Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

16th.

………At night, I went to see the evening performance at Shinjuku Daiichi Theater. The program was "Beyond Hatred" (Onshū no Kanata e), "Hikoichi Banashi" (Tales of Hikoichi), and "Sukeroku in the Pleasure Quarter's Chrysanthemum." However, I didn't watch the others—Sukeroku alone was my purpose. Kanya's Sukeroku left me unsatisfied; but hearing Nisshō would play Agemaki, I imagined how beautiful that must be and found myself drawn more to Agemaki than to Sukeroku. I went with the old woman and Satsuko. Jōkichi also rushed directly from his company. Only the old woman and I knew the Sukeroku play. Satsuko didn't. The old woman might have seen Danjūrō's performances—I couldn't say—she remembered nothing. She was said to have seen two generations prior's Uzaemon once or twice. I alone had clearly seen Danjūrō's performances. That would have been around Meiji 30 (1897), when I was thirteen or fourteen. Danjūrō's Sukeroku marked his final performance then—he died in Meiji 36 (1903). Agemaki was played by the previous Uzaemon—still called Fukusuke at that time. Ikyū was Shikan, Fukusuke's father. When my house stood in Honjo Warisui—at that famous print shop in Ryogoku Hirokoji—what was its name again?—they'd displayed a three-panel nishiki-e triptych of Sukeroku, Ikyū and Agemaki on their storefront—I still cannot forget it.

When I saw Uzaemon’s Sukeroku, I think Ikyū was played by the previous Nakashichō, Agemaki by none other than Fukusuke of old, and Uzaemon himself by the current namesake. It was midwinter—Uzaemon had a fever nearing forty degrees yet still performed the water scene trembling violently. Kanpera Monbee proved particularly memorable through Nakamura Kanzaburo’s rendition—they’d brought him from Asakusa’s Miyato-za for the role. At any rate, I’ve always loved Sukeroku—merely hearing it’s being staged makes me want to attend even with Kanya in the lead. How much more so when my cherished Nisshō appears—who could stay away?

Kanya’s Sukeroku must have been his debut in the role—but try as I might, I simply couldn’t feel impressed. Nor was this limited to Kanya—all recent Sukeroku actors wear tights on their legs. At times these tights would develop wrinkles. This utterly destroyed any sense of allure. How I wished they would go bare-legged with white powder applied instead! Nisshō’s Agemaki fully satisfied me. I thought this alone made the excursion worthwhile. While I can’t speak to Uzaemon from Fukusuke’s era of old, never in recent times had I seen such a beautiful Agemaki. Let me be clear—I’ve no inclination toward pederasty whatsoever—yet lately I’ve found myself strangely attracted to young onnagata among Kabuki actors. But their natural faces won’t do at all. It must be their cross-dressed stage personas or nothing. Ah yes—now that I think on it—perhaps I can’t claim complete freedom from pederastic tendencies after all.

In my youth, I had but one strange experience. In the Shinpa theater of old, there was a beautiful young onnagata named Wakayama Chidori. He belonged to Yamazaki Chōnosuke's troupe and performed at the Masago-za in Nakasu, but as he aged, he appeared at the Miyato-za as the partner of the previous Arashi Yoshisaburō—who resembled the sixth-generation actor's features. Though called old—he was still around thirty and beautiful—when seen up close, he gave the impression of a middle-aged woman and couldn’t be perceived as male at all. During his Masago-za period, when he played the Ojō-san role in Kōyōsanjin’s Summer Kimono, I was particularly captivated by her—no, him. If somehow possible, I wanted to summon him to the parlor one evening, have him wear the same women’s attire as seen on stage, and try sleeping together even just briefly. When I jokingly mentioned such a thing, a certain teahouse proprietress said she would arrange my wish. And so, without any particular effort on my part, my wish was granted; we successfully shared a bed and even proceeded to the act, yet there was no difference from how one would do it with an ordinary geisha through ordinary methods. In short, he never let his partner sense that he was male to the very end, having fully transformed into a woman. Lying on a boat-shaped pillow while wearing a wig, in the darkness of the room’s bedding and clad in a yuzen-patterned undergarment—though these were mere trappings—he possessed truly extraordinary techniques, making it an utterly mystifying experience. I must clarify—he was not what one would call a hermaphrodite; he was fully equipped with male organs. It was solely through technique that he prevented me from perceiving it.

However skillful the technique may have been, since it was never my inclination to begin with, it merely satisfied my curiosity once, and I never had relations with the same sex again. Yet now that I’ve reached seventy-seven and lost all such capability, why have I come to feel attraction not to women dressed as men, but to beautiful boys in women’s attire? Has the memory of Wakayama Chidori from my youth now revived? That doesn't seem to be the case. Rather than that, it must be related to this old man’s impotent sex life—even impotent, there still exists a certain kind of sex life— ………

Today, my hands are tired. I'll stop here.

17th. I continued a bit more from yesterday. Though it was raining during the rainy season，last night turned unexpectedly hot．Of course，the theater was air-conditioned—but this very air conditioning was strictly forbidden for me． As a result，the neuralgia in my left hand grew more painful，and the numbness in my skin sensation became increasingly severe． Usually，the affected area was from my wrist to my fingertips，but now the pain extended from my wrist up to my elbow joint，and at times even spread beyond the elbow to the shoulder area．

“You see? That’s why I told you not to come.” “There’s no need to go so far as to come see something like that, now should you?” the Old Woman said.

“Such second-rate theater.” “No, you can’t just say that. “I can forget the pain just by looking at Agemaki’s face.” I was scolded by the Old Woman and became even more stubborn. Yet the coldness in my hands grew increasingly severe. Wearing a sheer summer haori over a pongee unlined kimono and a ro underkimono, with a gray wool glove on his left hand and clutching a platinum hand warmer wrapped in a handkerchief. “But Nisshō is truly beautiful, I tell you.” “It’s no wonder Grandpa would say such a thing, I tell you.”

Satsuko said.

“You…” He started to say but corrected himself.

“You think you can understand the appeal?”

Jōkichi said.

“I may not know good from bad acting-wise, but I’m quite taken with their pretty faces and figures.” “Grandpa, won’t you come see tomorrow’s matinee?” “Koharu from Kawashō will be performing again, you know.” “If you want to see it, we’d better make it tomorrow.” “The later we go, the more sweltering it’ll become.”

To be honest, I had been thinking of giving up on attending the matinee due to the unbearable pain in my hands, but having been scolded by the old woman, I instead grew obstinate and found myself resolved to endure the pain and go again tomorrow afternoon. Satsuko had indeed perceived my feelings with remarkable swiftness. The reason Satsuko gave the old woman a bad impression was that in such situations, she tried to cater to my feelings by ignoring the old woman. She might have liked Nisshō, or perhaps she was more interested in Jihee’s Dango—it was hard to say………

Today’s matinee performance of "Kawashō" begins at 2:00 PM and concludes around 3:20 PM.

Today was a scorching day, even hotter than yesterday. The heat inside the car was unbearable, and though the air conditioning was undoubtedly set too cold, I was more concerned about the pain in my hands. “Last night was fine since it was evening, but given the time now and what lies ahead, we’re bound to hit traffic somewhere. We have to cross the line connecting the American Embassy, National Diet Building, and Minami-daira at some point. That’s why I’m saying you should head out early,” the driver said. We reluctantly set out at one o'clock. Today there were three of us, with Jōkichi absent.

Fortunately, we arrived without major hindrance. Danshirō's *Akutarō* hadn't finished yet. Without watching that, we entered the cafeteria and took a rest. Since they were all having drinks, I ordered ice cream too but was stopped by the old woman. *Kawashō* features Koharu Nisshō as Koharu, Jihee Dango as Jihee, Magosaburō Danzō as Magosaburō, Oshō Sōjūrō as the wife Oshō, Tahee Danno-suke as Tahee, and others. I recalled the time when the previous Ganjiro performed this at Shintomiza. That Magosaburō from back then was Danshirō, the father of this Danzō, and Koharu was the previous Baikō. One had to acknowledge that Jihee of Dango was earnestly striving with all his might, but he tried too hard and became overly tense, which made the performance feel strained. Admittedly, given his youth in taking on such a major role, it couldn't be helped. Given his efforts, one could only pray for his future success. Even for the same major role, I thought it would have been better to choose someone from Edo rather than Osaka. Nisshō was beautiful today as well, but I couldn't help feeling Agemaki had been better. Afterwards, there was *Gonzo and Jūjū*, but we left without seeing it through.

“Since we’ve come this far, let’s stop by Isetan for a bit.”

He said while anticipating the old woman’s objection, “What if there’s air conditioning again? If we go home early in this heat—then what?” the old woman indeed retorted.

“Just as I predicted.”

And then, I showed the ferrule of the snakewood cane I was holding, "This part has come off, you see. No matter what you say, cane ferrules never last long, do they? They’re bound to come loose in two or three years. If we go to Isetan’s special selection sales area, we might find something there." In truth, there was another slight thought I had, but I didn’t voice such things. "Mr. Nomura, do you think it’ll still be all right even if we return later?" "Yes, I believe it will be all right."

According to the driver’s explanation, today’s demonstration by the anti-mainstream faction of Zengakuren would gather in Hibiya from two o’clock, primarily targeting areas around the National Diet Building and Metropolitan Police Department, so he advised avoiding it altogether. The men’s special selection department was on the third floor, but unfortunately there were no satisfactory canes. Since we had come this far anyway, we decided to look around and peeked into the second-floor women’s special selection area. The entire store was in the midst of its mid-year sale and quite crowded. There was a summer Italian fashion display showcasing numerous haute couture outfits designed by renowned designers following Italian preferences. Satsuko—

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

“Just get Jōkichi to buy it. It’s that simple.” “No use—he’s too cheap.” The old woman kept silent without saying anything.

“It’s already five o’clock, Granny. Why don’t we head to Ginza for dinner and then go home?”

“Where in Ginza?” “Let’s go to Hamazaku. I’ve been craving their conger eel for days now—I simply can’t bear it any longer.”

I called Satsuko and had her phone Hamazaku to reserve counter seats for three or four people. Since we were going at six, I had them convey that Jōkichi should come too if he could make it. Nomura said the demonstration would continue late into the night—moving from Kasumigaseki to Ginza and disbanding at ten—but if we went to Hamazaku now, we could return by eight safely. However, he thought by taking a slightly longer route through Ichigaya Mitsuke and Kudan to exit at Yaesu-guchi, we would likely avoid encountering the demonstration.

………

The eighteenth.

Continued from yesterday. Arrived at Hamazaku at six as planned. Jōkichi had arrived first. The old woman, I, Satsuko, and Jōkichi sat down in that order. Jōkichi and his wife had beer, while we had bancha poured into tumblers for us. For starters, we had Takikawa Tofu, Jōkichi had edamame, and Satsuko had mozuku seaweed. I found myself wanting salted whale with white miso dressing in addition to the Takikawa Tofu and ended up adding it. For the sashimi, two servings each of thinly sliced sea bream and conger eel with plum paste. The sea bream was for the Old Woman and Jōkichi, the plum paste was for me and Satsuko. For grilled dishes: only I had conger eel with liver sauce; the other three had salt-grilled sweetfish. For soup: all four of us had Hayamatsu-style dobinmushi. Additionally, there was shigi-style grilled eggplant.

“We could still order something else if you like.” “Don’t be absurd—you mean that wasn’t enough?” “It’s not about quantity—coming here just makes me crave Kansai flavors.” “There’s seasoning and salt right here,” said Jōkichi. “Grandpa, won’t you finish this?” The conger eel lay entirely untouched before Satsuko. She had meant to make me eat her leftovers but had barely taken two bites herself. To be honest, I’d anticipated her scraps would come my way—perhaps that very expectation had been my reason for coming tonight.

“Oh dear—I’ve already eaten too much, and the plum paste has gone down.” “But the plum paste is right here.”

