Pathway to Japanese Literature

Mr. Kataoka once again resolved to quit drinking.

They say the day of resolve is an auspicious one, but Mr. Kataoka had no intention of settling matters so quickly.
From the moment of resolve to finding an auspicious day required considerable effort.

“Even if I start abstaining now, there’s Mr. Kosugi’s farewell party next month when he goes abroad. Since I’m his closest associate, I can’t possibly avoid being the organizer.”
“Since I’m his closest associate, there’s no way I can avoid being the organizer, no matter what.”

With such excuses, he remained ever cautious.

“Someone like you could even safely resolve to drown yourself, couldn’t you?”

Mrs.Kataoka mocked.

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’d first consider there being no possible way to survive such depths, wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps so.
“I still have attachments.
“With no children, I must drink or something.”

“That’s precisely why I wouldn’t dream of insisting you quit.”
“Wouldn’t it suffice to drink moderately?”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying I’ll quit once and for all—because moderation’s impossible.”

“Then you must quit.”

“I’ll quit.
I’ll quit decisively starting with Mr. Kosugi’s farewell party.”

He had made this bold declaration months prior, but even before Mr. Kosugi reached America, the urge had already returned, forcing him to acknowledge once more the necessity of quitting. Mr. Kataoka resolved three or four times a year. While determining an auspicious day required time, what followed proceeded with remarkable swiftness. At most a week. Never once had his abstinence lasted two weeks.

However, this time even Mrs.Kataoka had reason to understand the difficulty of moderation,

"If you would make such a resolution, nothing could bring me greater relief."

and adopted a thoroughly beseeching attitude.
Mr.Kataoka inevitably fell into ditches between abstinence attempts.
This time’s tumble had been executed with slightly more elaboration.
Though Mrs.Kataoka maintained that even a suicide resolve would prove harmless coming from him, the danger lay in his drunken plunge into an actual moat.
Without leisure to gauge depths, he might well have perished.

“It’s not as though I’ve properly made up my mind yet.”

For Mr.Kataoka, even the resolution itself now seemed to demand laborious effort.

"When things like what happened the other day occur, even I can't stay silent."

"I’ve been thinking about that too. If that spot had been deserted, I’d certainly be dead. By the time they fished me out, I’d already swallowed enough water to last a lifetime. But if I think I died that time, then I can consider any life from now on as pure profit."

“If someone were speaking earnestly, you’d just keep rambling on like this?”

“So now you’re telling me to do as I please?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly say such a thing.
“That may well be your heart’s desire—to make a love suicide pact with your beloved drink—but I’d be left in quite the predicament afterward.
“Our savings are meager, you haven’t taken out insurance—what are we to do?
“Even if I wanted to remarry, there’s no one who’d have a woman pushing thirty-five.”

“You’re quite the woman who never stops tallying debts.”

“I can’t let you die unless we have at least twenty or thirty thousand yen.”

“With twenty or thirty thousand yen, you’d actually kill me?”

“I won’t kill you, but I wouldn’t be troubled if you died.”

“It’s like I’m living as money’s stand-in.”
“Alright—I’ll scheme to fulfill my destiny through piecemeal settlements.”
“At long last—maybe I’ll truly quit this time.”

“This time you absolutely must quit—I insist.”
“From now on, I must ask you to regard alcohol as your sworn enemy.”

“If I consider how whiskey shoved me into the outer moat, I might indeed deem it my foe—but being a samurai’s son, I soon find myself itching to cross blades with that very adversary again.”

“Still making those old-fashioned jokes, aren’t you? You don’t have to regard it as your parent’s sworn enemy.”

“Then I’ll regard it as the enemy of all humanity. However, there exists a religion that says ‘Love your enemies.’”

“You’re so hopelessly sentimental.”

