Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Sasaki Kunio

Having been advised by the doctor, doubts arose after persisting with morning rising for about a month.
Since ancient times, morning rising has been regarded as a form of virtuous investment.
If they say morning rising brings three pennies of virtue, then by leapfrogging the decimal places, one might as well call it ten ryō of virtue.
The former refers to a single instance, while the latter is understood to pertain to a lifetime.
Westerners too,

Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

(Going to bed early and rising early makes one healthy, wealthy, and wise.)

they praised in rhymed verse while promoting morning rising.
Yet through one month of rigorous practice, I had grown neither healthier nor wealthier nor wiser.
My neurasthenia persisted unchanged.
I'd suffered financial losses.
My judgment had deteriorated so severely that I began questioning my very sanity.

This doctor of mine, perhaps due to our long acquaintance, knew my constitution too well for comfort.
When I went to consult him,

“What seems to be the trouble?”

he asked in surprise.
Because he thought someone like me couldn’t possibly have anything wrong,

“It seems to be neurasthenia.”

Having said that, each time I had to take the initiative in hinting at my symptoms.
While I continued describing my condition,

“Hmm, I see. Hmm.”

the doctor mechanically responded while preoccupied with other thoughts,

“Let me take a look.
“You don’t have a fever, do you?”

he would proceed.
I’d been saying all along there was no fever.

“I don’t have a fever, but nothing feels quite clear.”
“The work’s always such a bother.”
“Unlike company jobs, government service is relentless work, you see.”

I repeated my complaints point by point, fishing for sympathy.

“Work isn’t easy for anyone,”
“Someone like me gets no Sundays or holidays.”
“Do you sleep decently at night?”

“I sleep fine.”
“Must be tired from working days.”

“Tiredness matters not if you can sleep.”
“Your heart’s racing a bit?”

“My heart is beating very fast.”
“Don’t you think it would be necessary to take about a month’s leave from the office for rest and recuperation?”

“Oh, come now—it’s nothing serious. Just get up early in the morning and exercise.”

Dr. Harasaki’s diagnosis remained unvarying as ever. He didn’t even prescribe proper medicine. Our longstanding acquaintance made him view my condition through lenient eyes—he invariably dismissed it as trivial.

Yet this time my persistence bore fruit: the doctor finally conceded to call it neurasthenia.

“Shall we make the certificate valid for one month?”
“Or two months?”

“With the season turning favorable hereafter, let us settle on two months.”

I was taking this seriously.

“Two months should be sufficient.”

“Is a change of location necessary?”

“There’s no need for that either.”

“Will medicine alone suffice?”

“There’s no particular medicine for neurasthenia.”
“Well now, just get up early in the morning and take a walk or something.”

As was his custom, the doctor recommended morning rising.

“In that case, I’ll get up around seven o’clock.”

“That won’t do any good.”

“In that case, I’ll get up at six o’clock.”

“The earlier the better. Rise with the sun. You’re mistaken if you think paying homage to the sunrise is only done on New Year’s Day. Get up early and go to bed early. All birds do just that. That’s why they’re always in robust health.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Get up while it’s still dim and make your way to Shiba Park. And if you then watch the sunrise from the hilltop, there will be nothing left to desire.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll do my best to follow your instructions precisely.”

And with that, I left satisfied.

For me, who had been rising at eight and rushing to the government office in a flurry past nine for many years, waking up while it was still dark was an entirely new experience.
The mansion district was utterly deserted, not a soul in sight.
Just as I was descending the slope, I came across a policeman.

“Hey,”

Being called out to was unexpected, but

“What is it?”

he asked,

“Ah, it’s you. Quite an early walk, isn’t it?”

he said approvingly.

Even when I reached the tram-lined street, all the shops remained shuttered, only their signs catching my eye.
I went to Shiba Park as instructed and climbed Maruyama Hill, but there was still some time before sunrise.
Sure enough, there were other early risers—an old man came along.

“You’re up quite early, sir.”