Then, Satsuko moved her own plum paste along with the conger eel and pushed them over—

“Shall I set aside just the plum paste?” “That won’t be necessary—this is quite sufficient.” Satsuko had only eaten a mere two pieces, yet the plum paste had been messily devoured. She ate in an unladylike manner. I wonder if even this wasn’t deliberate. “I’ve prepared the ayu intestines here too.”

said the old woman. The old woman was skilled at neatly removing bones from grilled ayu. She gathered the head, bones, and tail to one side of the plate and devoured every morsel of flesh without leaving a single piece—like a cat licking its meal clean. And it had become her habit to leave only the intestines for me. "There's also mine." said Satsuko. “I’m rather clumsy at eating fish—not nearly as neat about it as Granny.”

The remnants of Satsuko’s ayu were truly a revolting sight. They had been scattered even more messily than the plum paste. This too—seemingly without purpose—ended up left for me to take. During the mealtime conversation, Jōkichi mentioned he might be going on a business trip to Sapporo within the next two or three days. The stay was planned for one week, but he said if you came, you were welcome to join him. “I did think about wanting to see Hokkaido’s summer,” said Satsuko, “but I’ll pass this time—I’ve already made plans with Mr. Haruhisa to go to boxing on the twentieth.” Jōkichi simply said “Is that so?” and didn’t press her to come. We returned home around seven-thirty.

On the morning of the eighteenth, after Keisuke had left for school and Jōkichi for work, I took a walk in the garden and rested in the arbor. The arbor was just over thirty meters away, but these days my leg movements were becoming increasingly impaired, and today walking proved even more difficult than yesterday. The rainy season brought high humidity that might have contributed, though last year's rainy season hadn't been like this. There was no pain or cold sensation like in my hands, but somehow a strange heaviness settled in, making them feel leaden. This heaviness sometimes lodged in my kneecaps, sometimes on my insteps or soles—varying daily. The doctors' opinions differed too. They said traces of a minor cerebral hemorrhage from years past still remained, with slight changes in the brain's central region affecting my legs; they also claimed X-rays showed curvature in my cervical and lumbar spines. To correct those vertebrae, they insisted I must lie on a tilted bed with my neck suspended upward and wear a plaster corset around my waist for some time. I simply couldn't endure such constricting positions, so I resigned myself to things as they were. Though walking pained me, I had to manage at least a little each day. They warned me I'd soon lose the ability to walk entirely if I stopped. I sometimes staggered perilously close to falling despite using my winter bamboo cane, though usually Satsuko or the nurse or someone would accompany me. This morning it was Satsuko.

“Satsuko, here.” When resting in the arbor, I took out a small bundle of bills from my sleeve and made her hold them. “What’s this for?”

“There’s 25,000 yen here—use it to buy yesterday’s handbag.”

“Thank you ever so much.” Satsuko hastily thrust the bundle of bills inside her blouse.

“But if I walk around carrying this—that you bought it for me—won’t Granny notice?” “Granny wasn’t watching then—she was stomping way ahead.”

Indeed, I too thought that was the case.

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

The nineteenth.

Despite it being Sunday，Jōkichi departed from Haneda in the afternoon．Satsuko also headed out in the Hillman right after．Because Satsuko’s driving was dangerous，the family members rarely rode with her．Naturally，it had become exclusively hers．She was not going to see off her husband．She went to the Scala-za to see Alain Delon’s “Taiyō ga Ippai．” She was probably with Haruhisa again today．Keisuke moped around alone at home．Today Rikuko brought the children from Tsujidō，and he seemed to be looking forward to it．

A little past 1:00 PM, Dr. Sugita came for an examination. This was because I was in too much pain, so Nurse Sasaki, concerned, had called him in any case. According to the diagnosis from Tokyo University’s Kajiura Internal Medicine, the lesion in the brain’s central region had almost healed today. The fact that there was pain in that area was not due to a brain disease. It was said to be evidence that [the condition] had transformed into something rheumatic or akin to neuralgia. At Dr. Sugita’s suggestion that I should see an orthopedic surgeon, they had taken X-rays at Toranomon Hospital the other day, but since there was cloudiness around the cervical spine and the hand pain was so severe, they warned that depending on the case it might even be cancer, so they even had tomography of the cervical spine taken. Fortunately, it wasn't cancer, but they said the sixth and seventh cervical vertebrae were deformed. The lumbar vertebrae were also deformed, but they said this area wasn’t as bad as the cervical. Since the pain and paralysis in my hands were due to that condition, to fix it they would make a slippery board with pulleys underneath, set it at about a thirty-degree incline, have me lie on this sliding board for fifteen minutes each morning and evening initially, then place my neck in what they called a Glisson’s sling—a type of neck suspension device specially made by a medical equipment supplier to fit my neck measurements—so that my neck would get pulled upward by my body’s weight. It was said that by gradually increasing both the duration and frequency of these sessions and continuing them for two or three months, the condition should improve. In this heat, I had absolutely no desire to do such a thing, but since there was no other treatment available, Dr. Sugita urged me to give it a try anyway. I didn’t know if this would work, but I’d have a carpenter build a sliding board and pulley system and have a medical equipment supplier come to take measurements of my neck.

Around two o'clock, Rikuko came. She brought two children. The eldest son had apparently gone out for baseball or something and didn’t come. Akiko and Natsuji seemed to have already gone to Keisuke’s room. The three of them appeared to have planned a zoo visit. Rikuko exchanged a brief greeting with me and was deep in conversation with the old woman about something in the tearoom. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

Since there was nothing else to write about today, I tried recording a few things on my mind at times like these.

When one becomes old, perhaps everyone is like this—lately, there wasn’t a single day when I didn’t think about my own death. However, in my case, this was nothing recent. It went back quite far—to around my twenties—but recently it had become particularly severe. "I wonder if today’s the day I’ll die"—this thought crossed my mind two or three times daily. It did not necessarily involve fear. When I was young, it had been accompanied by intense terror, but now I even found it somewhat easier. In exchange, I fantasized in minute detail about the scenes of my own death and what would come after. Without holding the farewell ceremony at someplace like Aoyama Funeral Hall, I would have my coffin placed in the ten-mat room facing this house’s garden. In that case, it would be convenient for mourners to come through the front gate, pass through the middle gate, and approach via the stepping stones to offer incense. Having those shō and hichiriki-like instruments played would be a nuisance, but I’d have someone like Tomiyama Kiyotaka play "Zangetsu" for me.

The pine needles on the shore conceal, the moon sinking toward the offing— The radiance swiftly awakens from the dreamlike world to the clarity of suchness—shall I dwell in the lunar capital? ………

It felt as though I could hear Kiyotaka’s voice singing—he should have been dead already, yet even in death I seemed to still hear him. I heard the old woman’s weeping too. Goko and Rikuko had never gotten along with me—we’d done nothing but quarrel—yet there they were, bawling their eyes out. Satsuko would likely keep her composure. Then again, she might surprise us all and shed a tear. At the very least, she’d probably put on a convincing act. What sort of face would I make in death? I wanted it to stay at least as full as it was now. Just enough to maintain a hint of spitefulness. ………

“Grandpa…”

Just as I had written this far, the old woman suddenly came in with Rikuko.

“Rikuko has something she wants to ask of you, Grandpa.” Rikuko’s request went like this. Their eldest son Chikara—still only a university sophomore and rather young by any measure—had found a girlfriend and wanted to marry her. They’d given permission, but letting the young couple live separately in an apartment seemed ill-advised. The plan was to keep them under their roof until Chikara graduated and found work. This made their current Tsujidō house impossibly cramped. To begin with, Rikuko and her husband already had three children straining the space. Once a bride joined them, a baby would inevitably follow. Hence their wish to move now to a slightly larger house with modern amenities. A suitable property had come up for sale five or six blocks away in Tsujidō itself. They wanted to purchase it but fell short by two or three million yen. About a million might be manageable through other means, but anything beyond that posed difficulties. Of course they wouldn’t outright say “Grandpa should cover the difference.” The intention was to borrow from the bank—if only he could help with just the interest payments of around twenty thousand yen for now. She promised repayment within the coming year.

“You have those stocks, don’t you? Why not go sell them?”

“If we sell those, that’s exactly when we’d be left penniless, you know.” “Exactly right, you know. Those are precisely the ones we shouldn’t lay a finger on.” Then the old woman threw her a lifeline. “Well now, they’re meant to be kept aside for emergencies, you understand.”

“What are you going on about? Your husband’s still in his forties, isn’t he? At your age, being so spineless—how do you expect to manage?” “Rikuko has never once made such a request since joining this family. This is the first time. Why don’t you just listen and give her what she wants?” “Even if we call it twenty thousand yen, what happens when three months pass and you can’t pay the interest?” “Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” “That’s precisely why this won’t work—there’d be no end to it.”

“Mr. Hokota says he absolutely won’t cause you any trouble—it’s just that if we keep dragging our feet, we’ll end up having to sell, so he wants you to help him out for the time being.” “Can’t you handle just the interest money yourself, Granny?” “Making me pay… That’s cruel. Yet you buy Hiruman for Satsuko as a reward…”

Being told that struck deep, and I resolved to refuse outright. Instead, my mind felt unburdened. “Let’s just consider it further for now.”

“Can’t we have your answer today?” “There have been all sorts of expenses piling up lately, you know.”

Grumbling all the while, the two of them left.

Just as I was getting into the flow, an interruption barged in and broke my momentum. I continued the previous account a little more. In my fifties, the premonition of death had been more terrifying than anything, but now there was nothing like that. Perhaps I had grown weary of life—or so one might say—but I felt ready to die at any time. When tomography had been performed at Toranomon Hospital days earlier, the old woman and nurses accompanying me turned pale upon hearing it might be cancer—yet I remained utterly calm. What surprised me was how unfazed I could stay. Was my long life finally ending here? The thought brought unexpected relief. Thus while I held little attachment to living, being alive meant I couldn't escape attraction to women. This compulsion would persist until death's instant, I believed. Though lacking Fusanosuke Kuhara's vigor—that man who supposedly sired children at ninety-two—and being wholly impotent now, I still found ways to feel desire through warped indirect means. These days I seemed sustained by such carnal hungers and gustatory pleasures. Only Satsuko appeared dimly aware of this mental state. Within our household, she alone knew. No others suspected. Satsuko would test subtle indirect methods while gauging reactions.

The fact that I am a wrinkled old man despite myself is something I know all too well. When I take out my dentures at night and look in the mirror, my face looks truly strange. In both my upper and lower jaws, not a single one of my own teeth remains. I have no gums either. When I close my mouth, my upper and lower lips stick flatly together, and my nose droops down to sag toward my chin. This being my own face—I can't help being astonished. Humans are foolish—even monkeys don’t have such an ugly face. There’s no reason to entertain such foolish thoughts as being liked by women with this face. On the other hand, there’s no doubt that I myself acknowledge being an old man utterly devoid of any such qualifications—and that very fact serves as society’s pretext for feeling at ease. Though I lack both the qualifications and ability to act on this pretext, I can approach beautiful women with peace of mind. Since I lack real power, I can instead instigate beautiful women to handsome men, stir up domestic discord, and take pleasure in it………

The 20th. ………It appears Jōkichi no longer loves Satsuko as much now. I wonder if his affection gradually cooled after she bore Keisuke. What with his frequent business trips and the many banquets keeping him out late even when in Tokyo. I don’t know whether he’s seeing someone else—that point remains unclear. Now he finds work more engrossing than women—it seems he can’t get enough of it. There was even a time when they shared quite passionate intimacy—yet this current boredom might be an inheritance from his parents.

Because I adhere to a hands-off policy, I deliberately did not interfere, but the old woman had opposed the marriage with Satsuko. She was said to be a dancer for N.D.T., but her time at the Nichigeki Theatre was only about half a year in total, and after that—what she did isn’t clear—it seems she was around Asakusa for a while, and perhaps even in some nightclub somewhere.

