justification.

It was rare for him to find himself in such a state of mind.
He had never even imagined traveling before; when he had resolved to do so about a week ago, it had felt like a decision made out of sheer pitiable desperation.

“Big Brother, there’s a phone call from Ms. Shimada.”
At the foot of the stairs, his cousin Mitsuko shouted.
Junzo thought, Hmph.
Yet simultaneously, an intense joy—Ah, saved!—danced fiercely through his chest.
Separately, he felt this lingering regret—just when someone could have been left to indulge a while longer in pleasant fantasies, had they only allowed them to remain immersed in such amusing reverie, here they came again to cruelly stir things up with their idiotic meddling.

Generally, these three emotions tangled together without immediately rising up; he lit a fresh cigarette, but with his heart—now clearly ugly and weak—abruptly shifting, he quietly blew out the smoke.
There was also a morbid pleasure in observing his own unpleasant mind.

He feigned utmost natural indifference—the result being a scheme to extort restlessness and jealousy from the other party.
Junzo’s paranoid habit often led him to scheme this as an effective Adulatory method himself.—When he noticed this feeling arising, he would fall into terrible self-loathing.
Truly, after his long relationship with Teruko—an older woman—one that had primarily involved base emotional skirmishes, and after his once-pure heart of love had become thoroughly warped—it was only recently that he had come to fixate on Nobuko (Shimada). Yet even with this Nobuko, he carelessly repeated the same folly: arbitrarily provoking battles of what might be called “a kind of vanity” alongside strange timidity, only to grow flustered at his own whims.
While affirming Nobuko’s love, he would flaunt it under the guise of denial—subjecting her to trials meant to yank her heart closer—yet despite harboring nothing but tearful joy within, he adopted the opposite demeanor: that is to say, he fawned over her.
As for how unnaturally his mind had functioned during his relationship with Teruko—though this might have been his incurable disposition—it would remain confined to the sentiments reflected in his relative dynamic with Nobuko: namely, how excruciatingly he now suffered from those twisted emotions after having fallen for her.

The satisfaction of loving—Junzo, who strained to sustain his self-conceit through “romantic love,” found it unbearably desolate to resign himself to accepting “that vile heart” as his inherent nature.
So he was thinking, “Ah—this is the retribution for being tossed about by a woman like Teruko—my heart’s rotted clean through.”
“I’ll reclaim this heart—mark my words.”
Nobuko’s heart was truly just and pure—he alone was at fault—he was the one staging this wretched solo act at rock bottom, growing frantic over a squalid spectacle no one would deign to watch.
“I’m utterly irredeemable to Nobuko.”—And now, nothing but the raw ache of “missing Nobuko” clogged thick in his chest, his cherished sentimental tears streaming warm and unchecked within him.

How joyous it would be to kiss her—he had yearned for this through quite some time—but when he finally accomplished it one night, that night of XX day he would never forget, something suddenly struck him as absurd, and he burst out with a “Hfft!”
Tears pooled in Nobuko’s rose-tinted eyelids.

“How rude of you—”

Junzo wanted to kiss her again. … He took out a cigarette from his sleeve and slowly smoked it.
…Please forgive me… I can’t possibly say that—he thought.
Filled with nothing but regret, he walked five or six paces in silence.

“I see… Hmm, is that so?”
Absentmindedly, Junzo muttered such things.

“You probably think nothing of something like this.”
“That’s certainly how it would be for someone like you.”
"But…"
When Nobuko tried to continue speaking, Junzo felt antipathy toward the woman’s self-respect,

“That might be the case,” he said in a composed yet hateful tone that even he himself recognized.

“Getting upset over such a thing is utterly foolish—”

“I was wrong—”

Junzo felt surprised to hear this, but precisely because of that, he could no longer harbor any malice.
His emotions—long accustomed to flattery—were now being showered with such high-handed scorn that it might have crushed them entirely, yet he found himself imagining greater physical satisfaction in matching that derision with coquettish banter and dissolving into hollow laughter.
However, in this situation, he could also immerse himself in the ecstasy of being a proper man.
The culmination of that intoxication plunged him into profound loneliness—to feel believed in or respected even slightly seemed more agonizing than any scorn.
This too he desired to escape—as a bad habit ingrained in him by Teruko.

“It must be your first time.”
“Ugh, if you ask such things—”

Of course, Junzo had no reason to doubt.

“Close call,” he said. “Can’t say I really get it.”

“So,” she asked, “do you still exchange letters with Ms. Teruko every now and then?”

"I sent two or three letters, but they were so dull I didn't even bother replying."
It was a lie not even conceivable in his wildest dreams.

"How awful of you."

"It can't be helped. Even recalling someone like Teruko makes me feel sick."

"My, you're terrible."

"No—that's not what I meant."
Junzo wanted to briefly explain what Teruko had actually been like to him, but he felt dissatisfied at finding no hint of jealousy in Nobuko's manner of speech.
"Would someone like Teruko even occasionally think of me?"

“Well, she is human.”

“Humans are such fragile creatures…”
“Oh please—you’re the one who’s always thinking of her yourself.”

“Well, she is human.”—Junzo felt amused.
Even so, he thought making such an issue of Teruko here was far too wasteful for her sake.

“You like that sort of modern type, don’t you.”
There had been times when Junzo showed Nobuko a photo of Teruko.

“Hmm, I do like her.
But I got completely rejected, you see—left in utter despair.”

