Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The train whistle echoed through the deserted station grounds. The train carrying me left Wakamatsu Station at three in the morning, still shrouded in darkness. “Well then, goodbye. Since you’re graduating this year too, study hard. I’ll do my best this year.” I said to my brother seeing me off outside the window, voice thick with emotion. My brother—wearing his middle school uniform with fifth-year insignia on the collar, looking markedly more mature lately—bowed his head in silent gravity, face seeming to hold some contained vigor at its core. Most likely, even my brother hadn’t known what to say to this hopeless sibling departing for the second time. Reflecting on it, I realized I had already been overtaken by my younger brother. Though my journey to Tokyo came three months before his, once he shed that middle school uniform, he too would be heading to the capital this April. I gazed once more with strange emotion at my brother’s motionless figure.

I had wanted to say one more thing to my brother. But the train had already begun moving slowly, indifferent to all things. And from my eyes where tears had unexpectedly begun to surface, the dim lamplight crowned with the haze of approaching dawn and the platform where bat-like station attendants stood receded further with each passing moment. The diminishing figure of my brother had already started walking. And he did not seem to be looking this way. Even still, I tried to cast one last parting glance, but at that moment a dark shape—likely piled lumber—interposed itself between me and the platform. And when the darkness cleared once more, the train had already traveled far from the cluster of lights that were the lingering traces of home.

I finally pulled my head back in from the window. And struck by emotions befitting this journey’s commencement, I pressed my eyelids that threatened to grow hot, and began contemplating how I had come to this point.—

For me, this departure was nothing short of a life-or-death endeavor. Last year's disgraceful failure in the First Higher School entrance exam—this year's attempt following that defeat was one I absolutely had to succeed in. And yet—why hadn't I applied myself more diligently last year? The primary cause lay in my belated relocation to Tokyo. My mistake had been placing excessive trust in my academically gifted brother-in-law's counsel, trying to study those crucial post-graduation months in the unstimulating countryside. Had I gone to Tokyo sooner and immersed myself in that pressurized environment, perhaps my studies would have gained more focus and my exam strategies grown more sophisticated. Thus like my friend Mishima, I might have passed. But whether Mishima or myself, there could have been no such disparity in our mental capacities. If anything, my own graduation marks had been superior. Even during our pre-exam discussions, I had clearly been the more knowledgeable. Yet when results came, he had passed brilliantly while I met complete failure. Where in heaven's name had that difference between us arisen?

It seemed that difference between him and me had arisen from nothing more than knowing or not knowing a single English vocabulary word. At least, that’s what I believe. That accursed word “Promotion” from the first question on the English exam—the difference in how he and I translated that single term had determined the divergence in our fates. I hadn’t known this word. So by considering the context, I had come up with a translation that seemed generally plausible. (Now even thinking about it fills me with shame.) But when I later inquired about it, mine had been completely wrong. In all other problems across every subject, we would always discuss them on our way home and reach agreement, but this one alone was clearly my failure.

There may have been other failures of my own as well. And an imperceptible difference might have emerged between us two. Yet in these knife-edged entrance exams, whether one recognizes a solitary vocabulary term could instantly govern destiny. No—it must be so. They say passing and failing pivot on a mere five-point difference—is this not true? At any rate, in my case, I believe it fair to conclude everything depended on a single word. What’s more, because of that word alone, I suffered six months of humiliation beyond expression. Father rebuked me. Mother wept because of me. Even my brother-in-law and sisters regarded me with contemptuous eyes. Only Sumiko-san—my brother-in-law’s cousin toward whom I secretly nurtured feelings—showed sympathy, even bestowing a letter of solace upon me, though surely she too must have privately disdained me. Yet even so, her consolation had remained until now my sole glimmer of light.

Even this early departure to Tokyo—Father had been quite unwilling to permit it. But I had sworn I would abandon everything if I didn't get in this year, so he finally granted permission. So no matter what, if I don’t get in this year, I cannot return alive. And then there's my brother. That guy and I had finally entered the same exam period. When I think about that, I feel unbearably ashamed.

In any case, once I reached Tokyo, I had to study diligently. At that thought, my heart leapt. And already within that day, I had arrived in Tokyo. From the gloomy, humiliating confinement at home to emerging into that glittering metropolis—now I could study freely. Moreover, in Tokyo awaited Sumiko-san—my dearly missed Sumiko-san, whom I hadn't seen in six months since last August. When I arrived in Tokyo, she would undoubtedly come to visit my brother-in-law's house with her usual cheerful smile as always. How much that would encourage me—and yet why hadn't I entered First Higher School before her last year? Had I entered, I would be wearing that white-lined cap and could meet her with confident strides by now. When I thought about that, I grew chagrined. But this was the year. If I got in this year, everything would be fine.—"This is the year," I told myself once more. And as time passed, I found myself vacantly listening to the drowsily monotonous clatter of wheels that seemed to murmur, "This year, this year, this year..."

When I suddenly noticed, the right train window had abruptly taken on a silvery brightness. The train had already passed several stations unnoticed and was now running along Lake Inawashiro's shores at dawn. The lake surface appeared entirely covered with small waves, and though it was dawn, was particularly pale white. And the mountains around Nunobiki beyond the far-stretched water, enveloped in hastening dawn clouds, maintained no clear boundary with the sky. To my eyes, only Asakayama-hana demarcating the panorama's left side stood out distinctly, making the entire lakeside landscape feel imbued with a more boundless expanse than usual.

A cold wind came in through the window. Even so, struck by some unknown force, I gazed fixedly at this lakeside view. I felt there was an indescribable hint of something there. Truly, I felt as though the dawn of my own being—the newly dawning fate—was being hinted at there. Tears welled up in my eyes of their own accord.

Dawn broke at Yamagata.

The train was supposed to arrive at Ueno before dusk. The train still carried me and my musings, swaying yet impatiently hastening toward that destination—

II

Since becoming part of my brother-in-law’s household once more, it had now been about a month as of yesterday and today—and during that time, there had been no particularly significant changes. Perhaps it was my imagination, but both my brother-in-law and sister remained unchanged in their usual attitudes. Though on occasion they might casually touch upon my past failure and make sarcastic remarks, those were entirely spontaneous acts—they didn’t seem to hold such comprehensive contempt for me as a person. Truly, failing an exam once was almost a matter of course. If they made such a big deal out of it, we examinees simply couldn’t endure it.

The room was lent to me just as last year—a six-mat space in the second-floor corner adjacent to my brother-in-law’s study. I found there, just as last year, a crude desk draped with a blue cover. On the wall still remained the photographic print of Millet’s painting that I had framed last year. I had once viewed them with fondness, but since they too easily evoked memories of last year’s failure, I replaced the desk cover with a new tawny one and exchanged the Evening Bell print for a portrait of Napoleon. With this, my life as an examinee had taken a new turn.

As for my studies, during the first week or so after arriving in Tokyo, the stimulation of this changed environment had kept me restless yet determined—but when I considered that six whole months still remained until the exams, an unconscious sense of the long road ahead emerged, and even a certain laziness took hold, thinking that slacking off a little more wouldn't hurt. Lately, I had merely been flipping through reference books without any real focus. I found that devising a grandiose plan—resolving to collect all the exam questions from the past ten years—and then hunting through used bookstores during my walks felt most like an examinee. I had already collected seven years’ worth of them. Once I collected them all, I intended to go through every last one at my leisure. Because I thought that by doing so, I might finally grasp the knack of solving these problems.

Since it was said most people reread Minami’s English Interpretation Method at least five times, I supposed I ought to start reading it soon enough. Last year I’d only managed to read it once—and even that just barely. But having free time on my hands, I resolved to at least attend preparatory school. The lectures there focused less on building practical skills than on teaching how to utilize one’s abilities—emphasizing methodology over content. As an institution I found it truly unconventional. Yet the lectures proved engaging. They remained interesting even when I listened distractedly. Preparatory school was meant to be treated as a half-serious endeavor. Still it served its purpose well enough—unknowingly stimulating examinees’ minds, honing their cunning, and above all imposing upon our irregular lives a semblance of scholastic discipline through institutional orderliness. In any event for me it had to suffice as decent time-wasting.

I often visited my fellow examinees whenever I had free time. They too seemed to be idling lazily. Asanuma was staying at a boarding house in Kanda Nishikichō, but whenever I went to see him, there was only an algebra textbook lying face down on the desk as if in excuse, and he himself was invariably playing Go with someone. Sasaki—who stayed at an amateur boarding house in Nezu with a senior from our hometown—was someone I visited frequently, but he was usually out. Of course, since he was aiming for humanities, he was probably being carefree, but according to the lodging house staff, he seemed to constantly be going to places like the Ueno exhibitions, plays, and vaudeville shows. Even so, his way of slacking off still had a certain quality to it.

When it came to matters of leisure, Satō of Hongo’s Shinhana-chō was the prime example. He had quite the reputation among friends for engaging in unsavory pastimes. Among his companions, there were even those who worried about him for this reason and attempted to offer advice. However, he—who had come to Tokyo under the pretext of exams to indulge in leisure—paid no heed to such words. Last year too, despite having applied for admission to Kōkō, when he arrived twenty minutes late on exam day and was denied entry to the examination hall by the proctors, there was even a famous anecdote about him demanding that since he had paid the exam fee, they should at least give him the test questions—which he received before returning home. The reason for his lateness at that time was rumored to be something like having drunk too much alcohol the previous night. I too had once visited him in the course of a walk. He was rhythmically puffing white plum tobacco through a long pipe. And he seemed slightly drunk.

“Well now, this is a rarity—you actually came.” “Though it’s just as well you came today.” “When someone as rare as you finally visits our place, it’d be a shame if I were out.” “Truth is, I’m broke today—that’s why I’ve been cooped up here special-like.” “Tokyo’s no fun without money.” “With cash in hand on a fine night like this, I wouldn’t be rotting away in some boarding house attic.” “But since I was stuck here anyway, perfect timing.” “Now sit yourself down and stay awhile.” “Even straitlaced folks like you could stand one night of fun.” “What—haven’t even started studying yet?” “That’s a lie no doubt, but never mind—make yourself comfortable.” “Let me treat you to something.” “Can’t take you out since I’m skint, and the slop they serve here’s barely edible—so name your poison.” “Not like I’m being selfless—using you as an excuse to scrounge up some grub myself.” “No need for airs.” “How ’bout we crack open some sake?...”

He kept saying these things one after another, disconcerting me. And as I earnestly declined, he continued saying such things with a mocking expression. “As always, you’re too rigid—it’s a real problem.” “Once someone fails an exam, they generally come to understand how the world works—but you’re truly exceptional.” “Well, despite going to all the trouble of being in Tokyo, you lot deliberately steer clear of the interesting spots.” “Among them, I’d really like to introduce at least one interesting spot to you.” “But for that, you’d need to fail exams once or twice more and become completely reckless first—otherwise it won’t work.” “Do come anytime you like—I’ll be delighted to show you around. Oh now, don’t go getting all earnest and indignant on me.” “In any case, people will surely reach a time when they go to such places.” “I’ve merely set foot in that world sooner than you all.” “So if it’s that world you’re after, I’ll always serve as your guide.”

At first, I listened to what he said with some curiosity, but gradually grew uncomfortable. After enduring this for about thirty minutes, I finally announced my departure and stood up.

“Is that so? Leaving already?” “That’s quick.” “Well then, do come again.” “If anything I said offended you, do pardon me.” “I’m not always like this, you know.” “But I’ve truly gone to ruin, haven’t I.”

With that, he suddenly welled up with tears. I saw him here too as one of the most typical—and most fearsome—shipwrecks of the exam world. While returning home, I thought that becoming like him would mean utter ruin. I told myself I surely wouldn't end up that way. I resolved I must strive not to become so. A strange terror came over me. And never again did I visit him after that.

Matsui, on the contrary, was among the more earnest of our group. He was renting a room in a temple in Koishikawa Kohinata. It was a gloomy west-facing room, but for that very reason quiet and peaceful—which was just as well. Matsui always seemed to spend his days sitting there, having drawn his desk close beneath those dim shōji screens, one cheek pressed firmly against his hand—neither reading nor thinking. He was not actually a studious person. His mind, if anything, was on the dull side. He was merely clinging to his desk, trying by any means necessary to get his exam preparations in order. But in any case he was the most diligent. And he was thinking about the exams most earnestly. Therefore I visited this Matsui most frequently. The two of them surely discussed the progress of their preparations.

“It’s about time we got serious and started working.” “Yeah.” He often gave simple responses. “Have you managed to get anything sorted out at all?”