“You don’t do toe dancing anymore, do you?” When I asked, “I don’t do toe dancing anymore.” “I thought about becoming a ballerina and took ballet lessons for a year or two—could stand on my toes a bit back then—but who knows if I can still do it now.” She had told me these things. “You went through all that training—why’d you stop?”

“Because if you do toe dancing, your feet get all deformed and ugly.” “Is that why you quit?” “I just hate the idea of my feet getting like that.” “What exactly happens to them?” “If you ask what happens, it’s really terrible.” “All your toes get covered in calluses—they swell up until there’s nothing left of the nails.” “But aren’t your feet beautiful now?” “They were actually even more beautiful before.” “That’s because the calluses from toe dancing made them all ugly. After I quit, I tried my hardest to get them back to how they were before—scrubbing every single day with pumice stones and files and all sorts of things.” “Even so, they still haven’t gone back to how they were before.”

“Come on, show me.”

Nevertheless, 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 those feet on my knees and took each of the five toes one by one to examine them. “When I touch them, they’re soft—you don’t have any calluses or anything, do you?” “Touch them more thoroughly.” “Press there hard and see.” “Ah, here?” “Right? “They still haven’t healed properly, you know.” “If you think about ballerinas and their feet, mine must look terrible, you know.”

“Does Lepeshinskaya also have feet like that?” “Of course! Even I bled buckets from my shoes during practice many times.” “It’s not just the feet—even the calves here lose their plumpness and develop rugged muscles like a laborer’s legs.” “My chest flattens out completely until there’s nothing left of my breasts, and my shoulder muscles turn all rugged and man-like.” “Even stage dancers may become somewhat like that, but I was fortunate enough not to have ended up that way.”

It was certain that Jōkichi had been captivated by her physical allure—though having never properly finished school—she didn’t seem unintelligent. Not wanting to lose face or risk disapproval after entering our household—she had studied until becoming capable of speaking even broken French and English. While driving cars passionately and loving boxing on one hand—she paradoxically adored flower arrangement—the son-in-law from Kyoto’s Issōtei would bring rare blossoms twice weekly to Tokyo for instruction—under whom she now cultivated refined elegance. That day—striped susuki grass—sambakusou herbs—and awamori plants stood arranged within my room’s celadon basin. The tsuidenagara-width scroll bore Nagao Uzan’s calligraphy.

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

26th. Last night I overate cold tofu, which apparently didn’t agree with me—from midnight onward I began to suffer and had diarrhea two or three times. I took three Enterovioform tablets, but it still hadn’t stopped. I spent the day lying down and getting up.

29th. In the afternoon, I took Satsuko for a drive toward Meiji Shrine. I had planned to slip out unnoticed when an opportunity arose, but though I attempted to accompany her discreetly, the nurse caught on and came along too, rendering the entire excursion thoroughly joyless. In less than an hour’s time, we rushed back home.........

2nd. My blood pressure had been tending to rise again over recent days. That morning it measured 180———110. Pulse 100. Persuaded by the nurse, I took two Pacil tablets and three Adalin tablets. The cold numbness and pain in my hands had grown severe once more. Though such pain could grow quite intense, it seldom kept me from sleeping—yet that night I awoke past midnight and, finding it unbearable, roused Sasaki to administer a Nobron injection. Nobron proved effective enough, though its aftereffects left me feeling unwell.

“Since the corset and sliding board are ready, perhaps you might resolve to try them?”

I wasn’t particularly inclined, but given how things were going, I even found myself thinking of giving it an experimental try.

3rd. ………I tried fitting the cervical corset. It was made of plaster, constructed to thrust the chin upward from the neck. Even when fitted, it didn't hurt, but I couldn't move my neck at all. I couldn't turn it to the right, left, or downward. I had no choice but to keep staring fixedly straight ahead. "It's exactly like a torture device from hell." Since it was Sunday, Jōkichi, Keisuke, the old woman, and Satsuko had all gathered to watch.

“Oh Grandpa, how pitiful.” “How long does he think he can keep up that ridiculous posture?” “How many days do you think you can endure this?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to stop, Grandpa? It’s cruel to an old person.” I could hear everyone around me making a commotion. Because I couldn’t turn around, I couldn’t see their faces. Ultimately abandoning the corset arrangement, I now lay on the sliding board solely for neck traction. It was the so-called Dr. Grinson-style Schlinge contraption. At first, fifteen minutes each morning and evening. Since this only used a softer cloth than a corset to lift the chin, it wasn’t as constricting as a corset, but the inability to move my neck remained the same—I was left staring fixedly at the ceiling.

“Okay, fifteen minutes have passed.” The nurse said while looking at her wristwatch.

“End of the first session.” Keisuke said that and ran down the hallway.

10th. A week had passed since I began traction. They extended each session from fifteen to twenty minutes during that time and steepened the sliding board's incline slightly to pull my chin up further still. Yet there was no improvement whatsoever. The pain in my hands remained unchanged. The nurse insisted it might require continuing for two or three months or prove ineffective. I held no hope of enduring that long.

At night, everyone gathered to discuss. "The old man can't handle this therapy," Satsuko said, "so let's at least suspend it during the hottest months and consider other methods. I heard from a foreigner that there's a neuralgia medicine called Dorushin at American Pharmacy—it won't cure the root cause, but taking three or four tablets three or four times a day will definitely relieve the pain. They say it's reliably effective, so I bought some. Why don't you try it?" The old woman said, "Why don't we have Mr. Suzuki from Denenchofu perform acupuncture? Since we don’t know whether it might cure him with acupuncture, let’s try asking." The old woman talked on the phone for a long time. Mr. Suzuki said that while he was extremely busy and wished for them to come to his residence, if making house calls, he would like to limit them to three times a week; that he couldn’t determine anything without examining me, but based on what he heard, he thought recovery was probable and that it would take about two or three months. Mr. Suzuki had previously treated me when I suffered from prolonged heart palpitations that wouldn’t stop several years ago and when I was troubled by severe dizziness. Therefore, we decided to request house calls starting next week as well.

I had always been blessed with a robust constitution. From boyhood until my early sixties, apart from a week-long hospitalization for a perianal abscess surgery, I never suffered any notable illness. At sixty-three or four came the first warning of hypertension; at sixty-seven or eight, a minor cerebral hemorrhage confined me to bed for a month—yet even then I remained ignorant of true physical agony. That revelation awaited me several years after celebrating my seventy-seventh birthday. First the left hand stiffened up to the elbow, then the elbow to shoulder; next both legs from feet to thighs grew rigid—day by day surrendering coordinated movement. People must imagine this existence joyless—as do I myself—yet call it fortune or curse, my appetite sleeps and bowels function with perfect regularity. Though forbidden alcohol, stimulants and salty fare, my hunger outpaces ordinary men’s. Steak or eel—anything devoured in moderation becomes permissible fare. Sleep claims me nine to ten hours daily with naps included. Twice each morning my bowels empty themselves. This copious output means rising two or three times nightly to urinate—yet never does wakefulness linger. Half-dreaming I relieve myself, then sink back into oblivion. Occasionally hand-pain rouses me fully—but more often drowsy numbness swallows the ache before consciousness surfaces. When agony grows unbearable, a Novoron injection grants swift reprieve. These mercies alone sustain my continued existence. Without them I’d have joined the dead long since.

“You keep complaining about your hands hurting and not being able to walk, yet you seem to be thoroughly enjoying life, don’t you? That ‘pain’ is just an act, isn’t it?” There were those who said such things, but it was no lie. There were times when the pain grew severe and times when it didn’t; it never persisted in a fixed state, and there were even moments when it vanished completely. It seemed to vary depending on the weather and humidity. Strange as it was, I still felt sexual desire even when in pain. If anything, I might have felt it more acutely during those moments—though I couldn’t say for certain whether that was truly the case. Or perhaps being subjected to suffering by a member of the opposite sex made me feel even more attracted and drawn to them—though again, I couldn’t confirm if that was really how it worked.

This too might be called a kind of masochistic tendency. I don’t believe I had such tendencies from my youth, but upon reaching old age, they had gradually come to take this form. Suppose there were two women here who were equally beautiful and equally to my taste. Let us say Woman A was kind, honest, and considerate, while Woman B was an unkind, deceitful woman skilled at deceiving others. If one were to ask which I would feel more drawn to in such a case, it was first and foremost certain that I had recently found myself more attracted to B than to A. However, B must not be even slightly inferior to A in terms of beauty. Even when speaking of beauty, I had my own preferences—various aspects of the face and body had to align with them. I disliked faces with long, overly high noses. Above all, the feet needed to be white and delicate. When other various merits were equal, I found myself more attracted to a woman with bad qualities. There were women whose faces occasionally revealed a certain cruelty—those I liked best. When I saw a woman with such a face, I not only imagined her nature must be cruel too but actively hoped it truly was. The stage face of Sawamura Gennosuke from years past had possessed that quality. The face of Simone Signoret as the schoolteacher in the French film The Demon-like Woman, and the face of the much-discussed En Kagayako—they too had that quality. These women might not actually have been wicked—they could have been good women—but if they were truly evil, even if I couldn’t live with them...if I could at least reside nearby and draw close...how happy I might have been………

The twelfth. ...Even a wicked woman must not have her evil nature show blatantly. The greater her wickedness, the more clever she must be—this being an essential requirement. There must be limits to her evil—traits like thieving or murderous tendencies would prove troublesome—yet even this cannot be stated absolutely. Though knowing this woman practiced deception, I found myself all the more intrigued by that very fact; fully cognizant of her duplicity yet entering into relations, I felt powerless to resist its temptation.

Among my classmates from university days was a law graduate named Yamada Shimei. He worked at the Osaka City Office and died young, but his father had been an old lawyer or legal representative who defended Takahashi Oden in the early Meiji period. They say Shimei would often speak to his father about Oden’s beauty. Whether he called her cunning or seductive—I’ve never seen such an enchantress in all my days. This must be what they mean by a demon woman. Though I thought being murdered by such a creature would be no bad fate, Shimei’s father apparently used to seize his son and expound endlessly on Oden’s charms until the boy could hardly bear it. Since there’s nothing particularly worth clinging to in this prolonged existence of mine, should a woman like Oden appear today, I might even count it a blessing to be slain by her hand. Better that than enduring this half-dead agony in my limbs—I might gladly embrace what others would deem a cruel death.

The reason I love Satsuko must lie in some illusion I perceive within her. She was somewhat spiteful. Somewhat sarcastic. And somewhat deceitful. She never got along well with her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. Her affection toward children remained thin. Their marriage hadn't been particularly bad initially, but over these three or four years it had grown conspicuously strained. This was partly my own instigation—there lingered a sense I'd contrived matters thus. She wasn't inherently wicked. Even now her true nature likely remained good, yet she'd unwittingly cultivated an affectation of vice and come to flaunt it. She must have discerned such conduct would please this old man. For reasons unclear even to myself, I cherished her more than my own flesh-and-blood daughters and disliked seeing her fraternize with them. The more spitefully she treated them, the more she enthralled me. This psychological state—recent in origin—had grown increasingly extreme. Could enduring physical agony while being denied normal sexual pleasures warp human disposition so profoundly? If such were possible, it explained the recent domestic upheaval.

Keisuke had already turned seven and become a first-grader yet no more children had been born since. This must be Satsuko using unnatural methods to prevent childbirth—or so the old woman suspected. I too suspected that this might indeed be the case deep down but denied any such thing before her. The old woman had apparently reached the point of repeatedly complaining to Jōkichi about this matter but—

“There’s no such thing, I assure you.” Jōkichi laughed evasively and refused to engage. “I’m sure that’s exactly how it is—I know perfectly well.” “Ha ha ha ha! Then why don’t you ask Satsuko yourself?” “How can you laugh at this? This is a serious matter. You’re spoiling Satsuko too much—that’s no good. She’s got you completely under her thumb because of it.”