“I do have attachments, but seeing as next year’s my unlucky year, I’ll finally make my resolution.”
“Since the ditches I fall into keep getting promoted, at this rate I’m bound to end up in a major river or the ocean next time.”
“I value my life too. I’ll make the resolution.”

“Once you’ve made your resolution, good things should be hastened.”

“Well, there’s no need to rush like that.”
“Haste makes waste.”

“No, they say the day you resolve is the auspicious day.”
“Since you’ve already drunk so much tonight, please stop starting tomorrow.”

“Even if I quit starting tomorrow, there’s the year-end party on the 25th!”
“The year-end party.”
“I’m the organizer.”

And Mr. Kataoka launched into his old routine.
At banquets, he invariably took charge as organizer or instigator.
He was after all the ringleader of revelry.

During that limbo between resolution and action, Mr. Kataoka drank without restraint, convinced these were his final earthly indulgences.
When his wife contemplated him abandoning his beloved vice, pity inevitably surged forth.
It was only natural human kindness—like granting a condemned man's last request—that made her permit his merry tippling.
Perhaps Mr. Kataoka understood this psychological warfare all too well when occasionally mustering earnest resolve.
Regardless, he drank heavily throughout the week preceding the year-end party, then drank heavily again at the event itself.
That he fortunately returned home without tumbling into any gutters owed entirely to his legs giving out, necessitating an automobile ride.

“Dear! Tonight I drink!”

And when Mr. Kataoka demanded his evening drink the following night, his wife—

“You—that’s not the promise we made.”

she naturally urged him to reflect.

“The year’s end can’t be left half-done.
I’ll quit come next year.
Since I’ve been drinking this year anyway, I’ll just finish it off properly as is, then quit clean once the new year begins.”

“You’re utterly hopeless.”

“This is alcohol I’ve been drinking for twenty years.
If I flip-flop and quit right after yesterday, it’d violate basic human compassion.
Let me properly bid farewell to it until New Year’s Eve.
Even you’d feel some attachment if forced to abandon cosmetics you’ve used for twenty years, wouldn’t you?”

And Mr. Kataoka began making excuses.

“Face powder and alcohol are entirely different matters.”

“The items may differ, but the principle remains the same.”
“Don’t make such a gloomy face—just hurry up and bring it out.”

“Then will you truly quit starting from New Year’s?”

“Of course I’ll quit.”
“Next year’s my unlucky year.”
“Even if begged, I won’t drink.”
“Because this time I’m serious, naturally I’m taking such precautions.”

“In that case, you may drink until New Year’s Eve."
“We have just about that much remaining.”

Since his wife thought that if she argued half-heartedly and he became obstinate about drinking next year too it would prove troublesome, she obligingly permitted the evening drink.

Thus, Mr. Kataoka gained a few days of respite.

"If I commit myself thoroughly like this, there'll be no lingering attachments."

And saying this, he savored his remaining days each night.
On New Year's Eve, he had all his favorite delicacies prepared and drank continuously from early evening until midnight.

“This shall be my final draught!”

When he had finally steeled his resolve, the New Year's Eve bells began to ring.

“How terribly bittersweet this farewell must be.”

And Mrs.Kataoka laughed.

“No—this time the resolve is unshakable! I’ve caused you so much trouble with alcohol all these years. At long last—this cup marks eternal abstinence! I’ll show my sincerity!”

With that, Mr.Kataoka drained his cup, placed it on the tray, and—in one swift motion—seized the fire tongs to smash it to pieces.

“Oh my, must you go to such lengths?”

“No—if I don’t do at least this much, some lingering attachment will remain. This time I’m serious. I’ll resolve this twenty-year-old problem once and for all!”

“With such resolve, you should be fine.”
“I too have been reassured.”

And his wife was delighted.
Mr. Kataoka had used his cherished masterpiece to pour what was meant to be his life’s final drink.
Since he had broken it, there was of course sincerity.
Not only that, but this time his resolution fell precisely on New Year’s Day.
There’s no day as auspicious as this.

