Pathway to Japanese Literature

16th. ………Evening: Went to see the evening performance at Shinjuku's First Theater. The program was Beyond Revenge. The Story of Hikoichi Sukeroku Yukari no Edo Zakura However, I had no interest in seeing the others; Sukeroku alone was my purpose. Kanya's Sukeroku left me unsatisfied, but hearing that Tossho would play Agemaki made me wonder how beautiful that might be—I found myself more drawn to Agemaki than to Sukeroku. I went with Baa-san and Satsuko. Jōkichi would also come directly from work. Those who knew the play Sukeroku were just me and Baa-san. Satsuko didn't know. As for Baa-san, whether she had ever seen Danjūrō's performances remained unclear—she had no memory of them. She said she had seen the previous generation's Hazaemon once or twice. I alone had seen Danjūrō's performances with clarity. That would have been around Meiji 30, when I was thirteen or fourteen. Danjūrō's Sukeroku was his last at that time; he died in Meiji 36. Agemaki was played by the previous Utaemon—at that time he was still called Fukusuke. Ikyū was Shikan, Fukusuke's father. During the time when my house stood in Honjo Warisui, I still haven't forgotten how they displayed at the storefront of that famous illustrated storybook shop in Ryogoku Hirokoji—what was it called... ah yes—a triptych nishiki-e print of Sukeroku, Ikyū, and Agemaki.

When I saw Hazaemon’s Sukeroku, I believe Ikyū was played by the previous Nakashira, Agemaki by none other than the former Fukusuke—who was Utaemon at the time. On an especially cold winter day, Hazaemon, despite having a fever nearing forty degrees, performed the mizuiri while trembling violently. Kanpera Monbee was notably performed by Nakamura Kankurō, who had been brought from Asakusa’s Miyato-za, and this left a strangely vivid impression on me. Anyway, I love the Sukeroku play so much that whenever I hear Sukeroku is being performed, I want to go see it even if it’s Kanya’s version. How much more so when one can see my beloved Tossho!

Kanya's Sukeroku was likely his debut in this role, but try as I might, I simply couldn't admire it. Nor was Kanya alone—every Sukeroku actor these days wears tights on their legs. At times the tights develop wrinkles. This completely destroys the atmosphere. I desperately want them to apply white powder to their bare legs instead. Tossho's Agemaki proved thoroughly satisfying. I felt this alone made the visit worthwhile. As for Utaemon from the Fukusuke era of yore—well, that's beyond my ken—but in recent years I've never seen such a beautiful Agemaki. Let me be clear: I have no interest in pederasty, yet lately I've inexplicably begun feeling sexual attraction toward young Kabuki female impersonators. Their real faces won't do either. It must be their cross-dressed stage personas—nothing else suffices. Yes yes, now that I think of it, I cannot absolutely deny harboring some pederastic tendencies.

When I was young, I had just one strange experience. In the past, there was a beautiful young female impersonator named Wakayama Chidori in the Shinpa theater. He belonged to Yamazaki Chōnosuke’s troupe and performed at Masago-za in Nakasu, but after growing somewhat older, he appeared at Miyato-za as the counterpart actor to the previous Arashi Yoshisaburō, who resembled the sixth generation’s facial features. Even though called old—he was still around thirty and quite beautiful—but upon seeing him, he gave the impression of a middle-aged woman, and I couldn’t perceive him as male at all. When he played the Ojō-san role in Kōyōsanjin’s *Natsu Kosode* during his Masago-za period, I found myself particularly captivated by her—no, by him. If somehow possible, I wanted to invite him one evening to the parlor, have him wear the same female attire he wore on stage, and try sleeping together even for a moment. When I jokingly mentioned such a thing, a certain teahouse proprietress offered to arrange it for me. And yet, contrary to my expectations, my wish was granted; we successfully shared a bed and even went through with the act, but there was no difference from when I’d done it with ordinary geisha through ordinary means. In short, he never let his partner sense that he was male until the very end; he had completely become a woman. Wearing his wig while lying on a boat-shaped pillow in the dark room’s bedding, dressed in yuzen-dyed undergarments—this was indeed an extraordinary technique he possessed, making it a truly strange experience. Let me be clear—he was not what one would call a Hermaphrodite; he was fully equipped with male organs. It was simply that his techniques prevented one from perceiving them.

However skillful those techniques may have been, they were fundamentally incompatible with my inclinations. I merely satisfied my curiosity once—and never again engaged in relations with my own sex. Yet now that I have reached seventy-seven years of age and lost all such capabilities, why do I find myself drawn not to male-attired beauties but to cross-dressed youths? Has the memory of Wakayama Chidori from my youth now resurfaced? That doesn’t seem to be the case. It seems more related instead to this old man’s sex life—which, though rendered impotent, still retains some form of sexual existence. ………

Today my hand grew tired. I’ll stop here.

July 17.

I’ll continue a bit more from where I left off yesterday. Though it was raining during the rainy season, last night turned unexpectedly hot. True, the theater had air conditioning—but that very air conditioning remains forbidden to me. Because of this, the nerve pain in my left hand intensified further, and the numbness in my skin sensation grew severe. Normally the affected area runs from wrist to fingertips, but now the pain stretched from above my wrist to the elbow joint—at times even surpassing the elbow to spread toward the shoulder region.

“Look at that now—that’s exactly why I told you not to come. There was no need for you to push through knowing full well how it would affect you and still come see it, was there?”

Baa-san said.

“Such a second-rate play.”

“No—it’s not like I said that. I can almost forget the pain just by looking at that Agemaki’s face.”

Scolded by Baa-san, I grew all the more obstinate. Despite this, the coldness in my hand grew increasingly severe. I was wearing a sheer summer haori over a Pola single-layer undergarment and sheer gauze underrobe, with my left hand encased in a mouse-gray knitted glove while clutching a platinum hand warmer wrapped in a handkerchief.

“But Tossho is truly beautiful.” “No wonder you’d say that, Grandpa.”

Satsuko said.

“You…” He began to say “you” but corrected himself, “You wouldn’t understand the appeal either.” Jōkichi said. “I can’t speak to their skill, but I do admire the beauty of their face and figure.” “Grandpa, won’t you come see tomorrow’s matinee?” “The Koharu from *Kawashō* is here again!” “If you want to see it, let’s make it tomorrow.” “It will only get hotter the longer we wait.”

To be honest, I had been thinking of abandoning plans to attend the matinee performance due to the overwhelming pain in my hand. Yet being admonished by Baa-san only made me grow more obstinate—I resolved to endure the agony and return for tomorrow's matinee instead. Satsuko had indeed swiftly discerned these feelings of mine. What gives Baa-san such a poor impression of Satsuko is how she disregards Baa-san in these situations while trying to accommodate my sentiments. She may well favor Tossho, though perhaps her true interest lies more with Jihei's dango.........

The "Kawashō" scene in today’s matinee began at 2:00 p.m. and ended around 3:20 p.m. Today was a scorcher, even hotter than yesterday. The heat inside the car was unbearable, but the air conditioning was undoubtedly set too high, making me worry about my hand pain. “Last night was fine since it was evening, but given the time now, we’re bound to hit traffic somewhere. We’ll have to cross the line connecting the American Embassy, National Diet Building, and Minami-daira at some point. With that in mind, please get ready to leave early,” the driver said. We reluctantly departed at one o'clock. Today, there were three of us; Jōkichi was absent.

Fortunately, we arrived without any major hindrance. Danjirō’s "Akutarō" hadn’t finished yet. Without watching that, we entered the cafeteria to rest. Since everyone was having drinks, I too ordered ice cream but was stopped by Baa-san. "Kawashō" features Koharu Tossho, Jihei Dango, Magosaburō Ennosuke, the wife Oshō Sōjūrō, Tahei Danno-suke, and others. I recalled when the previous Ganjirō had performed this at Shintomiza. At that time, Magosaburō had been Ennosuke's father Danjirō, and Koharu had been the previous Umehime. Jihei of the Dango’s desperate earnestness—his full exertion of effort—was undeniable, yet he strained too fiercely, his tension rendering him stiff to our eyes. Admittedly, given his youth, it had been unavoidable that he struggled with such a major role. Given his efforts, one could only pray for his future success. I thought it would have been better to choose an Edo-style performer for such a major role rather than one from Osaka. Tossho was beautiful today as well, yet I felt Agemaki’s side had been better. Later there was “Gonzo and Jūshichirō”—there was [Gonzo and Jūshichirō], but we left without watching it to the end.

“Since we’ve come this far, let’s stop by Isetan for a bit.” I said, anticipating Baa-san’s objection, “Are you going to turn on that air conditioning again? What will you do if we have to go home early in this heat?”

She indeed said.

“Just as I thought.”

And so saying, I showed her the ferrule of my snakewood walking stick, "This part has come off." "No matter what you say, walking stick ferrules never last long, do they?" "They always come off in two or three years." "If we go to Isetan's special sales floor, we'll likely find something there."

In truth, I had another slight consideration, but I didn't voice such things. "Mr. Nomura, would returning now still be all right?"

“Ah, I believe it will be all right.” According to the driver’s explanation, today’s demonstration by Zengakuren’s anti-mainstream faction would gather in Hibiya from two o’clock and mainly target areas around the National Diet Building and Metropolitan Police Department—he advised avoiding getting caught up in it. The gentlemen’s special sale section occupied the third floor, but unfortunately held no satisfactory walking sticks. Finding ourselves there regardless, we peeked into the second-floor ladies’ special sale section. The entire store throbbed with mid-year sale crowds. Sanma Italian Fashion’s display stood prominent—renowned designers’ haute couture garments steeped in Italian aesthetics adorned every surface. Satsuko—

“Oh, how gorgeous!” She kept exclaiming and showed no sign of moving. I bought Satsuko a Cardin silk neckerchief. It was about three thousand yen. “I want this so badly, but it’s too pricey—I just can’t reach for it.” And there, before an Austrian-made beige suede handbag with a clasp containing what appeared to be a sapphire imitation stone, Satsuko kept exclaiming in admiration. The list price was twenty-some thousand yen.

“Have Jōkichi buy it for you—it’s just that sort of thing.” “No use—he’s too stingy.”

Baa-san remained silent and said nothing.

“It’s already five o’clock, Granny. Why don’t we head out to Ginza for dinner and then go home?” “Where in Ginza?” “Let’s go to Hamazakura. I’ve been dying to have conger eel for days now—I just can’t stand it anymore.”

I had Satsuko call Hamazakura and had them reserve counter seats for three or four. Since we were going at six, I had her tell Jōkichi to come if he could make it. Nomura said the demonstration would continue late into the night—they would move from Kasumigaseki to Ginza and disband around ten—and that if we headed to Hamazakura now, we should return by eight without issue. However, he suggested taking a slight detour through Ichigaya Mitsuke to Kudan and exiting via Yaesu-guchi, which he believed would avoid any risk of encountering the protest. ………

The eighteenth.

Continuation of yesterday. We arrived at Hamazakura at six as planned. Jōkichi had arrived first. Baa-san, I, Satsuko, and Jōkichi sat down in that order. Jōkichi and his wife had beer; we were served coarse tea in tumblers. For starters, we had Tachikawa tofu, Jōkichi had edamame, and Satsuko had mozuku. I wanted salted whale with white miso dressing in addition to the Tachikawa tofu and ordered it as well. For sashimi: two servings of thinly sliced sea bream, two servings of conger eel with plum paste. The sea bream was for Baa-san and Jōkichi; the plum paste was for me and Satsuko. For the grilled dish, I alone had conger eel with liver sauce; the other three had salt-grilled sweetfish; the soup course for all four was Hayamatsu-style steamed dish in an earthen pot; additionally, there was eggplant grilled in snipe style.

“We could still have something more.” “You can’t be serious—is that really enough?” “There’s no lack of anything, but when I come here, I begin longing for Kansai things.” “There’s Guji no Ichi and salt here.” said Jōkichi. “Grandpa, won’t you have this?” In front of Satsuko, the conger eel remained completely untouched. She intended to make me eat the leftovers but had truly only eaten one or two pieces herself. To tell the truth, I too had anticipated that her leftovers would come around to me—or perhaps that was tonight’s purpose—I cannot say whether that is why I came here.

“This is a problem—I’ve already overeaten and finished my plum paste.”

“But there’s plum paste right here.”

As Satsuko passed me her own plum paste along with the conger eel, she said, “Shall I set aside just the plum paste separately?” “That won’t be necessary—this is quite enough,” I replied. Though she had eaten merely two pieces of the eel, the plum paste itself had been messily devoured. Her way of eating was unladylike. I wondered if even this wasn’t deliberate.

“Here, I’ve also prepared the ayu intestines.”

“Here, I’ve also prepared the ayu intestines,” said Baa-san. Baa-san was skilled at neatly deboning grilled ayu. She gathered the head, bones, and tail to one side of the plate and ate every last morsel of flesh like a cat licking its plate clean. And she had made it a habit to leave only the intestines for me. “I have mine as well,” said Satsuko. “I’m rather clumsy at eating fish properly—I can’t manage it as neatly as Granny does.”

The remnants of Satsuko’s ayu were indeed disgustingly messy. They had been scattered even more wantonly than the plum paste. I can’t help but see meaning in this too. During our mealtime chatter, Jōkichi mentioned he might have to go to Sapporo on business within two or three days. The stay would last a week, but he added they could join him if they wished. Satsuko said she’d considered seeing a Hokkaido summer but would skip it this time—she’d already made plans to go boxing with Haruhisa-san on the twentieth. Jōkichi simply acknowledged this and didn’t insist she come. Around seven-thirty, I returned home.

On the morning of the eighteenth, after Tsunesuke left for school and Jōkichi for work, I strolled in the garden and rested in the arbor. The arbor stood just over thirty meters away, but lately my legs had been growing more uncooperative each day—today it was even harder to walk than yesterday. During the rainy season, the humidity was high—that might be partly to blame—but last year’s rainy season hadn’t been like this. There was no pain or cold sensation like in my hand, but somehow a strange heaviness settled in, as if becoming paralyzed. The heaviness sometimes settled in my kneecaps, other times in the top of my foot or the sole, varying from day to day. The doctors’ opinions varied too. Some said traces of a minor cerebral hemorrhage from years past still remained, with slight changes in the brain centers affecting the legs; others claimed X-rays showed curvature in the cervical and lumbar vertebrae. To correct those vertebrae, they said one must lie on a sloped bed with one’s neck suspended upward, create a plaster corset for the lower back, and wear it for the time being. I simply couldn’t endure such constricting positions, so I put up with things as they were. However difficult walking became, I had to walk a little each day. If I didn’t walk, I’d been warned I might soon become truly unable to. At times I staggered so badly I might fall, so I used a winter bamboo cane—though usually Satsuko or the nurse or someone accompanied me. That morning, it was Satsuko.

“Satsuko, here.” While resting in the arbor, I took out a neatly bundled wad of bills from my sleeve and made her grasp it in her hand.

“What’s this?” “There’s twenty-five thousand yen here. Use it to buy yesterday’s handbag.” “Thank you ever so much.”

Satsuko hurriedly threw the bundle of bills inside her blouse. "But if you carry that around—she'll realize I bought it for you—don't you think Baa-san will notice?" "Granny didn't see anything back then—she was too busy stomping off ahead." I too had thought that must be the case.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The nineteenth.

Despite it being Sunday, Jōkichi departed from Haneda in the afternoon. Satsuko also set out for Hirumande right after. Because Satsuko’s driving was dangerous, the family members rarely rode with her. Naturally, it had become hers exclusively. She was not going to see off her husband. She was going to see Alain Delon’s *Taiyō ga Ippai* at the Scala-za. She was probably with Haruhisa today as well. Tsunesuke was left all alone at home, looking forlorn. Today Rikuko was bringing the children from Tsujidō, and he seemed to be looking forward to it.

Past one o'clock in the afternoon, Dr.Sugita came for an examination. This was because I had been in too much pain—Nurse Sasaki had grown concerned and called him regardless. According to the diagnosis from Tōdai Kajiwara Internal Medicine, the lesions in my brain centers had mostly healed by then. They insisted the lingering pain wasn’t due to any cerebral condition but rather served as proof it had shifted toward a rheumatic nature or transformed into something resembling nerve pain. On Dr.Sugita’s advice, they said I ought to see an orthopedic surgeon—apparently the X-rays taken days earlier at Toranomon Hospital showed shadows near my cervical spine, and given how severe the hand pain was, they warned it might even be cancer depending on the case, making me undergo tomography of the cervical vertebrae too. Fortunately it wasn’t cancer, but they claimed my sixth and seventh cervical vertebrae were deformed. The lumbar vertebrae were also misshapen, though not as badly as the neck. Since this deformity was causing both pain and paralysis in my hand, their proposed treatment involved constructing a smooth board with pulleys beneath it angled at thirty degrees—I’d lie on this contraption fifteen minutes each morning and evening initially, then insert my neck into a Glisson’s sling (a neck suspension device custom-made by medical suppliers to my measurements) so my own body weight would stretch the cervical spine. The plan was to gradually increase session durations over two or three months for improvement. In this sweltering heat I’d no desire for such rigmarole, but with no alternatives Dr.Sugita pressed me to try anyway. Uncertain of its efficacy, I agreed to have carpenters build the sliding board and pulley system while summoning medical equipment suppliers to measure my neck.

Around two o'clock, Rikuko came. She came with two children. The eldest son apparently went out for baseball or something and didn’t come. Akiko and Natsuji seemed to have immediately gone to Tsunesuke’s room. The three of them apparently planned to go to the zoo. Rikuko gave me a brief greeting and was deep in conversation with Baa-san in the tearoom about something. It was nothing out of the ordinary—just the usual state of affairs.

Because there was nothing else to write about today, I tried jotting down a few things weighing on my mind at such times. When one grows old—though perhaps this comes to everyone—lately there hasn’t been a single day when I don’t contemplate my own death. Yet in my case, this is no recent development. It began long ago, from around my twenties perhaps, but has grown especially pronounced of late. "I wonder if I’ll die today," I find myself thinking two or three times daily. This doesn’t necessarily come with fear. In my youth, it carried an overwhelming terror, but now that dread has lightened somewhat. Instead, I fantasize in meticulous detail about the moment of my death and the scenes that would follow. The farewell ceremony wouldn’t be held at places like Aoyama Funeral Hall—instead, my coffin would rest in the ten-mat room facing this house’s garden. That way, mourners could conveniently enter through the main gate, pass the middle gate, and approach along the stepping stones to offer incense. Though having instruments like shō and hichiriki played would prove bothersome, I’d have someone like Kiyokoto Tomiyama perform "Zangetsu" for me.

The pine on the shore hidden by leaves, O light—quickly awaken from this dreamlike world to Suchness's radiant clarity—and dwell in the lunar capital. ……… It felt as though I could hear Kiyokoto singing in her voice—though I should have already been dead, even in death her song seemed to reach me. Baa-san's weeping echoed through. Though Goko and Rikuko had always clashed with me—our tempers never matching—now they too wailed aloud. Satsuko would likely keep her composure. Or might she surprise us with tears? Would she at least feign some imitation of grief? What visage would death grant me? Let it retain this plumpness—just enough. Let it bear a trace of spiteful dignity.

………

“Grandpa, ………”

Just as I had written this far, Baa-san suddenly entered with Rikuko in tow.

“Rikuko says she has some request for Grandpa.” Rikuko’s request was as follows. Their eldest son Chikara—though still only a sophomore in university—had found a girlfriend and asked permission to marry her, which they granted. However, feeling uneasy about letting the young couple live separately in an apartment, they decided to keep them close until Chikara graduated and found employment. This meant their current house in Tsujidō would become too cramped. Even before this arrangement, Rikuko and her husband already struggled with space due to their three children. With a bride joining them eventually—and likely a baby soon after—they wanted to move to a slightly larger modern-style house. A suitable property had come up for sale five or six blocks away in Tsujidō itself, but they were short by two or three million yen. While they could manage about a million yen themselves anything beyond that was currently impossible. Of course she wasn’t outright asking “Please have Grandpa cover that amount.” They intended to borrow from the bank but hoped he could assist with just the interest—around ¥20,000—for now. They promised repayment within the coming year.

“You must have some stocks, right? Couldn’t they sell those?” “If we sell that, that’s exactly what would leave us penniless!” “That’s precisely why it’s better not to touch that one.” Then Baa-san threw her a lifeline. “Well, we’ve kept that aside for emergencies or whatever may come.” “What nonsense are you spouting? Your husband’s still in his forties!” “How can someone your age be so spineless and still get by?”

“Rikuko has never once brought such matters to us since marrying into this family.” “This is her first request of this sort.” “Why not at least agree to hear her out?” “Even if we call it twenty thousand yen, what happens when three months pass and you can’t pay the interest?” “Well, we’ll deal with that when the time comes.” “Then there’d be no end to it—that’s precisely the problem.” “Mr. Hokoda insists he won’t cause you any trouble—he says if we delay any longer it’ll be sold off, so he wants temporary assistance.”

“Can’t you handle something like the interest money yourself, old woman?” “How cruel of you to make me pay for something like that! You’re buying Hiruman for Satsuko and giving them to her, yet…!”

Being told that struck home, and I resolved to refuse her outright. Instead, my mind felt refreshed. “Well, let’s leave it at that for now.” “Can’t we get your answer today?” “Lately there’s been all sorts of expenses piling up.” Grumbling all the while, the two left. In mid-flow, an interruption barged in and broke my momentum. I decided to return briefly to that earlier matter. Until around my fifties, the premonition of death had been more terrifying than anything, but now there was no such fear left. Could it be said I’d already grown weary of life? I felt prepared to die at any moment. When they took those tomography scans at Toranomon Hospital the other day and mentioned it might be cancer, Baa-san and the nurse attending me seemed to lose color in their faces—yet I remained completely unfazed. That I could stay so composed even then came as a surprise. Was my long life finally drawing to a close here? I felt something akin to relief. Thus I harbored no attachment to living itself—yet so long as breath remained in me, I found myself helplessly drawn to women. This sensation would persist until death’s very instant, I imagined. Though lacking the virility of a Hisanosuke Kuhara—that man who supposedly sired children even at ninety-two—and being now wholly impotent, I could still apprehend sexuality’s allure through various warped, indirect means. In my present state, it seemed I sustained myself through these twin pleasures—the carnal and the culinary. This inner landscape of mine—Satsuko alone appeared to grasp its shadowy contours. Within this household, she alone understood. Not another soul knew.

Satsuko seemed to be testing things through increasingly indirect methods and observing the reactions.

I know full well that I am a wrinkled, crumpled old man even to myself. When I take out my dentures at night before bed and look in the mirror, I make such a peculiar face. In both my upper and lower jaws, there remains not a single tooth of my own. Nor are there any gums. When I close my mouth, my upper and lower lips press together flatly, and above them, my nose droops down until it nearly reaches my chin. I cannot help but be appalled—is this truly my face? Humans are foolish—even monkeys don’t make such hideous faces. There’s no reason for me to entertain such foolish thoughts as expecting women to like me with this face. To compensate, I undoubtedly recognize myself as an utterly unqualified old man through my own eyes—and precisely because the world believes this perception keeps them at ease, that becomes their blind spot. Even though I have neither the qualification nor the ability to take advantage of their blind spot, I can safely approach a beauty. Since I lack ability myself, I can instead incite a beautiful woman to a handsome man, stir up domestic discord, and take pleasure in it………

20th. ………Jōkichi no longer seemed to love Satsuko so much these days. It might have been that his affection gradually cooled after she gave birth to Tsunesuke. For one thing, he had many business trips, and even when in Tokyo attended so many banquets that he returned home late at night. I didn’t know whether there might be someone else involved—that point remained uncertain. Nowadays, work appeared to interest him more than women—so much so that he couldn’t bear to be without it. There had even been a time in the past when they were quite passionate, but this current disinterest might have been something inherited from his parents.

Because I adhered to a laissez-faire policy, I had refrained from interfering, but Baa-san had opposed the marriage to Satsuko. She was said to have been a dancer for N.D.T., though her time at the Nichigeki Theatre lasted barely half a year in reality; what she did afterward—it seemed she had been around Asakusa, and apparently frequented some nightclub as well. “Don’t you do toe dancing?”

When I asked,

“I don’t do toe dancing. “I thought about becoming a ballerina and took ballet lessons for a year or two, so I could stand on my toes a little, but who knows if I can still do it now.” That’s the sort of conversation we had. “After going to all that trouble to learn it so thoroughly, why did you quit?” “Because, you see, your feet get all deformed and turn hideous.” “So you quit because of that, huh?” “I don’t want my feet getting all deformed like that!”

“How bad does it get?” “How bad does it get? It’s absolutely terrible! All my toes get covered in calluses, they swell up, and my nails end up all gone!”

“Aren’t your feet beautiful now?”

"The truth is, they were even more beautiful before." "Those calluses from toe dancing made them completely grimy—after quitting, I tried desperately to restore them by scrubbing daily with pumice stones and files and whatnot." "But they still haven’t returned to how they were." "Come now—let me see."

Sure enough, I seized the opportunity to touch her bare feet. She stretched both legs out on the sofa and took off her nylon socks to show me. I placed her feet on my knees and grasped each of the five toes one by one. "When I touch them, they’re so soft—you don’t seem to have any calluses at all." “Examine them more thoroughly.” “Press there firmly.”

“Ah, here?”

“Right? They still haven’t fully recovered. Ballerinas—when you consider their feet—it’s not something meant to be looked at.” “Does Lepeshinskaya have feet like that too?” “Of course! During practice sessions—how many times did blood come streaming from my shoes? It wasn’t just my feet either—the calves here lost all their softness and grew these rugged laborer’s muscles. My chest flattened out—my breasts practically disappeared—and my shoulder muscles hardened completely like a man’s! Even if I somewhat resemble stage dancers now…I wasn’t fortunate enough to become one properly.”

It was certain that what had captivated Jōkichi about her lay in her figure; though she never properly graduated from school, she did not seem unintelligent. Because she hated losing, since entering this household she had studied until she could now speak broken French and English. On one hand, she drove cars with gusto and loved boxing; yet paradoxically, she had developed a fondness for flower arrangement. The son-in-law of Kyoto’s Issōtei would come to Tokyo twice a week bringing various rare flowers to teach her, and under his guidance, she was learning the art of refined elegance. Today in my room, striped susuki, sambakusou, and awamori grass were arranged in a celadon water basin. Incidentally, the scroll was by Nagao Uzan.

柳絮飛来客末還 鶯花寂莫夢空残 十千沽得京華酒

春雨闌干看牡丹

The 26th. Apparently having overeaten cold tofu last night proved unwise—from midnight onward I endured distress and suffered two or three bouts of diarrhea. I swallowed three Entero-vioform tablets, yet it still hadn’t ceased. Today passed with me alternately lying down and rising up.

The 29th.

In the afternoon, I took Satsuko for a drive toward the Meiji Shrine area. I had been waiting for an opportunity to slip out alone, but since I ended up bringing myself along and the nurse tagged right after us, there was no fun in it at all. We returned home in less than an hour, hurriedly………

The 2nd. My blood pressure had been rising again over the past few days. This morning it was 180—110. Pulse 100. Persuaded by the nurse, I took two Pasil tablets and three Adalin tablets. The coldness in my hand and the pain had grown severe again. Even when the pain became quite severe, I rarely complained of being unable to sleep; yet last night, I awoke in the middle of the night and, finding it unbearable, had Nurse Sasaki get up to give me a Nobron injection. Nobron did relieve the pain effectively enough, but the aftereffect left me feeling unwell.

“Since the corset and sliding board have been prepared, would you care to steel yourself and try them out?”

My mind wasn't settled, but given this condition, I even felt inclined to try it out experimentally.

The 3rd.

………I experimentally tried fitting the neck corset on. It was made of plaster, constructed to push up the chin from the neck. Even when fitted, it didn’t hurt, but I couldn’t move my neck at all. I couldn’t turn my head to the right, to the left, or downward. I had no choice but to keep staring rigidly straight ahead.

“It’s exactly like a torture device from hell.”

Because it was Sunday, Jōkichi, Tsunesuke, Baa-san, and Satsuko had all gathered together to observe. “Oh Grandpa, how pitiable!” “How much longer do you plan to keep looking like that?” “How many days do you think you can endure this?” “Wouldn’t you be better off stopping? It’s too cruel for someone your age.” I could hear everyone around me chattering noisily. Because I couldn’t turn around, I couldn’t see their faces. In the end, I decided to abandon the corset and resolved to lie on the sliding board and undergo only cervical traction. It was what they called the Grinson-style Schlinge. At first, fifteen minutes each in the morning and evening. Since this only used a softer cloth than the corset to lift my chin, it wasn’t as constricting—yet being unable to move my neck remained unchanged, leaving me staring fixedly at the ceiling.

“Yes, fifteen minutes have passed.”

The nurse said while looking at her wristwatch. “The end of the first session.” Tsunesuke said that and dashed down the hallway.