In the end, having been summoned by Jōkichi, Satsuko reached the point of explaining herself to the grandmother. From time to time, Satsuko’s shrill voice leaked out. They had been arguing for about an hour when finally—with a “Grandpa, please come mediate this”—the old woman came to call me. However, since I refused to go, I never learned the details firsthand, but later heard that Satsuko had counterattacked after enduring too many cutting remarks. “I don’t particularly care for children.”

“Well...” “What are we supposed to do? They keep having babies even when they say death ash is falling.” She said something like that. The old woman was already half-defeated but pressed on: “You call your husband ‘Jōkichi’ without any honorifics behind my back, don’t you? And Jōkichi calls you ‘omae’ in front of me but ‘kimi’ around others—that must be how you’ve trained him to address you!” With this wild leap, their argument derailed irreparably. Once things reached that point, both the old woman and Satsuko stood their ground, leaving Jōkichi unable to intervene.

"If you find me so detestable, then by all means let me live separately." "Don't you think that's best... dear?" When confronted thus, the old woman found herself at a loss for words. That I would never permit such a thing—this truth both the old woman and Satsuko knew full well.

“Taking care of Grandpa should be entrusted to Granny and Nurse Sasaki, isn’t it? Hey you, why don’t we do that?” Seeing the old woman thoroughly cowed, Satsuko pressed her advantage and said. With that, the matter was settled. If someone had seen it, it would have been interesting—or so I later thought with regret.

“The rainy season must have ended by now.”

And today too, the old woman came in.

The recent quarrel still lingered in her mind, leaving her more wilted than usual. “This year hasn’t had much rain in comparison, don’t you think?” “It’s already Kusaichi Market today.” “So that reminded me—what do you plan to do about the grave?” “There’s no need to rush.” “As I’ve been saying all along, I don’t want my grave in a Tokyo cemetery.” “I’m an Edoite, but I don’t like Tokyo these days.” “If you build a grave or anything in Tokyo, you never know when they’ll make you move it for whatever reason to wherever.” “Tama Cemetery doesn’t have the feel of Tokyo.” “I don’t want to be buried in a place like that.”

“I understand that much, but even if you choose Kyoto, you were supposed to decide everything by next month’s Daimonji.”

“There’s still a month left—it’s fine.” “We can just have Jōkichi go.” “Is it truly acceptable for you not to view it yourself?”

“In this heat, with this body of mine, there’s no way I can go. “Let’s postpone it until the equinox.”

We had received our posthumous names two or three years prior. Mine was Takumyōin Yūkan Nissō Koji, while the old woman's was Seikanin Myōkō Nisshun Daishi, but being averse to the Nichiren sect, I wished to change ours to Jōdo or Tendai. What chiefly repelled me about Nichiren Buddhism was its altar enshrining a statue of Nichiren Shōnin that resembled a clay doll crowned with a cotton hood—this grotesque effigy they compelled me to venerate. If circumstances allowed, I wanted us buried near Hōnen-in or Shinnyo-dō in Kyoto.

“I’m back.”

With that, Satsuko entered there. It was around five in the afternoon. Having unexpectedly encountered the old woman, she too was making an excessively polite bow. The old woman immediately disappeared.

“You weren’t home this morning, were you? Where did you go?” “I went shopping all over town, had lunch with Mr. Haruhisa at the hotel grill, got my dress fitted at Étranger, then met up with Mr. Haruhisa again to watch *Black Orpheus* at Yūrakuza…” “Your right arm’s terribly sunburned.”

“This is from yesterday’s drive to Zushi.” “So you were with Haruhisa after all.” “Oh, well, Mr. Haruhisa was useless, so I ended up driving both ways.” “When only one spot gets burned, the white part really stands out, doesn’t it?”

“Since the steering wheel’s on the right side, I ended up driving around all day.” “You’ve got a bit of a flushed face there—looks like you’re excited.”

“Oh, I wonder...” "I might not have gotten excited myself, but Breno Mello was rather good." “What’s that now?” “It’s the black man who plays the lead in *Black Orpheus*.” “A film based on the Greek myth of Orpheus, made with black actors during Rio de Janeiro’s Carnival.” “They used nothing but black actors in it.” “Is that really so good?” “Breno Mello was a soccer player originally—they say he’s just an amateur.” “In the movie he plays a streetcar driver.” “While driving, he keeps winking at girls on the street.” “That wink of his is devastatingly effective, you know.”

“Even were I to see it, it wouldn’t hold any interest for me.”

“Wouldn’t you watch it for my sake?” “Could you take me along again?” “If I come along, will you watch it?” “Yeah.” “Oh, any number of times! You see—when I look at that face, it makes me think of León Espinosa, the boxer I used to adore back in the day.” “Another weird name pops up, doesn’t it?” “Espinosa’s a Filipino boxer who’s even fought in world championship title matches in the flyweight division.” “He’s black after all—Breno Mello isn’t as handsome, but there’s something similar about him.” “The way he winks feels especially alike.” “Espinosa still boxes now, but he’s not as good as he used to be.” “He was truly splendid back then.” “I ended up remembering that.”

“I’ve only seen boxing once.” When the old woman and nurse came to notify them about traction time, Satsuko launched into even more exaggerated speech with affected innocence. “Espinosa’s a black man from Cebu Island who specializes in left straights. He shoots his left arm straight out to strike the opponent, then snaps it right back. It’s that swish-swish speed when he retracts the arm—utterly remarkable.” “Swish-swish—it’s exquisitely beautiful.” “He’s got this habit of going ‘pew-pew’ with his lips when attacking.” “When an opponent’s straight comes at him, most fighters weave right or left—but Espinosa arches his upper body way backward.” “His whole physique gives this uncanny impression of flexibility.”

“Oh ho ho, you’re favoring Haruhisa because his dark skin resembles a black man’s, aren’t you?” “Mr. Haruhisa has loads of chest hair, but black people don’t have much body hair, you know.” “That’s why when they sweat all over, their skin gets all glossy and becomes terribly attractive.” “I’m absolutely taking you to see boxing sometime, Grandpa!”

“Among boxers, there are probably few handsome men.” “There are a lot of people with flattened noses.” “Which do you prefer—wrestling or boxing?” “Wrestling’s probably more of an exhibition—they end up senselessly covered in blood, but there’s a lack of real intensity, you know.” “Boxing makes you bleed, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, it does come out, you know. “They get hit in the mouth and end up covered in blood—the mouthpiece splits into three and goes flying, you know.” “But since it’s not intentional like in wrestling, it doesn’t come out that much, you know.” “Generally speaking, what they call head clashes—where the head strikes some part of the opponent’s face and makes them bleed—happen frequently, you know.” “And then there are cases where the eyelid gets cut, you know.”

“Do you go to see such things, Young Mistress?” At that, Sasaki interjected. The old woman had stood frozen in astonishment since then. She still looked ready to bolt. “It’s not just me—plenty of women come to watch, you know.” “If it were me, I’d faint on the spot.” “When I see blood, it does get me a bit excited, you know.” “And that’s also quite pleasant.”

In the middle of this conversation, I began to feel my left hand aching terribly. Yet even as it ached, I felt a pleasure I couldn’t contain. When I saw Satsuko’s spiteful face, the pain intensified—and so did the pleasure.…

2

17th. Last night, no sooner had I finished the Bon Festival send-off fire than Satsuko went out. She took the late-night express to Kyoto, saying she would view the Gion Festival. It must be hard in this heat, but Haruhisa had been there since yesterday to film the festival. The TV crew stayed at the Kyoto Hotel while Satsuko lodged at Nanzenji Temple, saying they would return on Wednesday the 20th. Since they shouldn’t be going to Gion together, they must have had to stay separately at different lodgings.………

“When shall we go to Karuizawa?” “Because it’ll get noisy when the children come, it’s better if we go early.”

“...early,” said the old woman. “The twentieth marks the start of Doyō.” “What should we do about this year? —Staying too long like last time would be tedious.” “You actually have an arrangement with Satsuko on the 25th.” “There’s an All Japan Flyweight Title Match at Kōrakuen Gym on the 25th.” “Old folks and cold water—you shouldn’t go running off to such places unless you want to get hurt.”

23rd. To say that I keep this diary—I write because the act of writing itself holds interest for me. It’s not meant for anyone to read. My eyesight had deteriorated so badly that I couldn’t read as I’d like, and with no other ways to pass the time, I took to writing—even if just scribbling—to fill the idle hours. I wrote with a brush in large characters to make it easy to read. Because it would be troublesome if people read it, I kept it in a strongbox. The strongbox had already accumulated about five volumes. I think it would be better to burn them eventually, but it’s not bad to leave them be. When I occasionally took out my old diaries and looked through them, I was shocked at how much I’d forgotten. Events from a year ago feel like entirely new facts to me, and my interest remains inexhaustible.

Last summer, while we were away in Karuizawa, we had the bedroom, bathroom, and toilet remodeled. No matter how forgetful I may claim to be, I remember this particular matter clearly. However, when I flipped through last year’s diary, I found the account of this event lacking in detail. Today, the need arose to record this matter with slightly greater particularity, so I will set it down here once again. Until last summer, we had been sleeping side by side in the same Japanese-style room, but last year we laid wooden flooring in that room and installed two beds. One became my bed, while the other was designated for Nurse Sasaki. The old woman had occasionally slept alone in the tea room even prior to this change, but with the switch to beds, we began sleeping completely apart. I keep early hours—retiring and rising with the sun—while the old woman is a night owl who sleeps late. I favor Western-style toilets, but the old woman insists she cannot manage without a Japanese-style one. This arrangement also took into account various conveniences for doctors and nurses. Accordingly, we converted the old couple’s private toilet adjacent to the bedroom on the right into a chair-style facility for my exclusive use, hollowing out the boundary wall between bedroom and toilet to allow access without venturing into the hallway. To the left of the bedroom lies the bathroom. This too underwent major renovations last year—everything from the water tank onward was tiled over, and shower facilities installed. This was done entirely at Satsuko’s suggestion. Furthermore, we made the space between bathroom and bedroom accessible, though designed such that it could be locked from within the bathroom when required.

To record this incidentally: to the right of the toilet was my study (this room too had been made accessible), 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 was usually in her own room. The old woman had withdrawn to the tea room beyond the hallway both day and night, spending nearly the entire day listening to the television and radio. Unless there was a reason, she hardly ever came out. The bedrooms and living room of Jōkichi and his wife along with Keisuke were on the second floor. There was one room attached to the bedroom for overnight guests. The young couple’s living room seemed quite lavishly decorated, but since the staircase had a spiral section halfway up, I, with my bad legs, had only managed to climb it a few times.

When remodeling the bathroom, there was a bit of a dispute. The old woman had argued that bathtubs must be wooden—tile would chill too easily and prove unbearable in winter—but we ultimately followed Satsuko’s suggestion (keeping her involvement secret from the old woman) and installed tile. However, this was a failure.—No, perhaps it was ultimately a success. The problem is that tiles become treacherously slippery when wet, making them dangerously difficult for the elderly. The old woman also slipped in the washing area and fell cleanly in one swift motion. I was in the bathtub with my legs stretched out; when I suddenly tried to get up and grabbed the edge of the bath, my hands slipped, leaving me unable to rise. Because my left hand lacks dexterity, such moments prove truly inconvenient. We laid wooden geshi boards in the washing area, but there was nothing to be done about the bathtub.