Even when morning came, Mr.Kataoka’s resolve remained firm.

“This is the first New Year without spiced sake, isn’t it?”

And his wife found herself at loose ends.
Declaring that even auspicious traditions might develop vulnerabilities like ant holes, the protagonist himself had meticulously arranged such preparations—a truly admirable display of thoroughness.

“But the outside world matters more than home,”
“After all, everyone’s pushing drinks during New Year’s.”

And Mr.Kataoka had long since considered every angle of this.

"For New Year visits, simply leaving your business card would suffice."

"It's not exactly that simple—but hey, as long as my resolve stays firm, I'll be fine."

"Even so, this is the worst possible time to begin abstinence."
"During the first three days, wherever you visit, they'll serve alcohol."

And inwardly, the wife worried.

"Times full of temptation are precisely when my resolve gets tempered."

"When work resumes at the company, there will be another New Year's banquet, won't there?"

“There will be.
“But this time I’m not the organizer.”

“The three days and that banquet would come next then.”

“That’s right.
“Once we break through those, we can relax for a good while.
“It’ll be fine.
“Up till now, it was fear that held me back.”

And Mr.Kataoka had drawn up a comprehensive battle plan.

Thus even when he went out for New Year visits after celebrating with just zōni, his resolve remained firm.
At two or three houses, following his wife’s clever advice, he quietly left his business card and fled.
However, just as he thought this approach somewhat cowardly, he suddenly came face-to-face with Mr.Tsuda at his drinking companion’s entrance.

“Come now, do come up.”
“It’s tradition.”

“Shall I step in for a moment?”

And Mr.Kataoka also felt this was a test of courage.

“No matter how old one gets, New Year’s is a splendid thing, isn’t it? Why don’t we take it easy today?”

Mr. Tsuda had been partaking a bit more liberally.

“You’re looking quite radiant.”

Mr. Kataoka praised him. He had intended to promptly announce his resolution to quit drinking, but upon perceiving his companion’s tipsy good mood, he refrained.

“Being able to drink freely first thing in the morning—that’s New Year’s blessing for you. If it were just about counting years older, there’d be nothing amusing about it at all.”

“That does ring true.”

“I was watching your approach from the second floor,” said Mr.Tsuda to Mr.Kataoka.
“Behold—the grand arrival of my most worthy drinking adversary!”

“No wonder you intercepted me so deftly,” replied Mr.Kataoka.

“Fortify your resolve,” commanded Mr.Tsuda.
“In exchange, tomorrow I shall storm your stronghold.”

“I await your assault,” countered Mr.Kataoka.

As they continued this contest of wills, Mrs.Tsuda entered bearing a lacquered meal tray.
New Year’s hospitality being ever at the ready, service proceeded with practiced efficiency.

“By tradition,” declared Mr.Tsuda,
“you must commence with the auspicious spiced sake.”

He issued this decree with ceremonial gravity.

As the announcement was delayed, Mr.Kataoka—

“Even if I were to quit drinking now…”

he began to think,

"...there are bound to be visitors tomorrow and the day after, and beyond that looms the colossal beast called the New Year's banquet.
Of course his resolve was firm.
He wasn’t about to recant now.
This postponement was socially unavoidable.
There’s no need to shame Mrs.Tsuda first thing on New Year’s Day."

And then, since he had mustered his courage,

“Please have one.”

When urged by Mrs.Tsuda,
“I’m much obliged,”
he accepted without showing the slightest hint of discomfort.

Mr.Kataoka had been oppressed since morning by a heavy, armor-like mood, but now it lifted, leaving him completely at ease.
New Year’s Day finally felt like New Year’s Day.

If he thought it was only until the New Year’s banquet, he could devote himself to the New Year’s calls without any pangs of conscience, and so went on to visit three or four more houses. It was past ten at night when he finally took his leave from Mr. Sahara’s house.