The 10th. It had been one week since I had started the traction. During that time, they had extended each session from fifteen to twenty minutes and steepened the sliding board’s incline to pull my chin upward even more. Yet there had been no sign of improvement whatsoever. The pain in my hand remained unchanged. According to Nurse Sasaki’s opinion, it might prove ineffective unless continued for two or three months. I could not muster such endurance. In the evening, everyone gathered to discuss. “Since this therapy is too much for an old man,” Satsuko said, “let’s at least suspend it during summer’s peak and consider alternatives instead. I heard from a foreigner about an American pharmacy medicine called Dorsin for nerve pain—it won’t cure it completely, but taking three or four tablets three or four times daily will surely relieve the pain. They say its efficacy is certain—I bought some already—why not try it?”

“How about having Mr. Suzuki in Denenchofu perform acupuncture on you? Since we don’t know whether acupuncture will cure it, let’s try asking him,” Baa-san said. Baa-san was on the phone talking for a long time. Mr. Suzuki said that due to being extremely busy, he would prefer that I come to his residence; however, in the case of house calls, he would like to limit them to three times per week. He stated that without examining me he could not be certain, but based on the description of my condition, he believed it could likely be cured, though it might take two or three months. I had previously been treated by Mr. Suzuki several years ago when I was troubled by persistent extrasystoles that wouldn’t stop no matter what, and when I had suffered from dizziness. Therefore, this time as well, I decided to request his visits starting next week.

I was always of healthy constitution. From youth until reaching sixty-three or sixty-four, apart from one week's hospitalization for perianal abscess surgery, I never experienced any illness worth the name. At sixty-three or sixty-four came hypertension warnings; at sixty-seven or sixty-eight, a month abed from minor cerebral hemorrhage—yet never knew physical pain. Only after celebrating my seventy-seventh year (kiju) did I come to know it. First from left hand to elbow, then elbow to shoulder, next from feet to thighs—both legs—until daily I lost coordinated movement. People must think there's no joy in such living—sometimes I think so too—whether this counts as happiness I can't say, yet strangely my appetite, sleep, and bowels remain fully satisfied. Alcohol, stimulants, and salt are forbidden me, but my appetite surpasses normal men's. So long as not excessive, beefsteak or eel pose no problem—I eat anything deliciously. Sleep I get excessively—nine or ten hours daily with naps included. Bowels move twice each day. Hence frequent urination—rising two or three times nightly—yet never lie wakeful afterward. Piss half-asleep then sink straight back into slumber. Hand-pain sometimes wakes me, but mostly doze through thinking "it hurts" before sleeping again. When pain grows severe, they inject NovoBron and I sleep at once. This regimen lets me live till now. Without it, I'd have died long since.

“While going on about your hand hurting and not being able to walk, you’re still thoroughly enjoying life, aren’t you?” “The pain is just a lie, isn’t it?”

There are those who say such things, but it is no lie. There are times when the pain becomes severe and times when it does not; it does not persist in a fixed state, and there are also moments when I feel no pain at all. It seems to vary depending on the weather and humidity.

It was strange, but even when in pain, I felt sexual desire. To put it more precisely, I felt it more intensely when suffering—though whether this phrasing captured the truth, I couldn't say. Or perhaps I should phrase it differently: that I felt greater attraction toward those members of the opposite sex who subjected me to painful experiences—that they drew me in more powerfully. This too might be called a form of masochistic tendency. I don't recall harboring such inclinations in my youth, but upon reaching old age, they had distinctly taken root within me.

Suppose there were two members of the opposite sex here who were equally beautiful and equally suited to my taste. Let us say there was A, who was kind, honest, and considerate, and B, who was unkind, a liar, and skilled at deceiving people. If asked which I would find more compelling in such a case, I must confess that of late I felt myself drawn more to B than to A. However, B could not be even slightly inferior to A in beauty. When speaking of beauty—since I have my own particular preferences—various aspects of face and form must align with them. I detested faces with long, overly prominent noses. Above all, her legs needed to be pale and delicately formed. When their other charms proved equally matched, I became all the more captivated by the woman of wicked disposition. There existed women whose faces occasionally revealed a certain cruelty—these I cherished above all others. When I beheld such a countenance, I imagined not merely a cruel visage but a cruel nature beneath it—nay, I actively wished it to be so. This quality had resided in the stage face of Sawamura Gennosuke in days of old. It lingered in Simone Signoret's features as the schoolmistress from that French film *Les Diaboliques*, and in Enka Yoko's much-discussed face of late. Though these women might in truth be paragons of virtue for all I knew—were they truly wicked creatures, even if cohabitation proved impossible—how blissful I imagined it would be merely to dwell near them, to draw close......

The twelfth. ………Even a woman of wicked character must not have her wickedness show too blatantly. If she is wicked, then being as intelligent as she is wicked becomes an essential condition. There must be limits to wickedness—traits like kleptomania or murderous tendencies pose problems—yet one cannot dismiss them outright. Even knowing this woman's deceitful nature, I find myself all the more intrigued by that very quality; fully aware of her duplicity, I form connections while feeling powerless to resist their temptation.

Among my university classmates was a Bachelor of Laws named Yamada Shimei. He had worked at Osaka City Hall but died young; his father had been an old-style lawyer or legal advocate who served as defense counsel for Takahashi Oden in the early Meiji period. It seems he often spoke to his son Shimei about Oden’s beauty—whether he called her “alluring” or “sensual,” I cannot say, but I have never seen such a bewitching woman in all my days. A femme fatale must be precisely what one would call her kind. Though I thought being killed by such a woman might not be so bad, Shimei’s father would apparently grab his son and speak fervently time and again, overcome with feeling. Since there is nothing particularly remarkable about my continuing to live on like this, were a woman like Oden to appear in this day and age, I might find greater happiness being killed by her hands instead. Rather than enduring this half-alive, half-dead pain in my limbs while clinging to life, I also find myself wanting to experience being killed in a way others would deem cruel.

The reason I love Satsuko—is it because I sense some phantom within her? She has a touch of malice about her. A hint of sarcasm too. And just a dash of deceitfulness. She maintains poor relations with her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. Her affection toward children runs thin. When she first married into our family, she wasn't nearly so pronounced in these traits—yet over these past three or four years, she's grown conspicuously into this mold. This transformation bears traces of my own provocation; I cannot deny having conditioned her thus to some degree. Her nature isn't inherently wicked through and through. Even now her core remains likely virtuous—yet somehow she's cultivated an affectation of vice and wears it like a badge of pride. She must have discerned how such conduct gratifies this old man's peculiar tastes. For reasons beyond my own understanding, I lavish more affection upon her than upon my own flesh-and-blood daughters—nay, I positively detest seeing her fraternize with them cordially. The crueler she behaves toward them, the more powerfully she enthralls me. This psychological state has only recently taken hold yet grows daily more extreme in its manifestations. Could enduring physical suffering while being denied normal carnal pleasures so contort the fundamental nature of man? If such be the case—well then—that explains the recent uproar within our household...

Tsunesuke had already turned seven and become a first grader, yet no more children had been born after him. This suspicion that Satsuko was employing unnatural methods to prevent childbirth—Baa-san harbored it, convinced it seemed all too likely. I too suspected this might well be true deep down; yet before Baa-san, I denied there being any such thing. Baa-san, unable to contain herself, had repeatedly brought the matter up with Jōkichi;

“There’s no such thing.”

Jōkichi laughed it off and refused to engage. “It’s definitely like that—I know full well.” “Ha ha ha ha! Then why don’t you ask Satsuko yourself?” “Is there anyone laughing here? “This is a serious matter. “You’re being too soft on Satsuko—that’s why she’s walking all over you.”

Finally pressed into summoning Satsuko, Jōkichi brought matters to where she had to explain herself to Baa-san. Now and then, Satsuko’s shrill voice leaked through. They had been arguing for about an hour when finally, “Grandpa, could you please come and settle things?” Baa-san came to call me. However, I ended up not going, so I don’t know the exact details, but from what I later heard, Baa-san made too many cutting remarks, which provoked Satsuko to counterattack.

“I do not care for children all that much.” Or… “Even though they say radioactive fallout is raining down, what good does having so many children do?” She said something to that effect. “Even *I’m* losing ground here—don’t you disrespectfully call my son ‘Jōkichi’ behind my back? And Jōkichi calls you ‘you’ to your face here but ‘dear’ in front of others—all because *you’ve* made him say it that way!” The argument veered off into some wild tangent until it became impossible to resolve. When things grew too heated, both Baa-san and Satsuko stood their ground, leaving Jōkichi unable to intervene.

“If you dislike me this much, why don’t you just let me move out right away?” “Hey you—shouldn’t we do exactly that?”

When told that, Baa-san couldn't find a retort. There was absolutely no way I would permit such a thing—both Baa-san and Satsuko knew this well. "Why don't you leave Grandpa's care to you, old woman, and Ms. Sasaki? Hey you, let's do just that." Seeing Baa-san thoroughly cowed, Satsuko pressed her advantage. And so the matter was settled. If I'd seen it myself, how amusing it would have been—I later regretted missing the spectacle.

“The rainy season must have ended by now, don’t you think?” Then today too, Baa-san came in. The recent quarrel still lingered in my mind, leaving me more withered than usual. “Considering everything, hasn’t there been remarkably little rain this year?”

“The herb market has already begun today.” “That reminded me—what about your grave arrangements?”

“There’s no need to rush.” “As I’ve said before, I don’t want my grave in a Tokyo cemetery.” “I may be an Edokko, but I don’t care for present-day Tokyo.” “If they build a grave in Tokyo, you never know when, under what circumstances, they might make you move it somewhere else.” “Tama Cemetery doesn’t feel like Tokyo at all.” “I don’t want to be buried in a place like that.” “I’m well aware of that, but even if you do choose Kyoto, hadn’t you said we should decide by next month’s Daimonji?”

“There’s still a whole month left—no need to rush.” “We could have Jōkichi go instead.” “Is it acceptable if you don’t inspect it yourself?” “In this heat, with this body of mine, I can’t possibly go.” “Let’s postpone it until Higan.”

My wife and I had our Buddhist posthumous names conferred two or three years ago. My posthumous name is Takumyōin Yūkan Nissō Koji, and Baa-san’s is Seikan Myōkō Nisshun Daishi, but I dislike the Nichiren sect, so I’m thinking of switching to either Pure Land or Tendai Buddhism. The main reason I dislike the Nichiren sect is that on our Buddhist altar sits a statue of Nichiren Shōnin resembling a clay doll with a cotton cap on its head—one I’m made to worship. If possible, I want to be buried around Hōnen-in Temple or Shinnyo-dō in Kyoto.

“I’m home.” With that, Satsuko entered. It was around five in the afternoon. Having unexpectedly encountered Baa-san, she made an absurdly polite bow. Baa-san vanished instantly from view.

“You weren’t around this morning—where did you go?” “I went around shopping here and there; had lunch with Haruhisa at a hotel grill; got my clothes fitted at Étranger; then met up with Haruhisa again to watch ‘Black Orpheus’ at Yūrakuza…”

“Your right arm’s gotten awfully sunburned, hasn’t it?” “This is from driving to Zushi yesterday.” “So you were with Haruhisa after all, weren’t you?” “Oh well, Mr. Haruhisa was no good, so I ended up having to drive both ways myself.” “When only one spot on you gets burned like that, the pale part around it really stands out.” “Because the steering wheel’s on the right side here—when you drive around all day like that—this happens.” “Your face looks a bit flushed—seems like you’re excited, doesn’t it?”

"Perhaps not. I may not be excited, but Breno Mello was quite good."

“What’s that supposed to be, huh?” “The Black man who stars in ‘Black Orpheus’. It’s a film based on the Orpheus legend from Greek mythology, made with Black people during Rio de Janeiro’s Carnival as the leads. They used nothing but Black actors in it.” “Is that really so great, huh?” “Breno Mello started out as a soccer player—they say he’s just an amateur. In the movie, he plays a streetcar driver. While driving, he occasionally winks at girls on the street. That wink of his is so devilishly charming!”

“You watching it doesn’t make it look interesting.” “Would you watch it for me?” “Will you take me along again too?” “If I accompany you, would you watch it?” “Uh-huh.” “Oh, as many times as you like. Well, you see—when I see that face, it reminds me of Reo Espinoza, whom I used to favor long ago.” “Another strange name has come up, hasn’t it?” “Espinoza is a Filipino boxer who’s even fought in Flyweight World Championship title matches, you know. He is indeed Black, and while Breno Mello isn’t as handsome, there’s something about him that feels similar. The way he winks feels especially similar, you know. Espinoza is still around now, but he’s not as good as he used to be. He was truly splendid back then. I ended up remembering that, you know.”

“I’ve only seen boxing once.” When Baa-san and the nurse came to inform us it was time for cervical traction, Satsuko began speaking with even more exaggerated mockery in her tone. “Espinoza is a Black man from Cebu Island who specializes in left straights. His left arm shoots straight out to strike the opponent, then snaps right back. That ‘swish-swish’ speed when he retracts his extended arm—that’s exactly how you’d describe it. Swish, swish—it’s truly beautiful. He’d make these sharp ‘tsk-tsk’ noises with his mouth during attacks. When an opponent throws a straight punch, most boxers weave their upper body right or left—but Espinoza arches his torso straight backward. His body gives this strangely flexible impression, you see.”

“Hah! You favor Haruhisa because his dark skin resembles a Black person’s, don’t you?” “Mr. Haruhisa has plenty of chest hair, but Black people have little body hair, you know.” “Because of that, when they sweat all over, their skin glistens sleekly and becomes incredibly attractive, you know.” “I’ll definitely drag you along to boxing once, Grandpa!” “There aren’t many handsome men among boxers, I imagine.”

“There are many people with broken noses, you know.”

“Which do you think is better—wrestling or boxing?” “Wrestling is probably second-rate—they end up senselessly drenched in blood and such, but there’s a lack of real seriousness, you know.” “But boxing makes you bleed too, doesn’t it?” “Oh, that absolutely happens, you know.” "When someone gets punched in the mouth and ends up covered in blood, their mouthguard splits into three pieces and goes flying off, you know." “But unlike wrestling where they don’t mean to do it, there isn’t nearly as much blood gushing out.” “They call it headbutting—there are plenty of cases where heads smash into some part of the opponent’s face.” “And then there’s when eyelids get sliced open.”

“Would the Young Mistress go to see such things?” And then, Sasaki interjected. Baa-san had been standing frozen in astonishment since earlier. She still looked about to bolt at any moment.

“It’s not just me—plenty of women come to watch.”

“If it were me, I’d faint on the spot.” “When I see blood, I get somewhat excited, you know.” “That’s also delightful, you know.” I began to feel severe pain in my left hand midway through this conversation. And yet, I began to feel an irresistible pleasure in the pain. When I saw Satsuko’s spiteful face, the pain grew more intense, and the pleasure grew more intense………

2

The seventeenth. Last night, no sooner had the Obon sending-off fires been lit than Satsuko departed. She said she would take the late-night express to Kyoto to see the Gion Festival. It must have been grueling in this heat, but Haruhisa had been there since yesterday to film the festival. The TV crew was staying at Kyoto Hotel; Satsuko claimed she would lodge at Nanzenji and return on Wednesday the 20th. Since Goko wasn’t supposed to go to Tomaku, they would simply have to arrange lodging at Dōsehon………

“When will we be going to Karuizawa?” “Because it will be noisy when the children come, it would be better to go earlier.”

And then, Baa-san said. “The twentieth marks the start of Doyō, you know.” “What shall we do this year?―――Staying as long as we did last time would grow tedious, I suppose.” “On the twenty-fifth, I’ve actually made arrangements with Satsuko.” “There’s an All Japan Flyweight Title Match at Kōrakuen Gym.”

“You know the saying ‘old folks and cold water’—you shouldn’t go traipsing off to such places unless you mean to get hurt.”

The twenty-third.

………The reason I keep a diary lies in finding interest in the very act of writing itself. This exists for no one's reading.

Because my eyesight had deteriorated terribly and I could no longer read as much as I wished - with no other means left to pass the time - I found myself inclined to write even if just to kill idle hours. I wrote with a brush in large characters so they might be easily read. Since having others read this would prove troublesome indeed,I kept these writings stored within portable safes. The safes had already accumulated some five strongboxes. At times I thought burning them might have been preferable,yet leaving them behind seemed no great evil either. When occasionally taking out old diaries,I was shocked by how thoroughly forgotten their contents had become. Events from one year prior felt like fresh revelations each time they surfaced - an endless fascination showing no sign of abating.

Last summer, while I was away in Karuizawa, they had the bedroom, bathroom, and toilet remodeled. Even if I say I've forgotten a lot, I remember this well. However, when I flipped through last year’s diary, the account of this event lacked detailed description. Today, the need arose to record this matter in some detail, so I set it down here once more.

Until last summer, we had slept in the same Japanese-style room with our pillows aligned side by side, but last summer they floored the tatami room with boards and installed two beds. One became my bed, while Nurse Sasaki came to use the other. Though Baa-san had occasionally slept alone in the tea room even before this, after switching to beds we began sleeping completely apart. I keep early hours while Baa-san stays up late and sleeps in. I favor Western-style toilets, but Baa-san insists she can't manage without a Japanese-style one. These arrangements also accounted for various conveniences for doctors and nurses. Accordingly, we converted our private toilet adjacent to the bedroom's right side into my personal Western-style facility, hollowing out the partition wall between bedroom and toilet to create direct access without using the corridor. The bathroom lies to the bedroom's left. This too underwent major renovations last year—tiling everything from the bathtub onward and installing a shower system—all done per Satsuko's specifications. They also created direct access between bathroom and bedroom, though designed to be lockable from inside the bathroom when needed.

To continue my account: to the right of the toilet was my study (this room too had direct access), and to its right was the nurse’s room. The nurse slept in the bed next to mine only at night; during the day, she usually stayed in her own room. Baa-san stayed withdrawn in the tea room beyond the corridor bend both day and night, listening to the television or radio nearly the entire day. If there was no reason to, she rarely came out. The bedroom and living quarters of Jōkichi, his wife, and Tsunesuke were on the second floor. There was also one guest bedroom attached to the main bedroom. The young couple's living room appeared rather lavishly decorated, but since the staircase had a spiral design midway up, I with my unsteady legs had only managed to climb it on rare occasions.

When renovating the bathroom, there had been a slight conflict. Baa-san had maintained her doctrine that bathtubs must remain wooden—arguing tile would chill too easily and render winters intolerable—yet this too was changed to tile per Satsuko's suggestion (though we concealed from Baa-san that it originated from Satsuko). Yet this proved a failure.—No, perhaps ultimately a success. —For when tiles grew wet, they turned treacherously slick, rendering them perilously unsafe for elderly users. Baa-san too had fallen spectacularly in the washing area. I myself had been stretching my legs in the tub when attempting to rise abruptly—placing my hand on the bathroom's edge only to slip helplessly. With my left hand useless, such moments become truly inconvenient. We'd laid makeshift wooden boards across the washing area, but nothing could be done about the bathtub itself.

Now, last night, such a thing occurred. Nurse Sasaki had children, so once or twice a month she would stay overnight at the home of relatives who looked after them to see her children. She would leave in the evening, stay overnight, and return the following morning. As for what to do on nights when Sasaki was absent, it had been arranged that Baa-san would sleep in Sasaki’s bed in her stead. I had a habit of going to bed by ten; I would take a bath right before sleeping and enter the bedroom immediately after. However, regarding assistance with bathing, since Baa-san had fallen, she no longer helped; thus, it was Satsuko or the maid who assisted me, but they did not help as skillfully and kindly as Nurse Sasaki. Satsuko made an impressive show of preparing, but since she merely watched from a distance, she didn’t actually do anything properly. Using a sponge to give my back a quick rinse was about the best she could manage. When I got out of the bath, she would wipe me down from behind with a towel, sprinkle baby powder, and turn on the electric fan—but she absolutely would not come around to the front. Was she just being considerate, or was she repulsed? I couldn’t tell which. And finally, after dressing me in a bathrobe and pushing me into the bedroom, she herself would go out into the hallway. After that, she declared it was Baa-san’s role and insisted it wasn’t her responsibility—nothing but words. In my heart, there were moments when I desperately wished she would take care of me in the bedroom as well, but whether because Baa-san lay in wait, Satsuko made a point of not doing so.

Baa-san didn't like being made to sleep on someone else's bed. After thoroughly replacing the sheets and duvet cover, she would lie down with a disgusted expression. Though Baa-san too suffered from frequent urination due to her age, she claimed she couldn't relieve herself properly in the Western-style toilet, making two or three nightly trips to the distant Japanese-style one. Because of this, she kept grumbling that she couldn't get a single decent night's sleep.

Before long—on nights when Sasaki was away—it would come to pass that Satsuko took over her duties; I found myself secretly anticipating this turn of events.

Today happened to be such a day by chance—at six in the evening, Sasaki announced she would take the night off and left for her children’s place. Then, after we had finished dinner, Baa-san suddenly took ill and lay down in the tea room. Naturally, along with bathing duties, tending to the bedroom also fell to Satsuko. When assisting with my bath, she wore a blue polo shirt patterned with Eiffel Towers and training pants that reached her knees—an outfit that looked crisp and spirited in a strikingly exceptional way. Perhaps unconsciously—or so it seemed—she washed me more thoroughly than usual. Around my neck, over my shoulders, along my arms—her hand brushed here and there with fleeting touches. After she had ushered me into the bedroom,

“I’ll be right there, so wait just a moment, okay?” “I’ll take a shower too, so...”

With that, she alone returned to the bathroom. I was made to wait alone in the bedroom for about thirty minutes. I sat restlessly on the bed, strangely unable to settle down. Then at last she appeared from the connecting doorway, now wearing a salmon-pink soccer gown and Chinese-made satin house slippers embroidered with peonies.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting.” At the very moment she entered, the corridor door opened, and the maid Oshizu came in carrying a two-tiered folding rattan chair.

“Grandpa, haven’t you gone to sleep yet?”

"I'm about to sleep now. What do you think you're doing bringing in something like that?" In places where Baa-san wasn’t present, I would call Satsuko “omae” or “kimi.” There were many occasions when I consciously called her “you.” When referring to myself, I sometimes used “ware” or “boku,” but when it was just the two of us, “boku” came out naturally. Satsuko’s way of speaking also became oddly rough when we were alone. She understood that this very fact was what pleased me.

“Grandpa goes to bed early, but since I won’t be able to sleep for a while, I’ll sit here and read a book or something.” She extended the two-tiered rattan chair into a sofa-bed, lay down upon it, and spread open the book she had brought. It appeared to be some sort of French textbook. The lamp’s shade had been positioned so that the light wouldn’t reach me. She too must have disliked Nurse Sasaki’s bed, and likely intended to sleep on the sofa-bed.

Because she lay down, I too lay down. In my bedroom, the air conditioning had been set to an extremely slight degree—just enough not to cause pain in my hand. These past few days had been excessively muggy with high humidity, so the doctors and nurses said it was better to use air conditioning to dry out the air as well. While pretending to sleep, I watched the delicately pointed tips of Satsuko’s Chinese slippers peeking out from the hem of her gown. Such delicately pointed feet were rare among Japanese people.

“Grandpa, you’re still awake, aren’t you? No snoring to be heard.” “You start snoring the moment you fall asleep—that’s what Nurse Sasaki told me.” “For some reason I can’t fall asleep tonight.” “Could it be because I’m lying here beside you?” When I gave no reply, she let out a muffled laugh. “Getting excited would be poisonous for you!”

And then she said. “Since getting you excited would be bad, shall I make you take some Adalin?” This was the first time Satsuko had made this sort of coquettish remark to me. I felt aroused by those words. “Surely it won’t come to that.” “Alright then, I’ll make you take it.”

While she went out to get the medicine, I thought of another pleasure. “Come on, I’ll let you take them—two tablets should do, I suppose.” She held a small plate in her left hand, dropped two tablets from the Adalin container onto it with her right hand, then brought water in a cup from the bathroom.

“Come on, open your mouth wide—like ‘aaah.’ It’s because I’m letting you take it, isn’t that nice?” “Couldn’t you skip the plate and use your hand to put it in my mouth instead?” “Alright then, I’ll just go wash my hands.”

Again she went into the bathroom and came back out. “The water’s spilling—why don’t you try transferring it mouth-to-mouth for once?”

“No, no! Don’t you dare get carried away.” She flung two tablets into my mouth and deftly trickled water in. I’d meant to pretend the medicine had worked by feigning sleep, but in the end I truly drifted off.

The 24th. I went to the bathroom around two o'clock and four o'clock in the middle of the night. Satsuko was indeed sleeping on the rattan chair. She had dropped the French book on the floor and turned off the lamp. Due to Adalin's effect, I could barely remember having gone to the bathroom twice. I awoke at six o'clock as usual.

“You’re already awake?” When I thought she—being a late riser—would naturally still be sleeping, she sprang upright the moment I stirred.

"What? You were already up?" "I'm the one who couldn't sleep last night." When I raised the window blinds, she—apparently unwilling to have her morning face seen—hurriedly fled to the bathroom.………

At around two in the afternoon, I returned from my study to the bedroom and took an hour-long nap. While still lying dazedly in bed with my eyes open, suddenly the bathroom door opened halfway and Satsuko’s head appeared in my direction. Only her head was visible; the rest of her body remained unseen. Her face under a vinyl hat was dripping wet from her head down. The shower was splashing away. “That’s not as rude as this morning,” she said. “I thought it was just the right time for your nap while I was bathing, so I peeked in.”

“Today’s Sunday—where’s Jōkichi?” She sidestepped my question with another remark. “When I shower here—never once locked this door.” “Always stays wide open anyway.”

Was she implying there was no issue since my bath was scheduled after nine? Or did she mean she trusted me? Or was she saying, “If you want to look, come right in—I’ll let you see”? Or that an old geezer like me wasn’t even worth considering? I couldn’t fathom why she’d go out of her way to declare such a thing. “Jōkichi is here today—he’s making a fuss about holding a barbecue in the garden tonight.” “Is anyone coming?”

“Haruhisa-san and Amari-san will be coming, and it seems someone else is coming from Tsujidō as well.” Rikuko wasn’t expected to come for the time being since that incident. If they were to come, it would likely only be the children. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The 25th. Last night I made a grave miscalculation. The garden barbecue had begun around six-thirty in the evening; its boisterous vitality proved so alluring that I found myself drawn to join the young revelers. Though Baa-san kept admonishing me—insisting it was too late to sit on the dew-damp lawn where chill might seep into my bones— "Grandpa, come here for a moment."

And then Satsuko pressed. I felt no appetite whatsoever for the lamb meat and chicken wings they were devouring with such relish, so I never intended to eat such things. In truth, more than anything—I had wanted to observe how Haruhisa and Satsuko might interact—but after joining their gathering for thirty or forty minutes, I gradually became aware of a chill creeping up from my legs toward my waist. Having been cautioned so often by Baa-san about this very thing, I'd grown neurotic about it—my mind now fixated on every bodily sensation. When Baa-san's warnings apparently reached others' ears, even Nurse Sasaki came out to the garden looking concerned and admonished me. At this provocation—true to my obstinate nature—I refused to rise immediately. Yet I could feel the cold intensifying moment by moment. Baa-san understood better than to pester me at such times; she absolutely refrained from pressing further. Only when Nurse Sasaki's anxiety became unbearable did I finally relent after thirty more minutes of resistance, rising unsteadily to return to my room.

But that alone wasn’t the end of it. Around two o'clock this morning, I awoke because my urethra was unbearably itchy. I hurried to the bathroom and urinated, only to find the urine had turned a milky white. After returning to bed, within fifteen minutes I felt the urge again. The maddening itch refused to subside. This repeated four or five times until Sasaki gave me four Sinomin tablets and applied a warm compress to my urethra, at which point it finally began easing.

For several years I had been suffering from prostate hypertrophy (though in my youth when contracting venereal diseases we called it the prostate gland), experiencing occasional residual urine retention with two or three instances where catheterization became necessary when urine refused to flow. Urinary retention supposedly occurs frequently among the elderly, but even under normal circumstances each urination took considerable time - an exceedingly troublesome situation when faced with long queues behind me at theater restrooms. Some had urged me to resolve on surgery while possible up to age seventy-five or seventy-six, claiming post-operative relief brought indescribable euphoria as urine rushed out with that youthful splashing sound, making one feel reborn into prime years. Yet others warned against it as a disagreeable and arduous procedure. While vacillating over this decision, I aged beyond eligibility until surgery now appeared belated. Though temporary improvement had blessed me earlier, last night's relapse meant renewed caution was prudent. Regarding the Sinomin - since prolonged use risks side effects - I was instructed to take four tablets thrice daily for no more than three days, conduct rigorous morning urine tests without fail, and consume ubau rushi should bacteria appear.