Now then, last night such a thing happened. Nurse Sasaki had children, so once or twice a month she would stay overnight at the home of relatives who were looking after them to see their faces. She would depart in the evening, stay one night, and return the following morning. When asked what to do on nights when Sasaki was absent, it had been arranged that the old woman would sleep in Sasaki’s bed instead. I had a habit of going to bed at ten; I would bathe right before sleeping and enter the bedroom immediately after bathing. However, regarding assistance with bathing, the old woman hadn’t helped since her fall, so Satsuko or the maid did it, but they didn’t assist as skillfully or kindly as Sasaki. Satsuko made quite a show of preparing, but since she merely watched from afar, she didn’t actually do anything useful. The most she could do was roughly rinse my back with a sponge. When I got out of the bath, they dried me from behind with a towel, applied baby powder, and directed the electric fan at me—yet they never turned it to face the front. Was it because they only did the bare minimum, or was it out of some unpleasant reason—I couldn’t tell which. After finally putting the bathrobe on me and pushing me into the bedroom, she headed out into the hallway. After that was Granny’s responsibility—she just said it wasn’t her duty. In my heart, there were moments when I desperately wished she would also take care of me in the bedroom, but perhaps because the old woman was lying in wait, Satsuko made a point of being brusque.

The old woman didn't like being made to sleep on someone else's bed. She completely changed the sheets and duvet and lay down looking disgusted. The old woman also had frequent urination due to her age, but she said she couldn't go properly in a Western-style toilet, so she made two or three trips to the distant Japanese-style toilet each night. Due to this, she grumbled that she couldn't get a full night's sleep. Before long, on nights when Sasaki was away, it would come to pass that Satsuko took charge of the duties, and I was secretly anticipating this development.

Today happened to coincide with such an occasion by chance; at six in the evening, Sasaki went to her children’s place after announcing she would take the night off. Then, after we finished dinner, the old woman suddenly felt unwell and lay down in the tea room. Naturally, with bathing time approaching, the responsibility for the bedroom fell to Satsuko. When assisting with my bath, she wore a polo shirt patterned with the Eiffel Tower and toreador pants that reached her knees, looking remarkably crisp and spirited. Though absentminded, she seemed to be washing me more thoroughly than usual—or so it felt. Her hands lightly brushed here and there—the nape of my neck, shoulders, arms. After sending me into the bedroom,

“I’ll come right over, so wait just a moment, okay?” “I’ll be taking a shower too.”

With that, she alone returned to the bathroom.

I was made to wait alone in the bedroom for about thirty minutes. I was strangely restless and sat on the bed. Then, at last she appeared from the sliding door of the passageway, this time wearing a salmon-pink soccer-style gown and satin indoor slippers with peony embroidery that appeared to be Chinese-made. “Sorry to keep you waiting so long.” At the same moment she entered, the corridor door opened and the maid Oshizu came in carrying a rattan chair folded into two tiers.

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

“I’m about to sleep now. What do you think you’re doing having someone bring in such a thing?” In places where the old woman wasn’t present, I would address Satsuko as “Omae” or “Kimi.” There were particularly many instances where I consciously called her “Kimi.” When referring to myself, I might say “ware” or “boku,” but when we were alone, “boku” came out naturally. Satsuko too would strangely become more verbose in her speech when it was just the two of us. She understood full well that this very fact was what failed to please 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 unfolded the rattan chair into two tiers to make a couch, then lay down on it and spread open the book she had brought. It appeared to be some sort of French textbook. She had covered the lamp shade so that the light wouldn’t hit me. She too must have disliked Sasaki’s bed and planned to sleep on the couch. Since she had lain down, I too lay down. In my bedroom, the air conditioning was set extremely low—just enough not to cause pain in my hands. These past few days had been excessively sultry 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 was looking at the small, pointed tips of the Chinese-style slippers peeking out from the hem of Satsuko’s gown. Such delicately pointed feet are rare among Japanese people.

“Grandpa, you’re still awake, aren’t you? I haven’t heard any snoring.” “When you fall asleep, your snoring starts right away—or so Nurse Sasaki said.”

“What’s keeping you awake tonight?” “Could my presence be disturbing you?” When I remained silent, she gave a knowing chuckle. “Excitement would be toxic for you.” Then came her follow-up: “Since arousal’s dangerous, shall I dose you with Adalin?” This marked Satsuko’s inaugural venture into such coquettish banter with me. Her words paradoxically stirred precisely what they warned against. “Surely matters haven’t reached that pass!” “Oh but they have—I’ll administer it properly.”

While she went out to get the medicine, I thought up another little scheme. “Come now, I’ll make you take it—two tablets should suffice, don’t you think?” Holding a small plate in her left hand, she dropped two tablets from the Adalin container with her right, then brought water in a cup from the bathroom. “Open wide—Ahh.” “Since I’m the one giving it to you, isn’t this better?” “Must we use a plate? Couldn’t you just place them in my mouth with your fingers?”

“Well then, I’ll just go wash my hands real quick, all right?” She went into the bathroom again and came back out. “The water’s going to spill—why don’t you just do a mouth-to-mouth transfer this time?” “No, no—don’t you go getting carried away!” She deftly tossed two tablets into my mouth and skillfully poured in water. I had intended to pretend to sleep to make it seem the medicine was working, but ended up actually falling asleep.

The 24th.

Around two and four in the night, I went to the restroom. Satsuko was indeed sleeping on the rattan chair. She had dropped the French book on the floor and turned off the lamp. I too, under Adalin’s influence, can barely recall having gone to the restroom twice.

I awoke at six in the morning as usual.

“Are you awake already?”

Assuming she—being a late riser—would naturally still be asleep, the moment I stirred she sprang upright. "What, you're already up?" "I'm the one who couldn't sleep last night."

When I raised the window blinds, not wanting her to see my morning face, I hurriedly fled to the bathroom...… Around two in the afternoon, I returned from my study to the bedroom and took an hour-long nap. While still lying drowsily 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 out of sight. Her face under the vinyl shower cap was dripping wet from top to bottom. The sound of the shower was steadily splashing.

“I was rather rude this morning,” “I’m actually bathing right now—I thought it was just around your nap time, so I peeked in.” “Today’s Sunday, isn’t it? Shouldn’t Jōkichi be here?” She avoided answering and said something else instead.

“When I shower, I’ve never once closed this door.” “It’s always left open here.” Was she implying this because my bath time’s fixed past nine? Or trusting me? Letting me look if I want? That a senile old man’s presence means nothing? Why deliberately state such things—I couldn’t grasp it.

“Jōkichi is here today, you know. He’s making a fuss about having a barbecue in the garden tonight.” “Who’s coming?” “Mr. Haruhisa and Mr. Amari, and someone from Tsujidō seem to be coming.”

Rikuko shouldn’t be coming for a while after that incident. If they come, it’ll likely just be the children. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The 25th.

Last night I made a terrible mistake.

The garden barbecue started around six-thirty in the evening, and since it looked so lively and bustling, I too ended up feeling like joining the young people. From early on I was sitting on the grass—knowing it would be bad if I got cold—but though the old woman repeatedly tried to stop me, “Old man, come here for a sec.” Satsuko urged. I felt no appetite for the mutton they were devouring or the chicken wings and drumsticks, so I never intended to eat such things. Truth be told, more than anything I wanted to see what kind of contact Haruhisa and Satsuko might make—to observe their interactions—but after joining the gathering for thirty or forty minutes, I gradually noticed a chill creeping up from my legs to my hips. Having received such warnings from the old woman beforehand, I’d likely grown oversensitive and become too conscious of it. When she saw I’d been warned by the old woman, even Nurse Sasaki came out to the garden looking concerned to admonish me. At that point I grew obstinate out of habit, refusing to get up immediately. Yet I gradually began feeling the cold seep in. The old woman knew better than to pester me at such times and refrained from insistent warnings. Since Nurse Sasaki seemed so terribly worried, I stubbornly held out another thirty minutes before finally rising and returning to my room.

But that alone wasn’t enough. Around two o'clock this morning, I awoke because my urethra was extremely itchy. I hurried to the bathroom, and when I urinated, the urine was cloudy like milk. I returned to bed, and no more than fifteen minutes later, I felt the urge to urinate again. The irritating itch wouldn’t cease. This repeated four or five times until Nurse Sasaki administered four Shinomin tablets and applied a warm compress to my urethra, at which point it finally began to subside.

For several years now I had been suffering from an enlarged prostate (called '摂護腺' in my youth when I contracted venereal diseases), experiencing occasional residual urine retention and having needed catheterization two or three times when urination became impossible. Urinary retention was said to be common among the elderly, but even normally each voiding took considerable time - an excruciating predicament when people formed long queues behind me at theater restrooms. Some had urged me to undergo prostate surgery while still possible at seventy-five or seventy-six, claiming the post-operative sensation would be indescribable - urine gushing out with that youthful splashing sound, making one feel reborn - while others warned against it as a disagreeable and risky procedure. While vacillating over this decision I aged beyond eligibility, rendering surgery now apparently inadvisable. Though there had fortunately been temporary improvement, last night's relapse meant renewed caution was imperative - Shinomin must be limited to four tablets thrice daily for no more than three days due to side effects, with mandatory morning urine tests and Ubaurushi consumption if bacteria appeared.

Because of this, I decided to give up on today's Kōrakuen title match. Though my urethral trouble had improved somewhat this morning—meaning there was no reason I couldn't go—Nurse Sasaki refused to permit any evening outings whatsoever, saying it would risk a relapse. "Grandpa, how awful for you. I'll be going now—I'll tell you all about it later." With that said, Satsuko briskly left. I had no choice but to rest quietly and have Mr. Suzuki administer his acupuncture. From two-thirty to four-thirty was quite long and tough, though there was a break of about twenty minutes in between.

Due to the school break, Keisuke was scheduled to go to Karuizawa soon with the children from Tsujidō. The old woman and Rikuko were to accompany them. “I’ll be coming next month. I humbly ask you to look after Keisuke,” Satsuko said. “Jōkichi says that once next month comes, he’ll take about ten days off and go.” Senroku from Tsujidō would probably go around that time too. As for Haruhisa, he was extremely busy with television work; art designers had relatively more free time during the day but were tied up every night, he said.......

The 26th.

My recent daily routine is as follows. I wake up around six in the morning. First, I go to the bathroom. When urinating, I collect the first few drops into a disinfected test tube. Next, I wash my eyes with borax solution. Next, I thoroughly rinse my mouth and throat with baking soda solution. Next, I wash my gums with chlorophyll-containing Colgate. I put in my dentures. I take a thirty-minute walk in the garden. I lie down on the sliding board and undergo traction. This has also been extended to thirty minutes. Next comes breakfast. Only breakfast is had in the bedroom. A cup of milk; a slice of cheese toast; a glass of vegetable juice; one piece of fruit; and a cup of black tea. Along with these comes one Alinamin tablet. Next, I go to the study to look through the newspaper and write my diary; if time permits, I read and such. However, I often end up spending the entire morning on the diary, and at times it extends into the afternoon or even evening. At ten in the morning, Sasaki comes to the study and measures my blood pressure. Every three days, I receive an injection of 50ml Clive Vitamin. At noon, I have lunch in the cafeteria—it generally consists of just a bowl of somen and one piece of fruit. From one to two o'clock in the afternoon, I take a nap in the bedroom.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays—three times a week—from 2:30 to 4:30, I undergo Mr. Suzuki’s acupuncture treatment. From five p.m., I endure another thirty minutes of traction. From six o'clock, I take a walk in the garden. For my morning and evening walks, Sasaki accompanies me, though sometimes Satsuko joins too. Dinner comes at six-thirty. The main meal stays light—just one bowl—but they keep side dishes varied, changing them daily for diversity. Since old people and young people prefer different foods, family members eat separate menus. Meal times often vary too. After eating, I listen to the radio in the study. To avoid straining my eyes, I don’t read at night and scarcely watch television.

I could not forget the words Satsuko had let slip that Sunday afternoon two days prior, the 24th. Around two o'clock that day, having woken from my nap in the bedroom yet still lying dazed in bed with eyes half-open, I saw Satsuko suddenly poke her head through the bathroom doorway and speak.

“When I shower, I never lock this door.” “It’s always left unlocked here.”

Whether intentional or accidental, this single word that escaped her lips had strangely piqued my interest. That day had been the barbecue; yesterday I was resting 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 briefly entered my study, I returned to the bedroom again when three o'clock came. I knew that lately, whenever Satsuko was home, she generally took her shower around this time. I stealthily tested the bathroom door. Indeed, it wasn't locked. The sound of the shower reached me.