“No,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I’ve only just begun algebra. It’s my weakness—I failed algebra last year too.” “Is that so,” I replied. “My own weak spot in math is trigonometry. If I start now it should be manageable, but I can’t find the drive.” Their conversations would typically string together such exchanges. Yet discussing exam preparations somehow left them feeling energized. When parting, they’d always exchange vows— “Well then, let’s start properly tomorrow.” “Right—we’ll both buckle down.” —only to discover at their next meeting that neither had studied, each privately reassured by the other’s lack of progress.

“Well, I suppose we’ll finally start tomorrow.” “Yeah, let’s both buckle down.” Yet when they met again next, neither had studied with any particular diligence. And upon discovering each other’s lack of preparation, they felt secretly reassured.

Matsui was aiming for the Second Division. And this year again, before taking the higher school exam, he was supposed to take the Higher Technical School exam in April. Speaking of April, there were only about two months left. Despite that, he showed no particular signs of studying. "Aren't you making quick progress? We really have to start now, I tell you. Are you sure you're alright?" I finally asked him this bluntly. "Yeah. I've been thinking the same thing, but... My head's just not working right—it's really a problem. At this rate, this year might be another failure."

“Quit saying that and get serious, I tell you.”

“Well, I intend to do as much as I can.”

With that, he lowered his faintly blurred eyes onto the geometry diagram he had drawn earlier. I felt sorry for his condition. But at the same time, hearing that others' preparations weren't progressing gave me a somewhat pleasurable feeling deep down. I even found myself thinking how good it would be if all competitors were like this. Even so, my studies weren't progressing either. With things like this, there was no point in having gone to the trouble of coming to Tokyo early.

III

Sumiko-san continued visiting Brother-In-Law's home every Sunday without fail. I had unwittingly come to eagerly await Sundays and had even begun believing she would visit me at my place.

Her house was in Shirokane, Shiba. That was the house of Brother-In-Law's eldest brother. At Brother-In-Law's house, they were all academic high-achievers. Among the five siblings, the eldest, third, and fifth—every other child being male—had all excelled remarkably, each distinguishing themselves in society. The eldest brother was an established Bachelor of Engineering. He now served as chief engineer at a textile company. Sumiko-san was his eldest daughter. The second brother had been a Bachelor of Agriculture. He had since gone to America. My Brother-In-Law, being the youngest brother, had only just become a Bachelor of Medicine the year before last and still worked as an assistant in the Aoyama Internal Medicine Department. Sumiko-san made it her regular practice to come here—to this uncle's house in Sendagi—nearly every Sunday. And it was there that I boarded.

Sumiko-san was not what one would call strikingly beautiful, nor did she stand out in any particular way. The overall impression of her face was well-proportioned yet lacked distinctive features, though there was an indefinable vivacity about it; certain fleeting expressions that surfaced at moments made the area around her eyebrows appear remarkably beautiful. This quality manifested most strikingly in her eyes. When she suddenly glanced up sideways, or when she gazed while laughing—from beneath those double eyelids opened so wide it seemed almost affected—her clear pupils, dominated by dark irises, would emit a glimmer like sunlight glistening after rain.

I still remember to this day the first time I saw her. It was June of last year, shortly after I had come up to Tokyo for the entrance exams. Until then, I had gradually come to know from my sister’s accounts that there was a niece called O-tō-san, but even in those stories, I had not been led to imagine the figure of a young girl. For me, Tokyo women—especially beautiful urban girls—were people I could never possibly become acquainted with; perhaps that had been why I had thought so inwardly.

It must have been a Sunday around the third day after my arrival in Tokyo. With the rapidly approaching exam period looming before me, I had to clamp myself to my desk without even having time to grow accustomed to my room. That day too, assailed by anxiety and agitation from morning onward, I was reluctantly flipping through the pages of physics I hadn’t yet finished reviewing. I had not yet laid hands on almost any of the memorization work. I had become so immersed in dark, oppressive anxiety that even sitting grew unbearable. But there was nothing I could do about it. I had no choice but to face my desk, exposing my exhausted eyes to the textbook. But even that had grown utterly tedious. I finally threw myself onto my back before the desk, half in despair and vacantly listening to the sounds both inside and out.

Suddenly there came the sound of the front door opening. Next, mingling with a girl's shrill cry, rang out a beautiful mid-high voice. Soon those voices seemed to be received by my sister's composed greeting, and so the commotion downstairs subsided. After that, no particularly noticeable voices filtered through anymore. Thus before I knew it, I had again lapsed into a complacent state of suspension. After some time came intermittent thuds of someone ascending the stairs at measured intervals. From their sporadic nature alone, it immediately became clear this was a child's doing. Out of a certain curiosity, I strained my ears. Then suddenly, in that clear ringing woman's voice from earlier,

“Oh my, Akiko-san, where are you off to? You mustn’t go making mischief now!” “The second floor,” came a girl’s voice affecting maturity. “I’m going to see the brother upstairs.” “You mustn’t go up—you’ll disturb his studies.” “I’ll be fine.” As she spoke these words, the girl continued climbing with heavy thuds. Then came the sound of swift yet timid footsteps near the staircase—someone seemed to be chasing after her.

With tense curiosity, I waited to see what sort of girl would appear at that sliding door. My heart began to race. I deliberately kept facing the desk.

With a swish came the sound of the entrance fusuma opening. I instinctively turned around. There stood a girl of five or six at the dim threshold, her straight-cut bangs framing wide-open eyes that remained silent. Her face held an expression that seemed ready to burst into laughter if permitted. Swiveling fully toward her, I beckoned: “Please come over here.” Joy surged through me—the Tokyo dialect I’d used for the first time with another person had flowed smoothly despite catching in my throat.

Akiko-chan was still fidgeting. This seemed to stem less from bashfulness than from some instinctive artifice peculiar to city-bred girls. “Please come in.” I repeated the invitation. This time, I thought my phrasing sounded particularly awkward. At that instant, a quiet purple shadow flitted behind the girl. Then emerged the face of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old in white clothes, her hair tied in a low ponytail. Though self-conscious, I steadied my gaze on that flower-like countenance. The moment I took in her well-defined features, her eyes were already smiling radiantly. She gave a graceful bow. I hastily returned the courtesy.

“I’m sorry for disturbing your studies.” “Now, Akiko-chan, say hello to big brother.” “And now we should take our leave.” She spoke smoothly like a bell’s chime. Akiko-san fidgeted and bowed her head again in silence. Half-turning away while clinging to her sister’s hand, she glanced back at me sidelong. “No, it’s perfectly fine. I was merely idling away from boredom.” As I spoke these words, I beckoned Akiko-san again with my eyes. “Come now—do come in.”

Akiko-san did not answer this, but instead, while rubbing her cheek against her sister’s crimson obi, said, “Sis, let’s go over there.” For an instant, I hated this child’s artifice. “Yes, let’s go.” “We’ll come again when you have time, Brother.” “I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion,” she said, pulling her younger sister closer as she quietly closed the sliding door. The two of them descended the staircase, their faltering footsteps receding into the distance. In my chest as I gazed absently after them, something like a springtime resonance lingered—.

That was my first meeting with Miss Sumiko. After that, she would visit my room nearly every Sunday when coming to play as was her custom. She never stayed long in my quarters. Mostly she came just with her sister, engaging in quiet women's talk before leaving. Yet even during those brief intervals, they became irreplaceably precious moments to me. And if by chance circumstances prevented her visit for even a single Sunday, I felt unbearably lonely.

Last year's exam period had been brief. And following immediately upon it came that disgraceful failure. Ah—there's nothing more to say about that. At the time, I'd been so ashamed I couldn't face Miss Sumiko, fleeing straight back to my hometown in haste. Later came a letter from her. Written there in oddly sophisticated prose were reproaches for my silent departure and urgings not to lose heart over a single failure. How many times did I press my lips to those pages! What gratitude flooded through me! And during that long humiliating confinement at home—how often did those words bring me solace!

Be that as it may, during this period I could meet her every Sunday.

IV

Today was March 1st, the day of the commemorative festival at First Higher School. I had long heard about its bustling success, but naturally I'd had no inclination whatsoever to go witness those confident ones in their moment of supreme triumph. However, my brother-in-law—a First Higher School alumnus—had somehow obtained admission tickets, and since my sister and Sumiko-san absolutely wanted to go, he insisted I absolutely had to accompany them. Thus, I reluctantly decided to go see it for myself.

As soon as afternoon arrived, Sumiko-san came from Shirogane. She was dressed in her finest attire. I felt her face seemed more beautiful than usual. With a feeling that seemed both happy and sad, I looked upon this dazzling adornment of hers. I had no choice but to admire and envy the First Higher School that made her adorn herself so meticulously.

The two of them waited for my sister to finish getting ready while talking about a few things regarding the commemorative festival they were about to attend. Sumiko-san said such a thing.

“Next year, you’ll be guiding me through this, won’t you?” I gulped. “Well... who can say?” “I’m hardly dependable.” “You’ll manage. You’ll absolutely manage.”

I did not answer. And I felt something like a weight pressing against my chest. Over and over, I thought how much better it would have been if I’d gotten in last year. If I had gotten in, today I could have strode confidently while escorting such an elaborately dressed young lady. If that had happened, how delighted Sumiko-san would have been. And how enviously my friends would have looked on…

Since my sister was ready, the three of us decided to go out together. The early spring sun hung past noon in the midheaven, veiled in a faint haze. During my time indoors, spring had quietly risen from the earth everywhere unseen. The weather seemed tailor-made for the commemorative festival. One could easily imagine how crowded it must be under these conditions. The space before the school gate was indeed packed with people. What's more, most were women dressed in their finest attire. Yet when I looked around, few could surpass Sumiko-san in appearance. I felt a flicker of pride.

A committee member wearing yellow armbands checked our admission tickets with all the arrogance of someone about to say "I'll let you in".

Since last year's exam—since coming to see the posted lists that never showed my exam number—this was the first time I had stepped through this school gate again. Along the roadside leading to the dormitory, posters clung to every available space—classroom walls and storage sheds alike. And on them were advertisements adorned with various caricatures and eccentric slogans. The innocent jests they had crafted were well-executed. But when I saw phrases like 'prodigies' and 'stalwarts' flaunting their naked pride among them, I felt both scorn and envy. Sumiko-san kept gasping 'My!' at each new sight. I pressed onward toward the dormitory.

At the entrance to the South Dormitory, someone tapped my shoulder. When I turned around in surprise to look, there was my classmate Tanaka. Tanaka had slickly entered Class A of the First Division without exams last year, and the Melton cloth uniform fit him enviably well. His face was alive with irrepressible triumph. "You came after all. Alone?" he asked. "No— I'm with my sisters." "I see. In that case, shall I show you around? If you like, why not rest in my room before you go?"

“Thank you. Well, we’ll just take a casual look around.” “Is that so? Well then, I’ll be off. In a little while, the West Dormitory’s costume parade should start—do me the favor of checking it out for conversation’s sake. There are some real oddities there, I tell you.”

“Thank you.” “Well then, I’ll take my leave.” For some reason, I found him unpleasant. So saying that, I hurriedly left him to catch up with my sisters who were waiting.

“Who was that?” Sumiko-san asked when I rejoined them. "Oh, just a friend who got in through recommendation last year." "He acts all high and mighty like he passed on his own merits." “He offered to guide us, but I refused.” “Oh, wouldn’t it have been better to accept his guidance?” A flicker of discontent surfaced on Sumiko-san’s face. “I can manage well enough myself.” Though I spoke decisively, inwardly I felt thoroughly displeased.

The three of them began their tour from the South Dormitory. The spectators were out in full force. The corridor hung with artificial wisteria and cherry blossoms was so crowded that people could barely walk without being jostled. Amidst this, Sister took the lead. Sumiko-san followed. I followed from the very back like a rear guard. The three of them advanced, sometimes separated and sometimes coming together. The decorations of the rooms had few splendid pieces as one might have expected. Among those cunningly half-hearted creations made with wit, there were some that proved unexpectedly amusing. Displays like a pawnshop curtain hung beneath the sign “All Things Flow: The Principle of Bergson’s Philosophy,” or a medicine jar suspended upside-down in a dark room’s center for the exhibit titled “Nocturnal Somersault Flight”—where pulling a rope would switch on miniature bulbs—were among the most representative examples. Other decorations that somewhat exaggerated dormitory realities—such as a grimy bedroom’s ever-unmade futon with its pillow area piled high with peanuts, or the outrageous picture scroll titled “Twelve Hours at Koryo” shown in sequence—were frequently what made Sumiko-san turn to me and utter cries of “Oh my!”