Thanks to that complication, I decided to forgo today’s title match at Kōrakuen. Though my urethral trouble had improved somewhat this morning—making it not entirely impossible for me to go out—when I suggested that even a nighttime outing might be feasible, Nurse Sasaki refused permission. “Poor you, Grandpa,” Satsuko said with mock sympathy. “I’ll be going now—I’ll tell you all about it later.” With that, she briskly departed. Left with no alternative, I kept to my bedrest and had Dr. Suzuki administer only acupuncture. The session from two-thirty to four-thirty proved gruelingly long, though there was a twenty-minute reprieve midway.

Because school was on break，Tsunesuke was scheduled to go to Karuizawa with the Tsujidō children in the near future. Baa-san and Rikuko were set to accompany them. “I will come next month and humbly ask you to look after Tsunesuke，” Satsuko said. Jōkichi would also take about ten days off next month and go. Senroku of Tsujidō would probably also go around that time. Haruhisa was extremely busy with television work；the art designer said that while he had relatively ample time during the day，he was tied up every night．………

The 26th.

My recent daily routine was as follows. I woke up around six o'clock in the morning. First, I went to the bathroom. When urinating, I collected the first few drops into a sterilized test tube. Next, I washed my eyes with a borax solution. Next, I carefully gargled my oral cavity and throat with a baking soda solution. Next, I washed my gums with chlorophyll-containing Korugēto. I put in my dentures. I took a thirty-minute walk in the garden. I lay down on the traction bed and underwent traction. This too now took thirty minutes. Next came breakfast. I took breakfast only in the bedroom. A cup of milk, a slice of cheese toast, a glass of vegetable juice, a piece of fruit, and a cup of black tea were my meal. At the same time, I took one Alinamin tablet. Next, I went to the study to read the newspaper and write in my diary; if time permitted, I read or did similar activities. More often than not, I spent the entire morning on the diary, and at times it extended into the afternoon or even the evening. At 10:00 a.m., Sasaki came to the study and measured my blood pressure. Every three days, I received a 50 mg injection of Craivitamin. At noon in the dining room, lunch was generally just one bowl of somen and one piece of fruit. From 1:00 p.m. to 2:00 p.m., I took an afternoon nap in the bedroom.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays—three times a week—I underwent acupuncture treatment by Dr. Suzuki from two-thirty to four-thirty. From five p.m., I underwent traction again for thirty minutes. From six o'clock, I took a walk in the garden. My morning and evening walks were accompanied by Sasaki; sometimes Satsuko was also present. Dinner was at 6:30 p.m. The meal was kept light in quantity, but as they said variety was better when it came to dishes, so every day they changed things up to provide a large number of different items. Old people and young people had different preferences, so the types of dishes varied from person to person in the family. Meal times were often irregular as well. After meals, I listened to the radio in the study. As reading at night would harm my eyes, I did not read and hardly watched television either.

I cannot forget the words Satsuko let slip the day before yesterday, Sunday the 24th, in the afternoon. Around two o'clock that afternoon, when I awoke from my nap in the bedroom and lay drowsily in bed with my eyes still open, Satsuko suddenly poked her head out from the bathroom door and said— “When I shower, I’ve never once locked this door.” “It’s always opened and closed freely.”

Whether intentional or accidental, this single phrase that escaped her lips stirred an odd curiosity within me. That day had been the barbecue; yesterday I rested due to illness. Yet throughout that time, those words kept circling incessantly in my mind. This afternoon, having woken from my nap at two o'clock and gone to the study, I returned to the bedroom again when three o'clock arrived. I knew that lately, whenever Satsuko was home, she generally bathed around this time. I stealthily tried pushing the bathroom door. Sure enough, it wasn't locked. The sound of the shower reached my ears.

“What do you want?” The door had only been touched enough to barely budge—if at all—yet she seemed to have noticed already. I panicked. But in the next instant, I steeled myself.

“Because you said it’s never locked, I had to check if that was true.”

As I said this, I too stuck only my head toward the bathroom. Her entire body, as she was showering, was enclosed by a bath curtain with thick green vertical stripes on a white background.

“Now you see I wasn’t lying?” “I see.”

“What are you doing there?” “Don’t come in here.” “May I come in?” “You want to come in, don’t you?”

“It’s not like I have any particular business here, though.” “Now, now—if you get excited you’ll slip and fall. Calm yourself, calm yourself.” Now that the lower wooden panel had been raised, the tiled floor was drenched with shower water. I barged in while minding my footing and closed the door behind me. Through gaps in the bath curtain, she occasionally flashed glimpses of her shoulders, knees, and the tips of her feet. “In that case, I’ll let you have your little task.”

The shower’s sound stopped. She turned her back to me and exposed part of her upper body beyond the curtain. “Take that towel there and wipe my back, please. It’ll drip down from my head, you know.” When she removed the vinyl cap, several drops splashed onto me too.

“Don’t wipe so timidly; put more strength into your hands and do it properly. “Ah, Grandpa, your left hand’s useless, isn’t it? Use your right hand and scrub hard.” In the heat of the moment, I grabbed both her shoulders over the towel. And then, pressing my lips to the fleshy rise of her right shoulder and sucking with my tongue—the instant I thought I had done so, on my left cheek—

“Smack!” I received a stinging slap across my cheek. “What nerve for a grandpa!” “I thought you’d permit me this much.”

“I absolutely won’t allow such a thing! I’ll tell Jōkichi about this.”

“My apologies! My apologies!” “Get out!” After saying that, she added while continuing to shower: “Don’t rush, don’t rush. If you slip it’ll be trouble—take your time.” When I finally reached the doorway, I felt soft fingertips lightly push against my back. I sat down on the bedroom bed to rest. Immediately afterward, she appeared. She stood changed into her usual soccer uniform. Peony-embroidered shoes peeked out. “I’m sorry about that little incident earlier.”

“No, it’s nothing at all.”

“Did it hurt?” “It didn’t hurt much, but you did startle me a bit.” “I have this habit of slapping men’s cheeks right off the bat, you see—so I just couldn’t help myself.” “I thought so—she must use that hand on all sorts of men.” “But what a waste to hit Grandpa!”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

28th. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Yesterday’s acupuncture session was no good. At three o'clock this afternoon, I pressed my ear against the bathroom door again. The door wasn't properly closed. The sound of the shower was running.

“Come in, I was waiting for you.” “I must apologize for my rudeness the day before yesterday.” “I thought I had to come like that.” “You grow stronger with age.” “Since you sent me flying with that slap the day before yesterday, how about compensating me with something?” “I’m not joking—you must swear never to do such a thing again.” “If it’s just kissing your neck, I thought you might grant permission—” “My neck’s sensitive, I tell you.” “Where will you allow then?” “Anywhere’s off-limits.” “It felt like being licked by a slug—I was disgusted all day.”

“What if it were Haruhisa instead?”

Gulp—after swallowing my voice, I said.

“I'll hit you, I really will. I held back last time, I’ll have you know.” “There’s no need for such restraint now.” “My palm bends back real good—if I really hit you, it’ll hurt so much your eyes’ll pop out, I tell you.”

“That is precisely what I desire.” “Troublesome delinquent old man—Jijii Terrible!” “I’ll ask once more—if your neck’s off-limits, where will you allow?”

“If it’s from the knees down, I’ll permit it just once—only once.—No tongue—just your lips placed against me.”

From the knees up—all the way to her face—remained completely hidden, only her shins and the tips of her feet emerged through the gap in the bath curtain. “The doctor wants to perform an internal examination.”

“How stupid.” “To kiss without using your tongue—that’s quite an unreasonable demand.” “It’s not a kiss—just letting your lips touch me.” “That’s all Grandpa deserves.” “While we’re at it, turn off the shower.” “No reason to—I’d feel filthy not washing wherever you’ve touched right away.” I simply felt force-fed water. “Since you mention it—I just remembered Haruhisa-san—there’s a favor to ask.”

“What?” “Haruhisa-san’s been suffering terribly from this heat lately—he says he wants permission to use our shower sometimes if it’s all right. He told me to ask you about it, Uncle.”

“Doesn’t the broadcasting station have a bath?” “Well, there is one at the studio—but the baths for performers and non-performers are kept separate, you see. It’s so dreadfully unclean that he can’t bring himself to use them. So he has no choice but to go all the way to Ginza and bathe at Tokyo Onsen instead. But if you’d let him use yours here instead, it’d be so much closer to the studio and an enormous help.” “He told me to try asking you,” “You can manage such trifles yourself—there’s no need to consult me about every petty matter.”

“Actually, I’d already made all the arrangements privately, but he insists it’d be wrong to just slip in without a word.” “I don’t mind—if you want to refuse, have the old woman do it.” “You should be the one to tell her, Grandpa—I’m scared of the old woman.”

While she said that, Satsuko was actually more wary of me than of the old woman. It was precisely because it was Haruhisa that she felt compelled to make a show of refusal. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The 29th. ………At 2:30 PM, the acupuncture treatment began. I lay supine on the bed while the blind Dr.Suzuki sat on a chair beside me administering the treatment. Though Dr.Suzuki himself performed the meticulous tasks—extracting the needle case from his bag and sterilizing them with alcohol—one of his apprentices always remained stationed behind him. As of today, neither the cold sensation in my hands nor the numbness in my fingertips had shown any improvement.

After twenty or thirty minutes had passed, Haruhisa suddenly entered through the corridor door.

“Uncle, may I trouble you for a moment? I do apologize for intruding during your treatment, but having heard from Satsu-chan that you were so kind as to grant my request the other day, I wished to express my deepest gratitude.” “Having already begun availing myself of your generosity starting today, I thought to offer a brief word of thanks.” “What—such trifles hardly require formal permission each time. Come whenever you like.” “You’re most generous; relying on your gracious words, I shall take the liberty of coming directly hereafter—though naturally not every day.” “Lately, Uncle—from what I’ve observed—you appear remarkably vigorous.”

“What nonsense—this old fool’s dotage has grown fierce; I spend every day being scolded by Satsuko.” “Oh no, you’re as youthful as ever—Satsu-chan’s quite impressed with you.” “Don’t be absurd—today I had them stick me with needles again, barely clinging to this wretched life.” “How could such a thing be possible?” “Still—still—Uncle will live a long, long time yet.” “Oh no—I must beg your pardon for this intrusion. I shall now pay my respects to Aunt and take my leave posthaste.”

“It’s so hot out—you must be exhausted. Do rest a while before you go.” “I am most grateful, though I truly cannot accept such kindness.”

After Haruhisa left and some time had passed, Oshizu brought tea and sweets for two on a tray. It was break time. Today, tea accompanied by custard pudding was brought. When the break concluded, the treatment was resumed and ended at four-thirty.

While receiving treatment, I was thinking about something else. That Haruhisa had requested permission to shower here couldn't have been just about that—there must have been some ulterior motive behind it. Perhaps it was Satsuko's scheme, I thought. Had he not deliberately chosen to visit during my treatment time today too? If that were the case, hadn't he calculated that this way he wouldn't have to endure lengthy conversations with this old man? I recalled hearing Haruhisa mention being busy at night but having free time during the day. If so, his shower visits would likely fall between afternoon and evening—probably coinciding with Satsuko's bathing hours. In essence, whether I was in the study or undergoing treatment in the bedroom, he would come during those periods. When he used the bathroom—surely they wouldn't leave that door wide open? No, they must lock it then. That he'd developed this troublesome habit—wasn't Satsuko beginning to regret it?

There was one more thing that weighed on my mind. On August 1st—the day after tomorrow—Baa-san, Tsunesuke, Rikuko from Tsujidō with her three children, and the maid Oshizu—seven people in total—were set to depart for Karuizawa. Jōkichi would leave for Kansai on the second, return to Tokyo on the sixth, then head to Karuizawa himself around Sunday the seventh for some ten days. If that were the case, all manner of convenient arrangements seemed poised to unfold for Satsuko. As for Satsuko herself—"I'll pop over to Karuizawa two or three days at a time starting next month," she declared. "Nurse Sasaki and Oshizu will stay in Tokyo of course—but leaving Grandpa here all alone worries me dreadfully. And really—Karuizawa's pool water is too frigid for proper swimming—such a nuisance! I'll visit now and then but stay indefinitely? No thank you—I still prefer seaside resorts." Hearing this laid out so plainly—I too had no choice but contrive some means of remaining behind.

“I’ll go on ahead first—when will you be coming, Grandpa?”

Baa-san said. “Well, how should I proceed? Since I’ve gone to the trouble of starting acupuncture, I think I’ll continue it a while longer.” “But didn’t you say it wasn’t helping at all? If you’re going to stop, at least do it during the hottest days.” “No, I feel like it’s started working somewhat these days. Since it hasn’t even been a month since I started yet, it would be a shame to stop now.”

“In that case, does that mean you won’t be coming at all this year?” “That’s not it—I’ll go eventually.” With that, I endured Baa-san’s interrogation and managed to extricate myself.

3

The 5th. ……………………………………………………………………………………………

At half past two, Mr.Suzuki arrived. The treatment began immediately. A little past three—break time. Oshizu brought tea and sweets. Mocha ice cream and cold black tea. As Oshizu was about to leave the room,

“Isn’t Haruhisa here today?”

I casually tried asking. "He had the honor of coming to visit, but it seems he has already taken his leave."

With that, she answered somewhat ambiguously and left. A blind person takes time to eat. The disciple would scoop up a spoonful at a time, slowly and deliberately placing chunks of ice cream into his mouth. Between each spoonful came sips of tea. Excuse me for a moment.

I alighted from the bed and went to the bathroom door, trying to turn the handle. The door was shut tight and wouldn't budge. To confirm my suspicions, I pretended to wash my hands and entered the toilet; emerging from there into the outer corridor, I attempted opening the bathroom door from that side. It opened. No one was in the bathroom. Yet Haruhisa's open-collar shirt, trousers, and socks lay discarded in the laundry basket. I slid open the bathroom's glass door. True enough, the bathing area stood empty. I peered behind the shower curtain—still no one. Only the tiles around the drain and surrounding walls glistened wetly, water splattered everywhere as though flung in haste. That Oshizu wench—she'd lied out of embarrassment. But where could they be? Where in blazes had Satsuko gone?

When I was about to head toward the dining room to search, I abruptly encountered Oshizu at the staircase—she had placed two Coca-Cola bottles and cups on two trays from the dining room corridor and was attempting to ascend to the second floor.

Oshizu suddenly turned deathly pale and stopped at the foot of the staircase. The hands holding the tray trembled. I too was flustered. It’s strange that even I am roaming the outer corridor at this hour. “Haruhisa stayed over, didn’t he?” I made an effort to sound cheerful and spoke with feigned nonchalance. “Yes, I was aware he had taken his leave...” “Ah, is that so?” “...They were cooling themselves on the second floor, so...”

There were two glasses and two Coca-Cola bottles. The two were on the second floor "cooling themselves." They were there. Given that his clothes had been discarded in the basket, he must have taken a shower and changed into a yukata. Whether he had showered alone as well. There were rooms for overnight guests on the second floor, but where were they cooling themselves? In such circumstances, borrowing a yukata would have been permissible, but given that there were vacant spaces downstairs—be it the guest room, parlor, or tea room—and Baa-san was out at present, ascending to the second floor should have been unnecessary. In short, they must have calculated that I would be receiving treatment from 2:30 PM to 4:30 PM and thus unable to leave my bedroom.

After watching Oshizu ascend the stairs, I immediately retreated to my bedroom. "Oh! Pardon me!"

Having said that, I lay down on the bed again. That interval hadn't even lasted ten minutes. The blind person had just finished eating the ice cream.

The acupuncture resumed. For the next forty or fifty minutes, I had to entrust my body to Mr. Suzuki. When four-thirty came, Mr. Suzuki left, and I returned to my study. They were supposed to have quietly slipped down from the second floor and vanished during that time, but even they had miscalculated. I had unintentionally appeared in the corridor and ended up encountering Oshizu at the worst possible moment. But if I hadn’t run into Oshizu, they might never have realized I knew—in which case, one could say her bumping into me was almost fortunate. If one were to indulge in even more malicious speculation, Satsuko—aware I suspected her—might have guessed I’d emerge into the corridor during treatment gaps to investigate. And she might have deliberately allowed me that opportunity, having prearranged for Oshizu to engineer our encounter. Perhaps they thought informing certain old men in advance was prudent—that letting them swallow their fate sooner rather than later counted as a charitable act.

“Now now—there’s no need to get so flustered. Just settle your nerves and make your way back leisurely.” Then I felt Satsuko’s voice might have reached me.

Rested from 4:30 to 5:00. Underwent traction from 5:00 to 5:30. Rested again from 5:30 to 6:00. During that interval, the guest on the second floor must have left before I had even finished my treatment. Had Satsuko left together with him? Or perhaps—out of shame—she had holed up alone on the second floor; not once did she show her face. Today, I only saw her during lunchtime. (Since the second, I had been able to dine face-to-face with just her.) At 6:00, Sasaki came to urge me to take a walk in the garden. As I was attempting to descend from the veranda into the garden,

“Nurse Sasaki, it’s all right today—I’ll accompany him.” And then—Satsuko abruptly appeared from somewhere.

“Haruhisa went home already, didn’t he?”

At the arbor, the conversation immediately turned to that topic. “Not long after that.” “After what?” “Not long after we drank Coca-Cola. Since we got caught anyway, he said leaving in a hurry would look even more suspicious—though...” “So he’s unexpectedly spineless after all.” “Since Uncle must’ve misunderstood, I made him explain everything properly on my behalf—I told him repeatedly.” “Enough—stop this talk.” “If you want to misunderstand me, fine—but we only went upstairs because the second floor was breezier than down here. We just drank Coca-Cola together.” “People back in the day would’ve jumped to conclusions over something like that.” “Jōkichi would understand.”

“Well, never mind—it’s nothing.” “Whatever the case, I don’t care.” “There’s nothing to worry about.” “Let me just mention something—could it be you’re misunderstanding me?” “What exactly do you mean by that?” “Suppose you—just suppose—had some involvement with Haruhisa, I’ve no intention of bringing it up......”

Satsuko made a puzzled face and fell silent.

“I shan’t breathe a word of this to Baa-san or Jōkichi. I’ll keep it locked in my chest.”

“Grandpa, why would you say such a thing to me?”

“Perhaps that’s how it is—who can say?” “You’re insane.”

“Perhaps that’s how it is—who can say?” “Did you only just realize such a thing now, someone as clever as you?” “But from what mindset do you think such things?” “To vent my frustration at being unable to enjoy romantic adventures myself, I make others embark on them and take pleasure in watching.” “Once a person’s come to this, they’re just pitiful.” “Because you have no hope for yourself, you’re getting all spiteful, aren’t you?” "I may be smoldering a bit, but do me the favor of considering it an inconvenience."

“You put it so cleverly. I don’t mind you thinking it’s inconvenient, but I refuse to be sacrificed just to indulge you.” “Let’s not call it a sacrifice—when you give me pleasure, doesn’t it bring you some enjoyment too? Compared to my pleasure, yours should be far greater, shouldn’t it? Truly, what a pitiful thing I am.” “Please make sure you don’t get your cheek slapped again.” “Let’s not play games. Of course it’s not limited to Haruhisa—it could be Amari or anyone else, right?”

“When we come to the arbor, the conversation always turns this way, doesn’t it? Let’s take a little walk—it’s not just exercise for the legs, it’s bad for the head too.” “Look—Nurse Sasaki is watching from the engawa.”

The path was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Bush clover encroached from both sides, making walking difficult. "The leaves are so dense and tangled—grab onto me." "It would please me if you linked arms with me." "That's impossible—you're too short, Grandpa." She who had been walking at my left suddenly circled to the right.

“Lend me that walking stick. “Hold here with your right hand.” With that she offered her left shoulder; I took back the stick and began sweeping aside the bush clover branches as we walked. ………

The sixth.

………Continuation of yesterday. "I wonder what Jōkichi truly thinks of you."

“That’s what I want to ask you. What do you think he thinks, Grandpa?” “I don’t know either—I try not to dwell on Jōkichi too much.” “I’m the same way—even if you ask him, he finds it too bothersome to tell the truth. But the fact is, he doesn’t love me anymore now, does he?” “What would you do if you had a lover?” “If it happens, it happens—there’s nothing to be done. Please, feel free. Though I said it jokingly, I might’ve been serious after all.”

“If anyone were told such by their wife, they’d voice such resentment.” “He probably has someone he likes too—someone with a past like mine, maybe a girl from some cabaret.” “If he said, ‘I’ll agree to separate as long as I get to see Tsunesuke,’ he has no intention of leaving. Tsunesuke would be pitiful, but even more so—if you were gone, his father would cry, he says.” “He’s treating people like fools.” “With that, Grandpa, he knows all about you—not that I’ll say anything.”

“After all, he’s his father’s son through and through.” “How dutiful of him to show filial piety out of nowhere.” “He still clings to you—that’s why he trots out his father as a tool.”

I, in truth, knew almost nothing about Jōkichi—my eldest son and heir to the Ukita family. There were likely few fathers as ignorant as I regarding their own important son. I knew he had graduated from the University of Tokyo’s Faculty of Economics and joined Pacific Plastics Industries, Inc. Yet I did not truly understand what kind of work he actually did. I had heard it was a company that purchased resin materials from Mitsui Chemical and similar suppliers to manufacture products like photographic film, polyethylene coatings, molded polyethylene items, buckets, and mayonnaise tubes. The factory was in Kawasaki, but the headquarters stood in Nihonbashi, where he worked in the sales department. He was likely to become a department head soon, but what salary and bonus he currently received remained unknown to me. Though he was the family heir, I remained master of this household at present. While he bore some portion of our financial burden, most still depended on my real estate income and dividends. The monthly household finances had been managed by Baa-san until a few years ago, but at some point Satsuko took charge. According to Baa-san’s account, Satsuko proved unexpectedly meticulous with bookkeeping, promptly disposing of invoices from regular merchants. She would periodically visit the kitchen to inspect the refrigerator’s contents—at the mere mention of “the young mistress,” the maids would titter nervously. Satsuko, ever enamored with novelties, had installed a garbage disposal last year. But when she threw in what she insisted were “still perfectly edible” sweet potatoes, I witnessed Baa-san deliver a severe scolding.

“If it’s rotten, you should give it to the dogs! You people just throw anything in there for fun, don’t you? We shouldn’t have bought that thing in the first place.” With that, Satsuko put on an air of regret. Baa-san claimed she pinched every household penny to bully the maids and squirreled away the rest—forcing everyone into austerity while she alone indulged in secret luxuries, all without anyone suspecting. There were times when she had Oshizuku manage the accounts, but mostly Satsuko handled them herself. Taxes were entrusted to an accountant, but she dealt directly with him. The duties of a young mistress must have been considerable, yet she took everything on with startling efficiency, tidying matters briskly before one noticed. Such traits must have greatly pleased Jōkichi. By now she had secured an unshakable position within the Ukita household—for Jōkichi too, she’d become an indispensable presence in that regard.

At the time when Baa-san opposed Satsuko’s marriage, “You may dismiss her as a mere dancer or whatnot, but I’ve discerned she surely has the talent to manage household affairs skillfully.” Jōkichi did say that—though at the time he had likely spoken out of expedience—yet it must be said he showed foresight. When she entered the household as a wife, she unexpectedly began to demonstrate such talent. Even Satsuko herself had likely never realized until then that she possessed such ability.

To tell the truth, I had permitted their marriage while thinking it likely wouldn’t last long. This propensity to fall passionately in love yet grow just as swiftly bored was an inheritance from my parents—a trait I’d assumed mirrored my own youthful ways—though today I can no longer state it so simply. At the time of their marriage, Jōkichi had been thoroughly devoted, but it’s certain he no longer maintains such ardor. Yet through my eyes, she appears even more beautiful now than during their wedding days. Though nearly ten years have passed since she entered our household, her beauty has only intensified with each passing year. Since bearing Tsunesuke, her allure has grown particularly striking. No trace remains of her former dancer’s affectations. Yet when we’re alone, she deliberately lets flickers of that past self surface—a privilege reserved solely for me. Even during Jōkichi’s company, she likely comported herself thus in their days of shallow affection, though now such gestures seem absent. Rather, my son must value her accounting prowess as an asset, deeming her loss too inconvenient to bear. When donning her innocent guise, she radiates the dignified bearing of a consummate lady from every angle. Her speech and movements remain crisp and precise—keenly perceptive yet imbued with enough warmth and charm to bind others to her side. To outside observers she doubtlessly maintains this facade, hence my son’s private pride in her performance. Given this, he likely harbors no true intent to part ways—even were she to commit questionable acts, he might feign ignorance...provided she continues playing her role with sufficient skill.………………………………………………………

7th. ...Jōkichi returned home from Kansai last night; this morning he left for Karuizawa. ...

8th. ………After napping from 1:00 PM to 2:00 PM, I remained as I was, waiting for Dr. Suzuki’s visit. Then I knocked on the bathroom door, “Close this properly!” Her voice came. “You coming in, ‘boyfriend’?”

“Uh-huh.” With that, Satsuko peeked her face out briefly, then immediately slammed it shut with a loud bang. She had only peeked out for an instant, but her face wore an oddly cold, unfriendly expression. It appeared I’d taken my shower first—water dripped profusely from the vinyl cap.………

9th. ………After my nap—though today’s acupuncture session had been canceled—I remained in my bedroom, still unsettled.

“Close this properly!”

And today too comes that clicking sound. It arrives thirty minutes later than yesterday. Still she refuses to show herself. Past three o'clock finds me testing the door handle once more. The lock holds fast. At five comes traction time— "Uncle," floats Haruhisa's voice as he passes by unseen, "how deeply grateful I remain—your kindness lets me manage each day."

Then, I heard Haruhisa greet me as he passed by. I couldn’t see his face. What kind of face he was making to speak like that—I wanted to see it.

At six, during the garden walk,

“Isn’t Satsuko here?” Then I tried asking Nurse Sasaki.

“Well, it appears Mr. Hillman departed earlier...”

Then Nurse Sasaki went to inquire discreetly and returned. “Indeed, it appears the young mistress has gone out.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

10th. ………After napping from 1:00 PM to 2:00 PM. After that, the subsequent events followed the same course as those of the 8th. ………

11th. ………Acupuncture was canceled. However, today’s situation differed from that of the 9th. “Close this properly!” Instead,

“It’s open here.” Her voice called out as she revealed an uncharacteristically bright face. The shower was running. “Is he not coming today?” “Oh, do come in.”

Having been told this, I entered. Already she was hidden inside the bath curtain.

“Today I’ll let you kiss me.” The shower’s sound ceased. From behind the curtain emerged a shin and foot. “What’s this? Back to your internal exam pose again?” “That’s right—above the knee’s forbidden. “In exchange I stopped the shower and came out, didn’t I?” “Call this a reward? If that’s all you’re giving, it’s too cheap.” “Don’t want it? Then quit—I’m not making you.” Then she added: “Today you needn’t stop at lips—you may use your tongue too.”

In the same posture as on July 28th, I sucked the same spot on her calf with my lips. With my tongue, I slowly savored it. Ah—it tasted almost like a kiss. Continuing in that manner, I slid down from her calf to her heel. Unexpectedly, she didn’t say a thing. She let me continue as I was. My tongue reached her instep and then the tip of her big toe. I knelt down, lifted her foot, and stuffed my mouth full with her big toe, second toe, and third toe. I pressed my lips without letting them touch the earth. The wet sole of her foot bewitchingly wore an expression like a face.

“That’s enough now, don’t you think?”

The shower suddenly started running. Her foot's sole along with my head and face were drenched with water. ……… At five o'clock, Sasaki came to notify me of the traction time,

“Oh my, your eyes are quite red, aren’t they?” she said. For several years now, my eyes had frequently become bloodshot, and even during ordinary times, the redness remained pronounced. When examining the area around the pupil carefully, several thin red blood vessels could be seen running abnormally beneath the cornea. There had been a time when I’d undergone an examination out of concern for retinal hemorrhage, but they said there was nothing particularly unusual about my retinal blood pressure either—that it was appropriate for my age. However, it remained true that when my eyes were bloodshot, my pulse quickened and my blood pressure rose. Sasaki immediately took my pulse and,

“Your pulse is over ninety, isn’t it? What could have caused this?” “No, it’s nothing.” “Let me measure your blood pressure.” I was made to lie down on the study sofa without any choice. After ten minutes of rest, my right arm was bound with a rubber tube. I couldn’t see the sphygmomanometer, but from Sasaki’s expression I could roughly guess the reading. “You’re not feeling unwell at this moment, are you?” “I’m not feeling particularly unwell, though my blood pressure is high.”

“It’s around two hundred.” When she put it like that, it usually meant over two hundred. It had to be 205 or 206—210 perhaps—or even over 220. Still, having experienced my blood pressure reaching as high as 245 on several occasions in the past, I didn’t find this degree alarming enough to shock doctors. I’d long resigned myself to accepting whatever spike might come. “This morning when I measured it, your systolic was 145 and diastolic 83—perfectly normal—so why this sudden rise?” “It’s truly perplexing. Could you have strained yourself or put on a brave front?”

"No." "Could something have occurred? It is most perplexing."