“Did you need something?” I had only barely touched the door—just enough to see whether it budged or not—yet she seemed to have noticed already. I was flustered. But in the next moment, I steeled myself.

“Since you said it’s never locked, I tried testing whether that was really the case.”

While saying this, I too stuck just my head out toward the bathroom. Her entire body, as she showered, was enclosed by a bath curtain with thick green vertical stripes on a white background. "See? I wasn't lying." "Understood." "What are you doing there? Oh, come on in." "Is it all right if I come in?" "I bet you want to come in." "It's not like I have any business here, though." "Careful now, if you get excited you'll slip and fall. Calm down, calm down."

Now the wooden panel was raised, and the tiled floor was drenched with shower water. I barged in while minding my footing and shut the door behind me. Through the gap in the bath curtain, she intermittently revealed glimpses of her shoulders, knees, and the very tips of her feet.

“Well then, I’ll let you do your little task.” The shower’s sound ceased. She turned her back to me and exposed part of her upper body beyond the curtain.

“Take that towel there and wipe my back. Water keeps dripping from my head.” When she removed the vinyl cap, a few droplets splashed onto me too. “Don’t wipe so timidly—put more strength into your hands. Oh right, your left hand’s useless, isn’t it? Use your right and rub hard—really work at it!” In that instant, I gripped both her shoulders through the towel. Then pressed my lips against the fleshy swell of her right shoulder and sucked with my tongue—or so I thought, when—

"Smack!"

I received a sharp slap across the face.

"For a grandpa, you're awfully cheeky, aren't you?"

“I thought you’d let me get away with this much.” “I absolutely won’t allow such things—I’ll go tell Jōkichi about this.” “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” “Get out!” After saying that—after dousing me—she spoke.

“Don’t rush, don’t rush. If you slip and fall, that’d be terrible—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 and rested for a moment. Immediately after that, she appeared. She stood there changed into her usual soccer gown. Peony-embroidered slippers peeked out. “I’m sorry, I went and did something like that.” “No, it’s nothing at all.” “Did it hurt?”

“It didn’t hurt much, but you gave me quite a start.” “I have this habit of slapping men right across the cheek, you see—it’s just a quirk of mine, so I couldn’t help myself.” “I thought you’d think that—that you use that hand on all sorts of men.” “But it’d be such a waste for me to hit Grandpa.”

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

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

Yesterday’s acupuncture session was no good.

Today at three in the 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’ve been expecting you. "I must apologize for the day before yesterday.” “I thought that’s how one ought to come.” “You grow bolder with age.” “Since you went and slapped me the day before yesterday, you should at least compensate me somehow.”

“I’m not joking—you must swear you’ll never do such things again.” “You’d probably allow something as minor as a neck kiss, though…” “The neck’s weak.”

“Where would be all right, then?” “Anywhere you pick is out of the question. It felt like being licked by a slug—I was disgusted all day.” “What if it were Haruhisa instead?” She gulped before speaking.

“I’ll really hit you this time.” “This time I went easy on you, you know.”

“There’s no need for such restraint.” “My palm’s well-trained, you know—if I really hit you, it’ll hurt enough to make your eyes pop out.” “That is precisely what I desire.” “Troublesome delinquent old geezer—how perfectly dreadful!” “Let me ask again—if my neck’s forbidden territory, what region might be permissible?” “From the knees down—just once, only once. No tongue—just your lips pressed against the skin.”

From the knees up to the face was completely concealed, with only the shins and tips of the feet protruding through a tear in the bath curtain. “It looks like the doctor wants to perform an internal examination.” “Don’t be absurd.” “Expecting a kiss without using your tongue—that’s quite an unreasonable demand.” “It’s not a kiss—just letting my lips graze you.” “For Grandpa here, that’s perfectly adequate.”

“While we’re doing this, can’t you turn off the shower?” “There’s no stopping it now—it’d be revolting not to rinse clean right where you were touched.” I simply felt as though I’d been made to gulp down water.

“If you say that, I’ve thought of Mr. Haruhisa—there’s something I’d like to ask.” “What?” “Mr. Haruhisa has been suffering from the heat lately and would like permission to shower here sometimes—he’s asking if you could consult Uncle about letting him come over.” “Doesn’t the broadcasting station have bath facilities?” “They technically exist, but they’re divided into ones for performers and non-performers—it’s so unsavory he can’t bring himself to use them. With no alternative, he goes all the way to Tokyo Onsen in Ginza, but if you permitted him here instead, it’s much closer to the station and would help tremendously.” “Please try consulting Uncle about it.”

“You’ve already decided such matters on your own—no need to consult me about every little thing.” “Truth is, I’d already made private arrangements—but he insists it’d be wrong to just sneak in without asking.” “I don’t mind—if you want to refuse, have Granny refuse.” “If you have Grandpa tell her—Granny terrifies me.” While she said that, Satsuko was actually more considerate of me than Granny. It was precisely because it was Haruhisa that I felt compelled to make a point of refusing.

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

The 29th. ………At 2:30 p.m., the acupuncture treatment began. I lay supine on the bed, and the blind Mr. Suzuki sat on a chair beside it to administer the treatment. Though Mr. Suzuki himself performed the meticulous tasks—taking out the acupuncture case from his bag and disinfecting it with alcohol—one of his disciples always stood by, ready to assist from behind. As of today, both the cold sensation in my hands and the numbness in my fingertips still showed no improvement.

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

“Uncle, if I may trouble you for a moment.” “I must apologize for intruding during your treatment, but I understand you’ve graciously consented to the request Satsu-chan conveyed—for which I’m truly grateful.” “Having come today to take you up on your kindness at once, I wished to express my thanks.” “What nonsense—no need for such formalities every time.” “Come whenever you like.” “Your generosity humbles me. I’ll take you at your word and visit directly from now on—though not daily, of course.” “——From what I’ve observed lately, Uncle, you seem remarkably well.”

“What nonsense—this senile infatuation grows worse by the day. I endure nothing but Satsuko’s scolding morning till night.” “Not at all—you remain remarkably youthful. Satsuko herself marvels at it.” “Youthful? Here I lie pierced by needles yet again, barely clinging to life like morning dew on a blade.” “How unthinkable!” “Uncle must live on vigorously for years to come.” “―――Forgive my intrusion—I’ll take my leave now and pay respects to Aunt.”

“It must be tough in this heat—you should take your time and rest properly.” “I am deeply grateful—though I really don’t deserve such kindness.”

After Haruhisa left and some time had passed, Oshizu brought tea and sweets for two on a tray. It was rest period. Today, tea packed with Custard Pudding was brought in. Once the rest period was over, the treatment was resumed and ended at four-thirty.

While receiving treatment, I was thinking about something else entirely. Haruhisa wanting to come take showers here wasn’t just about that alone—didn’t he have some ulterior motive? I wondered if this might be Satsuko’s scheme. Even today, might he not have intentionally timed his visit to coincide with my treatment? If that’s the case, he wouldn’t have to keep the old man company for long—isn’t that what he thought? I had heard that Haruhisa mentioned being busy at night but having free time during the day. If that’s the case, he would come for showers between afternoon and evening—probably around the same time Satsuko takes her bath. In short, whether I was in my study or receiving treatment in my bedroom during this period, it had been arranged that he would come. When he was in the bathroom, they probably wouldn’t leave that door carelessly open—they’d make sure to lock it then. If they’d developed a bad habit—wasn’t Satsuko regretting it?

There was one more thing weighing on my mind. The day after tomorrow, on August 1st, Granny, Keisuke, Rikuko from Tsujidō with her three children, and the maid Ose—seven people in total—would depart for Karuizawa. Jōkichi was to leave for the Kansai region on the 2nd, return to Tokyo on the 6th, then head to Karuizawa for about ten days starting Sunday the 7th. If that were the case, all manner of convenient arrangements seemed ready to fall into place for Satsuko. As for Satsuko herself—"I'll pop over to Karuizawa two or three days at a time starting next month," she declared. "Though Sasaki-san and Oshizu will stay in Tokyo, I'd feel simply awful leaving Grandpa here all alone. And really—Karuizawa's pool water's too frigid for proper swimming! I might visit occasionally, but stay indefinitely? No thank you—I'll always prefer the seaside." Hearing this, I too had to contrive some scheme to remain behind.

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

Granny said. “Well now—what should I do? Since I’ve gone to all this trouble starting acupuncture, perhaps I’ll continue it a while longer.” “But you’re the one who said it wasn’t helping at all, weren’t you? At least stop during the hottest part of summer.” “No, I’ve started feeling like it’s working a bit lately. It hasn’t even been a month since I started, so it’d be a shame to stop now.”

“So you’re planning not to come at all this year?” “No, that’s not it—I’ll go eventually.” So saying, I barely managed to evade Granny’s questioning.

3

5th. …………………………………………………………………………………………… At 2:30, Mr. Suzuki arrived. Immediately the treatment began. A little past three o'clock came rest period. Oshizu brought tea and sweets. It was mocha ice cream and cold black tea. As Oshizu was about to leave the room, “Hasn’t Haruhisa come today?” I casually inquired.

“He did come to visit, but it appears he has already taken his leave.”

Oshizu answered somewhat ambiguously and left. It took time for the blind man to eat. The disciple slowly placed one spoonful after another of ice cream chunks into his mouth. Between mouthfuls, he sipped black tea. “Excuse me for a moment.” I stepped down from the bed and tried turning the bathroom door handle. The door remained firmly shut. To be thorough, I pretended to visit the washroom—entering the toilet, exiting to the outer hallway, then attempting to open the bathroom door from there. It opened. The bathroom stood empty. Yet Haruhisa’s open-collar shirt, trousers, and socks lay discarded in the laundry basket. I slid open the glass shower door. The bathing area too was vacant. Peering behind the shower curtain revealed nothing but damp tiles. The shower floor and surrounding walls glistened with scattered droplets. That Oshizu—she’d clearly lied in her fluster. But where could they be? Where in blazes was Satsuko? As I moved to search the dining room area, I abruptly collided with Oshizu at the staircase—she carried a tray bearing two Coca-Cola bottles and glasses, ascending toward the second floor.

Oshizu suddenly turned deathly pale and stopped in her tracks at the foot of the stairs. The hands supporting the tray were trembling. I was taken aback. It was strange that I too was wandering about the outer corridor at such an hour. “Haruhisa was still here, huh?” I endeavored to appear cheerful and spoke with feigned nonchalance. “Yes, I was under the impression he had already left…” “Ah, I see.” “…You were cooling off on the second floor, so…”

There were two cups and two Coca-Cola bottles. The two of them were on the second floor "cooling off." They were there. Since his clothes had been thrown into the basket, he must have taken a shower and changed into a yukata. Had he even showered alone? The second floor did have rooms for overnight guests, but where exactly were they cooling off? In such circumstances, borrowing a yukata would have been permissible—the guest room, parlor, or tea room downstairs were all vacant now that the old woman was out—so there had been no need to go up to the second floor. In short, they must have calculated that I would be receiving treatment from 2:30 to 4:30 PM and thus unable to leave my bedroom—but their assumption had been mistaken.

After watching Oshizu ascend the stairs, I immediately withdrew to my bedroom. "Oh, my apologies." Having uttered this, I lay down on the bed once more. The entire interval hadn't even lasted ten minutes. The blind man had just then finished consuming the ice cream.