He bowed to my thick cane and immediately went back down.
I had been too early.
By sunrise, fifteen or sixteen people had gathered.
Yet when I considered how the majority neglected this splendid spectacle to wallow in lazy slumber, I couldn’t help but pity them.
Having fully inhaled the crisp morning air, I started homeward where milkmen and newspaper deliverymen were dotted about.
Near our house, housemaids still disheveled were opening gates here and there.

“Good morning,” the wife greeted him.
My wife, like the doctor, had underestimated my condition and initially refused to acknowledge the need for me to take leave and recuperate.

“I was a bit too early,” I said, then told her about the policeman and the old man before asking,
“Do I have such a villainous face?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but your appearance isn’t exactly presentable,” she replied. “And besides, it’s before dawn. If a man your size goes walking around looking like that with such a thick cane, no one would ever believe he’s recuperating from neurasthenia.”

“What do you suppose they think?”

“They likely don’t think anything particular, but outsiders only see what meets the eye.”
“Starting tomorrow, you should wear formal trousers.”
“If you were mistakenly arrested, that would be rather inconvenient.”

my wife cautioned me.
I no longer had the courage to pursue what exactly they might be mistaking me for.
When there are three children, even a wife speaks without reserve.

On the second day, he arrived at Shiba Park just as the sun was rising.
The third day brought rain, but both the fourth and fifth days yielded favorable results.
When rising in the dim light, he found each day stretched out interminably.
The awareness of being active while the world slept felt gratifying.
With mornings being such an undertaking, he retired early each night without protest.
In this manner, when the doctor-prescribed regimen had continued for over ten days, complaints arose from his wife.

“Dear, how about giving up the morning rising now? By now everything must be quite all right, don’t you think?”

“No, it hasn’t improved one bit.
Though to be fair, it hasn’t gotten any worse either.”

“That’s only natural.
You never had anything wrong with you in the first place.
But since you’re officially on sick leave, shouldn’t you avoid drawing too much attention?
It seems the neighborhood is saying all sorts of things.”

“What are they saying?”

“Yutaka heard this. ‘The master of the Sakaguchi household makes such a fearsome face—and with that, they’re not getting along at all,’ Mrs. Tsuda apparently laughed.”

“What circumstances could make it seem we’re not getting along?”

“Suspicion has been cast upon you. They must think you’re staying at some teahouse and returning home in the dark of morning.”

“They likely erred because it’s early morning, but isn’t remarking on my face uncalled for?”

“It vexes me too. Even Mrs. Tsuda doesn’t make such a pleasant face.”

“Yet I suppose that counts as favorable from Mrs. Tsuda’s perspective.”

“Since all your colleagues are slovenly, they naturally assume the same of you. It’s most troublesome. But there’s more—they say you were dismissed from your government post. I heard it today from Tadayashop’s apprentice and found it truly ill-omened. Surely such nonsense isn’t true?”

“There’s no need to worry. All sorts of rumors will sprout up in barely ten days.”

“This is what comes of lazing about when there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“You keep insisting there’s nothing wrong, but what could you possibly know about my condition? Dr. Harasaki himself diagnosed this as legitimate neurasthenia and prescribed morning rising.”

“Must you get so worked up? If it’s truly legitimate, then maintain your respectability properly.”

In the end, my morning rising earned such a poor reputation that both our tempers were thoroughly frayed.

At this point, I too began rising early out of sheer stubbornness.
If it wasn’t raining, I paid homage to the sunrise at Shiba Park.
There was both the fervent wish to become robust and the fact that I was taking a break from work, so it didn’t require much effort.

However，one morning，a strange man followed him from Shiba Park.
He wondered if the man might simply be returning in the same direction，but as the fellow kept nearly catching up whenever he moved，he entered his house with some trepidation—whereupon Yutaka soon appeared，

“Master, this person insists on seeing you and refuses to leave,” she announced.
The business card was written in pencil on a scrap of newspaper.
“Is it a man in a blue coat wearing geta?”
“That is correct.”
“Hmm.”
Having ascertained it was indeed that man, I went out to the entrance regardless.
“Mr. Sakaguchi, I’m Ogishima—your classmate from middle school,”
the dubious visitor said with a polite bow.

The dubious visitor bowed politely.

“Ah, Mr. Ogishima?”

I immediately recalled how this man had been expelled as the strike’s ringleader.