Sasaki kept tilting her head in puzzlement. I didn’t voice it, but knew the cause all too well. The sensation from earlier—of not letting her foot touch the ground—still lingered on my lips; try as I might to forget it, I couldn’t. When I stuffed my mouth full with the three toes of Satsuko’s foot, my blood pressure must have peaked at that very moment. In a flash, my face burned as blood rushed to my head all at once—the fact was, in that very moment, I felt certain I would die of a stroke: Am I going to die now? Am I going to die now? Even though I had steeled myself for such eventualities, when I actually thought "I’m going to die," terror seized me. And I desperately tried to calm myself—I told myself I mustn’t get excited—but strangely enough, even as I thought this, I never once stopped licking her foot. I couldn’t stop. No—the more I tried to stop, the more like a madman I became, licking uncontrollably. I’ll die, I’ll die—I thought even as I kept licking. Fear, excitement, and pleasure surged up in my chest one after another. A pain resembling an angina attack violently constricted my chest......... Over two hours must have passed since then, yet my blood pressure still showed no sign of dropping.

“Today we’ve discontinued the traction—you must remain at complete rest now.” Having said this, Sasaki forcibly moved me to the bedroom and made me lie down.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

At nine o'clock in the evening, Sasaki entered again carrying the blood pressure gauge. "Let me take your blood pressure once more."

The result had fortunately returned to normal. Systolic: over 150; diastolic: 87. “Ah, this is better. I am truly relieved.” “Earlier your systolic was 223 and diastolic 150.” “Such things do happen now and then.” “Just because it’s occasional doesn’t make it any less serious.” “But well—it was indeed temporary.”

The one who felt relieved wasn’t only Sasaki. To tell the truth, more than Sasaki, it was I who secretly sighed in relief, thinking, "Well, that’s better." But at the same time—if things continue like this, even if I repeat these mad acts hereafter, there’d be no harm; though they may not be Satsuko’s beloved pinky thrillers, I can’t possibly stop these modest adventures—if I were to die by mishap, so be it—this is how I feel………

The twelfth. ………After two o'clock in the afternoon, Haruhisa came, and I found those two or three hours insufferable. I finished my evening meal, whereupon Satsuko went out immediately. She said she would watch Martin Lassalle’s “The Pickpocket” at the Scala-za before heading to the Prince Hotel’s pool. I imagined her snow-white shoulders and back—exposed by that backless swimsuit—bathed in neon light.………

The thirteenth. ………Around three in the afternoon, I experienced another pinky thriller. However, today my eyes did not turn red. My blood pressure also seemed normal. Hmm—a sense of anticlimax. My eyes were slightly bloodshot, but not getting excited enough for my blood pressure to exceed 200 left me feeling unsatisfied.

The fourteenth.

Jōkichi alone returned home from Karuizawa at night; he was scheduled to resume work starting Monday.

The sixteenth.

Satsuko said she had gone swimming at Hayama yesterday for the first time in ages. This summer she couldn't go to the beach because she had to look after Grandpa—she insisted one really must get properly sunburned. Her skin was as fair as a Westerner's, making the sunburnt areas flush crimson. From her neck down to her chest spread a V-shaped scarlet pattern, while the white of her abdomen hidden by the swimsuit needed no elaboration. Today she summoned me to the bathroom to display it.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The seventeenth. Today again, Haruhisa seems to have come.

The eighteenth......... Today was also a 'pinky thriller.' However, it differed slightly from the 11th and the 13th. Today she came in wearing sandal heels and proceeded to take a shower just like that. “Why are you wearing something like that?” “When you go to a music hall’s Nude Show or such places, everyone comes out naked wearing these.” “Doesn’t this hold some charm for a foot-obsessed old man like you?” “At times you can catch glimpses of the soles.”

That was all well and good, but then the next incident occurred. “Grandpa, shall I let you do some necking today?” “What exactly is this ‘necking’?” “You don’t know what necking is? Grandpa, you’ve done it before, haven’t you?” “Is it kissing the neck?” “That’s right—a type of petting.” “What’s this ‘petting’? I never studied such English.” “You old folks are such a hassle—really ought to take better care of your whole body! There’s even something called ‘heavy petting,’ you know? I have to teach you modern language from scratch.”

“Well then, you’ll let me kiss you here, will you?” “You ought to feel grateful.” “I’ll prostrate myself nine times over.” “Yet however this wind may twist—the consequences terrify me.”

“That’s a fine resolve—so you’d better stick to that plan.” “Well then, shouldn’t we move on to what comes next?” “Anyway, just do the necking.”

In the end, I succumbed to temptation. I indulged in so-called necking for more than twenty minutes. "There! I've won—don't you dare say you don't want to anymore!" "Well then, what do you demand?" "Don't collapse in shock now." "What on earth?" "There's something I've wanted all this time." "So what is it?" "Cats-eye." "Cats-eye? You mean a cat's-eye stone?" "Yes—but a small one won't do. I want one large enough for a man to set." "Actually, I've already found it at the store in the Imperial Hotel's arcade—I'm absolutely set on this one."

“How much?” “Three million yen.” “What do you mean?”

“Three million yen.” “You’re not joking.” “I’m not joking.” “I don’t have that sort of money readily available.” “I know you do.” “You should be able to manage precisely that amount.” “Once this was decided, they came and explicitly stated they’d come to collect it within two or three days.” “I never imagined necking would carry such a steep price.”

"In exchange, it doesn't have to be just today—I'll let you do this whenever from now on."

“Since it’s merely necking—a real kiss would have value...” “What’s this? After all that groveling!” This was serious—what if Baa-san saw us? “Would I make such a blunder?” “Even so—it hurts! Don’t torment this old man too much.” “You say that while wearing such a delighted face.”

In fact, I did seem to be making a delighted face.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The nineteenth. There was news that the typhoon was approaching. Because of this, the pain in my hand grew severe, and movement in my legs became more restricted. Satsuko bought and brought Dolsin; taking three tablets three times daily—thanks to that, the pain lessened. This was an oral medication and felt better than Noburon. Since it was an aspirin-based medication, the profuse sweating it caused was unbearable. In the afternoon, there came a sudden call from Mr. Suzuki: "As the approaching typhoon may cause complications, I must ask you to forgo today’s acupuncture." Such was the message. I replied "Understood" and came from the bedroom to the study. The moment I did, Satsuko entered.

“I’ve come to collect what you promised. You’ll go to the bank now and then straight to the hotel.” “But the typhoon’s coming—surely going out now isn’t necessary?” “Give it to me before you lose your nerve. I want that stone set on this finger immediately.” “I gave my word—I won’t renege.” “Tomorrow’s Saturday—if you oversleep you’ll miss banking hours. ‘Make haste while virtue permits,’ as they say.” I had intended this money for different purposes.

My family had lived in Honjo Warigesui for generations, but during my father's time we moved from Honjo to Nihonbashi-ku Yokoyama-cho 1-chome. When exactly in the Meiji era that was, I cannot recall, as I was in my childhood. Then after the Great Kanto Earthquake in Taisho 12 [1923], we built our current house in Azabu Tanukiana and moved there. The one who had it newly built was my father, but he died in Taisho 14 [1925] when I was forty-one years old. My mother died several years after that, in Showa 3 [1928]. We built a new house in Azabu—or so it was said—though I believe it stood where Haseba Sumitaka of the Seiyūkai had his mansion during Meiji times. Since an old residence had long existed there, we retained part of it and rebuilt most of the structure. Father and Mother made that older house their retirement home, cherishing the area's tranquility. During wartime air raids we rebuilt again, but miraculously the retirement home alone escaped fire damage and remains preserved exactly as when my parents lived there. Now dilapidated beyond use, no one inhabits it anymore. I want to demolish it for modern reconstruction to create our own retirement home there this time, but Baa-san had opposed this until today. It would be wrong to rashly destroy my deceased parents' secluded retreat. [She] says she wants to preserve it however briefly possible. Since such arguments could continue endlessly, I had resolved to soon force Baa-san's consent and bring in demolition crews. The current main house suffices for housing our whole family but proves slightly inconvenient for executing various misdeeds I'm plotting. Under pretext of building a new retirement home, I would situate my bedroom and study as far from Baa-san's quarters as possible while installing her private toilet adjacent to her bedroom. Under guise of "Baa-san's convenience," I had a purely Japanese-style wooden bathroom installed separately beside her bedroom too. My bathroom became tiled for exclusive use with shower facilities.

“Building two baths in the retirement home is such a waste—if I may say so! I use the main house bath with Ms. Sasaki and Oshizu anyway.” “Well, you’re permitted such modest indulgences too—when one grows old, taking leisurely baths should be your solace.” I devised measures to keep Baa-san confined to her room as much as possible, preventing her from roaming about the house. I had even wanted to remodel the main house by converting its two-story structure into single-floor living, but this was opposed by Satsuko and further hampered by insufficient funds. Thus compelled, I resolved to construct only the retirement home. The three million yen Satsuko had coveted formed part of those very funds.

“I’m home.” Satsuko had already returned. She stood exultant like a triumphant general. “Back already?” Without answering, she silently placed a single stone on her palm and showed it. It was indeed a splendid cat’s eye. I was made aware that my fantasy of building a new retirement home had now dissolved into this solitary point upon her soft palm.

“How many carats is this?” I too placed it on my palm to examine. “Fifteen carats.”

As usual, the afflicted area of my left hand suddenly began to hurt severely. In a panic, I swallowed three Dolsin tablets. When I looked at Satsuko’s triumphant face, the pain became strangely pleasant. Building a retirement home or whatever—how much better this way was.………

The twentieth.

Typhoon No. 14 drew ever closer; wind and rain grew fierce. Nevertheless, we departed for Karuizawa that morning according to Kante’s schedule. Satsuko and Sasaki accompanied me. However, Sasaki rode in the second-class car. Nurse Sasaki fretted endlessly about the weather, insisting we postpone our departure by another day—but neither I nor Satsuko would consent. Both of us were oddly edgy, as if willing the typhoon to blow through. It was the magical power of the cat’s eye stone. ………

The twenty-third. We had planned to return to Tokyo today with Satsuko, but since the children's school was about to start and everyone decided to move up the schedule to return tomorrow on the 24th, Baa-san said: "Let's all go back together tomorrow—we mustn't postpone another day." The joy of traveling alone with Satsuko had been utterly swept away.

The twenty-fifth. They restarted traction this morning; however, as there was ultimately no noticeable effect, I decided to discontinue it. I decided to stop the acupuncture by the end of this month as well. ………Satsuko promptly headed out to Kōrakuen Gym tonight.

September 1st. Today was the 210th day - traditionally storm-prone - yet passed without incident. Jōkichi flew to Fukuoka today on a five-day assignment.

The third. I truly sensed autumn's approach. After the sudden rain passed, the sky cleared up refreshingly. Satsuko arranged sorghum and cockscomb in the study, and seven autumn grasses in the entrance. She also replaced the study’s hanging scroll. A mounted shikishi bearing Kafū Sanjin’s seven-character quatrain. 卜宅麻渓七値秋 霜餘老樹擁西楼 笑吾十日間中課 掃葉曝書還曬裘 Though Kafū’s calligraphy and Chinese poetry were not particularly skillful, his novels remain among my cherished readings. This scroll was something I had acquired long ago from an art dealer, but since there apparently existed a man exceptionally skilled at forging Kafū’s works, its authenticity remained uncertain. Kafū had lived until wartime destruction in a white-painted Western-style wooden house nearby in Ichibee-chō, which he named Henkikan. This explains why it states: “Having divined a dwelling in Makei, I encountered seven autumns.”

The fourth.

At dawn—I thought it must have been around five in the morning—as I lay there half-awake listening, somewhere a cricket chirped shrilly. Pii-pii, pii-pii—though faint, the shrill cries persisted insistently. It was indeed cricket season, yet hearing them in this room felt unnatural. In this house's garden too, crickets did occasionally chirp, but it felt strange to hear one while lying in this bedroom's bed. How on earth had a cricket gotten into this room?

I involuntarily recalled my early childhood. When I lived in the Waridashi house—around six or seven years old—I lay in bed cradled by my wet nurse while crickets chirped beyond the engawa. Hiding beneath garden stepping stones or under the veranda’s edge, one would begin trilling in a faint voice. Unlike bell crickets or pine crickets that gather in swarms, there was always just a solitary one. Yet that lone insect sang with piercing clarity, its cry seeping into my ear’s depths. Then the wet nurse—

“Look here, Toku-chan—it’s autumn now. The crickets are singing.” That was how she would say it. “Listen to that voice—doesn’t it sound like it’s saying ‘Stab the shoulders, stab the hems—stab the shoulders, stab the hems’? Once you start hearing that cry, autumn has truly come.” When she told me this, a chill ran through the plain white sleeves of my unlined summer nightgown—whether from nerves or an actual draft, I couldn’t tell. I had always hated being dressed in stiffly starched single-layer robes, yet my nightclothes perpetually carried that cloying, slightly rancid smell of sizing. The scent of starch mingled with cricket songs and autumn’s prickling dawn air remains fused in my gauzy childhood memories. Even now at seventy-seven, whenever I recall that shrill chirping at daybreak—the starch-smell returns; her way of speaking revives; the scratchy nightgown rasps against my skin anew. Half-dreaming, I feel myself still lying in that Waridashi house—held by my wet nurse beneath summer-weight bedding.

But this morning, as my consciousness gradually sharpened, I became convinced that this shrill whistling was indeed audible within this very room where I lay bedridden alongside Nurse Sasaki. And yet, it was strange. There was no reason for a cricket to be chirping in this room. Since the windows and doors were firmly shut, there was no way the sound could have come from outside. Yet that shrill whistling persisted unmistakably. "Oh?"

Thinking this, I strained my ears once more. Ah, so that’s it—that’s what it was—I finally realized. Over and over, I listened again. That's right—this was definitely it. This had been it all along.

What I had taken to be a cricket’s chirping was no insect at all—it was my own breath rasping through parched airways. That morning’s arid air had left the old man’s throat bone-dry, his incipient cold transforming each inhalation into a shrill whistle. Whether this piping originated in my throat or nasal passages remained unclear—all I knew was its source seemed external to my failing body. How could such crystalline tones issue from these decaying lungs? Yet deliberate testing proved incontrovertible: inhale sharply and the whistle intensified; exhale slowly and it dwindled to a plaintive wheeze. Fascinated by this discovery, I repeated the experiment obsessively—forcing breath through desiccated membranes until my labored gasps mimicked a child’s bamboo flute.

“Have you awoken, sir?”

With that, Sasaki raised her upper body. “Do you know what this sound is?” With that, I made my throat produce the sound again. “It’s coming from your breathing, sir.” “Oh? You’ve known about this?” “I’ve been aware for some time—I hear it every morning.” “So I’ve been making this noise every morning?” “You’ve been producing such sounds yourself, sir—and yet you hadn’t noticed?” “Well... I’d had a sense of hearing it these past mornings, but half-asleep, I kept thinking it was a cricket chirping.”

“It’s not a cricket—it’s coming from your throat, sir.” “It’s not limited to you, sir—when people reach a certain age, everyone’s throat becomes parched, so each time they breathe, a flute-like sound comes out.” “It’s quite common among the elderly.”

“So you knew all along?” “Oh yes—I’ve been noticing it every morning lately. That adorable little peep-peep voice.” “You ought to let Baa-san hear this.” “She already knows such things.” “Satsuko would laugh if she heard this.” “As if there exists anything the Young Mistress doesn’t know.”

Fifth Day. Early this morning, I dreamt of Mother. For one as unfilial as I, this was a rare occurrence. I think it must have been that yesterday’s dawn-time dream of the cricket and the wet nurse had left lingering traces. The mother who appeared in my dream had taken on the most beautiful and youthful form preserved in my memory. Though I couldn’t pinpoint where exactly, it was almost certainly her from the Waridashi era. She wore a gray komon-patterned kimono with a black crepe haori over it whenever she went out. It remained unclear where she was about to go or which room she was walking through. Since she had taken out a tobacco pouch and pipe from her obi and smoked a pipeful, she seemed to have been sitting in the tea room—but at some point had gone outside, walking barefoot in azuma clogs. Her hair was arranged in a ginkgo-leaf bun adorned with a coral hairpin and another single coral orb, a tortoiseshell comb inlaid with butterfly shells tucked into it. Her hairstyle appeared in such intricate detail, yet her face remained indistinct. As people were shorter in the old days—Mother’s stature being low at about five shaku (approximately 4 feet 11 inches)—it might have been that only her head was visible. Even so, I knew it was Mother. Regrettably, she neither looked my way nor spoke to me. I too made no attempt to speak. Perhaps I remained silent out of fear that speaking would invite scolding. Since there was a relative’s house in Yokomiana, I thought she must have been heading there. For one true minute it glided by—after which I fell into a daze.

Even after waking, I kept recalling my mother’s figure from the dream as though ruminating. During the mid-Meiji era—perhaps around the 27th or 28th year—on some fine day, my mother might have walked past our house’s gate and glimpsed me as a young child in the street. And perhaps that impression of such a day has now been revived here. What strikes me as odd is that only Mother appears in her youthful form while I remain an old man. I stood taller than Mother in stature, looking down upon her from above. Thus I still thought of myself as a child and continued regarding Mother as Mother. And I believe this occurred around the 27th or 28th year of Meiji in Waridashi. I cannot tell whether such details belonged to the dream or not.

Mother knew that her own son had had a grandson named Jōkichi. However, since Mother died in Showa 3 when Jōkichi was five years old, she could never have known Satsuko who later came as a bride into our family. Given that even my own wife had opposed Satsuko and Jōkichi’s marriage so vehemently at the time—had Mother lived until then—how fiercely she would have objected. Their union would assuredly never have been permitted. No—from its very conception—a marriage with someone who had been a dancer would never have been countenanced. Not only would their marriage have been impossible—had an incident occurred where I—her own flesh and blood—succumbed to my grandson’s wife’s charms; had I been allowed petting; had I squandered three million yen on buying her that cat’s-eye stone—Mother would surely have fainted dead away. Had Father by some chance still been alive—both I and Jōkichi would certainly have been disinherited. No—more than that—what would Mother have thought upon seeing Satsuko’s face and bearing?

Mother was said to have been a beauty in her youth. I too remember her figure from when she was called a beauty. Until I turned fifteen or sixteen, she still retained traces of her former appearance. Having conjured that image in my mind and compared it with present-day Satsuko—what a striking difference! Satsuko too is called a beauty by society. The weighty reason Jōkichi took Satsuko as his wife lay precisely there. But between these two beauties—between Meiji 27 and Showa 35—what chasm had opened in Japanese physiques? Mother too had beautiful feet. Yet when I look at Satsuko’s feet, their beauty differs utterly. They could scarcely be considered feet of the same human species—let alone those of Japanese women. Mother’s feet were small enough to rest upon my palm. She would place them on tatami-lined geta and walk with knees turned sharply inward. (If so—why did Mother wear a black crepe haori in my dream yet go without tabi socks? Was it to show me her bare feet needlessly?) Meiji women—not just beauties—all walked thus with inward-turned knees. It resembled nothing so much as a goose’s gait. Satsuko’s feet are willow-leaf slender. “Ordinary Japanese shoes are too flat for my feet,” she boasts. By contrast, Mother’s feet were broad. When I see Fukūkensaku Kannon’s feet at Nara’s Sangatsu-dō, I always recall Mother’s. Her short stature too matched Mother’s exactly.

Women who didn’t reach five feet had not been uncommon. I too, born in the Meiji era, was short—about five shaku two sun (approximately 157.5 cm)—but Satsuko stood one sun three bu taller than me, measuring 161 centimeters and five millimeters. The methods of facial makeup had been vastly different in the past and simpler too. Married women—generally those eighteen or nineteen and older—would all shave their eyebrows and blacken their teeth. Though this custom gradually faded by mid-Meiji, it still persisted through my childhood. I still remembered the distinctive smell of the iron-based dye used for tooth-blackening. What would Mother have felt seeing Satsuko now? She permed her hair, dangled earrings from her lobes, painted her lips coral pink or pearl pink or coffee brown, applied eyebrow pencil to her brows and eye shadow to her lids, glued on false eyelashes, and still unsatisfied, used mascara to lengthen her lashes. By day she used a dark brown pencil; by night she mixed ink-black eye shadow to line her eyes. Her nail makeup followed the same pattern—to detail it would prove unbearably tedious. Could Japanese women have transformed so completely over sixty-odd years? Reflecting on how I’d lived through such vast stretches of time and witnessed countless changes, I found myself marveling. What would Mother—she who bore me in Meiji 16—have thought of her son Tokusuke still clinging to life in this world? Of me feeling this shameful allure toward Satsuko: her grandson’s wife by marriage, the lawful spouse of her own grandson? Of me finding pleasure in her torments? Of me sacrificing wife and children to win her love? Thirty-three years after Mother died in Showa 3—could she ever have dreamed her son would become such a madman? That such a bride would invade our household? No—I myself had never imagined matters would come to this.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The twelfth.

………Around four in the afternoon, Baa-san and Rikuko entered. It had been ages since I last saw Rikuko in this room. After facing my rejection on July 19, she had utterly withdrawn her affection toward me. Even when Baa-san and Tsunesuke left for Karuizawa, they deliberately avoided stopping here and met at Ueno Station instead. During their recent stay in Karuizawa, they took pains not to cross paths with me. That Baa-san now entered accompanied by her surely meant there was some purpose.

“The children have been such an imposition on you all this time.” “What business brings you here?”

I abruptly asked point-blank. "No, nothing in particular..." "Oh? The children seemed quite lively too, didn't they." "Thank you very much—it's all thanks to your kindness that they're overjoyed again this year." "You hardly ever see them normally—the three of them have grown so big you'd hardly recognize them."

Here, Baa-san interjected. “Well now, Rikuko heard something interesting and thought we should let you know about it too, Grandpa.”

“Ah, I see.” Thinking she had come to say something bothersome again, “Grandpa, you remember Mr. Yuya, don’t you?” “Are you talking about Yuya who went to Brazil?” “Do you know Mr. Yuya’s son?” “At Jōkichi’s wedding—they attended as a couple claiming to act on their father’s behalf—” “Do you think I remember such a thing?” “What about it?” “I don’t remember either, but apparently they’ve gotten close with Hokita through work relations lately and sometimes meet up, or so I’ve heard.”

“So? What’s your point?” “Well, you see—since Mr. Yuya came around the neighborhood last Sunday—they say he and his wife stopped by Hokita’s place on purpose. Now that I think of it, that wife of his was such a chatterbox—they must’ve wanted to say this all along. That’s what Rikuko claims.” “What’s this about?” “Well—from now on you’ll have to ask Rikuko about such matters.”

The two people who had been standing lined up before me as I sat in my armchair now went "Heave-ho" and settled onto the sofa. And though not much older than Satsuko, Rikuko—who had already settled into middle-aged womanhood—took over and continued. She started talking about Yuya’s wife, but she too wouldn’t be outdone in chatter. “The other evening, right after we returned from Karuizawa—on the night of the 25th of last month—there was an Oriental Featherweight Title Match at Kōrakuen Gym, wasn’t there?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, there was one, you know. “It was the night when Sakamoto Haruo, Japan’s bantamweight champion, knocked out Thailand’s bantamweight champion Sirinoy Lukprakris, crowning the inaugural champion—” Rikuko effortlessly rattled off that "Sirinoy Lukprakris" name and stepped back. For someone like me, I could never memorize it on the first try—nor say it all in one breath. I stumbled over the pronunciation. As expected of a chatterbox—she was in a league of her own.

“Mr. and Mrs. Yuya apparently left early to watch from the preliminary matches, but the two seats to the right of the lady at ringside were empty at first.” “Then, just as the title match was about to begin, an incredibly stylish woman came in holding a beige handbag in one hand and twirling a car key in the other—she sat right next to them, they say.” “Who do you suppose that was?”

“...” “Mrs. Yuya only ever laid eyes on Satsu-chan at her wedding—and that was seven or eight years ago now—so of course it’s no wonder she’s forgotten my face. Among so many people back then, she’d have never paid any attention to someone like me from the start. But *I* haven’t forgotten *her* for a second—how could I? She’s one of those rare beauties you can’t forget once you’ve seen her, and they say she’s grown twice as lovely since those days.” “But thinking it’d be rude to stay silent, I tried to call out, ‘Aren’t you the young mistress of the Ukita household?’—when right then, some unknown man cut in and sat down next to Satsu-chan. They seemed acquainted and started chatting so amiably that I ended up missing my chance to greet her at all.”

“...” “Well—not that there’s anything wrong with it—but I’d rather you hear that story from Baa-san herself—” “What good could possibly come of it?”

And here, Baa-san interjected again. “Please have Baa-san tell you that—I’ll refrain.” “But more than anything—what first caught Mrs. Yuya’s eye was the cats-eye sparkling on Satsu-chan’s finger, they say.” “Since she was seated directly to my right, I could clearly see it set on her left hand.” “According to her observation—a cats-eye stone of that size and quality isn’t something you find everywhere—they say it’s surely over fifteen carats.” “Until now neither Baa-san nor I have ever seen Satsu-chan with such a stone—and I certainly don’t know when she could’ve bought something like that—don’t you think?”

“...”

“Speaking of which, when Mr. Kishi was prime minister, there was that incident where someone bought a cats-eye in French Indochina or somewhere and it became a problem, wasn’t there?” “The newspapers wrote that the stone at that time was two million yen, didn’t they?” “Since gem prices are low in French Indochina, if it was two million yen there, bringing it to Japan would be worth more than double.” “So then, Satsu-chan’s cats-eye stone must be quite something, don’t you think?” “Who could have bought such a thing for her and when?”

And here, Baa-san interjected another remark. “Well, it’s just that the stone was so splendid and dazzling—Mrs. Yuya’s eyes went round as she kept stealing glances at it, you see. So Satsu-chan must have noticed her staring because she reportedly took out lace gloves from her handbag and slipped them on. But here’s the thing—where it was meant to be hidden, the gem actually shone even more conspicuously through the lace! And those gloves were likely French-made hand-knit lace ones, black at that—black, mind you! With that darkness making the jewel’s glow stand out all the more. One might even wonder if Satsu-chan deliberately chose that effect.” “When someone remarked, ‘My, you observed even such minute details!’—well, since she was seated to my right and had it set on her left hand, she could observe it as much as she liked. That night, she reportedly became so distracted by the finger visible through the lace that she missed the boxing match—or so the lady claims.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

4

The thirteenth.

Continued from yesterday.

“Hey, Grandpa, there’s no way Satsuko should have something like that, but…”

Baa-san’s interrogation reached this point and abruptly intensified. “...” “Hey, when did you buy it for her?” “What does it matter when?” “That’s unacceptable! First off, how could you even have that kind of money to begin with, Grandpa? You were the one who kept complaining about Rikuko’s spending!”

“...”

“Is that what you call ‘spending’?” “That’s just how it is.”

Both Baa-san and Rikuko wore expressions of speechless astonishment. "There may be money for Satsuko, but none for Rikuko—that's simply how it goes." First I'd shocked them with this opening salvo—but in that instant, a clever excuse had surfaced. "When you insisted on tearing down my retirement cottage to rebuild it, didn't I oppose you?"

“Hmph, I did object.” “Who in this world would agree to such unfilial notions as yours?” “Therefore—no matter how filial a daughter-in-law they might claim Lord Zensei-in or Lady Shikan-in had—they must be rejoicing over your affairs from beneath the grass blades.” “Thus the funds I’d reserved for that purpose became available, you see.” “Just because money freed up doesn’t mean you needed to buy such a thing for Satsuko!” “What’s wrong? I’m not buying it for strangers—it’s for our own precious daughter-in-law. Performing such Buddha-worthy acts ought to earn me praise as a commendable man, don’t you think?”

“If it’s just the rebuilding costs, that alone shouldn’t account for everything—there must still be some left over.” “Ah, well there might be—but the money for the jewel was only a portion of that.” “Well then, what do you intend to use that surplus for?” "What I do with it is my own business—I don’t want your unnecessary meddling." “But what do you intend to use it for? I’d like to inquire for future reference.” “Well, what should I fabricate as an excuse? Since she kept saying she wanted a pool in the garden, I suppose I’ll build one first—then how delighted she’d be.”

Baa-san didn’t say anything. She remained silent, her eyes wide. “Can they really build a pool that quickly? It’s already autumn.” And Rikuko said.

“Concrete takes time to dry completely—they say even if we start construction now，it’ll still take about four months.” “Satsuko had thoroughly investigated this.” “It’ll be winter when completed.” “No need for particular haste then—if we take our time finishing around March or April next year，that’s acceptable—though I’d still like my delighted face seen just a bit sooner through faster completion.”

With this, Rikuko too fell silent.

"Moreover, Satsuko says those cramped inground pools found in ordinary households won't do—she insists on one at least twenty meters long and fifteen or sixteen meters wide." "If it's not that size, she claims she can't properly perform her cherished synchronized swimming." "She declared she wants to stage it solo and show it specifically to me." "That's the very reason we're building this pool—so she can perform it for my eyes alone." "That may be all very well, but if we have a pool at our house, Tsune-chan would surely be delighted, and..."