“Why don’t you go visit Ms. Teruko or something?”

“Ahaha….”
“Oh come now—there’s no need to get so upset, Lady Nobuko.”

“You’re making a fool of me.”

“Ahh, how tedious…”
“It’s just that I feel like going out to have some fun or something.”

“You can just go off and do as you please then, oh come on.”
“You’re really making a fool of me.”
“No matter how much you say such things, I’m not the least bit jealous.”
“I’d look ridiculous.”

Junzo’s mood, which had been crowing in triumph, plummeted at this, and he broke into an awful cold sweat.
He felt terrible shame toward his earlier self from just moments before, having become aware of his own cheap and transparent verbal ploys.
“Ah, what a worthless human being I am.”—The act of shamelessly baring his face before Nobuko grew unbearably painful.

Every night, they walked in the same manner until their legs grew terribly weary.
Without fail, when the moment of parting came, Junzo's mind seethed with irritation.
He worried to an almost comical degree—that Nobuko might be receiving such a terrible impression from him as to feel disillusioned, that she might actually experience greater refreshment during their time apart.
One evening, when Junzo had chattered away with his shallow jokes and vulgar tone to an excessive degree, the two of them became thoroughly disenchanted and—in a rare occurrence—parted ways cleanly.
When Junzo returned home—he who rarely ever wrote letters—he found himself driven by an intense desolation to put these words to paper:
The more frivolous my demeanor becomes, the more solemn my heart grows in those moments—I desperately want this pitiable nature of mine to be understood.
So please understand that when I prattle on about trivial matters, I'm not speaking earnestly—it's just a sort of foolish act I put on.
But even if told, "I'll cast you aside because I can't understand you," and I reply, "Then there's nothing to be done," I simply cannot muster the strength to endure that loneliness by staring at myself alone.
That's why I'm well aware it's better not to write such letters.
What a shamelessly presumptuous request—what an impossible man I am.

In Nobuko’s reply was written as follows.

“You needn’t say such things—I understand perfectly well.”
“I was glad.”
“Please don’t concern yourself with such worries.”

When he read this, Junzo felt he’d shot himself in the foot by writing with such careless honesty.
He felt an absurd swell of self-conceit—that his own heart was somewhat more complex than Nobuko’s hasty assessment.
And he came to feel both regret at having given Nobuko herself too much reassurance and resentment toward her lofty emotions that seemed to have settled into complacency.
"In reality, I wasn’t nearly as worried as I’d written in the letter—that was just a bit of fleeting sentiment in the moment," he tried to laugh it off.

“I have absolutely no intention of ever relying on a husband’s care. Since I am fortunate enough to be materially secure, as long as my husband’s love remains unchanged, I have no desire to enter into any ordinary formal marriage—at least not until it becomes absolutely necessary—”

Once, Nobuko said that.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘absolutely necessary’?—More importantly, that fantasy of yours is nothing but a cheap passing fancy.”
“If you keep getting swept up in these cloying daydreams and carrying on like that, I can’t stand it anymore.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Being doted on is unpleasant.”

“I hate it too,” said Nobuko, and now Junzo found himself utterly at a loss, driven solely by an uneasy feeling.

“Which meaning is that?”

“You probably dislike both, I suppose.”

"Ah, so that's it," Junzo finally understood.
He had often told Nobuko things like: "I have no confidence in myself—when others show even the slightest trust in me, it becomes unbearable."
He found himself incapable of fully expressing gratitude for Nobuko's kindness.

"I have, you see, an overabundance of that trait where people quickly tire of me."
"And since I know this about myself all too well—it's utterly pathetic.—Before long, you'll surely…"
Junzo wriggled his ill-formed little nose and smirked while pointing at Nobuko's chest.

“You’re utterly impossible.”
“You’re getting drunk on this whole ‘quality of being tiresome’ business all by yourself.”
“It’s not self-awareness—if I may put it harshly, it’s self-conceit—using those words as a shield…”

It was only when told this that he realized—though upon reflection, his own attitude and words had indeed been attempting to impose the full brunt of this selfish burden upon the other party.

“I’m just saying it as a joke—you don’t have to come at me so bluntly.”
He deliberately laughed as if dismissing her and said, “You really are adorable, Nobu-chan.”

“That’s just how it is.”

Through Nobuko’s sharpness—which deftly disposed of his idiotic emotions—Junzo found himself utterly delighted.

“I really am hopeless.”
He blurted out this lament before panic seized him.
“Couldn’t you—since it’s no trouble—just point out some small flaw of mine in your own words, Nobu-chan?”

“How tedious.”
Nobuko offered a faint, forlorn smile before reddening at the ears and lowering her gaze.

“Let’s kiss.” He had wanted to pull her into a wordless embrace, but seized by some unaccountable hesitation—absurd yet inescapable—he instead spoke those words, fumbling nervously toward Nobuko’s shoulder.

“——”

The lips that had been chattering so vivaciously moments before now clamped shut like molded wax.

“Well, well!”
Junzo’s request leapt lightly into sarcastic territory as he attempted a jest.—“Do you hate it?”

“——”

“Then fine.”

A short while passed—(during which time Junzo had not been thinking about the woman).

“Did you get angry?” Nobuko said.

"......" As if he had stumbled upon a perfect opportunity, Junzo noticed—deliberately blinking his eyes with exaggerated sentimentality—and put on a boyishly sullen expression.