The corridor of the old dormitory was dark, with spectators crowding even more thickly. Particularly in front of a certain room near the middle, people had come to a complete standstill due to its elaborate decorations. It appeared to be an engineering student's creation titled "The Driver's Dream." A small toy train emerged from a tunnel ahead and ran along iron tracks laid through a flower field until approaching a river without a bridge. Then from the water, an iron bridge suddenly rose up as if on cue. The train sped across it only to encounter a steep mountain ahead. Yet after finally scaling that summit, the mechanism made it leap into the mouth of a full moon protruding beyond. This was truly well-crafted. And because it launched every three minutes, people pushing to see it were jostling violently before the room.

The three of us could no longer move forward there. Nor could we retreat any further. If anything, we were being steadily pressed forward by the people behind us. I stood right behind Sumiko-san. Before I knew it, I was gazing at Sumiko-san’s neck from alarmingly close. The faint fragrance of her hair brushed against my nostrils. I could feel her labored breathing right beside me. “Sumiko-san, are you uncomfortable?”

“It’s quite crowded, isn’t it.” She answered, turning just her face. “Be careful not to get separated.” “Don’t be silly, but I’d hate for us to get separated.” I took her hand as if by accident, trying to make it seem meaningless. She too remained silent and let me keep holding it. In my trembling palm, I felt something soft and pliant, damp with sweat. The crowd showed no sign of moving. She was peering into “The Driver’s Dream” over her shoulder as if unaware of anything else. And with every movement of her body, she returned an imperceptibly slight squeeze of the hand.

Even amidst this, the crowd shifted forward through constant jostling. We finally managed to emerge from that densely packed area. I released her hand just as before, striving to make it appear natural. Sister, who had taken the lead, began walking briskly.

After touring the dormitory and stepping outside, we found the Toyama School band had arrived in the spacious garden there. They were just playing the familiar "Blue Danube." The three of them approached in that direction. My heart felt more uplifted than ever. Somehow, it all seemed like a march being played just for me. Neither the sumo drums being beaten on the third floor of the East Dormitory nor the group of students who had stationed themselves on the entrance roof and were shouting boisterously bothered my nerves anymore.

When we began our return journey, the hazily slanting spring sun still lingered over the tightly budded branches of the schoolyard cherry trees.

When I thought about it, today had brought alternating waves of pressure and stimulation. When I returned home, I grew tired and fuzzy-headed. But beneath it all lay a quiet happiness. And the excitement lingered like sediment.

"I have to study. I absolutely must get in this year," I thought. I truly meant it from the bottom of my heart.

When I sat down at my desk, my mind seemed clearer than usual. I wanted to express renewed gratitude to someone for having attended the First Higher School’s commemoration festival.

V

A letter arrived from my younger brother. Since he had already finished his graduation exams, he wrote that he wanted to come to Tokyo immediately after the commencement ceremony ended. I was somehow dumbfounded. Though I knew my brother would graduate, I found myself thinking—had that time really arrived already? I felt this as an ominous warning from the young next generation that would come overwhelming us. That's right—from this April onward, those youthful and vigorous younger brothers would emerge as our formidable competitors. I truly could not afford to waste any more time. Somehow, deep in my heart, there lay a feeling that I wanted to prevent my brother's move to the capital. But I couldn't write that in my reply. I told him we had made all necessary preparations, so he should come to Tokyo whenever it suited him.

My younger brother finally came to Tokyo.

It was early April, and Ueno was blanketed in cherry blossoms. The crowd trailed through the streets. The station was more crowded than usual. Among them mingled cheerful groups with cherry blossom-patterned towels wrapped around their necks.

The world was now bursting forth into full spring. Amidst this, I welcomed my younger brother who had arrived in the capital.

Standing near the dim ticket gate, when I spotted my brother’s lively face for the first time in a while amidst the chaotic flow of passengers spilling out from the newly arrived train, I felt tearful for a fleeting moment. The moment I recognized him, my brother spotted me too. Even on my taciturn brother’s sun-tanned cheeks, there was a seemingly longing expression. “How are you holding up? Is everyone at home well?” I said by way of greeting.

“Yeah,” my brother answered simply while gazing at the bustling crowd in the twilight-filled station with an air of astonishment. I observed my brother’s provincial demeanor with fraternal—almost senior-like—sentiments for the first time. The two retrieved their luggage, hired a rickshaw, and set off toward the Sendagi house. The vehicle traced the pond’s perimeter. Under a sky prematurely dimmed by cherry-blossom haze, Shinobazu Pond’s surface lay veiled in azure gloom where Ueno Grove’s scattered floral glows met water—the exposition’s ornamental lamps casting dreamlike reflections through this aqueous shroud. Measuring myself against last year’s incarnation, I imagined my rickshaw-borne brother’s heart must be racing now.

At my brother-in-law’s house, as was customary, a celebratory dinner awaited to honor his first visit to the capital. Last year it had been for me. This year it had been prepared for my younger brother. With strange emotion, I stared fixedly at the blindingly white tablecloth spread specially over the dining table, and at the small red peach branch our sister had arranged with apparent taste in the central vase. My brother-in-law was as cheerful as ever. Our sister was single-mindedly trying to show her characteristically sisterly affection to our younger brother.

“Kenji, you’ve loved sweet potato paste since you were little, so even though it’s not exactly Western cuisine, I went to the trouble of making it specially.” Sister remarked while offering the dish.

The brother-in-law held out a beer mug as he began speaking. “Since you’ve graduated middle school now, having a drink should be permissible.” “After all, you’re under your brother’s supervision.” “But this brother here—utterly indolent, mind you—” “Couldn’t possibly manage supervision of any sort.” “I strictly adhere to a policy of non-interference.” “So even if you all fail—” (he said with a glance toward me) “—I shan’t feel responsible.” “Still—if possible—do apply yourselves properly.” “Fortune does play its role.” “But generally speaking, giving one’s utmost tends to yield success.” “Forgive my bluntness—but interpreting Kenkichi’s last failure, I’d say bad luck combined with incomplete effort explains it.”

From some combination of discomfort and humiliation, I felt compelled to say something—anything. "No—and besides, I'm fundamentally not that bright," I added. "No—that's absolutely not true," he countered. "In my observation, you brothers both have excellent minds.—Especially Kenji-san here seems quite remarkable." "You're skilled at mathematics, aren't you?" The brother-in-law turned again toward my younger brother. "No. It's just that I can't manage other subjects well enough—it only appears that way." My younger brother spoke with an air of modesty.

“What was your graduating rank in middle school?” “I was sixth because I slacked off.” “Have you decided on your intended department for the Higher School? Which division is it?”

"I still don't understand what would be best." "If I do pursue it, it'd be either Division II or III, but since Father comes from a medical family, he says I should take Division III because having more doctors doesn't matter." "But since my brother is also in Division III, it would seem odd for siblings to both pursue Division III, so I'm uncertain what to do." "That's also true." Brother-in-law said this while turning a consultative look toward me. "Well, if you'll become the doctor," I said, "then I'll leave that to you and go into humanities instead. That's what I want." "That way I'd be spared too." "After all, if I do philosophy, that'd be best for me." Partly out of faint resignation and partly from some inherent interest in the subject, I said that. But I understood it couldn't be done that way.

“But since Brother absolutely must pursue Division III, I intend to take a different path.” “I’d find it tiresome if higher schools were all the same anyway, so I plan to choose somewhere distinct.” “That does hold merit,” Brother-in-law responded with diplomatic noncommittals. “But let’s table that discussion for you two to resolve later. For now, please eat heartily today.” “You must be famished from the journey.” “Yes, we’ll partake generously.” “Being country bumpkins, we shan’t stand on pretense.”

“It’s precisely within country folk that true virtue blossoms.” “Once students grow accustomed to Tokyo, it’s all over for them.” “They say that taking the entrance exam...” “The first year untainted by the city’s ways is when tension peaks.” “That’s why it’s essential to get in during the first year.” “Otherwise, while idling about Tokyo, even if they resolve not to be tainted by city ways, they’ll unconsciously absorb its influences and grow lax in spirit,” he said, turning to me before adding with affected emphasis, “though someone like Kenkichi-kun here would never succumb to that.”

I felt a surge of resentment toward that contrived explanation—it only served to deepen my antipathy.

After a while, I silently stood up from my seat.

That tonight’s hospitality existed solely for my brother was something even I understood perfectly. Words meant to encourage him transformed instantly into words that reproached me; I comprehended my brother-in-law’s strained position too—never once did I interpret it as sarcasm. Yet in the end, I could not conquer this oppressive discomfort.

I went up to the second floor alone. And then opened one of the closed amado shutters. The cold night wind gently caressed my face. In the sky, faintly hazy stars were scattered, and below them, Tokyo’s city lights shimmered with a restless hum. From what was likely the chimney of a bathhouse a block or two ahead, white smoke streamed away in fits and starts from the end of a dark line firmly embedded in the blue night sky, vanishing as it went. As I stared fixedly at it, tears streamed down my cheek...

My younger brother came to live with me in this six-tatami room. We placed our desks in opposite corners, as far apart as possible. At night, because of the electric light, we would bring our desks to the center. When laying out bedding, as the space was narrow, we pushed it into the corner of the room. That the books on my younger brother’s desk and those on mine were identical felt profoundly isolating. I endeavored to research academic subjects that differed from my brother’s as much as possible. We spontaneously took on the form of competition. At least, that was how I felt. While examining my own books, I measured how much my brother’s studies progressed. And when my brother didn’t make much progress, I even felt a secret relief.

However, my own studies were not progressing in the least. Every day my head felt heavy for some reason, and my endurance wouldn't last. The more I panicked, the more exhausted I became, until finally there were many days when my mind grew hazy. This won't do, I berated myself. And though I forced myself to sit at my desk, there was no sense that my academic performance was improving at all. At night, I often had dreams. Even though I tried not to think about Sumiko, I was compelled to think of her all too often.

My younger brother slept soundly and studied diligently. After working through mathematics once, he found challenging problem sets from somewhere and tackled them. The way he systematically conquered them one by one appeared brisk and efficient even to an outside observer. I envied that. And I began to feel a vague oppression. My younger brother continued steadily with his own studies, indifferent to my presence. As I watched this, I even felt a fear akin to jealousy. Somehow, being in the same room as my younger brother became unbearable to me.

Perhaps I was suffering from a nervous breakdown—

VI

The six-tatami room at our brother-in-law's house felt cramped for living with my younger brother. Moreover, being with my brother had become increasingly painful for me. At times I even felt hatred. I finally resolved to move my lodgings elsewhere. The worry that changing residences would mean fewer opportunities to meet Sumiko made me hesitate somewhat. But since she usually came on Sundays, I thought if I went to my brother-in-law's house then too, I could see her. Therefore, I finally decided to move. Just then Matsui—staying at Saikōji Temple by the waterway—invited me over since the adjacent room had become vacant. I immediately decided to relocate. "That might be for the best," my brother-in-law agreed. My younger brother said nothing particular. Of course he showed no signs of loneliness either.

I had thought changing residences might let me study better. Yet even after moving here, my mind found no calm. But the temple stood quiet. The west-facing room let evening sun filter through planted hinoki cypresses and orange trees to cast shadows on paper screens. The broad veranda stayed perpetually chilled. Descending its natural stone step revealed a garden damp as freshly watered earth. Occasionally moss-scent lingered. When weariness came, I'd go there to breathe cold air.

In the mornings and evenings, from the main hall came the voice of sutra chanting by the elderly temple servant who took care of us. “Old Jiiya’s at his duties again, huh?”

Saying that, we had unconsciously made it a demarcation for our study hours. “Hey...” Whenever I grew weary, I would often call out to the adjacent room. Then, as always, Matsui’s listless reply would come. “Yeah—” “Are you studying?” I would often ask again. “Nah—just spacing out.” “Well then, shall we have a little chat?” Saying that, I would slide open the paper door to the adjacent room. Though we called it conversation, it was haunted by the specter of exams—and afterward, not a shred of satisfaction remained.

Matsui had just failed the Higher Technical School entrance exam again. But he showed no particular signs of discouragement. He either lacked the strength left to feel discouraged or even appeared to have lost the capacity for such emotions through habituation. I felt neither stimulation nor pressure from him. At times we would find mathematical conundrums and solve them competitively. In such cases, I would usually be the one to figure them out first. At those moments I somehow felt a sense of confidence growing within me. Yet I knew full well how perilous it was to base my security on using Matsui as a benchmark. Knowing this, I still unwittingly grew arrogant in that very confidence.