Rikuko said, and Baa-san said. “It’s not like you’re giving proper thought to Tsunesuke’s situation either, since you’ve gone and left his school homework entirely to some part-time student.” “Since you’re Grandpa, our child is pitiable!”

“But now that the pool’s been built, Tsune-chan will dive right in.” “The Tsujidō children will also be enthusiastically using it.” “Even so, let them come in as often as they like.” Caught by the enemy mid-leap. Surely Tsunesuke and those Tsujidō brats splashing about couldn’t justify it. Yet July kept them in school till month’s end, and come August they’d be packed off to Karuizawa. The real problem was Haruhisa. “By the way—how much will this pool cost to build?”

Of course I had steeled myself for this question coming, but both Baa-san and Rikuko ended up getting distracted and forgot to ask this crucial matter. I breathed a sigh of relief. But that wasn’t all—their true intent had been to corner me relentlessly like this, first forcing a confession about the cats-eye affair to leave me speechless, then surely planning to broach Satsuko’s relationship with Haruhisa. Yet faced with the matter’s excessive gravity, they refrained from rash accusations and hesitated—a hesitation I exploited through my own imperious manner of speaking, so unorthodox that in the end, they found themselves silenced. However, they wouldn’t leave this matter unaddressed forever. ......

The thirteenth was Taian. In the evening, Jōkichi and his wife were to attend a friend’s wedding. The couple going out together had become rare lately. Jōkichi wore a tuxedo; Satsuko wore a visiting kimono. Though it was September and still hot enough for Western dress, why was Satsuko wearing a kimono? This too had become rare of late. She wore a white silk crepe kimono with a skirt pattern of stylized tree branches rendered in gradations of black, surrounded by a pale blue depiction resembling shadows. The blue lining of the inner fold peeked through as well.

“Well, Grandpa, I’ve come to show you.” “Turn this way for me to see—go on and spin all the way around.” The obi was a ro-silk tapestry-woven fukuro obi. A ground color of pale cobalt faintly mixed with silver threads, woven with yellow-tinged threads and gold threads into a Kenzan-style ceramic-painting design. It was tied somewhat snugly, with the end left hanging a bit longer than usual. The obiage was of ro-silk fabric with a gradation from white to pale pink. The obijime was a cord of gold and silver threads twisted like rope. The ring was nephrite jade. She was cradling a small white beaded handbag in her left hand.

"The kimono still isn't bad," I said. "It's quite stylish how you've skipped earrings and a necklace." "You really do get it, don't you, Grandpa?" Oshizu entered from behind Satsuko carrying a zōri sandal box, took out the footwear, and arranged it before her mistress. Having arrived in slippers, Satsuko deliberately changed into zōri before my eyes. The sandals boasted silver clasps and triple-tiered soles, their thongs lined with pink only on the underside. Being newly made, they didn't dig too harshly into the spaces between her toes. Oshizu grew flustered assisting her, beads of sweat forming on her brow. At last properly shod, Satsuko took two or three demonstrative steps. She took particular pride in how wearing tabi minimized the protrusion of her ankles. No doubt this calculated display of traditional attire had been staged expressly for my benefit. ………

The sixteenth.

Lately, the sweltering heat persisted every day. Though it was already mid-September, this heat remained abnormal. Because of that, my legs felt extremely heavy and swollen. The edema was more severe on the instep than the shin; when I pressed near the base of my toes with a finger, it sank frighteningly deep. And the indentation never filled back in. The fourth and fifth toes of my left foot were completely paralyzed. And their undersides had swollen up like grapes. The heaviness in my calves and around my ankles was severe, but the soles of my feet fared worst. It felt as though something heavy as an iron plate had been stuck fast to the soles of my feet. This was not limited to my left foot—it affected both legs. When I walked, the shins of both legs tangled together in a peculiar way, making it impossible to proceed. When I tried to put on my geta and step down from the engawa, the sandals never slid on smoothly. Invariably, I would stagger and drop my foot onto the shoe-removal stone, sometimes stepping directly on the ground and dirtying my soles. These various tendencies had existed before but had become particularly pronounced recently. Nurse Sasaki, concerned, had me lie supine every day and cross my knees alternately to test for beriberi, though it didn’t seem to be beriberi.

“We really must have Dr. Sugita come to conduct a thorough examination. It’s been some time since we last took an electrocardiogram as well—we need to perform one again. I’m deeply troubled by how this edema is progressing.”

she said.

This morning another incident occurred. While being led by Nurse Sasaki for a walk in the garden, the collie that should have been confined within the fenced doghouse somehow broke free, came bounding out, and suddenly leapt at me. Though likely intending to play, this wholly unexpected assault startled me profoundly. For one terrifying moment, I felt confronted by a wild beast. Before I could react, I was effortlessly knocked backward onto the lawn. Though not severely painful, the impact against my occiput sent dull reverberations through my skull. Attempting to rise proved futile at first; retrieving my cane and hauling myself upright required several agonizing minutes. Having disposed of me, the dog turned its playful aggression toward Sasaki. At the sound of her shrieks, Satsuko came running up still clad in her negligee,

“Leslie, here!” When she scolded it with a glare, the collie promptly became obedient and, wagging its tail behind Satsuko, went off toward the doghouse.

"Are you injured anywhere?" As I stood up, brushing the hem of my yukata, Sasaki said. "There were no injuries, but if a decrepit old man gets jumped on by such a large creature, he wouldn’t stand a chance." “It was truly fortunate that you fell on the lawn.”

Both Jōkichi and I had always been dog lovers, and we had kept dogs before. However, we had kept only small breeds like Airedales, Dachshunds, and Spitzes as our main pets. We came to keep large dogs only after Jōkichi took a wife. About six months after their marriage, Jōkichi declared he wanted to try keeping a borzoi, and soon found an excellent specimen to bring home. He then hired a trainer and conducted daily drills without fail. Tasks like meal preparation, bathing care, and brushing required such labor that complaints never ceased from Baa-san down to the maids—yet it was Jōkichi who enforced these routines, as recorded in that era's diary. But in hindsight, this hadn't been Jōkichi’s will at all—rather Satsuko had coaxed her husband into it—though I hadn’t realized this initially. Two years later when that borzoi died of distemper encephalitis, Satsuko revealed her true nature by personally demanding we replace it with a greyhound she ordered from a kennel. She named this dog Cooper and doted on it obsessively—having Nomura chauffeur them around town in ostentatious displays until people said she favored Cooper over even young Tsunesuke. But this greyhound, likely an aged specimen when acquired, soon developed fluid retention from filariasis and died. What she sought third was this collie. According to its pedigree, this dog’s sire was London-born and named Leslie—hence his pup inherited the name. The cholera incident too must have been thoroughly documented in those diaries. Though Leslie received no less affection from Satsuko than Cooper had, Rikuko and others appeared to have secretly inflamed Baa-san’s opposition—for opinions against keeping large collies began surfacing sporadically in our household two or three years prior.

The reason was none other than this. Until two or three years prior, Grandpa's legs and hips had still been somewhat sturdy enough that even being leapt upon by a large dog wouldn't have been concerning—but now circumstances differed profoundly. Whether dog or even cat attacked him these days, he'd collapse without a moment's resistance. Our garden wasn't merely lawn—it contained slopes here and there along with stone steps and irregular stepping stones. Should one be knocked down in such terrain and strike an unfortunate spot—what then? Indeed there existed an elderly gentleman of our acquaintance who'd merely tangled feet with his Shepherd before falling gravely injured—three months hospitalized now with his cast still firmly set. Thus did Baa-san plead that Grandpa should order them to dispose of the collie—she herself had made similar appeals repeatedly—but since Satsuko wouldn't heed words coming from her alone.

"But she loves it so dearly—it seems cruel to tell her to get rid of it, and yet…" "Even if you make such grand pronouncements, your own body isn’t replaceable." "First off, even if we tell her to get rid of it, how exactly are we supposed to dispose of such a large animal?" "There must be someone who likes dogs and would take him, I’m sure." “If it were a puppy, that’s one thing—but keeping something that’s grown so large is difficult! And yet even you don’t dislike Leslie.”

“You’re so terrified of Grandpa provoking Satsuko’s fierce glare that you’d let me sustain grave injuries now? Is that acceptable?”

“Well then, why don’t you tell her yourself? If Satsuko agrees to it, I won’t complain.”

But in reality, even Baa-san could no longer voice objections. Even setting that aside—with the Young Mistress’s authority daily surpassing that of the Retired Master—the mere matter of disposing of one dog might spark God knows what sort of major quarrel; thinking this, we could hardly recklessly open hostilities over such trifles. To speak truthfully, I did not particularly care for Leslie either. Upon reflection, I had come to realize my show of affection was nothing but pretense for Satsuko’s benefit. Whenever I glimpsed her going out riding with Leslie pressed against her side, an indefinable unpleasantness welled up within me. I could resign myself when she rode with Jōkichi—that being natural—or even with Haruhisa since nothing could be done; but it infuriated me that I couldn’t muster jealousy toward a mere dog. Yet this creature possessed an aristocratic visage exuding a certain nobility. One might even say Leslie’s features surpassed those of Haruhisa with his Negro-like stench. Satsuko would make it sit pressed tight against her seat as she rode. Then she’d clamp onto its neck, rub her cheek against it while making it run. Passersby seeing this would surely find it repulsive.

“Please don’t put on such displays outside—it’s outrageous how you act that way when the master might see you.” Nomura had said this, but if so, perhaps even this remark was meant to ridicule me. In my eagerness to curry favor with Satsuko, I would insincerently coo sweet nothings at Leslie in her presence and toss sweets over the enclosure fence. Whenever I did this, Satsuko would turn deadly serious and rebuke me.

“What do you think you’re doing, Grandpa? Don’t hand out snacks without asking.” “See here—he’s so well-trained he won’t eat just anything you give him, Grandpa.” With that, she alone slipped into the enclosure and—making certain I was watching—ostentatiously stroked Leslie, pressing her cheek against his muzzle in a mock kiss. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” I remember how she smirked the moment those words left her lips.

I do not consider sustaining injuries to win her favor a loss; should those injuries bring death, I would rather welcome it. But to be trampled to death not by her but by her dog—that I cannot abide. ………

At 2:00 PM, Dr. Sugita came for an examination. I wished it hadn't been today of all days, but Nurse Sasaki had already reported the dog incident. "It seems you've had quite an ordeal." "Oh, it's really nothing at all." "In any case, let me examine you." I was made to lie down and had my hands, legs, and hips thoroughly examined. The paralytic-like ache in my shoulders, elbows, and kneecaps had predated Leslie and wasn't his doing. Fortunately, I seemed to have suffered no harm from Leslie. Dr. Sugita auscultated my heart multiple times, examined my back, had me take deep breaths, and took an electrocardiogram using a portable device,

"I don't believe there's anything particularly concerning," Dr. Sugita said, "but I'll report the results to you later after returning." Having said this, he departed.

The report came that evening.

“The electrocardiogram results show nothing particularly out of the ordinary. Given your advanced age, some degree of change is unavoidable—but there are no abnormalities compared to the previous measurements. What’s more necessary now is to conduct a kidney examination once.” He stated.

The 24th.

Nurse Sasaki said she wanted to go see her children starting that evening. Since she had just been given leave last month，there was no way to permit it again. She was to return by the following morning，but unfortunately the next day was Sunday. Saturday into Sunday would be more settled for meeting her children，which suited Nurse Sasaki’s convenience；however，they needed to hear what Satsuko had to say about this. Baa-san had been saying since July that she declined to act as Sasaki’s substitute.

“Oh, it’s fine. Since she’s finally enjoying herself, just let Nurse Sasaki go.” “Are you sure that’s acceptable?” “Why would you even ask such a thing?” “Tomorrow is Sunday, you know.” “I know that perfectly well—what’s your point?”

“I don’t know if you’re truly fine with this arrangement, but hasn’t Jōkichi done nothing but travel these days?” “What of it?” “He happens to be home this Saturday and Sunday, you see.” “And what does that signify?” “For once he might want to sleep late at his own home with his wife.” “Even a delinquent old man like you occasionally feels compelled to play the dutiful father, hmm?” “Consider it atonement.” “You’re overstepping—he’d call this meddling an unwelcome nuisance, I assure you.”

“What can one do?” “Oh hush—you needn’t trouble yourself over such trifles.” “I’ll dutifully substitute for Nurse Sasaki tonight.” “Since Grandpa rose early, I’ll visit his quarters afterward.” “How cruel to storm into his slumber and rouse him.”

“Oh, he’s probably lying awake waiting.” He'd been had. At 9:30 PM I bathed; at 10:00 PM I retired. As usual, Oshizu brought the rattan chaise longue for her. “Are you going to sleep on that thing again?” “It doesn’t matter what I use—just keep quiet and rest already.” “You’ll catch a cold on that rattan chaise.” “I made them bring plenty of blankets so I won’t catch cold. Leave everything to Oshizu—she knows what she’s doing.”

“If you catch a cold, Jōkichi won’t forgive me.—No, not just Jōkichi.” “Shut up—that face says you want more Adalin again.” “Two tablets might not work.” “Don’t lie! Last month too—you took two tablets claiming they’d work instantly, then lay there like a corpse with your mouth gaping open and drool dripping.” “You must’ve made quite the obscene face.” “I’ll let you imagine that—but Grandpa, why keep your dentures in when sleeping with me? You always remove them to rest—I know you do.”

“It’s more comfortable to take them out when sleeping at night, but if I do, my face becomes utterly old and hideous, you see. I don’t mind if Baa-san or Nurse Sasaki see me like that, but…” “You think I’ve never seen it, don’t you?” “There was that time, wasn’t there?” “When you had that convulsion last year, you were in a coma for half a day, weren’t you?” “Did you see it then?” “Whether you have your dentures in or not makes no difference—it’s just absurd to hide them.” “I don’t have any intention to hide it, but I just don’t want to make people uncomfortable, you see.”

“It’s absurd to think you need to hide them unless you take them out.” “Well, I’ll take them out.—Look—see? This is what my face looks like.—” I rose from the bed, went before her, and facing her directly, first removed both upper and lower jaw-attached full dentures, placing them into the denture case on the night table. And then I deliberately clenched my upper and lower gums together with force, shrinking the dimensions of my face as much as possible to show her. My nose flattened, and my lips dangled down over them. Even a chimpanzee would look better compared to this face. I repeatedly gaped open and snapped shut my upper and lower gums, lolling my yellow tongue about inside my oral cavity to show her a face of utmost grotesquerie. Satsuko had been staring fixedly at that face, but she pulled out a hand mirror from the night table’s drawer and thrust it at me, saying—

“Showing me that face doesn’t do a thing. Wouldn’t you be better off taking a good look at your own? If not, I’ll make you see it.” “There—this is your face.”

Having said that, she propped the mirror in front of my face. “Well? This face?”

It’s an indescribably old and ugly face.

After looking at my face in the mirror, I next looked at Satsuko’s figure. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t believe these two belonged to the same species of creature. The more hideous I found the face in the mirror, the more incomparably superior the creature called Satsuko appeared. I found myself wishing my reflection were even more hideous—then Satsuko would have appeared all the more superior by contrast, I lamented. “Come on, let’s get to bed, Grandpa. Hurry up and go over there.”

“I’d like you to bring me some Adalin.”

I said as I returned to my bed. "Can't I rest tonight either?" "You always end up getting excited when we're together." "You wouldn't get excited looking at a face like that, would you?" "When I see that face and then look at yours, I can't help but get excited." "You couldn't possibly understand this psychology." "I don't get it." "In short—the more hideous I am, the more impossibly beautiful you appear." Half-listening to my words, she went to fetch the Adalin. And then she returned with an American cigarette *Cool* held between a single finger.

“Now, open your mouth wide—Ahh.” “It mustn’t become a habit, so just two tablets again tonight.” “Couldn’t you do it mouth-to-mouth?” “Just think about that face of yours when you take it.” Even so, she picked them up with her fingers and put them in for me. “Oh, since when have you been smoking?”

“I’ve been smoking secretly on the second floor now and then lately.”

In her hand, the lighter flickered. “I don’t even want to smoke, but this is just another kind of accessory. Tonight’s my palate cleanser after that.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The 28th. ………On rainy days, the poor condition of my hands and feet becomes even worse—I can sense it coming even before the rain starts—but today, from the moment I woke up this morning, the numbness in my hands, the swelling in my legs, and the stiffness had all been particularly severe. Though the rain kept me from the garden, even walking the corridor proved difficult. I staggered unsteadily, about to collapse, and worried I might fall off the veranda. The numbness in my hand had spread from the elbow to the vicinity of the shoulder; I feared that if this continued, I might become hemiplegic. From around six in the evening, the coldness in my hands grew increasingly severe. As if submerged in ice, they had become completely numb. No, though I called it numbness, when the cold became this severe, I felt something akin to pain. Yet when others touched them, they found it unbearable, though they claimed my hands felt like ordinary warm hands. Only I myself felt it as unbearably painful. I had experienced this kind of painful coldness many times before, and while it mostly occurred during the midwinter chill, it was not necessarily limited to winter. But for such a thing to occur in September, as it did today, was quite rare. According to past experience—whenever it grew this cold—I would soak a large towel in boiling water and wrap it from fingertips to shoulder; then swathe that arm in thick flannel; finally pressing two platinum pocket warmers against strategic points along its length. Even so, after ten minutes it would cool down completely, so I would bring boiling water to my bedside, reheat the towel, and wrap it again. I repeated this treatment five or six times. Because the water cooled, I continuously brought in hot water from the medicine can and poured it into the washbasin. Today as well, by repeating this method, the coldness had finally subsided somewhat.

5

The 29th.

Last night，thanks to soaking in the bath for a fairly long time，the pain in my hands subsided somewhat，allowing me to sleep peacefully．Yet when I woke at dawn and checked，I found the pain had started up again．The rain had stopped，and the sky was beautifully clear．If only this body were healthy—how invigorating such an autumn day would feel！Yet when I thought how I used to relish that very invigoration until four or five years ago，bitter envy curdled into revulsion．I took three tablets of Dorsin． At 10 AM，I had my blood pressure measured．Systolic dropped to 105，diastolic to 58．Persuaded by Sasaki，I ate two crackers with a small amount of Kraft cheese and drank a cup of black tea．And then she measured it again after approximately twenty minutes．Systolic rose to 158，diastolic to 92．Such violent fluctuations in blood pressure within a short period were not advisable．

“Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t push yourself so hard with your writing? I worry the pain will start up again.”

Seeing me keeping my diary, Sasaki said. I didn't let anyone read my diary's contents, but with nurses being required this frequently, Sasaki must have sensed something to some extent—it couldn't be helped. I didn't know—before long, I might end up having someone grind my ink stick for me. "Even if it hurts a little, keeping yourself occupied like this helps distract your mind—you should stop if the pain becomes unbearable. It's good that you're working while you still can—please go there now."

From 1 PM, I took an afternoon nap, drowsing sluggishly for about an hour. When I woke up and looked, I had broken out in a drenching sweat. "You’ll catch a cold this way." Sasaki came in again and made him change into a sweat-soaked gauze undergarment. His forehead and the nape of his neck were unpleasantly clammy.

“Dorsin isn’t working either—I’m sweating buckets and can’t handle it. Don’t you have any other medicine?”

At 5 PM, Dr. Sugita came for an examination. The medicine had worn off, and now the severe pain began anew. “He says the Dorsin makes him sweat too much.” Sasaki complained to Dr. Sugita. “This is quite troubling. Well... “As I have repeatedly explained, this pain stems twenty to thirty percent from cerebral origins and sixty to seventy percent from neuralgia caused by physiological changes in the cervical vertebrae—the diagnosis has been confirmed through X-ray examinations. “To correct this, there’s no alternative but to relieve the nerve compression through a plaster bed or traction method—however, that would require three or four months of endurance. “However, given that he is an elderly gentleman, it’s only natural that he finds such endurance too much to bear. “If that is the case, there remains no method but to temporarily mask [the symptoms] with medication. “As we have various medications available—if Dorsin isn’t working and Nobron isn’t either—we could try administering a Parotin injection instead. I believe this should help him endure the pain for the time being.”

As a result of the injection, the symptoms gradually began to improve.………

October 1st.

The pain in my hand persisted unrelentingly; while it had been most severe in the little and ring fingers and less so toward the thumb, it gradually spread to encompass all five fingers. The pain extended beyond my palm toward my wrist—reaching from the little finger to the styloid process of the ulna and the process of the radius—and when I tried to rotate my wrist all the way around, it hurt so acutely that I could not manage it smoothly. The paralysis was most severe at my wrist; even the sensation of immobility blurred the boundary between where numbness ended and pain began—I could scarcely distinguish them. I received Parotin injections twice in the afternoon and at night.………

The 2nd. The pain persisted; Sasaki consulted Dr. Sugita and administered a Sobrocannon injection. ………

The 4th. Disliking the Noburon injections, they tried suppositories—little effect. ………

The 9th.

From the 4th until today, the pain continued almost without respite, leaving me with no energy to keep up my diary.

I remained bedridden in my bedroom, with Sasaki nursing me diligently every day. Today, despite everything, I felt somewhat better and found myself with a slight urge to write. Over these past five days, they had given me various injections and made me take numerous medications. Sasaki taught me their names—Pyrabital, Irgapyrin, Parotin again, Irgapyrin suppositories, Doriden, Provarin, Nocturn—though I couldn’t say whether there were still others beyond these. After all, I couldn’t possibly memorize them all at once. Doriden, Provarin, and Nocturn weren’t antispasmodics but sleep aids. Even I—who once fell asleep so easily—now lay awake night after night from the pain, forced to rely on these various sedatives. Baa-san and Jōkichi came to visit from time to time.

On the afternoon of the 5th—the day when the pain was at its most severe—Baa-san peered into the sickroom for the first time and said: “Satsuko says she’d like to come see how you’re doing, but…” ……… “Wouldn’t it be good for her to come? She says that seeing your face at a time like this would make you forget the pain, even if just a little—or so she told me.” “Idiot!” I suddenly shouted. Why I felt compelled to shout—even I couldn’t understand. Just as I thought how mortifying it would be for her to see me in such a wretched state—this outburst escaped me—though truth be told, I didn’t want her to come either.

“Oh? Is it so wrong for Satsuko to come see you?” “It’s not just Satsuko—if Rikuko or anyone else dares visit, I won’t have it!” “I understand perfectly—no matter how much you complain about the pain, there’s no need to fret since it’s just your hand. You needn’t hold back on my account—though there was no need, I already turned Rikuko away. “Rikuko was in tears, you know.” “What’s there to cry about?” “Since Goko too said she wanted to come out, I’ve firmly put a stop to it.” “But isn’t Satsuko different? Why have you taken against her?”

“Fool! Fool! Who said I disliked her?! It’s not dislike—it’s that I adore her too much! Precisely because I adore her, I can’t bear to meet her in this wretched state!” “Oh dear, if that’s how you feel—though I’ve spoken out of turn—please don’t flare up so. Anger harms your health most of all.” Baa-san replied in a cooing tone meant for infants and shuffled out of the room. I’d been ambushed in my weakest point—my fluster showed plainly, forcing me to mask shame with rage. Left alone, I reconsidered calmly: my outburst had been unnecessary. Yet I grew frantic imagining how Satsuko might interpret this through Baa-san’s account. Since that woman peers into every crevice of my soul, she surely won’t misconstrue things—but………

“Right—it’s better if I meet her after all. If I seize an opportunity in the next two or three days and try to broach it skillfully…”

This afternoon, I suddenly conceived a plan. My hand would surely start hurting again around tonight—though perhaps I was willing it to hurt—I would seize that moment of greatest pain to summon Satsuko. “Satsuko! Satsuko! It hurts! It hurts! Help me!” I wailed like a child. Satsuko entered in astonishment. "Who knows if this old man’s really crying this hard or what trick he’s pulling," she thought warily while entering with feigned astonishment, her face a mask of vacant bewilderment. “I only need Satsuko! I have no use for anyone else!” I shouted again and drove Sasaki away. Now that we were alone, I wondered what kind of approach I should take.

“It hurts so much! Help me!” “Okay, okay, *Grandpa*—what would you have me do? Just tell me what to do.”

If she were to come like that, I could corner her—but I couldn’t just blurt it out carelessly. Was there no way to sweet-talk her into compliance here? "If you kissed me, I might forget the pain." Foot rubs or whatever wouldn’t work. "Necking wouldn’t work either."

"If it's not a real kiss, I won't accept it."

What if I made a proper scene like this—throwing a full-blown tantrum, raising my voice in tears and letting out screams? Might my target—she—reluctantly give in? Perhaps I should try carrying out one of these plans within the next two or three days. "I said to aim for when it hurts most," but even if it wasn’t truly the worst pain, pretending agony would suffice. I really should shave this beard. Having gone four or five days without shaving left my face covered in stubble. This disheveled look made me properly resemble an invalid—effective for sympathy—but when considering kissing, such a bushy beard would prove inconvenient. I should remove my dentures too. And keep my mouth clean so it wouldn’t be noticeable………

As I kept muttering various things, today too the pain began come evening. I could no longer write anything. ...Letting go of the brush, I called for Sasaki.

………

The 10th. Irgapyrin injection: one syringe (0.5 cc). I experienced dizziness after a long interval. The ceiling spun round and round; a single pillar appeared to split into two or three. The spinning continued for five minutes before returning to normal. There was a sensation of heaviness in the neck. I took 0.1 grams of Luminal in three doses and slept.

The 11th. The pain showed no significant difference from yesterday's. Today I used a Novbron suppository.........

The 12th. Took three Dolsin tablets. As usual, I became drenched in sweat. ………

The 13th.

This morning I was feeling slightly better. While I could still manage, I had to urgently write down last night’s events.

At eight in the evening, Jōkichi peeked into the sickroom. He too seemed to be making an effort those days to return home before nightfall.

“How are you? Have you improved a little?” “Far from good—it only gets worse by the day.” “But you’ve shaved your beard and look quite neat now, haven’t you?”

The truth was, my hand hurt too much to handle a razor properly, yet I'd forced myself to shave just that morning. "Shaving a beard isn't such simple work, you know. Though leaving it wild makes me look even more like some invalid, doesn't it?" "Why not have Satsuko do it?" What devil possessed that bastard Jōkichi to say such a thing? Had he noticed my shaving and already sniffed something out? At heart, he couldn't stand Satsuko being treated casually within the household. This stemmed from his inferiority over marrying a former dancer—a circumstance that naturally elevated her status as "young mistress," inflating it beyond all proportion. Not that I bore no responsibility in shaping her thus, but Jōkichi—her own husband—had from the first shown her undue deference. Who knows how they behaved alone, but publicly he made particular show of this. Would he truly order his precious wife to tend his father's beard?

“I don’t want to have a woman touch such a place.” I had deliberately said that. Yet if I were to lie back in the chair and let her shave my face, I might see deep into those nostrils of hers—the thin nasal flesh glowing crimson through translucent skin wouldn’t be so unpleasant, such thoughts crossed my mind. “Satsuko handles electric razors skillfully—I made her do it for me when I was ill too.” “Oh? You make Satsuko do such things?”

“Even if you don’t make her do it, is there anything strange about her doing it?” “I never thought Satsuko would obediently do such a thing.” “Not just beard shaving—since anything will do, please make use of Satsuko. I’ll have her do whatever you need.” “How about this—you can say such things to me, but would you actually give that kind of order to Satsuko’s face? Just have her do whatever Father says.” “Even if it’s overstepping, I’ll be sure to tell her.”………

I didn’t know what he had told her or how he’d phrased it, but that night, a little past ten, Satsuko suddenly slipped into the room. “You told me not to come,” she said, “but Jōkichi insisted I should, so here I am.”

“What did Jōkichi do?” “He’s gone out again somewhere—said he’s going for a quick drink.”

“I’d thought Jōkichi would bring you here and let me watch him give you orders right before my eyes, but...” “He can’t exactly give proper orders, so I slipped away—it was getting awkward. But I did hear what he said. Since having you around would be a nuisance, I told him to go somewhere else and drove him out.” “Even so—there’s still one more nuisance here.” “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Having said that, Nurse Sasaki promptly took the initiative. As if she had given a signal, the pain in my hand intensified. From the styloid processes of the ulna and radius to the tips of all five fingers, my hand stiffened into a solid rod-like mass, while the inner and outer parts of my palm began to ache minutely and finely with a prickling and throbbing pain. It resembled what is called formication, yet it was not something as gentle as that—this was a far more intense and violent pain. And my hand felt clamped tight, exactly as if thrust into a vat of rice bran paste. Clamped tight and yet it hurt. So tightly constricted that it had gone numb, and yet it hurt. This kind of sensation could only be understood by the one experiencing it. No matter how I tried to explain it to the doctors, they never seemed to grasp it.