“Shall I walk you to the tram stop?”

Mr. Sahara had said, though—

“No, I’m all right.”

And Mr. Kataoka answered.
The morning’s “all right” was a different sort of all right.

“At least let me walk you to that corner.”

And Mr. Sahara, feeling responsible, came along with him to the gate.

“No—truly, I’m fine.
“I’ll be expecting you tomorrow!
“Mr. Tsuda and Mr. Horikawa will also be coming.
“Thank you.”

After expressing his thanks, Mr. Kataoka began walking.
Surprisingly, his footsteps were steady, so Mr. Sahara retreated reassured.

When Mr. Kataoka drank too much, he would perform various antics.

“Excuse me, is it still quite a ways to that tram stop over there?”

A short while later, Mr.Kataoka, staggering drunkenly, asked a passerby—this was but the prelude.

“The tram stop is over there, you know.
Heading this way will only take you farther away.”

The passerby explained with a laugh.

“I don’t mind the distance.”

“But there’s no tram stop in this direction, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter if there isn’t.
Let’s go together.”

And Mr.Kataoka clung to him.

“That won’t do.
You’ll only get farther away.”

The kind person grabbed Mr.Kataoka, turned him toward the tram stop, and gave him a prod.

"You bastard! Just you wait!"

And though Mr.Kataoka was indignant,

“The distance doesn’t bother me, but this sprawling width of the road does me in.”

Even as he said this, he began turning back the way he’d come.

It was indeed a wide thoroughfare—wide enough, at any rate—with street trees planted on both sides.
Mr.Kataoka measured the road’s width by zigzagging between each tree, making it feel all the more expansive.
He felt he had walked quite a distance, yet the tram stop remained elusive.

“It’s wide beyond wide and far beyond far.”

He leaned against the railing along the street trees and decided to take a brief rest.

“Is something the matter?”

As a passerby approached him, Mr.Kataoka groaned.

“I can’t get out. No matter what I do, I can’t get out.”

“It’s not that you can’t get out.”

“No—no matter what, I can’t get out!”

And Mr. Kataoka let out a tearful voice—though he wasn't actually trapped anywhere.
He was gripping the railing and circling round and round a single tree from the outside in a square pattern.

“You’re quite drunk, aren’t you?”

And the passerby pulled Mr. Kataoka away from the railing,

“Where are you headed?”

“I’m going home.”

“Where is your home?”
“That’s none of your business!”

With that emphatic declaration, Mr.Kataoka began measuring the road width once more.
True to his nature, he gradually approached the tram stop.

"No matter what I do, I can't get through!"

When he muttered this and finally came to a halt, Mr.Kataoka found himself locked in a staring contest with a utility pole.
When Mr.Kataoka moved to the right, the utility pole shifted rightward.
When he tried to slip past from the left, it slid leftward again.

"Just how many are there anyway?"

As he sat on the ground gazing intently, drowsiness overtook him and he lay down.
Right beside him was a ditch.
Mr. Kataoka had nearly managed to reach it.
Fortunately, a police officer came around there and—

"Hey there!"

The police officer shook him awake.

“What?”
“None of your ‘whats’.”
“This is a public thoroughfare!”
“A thoroughfare?”

And Mr.Kataoka yawned.
It appeared he had been sleeping for quite a long time.

“Since the hour has grown quite late, please return home promptly.”

“……”

“You mustn’t sleep here any longer.
I’ll take you home.
Where is it?”

And the police officer tried to help Mr.Kataoka up.

“Akasaka.”

“That’s quite a distance. There are no trains running anymore. How about this? I’ll call a rickshaw for you, so please go home quietly.”

“I’m going home.”

And Mr. Kataoka fell right back asleep as he was.

On New Year's Day deep into the night, rickshaw drivers were not waiting for customers.
The police officer took some effort to rouse a rickshaw driver.
When they finally arrived at the scene after persuading the still-drunk, reluctant driver, Mr. Kataoka was snoring away in the ditch.