“Why?”
Nobuko widened her eyes and scrutinized the man’s face.—Junzo despised his own feelings.

“I’ll have you know—I’m not harboring even a shred of frivolity right now.”

When confronted with this explanation, Nobuko appeared profoundly startled.
Junzo grew utterly disoriented by an irremediable blend of shame and restlessness—

“It’s not about whether I resent it or not…”—he couldn’t voice the rest: that having his composure shattered over such trifles was unbearable—“Resentment would be ludicrous—… No—truthfully, I’ve been suffering from nervous exhaustion lately. Worn thin.”
“I keep thoughtlessly committing these blunders that wound others.”
“Don’t hold it against me.”
“It’s genuine nervous exhaustion,” he murmured with calculated carelessness.

“I haven’t had my feelings harmed since earlier, I’ll have you know.”

Junzo grew even more flustered.

“So... if that’s how it is, then it’s fine.”—he tried to brush it off with an utterly incomprehensible reply. “It’s a rather restless night, isn’t it,” he said.

“You really might have nervous exhaustion.”
“Are you sleeping at night?”

“I hardly sleep at all.”

“—Is it my fault?”

“Of course it is.”
Junzo barely suppressed a derisive laugh and solemnly grunted.

“It’s probably not that severe—you.”

“Claustrophobia—a violent strain of nervous exhaustion arising from fear of solitude.”
He cut her off as she began to lean in affectionately, then felt compelled to air his grievances further before shifting to earnest mockery.

“How does one cure it?”

“I must avoid stimulants and make myself rid my mind of these pathological notions.”

“I don’t understand such intricate illnesses myself, but you must relocate.”
That Nobuko didn’t laugh struck Junzo as peculiar.

“Without changing locations, I likely won’t recover anytime soon.”

“From now on, this humble woman shall endeavor not to meet you—rest assured for the time being—why don’t you simply go somewhere?”

"This is troublesome," Junzo thought. If he couldn’t see Nobuko, he’d likely end up genuinely succumbing to nervous exhaustion.

“Atami would be good—I know a place there called Furuya residence. I’ll make arrangements myself.”

“Shall I have you do that?”

“Send me one letter every day.”
“I’ll send them without fail.”

“Hmm.”

The next day brought a letter from Nobuko: she’d contacted Furuya residence by telephone—a quiet room was available—and since he’d promised to go within two or three days anyway, he should take his time traveling there.
For three days afterward, Nobuko sent no further word.
Junzo could only keep silent in turn.
Junzo steeled his resolve for Atami.
To free himself from these ugly feelings toward Nobuko—this would be best for him, he concluded.
At least during their brief separation he could steep himself in pure devotion—from afar he’d imagine her properly, and what exquisite communion they might achieve! He’d pen letters saturated with longing; she’d respond with saccharine missives.—Moreover, he’d sever this stagnant existence and finally begin his long-planned novel—the thought made his heart pound violently.
Nobuko would become irrelevant—there he’d devote himself wholly to creation without women cluttering his mind, resting seaside when weary… “Who gives a damn about Nobuko?” he thought.

A week had passed.
With each passing moment, his heart grew distant from Nobuko just as he’d hoped, immersing itself solely in radiant brightness.
During that time, he ventured out once for dissipation.
This too proved merely a satisfyingly wretched feeling as intended—no matter how he tried to prolong it, he could never recapture that former state of abnormal fascination.
“I’m the sort who can’t accomplish anything unless I free myself from my own trivial emotional life.”

“Big Brother?”

“What is it?”

“I said there’s a phone call.”

Tsk!
Junzo clicked his tongue.
“Shut up.”
It was unclear whether he had spoken theatrically or in earnest, but regardless, he descended the stairs with an utterly businesslike air, taking his time.
Of course, when receiving a call from a woman, this too stemmed from domestic common sense dictating that one must make an effort to put on such airs.

“That flower’s scent reaches even the second floor.”

“Is that so?!”

“Stupid flower.”

“Eww, how gross! You idiot!”

Having easily made Mitsuko laugh, he went to the phone.
Due to reserve toward Aunt and Mitsuko and others present at home he could only manage utterances like “Hmm,” “That can’t be,” or “Ah.”

“What time are you going out tomorrow?” Aunt asked him.

“Let me see,”
“He’s planning to make it as early as possible.”

“Mother—this could end badly. If he keeps dawdling around and wasting all his money, he’ll just casually shack up at some friend’s place for four or five days and come crawling back like it’s nothing—that’s the sort he is.”

It was only natural that Mitsuko, having been corrupted by Junzo’s bad influence, would say such things. They had come to regard Junzo as more of a playboy than he actually was. At this particular moment, Mitsuko’s words struck Junzo’s heart with extraordinary unpleasantness.

“Don’t say such unnecessary things.”
Because he had made such an uncharacteristically earnest face, Mitsuko promptly stood up and went off toward the kitchen.

“What a hopeless child she’s become.”
The aunt glared at her retreating figure and muttered.
Even that struck quite painfully at Junzo’s chest.

“Uncle doesn’t say anything, but deep down he’s quite worried about you, so do take good care of yourself.”
“Since you’re going there to study this time, I’m relieved, but even when you get there, you mustn’t drink alcohol or anything.”
Knowing that saying more would make Junzo pull an unpleasant face, the aunt stood up to prepare dinner.
Vaguely, Junzo felt as though he couldn’t remain even until tomorrow.
Soon he would leave this house—soon refreshing days would greet him at the fresh hot spring resort exactly as he envisioned—and with this thought, contempt even arose toward the family members who could still settle into their monotonous lives in the same cramped house, becoming complacent once more.
He alone acutely felt the joy of being in an extremely privileged position.