The acupuncture resumed. For the next forty-five to fifty minutes, I had to entrust my body to Mr. Suzuki. When half past four came, Mr. Suzuki left, and I returned to my study. They should have quietly descended from the second floor and disappeared during that time, but they too had miscalculated. Unexpectedly, I appeared in the hallway and ended up encountering Oshizu in an awkward situation. However, had Oshizu and I not crossed paths, they would likely have remained unaware that I knew—in which case, you could say Oshizu’s running into me was still rather fortunate. If one were to make even more malicious speculations, Satsuko—aware that she was under suspicion—might have deduced that I could emerge into the hallway during gaps in my treatment to investigate. And she may have intentionally allowed me such an opportunity, having instructed Oshizu with tasks and cleverly arranged beforehand for us to encounter each other. For certain elderly individuals, there are situations where it’s more convenient to have them informed in advance; if that’s the case, then letting them know even a little sooner and making them accept their fate might be considered an act of virtue—or so they may have reasoned.

“There there, no need to panic like that. Just settle your nerves and take your time going back.” I felt as though I could hear Satsuko’s voice. From four-thirty to five o'clock, I rested. From five to five-thirty, I underwent traction. From five-thirty to six o'clock, I rested. During that time—most likely before I had even finished my treatment—the guest on the second floor must have left. Had Satsuko gone out with him, or perhaps too mortified to show herself, had secluded alone upstairs—she made no appearance. Today’s lunch had been my only glimpse of her face. (For two days now, I’d been unable to dine with her just the two of us.) At six o'clock, Sasaki came to prompt me for a garden walk. As I tried stepping down from the veranda into the garden,

“Mr. Sasaki, it’s all right today—I’ll accompany you.”

And then, Satsuko suddenly appeared from somewhere. “Haruhisa has already gone back, hasn’t he?” At the gazebo, the conversation immediately turned to that matter. “Not long after that.” “And then?” “As soon as he drank the Coca-Cola,” “he said that since he’d been spotted, leaving hastily would look suspicious, but...” “With that, he’s surprisingly spineless after all.” “Since Uncle must be misunderstanding things, I gave Haruhisa an earful—told him he better explain everything properly on my behalf.”

“Let’s stop this talk already.” “If you’re misunderstanding something, just say so—but we only went upstairs because the second floor gets better airflow than downstairs. We just drank Coca-Cola together. “People from your generation would immediately take that the wrong way. “Jōkichi would understand.” “Well now, such matters. “I couldn’t care less either way.” “There’s nothing to fuss about.” “Let me ask this—aren’t you the one misunderstanding me?”

“What do you mean?” “Suppose you—just suppose—had some involvement with Haruhisa, I’ve no intention of mentioning it.…”

Satsuko made a puzzled face and fell silent.

"I won't speak of such things to the old woman or Jōkichi." "I'll keep it to myself." "Are you really telling me such things, Grandpa?"

“Perhaps that’s the case.” “You’re insane.” “Perhaps that’s the case.” “Did a clever person like you only realize such a thing now?” “But what feelings make you think that way?” “To vent my frustration at being unable to enjoy love’s adventures myself, I force others to undertake them and take pleasure in watching.” “Once we reach this state, humans become truly pitiful creatures.” “Since you’ve lost all hope in yourself, you’re turning spiteful out of sheer bitterness, aren’t you?” “Even if I am being spiteful, you’ll simply have to endure the inconvenience.”

“You’re putting it cleverly, I see. It’s not that I mind the inconvenience, but being sacrificed for your pleasure is something I can’t stand.” “There’s no need to call it a sacrifice—isn’t there enjoyment for you too when you give me pleasure? Compared to my pleasure, shouldn’t yours be far greater? Truly, what a pitiful creature I am.” “Do take care not to get your cheeks slapped again.” “Let’s have no trickery between us. Though mind you—this isn’t just about Haruhisa. It could be Amari or anyone else for all I care.”

“Whenever we come to the gazebo, it always turns into this sort of conversation, doesn’t it? Let’s take a little walk—it’s not just good for moving your legs; it’ll clear your head too.” “Look—Mr. Sasaki’s watching from the veranda, you know.”

The path was just wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. Bush clover extended from both sides, making the walk difficult. “The leaves were so thick and tangled—you’re clinging to me, you know.” “It would be nice if you’d let me link arms with you.” “That’s impossible, you know—Grandpa’s too short.”

She, who had been walking on my left side, suddenly moved to the right.

“Lend me that walking stick. “You’re clutching here with your right hand.” Having said that, she offered her left shoulder, took the walking stick herself, and while brushing aside the bush clover branches...

………

The sixth.

………Continuation of yesterday’s entry.

“What do you suppose Jōkichi really thinks about you?” “That’s exactly what I want to ask you.” “What do you think about that, Grandpa?” “I don’t know either—I try not to think too much about Jōkichi.” “I don’t know either—even if you ask him, he can’t be bothered to tell the truth.” “But when it comes down to it, he doesn’t love me now, does he?” “What would you do if you took a lover?” “If one appears, then one appears—there’s nothing to be done. Please don’t hold back.” “―――I said it like a joke, but I might’ve been more serious than I let on.”

“If any husband were told such things by his wife, he’d naturally put up some resistance.” “He must have someone he fancies too—a woman with a past like mine, probably some cabaret hostess.” “He says if I’d just let him allow me to see Keisuke occasionally, he’d be fine with separating—but he won’t divorce me. Keisuke would be pitiful, but he claims it’d be even sadder if you disappeared and made his father cry.”

"You're making a fool of me." "Grandpa knows everything now—not that I'll say anything about it."

“After all, he’s his father’s son through and through.” “He chooses the oddest moments to play the filial devotee.” “The truth is he’s still clinging to you—that’s why he trots out his father like some pawn.”

In truth，I knew almost nothing about Jōkichi—my eldest son and heir to the Utsuki family. A father this ignorant about his own important son must have been rare. I knew that he had graduated from Tokyo University’s Faculty of Economics and joined Pacific Plastic Industrial Co., Ltd. However，I didn’t really know what kind of work he actually did. Anyway，I had heard they purchased resin materials from places like Mitsui Chemical and manufactured products such as photographic film，polyethylene coatings，polyethylene molded items—things like buckets and mayonnaise tubes. The factory was located near Kawasaki while headquarters stood in Nihonbashi，where he worked in sales. He was likely to become department head soon，but how much salary or bonus he received as a company man remained beyond my understanding. Though he stood as family heir，at present I remained master of this household. While he bore some portion of household expenses，the bulk still relied on my real estate income and stock dividends. Monthly accounts had been managed by my wife until recent years when Satsuko took charge unexpectedly. By my wife’s account，Satsuko proved surprisingly meticulous with figures，settling merchants’ invoices without delay. She would periodically inspect kitchen stores—maids whispering “Madam” trembled at her approach. Last year Satsuko installed a garbage disposer，her taste for novelties leading her to discard supposedly edible sweet potatoes—an act I witnessed drawing fierce rebuke from my wife.

“If it’s rotten, you should just give it to the dogs! You people find it amusing to throw anything into that garbage disposer—we never should’ve bought such a thing!”

Having said that, Satsuko was feeling regret. "She cuts household expenses to the bone, bullies the maids, and pockets all the leftover money for herself—while making everyone else live in hardship, she alone lives in luxury, though no one would ever guess it," the old woman would say. There were times when she had Oshizu handle the accounts, but generally Satsuko did it herself. Though taxes were entrusted to the accountant, she handled all dealings with him. Though her duties as Madam must have been quite demanding, she took on everything with remarkable efficiency, tidying matters away briskly before anyone noticed. Such qualities must have been very much to Jōkichi’s liking. By now she had come to occupy a firm position within the Utsuki household, and even for Jōkichi, she had become an indispensable presence in that sense.

At the time when the old woman opposed the marriage with Satsuko, “You may say she’s just a dancer, but I can see she has the talent to manage household affairs skillfully.” Jōkichi had said that, but at the time he was likely just saying what was expedient—it wasn’t as though he actually possessed such foresight. When viewed as a wife within the household, she had unexpectedly begun to demonstrate such talent. Even Satsuko herself had likely been unaware until that time that she possessed such talent.

To tell the truth, I had permitted their marriage thinking it probably wouldn’t last long. That tendency to fall passionately in love only to grow thoroughly bored was an inheritance from my parents—I had thought it identical to my own youthful disposition, but today I can no longer state such things so simply. At the time of their marriage, Jōkichi had been quite devoted, but it was certain he no longer remained so to that extent. Yet from my perspective, she had grown even more beautiful now compared to when she married. Though nearly ten years had passed since she came to our household, she had only grown more beautiful with time. Since giving birth to Keisuke, she had become particularly striking. Now she no longer carried that dancer-like air from the past. However, there were times when she deliberately let glimpses of her former self show—but only when alone with me. Even when alone with Jōkichi—though she might have carried such an air during that time of delicate affection—now she seemed to do no such thing. Rather than that, my son likely valued her accounting skills and considered it inconvenient to lose her. When wearing her cat-like demeanor, she possessed the full dignity of a proper lady from every angle. Her speech and actions were brisk and shrewd, yet she possessed both warmth and charm that made people unable to turn away. There was no doubt she appeared that way to others; my son too seemed to take private pride in this fact. If that were the case, they likely had no intention of separating. Even if she were to do something suspicious, he might pretend not to notice—as long as she behaved skillfully enough………………………………………………………

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

………

The 8th. ………Took my afternoon nap from 1:00 to 2:00 PM and had been waiting for Mr. Suzuki’s visit ever since. Then came a knock on the bathroom door, “Wait, I’m closing this now.” came the voice. “Is your boyfriend coming?” “Yeah.” Having said that, Satsuko peeked out her face for just a moment, then immediately slammed the door shut with a loud bang. It was truly just a fleeting glimpse, but she wore an oddly cold and unfriendly expression. It appeared that I had taken a shower first, and water was dripping in streams from the vinyl cap………

The 9th. ………After my nap—though today’s acupuncture session was canceled—I remained in my bedroom, still preoccupied with the matter. “I’m closing this now.” Then came that knock-knock sound again today. It was about thirty minutes later than yesterday. And she didn’t show her face at all. After three o'clock in the afternoon, I quietly tried turning the door handle. It was still locked. At 5:00 PM during traction, “Uncle, I’m truly grateful each time—thanks to you, I’m getting by every day.”

I heard Haruhisa greeting someone as he passed by. The face couldn't be seen. I wanted to see what kind of face he was making while talking like that.

At six o'clock, during the garden walk,

“Isn’t Satsuko here?” Then I asked Sasaki.

“Well, it seems the Hillman left a short while ago.” Then, Sasaki went to inquire discreetly and returned. “As expected, Young Madam has indeed gone out.”

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

The 10th. ………Afternoon nap from 1:00 to 2:00 PM. From then on, events followed the same course as on the 8th. ………

The 11th. ………Acupuncture was suspended. However, today’s progression differed from that of the 9th. “I’m closing this now.”

Instead of [the usual], “It’s unlocked here, I tell you.” came her voice, accompanied by an uncharacteristically cheerful face she revealed. The shower’s rush filled the air. “He isn’t coming today?” “Oh, do go right in.” Complying with her permission, I entered to find her already concealed behind the bath curtain. “I’ll permit kissing today.” The shower’s white noise ceased abruptly. Shins and feet emerged from behind the curtain’s veil. “What’s this? Reverting to your medical examination pose again?”

“Yes, from the knees up is off-limits.” “In return, I stopped the shower for you, didn’t I?” “Is this meant as some sort of reward? That’s absurdly cheap compensation.” “Then don’t do it if you dislike it—I’m not making any demands.” Then she appended: “Today you needn’t confine yourself to lips alone—you may use your tongue too.”

In the same posture as on July 28th, I pressed my lips to the same spot on her calf. With my tongue, I slowly savored. I tasted something akin to a kiss. Continuing like that, I slowly descended from her calf down to her heel. Surprisingly, she didn’t say anything. She was letting me continue. My tongue reached the instep and extended to 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 ground. The wet sole of the foot wore a seductive, face-like expression.

“That’s enough now.”