One time, such a thing occurred. Matsui went to a friend’s place and brought back a single geometry conundrum. It was a problem that even his friend—who excelled at mathematics—had been unable to solve and had struggled with. “How about it? Why don’t you give it a shot too? If you can solve this, your math skills are set, I tell you.” Matsui invited me with these words. On his face was clearly visible the anticipation that I too probably wouldn’t be able to solve it. “Well then, I’ll give it a shot.” I took up the problem with those words. Indeed, it was such a difficult problem that one couldn’t tell where to even begin. I returned to my room alone and devoted the entire afternoon to it. Of course, the heaviness in my head hadn’t subsided, so after spending a long time thinking, I finally grew dazed. So I went out for a stroll. Even so, the problem clung to my mind. I walked along Edogawabata for a stretch and attempted to ascend from Suidōbata to Kohinata-dai. At that moment, on the slope leading back to the temple, the first clue to solving it suddenly surfaced. I leapt for joy. And when I hurried back to my room, I tried drawing a new diagram. I finally solved it!

I hurriedly called out to Matsui in the next room. “Hey! I did it!” “Finally figured it out!” “I see.” “How do you do it?” Matsui entered without any particular astonishment, saying this as he came in. I proudly explained it to him. Matsui listened, saying “Hmm, hmm.” And when I finished solving it,

“Hmm, quite a convoluted process,” he said, still not seeming to fully grasp it as he glanced alternately at the diagram. My spirits were uncharacteristically bright.

It was two or three days later.

I stopped by my brother-in-law’s house while out for a walk. The younger brother was sitting silently at his desk as usual. “How’s your studying?” “Keeping at it vigorously?” I ventured to ask. “Yes. “Somehow I’ve been feeling a bit listless lately, and it’s troubling. “I recently set up a strict twelve-hour daily routine, but since it never goes according to schedule, I was laughed at by Sis. “At best, I manage about ten hours.” “Do you really think you can keep that up?” I retorted, not a little surprised.

"But just try getting up at six and working until eleven at night—" "Even deducting time for meals and walks, there's still fifteen solid hours." "So there's no reason I can't manage twelve hours daily." "That's true." "If you can stay completely focused through all that time, it'd be quite something." "After all, I must put in fifteen hours each day now to review all subjects twice before exams." I once again felt my younger brother's unconscious pressure. On his desk lay an English book.

“Have you finished math already?” “Yes, I’ve gone through it once. After that, I think I’ll be fine as long as I just keep working through the problems I underlined before the exam.”

I was surprised for the third time. But I wanted to test whether my younger brother truly possessed that level of capability. At that moment, the difficult problem from two or three days ago suddenly surfaced in my mind. “I came across a problem like this two or three days ago. Can you solve this?”

With that, I explained the problem. My brother listened silently. When he drew the diagram himself on another sheet of paper, unconsciously tapping the tip of his nose with the end of his pencil while gazing into the distance with unfocused eyes, he pondered intently for a minute or two. While hoping he couldn't solve it, I waited with a smile that concealed malice. Two or three minutes passed. I waited with absolute certainty that my younger brother would throw in the towel and say something like, "I’ll think about it again next time." Five minutes had passed. I had already begun casually flipping through the Union four that lay there, my eyes not truly seeing it. Then suddenly, my younger brother began busily moving his pencil. And with his shining eyes, he quietly turned toward me.

“I finally figured it out. I didn’t realize because the shape was different, but this is actually an example problem in Nagasawa’s collection of difficult problems. It was the inverse of that one. Wouldn’t this approach work?” Having said this, he began explaining it to me. It was of course not significantly different from what I had come up with—but more concise and straightforward. I was inwardly quite surprised. What I had struggled with for three or four hours, my younger brother had accomplished in about five minutes. I was once again overwhelmed by the concrete example before my eyes.

I was completely discouraged and returned from my younger brother’s place.

Seven

Even amidst all this, I could not forget about Sumiko-san. Every Sunday without fail, I too would go visit my brother-in-law’s house from the morning. And then waited for Sumiko-san to arrive from the afternoon onward.

However, I felt hesitant to visit Sendagi so frequently while specifically targeting only the days Sumiko-san would come. So I sometimes visited on other days instead. I held back my urge to go even on Sundays, limiting myself to visiting once every three times. Yet on those days when I stayed home, I couldn't focus on my studies at all. Sometimes our timing would mismatch, resulting in occasions where I failed to meet Sumiko-san two times in a row. One day, I arrived late. "Sumiko-san was here until just moments ago," my sister added in a low voice, smiling at me. "She said she had to visit a friend's house at three o'clock and left after staying about an hour." "Oh dear..."

“Don’t be ridiculous—” I turned red and couldn’t say anything. “Sumiko-san mentioned she hasn’t seen Kenkichi-san in quite some time lately, and wondered if something was wrong.” My sister seemed to take pleasure in my speechlessness and pressed further. Inwardly, I was happy about that. “I’ve been studying lately too, you know.” Even as I said this, I felt ashamed of my own past negligence in studying. I resolved that from now on I would definitely study.

My sister continued to press on with the same topic. “But Kenkichi dear, you must be careful.” “That girl is simply too innocent, you see.” “She becomes friends with anyone right away.” “Why, even with Kenji-san, they’re already as close as siblings.” I was startled. Because I had vaguely feared my sister’s warning. But I replied nonchalantly. “I don’t particularly feel anything about it, so there’s no problem.” “So Sister, no matter how much you tease me, it won’t work.”

My sister laughed with her eyes and did not answer. In reality, I felt that my younger brother and Sumiko-san had grown particularly close since I moved to the temple. However, I had dismissed that as my own petty resentment. My younger brother was always at home while I was out, so I reasoned that their increased opportunities to meet—and the resulting ordinary familiarity—arose solely from their circumstances. But I also thought that love arises solely from such circumstances. And I felt a faint unease.

As for instances that corroborated their closeness, I too had encountered one or two by now.

It was one particular day. When I went to my brother-in-law’s house, Sumiko-san had already arrived. And she was in my younger brother’s room. When I went up to the second floor, from there I could hear her bright laughter mingling with my younger brother’s fluid laughter. I felt a pang of jealousy and hurriedly slid open the fusuma door. Then they abruptly swallowed their laughter. And exchanged meaningful glances.

“Is there something amusing happening?” I wedged myself between them and asked. She sat at the right side of my younger brother’s desk. “No, it’s nothing at all.” Her reply was curt. “But you two were laughing together, weren’t you? Something must have happened.” I pressed harder. “Even if we were laughing, it means nothing.” “Don’t you agree, Kenji-san?” “It’s truly nothing at all.” She tilted her head and peered into my younger brother’s face. My younger brother’s countenance somehow bore a look of smug satisfaction.

“It really is nothing at all,” he said. “Once we finished laughing, I’d already forgotten what it was about.” With that, she smiled brightly once more.

At first glance, they indeed appeared to be enjoying a secret shared solely between them right before my eyes. With jealousy came an awareness of my own accompanying baseness. Thus I lacked the courage to press any further. That day I couldn't speak much with her.

Another time, there was also such an occurrence.

That day I set out for Sendagi immediately when afternoon came. Since her visits usually occurred past noon too, I went thinking today I'd surely meet her properly. Then after alighting from the streetcar, at the alley curving toward my brother-in-law's house, I recognized a familiar green parasol. It approached from afar. At first I doubted it might be someone else. But beneath the slanting parasol—though her face remained nearly hidden—the outline from shoulders downward and her gait held unmistakable characteristics I couldn't overlook. Noticing it from afar, I walked forward nonchalantly while conscious of my quickening pulse. At five or six ken's distance, she too recognized me. Then she spun around to glance behind. And made what seemed like a signal to someone at her back. Instantly I saw my younger brother following behind her wearing an awkward expression. A thought struck me in that instant—I froze. All blood in my body surged toward my heart at once. Yet the next moment found me approaching them with forcibly feigned composure. The three of us—she and I walking toward each other narrowing the gap, my brother trailing two ken behind—faced off around her at the road's center. Early summer light fell hushed and thick with shadows on the earth.

“Are you leaving already?” I asked her, steadying my voice. My lips twitched involuntarily. “Yes, I’ve been here since morning.” She answered as calmly as ever. “Besides, I have business at home today. So just when I thought I’d return, Kenji-san said he was going shopping and had me accompany him this far—but Kenji-san is such a strange person. “Even though he insists on accompanying me, once we’re outside, he walks behind at a distance.”

“I hate walking together.” “Because I don’t want to run into anyone we know.” My younger brother explained more innocently. “Where are you going?” I asked my younger brother. That came out in an unintentionally interrogative tone. “To that street over there.” “I see. “Well then, go ahead—Goodbye, Sumiko-san.”

With my chest churning, I casually bowed to the two of them. “Goodbye, see you next Sunday then.” Sumiko-san tilted her head coyly beneath the parasol.

I walked away, leaving the two of them behind. But my footsteps grew hurried. In the crowded midday streets, my chest swelled with jealousy. I saw nothing but the harsh sunlight.

By the time I reached my brother-in-law's house, my mind had somewhat calmed though. And when I heard my sister's words, I became completely composed. When my sister saw my face, she said: "You didn't happen to meet Sumiko-san and them there just now?" "Yes, I met them." "She was with my younger brother." "Oh? Then I suppose there's no need to pass the message to you anymore, Kenkichi-san." "You must have heard it from Sumiko-san."

“No, I didn’t hear anything.” “We just met by the roadside.” “—What kind of message was it?” “This coming Sunday—you know.” “She said if you have time, please accompany her to the Home Exhibition.” “—Since she had to return today without meeting you, she wanted me to ask this of you.”

“For me?” I felt as though strings were being pulled, yet couldn’t stop the joy in my heart from escaping through my voice.

“Yes. “Surely you could spare one day?” “I don’t have time for that.” “Well... “Though this is an important time when such things shouldn’t be done, perhaps I’ll have you accompany me after all.” I had capitulated almost immediately. My younger brother returned right behind us. And afterward, it didn’t appear he had spent any meaningful time with her. I regretted my earlier jealousy. Moreover, that this jealousy had targeted my own younger brother filled me with profound shame.

On the way home, I resolved not to doubt her.

VIII

The day of the exhibition outing arrived. I went to the barbershop in the morning and had my beard shaved. Afterward, I felt somehow refreshed. To an extent that even I felt ashamed to admit, I placed trust in my own face. For a brief period until noon, I tried taking up my books but found myself unable to focus. When afternoon came, I set out for Sendagi earlier than usual. Upon opening the lattice door, I saw a pair of familiar geta there. Sumiko-san had already arrived. "I hear you'll be going today. Thank you." "Thank you."

When she saw me, she said that. Though her words were ordinary, their gratitude felt truly heartening to me. My sister was in the midst of preparations. My younger brother came down from the second floor. He had declared from the start that he wouldn't go.

“Kenji-san really is stubborn.” “Even when Sister and I tried persuading him together, he absolutely refuses to listen about not going.” “Even if he spent half a day out having fun, it wouldn’t make any difference.” “Hey, Kenkichi-san.” “Well—” I deliberately tilted my head. My younger brother made an excuse. “It’s not that I don’t want to go because I value my time.” “I’m not going because even if I did go, it wouldn’t be interesting.” “Why wouldn’t it be interesting?” “Why? Because it’s not interesting—that’s why it’s not interesting.” “A Home Exhibition is just meant to deceive women and children, isn’t it?”

“That’s just how it is. But even if it’s an uninteresting place, I think it would be fine for you to go.” “Well, I must beg your pardon. I—” My younger brother’s remark could almost be taken as mocking me. I felt slightly irritated at having a sensitive spot touched upon, but with greater happiness within reach, I said nothing. Because today, I had considered myself the victor.

At that moment, my sister emerged, having finished preparing. Leaving my younger brother behind, the three of us set out for Ueno. The weather was partly clear, so we decided to walk all the way there. While adjusting my pace to match their slow gait, I took pleasure in passersby's gazes directed at my dressed-up sister walking by. The happiness of my companions—I even felt it would be good if someone I knew witnessed this. Between Sumiko-san and me stood my sister. Thus along the way I spoke little with her.

Though unseasonal, being a clear Sunday brought a sizable crowd to the venue. I purchased tickets for their group. The exhibition hall followed the usual fairground layout, though cosmetics and sundries shelves stood out with particularly saturated hues. From the start, the women meticulously examined each display, fingertips grazing glass doors as they peered inside. I prodded them forward from behind while offering critical-sounding comments. At the doll exhibit, they halted with exclamations of "Oh!" Textiles detained them longest of all. Repeatedly drawn into evaluating items, I reluctantly assessed each piece based on its suitability for Sumiko-san.