“Ahh, I want to go somewhere too. Mother, may I go to the theater tomorrow?”

“Didn’t you just go with Big Brother the other day? Getting hooked on plays like this won’t do—it’ll turn into a habit.”
“Besides, it’s hardly proper for the neighbors to see.”

“How boring.”

“She wasn’t like this before.”

Junzo involuntarily cleared his throat.

“Let me have a little taste-test.”

“Goodness, what’s with this child!”

“It’s still a bit watery!”

“Let me see.”

“What about you?! Oshizu, pass me the sugar jar.”

While listening to the foolish quarrel between mother and daughter drifting from the kitchen beyond the paper door—a sound that filled him with bitterness—Junzo sat cross-legged before the brazier, his eyes fixed on the newspaper; yet he merely stared vacantly as the printed characters floated up like insects across his retinas, never once blinking.

He had promised to meet Nobuko at seven o'clock at Shimbashi Station.
The fact that they hadn't met for some time had conversely stirred such fresh excitement in him that he could scarcely get a bite down.
That he'd been able to indulge in such feelings during their separation was merely a desperate delusion, and the shame of still pacing about without having departed yet meant nothing at all.
"If you're going shopping, I'll come along too," Mitsuko said, but he deflected with, "I might stop by a friend's place on the way back."

“I want us to go together.”
“I want to eat ice cream.”

“If I take you out every night too often, Mom will get annoyed.”
“I’ll buy you something on the way back.”
“What would you like?”

He somehow pitied Mitsuko.
If possible，he wanted to take her along.
Because he himself suffered greatly，he could sympathize with others' hardships.
He even considered decisively taking her along.
"After all，it would end with just a kiss—perhaps by not showing my fragile heart，I could meet her cheerfully instead.Moreover，if I calmly brought Mitsuko along，Nobuko would undoubtedly feel displeasure.She'd suppress that and maintain composure，but she'd perceive my hesitant feelings as coldness—making her even more anxious.Seizing those moments，I'd whisper sweetest words…" This is truly clever，he thought.It'll surely work.

But when he actually tried to steel his resolve, he found himself utterly incapable of summoning such courage.

“So I don’t need anything to eat—just buy me this and that—” Mitsuko had barged in with a demand for perfume she could never wheedle out of her mother; Junzo found himself capable of genuine sympathy toward another’s heart in such a state, contrary to his usual self.
Somehow it felt expensive, and he suddenly grew self-conscious, but if not for times like these, he couldn’t savor the thrill of chivalrous valor… So steeling himself,

“Hmm, very well.
“But keep it a secret from Mother, okay?” he said.
“Since I might be a bit late, I’ll put it in the top drawer of your dresser then. Even if you say tomorrow morning’s early, you still won’t be able to get up before nine—in any case, we probably won’t see each other tomorrow. I’ll have already left for Atami before you get back from school.”

“I suppose so.”
“Saying such a thing now as if it’s only just occurred to me feels rather strange, doesn’t it?”
“Well, since you won’t wake me in the morning… then—goodbye—isn’t it, your early start tomorrow.”
“But it’ll be ten days at most, I suppose.”

“The paper I need to submit to the school—though calling it that feels absurd—in any case, I must finish it as soon as possible...”

Once outside, Junzo's heart leapt with wild brightness. Through the whirlpool of joy, he glimpsed Nobuko's vivid phantom. That meeting her could bring such easy resolution to all his nerves struck him as strange indeed. He was driven by an impatience no fast carriage could outrun.

Yet he—though the clock struck seven exactly—after alighting at Owari-cho, wandered aimlessly and even bought Mitsuko's requested item. No malice colored this act, nor mere playfulness—he simply craved immersion in that hesitation. Making a grotesque face, he walked alone while laughing.

Fifteen minutes had passed.
He was startled.
He rushed in a panic to Shimbashi.
……But there he ended up waiting thirty minutes longer—reduced to nothing but a frantic mind he couldn’t contain, utterly helpless.
Nobuko’s preciousness had utterly provoked him, and he felt intense hatred. ……He unwrapped the paper package, opened the perfume bottle’s cap, and sniffed its fragrance.

When he could no longer endure waiting and had resolved to give up and go home—fidgeting at the entrance to the waiting room—he returned once more to the bench, took out the perfume from his pocket again, and was just sniffing its scent when Nobuko finally arrived.

“I’m sorry for being late.”
“You’ve been waiting quite a while, haven’t you?”

“Perfect timing—I just got here myself…”

“Oh? Is that so? Well, that’s fortunate then.”

That this matter seemed resolved so effortlessly rankled Junzo.

“I was in the middle of reading a book earlier—since it was going to end in about twenty pages, I went ahead and finished it up.”

Nobuko showed not the slightest hint of suspicion; rather, she seemed almost pleased by his nonchalance,

"Once you start reading a book, you become completely absorbed, don't you? That's how it was during our phone call earlier too, I suppose. Was it some novel?"

"Ah."

"Is there really one that good? Once you've finished reading it, won't you lend it to me?"