“Sir, I must decline this.
If he’s fallen into a ditch, that changes things entirely.”

And the rickshaw driver huffed and puffed.

"No—he hadn’t fallen in earlier. Just haul him up already."

And the police officer was at his wit's end.

“What a troublesome bastard.”

Clicking his tongue in irritation, the rickshaw driver hauled Mr. Kataoka up.
Mr. Kataoka had sneezed, so he wasn’t dead.

“I must beg to decline at this point.”

And the rickshaw driver tried to flee.

“Wait a moment—can’t we work something out?”

“Absolutely not.
He’s covered in ditch mud here—if my rickshaw gets soiled, it’ll interfere with tomorrow’s business.”

“Don’t you have a cart at your place?”

“There is one, but I haven’t fallen so low as to pull a cart yet.”

“Come now, somehow work out that part.
As you can see, he can’t even stand anymore. If we leave him here, he’ll freeze to death.”

As the police officer persisted in his earnest entreaties, even the rickshaw driver finally relented.

Before long, the cart arrived, and Mr. Kataoka, while being helped, crawled up onto it.

“It really stinks.”

“It reeks—this is an ink-black ditch after all,” said the police officer as he and the rickshaw driver wiped their hands on the hem of Mr. Kataoka’s coat.

“Sir, what part of Akasaka are we headed to?” asked the rickshaw driver.

When confirming the destination, they found the master coherent enough to pull New Year’s greeting cards from his pocket and scatter them about.

“I’ll leave this in your hands,” said the police officer to the rickshaw driver.

“My apologies,” said Mr. Kataoka, suddenly sitting upright on the cart.

“Still true to form, I see,” remarked the rickshaw driver.

The police officer, having mistaken this for gratitude toward his earlier kindness, swelled with satisfaction—while Mr. Kataoka,

"But at least let me drink until the New Year's banquet," he thought of his wife.

"Hmph—even in this state, he's still scheming to drink?"

With a laugh, the rickshaw driver lifted the cart. Jolted by the movement, Mr. Kataoka fell onto his back but immediately fell right back asleep as he was.

Around that time, Mrs.Kataoka and the maid were taking turns going out to the entrance and returning inside.
When her husband had not returned by evening, she concluded his abstinence had already been broken, but as there had been no word from him by ten or eleven o'clock, she grew uneasy.
Even so, initially,

“Kiyo, the master’s gone and fallen into another ditch again.”
“There’s no one who loves ditches as much as him, you know.”

She had made bold declarations while brushing off concerns.
From then until midnight,

“Kiyo, I’m beside myself with worry.
“Surely it’s not the palace moat or anything...”

Each time a car sounded, she went to check the gate.
When it neared one o’clock,

“To think he truly doesn’t understand people’s feelings at all...”

Mrs.Kataoka could no longer sit still or stand still.
She even began to wonder if it might be the Ōkawa River.

It was half past one.
The world fell into a profound silence.
No automobiles passed anymore.

“Madam… The master’s… on a cart…”

Suddenly, the maid called out from the gate.

“Hah!”

Mrs.Kataoka’s hands slipped from where they’d been resting on her knees.
At the same time,

“This is terrible!”

the rickshaw driver's voice called out.
Convinced he must have been run over by a train, she rushed out—only to find the protagonist stirring atop the cart.

“Is he injured?”

she asked in a terribly shrill voice.

“There are no injuries.
He was sleeping in the ditch.”

With that, the rickshaw driver gripped Mr.Kataoka by the collar.

“Well, it’s a relief.”

Mrs.Kataoka tried to help him down.

“Don’t touch him carelessly.
They’re crawling with sludge worms!”

The rickshaw driver flicked them off in disgust, but Mrs.Kataoka had never been happier that he had fallen into the ditch.

(Taisho 15 January, Omoshiro Club)