When we had gone around half the venue, even the women who had been so interested grew weary. There we went out to the courtyard and drank tea at the Seiyōken stand. Then this time, at Sumiko-san's suggestion, we entered the entertainment hall. The entertainment hall featured motion pictures and a magic show by the Ten'yo Troupe. When we entered, the magic show had just begun. We chose empty seats at the back and sat down. My sister led the way inside. I was last. When we took our seats, Sumiko-san and I ended up side by side.

On stage, a man in a tailcoat wore an expression of utter boredom with a faint smile playing on his lips as he deftly handled playing cards. Then he made the customary red ball appear and disappear between his fingers. After that came a woman in blue satin dressed like a bird, who placed an empty bowl on the table, covered it with a cloth, and fired a pistol with a bang. From within the bowl fluttered down a live dove, its eyes wide and alert. Sumiko-san showed exaggerated surprise at the pistol shot. She turned toward me and smiled enchantingly. At the second report she covered her ears. She kept laughing at the magician's broken phrases. With each laugh, the tremor of her body seemed to reach me where I sat beside her. Once our shoulders collided. My shoulder that had rebounded with dull elasticity throbbed as if in a dream. By some chance movement her face drew quite near to mine. The faint jasmine scent of her hair brushed past me.

Though the electric lights shone brightly, the venue felt somehow dark. I unexpectedly recalled the events of that memorial festival day. I hadn't seen it with my eyes, but I knew her hand lay no more than three inches from my left hand. I felt a restless, almost itchy attraction to it. “Don’t act like some delinquent,” someone whispered close to my ear. Yet I also heard something whisper from the depths of my heart: “Now’s the time. A chance that won’t come again.” I was still watching the stage, yet... I saw none of the magic.

Finally: "Now's the time." Yet the whisper saying "A chance that won't come again" prevailed. I gently reached out my hand and touched hers once or twice as if by accident. And on the third attempt, steeling myself, I unmistakably grasped the back of her hand with a firm grip. But her soft yet relatively cold hand was within my palm for no more than a few seconds. She suddenly turned her eyes—which had been watching the stage—toward me as if in reproach. I kept my gaze resolutely fixed ahead while remaining acutely aware of her every movement. And I thought, "Oh!" She peered into my face hesitantly for an instant, then suddenly pulled her hand away. Everything was filled with resentment. I became aware that my face was flushing with inexpressible disgrace and pain. After that, she never moved her hand near my side again. I then became unable to bear staying another moment.

After a while, my sister suggested we leave. I agreed. Sumiko-san seemed to want to stay a bit longer but stood up without protest. The three of us went outside. I was trying not to look at Sumiko-san. Since my sister and the others were already quite exhausted, we decided to quickly look through the remaining parts of the venue and leave. I hung my head and followed from behind. While saying they would just glance around, their feet were frequently halted before beautiful women's items. There was a stationery vendor’s stall. She had merely glanced at it and started to walk past, but Sumiko-san—for whatever reason—said, “Wait just a moment, please,” and turned back.

“Are you buying something?” Without particular purpose, we returned to that storefront. “Yes. Since Kenji-san is all alone at home and must be lonely, I’ll buy him a little souvenir. Sis, please take this to him.” Having said this, she began selecting between wooden pen cases with burnished arabesque patterns, weighing this one against that one. I suffered twofold anguish. And at this moment alone, I cursed my brother’s existence from the depths of my heart. But I had to suppress that and steadily maintain a composed facade.

“Wouldn’t this one be better?” I picked up and examined the one at hand. “This one’s better, I tell you.” She paid no heed to my recommendation and purchased the one she had chosen herself. The three of them finally set off on their return journey.

On the return journey too, I felt her cold, mocking eyes. I could no longer endure this mounting pain. When we reached the front of the house in Sendagi, though the two of them tried desperately to dissuade me with their entreaties, I alone took my leave and walked away—I was nearly weeping.

Today's events filled me with shame over my base actions and indescribable disappointment. Every joyful memory from that commemoration festival day had been wiped away completely. The very foundation of her goodwill toward me had been uprooted entirely. Bearing this profound grief as I trudged back alone to the temple, I envied my younger brother's happiness—something I could never quite reach. A scene rose vividly in my mind: Sumiko-san producing the pen case before my brother while brightly narrating the day's events, him listening with a faint smile filled with delight. I shook my head desperately to erase it.

When I returned to the temple completely dejected, Matsui called out from next door. “So how’d it go today?” Matsui had come to know some of the circumstances from my own account. “Bad, worse, worst,” I blurted out mockingly. “Had I known it would come to this, I wouldn’t have gone. “I should’ve stayed home studying English grammar instead.”

“After all, love and exams don’t mix.” Even Matsui—uttering such uncharacteristic words—seemed only to be mocking me. I no longer had strength to retort. Cradling my head, I turned to my desk. Now that things had come to this, I resolved to immerse myself completely in study. Yet given this mind’s condition, the path ahead appeared utterly daunting. Thinking of this and that—there stretched only a bleak future before me.—

IX

It was already June. The examination season had finally drawn near.

Today was the day to go submit the exam registration form. I applied for Division III, Section A. My younger brother too finally settled on the First Higher School. And through our discussions, it was decided he would apply for Division II. My younger brother had actually wanted to apply for Division III. But since that would have meant being in the same division as me, he had no choice but to choose a different high school. If we were both to enter First Higher School, there was no choice but to change divisions. Thereupon, he finally compromised by choosing First Higher School and entering Division II.

My younger brother seemed somewhat resentful. He seemed convinced his path had been blocked by his older brother. But from my own perspective, I had wanted him to attend a different higher school altogether. Whether he enrolled or not, I didn't want him here at First Higher School—here in Tokyo. Yet I couldn't bring myself to demand such a thing by wielding fraternal authority. My brother's studies appeared to advance with steady purpose. He radiated absolute confidence. But when I examined myself, I found not an ounce of assurance.

I went to submit the exam registration forms separately from my younger brother. Since they said an earlier number was better, I went at daybreak. Yet the sequence ticket I received at the guardhouse already exceeded two hundred. I heard there were examinees waiting for the gates to open since before dawn. Through this concrete reality, I saw firsthand how desperately they fought like cornered beasts. I became thoroughly convinced my own efforts still fell short.

Beside the old brick main building stood the exam registration office. There waited clerks and janitors before a crude desk. As gatekeepers of life's first threshold where we would stake our destinies, they seemed woefully inadequate. Yet they appeared terrifying nonetheless. The janitor took my exam photo and began ruthlessly trimming its thick mounting board to standard size. “Haa, Division III eh? Gotta stay sharp,” he said while cutting. “This year’s especially packed with Division III applicants—at this rate maybe one in fifteen’ll make it. Last year was about twelve people though—” he trailed off.

I was completely intimidated by this man.

My exam number was 129. Somehow, number 129 also seemed like a good omen. Last year I'd failed with an even number. This year’s odd number made me believe it portended the opposite outcome. Moreover, that it was divisible by three—which the Book of Changes regards as the foundation of all numbers—also seemed an auspicious sign. Absently pondering such things, I began my return. Then from behind me, someone called out loudly, “Hey, Kuno-kun!” When I turned to look, it was Satō, the playboy.

“Ah, you’re here too.” I said, putting aside the unpleasantness I’d felt when visiting his Shinbamachi boarding house the other day. Even with someone like this, I somehow felt that reassuring joy one experiences when meeting a fellow comrade. “My apologies for the other day. “I was being a bit reckless there.” “But I’ve completely turned over a new leaf these days, as you can see.” “So you’re applying here too.” “If I’m going to fail anyway, it sounds better to say I failed at the First Higher School.” “Even so, you came quite early.”

“Well, at least submitting the registration form was something I had to do like everyone else.—By the way, what division are you applying for?”

“Division III. This year there’s a ridiculous number of applicants—I’m done for.”

“I see.” “Well, I'll do just fine.” “I figured the division with fewer applicants would be better and chose Division I-A, you know.” “Even so, I'm already number thirty-eight.” “Mine's 129.” “Isn't that something?” “Still earlier than yours though—how about it? Why don't we go have the fortune-teller at Yushima Tenjin divine our numbers right now?” “They say he's spot-on.” “No.” “If he says it's hopeless—just imagine.” “Wouldn't that mess with your head?”

“Well then, why don’t you come to my place?” “You could stand to have some fun once in a while, don’t you think?” “Since I was rude last time, I’ll treat you properly to restore my honor.” “It’s not a collection of difficult phrases, but I’ll become hospitality itself.” “Today seems alright.” “Because today’s an important day.” “Plus, lately my brain hasn’t been working well—my studies aren’t progressing at all.” “At this rate, even if I pull all-nighters until July, I won’t be able to manage even the basics.” “You might call that modesty, but I’m honestly starting fresh today—straightforward as a price tag.” “It’s strange how this has me feeling motivated to take it now.”

“I’m exactly the same way.” Even as I said this—knowing full well it was foolish to measure myself against someone like him—I felt perversely reassured by his academic negligence. And as we talked, my spirits lifted imperceptibly. We exited through the school gate mid-conversation. Satō, desperate for entertainment, pressed his boarding house invitation anew. But I remained resolved against going. “Well then—after exams—” “Do come properly once they’re done.”

“I wonder if you’ll show me to that ‘amusing’ place you promised.” Having no intention of going from the outset, I made this sardonic remark. “But of course! I’d be honored to act as your host.” “Pass and we celebrate; fail and we commiserate.” “Either way I’ll take you there—so steel yourself!” He said this with a laugh before walking away.

Now that I had submitted my registration form, the examination process had truly entered its combat phase. Yet I remained unable to engage in focused study. I sat at my desk almost the entire day. But I fretted restlessly; even when I made some progress, I forgot what I had memorized almost immediately. Even so, I had to at least skim through the material once, so I let my eyes race across the pages.

Even when I tried not to think of Sumiko-san, memories would surface from the gloomy depths of my heart during those quiet evenings when pillar-like swarms of insects hovered beneath the main hall’s eaves. Each time they emerged, I tried to push them away through single-minded study. I still hadn’t given in to despair. Once the exams passed, I told myself, things would somehow work out if we kept meeting. And so I threw myself completely into studying.

Amidst all this, I finally began to feel as though my mind could achieve focus. The daily studying accumulated, and at any rate, things settled down. Around this time, thinking that if I maintained this rhythm, I managed to regain my composure.

But, but, June was already nearing its end.……

10

Even though I had anticipated it, July arrived far too quickly. And today, only three days remained until the exams. No matter how much I cried or howled, there was no catching up now. I resigned myself. Even so, having at least finished reviewing everything once through became my sole reassurance.

Matsui from the neighboring room had departed for Kanazawa two or three days prior. He had chosen Fourth Higher School this year. The anguish with which he had ultimately chosen Fourth Higher School was so painfully clear to me that it brought tears.

“I couldn’t bear to stay in the capital this year either.” When we went to a nearby soba shop and made our token farewell as just the two of us, he said with deep emotion. “Compared to that, you’re still admirable just for having the courage to take the First Higher exam.” “Me? “Mine’s just desperate courage.” While spitting out these words, I found myself thinking that I too should have fled to Second Higher instead. I came to think that what had kept me anchored in Tokyo through my obsessive brooding might have been nothing but an illusion—my love for Sumiko-san. And now I regretted it, but there was no help for it. And so both Matsui, who was leaving the capital, and I, who remained rooted there, gloomily drank two or three cups together. The two of us didn’t get the slightest bit drunk.

After Matsui departed, the loneliness felt particularly acute. The tranquil days flanking the rainy season lingered on, their pale yellow sunsets quietly staining my room. Morning and evening brought the temple servant's sutra chanting—"kankin"—its vibrations seeping through the walls. Daytime maintained its own profound silence. The town's noises seemed absorbed by the hinoki cypress grove there, never quite reaching this side. Occasionally, non-sparrow birds would visit, disturbing branches and faint air currents before vanishing. Afterward, only early summer light—pale as powdered chalk—kept fluttering down in fitful showers.

In that tranquility, I studied desperately while shedding tears. My efforts during this period were like those of a man contending with death itself.

“Victory lies in the final five minutes.” I tried with all my might to believe it. The day of battle was drawing nearer with each passing moment.