“Satsu-chan! It hurts!” Before I knew it, the cry had escaped me. Such cries don’t emerge unless the pain is genuine. No one could produce such an authentically raw cry through mere pretense. I had never once called her “Satsu-chan” before, yet it came out naturally. That I could call her this filled me with irrepressible joy. It hurt—and yet I was happy.

“Satsu-chan, Satsu-chan, it really hurts!”

My voice had become exactly like that of a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old delinquent. It wasn't intentional—my voice had taken on that quality entirely of its own accord. "Satsu-chan! Satsu-chan! I'm telling you, Satsu-chan!"

As I kept saying this, I burst into tears. From my eyes tears streamed down unrestrainedly; from my nose came watery snot; from my mouth drool dribbled out in rivulets. Waa, waa, waa—I wasn’t putting on an act. The moment I cried out “Satsu-chan,” I suddenly reverted to being a bratty child in the throes of a tantrum, weeping and wailing uncontrollably—try as I might to restrain myself, I couldn’t stop. Ah, have I actually gone mad? Isn’t this what they call madness?

"Waa, waa, waa" If I'd gone mad, then so be it—what did it matter anymore? That's what I thought, but the problem was, the very instant that thought formed, a sudden self-awareness surged up within me, and I grew terrified of actually going mad. From that point on, it clearly became an act—I deliberately started mimicking a spoiled child. "Satsu-chan! Satsu-chan! Waa, waa, waa—" "Stop that this instant, Grandpa." Satsuko—who had been watching my expression in slightly eerie silence since earlier—seemed to instantly discern the shift in my mind when our eyes chanced to meet.

"If you keep up this crazy act, you'll really go mad," she whispered coldly, bringing her lips close to my ear with a sneer. "The fact you can pull off such an idiotic performance proves you're already halfway there."

In her tone lingered a sarcasm like cold water being poured over one's head. "Hmph, are you ordering me around now? You won't accomplish anything while making such a sniveling racket." "Very well—I'll stop crying."

I returned to my usual self and said nonchalantly. "Naturally, since I'm stubborn, if you pull such a stunt, I'll only dig my heels in even more." I stopped writing any more of this rambling on and on. The kiss was ultimately evaded. Without joining our mouths together—keeping them about a centimeter apart—she had me open my mouth wide and let a single drop of saliva drip into it. "There! That should do it. If this isn't enough, then do whatever you please."

“It hurts, it hurts—the pain is real, I tell you!” “This should have eased it to some extent.”

“It hurts, it hurts!” “Must you make such a fuss again! I’ll just head off somewhere—then you can cry all you want by yourself.” “Hey Satsuko—you’ll let me call you ‘Satsu-chan’ sometimes now, won’t you?” “How pathetic.” “Satsu-chan.” “You spoiled brat of a lying monk—who’d ever fall for that hand of yours?”

She huffily stormed off.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The fifteenth. ...Tonight I took 0.3 grams of barbital and 0.3 grams of bromural. Unless I switched between different sleeping medications from time to time, they quickly lost their effectiveness. Luminal had absolutely no effect on me.

The seventeenth.

At Mr.Sugita’s suggestion，it was arranged to request a consultation from Dr.Kajiura of Kajiura Internal Medicine at Tokyo University，and he came this afternoon．We had previously asked Dr.Kajiura for house calls several times years ago during a cerebral hemorrhage episode，so we were acquainted．Mr.Sugita gave him a detailed explanation of my subsequent progress，and we had him examine my cervical and lumbar spine X-rays．Dr.Kajiura stated：“As this isn’t my specialty，I can’t confirm whether your left hand pain originates there．However，I believe Toranomon Hospital Orthopedics’ diagnosis is likely correct．I’ll take these X-rays back to have university specialists examine them before giving you a definitive answer．That said，even to my non-specialist eye，there appears definite deformation in your left hand’s nerve pathways．Since casts，bed rest，and traction have all been deemed unsuitable，there’s no alternative but to continue Mr.Sugita’s provisional treatments．Regarding medication，Parotin injections would be best—you must stop Irgapyrin due to its harmful side effects．” After conducting an extremely thorough examination，he borrowed the X-ray images and left．

The nineteenth. A call had come from Dr. Kajiura to Mr. Sugita, informing him that the orthopedics department at the university had reached findings completely identical to those of Toranomon Hospital.

Around 8:30 in the evening, someone timidly opened the door without knocking. “Who’s there?” Even so, there was no reply.

“Who?”

When he said it a second time, Tsunesuke—wearing his sleepwear and making faint footsteps—came in.

“What’s this now? Coming at this hour—what brings you here?” “Grandpa, does your hand hurt?” “There’s no need for a child to worry about such things. Isn’t it already past your bedtime?” “I was asleep, see? I just sneaked in secretly to check on you.” “Rest, rest. You’re being too…” When I thought I had said this much, somehow my voice caught in the back of my nose and suddenly tears began pattering down. These were tears of a different nature from those I had shed before this child’s mother a few days prior. That time they had gushed forth profusely, but today’s was just a single, solitary drop that fell at the edge of my eye. I hurriedly put on my glasses to conceal those tears, but they immediately fogged up, making matters even worse. I could no longer hide it even from the child.

The tears from before I had thought were proof of madness, but what proof were today’s tears? The tears from before had not been unexpected tears, but today’s tears were ones I had not anticipated in the slightest. I, like Satsuko, possessed a taste for feigned wickedness, and though as a man I believed crying to be utterly unbecoming, the truth was I proved unexpectedly prone to tears—shedding them over the most trivial matters without reason. And yet I strove to keep others from discovering this about me. From my youth, I had constantly spoken spitefully to my wife and others, playing the villain, but when she would cry, I would spinelessly give in. Therefore, I had desperately tried to keep that weakness hidden from my wife all this time. To say this made me sound like some saintly figure, but in truth, I was a man whose tears flowed easily and whose heart bent to sentiment, yet whose true nature remained warped and utterly heartless. Such was the man I was, yet when a pitiful child suddenly appeared and spoke such kind words to me, I could no longer hold back—no matter how much I wiped them away, my glasses kept getting wet.

“Grandpa, you’ve got to stay strong. If you keep enduring, you’ll get better soon.” I pulled the futon completely over my head to conceal my tears and sobs. Thinking that I might have been moved by Sasaki only made it all the more irritating. “Ah, it’ll get better soon… Just go upstairs and sleep…” I had meant to say that much, but from “go upstairs quickly” onward, my voice turned strangely hoarse and I myself couldn’t discern what I was saying. In the pitch-black darkness beneath the futon, tears burst forth like a broken dam, pitter-pattering down my cheeks. Tsunesuke that brat—lingering here forever! Get the hell upstairs already, goddamn nuisance! The more I thought this, the more tears flowed.

After about thirty minutes had passed and the tears had completely dried, I lifted my face from the futon. Tsunesuke was already gone.

“Little Tsunesuke says such grown-up things, doesn’t he?”

“Despite being so young, he still worries about you, Grandpa,” said Sasaki. “For a child, he acts all affectedly mature—such an insufferably precocious brat. I detest that sort of thing.” “Oh now, you mustn’t say such things.” “I expressly told them not to let children into the sickroom, yet he barged in anyway. Children ought to behave like children.”

At my age, to be made to cry so helplessly by a mere child—I was furious beyond endurance. The fact that tears came over such trivial matters—no matter how tear-prone I might be—was beyond ordinary; I couldn’t help but feel my time of death must be drawing near.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The 21st.

Today I heard some promising information from Sasaki. According to Sasaki, she had once worked at PQ Hospital long ago, and yesterday afternoon, when she took an hour off to go to Shinagawa for dental treatment, she coincidentally encountered an orthopedic surgeon named Dr. Fukushima from her PQ Hospital days at that dental clinic. And during the approximately twenty minutes she was made to wait, she engaged in conversation with the same doctor. When the doctor asked, "What are you doing now?" and she replied that she was nursing a patient at this residence, the matter of the master’s hand pain came up. She said, "Isn’t there some good treatment? Given he’s an elderly gentleman, he might dislike troublesome methods like traction that require a lot of effort," but the doctor replied that there was indeed a method available. He explained that this method involved considerable danger and extreme difficulty, requiring advanced technical skill—something ordinary physicians could not perform nor would attempt. “But I can do it,” he asserted. “I’ll demonstrate my expertise. The condition is likely what we call cervicobrachial syndrome. If we posit a lesion in the sixth cervical vertebra, we inject xylocaine around the transverse processes to block the sympathetic nerves. This would immediately eliminate hand pain. However, since the cervical nerves pass behind the carotid artery, inserting the needle into the nerve without touching that artery is profoundly challenging. Should one accidentally injure the artery—or even graze any of the countless capillaries in the neck—the patient could instantly fall into respiratory distress if xylocaine or mere air enters a vessel. It’s precisely this risk that deters most doctors from employing this method. Yet I have dared this peril repeatedly, testing it on numerous patients to date without a single failure. Therefore, I’m confident I can execute it safely.” When asked how many days it would take, he replied, “No—just one day, and even that only requires one or two minutes. Though we do need to take X-ray images beforehand, which would take another twenty to thirty minutes at most. Since we’re blocking the nerves, if successful, the pain will vanish on the spot. After merely half a day’s endurance, you’ll return home feeling completely relieved.” Such was his explanation, concluding with: “Wouldn’t you consider giving it a try?”

“Is this Dr. Fukushima someone I can trust?” “Oh, there’s absolutely no mistake—he’s a doctor working in PQ Hospital’s orthopedic department. A Tokyo University medical graduate—I’ve had the honor of knowing him for many years.” “But truly—is it safe? What happens if he makes an error?” “If that doctor says so, I’m certain there’s no error. But if you wish, I could meet him again to inquire more thoroughly.”

"If such a thing were actually possible, there wouldn’t be such an easy solution." When I tentatively sounded out Mr. Sugita’s opinion: “My word—they can perform such delicate work? If they manage that, it must border on divine skill,” he said apprehensively, unable to fully agree.

The 22nd. Sasaki went to PQ Hospital, met with the doctor, and made detailed inquiries on my behalf. There had been various technical explanations, but their specifics remained beyond my comprehension. Yet as I mentioned yesterday, he had treated dozens of patients with this method up to that point—achieving straightforward success each time—and didn’t consider it nearly as difficult as this so-called “divine craftsmanship.” None of his patients had shown particular anxiety or fear; they all received their injections with ease and returned home delighted by their immediate recovery. However, should unease persist, they would have an anesthesiologist standing by for the absolute worst scenario while keeping oxygen inhalation equipment prepared—in essence, were medication or air to enter a blood vessel, they would immediately insert a tracheal tube to administer oxygen. Though they had never made such preparations for ordinary patients, there had been no errors regardless. But if the elderly gentleman were to receive the injection, they would take precisely those precautions this time—there was no need for concern—or so he reportedly stated.

“What would you like to do? Dr. Fukushima absolutely will not pressure you—he says it would be better to stop if your heart isn’t inclined toward it. So please consider it carefully, and—” The incident from that recent evening—being ambushed by a child and made to weep—still lingered in my chest, and somehow in this situation, I could not help but recall it as an ominous portent. The reason I had shed so many tears that night was, after all, because a premonition of death had taken root in my heart. That I—who appeared reckless yet was in truth deeply timid and cautious—should feel so persistently compelled to request such a dangerous injection, swayed by Sasaki’s words, struck me as no trivial matter. In the end, wasn't it my fate to suffocate and die because of the injection?

But hadn't I always been ready to die at any moment? Shouldn't I have long since prepared myself for death? When Toranomon Hospital suggested this summer that my cervical spine might be cancerous, Baa-san and Sasaki turned pale—yet I remained utterly calm, even surprising myself at how unshaken I was. If my life were to end here, I'd almost feel relieved. So why not seize this chance to test my luck? What is there to regret if fortune fails me? My hands ache relentlessly day and night. Seeing Satsuko's face brings me no joy—she treats me like an invalid, never engaging sincerely. What value remains in living like this? Yet when I think of her, I want to entrust my fate to heaven and cling desperately to life. If not for that, survival would be meaningless anyway. ………

The 23rd. The pain remained unchanged. I tried taking Doriden but woke immediately upon thinking I'd fallen asleep. I received a Zarubro (Zaruburocanon) injection. Around six o'clock I awoke and reconsidered yesterday's dilemma. Death itself held no terror—yet the mere thought that I faced it this very instant, that death pressed upon my eyes this very moment—this terrified me utterly. If end I must, let me perish peacefully in this room upon this bed, surrounded by kin—(no, better no false relatives; above all spare me Satsuko's presence—how pitiful to exchange farewells like "Satsu-chan, you've cared for me so long," how tears would flow! She'd feign obligatory weeping—how mortifying! When I die she'll doubtless forget me coldly, engrossed in boxing matches or poolside synchronized swimming—ah, should I not survive till next summer, I'll never glimpse that aquatic figure)—let me slip away unknowing as in sleep. The vision of being hauled to some PQ Hospital bed encircled by pompous strangers—orthopedists! anesthesiologists! radiologists!—their suffocating ministrations choking me toward death revolted me. Even enveloped in that tension alone might kill me. What agony—gasping breath failing, consciousness fading as they force tubes down my throat? Death I didn't fear—but its attendant pains and terrors I refused. In death's instant seventy years' misdeeds would parade like lantern slides—Ah! You did this! That! And dare seek peaceful demise? Suffering becomes you! Serves you right!—such phantom accusations ringing clear. Perhaps abandoning PQ Hospital was wisest after all………

Today is Sunday. It is cloudy and raining. After thinking it over, I decided to consult Sasaki again. In any case—tomorrow being Monday—I would visit Dr. Kajiura at Tokyo University’s Department of Internal Medicine to seek his opinion. I would explain Dr. Fukushima’s proposal in detail from my own perspective and ask his judgment. Should he recommend receiving that injection, I would comply; should he absolutely forbid such a course, I would desist. That being the case, I resolved to say: “Let us proceed accordingly.” Thus matters were settled.

The 24th. In the evening, Sasaki returned. The report stated that Professor Kajiura had declared: I do not know this Fukushima of PQ Hospital, and as it lies outside my specialty, I am unqualified to offer detailed opinions on its advisability. However, given that he is a Tokyo University graduate and a physician employed at PQ Hospital, you may safely trust him—this is certainly no nonsense or quackery. Even should it prove unsuccessful, they will undoubtedly take every possible precaution to prevent mishaps. Therefore, I suggest entrusting yourself to this doctor. I had secretly hoped the Professor would voice disapproval—indeed, I thought it might ease my mind if he did—but since matters had come to this, there was nothing to be done. Was this my fate, to be exposed to danger? Was there truly no escaping it? Even as I thought this, part of me still sought some pretext to halt the procedure, yet in the end, it was settled through my own vacillating indecision.

The 25th. "I asked Nurse Sasaki about it, but are you really sure about this, Grandpa? I know it must hurt terribly, but you'll surely get better in time without doing such a thing." Baa-san seemed beside herself with worry. "Even if they botch it, you won't die!" "Even if I don't die, just having you see me faint and look like I'm about to die would be unbearable enough!" "If you're going to live tormenting yourself like this, you might as well be dead."

I declared with tragic solemnity. "When are you going to do it?" "The hospital says they're ready for you anytime. If we're doing this, better sooner than later—let's go tomorrow." "Now hold on—you're always so impatient." I thought Baa-san had left, but she came back clutching the Takashima Ekidan almanac.

“Tomorrow is Sensho, the day after Butsumetsu—the 28th is Taian, ‘tai-an,’ an auspicious day. You must set it for the 28th.” “What do calendars know? Whether it’s Butsumetsu or not—the sooner the better.” Of course I said this knowing Baa-san would object.

“No—you must set it for the 28th—I’ll accompany you that day.” “You don’t need to come, Baa-san.” “I most certainly will come.” “And since we have decided upon that date, I too can rest assured.”

Thus even Sasaki said.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………… The 27th.

The 27th. It was Buddha’s Death Day. "On this day, relocation, opening shops, and all other endeavors are inauspicious." It stated. The next day, Baa-san, Sasaki, Dr. Sugita, and others were to accompany me to PQ Hospital at 2 PM, with the injection scheduled for 3 PM. Unfortunately today as well, there had been severe pain since early morning requiring a Phenobarbital injection. In the evening came severe pain again. I used a Bron suppository; they administered an Ospitan injection at night. This marked my first use of this medicine. It was not morphine, but they said this too was a type of narcotic. Fortunately, the pain subsided and I slept peacefully. From this point onward I could not endure writing for several days; several days later I made entries based on Sasaki’s bedside log.

The 28th. I woke at 6 AM. The day of fate drew ever nearer. A growing sense of foreboding arose, and I felt excitement. Since they told me to rest as much as possible, I remained lying down in my bedroom. Both in the morning and at noon, I had my meals brought here. I said I wanted to eat Dongpo pork and was laughed at. "If you’ve regained such an appetite, that’s reassuring to see." Nurse Sasaki said. Of course I had no real intention of eating; I’d only said it to keep up appearances. Lunch was a cup of rich milk, a slice of toast, one Spanish omelet, one Delicious roll, and a cup of black tea. I thought that if I went out to the dining room, I might see Satsuko’s face, but—

“You must not go out.” I was stopped and listened obediently to what was said. A thirty-minute nap after the meal—as expected, I couldn’t sleep well. At 1:30, Dr. Sugita arrived. He briefly measured my blood pressure and examined me. We departed at 2 PM. I sat to Dr. Sugita’s left, Baa-san next to me, and Sasaki beside the driver. As our car began creaking forward, Satsuko’s Hillman came grinding out too. “Oh Grandpa, where are you off to?”

Satsuko said, stopping the car. "Yeah, just going to PQ Hospital to get an injection. I'll be at Glide for an hour and come straight back." "Is Baa-san coming along too?" "Since Baa-san might have a stomachache for all we know, she says she'll just tag along to get it checked out—it's really just her nerves acting up." "Well, that's all settled then." "You—" As I began to say—I rephrased. "Where are you going?" "I'm off to Yūrakuza—excuse me now."

If that were the case—since shower season had ended—I fleetingly thought how long it had been since I'd seen that Haruhisa fellow's face. "What's playing this month?" "Chaplin's *The Dictator*." The Hillman pulled out a step ahead and disappeared down the road. Since they'd been ordered not to speak of today's matter, Satsuko shouldn't have known about it. But no doubt Baa-san or Sasaki had let it slip. She must have been feigning ignorance. And so she'd likely been waiting for this exact moment to confront me about something else entirely. Perhaps it had been Baa-san's doing—I couldn't say. Well, at least seeing her face wasn't unpleasant. Being an expert at playing clueless, she headed off to Yūrakuza looking quite pleased with herself. When I considered this might all be Baa-san's scheme, my chest constricted.

I arrived at the appointed time. I was immediately transported to Room XXX. A nameplate inscribed with “Mr. Ukita Tokusuke” hung there. It appeared to be a formality where I had been admitted just for the day. I was placed on a patient transport cart and taken down a long concrete corridor to the X-ray room. Dr. Sugita, Nurse Sasaki, and even Baa-san came along. Baa-san’s legs were slow, so she kept frantically saying she’d try to keep up with the transport cart. Considering such circumstances, I had come in a kimono. Baa-san helped me take off my clothes, leaving me completely naked. I was made to lie on an unyieldingly hard board and ordered to contort my body into various positions. Then a large apparatus resembling a photographic dark box descended from the ceiling and was adjusted to align precisely with my posture. The machine, with its large and complex components, was operated from a distance; even a millimeter’s misalignment would throw things off, and since it couldn’t be properly positioned over the target area as required, the adjustments took considerable time. As it was late October, the cold plate felt somewhat chilly and the pain in my hand persisted, yet perhaps due to the strange tension I felt, I didn’t feel either cold or pain. First I was made to lie with my left arm underneath; next with my right arm underneath; then sideways, on my back, and neck—various types were taken. Each time there were adjustments to the dark box apparatus, which proved quite troublesome. At the momentary instant when the X-rays passed through, I was instructed to hold my breath. It was largely the same as at Toranomon Hospital.

I returned to Room XXX and lay down on the bed. The developed X-ray photographs were brought immediately as wet film. After Dr. Fukushima carefully observed them,

“Well then, I shall administer the injection.” Dr. Fukushima said. He already held the syringe filled with Xylocaine. “Please rise and come stand over here—this position will facilitate administering the injection.”

“Understood.” I climbed down from the bed and walked with deliberate vigor toward the bright window where Dr. Fukushima stood, planting myself firmly before him. “Then I shall begin. You needn’t worry—this won’t cause any particular pain.” “I’m not concerned in the slightest. Please proceed.” “Very well.” The needle pierced my neck. What was this? I nearly exclaimed—no sting, no itch. My complexion likely remained unchanged; my body didn’t tremble. I could sense my own composure. “So what if I die?” I thought, though death felt distant. Dr. Fukushima first inserted the needle into the site, then withdrew it slightly to check. This precaution applied not just to Xylocaine but all injections—even vitamins. To avoid introducing fluid into blood vessels, pulling back the plunger to check for blood had become standard practice. A prudent physician never skips this step. Given the procedure’s gravity, Dr. Fukushima naturally followed protocol. The instant he did—

“Ah, this won’t do.” Dr. Fukushima said with abrupt dismay. “Though I’ve given this injection countless times to patients without ever touching a blood vessel—somehow today of all days this happens.” “Look here—you can see blood has entered the syringe. I must’ve struck a capillary somewhere.” “Then what will you do? Will you make another attempt now?” “No, when we’ve had such a mishap, I believe it wisest to stop here. My deepest apologies, but I must ask you to return tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll take particular care to avoid failure—though truthfully, we’ve never failed before.”

I felt somewhat relieved and, stroking my chest, thought, “Well, today I was saved.” Fate had been postponed by a day. But when I thought about tomorrow, I almost wished they had redone it right then and settled once and for all whether it would succeed or backfire. “You’re being overly cautious,” Nurse Sasaki whispered. “If that’s all the blood there was, why couldn’t they just proceed without getting so frightened?” Dr. Sugita responded: “No—that’s precisely where his greatness lies. Having called an anesthesiologist and made such thorough preparations, anyone would’ve wanted to finish the job. Yet stopping over a mere drop of blood shows true professional integrity—it must be said.” His voice carried earnest conviction. “All physicians must possess such conscientiousness. This has been most instructive for me.”

“...” Dr. Sugita said.

Having promised to return tomorrow, I hastily left and went home. In the car, Dr. Sugita continued effusively praising the doctor's prudence, while Nurse Sasaki kept repeating, "If they'd just gone ahead and done it then, wouldn't everything have been fine?" Ultimately, they concurred that excessive caution had caused the failure—had they proceeded without those elaborate preparations for worst-case scenarios, treating it as routine, things might have gone smoothly. Both agreed Dr. Fukushima's own nervousness had been the problem.

“Poking near the carotid artery is dangerous, I tell you. I’ve been against it from the start. If only they’d call off tomorrow’s attempt too.” Baa-san said.

When I returned home and looked, Satsuko had apparently not yet returned. Tsunesuke was playing merrily in front of the doghouse. I took supper in my bedroom again and was ordered to rest. My hand began to ache again.

The 29th. Today I departed at the same hour as yesterday. All my companions were the same as well. Unfortunately,the course of events was identical to yesterday. Today again,the blood vessels were pierced,and blood became mixed into the syringe. Precisely because such thorough preparations had been made,the doctor’s disappointment proved all the more profound. Instead we became those deserving pity. Through collective consultation,since compromise had been reached—however truly regrettable—it was decided that discontinuing these injections for now would ultimately prove wisest. Given how problematic another failure would be should I come tomorrow,the doctor too appeared disinclined to suggest “once more.” This time,I felt genuine relief and exhaled deeply.

I returned home at 4 PM. The flower arrangement in the alcove had been changed. Celosia and Kifune chrysanthemums were arranged in Rangansai’s basket. Today, the Kyoto flower master must have come. And perhaps Satsuko showed consideration for this old man. However, perhaps they had arranged this flower with particular care, thinking that if done carelessly, it might end up as a pillow offering. The Kafū calligraphy card that had hung untouched for ages had also been replaced. The picture was the work of Naniwa Itsumin Sugi Tatehiko. It showed an extremely elongated composition—a lighthouse with its lamp lit. Tatehiko often inscribed Chinese poems and waka, but here too, a Manyoshu poem was added vertically in a single line.

吾か勢子はいつく遊くらんおき津ものなはりのやまを気布か古ゆらん

The 6th.

The 9th. Ten days had passed since PQ Hospital. Baa-san had said I would get better soon, and somehow or other—whether through time or chance—the pain had indeed begun to ease slightly. I had been subsisting solely on Singleran and Cedest all this while; whether nature had simply taken its course or even those common remedies had somehow taken effect remained perplexing. Practical creature that I was, this modest improvement made me feel I might now manage an excursion to select a gravesite. Though the notion had lingered since spring, I resolved at last to seize this moment for my long-deferred journey to Kyoto………

The 10th. ………

“The moment you feel even slightly better, you’re off again—that’s why we’re in this fix, Grandpa. Why not wait a while longer to see how things settle?” “What will you do if your pain flares up on the train?” “It should be manageable now. Today’s already November 10th—if we keep dragging our feet, winter will descend early in Kyoto.” “There’s no need to insist on this year, surely? If we could just wait until next spring...” “This isn’t like other matters—I won’t tolerate such leisurely suggestions! If I go now, this may well become my final viewing of Kyoto.”

“Now you’re going on about such disagreeable matters again. ―――And just who do you plan on taking along?” “Since it’d be just Nurse Sasaki and me, I’d feel uneasy—how about having Satsuko come along?”

The true purpose of my Kyoto trip lay here. The grave hunt was merely a pretext. “Won’t you stay at Nanzen-ji?” “Having the nurse lodge there with us would only cause complications.” “Besides, Satsuko will be accompanying us—she’s utterly sick of staying at Nanzen-ji, so she’s begging us to humor her on this one point.”

“No matter which we choose, if Satsuko goes there’ll be another fight.” “If they start grappling with each other, it’d be quite entertaining.”

I had that sort of back-and-forth with Baa-san. “If we’re talking about Nanzen-ji, Eikandō’s autumn leaves are splendid, aren’t they? It must have been years since I last saw them.” “Eikandō is still too early. Takao and Makinoo are just at their peak now, but with these legs of mine, I couldn’t possibly go.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………… "You're not feeling unwell, are you?" Nurse Sasaki said as he took his seat. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The 12th. ………Departed via the second Kodama at 2:30 PM. Baa-san, Oshizuka, and Nomura saw me off. The initial plan had been for me by the window, Satsuko next to me, and Nurse Sasaki across the aisle. However, once we started moving, they claimed the window seat was drafty, so I ended up switching places with Satsuko and being seated nearer the aisle. Unfortunately, the pain in my hand had grown slightly more intense. As my throat felt parched, I had the train boy bring tea, then secretly slipped two Sedes tablets—which I'd concealed in my pocket for such occasions—into my mouth, careful that neither Satsuko nor Sasaki would notice. Were they to find out, it would mean trouble later. My blood pressure had been 154 over 93 when measured just before departure, but after boarding, I privately sensed myself growing distinctly agitated. Though having an interloper nearby posed its own issues, between sitting beside Satsuko for the first time in months and her outfit appearing peculiarly provocative today, I couldn't discern the exact cause. (She wore a subdued suit, but with a gaudy blouse and a five-strand necklace of French-style imitation gemstones cascading from neck to chest. (This type of necklace could occasionally be seen among domestic products too, but with its clasp at the back of the head studded with multicolored gems—a detail domestic imitations couldn't replicate.) When my blood pressure rose, I tended toward frequent urination; yet thinking about this frequency only made my blood pressure climb higher. Which was cause and which effect remained unclear. By Yokohama I'd visited the restroom once; by Atami, again. The toilet's distance from my seat meant I staggered repeatedly, nearly falling several times en route. Nurse Sasaki hovered nearby, putting me on edge. The second time took so long that even after passing through Tanna Tunnel, I hadn't finished. When I finally emerged, we were nearing Mishima. Returning to my seat, I nearly fell—only saved by grabbing a fellow passenger's shoulder.

“Your blood pressure isn’t too high now, is it?” As I took my seat, Sasaki said. She immediately approached and tried to take my pulse. I dismissed her in an irritated manner.

Repeating such things all the while, we arrived in Kyoto at 8:30 PM. Itsuko, Kikutarō, and Kyōjirō were waiting on the platform. “Aunt, I’m overwhelmed to find everyone gathered here.” Satsuko gave an uncharacteristic compliment. “Oh, it’s nothing—tomorrow’s Sunday, so everyone’s free to come along.” Disembarking at Kyoto Station required climbing numerous bridges, making this an exceedingly tedious task. “Grandpa, I’ll carry you up the stairs.”

Kikutarō squatted down before me and turned his back. “Don’t joke like that—I’m not such a decrepit old man yet.” Though I said this, Nurse Sasaki supported my waist. Having stubbornly pushed my weakened body to climb all at once without resting on the landings, I gasped for breath in visible distress. Everyone was watching my face with anxious concern. “How many days will you be staying this time?”