Junzo found these words unpleasant.
He tried to conjure a foreign phrase Nobuko couldn’t possibly know, but when it refused to come to mind, he simply dismissed it with a casual “Ah.”

“I came here with my sister just now.” When told this, Junzo was suddenly startled into glancing toward the entrance—and sure enough, there stood his sister Masako smiling as she looked their way.
Junzo’s voice suddenly shifted into a bright, cheerful tone.
“What’s this, Masa-chan? I couldn’t tell you were stuck there like that.
Come over here. ……… No—let’s just walk toward Ginza.
My, you’ve grown so big since I last saw you. Well… what do you want…”
Junzo’s lips flapped rapidly, a risque joke nearly slipping out—the kind one shouldn’t tell a child.
“You’re going to school every day? What time does it start these days, anyway?”
The disappointment, intense as it was, had been compressed into a distant corner of his heart, hardened like a stone and left unmoving, buried beneath layer upon layer of nonchalance.
Even he himself would occasionally feel pleasantly intoxicated by this heart of his that put on such a show of brightness—.

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“Eight o'clock? That's godawful early— So? Have you gotten any better at English lately?”
“Let’s see—this time you’ll be in your second year, right?”

“We already settled that the other day, you forgetful thing.”
“But do come and teach me a bit.”
“You haven’t been coming around at all lately, have you?”

“Ha…”
Junzo had to exert tremendous effort to find his words.
“Ah… Oh, right…”

“Mother said the same thing—‘I wonder why you haven’t been coming around lately.’”

“Ha….”
“When you say that, I’m done for.”
“Well, I actually intended to go tonight, but see, my sister said she’s coming to Ginza with Masa-chan here… And our Mitsuko was supposed to come too, but she was dawdling around so much I ended up leaving her behind…”
"If only I’d brought her along," he muttered under his breath.

“When are you going there?” asked Nobuko.

“I decided on tomorrow morning.”
He had to maintain an air of casualness even with Nobuko.
“My head hasn’t been right ever since then.
Every day I’m just so terribly melancholic that I must get away immediately... And my aunt’s house has become unbearable too.”

“I’ve been waiting daily for letters from there.
If you weren’t going, you could’ve at least called.”

“I’m sorry… sorry.”
“But tomorrow will be fine for sure—if I fail tomorrow, well, first off, it’d cause trouble for Aunt too, you know.”

“For sure.”

“Ah.”
He briefly considered whether to deliberately withhold sending letters once he arrived there, then hurriedly dismissed such thoughts.

“Won’t you consider my feelings a little...”

“Feelings? What even are those?”
Nobuko’s words bothered him, but he couldn’t press her further.
Nobuko’s mere laughter and silence wasn’t particularly unnatural to begin with—Junzo’s question had been utterly irresponsible in tone, downright frivolous.
“Ha… Since you’re such a sharp one, I can’t just go blurting out careless things.”
“Right, Masa-chan? That’s how it is.”
“Do you still fight at home?”

There was no possible response to such grandiose words—especially when siblings being discussed so openly before their very eyes would typically make those involved flush with embarrassment... Masako briefly glanced toward Nobuko to gauge whether she might smile, but finding her composed, turned instead to look at Junzo with an expression of helplessness.

He began noticing how the "disappointment" veiled in nonchalance was gradually growing more blatant. He tried avoiding suspicious interpretations as much as possible. There had been that time he'd said—"No matter what a man claims, being alone with just two people makes him feel troubled"—and made Nobuko's face flush red. Just like Nobuko's goodwill in trying to send him away for a change of scenery, he wanted to feel pleased about "having brought Masako along"—though never voicing it, the facts seemed to suggest as much—. Yet despite this, he found himself infuriated beyond measure, unbearably agitated. Having his display of ill humor interrupted by Masako came as rather a relief to him.

Despite having resolved to leave at an opportune time to rest, even after exiting the café he still could find no such opportunity. By nature, Junzo was not one given to walks. If just a little more time passed—if just a little more—he couldn't help feeling there might arise some chance to attain modest satisfaction. "I'm certainly not in love with Nobuko or anything"—such thoughts occurred to him. The more he dwelled on it—that his sole interests lay either in spewing venomous remarks at will or else "wanting to kiss," both utterly childish fascinations—the more intolerable grew his vexation at being denied even these base gratifications.

“Ah, I’m exhausted from walking.”
When they had turned right at Owari-cho and were slowly approaching Sukiyabashi toward Yamashita-mon, Masako spoke.

“Staying like this is so dull, isn’t it?”
“But this is tough... Still, I do like walking on nights like this—feels nice, doesn’t it? Huh?”
Junzo had no choice but to drag his komageta with exaggerated flair. “Do you know the poem ‘A spring night’s moment…’? — Well, last night I took a long walk alone like this until quite late.”
“From Ryogoku I followed the riverbank, crossed Shin-Ohashi Bridge, then came out to Eitai—but still not satisfied—went on to Chiyoda Bridge, and from there walked all the way to Ginza,” he spouted such nonsense.

“A poet now, are we?”

“Hah… When you put it that way, I’m done for—but doesn’t this feel like the sort of night that turns one into a poet?”

“I suppose that’s one perspective.”

Junzo felt somewhat relieved.

“Shall we go back?” he asked Nobuko.
He sensed that Nobuko might have some clever scheme.
“Let’s board again at Shimbashi.”