At last, the day of the exams arrived. And then it was gone in the blink of an eye. Those were four days that felt long yet passed quickly. But they were also short yet long—perhaps equivalent to half a year of ordinary life—as if compressed into time's purest essence. Through those four days, I remained in constant agitation. I hardly slept at night. Every time I returned from the exam hall, I would peer into the mirror to inspect my eyes. My eyes grew more bloodshot with each passing day. My brain began throbbing from its very core; I thought it might rupture if this continued—yet before reaching that extremity, mercifully, the four days ran their course.

The first day was mathematics. I had devoted myself most thoroughly to preparing for this subject, yet by any measure it remained an insurmountable challenge for me. Now that the moment had come, algebra especially felt utterly precarious. Tormented by these anxieties yet determined to be prudent, I left home at seven o'clock. Though still early, the schoolyard already teemed with examinees. The morning sun skimming the clock tower radiated unmistakable heat. Candidates tilted their summer hats low as they congregated beneath cherry tree shade. Groups clustered by alma mater and hometown exchanged fretful whispers. Every conversation revolved around exam strategies or preparatory efforts. When one self-assured youth cited previous years' problems while speculating about potential questions, listeners unconsciously gravitated toward him. Yet countering this scene, numerous solitary figures lingered on lawn margins away from crowds, still hunched over textbooks. I too sought quiet shadow to review mathematical formulas once more. Though seemingly memorized, they churned restlessly in my chest without settling. Abandoning this effort, I moved toward the plaza hoping to find acquaintances. Rounding the main building's corner, I met my brother approaching from the gate direction. He had just arrived at school.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Yeah.” My brother’s attitude remained as reticent as ever, with confidence lurking beneath. And with just that “Yeah” in reply, he went off in the other direction. Under the cherry trees in the wide side garden, I noticed a group of friends. They were all fellow alumni, but in terms of class years, there were those a year or two senior and others who had just graduated mixed among them. “Oh!” “Oh!” we all greeted each other in unison. I felt as though I had encountered a fellow countryman in a foreign land.

“Mr. Kuno is certain to pass this year. His preparations seem completely in order,” said Shimooka, a classmate aspiring for First Higher who was there present. He was a born political aspirant who always declared he wouldn’t enroll anywhere except First Higher even if begged. I had always disliked him. But today, “No no—I haven’t even done a basic review.” “I’m truly just counting on a one-in-ten-thousand fluke.” I denied with a deadpan expression.

“No, that doesn’t seem to be the case. “Seems your preparations are advancing steadily enough that you’ve got time to take strolls with a companion even before exams.” “You went to the exhibition the other day, didn’t you.” “Come now, confess properly!” “To begin with—who was it you took along that time?” “What nonsense!” I felt my face growing hot.

“I spotted you on my way back from the library. Here I was at the library, wrestling with difficult phrases until I was thoroughly disheartened, while you—living out that ‘leisure amidst busyness’ saying—went exhibition-viewing with some companion. It made me feel keenly the impermanence of things.”

“It’s not that I’m being carefree. I’m completely giving up this year.” “They say your brother’s aiming for First Higher too. Since his classmates claim he won’t make any mistakes, if both brothers pass together, it’ll be a true honor for the family. I’m sure she’d be delighted too.” “Don’t be absurd!” My heart darkened. I could no longer endure this man’s mockery that hovered between malice and goodwill.

Just then, someone behind us exclaimed, "Oh no! I've forgotten that important formula again." When I looked, it was Sasaki—the humanities aspirant who'd been known as a prankster since middle school. "What?" someone asked. "Which formula are you talking about?" "The square of a plus b," he declared with mock seriousness. The group erupted in raucous laughter. "A² plus 2ab plus b²—but wait, does that actually work? Something feels off about it." "Was that really right?" "I keep thinking there must be some mistake somewhere." Sasaki maintained his deadpan delivery throughout.

“I completely get that feeling too.” “Even though I was sure I’d memorized it thoroughly, somehow I feel like I must have remembered it wrong.” “That’s exactly why I say I hate entrance exams.” Someone chimed in agreement. There, the conversation shifted back to exam matters, with lively discussions of failure stories from last year and the year before, predictions about potential questions, and such. I remained silent and listened, but the wound from earlier still lingered in my heart. Amidst this, the self-appointed leader Shimooka checked his watch and said, “Hey—we’ve only got fifteen minutes left to live. Let’s all head on into the classroom.”

“Then it seems we’re being dragged to the slaughterhouse.” “It’s exactly the feeling of ascending the guillotine.” Sasaki responded with reckless cheer.

I went to the restroom and then entered the designated classroom. As usual, the annex classroom was dim and dirty. Having grown accustomed to it last year, I didn’t hurry when entering or exiting. Suddenly I wondered how my brother was faring.

As I sat at the desk trying to calm my restless heart, the bell tolled. My heart began pounding again. The exam proctor entered. It was the same old teacher from last year—balding with large eyes and a kindly face—yet somehow frightening. He seemed to be a gymnastics instructor by the way he barked commands in an astonishingly loud voice. Last year that voice had terrified me. Following standard procedure, the proctor began comparing exam photos to actual examinees. When under inspection, everyone adopted strangely tense expressions. The proctor passed through the rows wearing a faint smile as he briskly examined them. Somehow his manner of scrutinizing people like objects rather than human beings struck me as absurd.

When that was finished, the exam papers were distributed. I impatiently took them and immediately started scanning through all the problems. The geometry section appeared mostly familiar. But algebra—the algebra I had dreaded—when I read the problems with trembling fear, suddenly seemed like something I didn't recognize at all. I panicked considerably. "This won't do," I told myself, steadying my nerves to read through them again, but there still appeared to be no way to comprehend them. Amidst this struggle, time felt like it was pounding forward relentlessly. So I began tackling the geometry problems first. Though I collided with numerous difficulties in geometry, I somehow managed to solve all three problems. When I checked the time with relief, it had already advanced nearly halfway through.

I took up the algebra problems again. Then this time I finally discovered that while the third problem's form had changed, there was something familiar about it. So I started with that first. When I began working on it, like a ball of yarn unraveling from its end, before I knew it one step led to another until it was done. With that, I regained my composure. Then I began carefully reconsidering them from the first problem. Strangely enough, a solution for the first problem suddenly occurred to me. And the answer emerged with unexpected ease. Upon closer inspection, the second problem too turned out to be nothing more than an applied quadratic equation question. Though somewhat flustered by the calculations, I soon made progress on that as well. I looked at the clock again with relief. Time had been stealthily advancing. There remained one more algebra problem. That too appeared to be a difficult question. With twenty minutes left, it seemed hopelessly insufficient. I desperately concentrated my final efforts there. This time things didn't proceed so smoothly. While I fumbled about, five minutes elapsed. The exam proctor announced fifteen minutes remaining. There were already people beginning to stand and submit their papers.

I thought I might stumble upon something and tried random solving methods from every angle imaginable. Suddenly I remembered Matsui had once brought a similar problem. But no matter how hard I tried to recall that solution, it wouldn't surface properly. Five minutes vanished in an instant. I felt a churning sensation rising in my lower abdomen. Leaving even one problem—just one—completely blank would be unbearable. Yet my frantic agonizing proved utterly futile. Another five minutes slipped away. The exam proctor boomed, “Prepare to submit your papers now.” I heard it through a numb haze. Though doomed, I scanned the page one last time with desperate hope. At that moment—cruelly late—a possible solution flickered in my mind. I scrambled to set up the equation. It aligned perfectly. In this panicked elation, I rushed through calculations—only for the bell to clang mid-calculation. All was lost. I had no choice but to submit my unfinished paper.

When I stepped out of the classroom, the sunlight outside glared blindingly bright in my eyes—still dazed from the aftermath of tension. I walked with my head completely hung low. My heart was filled with regret. When I thought if only I'd had five more minutes, when I considered how those five minutes might have controlled my fate, my regret churned in my chest—but now it was too late.

As I was about to exit the school gate and happened to look ahead, there was that notorious playboy Satō walking with his usual nonchalant expression. I wanted to seize anyone—anyone at all—and pour out my regret.

“Hey, Satō!” I called out. “How’d your exam go today? You didn’t show up where everyone was this morning, did you?” Satō smirked and laughed in response. “Same as always. This morning I nearly missed it again.” “Examinees like me are hopeless.” “Leaving early’s pointless anyway—I stay at the exam hall till time’s up.” “Right or wrong doesn’t matter—I just scribble something down.” “There’s examinees like me too.—So how about you?”

“Since I didn’t have time, I only wrote down the equations for one problem.” “As for the rest, I think I managed somehow...” “I’ve completely given up.”

“That’s rich coming from you. Losing heart over just one problem? If the rest are correct, you’ll be fine. If things go well from here on out, passing’s a sure thing. You could even treat me to an advance celebration right now.” “Don’t spout nonsense. If I can’t solve all the mathematics problems, I’m done for.” “But last year Yamashita left one blank and still got in. Though mind you—after entering he caught pleurisy and nearly died, so I wouldn’t envy him.”

“Is that so?” “That Yamashita, huh?” Under the pretext of my illness, I also wanted to inquire thoroughly about the exams. “So there’s no need to rush into getting accepted.” Satō deliberately feigned nonchalance. And as usual, he invited me again.

“How about it? Why don’t we grab something to eat somewhere?”

“I can’t do that.” “But did Yamashita truly get accepted even after leaving one problem blank?” “That’s how the story went.” “So rest assured, sir.” “Since someone like you still has potential, I’ll send you home to study properly today.” “But once exams conclude, do come visit properly at your leisure.”

“Why do you keep inviting me like this?”

“I just want to see the look on a proper little boy like you.” “Later.” With that, he briskly walked off toward the tram stop there.

Somehow, I felt encouraged by his words. Though whether Yamashita's example held any truth remained uncertain—being something Satō had said—it made me cling to a faint thread of hope: perhaps... I pulled myself together and returned home.

The next day was English.—

Last year, English had been the main cause of my failure, so I entered the exam hall with trepidation. As usual, the exam questions were distributed along with the proctor's instructions. Having panicked yesterday and mismanaged my time, today I skimmed through everything once before immediately beginning to draft answers starting with the problems I could solve. Fortunately, there were no incomprehensible words in the English-to-Japanese translation section. Though there were indeed one or two ambiguous parts within, when I read through them again their meaning became clear. I managed to write my answers with some degree of composure.

In the midst of this, the dictation teacher arrived. It was Professor Kurokawa with his burly shoulders, whom I'd gotten somewhat acquainted with once or twice at the preparatory school. As was customary, he first read it aloud once quickly for us. I felt relieved his pronunciation wasn't overly affected. It seemed mostly comprehensible to me. But when I tried transcribing during the second reading, around the middle section, I somehow couldn't catch "every day" properly at first. My composure faltered again. During the revision period, I finally pieced together what seemed plausible. I let out a sigh of relief. I remained convinced there were no other errors beyond that.

The Japanese-to-English translation wasn't beyond comprehension. But somehow, I couldn't tell whether my own was good or bad. I didn't think there were any grammatical mistakes, but it certainly wasn't polished English. I considered my English results to be average. At this rate, I might actually get in—this feeling gradually began to well up within me. I thought about stopping by Sendagi on my way back to check on my brother, but with a faint heart, I decided against it, not wanting to witness his superiority in some trivial matter.

The next day was Classical Japanese and Chinese Literature.— Classical Japanese and Chinese Literature had never been my weak point. Especially when it came to composition, that was where I excelled most. The questions were mostly ones I remembered reading before. In the dictation section too, there were no Chinese characters I didn't recognize. Today, from start to finish, I wrote my exam paper with perfect ease. I left the examination hall swelling with triumph. For once, I felt certain even my brother couldn't surpass me today.

When I stepped outside feeling refreshed, I found myself wanting to stop by Sendagi. I had been too absorbed in exams to notice, but today was the thirteenth of Bon. The streets were somehow lively with foot traffic. Women dressed in their finest could be seen among them. I suddenly remembered Sumiko-san. —But with tomorrow full of crucial memorization tasks, I resolutely put everything out of mind and went straight home.

At last, the final day had come— It was the day for Physics and History—my weakest subjects—but whether for better or worse, thinking today would finally end made me feel oddly uplifted. My performance today was the worst among all exams. The initial physics section proved manageable since I solved three problems. But when it came to history period next, my head had become utterly exhausted. Moreover, there was no way last-minute cramming could yield a proper exam paper. Every topic I'd banked on failed to appear. Of four problems, I somehow managed two. I even fudged one remaining question quite ambiguously, but try as I might, I couldn't even begin tackling the final one.