"Well, no matter what, it should take about a week." "Though we might trouble you by staying at your place one night, today we'll stay at the Kyoto Hotel without ceremony." Before any superfluous conversation could start, we hastily boarded the car. The Shiroyama family followed behind us to the hotel in a separate vehicle.

A room with two single beds and a room with one single bed were adjacent. This was something I had ordered in advance. "Nurse Sasaki, please sleep in the adjacent room. I will sleep here with Satsu-chan." I deliberately tried using the nickname "Satsu-chan" in front of Itsuko and the others. Itsuko made an unusual expression. "I want to sleep alone. Grandpa should rest with Nurse Sasaki." "Why can you not sleep with me? You do this sometimes in Tokyo, do you not?"

I deliberately said this for Itsuko to hear. "If Nurse Sasaki sleeps next door, there'll be someone nearby if anything happens. Come now, Satsu-chan—you should sleep here with me." "It's such a nuisance that I can't smoke." "If you want to smoke, go ahead and smoke all you like." "You'll get an earful from Nurse Sasaki if you do that." "Because your cough has grown quite severe, you know." Nurse Sasaki picked up the thread. "If you smoke nearby, you'll start hacking and coughing without end, I warn you."

“Bellboy, please bring that trunk to this room.”

Satsuko briskly entered the adjacent room without a second thought. "Has your hand completely healed now?"

Itsuko, who had been wide-eyed and cowed since arriving here, now strained to interject. "Healed? Don't talk nonsense—it still hurts constantly."

"Oh? Is that so? But Baa-san's letter stated it had completely healed." "That's what Baa-san wrote - she couldn't have mailed it otherwise." Satsuko shed her duster coat, swiftly changed her blouse, swapped her necklace for a triple-strand pearl one, freshened her makeup, and reappeared. "I'm starving, Grandpa - let's hurry to the dining room already." With Itsuko's group prepared, the three settled at the table. Rhine wine was uncorked for Satsuko. She who adored raw oysters declared these Matoya Bay specimens safe and proceeded to devour them voraciously. After dinner, we spent an hour exchanging trivialities with Itsuko's party in the lobby.

“Since we’ve finished eating, let’s have a smoke, Nurse Sasaki—no need to stay cooped up in here like this.” Satsuko took out a COOL cigarette from her handbag and smoked it. Usually she would put it directly in her mouth, but today she was unusually using a holder. It was a slender, crimson holder. She had preemptively dyed her manicure a deeper crimson than usual to harmonize with the holder’s color. Her lipstick matched as well. Her fingers stood out stark white. Could it have been her intention to flaunt this contrast of red and white before Itsuko?

The 13th.

At 10 AM, I visited the Shiroyama family in Nanzenji Shimogawara-cho. I was accompanied by Satsuko and Nurse Sasaki. Though I said this was my second visit to this house, I had almost no memory of when the first visit occurred. The Shiroyama family had originally lived in Yoshidayama, and I recalled visiting them frequently back then. However, after Master Kurazō’s death when the bereaved family moved here, I had hardly visited at all. Today being Sunday, Kikutarō—employed at the department store—was absent, but Kyōjirō—attending Kyoto University’s engineering faculty—remained at home. “Accompanying you on your grave hunt sounds tedious, so I must beg off—I’m heading out to Shijō Street’s ‘Kirihata’ now.” “In the morning I’ll do some shopping at Takashimaya, and in the afternoon I want to go see the autumn leaves around Takao—but going alone would be dreary. I wonder if someone might show me around?” “Rather than searching for gravesites, that would be preferable—I’ll be your guide,” said Kyōjirō. Thereupon, with the matter settled through discussion, Satsuko and Kyōjirō departed first. I, Itsuko, and Sasaki decided that after having lunch with Hyōtei’s Hangetsu Bento, we would go for a drive starting from Hōnen-in in Shishigatani, then to Shinnyo-dō in Kurodani and around Manshu-in in Ichijōji. In the evening, Satsuko’s group and Kikutarō were scheduled to join us for dinner at Kitchō in Saga.

My ancestors were Ōmi merchants in the distant past, but from four or five generations ago they lived in Edo, and since I was born in Honjo Warigesui, I must be a pure Edokko. Yet despite this, I found Tokyo these days rather dull. Kyoto had a charm that evoked memories of old Tokyo, which felt rather nostalgic. Who made present-day Tokyo into such a vulgar, disordered city? Was it not those so-called politicians—all country bumpkins and upstart peasants—who knew nothing of old Tokyo’s true beauty? Wasn’t it those wretches who turned the once-beautiful rivers under Nihonbashi, Yoroi Bridge, Tsukiji Bridge, and Yanagibashi into blackened ditches? Wasn’t it their doing—those who knew nothing of the era when whitebait swam in the Sumida River? If I were to die, I wouldn’t care where they buried me—but being interred in a place as disagreeable as present-day Tokyo, a land with which I’d lost all connection, was utterly intolerable. If possible, I wanted to have the graves of my father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, and the rest moved somewhere outside Tokyo. It wasn’t as though my grandparents and parents were buried where they had first been interred long ago. My grandparents’ graves had been at a Hokkeji temple near Onagigawa in Fukagawa, but when that area became an industrial zone soon after, the temple relocated to Ryusenji-cho in Asakusa. That place too was destroyed in a great earthquake, so now they lay in Tama Cemetery. Thus if the Buddhas remained in Tokyo, even after turning to bones they’d have to keep fleeing from place to place. In that respect, no matter what anyone said, Kyoto was the safest place. Even if we claimed to have been Edokko for generations, we couldn’t know anything about five or six generations back. As for my family too, I believed our distant ancestors must have come from somewhere around Kyoto. In any case, if I were buried in Kyoto, people from Tokyo would still come visit often. “Ah! So Grandpa’s grave was here all along,” she said, stopping by casually to offer a stick of incense. “Far better than being buried in someplace like Tama Cemetery in Kita-Tama District that has no connection to us Edokko.”

“In that sense then—wouldn’t Hōnen-in be most appropriate?”

As we descended Manshu-in’s stone steps, Itsuko remarked, “Manshu-in is too far to drop by casually during a stroll, and even Kurodani—unless you make a special trip—no one would bother climbing up that slope to pay respects.” “I’ve been thinking the same,” I responded. “But Hōnen-in—it’s right in the city center now with streetcars passing alongside. When the canal’s cherry blossoms bloom, it grows livelier still. Yet step through the temple gates and it remains perfectly serene, calming the spirit naturally. I believe we should settle on that place.”

“I don’t care for the Hokke sect either, so I wouldn’t mind converting to Jōdo-shū—but would they set aside a grave plot for us?” “Since I often take walks to Hōnen-in and am acquainted with the priest there, I went ahead and inquired—they said they’d set aside a grave plot if you wish it. ‘We don’t restrict it to Jōdo-shū,’ he told me, ‘Nichiren-shū would be perfectly acceptable too.’” We abandoned our grave search there and set out from Daitoku-ji to Kitano; passing through Omuro and by Shakadō-mae and Tenryū-ji before arriving at Kitchō—but as it was still too early, neither Satsuko’s group nor Kikutarō had arrived yet. We rested for a while in a separate room where a bedroom had been prepared. While we were thus occupied, Kikutarō arrived first. Next, Satsuko and the others arrived after six-thirty. They said they had gone back to the Kyoto Hotel first before coming here.

“Have you been waiting long?” “I’ve waited quite a while! What were you doing back at the hotel?” “It looked like it was getting cold, so I changed before coming here. You need to be careful too, Grandpa, or you’ll catch a cold.”

She must have wanted to immediately try on what she bought at Shijō Street—wearing a sweater embroidered with Brüni silver lamé over a white blouse. She changed her ring and had now set the controversial cats-eye in place. "Have you settled on a grave site?" "We've mostly settled on Hōnen-in—the temple has consented too." "That’s good then. Well, when will you be returning to Tokyo?" “Don’t be absurd! From here on, we need to call the temple’s stonemason and discuss all sorts of details about the grave’s design—it can’t be decided so simply!”

“Grandpa, you were the one who kept studying Mr. Kawakatsu’s book on stone art and insisted graves must absolutely be five-element pagodas—wasn’t that you?” “My thoughts have shifted slightly—I’ve come to feel it might be acceptable without the five-element pagoda.” “I can’t fathom what’s so remarkable about me—it’s not as if this concerns me anyway.” “That’s not true, you—” She began to say but corrected herself—

“This concerns you too—and greatly.” “What could possibly concern me?” “You’ll learn what soon enough.” “Why don’t we just let them decide quickly so we can return to Tokyo?” “Why such haste? Boxing matches to catch?” “Oh, nothing of that sort.” The eyes of Itsuko, Kikutarō, Kyōjirō, and Nurse Sasaki all converged on Satsuko’s left ring finger. Satsuko remained composed, betraying no unease. With the cats-eye glinting on her lap, she kept reclining on the zabuton without shifting position.

“Aunt, is that stone called a cats-eye?”

Perhaps thinking the cushion had turned pale, Kikutarō suddenly spoke.

“Yes, that’s right.” “Does such a stone really cost several million yen?” “How rude to call it ‘such a stone’! This is three million yen!” “Getting Grandpa to cough up ¥3 million—‘Aunt,’ you’re something else!” “Now listen here, Mr. Kikutarō—I beg you to stop this ‘Aunt’ business. Even though Kikuchan isn’t a child anymore, you’ve no right to treat me as ‘Aunt’—there’s barely two or three years between us!” “Well, what does it matter? Even if it’s just three years, you’re still ‘Aunt’!”

“Stop with this ‘Aunt’ business and call me ‘Satsu-chan’—have Kikuchan and Kyōchan do the same. If they don’t, I won’t answer.” "Aunt—oh, there I go with 'Aunt' again—Aunt might be fine with it for all I know, but Uncle Jōkichi might get angry, don't you think?" “Would Jōkichi even get angry? If he does, I’ll just get angry right back!” “Grandpa may call you ‘Satsu-chan,’ but having our children address you that way would be questionable. Let’s meet halfway and settle on ‘Satsuko-san’—that should suffice.”

At this, Itsuko made a pained face. I—strictly prohibited from alcohol; Itsuko, a teetotaler; and Sasaki, who could drink moderately but was abstaining—being excluded from the revelry, Satsuko and the Kikutarō brothers kept the mood buoyant until the meal concluded around nine. Satsuko alone escorted Itsuko’s group to Nanzen-ji Temple before returning to the hotel; as the night had grown late, Sasaki and I stayed at Kitcho.

The fourteenth.

I arose around 8:00 AM. I partook of breakfast with Saga tofu delivered from beside Shakadō. I also brought tofu wrapped in a vinyl bag as a souvenir and, around ten o'clock, invited Itsuko to visit Hōnen-in.

Satsuko had called an ochaya in Hanamikōji that day and invited two or three Gion geishas she befriended this summer while with Haruhisa. After sharing lunch together, she went to S.Y. Kyōei in Kyōgoku and declared she would drag them all to a cabaret that night to dance. Through Itsuko's introduction, I met with Hōnen-in's head priest and was promptly shown potential grave sites. The temple grounds proved as profoundly secluded as Itsuko had described—though I'd visited two or three times before with cane in hand, I marveled anew that such tranquility could exist within a major city's limits. Simply experiencing this landscape made Tokyo—that jumbled five-flavor stew—seem utterly incomparable. I decided this place would do. On the return trip, I dined at Tankuma's counter with Itsuko before returning to the hotel around two. At three o'clock came word from the head priest, summoning the stonemason for consultation. We met in the lobby. Itsuko and Sasaki attended together.

Regarding the style of the grave marker, I had various ideas yet remained utterly torn over which to settle on. Though they said it shouldn’t matter what shape of stone I was buried under after death, I still found myself concerned. The notion that any stone would do simply wouldn’t suffice. At the very least, that common style seen everywhere today—a flat rectangular stone inscribed on its surface with a posthumous or secular name, set upon a base stone with holes drilled before it for incense sticks and water offerings—struck me as utterly banal and vulgar. For someone as particular as myself, it was wholly displeasing.

Though I must apologize for opposing my parents' and grandparents' grave styles, I absolutely had to have a five-element pagoda. It needn't be some antiquated form either—the late Kamakura-period style would suffice. Take that five-element pagoda at Anrakuju-in Temple in Takada-Uchihata-chō, Fushimi Ward: its water ring tapers into a jar-like shape at the base, the fire ring's eave curves thickly upward, and together with the wind and void rings' proportions, it stands as that representative work Mr. Kawakatsu Masataro describes from the mid-to-late Kamakura transition. Then there's Zenjō-ji Temple's five-element pagoda in Ujitawara Village—said to typify Yoshino-period artifacts. Though this style flourished in southern Yamato's cultural sphere, it too has merit.

Now, here was yet another distinct idea that had arisen in my mind. Looking through Mr. Kawakatsu’s book, I read that at Sekizō-ji Temple in Kamigyō-ku—located north of Senbon Agaru Uchinoeue—there existed what was called the Amitabha Triad stone Buddha: a seated Amida Nyorai in meditation mudra as the central figure, flanked on its right by Kannon and on its left by Seishi, both standing in attendance as attendant bodhisattvas. Photographs of these three deities were published separately in the volume. Beginning with the seated statue of Amida, the standing statues of Kannon Bodhisattva and Seishi Bodhisattva were exquisitely beautiful. Though Kannon Bodhisattva showed some damage, the Seishi statue remained entirely intact. Seishi wore ornaments identical to Kannon’s, with every detail—from the crown on its front down to the jeweled necklaces, heavenly robes, and halo—meticulously carved; the front of the crown displayed a jeweled vase, and it stood with hands pressed together in prayer. Few granite Buddhist statues demonstrate their beauty as fully as this one. [...] the fact that it had been erected and consecrated in Gen'ni 2 (1225) was engraved on the back of the central deity.

"It was noted that 'as a stone Buddha statue carved from a single stone with both pedestal and halo, this holds the oldest dated inscription nationwide among such works, and serves as a precious artifact from which we can derive the stylistic standards of Kamakura-period stone Buddhas'—when I saw this photograph, an idea suddenly occurred to me. Why not have Satsuko's face and form carved into a bodhisattva statue like this, secretly likening her to Kannon or Seishi, and make that my grave marker? For I believe in neither gods nor Buddhas; matters of sect mean nothing to me—were I to have any deity, it would be Satsuko alone. To lie buried beneath Satsuko's standing statue would fulfill my heart's desire."

The only trouble was how to put this into practice. It was possible to ensure that even Satsuko herself—the model—along with Jōkichi and Baa-san remained unaware of who served as the model. To achieve this, I had to avoid making it too blatantly resemble Satsuko’s features; instead allowing her essence to vaguely linger. I decided to avoid using granite for the stone material and instead employ soft matsuishi. And so that the lines would not become overly distinct, I would have them rendered as indistinctly as possible. If possible, I would make it so that no one else noticed—yet only I, entirely only I—could perceive it clearly. I did not think that was necessarily impossible. However, the troublesome matter was that I could not avoid letting the sculptor creating the standing statue know who the model was. If that was the case, whom could I commission for this work? Who in the world would undertake this difficult task for me? This was not a task that could be easily accomplished with mediocre artists’ skills—yet I unfortunately had no friends among sculptors. Even if I had such a friend—and even if that friend possessed superb technical skill—once they learned my purpose for commissioning such work, would they have truly consented willingly? Would that person have gladly lent their hand to realize such Buddha-blaspheming madness? Even if they had been an outstanding artist, would they not have refused resolutely? (Moreover, even I lacked the courage to make such brazen requests without shame.) That old man must have been insane—just being perceived as such felt utterly mortifying.

Having thought this through to its limit, I realized there might be one possible method here—though whether it existed at all remained unknown to me. That is to say, while carving a deep relief of a bodhisattva image on the stone’s surface required a specialist’s skill, if done as shallow line carving, mightn’t it be feasible to some extent even for an ordinary craftsman? This too was included in Mr. Kawakatsu’s book: the line-carved four-sided stone Buddha at Imamiya Shrine in Imamiya-chō, Murasakino, Kamigyō Ward. "A two-shaku square piece of dense hard sandstone from the Kamogawa River—referred to as nuke-ishi—carved on all four sides with line engravings of the Four Direction Buddhas using a chisel-carving technique," it stated, adding that "constructed in Tenji 2 (1125) of the late Heian period, it stands as an artifact counted among our country’s stone Buddhas with one of the oldest dated inscriptions." Furthermore, rubbings were shown of the seated statues—the Four Direction Buddhas including Amitābha Tathāgata, Śākyamuni Tathāgata, Bhaiṣajyaguru Tathāgata, and Maitreya Bodhisattva—each carved on one of the four sides. Moreover, as part of the dragonfly stone line-carved Amitābha Triad stone Buddhas, a rubbing of the seated statue of Seishi Bodhisattva had been included. "This tall natural hard sandstone, line-carved on three sides into the Amitābha Triad in the raigō form as shown in the accompanying illustration in the main text, has its best-preserved face—the Seishi Bodhisattva image with relatively clear Buddhist features—presented here. As an attendant bodhisattva to Amitabha in Descent, its figure—riding upon clouds and tilting downward from the heavens toward the earthly realm—is beautiful. Kneeling with hands pressed together in prayer, the way its heavenly robes flutter in the wind evokes the atmosphere of the late Heian period, when raigō art flourished." The seated statues of Tathagata all assumed the masculine *full-lotus position*, but this Seishi Bodhisattva sat with both knees drawn together in a feminine manner. I was particularly drawn to this bodhisattva statue.........

The fifteenth.

Continuation from yesterday.

I do not need a four-faced Buddha. A single-faced Buddha of Seishi Bodhisattva would suffice. Therefore, a square stone is unnecessary. A stone of suitable thickness with only the Bodhisattva carved on its front would be adequate. On the reverse side, have my secular name engraved—and if required, add a posthumous name too—along with my age at death. I do not know the chisel-carving method in detail. When I attended temple festivals as a child, shops selling protective amulets often lined the main streets. They would make a screeching noise while engraving children's addresses, ages, and names onto brass amulets with chisel-like tools. When carved, the characters formed through exquisitely fine lines. What they called a chisel must have been that very implement. If so, it doesn't seem particularly difficult. Moreover, I could have it carved without revealing the model's identity to the sculptor. First, I shall order a Buddhist sculptor from Nara—one with artistic sensibility—to draw a likeness of Seishi Bodhisattva's line-carved statue modeled after Imamiya Shrine's four-faced Buddha. Then show them photographs of Satsuko in various poses—her facial features and figure—and have them render the Bodhisattva's face, torso, and limbs to resemble hers. Present this design to the carver for line engraving. This way, I can create my desired stone Buddha without anyone discerning the secret in my heart. Thus will I sleep eternally beneath that statue of Satsuko Bodhisattva—beneath her stone likeness crowned with jewels, sacred necklaces draping her chest, heavenly robes fluttering in the wind.

I and the stonemason, with Itsuko and Sasaki by our side, discussed this and that in the hotel lobby from three until around five. Of course, I did not let the stonemason or Itsuko realize that Satsuko was being used as the model. I had merely shown off with a knowing air only the knowledge of stone statue art that I had acquired through Mr. Kawakatsu’s writings. Through my knowledge of Heian-period and Kamakura-era five-element pagodas, my understanding of the line-carved Tathāgata and Bodhisattva images at Imamiya Shrine, and my expertise regarding the dragonfly stone line-carved Seishi Bodhisattva seated with knees drawn together—all these things I used to astonish them—I kept the plan for Satsuko Bodhisattva buried deep within my heart, ensuring that no one would ever discover it.

“So regarding the final decision on the gravestone’s form—truly, your knowledge surpasses even specialists’. I have nothing more to propose.” “I myself remain uncertain how to proceed—still wavering.” “There’s another new idea I’ve just conceived. Perhaps you could allow me two or three more days to consider it.” “Once my decision is settled, I’ll summon you again.” “My deepest apologies for detaining you so long despite your busy schedule—”

After the stonemason left, Itsuko also returned home. I returned to my room and called for a masseur.

After dinner, I suddenly resolved to go out and ordered a car.

“Where could you possibly be going at this hour? It’s quite cold at night—perhaps you could wait until tomorrow?” Nurse Sasaki, startled, attempted to restrain him. “No, it’s just nearby. A place I can walk to.” “Walking won’t make it any quicker—Kyoto nights are cold, so please do take care. I even came here after being told repeatedly by the retired master to look after you, you know.” “There’s something I absolutely must buy—you’ll come along with me. It’ll be done in five or ten minutes.”

Without concerning myself with details, I went out, so Sasaki came chasing after me in a fluster. My destination was Chiksuiken, a stationery shop specializing in brushes and ink located east of the intersection of Kawaramachi and Nijo. A place no more than five minutes from the hotel. I sat at the shopfront, exchanged greetings with the familiar proprietor, and purchased a stick of the finest Chinese vermilion ink—one the size of a little finger—for ¥2,000. In addition, I spent ¥10,000 on a Duan inkstone with purple mottling that was said to have been owned by the late Mr. Kuwano Tetsujo, along with twenty large sheets of white shikishi paper with gold-edged borders.

“It’s been quite some time since I last had the pleasure of seeing you, but you remain in good health as ever.” “Oh, I’m not the least bit well. This time I’ve come to Kyoto to find my own grave—so I can die whenever I please.” “You must be joking—at your vigor, you’re still going strong! ――Now then, was there anything else you required? We have a piece of calligraphy by Zheng Banqiao—would you care to see it?”

“Well then—I’ve a sudden strange request—if you have it, there’s something I’d like you to sell me.” “What might that be?” “About two shaku of red silk fabric and a lump of futon batting—I’d like you to give me those separately, if you would.” “What an unusual request! Might I ask what it’s for?” “Actually, I’ve suddenly found myself needing to make a rubbing—so I require a tampon to use for that.”

“Ah, I understand—you need to make a tampon, then. If that’s the case, we have something suitable—I’ll have my wife look for it immediately.”

In two or three minutes, the housewife came out from the back holding red silk fabric and futon batting.

“Will these suffice?” “Splendid, splendid! This will serve perfectly.” “And the payment for this?” “Please don’t trouble yourself over such trifles—we’ve ample stock remaining, so simply tell us how much you require.” Sasaki stood dumbfounded, utterly unable to fathom its purpose. “There—that settles it. Let us return.” I briskly entered the car. Satsuko had still not come back to the hotel.

The sixteenth.

Today I decided to rest at the hotel all day. For four days since departure I had been unusually active and had kept up with that troublesome diary during that time, so I myself needed rest; there had been an agreement to give even Sasaki a day off today. Sasaki was born in Saitama Prefecture and had never once traveled to the Kansai region. She had been looking forward to this Kyoto trip since it was arranged but during her stay had asked to be allowed a day off to visit Nara. I had my reasons and specifically chose that day as today. And I had arranged for Itsuko to accompany Sasaki as her guide. The reason being that Itsuko hadn’t been to Nara in some time—I had suggested she might as well take this opportunity to go. Itsuko is by nature withdrawn and contemplative, rarely venturing outside. Even during Kurazō’s lifetime, the couple had rarely traveled together. “It would be beneficial for you to visit Nara’s temples while there—especially since this time it concerns determining my family grave—as they will surely provide useful reference,” I told her. I arranged to hire a car for Itsuko for the entire day, instructing them to visit Byōdō-in Temple in Uji en route to Nara and not to miss Tōdai-ji, Shin-Yakushi-ji, Hokke-ji in Nishinokyo, and Yakushi-ji. Though a day trip would make the schedule rather tight—amounting to a forced march—they were to depart early in the morning with hamo sushi from Izuu, finish touring Tōdai-ji by noon while using their boxed lunch at the tea stall before the Great Buddha, then proceed through Shin-Yakushi-ji, Hokke-ji, Yakushi-ji and others. Since days were short they would finish sightseeing before dark, have dinner at Nara Hotel and return. Even if night fell late they should return today. There was no need for concern on our part. Today Satsuko was staying home and would not go out all day; she was supposed to remain close to my room—or so I had told them.

At 7 AM, Itsuko came by car to pick up Sasaki.

“Good morning! Grandpa’s up as early as ever, I see.”

Having said that, she untied the furoshiki cloth and placed two bamboo-leaf-wrapped items on the table. “Since I bought the hamo sushi from Izuu yesterday, I’ve brought it along now. Please have this for breakfast with Satsu-chan.” “I am most grateful for that.” “Is there anything else you would like to purchase in Nara? Perhaps some bracken starch cakes?” “I don’t need such things, but when you go to Yakushiji Temple, don’t forget to pay your respects at the Buddha’s footprint stone.”

“The Buddha’s footprint stone?” “Yes, that’s right. “It’s the Buddha’s feet carved into stone. “The Buddha’s feet are things of potent efficacy; when the Buddha walks, His feet lift four sun from the ground, and the mark of a thousand-spoked wheel upon their soles appears upon the earth. “It is said that the various small creatures beneath His feet do not suffer harm for seven days. “The stone carvings of those footprints are preserved in China and Korea as well, but in Japan, they are at Yakushiji Temple in Nara. “Be sure to go and pay your respects there.”

“Understood.” “Then I shall take my leave.” “For today alone, I shall take full responsibility for Nurse Sasaki. Grandpa, please take care not to overexert yourself.” “You’re up early.” Satsuko entered from the adjoining room, rubbing her sleep-swollen eyes. “We are profoundly indebted to you today, young mistress—to have disturbed your precious rest merits divine punishment.” Nurse Sasaki departed with Itsuko while offering profuse thanks in specially deferential language.

Satsuko wore a quilted blue nightgown over her negligee and pink-flowered satin slippers of matching color, but she made no move to sleep in Nurse Sasaki's vacated bed—instead she sprawled on the sofa, wrapped her legs in the tartan-checked lap blanket I used when going out (white with black, red and blue checks), fetched a pillow from her own room, and settled back down to sleep. She lay on her back with nose pointed straight at the ceiling, eyes tightly shut, making no attempt to speak to me at all. Had she not gotten enough sleep after returning late from last night's cabaret? Or was she feigning sleep because she found my attempts at conversation bothersome? There was no way to tell.

I got up and washed my face, then had Japanese tea brought to my room and devoured the hamo sushi. Three pieces made for a sufficient breakfast. I ate while taking care not to disturb Satsuko’s sleep. Even after I finished eating, Satsuko remained asleep. I took out the inkstone acquired at Chikusuiken and placed it on the desk, then slowly ground the vermilion ink. First, I wore down about half of one inkstick. Next, I tore apart futon cotton, rolling larger pieces into balls six to seven centimeters across and smaller ones roughly two centimeters wide, wrapping them in red silk scraps to make dabbers. I created two each of the large and small dabbers, totaling four.

“Grandpa, can’t I go out for about thirty minutes?” “Can’t I just go to the cafeteria for a little bit?”

Unbeknownst to me, Satsuko had awoken. She sat on the sofa, both knees revealed through the parting of her gown. I recalled that form of Seishi Bosatsu. "Why don't you stay instead of going to the cafeteria? There's so much sushi left here—eat this right here."

“Alright then, I’ll do that.” “The last time I ate hamo with you was at Hamazaku.” “That’s right, wasn’t it? —Grandpa, what have you been doing over there?” “Oh, nothing much.” “What are you doing grinding vermilion ink?” “Don’t ask about such things—just eat your hamo.”

Without any particular intention, the things I had casually observed and retained in my youth—it was impossible to know when they might prove useful. I had traveled through Shina two or three times, and even when journeying somewhere in Japan as well, I had occasionally come across people standing out in the open making rubbings. The Chinese are highly skilled at this technique; even in blowing winds they calmly soaked their brushes with water, spread white paper over the stone surface, and tapped away from beside it. And yet splendid rubbings were produced. The Japanese worked meticulously, fastidiously, and with excessive caution—soaking tampons of varying sizes with ink or the dense part of the ink, then painstakingly transferring each delicate line one by one. There were cases where black ink or black paste was used, and there were also cases where vermilion ink or vermilion paste was used. I found these vermilion rubbings to be exquisitely beautiful.

“That was delicious—I haven’t had such a treat in ages.” Taking hold of Satsuko as she drank her tea, I began speaking with deliberate intent. “This cotton ball here—this is what’s called a tampon, you see.” “What’s this for?” “You soak this with ink or vermilion, tap-tap the stone’s surface to make a rubbing—I’ve always been particularly fond of making them in vermilion.” “There isn’t any stone here, is there?” “Today I won’t use a stone—I’ll use something else in its place.”

“What are you going to use?” “Let me make a rubbing of the soles of your feet. And then I’ll create a vermilion rubbing of your feet on this white karakami paper.” “What’s that supposed to accomplish?” “Using that rubbing, I’ll create a Buddha’s footprint stone of Satsu-chan’s feet. When I die, have my bones buried beneath that stone. This is true bliss in death.”

7

The 17th.

Continuation of yesterday.