Junzo stiffened. A train rumbled along the viaduct paralleling the river. Its lights flickered faintly across the water's surface. The Keihin Electric Railway car passed by, scattering blue sparks. Though humid and milky-white with haze, the sky held scattered twinkling stars. Night had settled like a veil of mist.

“Are we boarding at Shimbashi tomorrow morning?”

“Tokyo Station—that’s closer.” He couldn’t imagine Nobuko would simply go home like this—he felt that way.
“So, shall we board?” Junzo asked with a pathetic air.

“Yes.
You’ll be returning too, I suppose.”

“I’ll return alright—but shall I see you to Tamachi?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“How about going somewhere else for another cup of tea?”

“Again!”

“Ah—right… Well then… Anyway, I’ll walk you there. Need to drop by a friend’s place.”

“Stop it. It’s far too late to be dropping by someone else’s house now.”

“That’s true too, I suppose.”
“So… anyway.”

“What are you saying?”
“You’d better go home early tonight.”

Did she think I’d gone out of my way just for this pitifully childish stroll?—That my whole night should be dictated by her whims under the pretense of shared purpose—it grated beyond endurance. Unbearable, how she assumed I found satisfaction in this maudlin child’s game of a relationship—such thoughts churned through him.

“I’ve got to visit a friend in Takanawa”—the lie demanded theatrical commitment—“so let’s ride together to Tamachi,” he declared while boarding beside her, engineering every syllable to sound effortless. “No need for formalities.”
At Tamachi Station he pressed further: “Might as well walk you home.”
“If it’s just there, do come inside,” Masako interjected from the doorway.
“Can’t—my friend’s schedule won’t wait,” he blurted—

“What time will you be returning from Atami?” Nobuko said.

“I won’t be back for ages—it’s so dull.”

“Well then… the letter.”

“Who knows—”

“Masa-chan must be tired from walking. If you’re tired, go on ahead home and wait—I’ll just…”

“It’s late now, so... goodbye...”

“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to.”
“It’s nothing. No—the letter, I’ll send it tomorrow. I’ll send one to Masa-chan too—just tell me what you’d like to eat, and I’ll have it sent over. Got it? Ha… Well then… goodbye. It’s late.”
“Well then, take care, okay?”

Junzo had energetically parted from them—then suddenly felt fatigued for no reason at all—and tried to return home as soon as possible.
When he imagined Nobuko might be feeling this same way after their parting, he felt a faint jealousy—but far stronger was his regret and fatigue, as though he'd squandered his time on some idiotic farce.
If he could return home, clear his mind, and fall soundly asleep without a single thought—how wonderful that would be—tomorrow he had to rise early and depart. How delightful, he thought.
It was the same feeling as that evening when he hadn't met Nobuko. As long as he had emotions, it was no wonder that if a woman appeared before him, he became captive to her.
It wasn't like he was in love with Nobuko.
Regardless of who it was, if someone put on such an act before his eyes, it was only natural his heart would grow restless.
At this rate, he'd undoubtedly forget all about Nobuko soon enough without any trouble.
"I should hurry back and get all my preparations done tonight."

It was Junzo who had made a sudden visit to Nishioka’s house in Takanawa just past ten o’clock, about an hour later.

“I figured you’d be out,” he said, “but since I ended up in Shinagawa after seeing someone off, I thought I’d stop by.”

“What’s this? You’re sitting there with that vacant look at this hour?”

“Spaced out?”
“There’s no way I’d be spaced out.”
“I’ve been having a grand time lately.”

“Still spouting that nonsense? Anyway—did you finish your thesis?”
“I was thinking I’d stay up all night to finish it.”

“I’ve written some.”
Junzo didn’t want to discuss that matter and gave an evasive reply. While muttering things like “If I drink even beer I won’t accomplish anything after getting back,” he tilted the served beer glass.
He was hungry, so it tasted good.

“This really won’t do—whenever I meet you, my mind turns dissolute. Let’s skip the beer and have a proper drink.”
Nishioka, for whatever reason, grinned slyly and thumped Junzo on the back with a heavy thud.

“What a rude thing to say—I hate alcohol.”
“Didn’t I just say I’m pulling an all-nighter? You idiot.”

“A little won’t hurt! What’re you yammering about, you brat!”

“I’m done with this—I’m leaving,” Junzo was saying, but Nishioka ignored him and started down the stairs.
Junzo truly didn’t want to drink alcohol.
He was more in the mood to eat something than drink.
While looking down at the watered garden, he grabbed the rice cakes there and stuffed them into his mouth with a broad grin.

“Hey, quit stuffing your face with sweets.”
“This guy’s weird.”
“Even though you like alcohol—”

While the sweets he had been stuffing into his mouth hadn’t yet been swallowed, when Nishioka said that, Junzo’s face turned slightly red.

Before long, the dining table was reset. He felt somehow awkward toward the members of Nishioka’s household.

"There's something I want to ask you—it's about French," Junzo said.

“Don’t go putting on airs.”
“Instead of that, have a drink.”
Nishioka brought the sake cup to the tip of Junzo’s nose.
Nishioka was Junzo’s older, long-time friend, but ever since Junzo had shared some dissolute stories back when he still knew nothing of such matters, Nishioka had come to regard him with a certain deference in that regard, treating him as something of a prodigal beyond his actual substance.
That had become something of a habit.

“When it comes to drink, I’m clearly stronger,” said Nishioka.
“Stronger in every way.”