The exam paper was a long sheet with questions printed at intervals and blank spaces for writing. The sheet kept threatening to slip off the desk edge. Tormented by an unsolvable problem, I even contemplated stealing just one clue from my neighbor's dangling answer sheet in desperation. Just as I teetered on that decision, the proctor's low but severe voice cut through the air. "Allow me to remind you all," he said with deliberate courtesy, "as you can see, these exam sheets are exceptionally long." "Please take care not to let them overhang your desks." "The reason should be obvious without explanation," added the proctor pointedly. He was a compact professor with sharply defined features.

It was a tense moment, but the final irony in those words lightly pricked at the examinees' feelings. Someone in the far corner snickered. Then, provoked by that, most people burst into laughter. Amidst them, one of them let out a strange laugh—a high-pitched *hihihihi*. A look of fury flashed across the proctor's face. And once more, a sharp voice emerged from his mouth, polite yet cutting.

“Who was it? The one who just made that strange noise and laughed.” Having said that，he suddenly looked around the hushed classroom and strode briskly toward the desk in question．There，a pale young man was watching with eyebrows raised． “It was you，wasn’t it？You’re the one who just laughed，”the proctor asked．

“…………” The examinee remained silent, his face turning pale around the eyebrows. “It was you, wasn’t it?” The proctor pressed further.

“…………Yes.” The examinee finally answered. “I see.” “In that case, since your exam paper is no longer needed, kindly leave the premises.” “I trust you understand the reason.” This time, no one laughed. Instead, a hollowed-out silence oppressively dominated the examination hall. “I was just about to leave anyway.” The examinee stood up with desperate defiance as he said this. Then, under the hushed gazes of the entire room, he left with loud footsteps.

Before long, that young man’s high-pitched “Hihihihi” laughter could be heard again from near the corridor. The proctor muttered while looking at the remaining exam papers, “They haven’t managed a single thing.” “These students today are so insolent—it’s unbearable,” he grumbled to himself. Having grown quite desperate myself, I felt genuine sympathy for that young man. Rather, I wanted to draw courage from his defiance. A voice laughed—Hihihihi. Wasn’t that voice—that laughter—a curse hurled from the depths against this examination system? If I could laugh, I too would want to laugh like that. Every last examinee across the land must surely want to raise their voices in unison and laugh that same laugh. And if we examinees—the ugly deformed children birthed by modern society—were to unite our voices in such laughter, what then would the authorities say? “They haven’t managed a single thing.” “These students today are so insolent—it’s unbearable.” Would muttering such things truly settle anything?—

I remained before my exam paper with one question still left blank, becoming absorbed in such thoughts.

The bell rang. My exam paper still had one question left blank.

On my way back, I stopped by Sendagi.

My younger brother had already returned home and was sitting blankly at his desk. "How were your results?" I asked. "I guess I did alright." My younger brother's answer remained as taciturn as ever.

“It seems I’ve failed again. Today especially, I failed terribly.” I wanted to explain my own situation in more detail and hear how my younger brother had fared.

“Anyway, since it’s over, I don’t care about the exams anymore.” My younger brother showed no particular desire to ask questions or speak about anything. Feeling deflated, I remained silent, gazing intently at my younger brother’s face that seemed brimming with confidence. Then I suddenly felt hatred toward him. It was directed at someone even younger than myself. It was almost instinctive hatred.

Eleven

While we were being consumed by exams, the world had turned completely to summer. The town had completely changed its attire; in daytime, the shadows of the street trees had grown thick. At night, cool lights were scattered. While bearing the exhaustion of exams and being pursued by fears of their outcome, my heart lightly explored the summer in the city. I frequented the Sendagi house. I also frequently encountered Sumiko-san. The light mood following the exams was reflected in her heart as well. She was more cheerful than usual. And her attitude toward me had not become that bad since that time. In fact, she seemed reassured by my declaration of intent, even showing a somewhat coquettish side. But at the same time, she also began adopting a commanding attitude. In any case, I was in a position where I had to be pleased with these things.

There was no particular change in the demeanor between her and my younger brother either. While I had been away due to exams, the developments I had privately feared might arise appeared not to have occurred. Generally speaking, the situation was better for me than before the exams.

One day, such a thing occurred. My younger brother had apparently been invited out by friends and was not at home at that very moment. I spent some time having various casual conversations with just my sister. As often happens when talking with an older woman, I found myself unwittingly growing sentimental. And finally, these words came out: "Sis, I think I've truly developed a nervous breakdown lately." "While I'm here like this, it's not so bad, but when I return to my lodgings, I become unbearably gloomy." "Somehow it feels like the whole world has turned completely dark." "What on earth is happening to me?"

My sister looked at me as if taking my measure, then deftly parried my words. “It’s from staying at that temple.” “And I suppose the exam strain has taken its toll too.” “Every night I lie awake—it’s unbearable.” “Once that happens, my mind inevitably turns to the exams.” “When I convince myself I’ve failed again this year, I... I don’t know what to do with myself.” “But you don’t even know the results yet.” “You might’ve passed.—No, you must’ve passed.” “Thinking positively actually invites good fortune.”

“Hmm, what do you think?” “I hope things go that smoothly, but the world doesn’t work that way.” “That’s how you end up with a nervous breakdown.” “The cause is usually something like that.” My sister said with a smile. Here, I wanted to press one step further. But I was still too timid to do so. The two of us remained silent for a while. My sister maintained an attitude that seemed both aware and unaware of my feelings.

At that moment came the sound of the lattice door opening. It was Sumiko-san who had arrived. She carried her customary brightness from outdoors into the space between us. Yet my heart—having sunk into melancholy—found itself less lifted by her presence than usual.

After a while, my sister left us and went toward the kitchen. She and I did not have to face each other anew. A suffocating urgency pressed against my chest. I quietly glanced at her. And when my gaze clashed with hers, I hurriedly averted my eyes. The silence, stiff as if congealed, struck me as artificial. I thought I had to say something, but my lips wouldn’t part naturally. Finally, she broke the silence.

“You seem terribly down today. Is something the matter?” “No, it’s nothing.” “Really, it’s nothing at all,” she said, tilting her head as if peering at him. In my heart, once again, something whispered, “Now.” “Now is precisely the moment!” I glanced up at her from under my eyelids, hurriedly lowered my gaze, and began to speak in a low voice. “Say, Sumiko-san. You aren’t still angry about what happened the other day, are you? If that’s the case, please forgive me. I never intended to do anything, you see.”

“What do you mean by ‘the other day’s matter’?” While taken aback by my abrupt change in demeanor, she lowered her voice to match my tone. “At the exhibition—doing such a thing was my fault. When I think that after behaving so disgracefully, you must consider me a contemptible wretch—I want to crawl into a hole and disappear. Please don’t think poorly of me.” “That matter? Why, I haven’t given it another thought! I was merely startled, that’s all—it was so terribly sudden, you see? Truly, nothing more.” Here, she lowered her voice even further and continued.

“The truth is, I was happy.” “Then you’ll forgive me, won’t you?” My words trembled involuntarily at the ends. “I truly don’t think anything of it.” “So let’s put an end to this talk now.” “I can’t stand this.” “You know full well everything—”

Like someone struck in a vulnerable spot, I couldn't take another step forward. But even if I had only managed to express part of my feelings—even if I was being manipulated in doing so—once I realized her answer suggested kindness, I felt as though a weight had lifted. In the midst of this, my sister arrived, and we reverted to our usual selves. My younger brother never returned. Sumiko-san had only asked briefly about him when she arrived and then strangely said nothing more. I even felt an unwarranted ease about that.

Eventually, in the gathering dusk, Sumiko-san returned home. After that, it was just my sister and me again. "How about it? Has your nervous breakdown healed?" Suddenly, my sister asked with a laugh. I was taken aback. And without thinking,

“Huh?” I asked in return. “You don’t need to say it twice,” my sister said teasingly. “Sis, you shouldn’t say such things.” I reproached her in a pleading tone while growing teary-eyed from the lingering sentiment. When my sister turned around in surprise and saw my distraught state, her initially amused expression turned solemn. This time, before my sister, I found myself compelled to take a decisive step.

“Sis.” I paused before continuing. “Please stop saying such things and teasing me. I’ve been meaning to confide in you for some time now, Sis—to ask this favor of you. I truly care for Sumiko-san. And if possible, I want to marry her someday—if possible, even now, I want you to arrange our engagement. What do you think, Sis? Couldn’t you hear Sumiko-san’s true feelings yourself and convey them to her? —I’m not saying these things out of flirtation or mischief. I’m being completely serious. So please, Sis—take this seriously and help me. Please. I’m truly begging you.” Carried away by my agitation, I blurted out through streaming tears.

My sister wore a perplexed look and listened in silence, her head bowed. And after pondering for a long time, she lifted her face. "That matter, you know. Kenkichi-san," my sister's words somehow grew choked with tears. "That matter... I've been thinking about it myself for some time now. I never intended to handle things in a way that would cause harm. Even now, I truly sympathize with your feelings. But dear Kenkichi-san, though I may be saying what everyone else would say, it truly is still too early for someone in your position. If this were about after you've entered university or something like that, then perhaps we could discuss it. But as things stand, aren't you still in the midst of taking entrance exams? But if you're so fixated on this, very well. At least wait until you know the results of the entrance exams and have properly entered higher school. Then I'll try speaking about it. I will do my utmost as well. Speaking of entrance exam results—won't they be known soon? In any case, please let me keep this matter to myself for the time being. That would be for the best. Okay? Please do that. You do understand my feelings, don't you?" There was not the slightest unreasonableness in my sister's words.

When told this, amidst my embarrassment, happiness, and anxiety, I could do nothing but nod. The two of us sat in complete silence for a long time afterward, like people who had said everything there was to say.

It was one of those regular days when my brother-in-law returned home late. The younger brother also had not returned. Quietly, evening filled the house. I too tried to leave, but my sister stopped me by saying she would prepare a special meal. Finally, after eating dinner, I set out for home.

When I stepped outside, the sky hung dark with threatening rain. Burning with inexpressible excitement, I walked resolutely through the gloom. Before I knew it, rain began falling. Drenched in midsummer night's rain that seemed to cool my fevered head, I finally trudged back to the temple.

Now filled with nothing but trepidation and expectation，all I could do was await the results announcement...

Twelve

The long-awaited yet equally dreaded day of the results announcement arrived. From the moment I awoke, my heart churned with hope and apprehension. My pulse raced so fiercely that food refused to pass my throat. I dreaded going to check on purpose. Yet I couldn't keep myself from going to look. I dawdled through one or two hours of morning. As I lingered in this paralysis, I began imagining someone might come bearing news. But no visitor appeared. In the end, trapped in that limbo, I could no longer endure being torn between possibilities. And so I resolved that confronting fate's verdict offered the only path to emotional release.

Around ten o'clock, I resolutely set out for the school. As I walked up Hongō-dōri, from the opposite direction came a straggling crowd of examinees. Some among them, overcome with irrepressible joy, had faintly reddened eyes as they conversed loudly or walked with heads held high. And the remaining majority wore bitter expressions like a crowd that had glimpsed some injustice. Some among them adopted exaggerated cheerfulness, exchanging what seemed like self-mocking laughs with friends they encountered.

After walking a while longer, I encountered Shimooka and Sasaki coming from the opposite direction. “Ah...” they said, touching the brims of their hats, first of all with forced wry smiles—

“Failed again, failed again.” “We’ll rally and try again,” they said in unison.

"What about me?" I asked timidly. "We didn't know your number," said Shimooka. "So go check quickly. You probably didn't fail. We're just generals of a defeated army—we've got nothing to say." "Foot soldiers of a defeated army," Sasaki added self-deprecatingly from beside them.

“Anyway, I’ll take my leave for today.” “Take care.” I started walking again. Examinees still straggled past.

Just before the school gate, I encountered Satō again. He walked along, still wearing an unlined summer kimono even now, his right hand tucked inside his breast as if intently listening to the sound of his setta sandals. I thought of passing him by in silence, given how absorbed he seemed, but recognizing him as Satō,

“Hey, Mr. Satō, how did it go?” I called out. Satō jerked his face up to look at me. That face no longer held anything resembling sorrow. “Oh, you’re here now. Then go take a look quickly—I’ve just come to gawk like everyone else, same as always. Well, this settles my duty as an examinee. But that notice might as well be Industrial Promotion Bonds’ winning numbers—means less than nothing to me.—See you around. Drop by if you feel like it—even flunking won’t make me crawl back home.”

“Well then—we’ll meet again. Farewell.”

I finally reached the school gate. The yellow-brown painted, weathered gate pillars also felt somehow frightening today. "I am now passing through the gate of fate," I thought.