Initially, I had intended to keep secret from her my purpose in taking a rubbing of the soles of Satsuko’s feet. The plan—to have the soles of her feet carved into a Buddha’s footprint stone, to have my bones buried beneath that stone after death, and thereby substitute this for the grave of me, Ukita Tokusuke—was something I had thought better kept concealed even from Satsuko. Yet yesterday I had a sudden change of heart and came to think it would be better to confess everything to her. Why was that? Why did I reveal my heart to Satsuko?

One reason was that I wanted to see what expression she would make and what psychological state she would enter if I confessed—to observe her reaction. Secondly, I wanted to know how she would feel when—fully aware of my intentions—she saw the vermilion imprints of her own soles pressed upon the white karakami paper. She who prided herself on her feet—when she saw her own soles compared to the Buddha’s and their vermilion impressions transferred onto paper—would surely be unable to suppress the joy in her heart. I wanted to see her delighted face at that moment. “This is madness!” she would certainly say aloud, but in her heart, how ecstatic she must feel. Furthermore, she would be unable to resist thinking—even long after my death—“That foolish old man sleeps beneath these beautiful feet of mine; even now I trample that pitiful old man’s bones underground.” And though she might feel some perverse satisfaction, her stronger sensation would likely be revulsion. But even if she tried to forget it out of disgust, she would find it impossible to erase that memory easily—perhaps for her entire life. During my lifetime, I blindly loved her; but if after death I retained even a shred of retaliatory intent, no method existed but this. Were I to die, would I lose the will to entertain such thoughts? Yet somehow, I could not believe so. It followed logically that without a body there could be no will—but this might not hold true. For instance, a fragment of my will might transfer into hers and survive within her consciousness. When she stepped on the stone and thought, “I’m trampling that senile old man’s bones beneath this ground,” my soul—alive somewhere—would feel the full weight of her body, the pain, and the smooth texture of her soles. Even in death, I would make myself feel. There was no possibility of not feeling it. Similarly, Satsuko too would sense my soul’s presence beneath the earth—rejoicing as it endured her weight. Perhaps even hearing bones clattering, entwining, laughing together, singing together, grinding against each other in the soil. This was not limited to moments when she actually trod upon the stone. Merely imagining the existence of the Buddha’s footprint stone modeled after her feet, she would hear the bones beneath weeping.

Weeping, I cried, "It hurts! It hurts!" then cried, "It hurts, yet it's pleasurable—exquisitely pleasurable, far more than when I was alive!" and cried again, "Trample me more! Trample me more!" … “Today I won’t use a stone—I’ll use something else in its place.” When I had said earlier, “What are you going to use?”

And she asked. To that, I answered.

“Let me take an imprint of your soles. Then I’ll make vermilion rubbings of your feet on this white karakami paper.” Had she truly found this repulsive, she should have shown some change in expression. Yet she merely said: “What’s the point of that?” Even when learning that this rubbing would become her Buddha’s footprint stone and that my bones would be buried beneath it after death, she voiced no particular objection. Here I recognized that Satsuko not only lacked opposition but harbored at least some amusement toward the idea. Fortunately, my room had an adjoining eight-tatami chamber. To avoid staining the mats, I had the boy bring two large sheets. These I spread doubled across the floor. The vermilion inkstone and brush were carried over on a tray. Next came Satsuko’s pillow from the sofa, placed in position.

“Come on, Satsu-chan—there’s nothing troublesome about it. Come here just as you are and lie face up on this sheet for me. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Just like this?” “You won’t get vermilion ink on my kimono, will you?” “I absolutely won’t get any on your kimono—I’ll only apply the vermilion ink to the soles of your feet.”

She did exactly as she was told. Lying face up, she lay with both legs neatly aligned, her feet slightly arched so that the soles were clearly visible to me.

When all these preparations were complete, I first saturated the initial tampon with vermilion. Then using that, I patted the second tampon to dilute the pigment. Positioning her feet two or three inches apart, I began meticulously dabbing the prepared tampon against the sole of her right foot—ensuring each ridge of skin texture would separate distinctly in the impression. The transition from the raised arch to untouched areas proved unexpectedly problematic. My left hand's limited mobility made controlling the tools doubly arduous. Though I'd vowed "Not a drop shall touch your kimono—only your soles," I repeatedly smudged her insteps and negligee hem with crimson stains. Yet this very repetition—wiping clean with a towel, reapplying pigment—became paradoxically gratifying. Excitement mounted. Time and again I redid the process, insatiable in my repetitions.

At last I had satisfactorily finished applying vermilion to both feet. Starting with the right foot, I had her raise it slightly higher and placed colored paper beneath it from below, making her press the imprint with her sole. I tried repeatedly but could not produce the desired rubbing. All twenty sheets of colored paper ended in futile efforts. I called Chokusuiken and immediately had them deliver forty more sheets. This time I altered my method: thoroughly washing off the vermilion from her soles, meticulously wiping between each toe, then having her stand on a chair while I lay face-up beneath it. Enduring the cramped posture, I tapped her soles and made her stamp both feet onto the colored paper........................................................................ My initial plan had been to finish before Itsuko and Sasaki returned—to hand the soiled sheets to the bellboy, entrust Chokusuiken with the imprinted papers without hesitation, clean the room as if nothing happened, and maintain an innocent façade—but things did not proceed smoothly. Itsuko and the others returned unexpectedly early before nine o'clock. I heard knocking but before responding, the door opened and they entered. Satsuko had swiftly hidden in the bathroom. Countless vermilion and white speckles were scattered across the tatami room. They stared at each other in silent bewilderment. Sasaki silently measured only my blood pressure.

“Two hundred thirty-two,” Nurse Sasaki said with a strained expression. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

On the morning of the 17th, I learned that Satsuko had left for Tokyo without notice around eleven o'clock. Since her absence from the dining room at breakfast was customary for one who slept late, I had assumed Satsuko was still asleep. Little did I know she was already being driven toward Itami in a hired car at that very hour.

Around eleven o'clock, Itsuko came to my room, "A problem has arisen."

She informed me.

“When did you find out about this?” “Just now. When I came to ask where I should accompany you today, they suddenly told me at the front desk: ‘Mrs. Ukita left alone for Itami earlier.’” “Don’t spout nonsense—you knew about this all along!” “Don’t be absurd—what could I possibly know?” “What rubbish are you spewing, you old fox? You’ve conspired together!” “That’s not true! I only just heard it now at this hotel—‘In truth, earlier, I secretly returned a step ahead by JAL under Father’s private arrangement. He strictly instructed me not to tell anyone until I arrived at Itami, so I refrained from informing you,’ they told me at the front desk. I was utterly shocked!”

“You’re lying, old fox! You must’ve deliberately provoked Satsuko into leaving!” “You and Rikiko have always excelled at riling people up and deceiving them!” “I’m mortified I’d nearly forgotten that talent of yours.” “How outrageous!” “How can you say such things?”

“Ms. Sasaki.” “Yes?” “No—not you! You must’ve heard from Itsuko and known all along! All of you conspired to deceive this old man! All of you schemed to obstruct Satsuko!” “If you persist in such notions, it’s Nurse Sasaki who’ll suffer the inconvenience.” “Please have Nurse Sasaki wait in the lobby awhile. Since we’ve this opportunity, there’s something I want you to hear from me, Grandpa. Now that you’ve named me ‘old fox,’ I’ll have my full say.”

“Since your blood pressure remains elevated, I must ask you to moderate your... activities—” “I know, I know.” Itsuko’s account was as follows. ———

The accusation that I manipulated Satsu-chan into leaving was utterly baseless slander. This was merely my own conjecture, but mightn't Satsu-chan have had some other reason for departing—a pressing need to return swiftly to Tokyo? "I don't fully grasp the reason myself," she said with sly implication, "but surely you must have sensed something yourself, Grandpa?" To this I responded that not only did I know of her rapport with Haruhisa, but I had openly acknowledged it myself—and that her husband Jōkichi was fully aware. I declared there remained none ignorant of the matter. Yet she persisted—there being no evidence of any improper relationship between them, and not a soul who believed such a thing existed—truly, was there even one?—accompanying this with a peculiar laugh. Then she continued: "I shouldn't speak so plainly, but Jōkichi's disposition strikes me as rather odd. Even were something between Satsu-chan and Haruhisa-san, wouldn't Jōkichi merely feign ignorance rather than meaning to forgive? Truthfully, I suspect Jōkichi himself keeps company beyond Satsu-chan. Naturally, wouldn't Satsu-chan and Haruhisa-san have reached an explicit understanding between themselves—no mere tacit arrangement?" The moment Itsuko uttered these words, inexpressible fury and loathing swirled upward like a whirlpool within my breast. I nearly roared aloud, but fearing arterial rupture, barely restrained myself. Even seated, my vision darkened and I nearly collapsed. Seeing my altered countenance, Itsuko too turned pale.

“Cut it out with that talk!” “Go home!”

I spoke in as low and trembling a voice as I could muster. Why had I grown so furious? Was it because she had unexpectedly exposed some secret I never imagined would be revealed? Though I myself had long been privately conscious of it while strenuously feigning ignorance, had this old fox suddenly torn away the veil?

Itsuko was no longer in the room.

The reckless exertions of the previous day had come back to haunt me—the pain around my neck, shoulders, lower back, and elsewhere had grown severe. Having again spent a sleepless night, I swallowed three tablets each of Adalin and Ataraxin before commanding Sasaki to apply Salonpas patches across my back, shoulders, and waist, then crawled into bed. Yet sleep still eluded me. I considered requesting a Luminal injection, but fearing oversleep might jeopardize my plans, I abstained. Resolving to catch the afternoon train and pursue Satsuko, I prevailed upon a friend at the Mainichi News branch office to procure tickets through extraordinary means. (I had never boarded an airplane before.) Sasaki vehemently protested—insisting travel was unthinkable with such dangerously high blood pressure—and tearfully implored me to rest three or four days until my condition stabilized. But I would not be swayed.

Itsuko came to apologize and said she would accompany me to Tokyo as well. Just looking at your face pisses me off—if you’re coming along, I’ll have you ride in a different car.………

The 18th.

Yesterday at 3:02 PM, I boarded the second Kodama departing from Kyoto. Sasaki and I were in first class; Itsuko was in second class. We arrived in Tokyo at nine o'clock. Baa-san, Rikuko, Jōkichi, and Satsuko—all four came out to the platform to meet me. Whether they thought I had difficulty walking or decided I shouldn't be made to walk, a cart was waiting there. That woman Itsuko must have called ahead and arranged everything.

“What’s this nonsense! We’re not dealing with Mr. Hatoyama here!”

I threw a childish tantrum and caused everyone trouble when suddenly another soft palm pressed into my right hand. It was Satsuko holding my hand. "Now Grandpa," she said, "you will listen to what I tell you."

Suddenly, I quieted my fussing and fell into compliance.

Immediately, the transport vehicle started moving, descended to the underground passage via the elevator, and clattered down the long, dark path. The group trailed behind in a crowd, but keeping up proved arduous as the vehicle moved so swiftly. Baa-san got separated in the commotion, and Jōkichi went back to search for her.

I was astonished by the grandeur of Tokyo Station’s underground passages and their numerous branching paths. The exit was at the special carriage porch outside the passage near the Central Exit on the Marunouchi side. Two cars were waiting. In the first car were three people—Satsuko and Sasaki surrounding me. In the next car rode four people: Baa-san, Itsuko, Rikuko, and Jōkichi. “Grandpa, I’m sorry—I went and came back without a word.” “Did you have an appointment with someone?” “That’s not it. To be honest, after being made to attend to you all day yesterday, I was completely worn out.” “From morning till night, having my feet’s soles messed with like that by you—I couldn’t stand it anymore.” “After just a single day, I was worn to a frazzle, so I ran away.” “I’m sorry, okay?”

The tone of her voice lacked her usual character; there was something deliberately artificial about it.

“You must be exhausted, Grandpa.” “I left Itami at 12:20 and arrived at Haneda by two o’clock, I’ll have you know.” “Planes are so fast, you know…”

Excerpts from Nurse Sasaki's Nursing Records

The patient who had returned to Tokyo on the night of the 17th spent most of the 18th and 19th lying down, as the accumulated fatigue from consecutive days in Kyoto must have manifested all at once. Nevertheless, he occasionally emerged to the study to supplement entries in the previous day's diary. However, at 10:55 AM on the 20th, an incident of the nature I shall now recount occurred.

Prior to that, Mrs. Satsuko had returned from Haneda to the Tanuki-zaka residence around 3:00 PM on the 17th. She immediately summoned Mr. Jōkichi to the telephone, explaining that due to the increasingly strange state of the old man's mental condition, she could no longer endure spending even a single day with him and had taken it upon herself to return ahead of him. After conferring, the couple secretly visited their friend Professor Inoue, a psychiatrist, to inquire about appropriate measures while keeping this hidden from the elderly matriarch. According to Professor Inoue's opinion, the old man's condition should be classified as abnormal sexual desire rather than mental illness in its current state; however, given that emotional passion served as vital sustenance for this patient's life force, caregivers needed to adapt their approach accordingly. Mrs. Satsuko particularly required careful attention—she must avoid unduly exciting him or opposing his wishes while striving to provide tender nursing care, as this constituted the sole viable treatment method. Therefore, since the old man's return to Tokyo, Mr. and Mrs. Jōkichi had been treating him as much as possible according to the professor's recommendations.

20th, Tuesday, Clear

8 AM: Temperature 35.5°C, pulse 78, respiration 15, blood pressure 132/80 mmHg. No particular changes were observed in general condition. His words and actions suggested sullenness. After breakfast, the patient entered the study. He seemed intent on writing his diary. 10:55 AM: He appeared from the study to the bedroom in an abnormal state of excitement. He seemed to be saying something, but it could not be comprehended. He was carried into bed and made to lie still. Pulse 136—tense but regular with no arrhythmia or pauses. Respiration 23. He complained of palpitations. Blood pressure 158/92. He complained of severe headache through gestures. His facial expression was twisted in terror. Dr. Sugita was contacted by telephone, but there were no special instructions—as always, this doctor had a habit of ignoring the nurse’s observations.

11:15 AM: Pulse 143, respiration 38, blood pressure 176/100. Dr. Sugita was contacted by telephone again, but there were no instructions.

Room temperature, lighting, and ventilation were checked. Only the elderly lady from the family was present in the sickroom. Recognizing the need for oxygen inhalation, they contacted Toranomon Hospital to report his condition and request assistance. At 11:40 AM, Dr. Sugita arrived for examination and was briefed on the patient's status. After assessing him, Dr. Sugita retrieved injections from his medical bag and administered them personally. The ampoules contained Vitamin K, Contomin, and Neophyllin. As Dr. Sugita remained in the entryway post-injection, the patient suddenly emitted a piercing cry before losing consciousness. Violent convulsions wracked his entire body while cyanosis markedly intensified around his lips and fingertips. When the seizures finally abated, severe motor agitation followed as he fought against restraints in attempts to spring upright.

There was incontinence of urine and feces. The entire seizure lasted approximately twelve to thirteen minutes before he entered a deep sleep.

At 12:15 PM, the elderly lady in attendance suddenly complained of dizziness, so she was moved to another room and made to lie down quietly. She recovered in about ten minutes. The care of the elderly lady was taken over by Mrs. Itsuko.

At 12:50 PM, the patient was sleeping peacefully. Pulse 80, respiration 16. Mrs. Satsuko entered the room.

At 1:15 PM, Dr. Sugita returned home, having given instructions to refuse visitors.

1:35 PM: Temperature was 37.0°C, pulse 98, respiration 18. Occasional coughing was present with profuse cold sweat over the entire body. Nightclothes were changed. 2:10 PM: Dr. Koizumi, a relative and physician, visited. The patient's condition was reported. 2:40 PM: He regained consciousness. Consciousness was clear. No speech impairment was observed. He complained of bruise-like pain across the face, head, and nape. The pain in the left upper limb present prior to the seizure had disappeared. One Saridon tablet and two Adalin tablets were administered per Dr. Koizumi's instructions. He recognized Mrs. Satsuko but kept his eyes quietly closed. At 2:55 PM, natural urination occurred. 110 cc with no cloudiness. 20:45: He complained of intense thirst. 150 cc of milk was given from Mrs. Satsuko's hand. 250 cc of vegetable soup was administered.

23:05: Light sleep state. The old man had fully regained consciousness and seemed to have escaped critical danger; however, since the risk of recurrence could not be ruled out, it was decided that it would still be prudent to request an examination by Professor Kajiura of Tokyo University. Though it was late at night, Mr. Jōkichi managed to secure the professor and bring him along. After the examination, he stated that this was not a cerebral hemorrhage attack but a cerebrovascular spasm, so there was no immediate cause for concern. There were instructions for twice-daily injections—20% glucose 20 cc, Vitamin B1 100 mg, and Vitamin C 500 mg in the morning and evening—along with two Adalin tablets and one-quarter Solven tablet to be administered thirty minutes before bedtime. For approximately the next two weeks, he was to prioritize complete rest and continue refusing visitors; bathing was to be postponed until a particularly favorable moment arose in his condition. Even when permitted to leave bed, initial activity was to be limited to walking within the room. On days when his physical state allowed and the weather was clear, occasional strolls in the garden were permitted, but outings remained strictly prohibited. Mental exertion was to be minimized—avoiding deep contemplation or fixation on matters—and keeping a diary was absolutely forbidden. These meticulous precautions were specified.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Excerpts from Dr. Katsumi's Bedside Diary

December 15th - Clear, temporarily thick smoke and fog, then clear again.

Chief Complaint. Attacks of chest distress.

Past Medical History. For thirty years, blood pressure had been high, with systolic pressure ranging from 150–200 and diastolic pressure from 70–95. At times, it had reached as high as 240. Six years prior, he had suffered a stroke, after which he maintained a mild gait disturbance. For several years now, he had experienced neuralgia-like pain in his left upper limb, particularly distal to the wrist, which intensified when exposed to cold. In his youth, he had contracted venereal disease and consumed nearly one shō of alcohol, though recently he drank only one or two small cups at most. He had abstained from tobacco since Showa 11 (1936).

Present Illness. For approximately one year prior, electrocardiograms had shown findings suggestive of myocardial damage such as ST segment depression and T wave flattening; however, there had been no particular cardiac complaints until recently. On November 20th, he experienced an attack of severe headache, convulsions, and impaired consciousness. Professor Kajiura diagnosed this as a cerebrovascular spasm, and his condition progressed smoothly under these instructions. However, on the 30th of the same month, he became involved in an argument with his disliked daughter. At that time, he felt mild distress in his left anterior chest for over ten minutes, after which similar attacks began occurring frequently. The electrocardiogram at that time showed no significant changes compared to a year earlier. On the night of December 2nd, while straining during defecation, intense constricting pain occurred in the cardiac region lasting over fifty minutes. A nearby physician was summoned for a house call, and an electrocardiogram conducted the following day revealed findings suggestive of an anterior septal infarction in the chest leads. On the night of the 5th as well, a similarly severe seizure occurred over ten minutes, in addition to which smaller seizures had been occurring daily with frequency. He had always been prone to constipation, and seizures tended to occur after bowel movements. For the seizures, he had so far received from doctors the administration of P agent and Q agent, oxygen inhalation, sedatives, papaverine injections, and other treatments.

December 15th: Admitted to Room A of this department (Tokyo University Department of Internal Medicine). Details of the illness's progression were obtained from Attending Physician Dr. S and the young wife, followed by a brief examination. The patient was slightly obese with no signs of anemia or jaundice; mild edema was observed in the lower legs. Blood pressure measured 150/75 mmHg with a rapid regular pulse of 90 bpm. No jugular venous distension was observed in the neck. Mild moist rales were detected in bilateral lower lung fields, while cardiac examination revealed no enlargement and a faint systolic murmur at the aortic valve orifice. Abdominal palpation found neither liver nor spleen enlargement. Though mild motor impairment was reported in the right upper and lower limbs, no significant weakness in gross strength was observed and abnormal reflexes were not demonstrated. Patellar tendon reflexes showed symmetrical weakening bilaterally.

No abnormalities were observed in the cranial nerve region; while the family stated that his speech was normal, the patient himself claimed to have been slightly impaired since the stroke. Attending Physician Dr. S cautioned that the patient was more sensitive to medication than others, with one-third to one-half of standard doses proving effective while normal amounts became excessive; from the young wife came advice that due to a past incident of convulsions following intravenous injection, intravenous injections should not be administered.

December 16th - Clear, temporarily cloudy.

Possibly owing to the relief of hospitalization, he reported having no seizures last night and sleeping soundly. He reported experiencing mild distress in the upper chest several times for a few seconds each toward morning, though this may have been of nervous origin. He recommended taking laxatives to prevent constipation. The patient had also noticed this and had already specially procured Bayer’s Istizin from Germany for use. The patient, having suffered from hypertension and neuralgia for many years, was extremely knowledgeable about medications, and inexperienced doctors could easily find themselves outmatched if they were not careful. Around the bed were placed various medicines, and without needing to issue a specific prescription, they instructed him to continue taking P agent and Q agent from among them. When another seizure occurred, instructions were given to have him dissolve the nitroglycerin tablets he had brought himself under his tongue. An oxygen inhalation apparatus was also equipped at the patient’s bedside and set up to allow immediate injection. Blood pressure was 142–78 mmHg; on the electrocardiogram, abnormalities in the ST-T segments and findings suggestive of an anterior septal infarction were observed, similar to those on the third day. The chest X-ray showed no significant cardiac enlargement but revealed arteriosclerotic changes. No accelerated ESR, leukocytosis, or elevated S-GOT levels were observed. There has been pre-existing prostate enlargement with reported difficulties during urination and cloudy urine; however, today’s urine was clear with no protein and weakly positive for sugar.

December 18th - Clear, later cloudy. No severe attacks had been observed since hospitalization. The nature of the attacks consisted primarily of distress in the upper chest or left anterior chest, with even these rarely persisting beyond a few minutes. The cold aggravated his neuralgia while heightening cardiac risks; as the ward's steam heating proved insufficient, they resorted to installing as many as two or three electric and propane stoves.

December 20th - Hazy, later clear.

Last night around 8 PM, a sense of distress continued for about thirty minutes from the epigastrium to behind the breastbone. The distress soon subsided with nitroglycerin tablets and injections of sedatives and coronary vasodilators by the duty physician. The electrocardiogram showed no significant changes from the previous reading. Blood pressure 156/78 mmHg. December 23rd – Clear, later occasionally cloudy. He had mild attacks daily. Since sugar was detected in the urine, this morning we had him consume a sufficient amount of rice and side dishes for breakfast, then checked his blood sugar levels afterward to test for diabetes mellitus.

December 26th - Sunday - Clear, temporarily cloudy.

Around 6 PM, intense constricting pain developed in his left anterior chest. When it persisted beyond ten minutes, the hospital contacted him by telephone. Emergency measures were requested from the duty physician, who arrived promptly around 7 PM. BP 185/97 mmHg; pulse 92 and regular. A sedative was administered, after which he soon stabilized. Sundays appeared to see increased attacks, likely due to anxiety over lacking an assigned physician. Episodes showed consistent correlation with blood pressure elevation.

29th - Clear, temporarily graupel, dense smog, then clear.

For some time now, no severe attacks had been observed. The vector electrocardiogram showed findings suggestive of an anterior septal infarction. The serum Wassermann reaction was negative. We decided to begin using the new coronary vasodilator R that had just arrived from America starting the following day. January 3, 1961 - Clear, later cloudy, then rain.

The course of treatment appeared favorable, possibly due to the new medication taking effect. It was reported that the urine had become cloudy. When viewed under the microscope, countless leukocytes were observed.

8th - Clear, temporarily dense smog, then clear. Underwent a consultation with Professor K of the Urology Department. A bacterial infection due to prostate enlargement and residual urine was observed, and it was advised to monitor the situation with prostate massage and antibiotic administration. A slight improvement was observed in the electrocardiogram. Blood pressure 143–65 mmHg.

11th - Clear at times, cloudy at times. He had been complaining of lower back pain for two or three days prior; as the pain gradually intensified and he endured it, a constricting pain arose in both sides of his chest in the afternoon and persisted for over ten minutes. It was the most severe attack to date. Blood pressure 176–91 mmHg; pulse 87. The attack soon subsided with nitroglycerin tablets, coronary vasodilators, and sedative injections. No findings indicative of new lesions were observed on the electrocardiogram.

January 15th - Clear. The results of yesterday's X-ray images confirmed a diagnosis of degenerative spondylosis. As it was advised that his lower back should not bend excessively, an ironing board was placed in his lumbar region and adjustments were made to prevent his body from sinking into the bed. (Omitted)

February 3rd - Clear and sunny.

The electrocardiogram had also shown significant improvement, with minor attacks hardly occurring recently. Given this progress, he would likely be discharged before long.

February 7th - Clear at times, cloudy at times. Discharged in improved condition.

It was an unseasonably warm day for February. Since cold had to be avoided, they selected the warmest period starting from noon and transported him in a heated vehicle. At the Ukita residence, it was reported they were warming the master's study with a large stove.

Shiroyama Itsuko: Excerpts from the Notes

Father, who had collapsed from cerebrovascular spasms on November 20th of last year, soon developed angina pectoris and myocardial infarction. He was hospitalized at Tokyo University Hospital on December 15th of the same year, narrowly escaped critical condition thanks to Dr. Katsumi, and was discharged after over fifty days on February 7th of this year before returning to the Tamanae residence. However, his angina had not been completely cured; even afterward, mild attacks occurred occasionally, and he still relies on nitroglycerin from time to time. Throughout February and March, he never once left his bedroom. During Father’s hospitalization, Nurse Sasaki remained at the Ukita residence caring for Mother; when Father was discharged, she resumed responsibility for him—managing his three daily meals and excretory needs—though Oshizu occasionally assisted.

Since I had no particular business even when staying at the Kyoto house these days, I spent the middle of each month living in Tamanae and attended to Mother's sickbed in place of Nurse Sasaki. Whenever Father saw my face, it put him in a bad mood, so I took care not to let myself be seen by him. In that regard, Rikuko was the same as I.

Satsuko’s position was an extremely delicate and difficult one. In accordance with Professor Inoue’s instructions, she made efforts to show Father gentle kindness, but if she became overly kind or lingered too long at his bedside, Father would often grow emotionally overwhelmed and agitated. After Satsuko had been in the sickroom, Father would frequently suffer seizures. Yet if she did not appear at his sickbed several times daily, the patient would inevitably dwell on her absence—a circumstance that could only worsen his condition.

Father too shared Satsuko's precarious mental equilibrium. While declaring he didn't fear death itself, the excruciating pain of angina attacks made him dread the physical agony preceding it. Though he appeared to make covert efforts to avoid excessive closeness with Satsuko, he proved completely unable to cease their encounters.

I had never been to the second floor where Jōkichi and his wife lived. However, according to Nurse Sasaki’s account, Satsuko had apparently ceased sleeping in her husband’s room of late; it seemed she had relocated her bedroom to the spare chamber prepared for overnight guests. It was also said that Haruhisa would occasionally steal up to the second floor.

One day when I had returned to Kyoto, Father suddenly called. When I wondered what he wanted, he explained that he had left Satsuko’s foot rubbings on colored paper with Chikusuiken some time ago, and that I should retrieve them to show the stonemason we had previously consulted—he wanted them carved like a Buddha’s footprint stone. According to *The Great Tang Records on the Western Regions*, Shakyamuni Buddha’s footprints remain preserved in Magadha even now, measuring one shaku eight sun in length—about fifty-four and a half centimeters—and six sun in width—around eighteen centimeters—with wheel marks adorning both feet. As for Satsuko’s footprints, he said the wheel marks could be omitted, but he wanted their length expanded to one shaku eight sun while maintaining their original shape. He insisted I place the order exactly as specified. Since fulfilling such an absurd request was impossible, I listened dismissively before hanging up,

“The stonemason’s proprietor is said to be traveling through the Kyushu region at present and will provide his response at a later date.”

I replied in such a manner and left it at that. Then a few days later, another call came from Father, and he said that in that case, I should send all the rubbings to Tokyo. I did as I was told. Nurse Sasaki soon informed me of the arrival of the rubbings. Father had selected four or five of the best impressions from over ten sheets, poring over each one intently for hours without growing weary. Though they worried this might excite him, they found they couldn't forbid it—reasoning it was better to let him find satisfaction this way rather than allowing direct contact with Satsuko, the nurse said.

From mid-April onward, on days with fine weather, he began taking walks in the garden for about twenty or thirty minutes.

Usually a nurse accompanied him, but on rare occasions Satsuko would take his hand. The construction of the pool he had once promised to build had already begun around that time, and the garden lawn had been dug up. “Even if you build it, it’s pointless. Grandpa won’t be going outside during the day come summer anyway. It’s a waste of money—you should just stop.”

When Satsuko said this, Jōkichi replied.

“Just seeing the pool construction proceeding as promised stirs up all sorts of fantasies in Father’s mind. The children are looking forward to it too, you know.”