“This is precisely why I detest you.”
“A soldier recognizes no enemies.”

When he got a bit drunk, it was Nishioka’s habit to grab people by the nape like an eagle, and by then he’d already rolled up his sleeves to do just that.
Junzo disliked that sort of teasing, so he made no effort to hide his displeasure.

“Your scrawny neck’s so thin it’s easy to grab—no matter how pissed you get, you’ll never make it as a soldier.”
Seeing Junzo’s blatant displeasure, Nishioka—seeming slightly awkward—said, “Well now—I got drafted into the army too.
“Yoshimura said something awful about me... Like when you think *Nishioka* got drafted into the army? Turns out he already had a soldier’s mug before they even took him...”

“Maybe so.”
Junzo laughed, thinking to salvage Nishioka’s awkwardness.

“Yoshimura had come over to hang out until just a moment ago.”
“Today was disastrous.”
“Yoshimura made me listen to his whole story, you know.”

“Seems enviable—is Yoshimura still carrying a torch for that woman from before, huh?”

“Use a crude word like ‘love’ and she’ll resent you for it.”
“He drones on about his ‘romantic entanglements’ with a certain lady.”

“I wonder if they’re still involved?”

At Junzo’s blunt words, Nishioka—hopelessly naive—chuckled in a manner unbefitting his boisterous way of passing around cups and said, “Perhaps… isn’t it? That seems likely,” he said. It was only in front of Nishioka that Junzo found any interest in saying such things.

“Ahh, how irritating—”
Junzo exaggeratedly threw his head back and struck a dramatic pose.
The feelings that had been rigid until then suddenly began playing the fool.

“It’s finally getting entertaining, isn’t it?”
“You’re always like this.”
“When someone suggests drinking, you always refuse at first and put on this bitter face—but once a bit of sacred sake starts to hit you, you’re off making a scene all by yourself.”
“No matter how convincing a face you put on, I won’t be fooled.”

Even after being told this, Junzo’s feelings—where normally some change would occur here—began floating restlessly in their shallowness.
“Yoshimura’s happy, huh?”

“You’re crossing a line here—that’s downright heresy.”
“Lately I’ve been thinking this through and through—I just want to love a lovely girl to my heart’s content.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—such things… That’s an utterly childish interest, I tell you—a truly childish interest!” Junzo blurted out heatedly.
“Of course, that’s also a form of perverse sexual desire,” he added under his breath.

“Don’t go saying nasty things.”
“That’s not it. On that point, you’re always calling me sentimental and laughing at me, but it actually stems from my sentimentality. Whatever—I don’t need to call it ‘love’ or anything. I just want it.”

“So aren’t you envious of someone like Yoshimura?”

“Rather, I’m not envious.”

“When you put it that way… I wonder.”
Junzo had a stubborn weight lodged in his chest but continued drinking in silence.

“But today’s really done me in.”

“I suppose so. Ha ha…”

“It seems your position differs slightly from mine.”

“There’s no way that’s true!”

Before they knew it, both of them had gotten quite drunk.

“Let’s go out somewhere,” said Junzo.

“Let’s not do that.”
“You’re a pain—in the end, that’s just how it is.”
“Let’s drink a bit more.”

Junzo felt nothing but antipathy toward Nishioka’s words yet found himself intrigued by the prospect of swaying his mind.
Moreover, he himself had also begun to desire it—but more than that—he possessed sufficient utilitarian rationality regarding the trip to Atami.
It was his resolve to keep drinking with Nishioka like this until it became utterly futile—to waste away the night on drink—take the last train home—and make it morning as soon as humanly possible.

“I don’t mind drinking…”
“But you know… like…”

Junzo smirked.
When Junzo said something next, Nishioka found it amusing and chuckled under his breath.
Junzo, thoroughly carried away—half out of a desire to amuse Nishioka and half provoked by his own words—blurted out things too indecent to commit to paper here.
Manipulated by Junzo’s glib tongue, Nishioka grew terribly excited,

“Let’s go, let’s go—there’s still a train,” he said while standing up.

“Then shall we go?” Junzo, still seated, looked up at him and feigned calm and sarcasm.

When they went outside, Junzo was quite taken aback to find Nishioka far more intoxicated than he had anticipated. He felt such goodwill toward Nishioka that it made him want to apologize. Towering half a foot above Junzo, Nishioka staggered his burly frame about while bellowing an off-key song in a cavernous voice.

Damn—this has turned into a proper mess, Junzo thought.

A quarter of an hour ago, when Nishioka showed no sign of moving, Junzo had said something like, "I’ve got quite a bit of money on me today, you know." When Nishioka then said, "If we spend it all now, we'll be in trouble later," Junzo puffed himself up and retorted, "Don't underestimate me! Even I have more than enough on rare occasions," putting on an exaggerated show of arrogance. Junzo had not particularly expected things to turn out like this. Admittedly, given the mood of the moment, had it not happened, it would undoubtedly have felt lacking. If he said he disliked something, no matter who tried to persuade him, he wouldn't budge; conversely, if he proposed something himself, he wouldn't take no for an answer—Nishioka had always prided himself on such obstinacy. Therefore, from how things had gone when Junzo first proposed it, he had already dismissed any possibility that Nishioka would budge no matter how much he provoked him now.

It was a dim alley in an estate-lined district.
Nishioka wore his hunting cap tilted back on his head and swung his walking stick around in circles.
Naturally, all pedestrian traffic had long since ceased.
The moon was out; only the road shone white.