From beside the main building, when I walked toward the covered walkway, the already posted bulletin came into view. Twelve or thirteen examinees, all uniformly tilting their summer hats back, stood darkly beneath their hats. I was suddenly seized by violent palpitations and trembling as I hurriedly approached that spot. I looked up at the bulletin. When I frantically identified the third section near the end, I rapidly fixed my burning eyes upon the numbers lined up there. 129—there was no 129. I still could not believe it. I looked again. It still wasn't there. And then I began panicking intensely. I looked over it once more with lingering attachment. It wasn't there. For confirmation, I also looked at the second list. There was no 129 on the second list either. Throughout Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3, the number 129 was nowhere to be found. When it came to this, I was deceptively calm. Somehow, it even felt natural that it wasn’t there. However, that was only momentary. Next, I suddenly became acutely aware of my position. Failure!

Everything is hopeless. Everything was lost.—When I thought that, my chest churned violently as if boiling over.

Suddenly I thought of my brother. Part II-A: 216! I hurriedly scanned that section. Then unmistakably, my brother's number was there. It was there, it was there! I wanted to doubt my own eyes. Here I came to know my excruciating position anew. More than sadness, more than pain—I could only stand breathless. The people around me viewing the notice all held their breaths while looking up. Occasionally someone would leave behind a brief interjection before walking briskly away. Many wore pale, strained expressions. Yet surely none who came here would feel anguish more bitter than mine. Surely none would taste despair more acute than mine—I exhaustively contemplated my failure and the agonizing position that followed. And for the third time, I cursed my brother's existence from the depths of my heart.

I could no longer see anything. And stumbling under grief and despair, I trudged out of the school gate alone.

I no longer had the slightest inclination to go to Sendagi.

When I returned to the temple and sat down at the desk, tears welled up for the first time. In the room where I had completely closed the softly illuminated shutters soaking in the unusually clouded midsummer sunlight, I alone, from the depths of my heart, wept on and on as I desired. And after that, both my body and mind became completely dazed.

The next day, a letter came from my sister in Sendagi. It was a letter of consolation. It contained hackneyed advice like “Don’t get too discouraged and harm your health,” written with feminine verbosity. I was grateful. But imagining my sister’s troubled face as she wrote this disagreeable letter made me feel more sorrow than gratitude. And I resolved not to visit Sendagi for some time.

The next day, a letter came from Sumiko-san. When I hurriedly opened the envelope, it was a letter filled with sympathy, just like last year's. It was only shorter than last year's. And there was nothing beyond sympathy. That also saddened me. Yet I was also comforted by these words: "Please do not shut yourself away in despair—I earnestly pray you will come visit us in Sendagi as well."

Thirteen

After two or three days had passed, I suddenly resolved to go to Sendagi. No longer able to bear continuing my anguish of disappointment alone—having both the urge to confide in someone and a desperate sort of perverse pleasure in wanting to see my triumphant brother's condition and thereby magnify my own pain—there was also another crucial matter: I wanted to bask in Sumiko-san's sympathy.

In the Sendagi house, there was my sister. When my sister saw me enter,

“Oh, Kenkichi-san,” she said, tears welling up as she greeted me. “I was wondering what had happened since you hadn’t come for so long.” “Depending on how things went, I was thinking of going to see you around today.” “But you came after all—you poor thing.” I had been starving for those words. And so I broke down in tears without hesitation. As if to torment myself further, I even let out a tearful voice. “I’ve resigned myself to my studies being insufficient—but more than that, my mind is fundamentally flawed.” “I’m finished.”

“That’s not true at all.” “Luck accounts for half of it.” “Don’t lose heart and stay strong.” “Even though such a thing may not happen to you, you mustn’t succumb to despair over trivial matters.—Sumiko-san was terribly worried too.” “Sumiko-san? “Please don’t speak of her now.” I suddenly felt ashamed and said this. But inwardly, I wanted to hear more about her. My sister fell silent. Even though sympathy passed between them, there was an uncharacteristic awkwardness in their usual interactions.

So when my sister stood up to go toward the kitchen, I took the opportunity to go upstairs, wanting to be alone. According to my sister, my brother had gone to the bathhouse. I sat down at my brother’s desk and sank deep into thought. Suddenly, my brother’s face—filled with vitality, at this very moment leisurely soaking in the bathtub—floated before my eyes. And envy and jealousy swirled around it. I frantically set about erasing that image.

When I suddenly looked at the desk, there lay a congratulatory telegram from someone. “CELEBRATE SUCCESS” I unconsciously muttered those words. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to me that there must be a congratulatory letter from Sumiko-san. I looked around the area, but it wasn’t on or around the desk. While tormented by a slight sense of guilt, I could no longer resist the temptation to open the desk drawer. While keeping alert to any sounds from downstairs, I cautiously opened the drawer like a petty thief. Sure enough, the letter was in the left drawer. There was a letter in an envelope of the same pale pink as mine, seemingly sent on the same day. I hurriedly read through it.

“Dear Kenji, I am overjoyed beyond measure. I was so intensely happy that tears flowed. Though your brother is pitiable, it is fate—nothing can be done. But since you have safely passed, I must congratulate you with all my heart. In truth, I prayed every night that you might gain admission. When I consider my prayers were answered, I cannot help but offer thanks to God.

Now you're a splendid First Higher School student, aren't you? You must be acting quite high and mighty now, I suppose. But however high you may hold yourself—that's all very well—if you grow too grand and stop keeping company with someone like me, I couldn't bear it. Please, forever and always, continue our relationship. Even when I make the effort to visit your home, if you give me that disapproving look, it grieves me more than anything. Lately, I've thought of nothing but you. If I've said anything too forward and caused offense, I beg your pardon. I would hate it if you became angry.

In keeping with our promise, I am even sending a fountain pen as a token of celebration in a separate envelope. I’ve used it two or three times, but since it’s still new, please make use of it. Yours, "To my beloved Kenji-sama." I finished reading it in one breath. With trembling hands, I carefully refolded it once more, placed it back into the envelope, then hid it in the drawer exactly as before. After that, for about five minutes, I was pinned down by something and couldn't move. My heart was in utmost turmoil, yet deceptively calm. There was an indescribable tension—a calm that transcended pain. I thought I would literally suffocate. A guttural, moan-like sigh escaped, and I returned to myself.

"All was lost," I thought. "Now that things have come to this, there's no helping it."

I went downstairs with an attitude even calmer than before.

After a while, my brother returned from the bath. When he noticed me, he showed a faint look of confusion—as if unsure how to act—but quickly regained his composure and spoke. “Brother, I’m truly sorry.” For my habitually taciturn brother, even uttering this much must have strained his limits. “No—there’s nothing left for me. But you passed splendidly.” “Congratulations.” This was the fullest response I could manage. Once more, I stared fixedly at my brother’s face—at this brother who surpassed me in every regard. Though it remained the same somewhat swarthy face I’d grown accustomed to over the past year or two—vigor pooled around the brows—today I detected within it a latent force that provoked my jealousy, stoked my hatred, and even exacted a grudging respect.

For a while, the two of us exchanged harmless conversation about whether we would return home or not—the usual sort of talk. But even so, it felt somewhat awkward. Eventually, the younger brother, seizing his opportunity, went upstairs.

I forcibly bid farewell to my sister who tried to keep me for dinner and left.

Outside, there was not even a breeze—a faintly yellow twilight. In the streets, people were bustling about, bathed in residual light and lamplight. I stood amidst it all and reflected on my aimless existence. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to me that Satō’s lodging in Shinbamachi was the closest at hand. I remembered how he had often invited me. For someone like my current defeated self, I thought that man would be the most suitable companion. Satō was just at the boarding house.

“Oh, it’s you.” “Took you long enough to come.” “Still, you came after all.” “By the way, I hear you failed again this year.” “Well, can’t be helped.” “Just accept it as fate.” “Resign yourself and take your time indulging.” “It’s fine to take it easy today.”

While saying this, he pressed the bell there with a knowing look, not waiting for my response.

14

The next morning, I found myself sitting dazedly on a bench in the high grounds of Ueno Park.

When I thought about everything that had happened from last night until reaching this state, I wished it were all a dream. After that, while remaining at Satō's place, his friend called Aoki came visiting. So we three went up to a nearby beef restaurant. For the first time, I drank sake that I couldn't handle. And became thoroughly drunk. When they loaded me into the rickshaw, I didn't know where we were going. No—it wasn't that I was entirely unaware. Rather through cowardly self-deception, I'd resolved myself not to know. The rickshaw bearing my drunken nauseous form plunged recklessly through darkness. Then arrived at a place crowded with tall buildings blazing with lights. I was carried half-conscious into some house. Then led soothingly into a room. There I spent my first shameful night. Remembering everything from then till now felt like a dream. Yet that I'd come here again this morning—that I'd awakened early and fled alone from that unknown house in an unfamiliar district—stood as undeniable reality beneath daylight's glare.

"Ah, I've done something unthinkable. Have I fallen this far?" On the cold morning bench, I thought, fighting back tears.

The forbidden fruit I first came to know last night. That too returned to me with unbearable repugnance. To me, it had been utterly flavorless. From the depths of my heart, I doubted whether there was any value in devoting oneself to such a thing. "In short, everything had been lost to me." I muttered thus in my heart and gazed upon the Asakusa district where dawn mist peeled away layer by layer. Where the mist cleared, there remained only blackened grimy roofs—pressing together, swelling upward, leaning against one another. And there was not a single hue there that heralded a glorious morning.

"Well, where shall I go now?" I kept thinking. A train whistle suddenly blared from below. I stood up and leaned on the railing, inadvertently looking down. From the gray station below, multiple iron rails stretched out whitely like glistening streams. Between flat-looking rooftops, wisps of white smoke rose here and there. Then a train came rushing out with a roar through a gap in the roofscape. Before my eyes it crossed the tracks, moving with such speed that it rattled the nearby houses as it plunged straight through the landscape below.

Watching that, tears welled up in my eyes. And through the tears, I thought this way.

"The best thing would be to board that train and go home." "There's nowhere else to go." "If I go back home, maybe things will sort themselves out." I quietly wiped my tears and turned toward Ueno Station. There were still two wretched hours until departure. But I no longer had the strength to go anywhere else. Motionless, I sat in a corner of the waiting room, head bowed low as I waited......

At long last, I boarded the train. The same train that eight months prior had carried my hopes and brightness now set off northward, laden with despair and darkness.— Around the time we passed Koriyama, the view outside the window began growing dim and hazy with dusk. And as we approached the mountain path near Nakayama, the newly risen moon tinged the train window with faint light. When we drew near Yamagata, the surroundings had completely become a moonlit night redolent of summer. The scenery of Lake Inawashiro now appeared as vivid as if seen in daylight.

I unsteadily disembarked at Yamagata. And passing through the dark station road, I walked toward the lake. When the houses clustered in darkness ended and I emerged onto the large embankment, there already lay the vast lake surface spread out soundlessly. The moonlight drifted quietly down, erasing the forms of the mountains across the water. The water stretched endlessly boundless, soaking everything yet barely rippling at the shore—this monotonous lake surface, without flickering lights or shadow-dragging boats, appeared to my tear-clouded eyes and sorrow-filled heart as a dream offering solace.

I sat down on the embankment and gazed intently at the water's surface. When I suddenly noticed, to my right there was what appeared to be the old landing—a pier stretching long into the lake. The black, straight, and inviting form of it would not leave my eyes now.

I was going to stand up now and walk out along that pier. Straight ahead, endlessly, endlessly....

(This suicide-note-like manuscript was left at the end of the pier along with his other belongings. His corpse was discovered the next morning. Eventually, this manuscript was passed into the hands of the brother who had rushed there upon hearing the emergency. The younger brother did not show it to anyone and had kept it hidden until this very moment. Due to a certain chance occurrence, he confided it to me. and entrusted me with publishing it to the world—one purpose being for the repose of his dead brother's soul, the other as a reference for the many examinees who would likely share such suffering with his brother. I made certain revisions to the original text and shaped it into a readable work. What I secretly fear is that the editorial axe I applied might instead damage the simple and unadorned tone, thereby not insignificantly diminishing its emotional impact. Incidentally, the younger brother is my friend and a university student two or three grades below me. Therefore, I would like you to consider this story as pertaining to a time before the exam system was comprehensively improved as it is now. Furthermore, as one more point of reference for readers—if I may add a brief postscript—Sumiko and her brother’s romance had also ended in failure. After all, given that Sumiko was such a coquettish woman, one could imagine that this was inevitable, but I add this for thoroughness.)

—Author’s Note. February 1918.)