“I’m terribly ashamed to trouble you looking like this.”

“Do come in.”

And I couldn't help inviting this fallen old friend inside.

“Oh no, here is fine.”
“We can’t talk here.”
“Then I’ll gratefully accept your offer.”

And Mr. Ogishima stepped inside.
I showed him to the parlor,
“It’s been a long time.”
With just that said, I was at a loss how to proceed.

“The truth is I’ve been unemployed since last year and can’t make ends meet.”
“I couldn’t stand the flophouse anymore either—last night I slept on one of Shiba Park’s free benches.”
“When I woke this morning, you’d already come.”
“You did look awfully familiar, but seeing as we hadn’t met since parting ways at school over a decade back, I followed you here to make sure.”
“Only after seeing your nameplate did I feel certain.”

And Mr. Ogishima explained his current circumstances and the reason for his visit.
The outcome of such conversations was predetermined.
Having steeled myself that some degree of this was unavoidable,

“I see.
“And I suppose you’ll be figuring out some plan now?”

he prompted.
If his circumstances had been somewhat comparable to my own, there might have been some way to help, but since he seemed to have already hit rock bottom, I thought there was nothing that could be done.

“The truth is, that’s precisely why I’ve come to ask for your assistance.
“It’s terribly brazen of me to ask, but might you possibly spare me the travel expenses?”

“Very well.
“I’ll do what I can.”

“I work in the electrical field, but currently there’s absolutely no work here.
“If people of our class could simply go where there’s work instead of staying where there isn’t, we wouldn’t be in such dire straits, but somehow...”

“Well, given how terribly the economic downturn is said to be, we’re all in the same boat.”

“The truth is, I have a close friend in Sinuiju who tells me there’s work available and urges me to come, but I can’t manage to get there.”

And Mr. Ogishima pleaded.

“That’s quite a distance.”

I was slightly surprised upon hearing the actual figure.
I’d assumed it would be Kobe at most, but Sinuiju threw my calculations into disarray.
Or perhaps he had conceived of the farthest point within the country's territory with the aim of getting as much money as possible.

“It’s far.
The closer places have no work.
The farther the place, the more jobs there are.
It’s simply that everyone lacks travel funds.”

“How much does it cost to get to Shingishū?”

“About thirty yen.”

Mr. Ogishima bowed apologetically.

“Will that suffice?”

“I believe it will be more than sufficient.”

“Then please wait a moment.”

I had no choice but to consult my wife.
It was before six in the morning—even banks would be inaccessible.

“Another blessing of your morning rising.”

Though met with her sarcasm, I somehow procured the money and handed it to Mr. Ogishima.
He departed looking thoroughly satisfied.

Since this minor incident, I began to think I couldn’t let my guard down around the morning risers gathering in the park. The fact that the newspaper delivery people and milkmen I passed every morning on the same street had started greeting me had become another concern. Because the foot traffic was unusual,

“You’re early, aren’t you?”

When they greeted me,

“Just keeping up appearances.”

I would respond in kind. If I kept this up, it wouldn’t be impossible for another acquaintance to emerge from among them. In fact, there was a fellow who kept throwing in newspapers without even being asked. Upon repeated observation, the people who rose early in the morning mostly seemed to be poor. Even among the park crowd, those who appeared wealthy were nearly nonexistent. The old man who initially showed great respect for my cane later became an acquaintance; he alone seemed to be a wealthy retired gentleman dressed in fine clothes. That must be why he had been so frightened back then. As for the other regulars, even if stripped bare, they’d be left with nothing but a summer kimono.

“It’s far better to come here and worship the Sun than lie at home becoming flea fodder.”

“They’ve been appearing suddenly lately, haven’t they? Since my place is a barracks, bedbugs seem to have shown up too.”

They were uttering such disheartening remarks. They seemed more inclined to fear fleas and bedbugs than to yearn for nature. A house where such insects swarmed about, making proper sleep impossible, could never be called prosperous. Upon reflection, morning rising didn’t make people wealthy—rather, those who weren’t wealthy to begin with ended up rising early to climb Maruyama Hill. Even health-wise, they all had their respective afflictions. After tales of recession-induced poverty, they preferred discussing weather and illnesses. Healthy people didn’t fret over the weather.