“We look like students from some old play,” said Junzo, who felt that revealing his distasteful thoughts would be ill-advised and thus deliberately put on a boisterous act.

“Hey!
Junkō!
I won’t let you run!”
Nishioka bellowed.
Junzo flinched.
"I wonder if he sees right through this feeling too—"
Yet being addressed like that, he couldn’t help concocting a sly plan to deftly deceive and slip away right then and there.

“Don’t say such disagreeable things.
I’m taking a piss right now.”

A clove fragrance drifted over from the hedge there.
That flower’s blooming here too, Junzo thought.

“Hey! Hurry up!”

“That won’t do. Don’t make such a racket—it’s embarrassing.”

“How long does it take to get there?”

“It’d probably take about an hour, all things considered.”

“It’s not exactly close.”

“Damn, that’s far!”
Junzo shouted with all his might.

“If it’s the Institute Line, there’s no alternative.—Or should we have a taxi dash?”

“Shall we? But what a nuisance.”

“What’s so goddamn nuisance about it, you fool! That’s perfect!”

“I wonder if it’s by the station?”
“If there’s none here, you see—there’s a shop over there.”
“Is that so?”
“Anyway, let’s hurry!”
“Right.”
Junzo reluctantly answered.

When they exited that narrow estate district, there stretched before them the wide, broad slope before the Mōri residence that commanded a straight-line view of Shinagawa Station below.
It was a long, flat slope that resembled an enormous butcher's block.
At the road's end, the station's bustling lights lay spread out in a quiet glow.

"Looks close enough, but walking this slope makes it stretch on forever—gets to be a real drag."
"I've been trudging around since earlier tonight—my legs are about done in."

“That’s pathetic.”
“Hmm, right.”
“Alright then—I’ll do it like this. I’ll push you from behind.”

Nishioka extended his right arm and clamped down on Junzo's nape with a vice-like grip.

"Hey! Cut that out already! I'm begging you—I hate this habit of yours."
"You get drunk and immediately pull this crap—it's unbearable. I detest it!"
Unable to endure this treatment any longer, Junzo rapid-fired complaints while trying to wrench himself free—but when he tried prying at the hand, he found it oak-stiff and utterly immovable.

“I’m gonna shove you.”

“Tch! Cut it out already—I’m begging you!”

Junzo, so frustrated that tears began welling in his eyes, brought his clenched fist up behind his head and swung at Nishioka’s arm with all his strength.
But whether from overeagerness or poor aim, his first wild strike missed entirely and cracked against his own skull with sickening force.
A monstrous fury surged from the pit of his gut.

“Grr, damn! Bastard!”
That hit its mark perfectly.
It felt like he’d struck a pillar.

“Ouch! Bastard! You did it!”

Nishioka laughed with amusement and redoubled his force—applying it with such intensity that Junzo had to rise onto his tiptoes—as if hoisting a cat by the scruff.

“How’s that?”

“It hurts, you idiot!”
Junzo involuntarily shouted at the top of his voice.

At this, Nishioka loosened his grip slightly—Junzo, having no choice, pulled in his chin like a scarecrow and smirked thinly.

“Even if I tried to run, there’s no escaping this.”

“Don’t talk nonsense—when did I say anything about running away?”

“Anyway, this is getting a bit dangerous.”

“What a nuisance you are.
Quit acting like a damn fool with your childish antics—there’s a limit to how much nonsense I’ll tolerate!”

“Oh! How amusing! How utterly infuriating!”

Junzo thought there was nothing he could do.

“I’m going home today—I won’t go! Your idiotic antics are unbearable!”

“‘Going home,’ he says—how grand you sound!”

“It hurts! You idiot! Anyway—just let go of this! I was lying about going home!”

“Fine then—let’s get moving.” No sooner had Nishioka said this than he started running at a clip, shouting “Heave-ho! Heave-ho!” in a booming voice. Junzo felt his body had become nothing more than a hapless lump of matter; all his hatred and fury seemed to have vanished.

Junzo’s body, twisted sideways from sheer reluctance, stiffened like a carrying pole and tilted backward, but his legs had no choice but to keep pace with Nishioka’s speed.
To make matters worse, the slope was downhill.
……Junzo closed his mind’s eye.—Then, behind his eyelids, various visions floated quietly.…….

“Hey, Nishioka—wait a second. This might boil over.”

Junzo, who suddenly noticed this and spoke in an ordinary tone, reached into his pocket, took out the perfume bottle, and gripped it tightly in his palm.

Even as Junzo said this, Nishioka paid no heed and kept accelerating, still shouting “Heave-ho! Heave-ho!” all the while.

Junzo felt a faint intoxication as a strange, almost amusing light hazily lit up his mind.

He—sometimes fretting over the perfume bottle, bringing it to his nose for tentative sniffs, or verifying his pocketed wallet hadn’t fallen out (though even this precaution bred anxiety, making him clutch it in his other palm)—hiked up his slipping obi while moving his limbs with puppet-like clumsiness, running half-propelled by Nishioka with marginally more ease than fifteen minutes prior.——.

Even so, the unyielding force of Nishioka’s eagle-like grip made his neck feel as though it had become a separate entity altogether—and the agony was such that he couldn’t help but wonder whether, were he released now, his neck might remain permanently twisted.

――July 1921――