“Haven’t seen you for two or three days. Why didn’t you come when the weather was so nice?”

When asked,

“It’s swollen again a bit, you see, and walking’s such a bother.”

there was also a middle-aged man complaining not about the weather but his hernia troubles,

“You’re quite energetic.”

When praised,

“I can’t wait for night to end because of my insomnia.”

There was also a young man who prattled on like this.
They had not become robust through morning rising.
They engaged in morning rising precisely because they were not robust.
Putting aside other areas, when considering the stretch from my house to Shiba Park, those who rose and walked while the world still slept were limited to the sickly and the poor—with newspaper deliverymen, milkmen, and thieves being the exceptions.

However, there were occasional interlopers. The other morning, what appeared to be the young master of a landlord came bringing his beautiful wife. When the couple sat down on the bench next to me,

“Matsukō, go over there and stay!”
“Are you trying to restrict my freedom?”

When the young master rebuked him, I realized there was an attendant present. Matsukō obeyed the command and withdrew far into the distance.

“You needn’t speak so harshly—wouldn’t that be better?”

“You needn’t speak so harshly—wouldn’t that be better?” his wife placated.

“Ah, magnificent! Truly magnificent!”

The Young Master soon began praising the sunrise.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“When I gaze upon such majestic scenery, I feel utterly refreshed,” he declared. “If I were to strike Father’s bumpy head now, how splendid it would feel. How wretched are these monsters who understand nothing beyond counting coins!”

“Oh my, must you say such things again?” his wife responded, seeming to restrain herself on account of my nearby presence.

I tactfully stood up soon after, so I ended up never understanding why this Young Master wanted to strike his father’s head.

However, yesterday morning, someone came fluttering over and suddenly sat down on my bench.
When I saw it was that Young Master, my curiosity stirred.

“What do you think? Isn’t it magnificent?”

the Young Master initiated the conversation.

“It’s beautiful.”

I responded cheerfully. I had grown thoroughly weary of the park regulars, but this handsome young man had strangely captivated my heart since I first noticed him the other day.

“You there, when you face grand nature so intently like this, don’t you feel as though some soundless voice is preaching to you? In truth, a kind of symphony comes pressing in. At the very least, profit-driven human existence becomes utterly base, don’t you think?”

Hearing this also made me glad. Since he wasn’t trying to strike his father’s bumpy head like last time,

“I do get that sense indeed. That’s why I come every morning too—thinking it’s therapeutic.”

I concurred.

This became the catalyst, and we launched into deep conversation.
The Young Master was an Expressionist poet.
Though I’m now just a lowly office worker, having written a poem or two of new-style verse back in my high school days, our discussion blossomed into poetic debate for a short while.

“How grateful I am!
“I’ve found a kindred spirit at last!”

The Young Master was overjoyed.

“But given your youth, your ideas are quite novel.”
“I too had a proper education.”
“After all, I’ve been immersed in mundane affairs for over ten years now.”

And I felt as though I had returned to my student days.

“Within it will be published a collection compiling my debut works, so I will present you with a copy and humbly request your esteemed criticism.”

“Oh, you honor me too much.”

“If I may be so bold, might I humbly inquire after your residence and name?”

Just as the Young Master said this, Matsukō from before came running over, and in that moment, the rock-riding old man had already seized hold of the Young Master.

“What are you doing?”

And I stood up.

"Well, this here's my son—there's circumstances involved."

And the old man brusquely dragged him off.

"Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!"

The young poet let out an indescribably strange laugh.
People nearby were so startled that they came rushing over.
I stood there in a daze, watching their retreating figures,

"What was that young man?"

I muttered as if talking to myself.

"That's the pawnshop owner's son from Hikagechō—the town's notorious lunatic."
"He got obsessed with scholarship unbecoming to his station and went mad."

There was someone who knew this.

When it struck me that I might have resonated with a madman, I was plunged into dejection; after feeling unwell all day yesterday, today I could no longer muster the will for morning rising.

(November 1925 [Taishō 14], Omoshiro Club)