Suddenly, the shower started running. Her foot sole and my head and face were drenched with water. ………

At five, Sasaki came to inform me of the traction time, "Oh my, your eyes are quite red."

she said. For several years now, the whites of my eyes had frequently become congested, and even during normal times, the redness had grown pronounced. When I carefully examined the area around my pupils, I noticed several unnaturally thin red blood vessels running beneath the cornea. I had them examine me for possible retinal hemorrhage, but they said there was nothing particularly unusual about my fundus blood pressure and that it was appropriate for my age. However, it remained a fact that when the eyes were bloodshot, the pulse quickened and blood pressure rose. Sasaki immediately took my pulse and checked,

“The pulse is over ninety. Whatever could have happened?” “It’s nothing special.” “Let me take your blood pressure.” I was made to lie down on the study sofa whether I liked it or not. After ten minutes of rest, my right arm was bound with a rubber tube. The blood pressure gauge wasn’t visible to me, but from Sasaki’s expression, I could roughly surmise it.

“Are you not feeling unwell right now?” “I don’t feel particularly unwell, but my blood pressure is high, isn’t it?” “It’s about two hundred.” When she phrased it that way, it generally meant over two hundred. It had to be 205 or 206, 210, or even 220 or higher. Yet having experienced reaching up to 245 several times in the past, I wasn’t as alarmed by such levels as the doctors would be. I’d resigned myself to accepting there was nothing to be done if some impulse made it spike that far.

“When I measured it this morning, your upper reading was 145 and lower was 83—perfectly normal. Why has it suddenly risen so high now?” “It’s truly perplexing. Did you perhaps strain yourself trying to maintain a tough facade?” “Nah.” “Did something happen? It’s truly perplexing.” Sasaki kept tilting her head in puzzlement. I didn’t voice it aloud, but I knew the cause all too well. The sensation of that foot hovering above the ground still lingered on my lips; try as I might to forget it, I couldn’t. When I’d stuffed my mouth full with three of Satsuko’s toes, my blood pressure must have undoubtedly peaked then. My face had burned hot as blood surged to my head all at once—the truth was, in that moment, I’d felt certain I’d die of a stroke. Now? Now? The thought had gripped me. Though I’d steeled myself for such eventualities, still, when I thought “I’ll die,” terror had seized me. I’d desperately tried to calm myself—“Don’t get excited,” I’d told myself—but oddly enough, even as I thought this, I hadn’t once stopped shaking her foot. I couldn’t stop. No—the more I’d tried to stop myself, the more I’d shaken like a madman. I’ll die, I’ll die—I’d thought even as I shook. Fear, excitement, and pleasure had surged up through my chest one after another. A pain resembling angina had violently gripped my chest……… Over two hours must have passed since then, yet my blood pressure still showed no sign of dropping.

“Today we’ve suspended the traction therapy and will have you remain at rest—this would be most advisable now.” Having said that, Sasaki forcibly transported me to the bedroom and compelled me to lie prone.

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

At nine in the evening, Sasaki entered carrying the blood pressure gauge. “Let me take your blood pressure again.”

The result had fortunately returned to normal. Upper over 150, lower 87. “Ah, this is much better. I’m truly relieved now.” “Earlier, the upper reading was 223 and the lower 150.” “Such things do happen once in a while.” “Even if it’s only occasionally, such a thing happening is dangerous.” “But well, it was truly a temporary occurrence, you see.” It wasn’t only Sasaki who felt relieved. To tell the truth, more than Sasaki, I was the one who secretly stroked my chest in relief, thinking, “Well, that’s a relief.” Yet at the same time—if things stay this way, even if I keep repeating these madcap antics from now on, what does it matter? It’s not like Satsuko’s beloved pinky thrillers, but adventures of this degree are not something I can bring myself to stop. So what if I die by mistake?—this is how I feel.………

The twelfth. ………Past two in the afternoon, Haruhisa came and stayed for two or three hours—I found it bothersome. When the evening meal was finished, Satsuko went out immediately. She said she would watch Martin Lassalle’s *“Thief”* at the Scala-za and then go to the Prince Hotel’s pool. I imagine her pure white shoulders and back emerging from that backless swimsuit, bathed in floodlight glare………

The thirteenth.

………Around three in the afternoon, I experienced another pinky thriller today too. However, my eyes didn't turn red this time. My blood pressure also appeared normal. It left me with a somewhat anticlimactic feeling. If my eyes weren't slightly bloodshot and my blood pressure didn't rise enough to exceed 200, it felt unsatisfying.

The fourteenth. Jōkichi alone returned home from Karuizawa at night; it was reported he would be going to work starting tomorrow, Monday.

The sixteenth. Satsuko said she went swimming at Hayama yesterday for the first time in ages. This summer had required her to look after Grandpa instead of going to the sea—still, she insisted one must get properly sunburned. Her skin was as pale as a Westerner’s where unexposed, while the sunburnt areas glowed crimson. From neck to chest spread a V-shaped stain of scarlet; needless to say, the abdomen concealed by her swimsuit remained white. Today she summoned me to the bathroom to display it.

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

The seventeenth.

Today too, Haruhisa came and was bothersome.

The eighteenth... Today was another pinky-thriller. However, it differed slightly from those on the eleventh and thirteenth. That day she came in wearing sandal heels and took her shower just like that. "Why on earth are you wearing such things?" "When you go to a music hall's nude show or something, everyone comes out naked wearing these. For a foot-crazed old grandpa like you, isn't this appealing too? Every now and then you'd 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’s this ‘necking’ you speak of?”

“You don’t know what necking is? Didn’t Grandpa do it the other day?” “You mean kissing the neck?” “Yes—it’s a type of petting.” “What’s this ‘petting’? I never learned such English.” “You elderly folks sure are high-maintenance—having to baby your whole bodies. There’s even something called heavy petting—I really have to teach you modern lingo from scratch, Grandpa.” “Well then, you’ll let me kiss here, won’t you?”

“You should feel grateful.” “I’ll bow nine times if I must.” “What whirlwind might this unleash—the aftermath frightens me.” “Good—keep that resolve then!” “Shall we settle our terms first?” “Enough talk—let’s get to necking.”

In the end, I succumbed to temptation. I indulged in so-called necking for more than twenty minutes.

“There, I win! Don’t you go saying you’ve had enough now!” “What exactly is your demand?” “Try not to collapse from shock.” “What on earth?” “There’s something I’ve wanted for quite some time.” “Then what might that be?” “Cat’s Eye.” “Cat’s Eye? You mean a cat’s eye stone?” “Yes—but those small ones are useless. I want one big enough to tempt a man into setting it.” “Truth be told, I’ve already found one at a shop in the Imperial Hotel’s arcade—I’m absolutely determined to have this one.”

“How much?”

“Three million yen.” “What do you mean?!” “Three million yen.” “That’s no joke.” “That’s no joke, I tell you.” “At present I don’t have that kind of money.” “I know that already.” “You should be able to manage exactly that much.” “Since I’ve settled on this one, I’ve come to properly tell you I’ll be coming to receive it within two or three days.” “I didn’t think necking would cost so much.” “But in exchange, it’s not just today—from now on I’ll let ya do it whenever.”

"But since it's just necking—a real kiss would have some value though." "What's this? You were bowing and scraping just a moment ago!"

“This has turned into a serious problem. What if the old woman sees us?” “Do you think I’d make such a stupid mistake?”

“Still, that hurts—don’t torment an old man too much.” “You say that, but you look so pleased.”

In truth, I did seem to be making a pleased face.

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

The nineteenth. There was a report that a typhoon was approaching. Due to that, the pain in my hands intensified, and the immobility of my legs worsened. I took three Dorisin tablets three times a day that Satsuko had bought and brought. Thanks to that, the pain had lessened. Since this was an oral medication, it felt better than Nobron. Since it was an aspirin-based drug, I found the profuse sweating unbearable.

In the afternoon came a sudden call from Mr. Suzuki: “As the typhoon’s arrival would prove troublesome, we must ask you to forgo today’s acupuncture.” That was that. Having replied “Understood,” I came from the bedroom to the study. The moment I did, Satsuko entered. “I’ve come to collect what was promised. From here I’ll go to the bank, then straight on to the hotel.”

“A typhoon’s coming, I tell you—wouldn’t it be better not to go out in this?”

“I need to receive what’s mine before you change your mind—I want that stone set on this finger immediately.” “Having made a promise, I won’t renege.” “Tomorrow’s Saturday—if I oversleep I’ll miss the bank hours. ‘Strike while the iron’s hot,’ as they say.” I had intended this money for another purpose.

Originally, my family had lived in Honjo Warigesui for generations, but during my father’s time we moved from Honjo to 1-chome Yokoyama-cho, Nihonbashi Ward. I don’t recall exactly what year of the Meiji era that was—I was too young at the time. After the Great Earthquake of Taisho 12 [1923], we built our current house in Azabu Tanikane and moved there. The one who built it 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 the house in Azabu—though I believe it was said that in the Meiji era, this area had been the site of Haseba Sumitaka’s estate from the Rikken Seiyūkai, where an old residence had previously stood; retaining part of it, we renovated most of the structure. My father and mother had made that old house their retirement home, loving the tranquility of the area. During the wartime destruction, the property had been rebuilt once again, but miraculously only the retirement home escaped the fire, and even now remains preserved exactly as it was in my parents’ time. It was already too dilapidated to be usable, and now no one lived there anymore. I had planned to demolish that structure and rebuild it into a modern building to create our retirement home there this time, but the old woman had opposed this until today. It was not good to recklessly destroy the traces of my deceased parents’ retirement home. "I want to preserve it for as long as possible," I said. If we kept arguing about such things endlessly, I had been thinking that I would soon force the old woman to consent and bring in the demolition crew. It wasn’t that the current main house was too small to accommodate the entire family, but it was somewhat inconvenient for carrying out the various misdeeds I had been plotting. Under the pretext of building a new retirement home, I would situate my bedroom and study as far away as possible from the old woman’s bedroom and install her own private toilet adjacent to her room. I would install a purely Japanese-style wooden bathroom under the pretext of “for the old woman’s convenience,” and situate this one too adjacent to her bedroom. My bathroom would be tiled for my exclusive use, equipped with a shower.

“Building two bathrooms in the retirement home—what nonsense! I’ll just bathe in the main house with Mr. Sasaki and Oshizu.” “Well now—I suppose we can allow you that small luxury too. When you’re our age, soaking in the bath might just be your only pleasure.” I had devised ways to keep the old woman confined to her room as much as possible so she wouldn’t prowl about the house. I’d even gone so far as to remodel the main house into a single-story structure, but Satsuko opposed this and funds fell short. Thus compelled, I resolved to build only the retirement home. The three million yen Satsuko had targeted formed part of that fund.

“I’m back!”

And then Satsuko had already returned. She was triumphant and in high spirits like a victorious general. “You’re 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 to realize that my vision of a new retirement home had now shriveled 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 always, the afflicted part of my left hand suddenly began throbbing violently. In my panic, I swallowed three Dorisin tablets. Yet when I looked upon Satsuko’s triumphant face, the pain became inexplicably tolerable. How much better this was than building some retirement home………

The twentieth. Typhoon No.14 drew ever nearer, wind and rain growing fierce. Nevertheless, we left for Karuizawa that morning as planned. Satsuko and Sasaki came with us. Though Sasaki rode in second class. He kept urging caution about the weather - insisted we postpone another day - but neither Satsuko nor I would hear of it. Both of us burned with strange resolve, thinking let the typhoon rage as it may. This was the cat’s eye stone’s sorcery. ………

The twenty-third. We had planned to return to Tokyo today with Satsuko, but since the children’s school was starting, we moved up our schedule to leave tomorrow, the 24th. “Let’s all go back together tomorrow instead of delaying another day,” the old woman said. The pleasure of traveling alone with Satsuko had vanished into thin air. The twenty-fifth.

They had restarted the traction this morning after all, but since it showed no effectiveness in the end, we decided to discontinue it. I think I'll stop the acupuncture by month's end too. ...Satsuko promptly went out to Kōrakuen Gym tonight. September 1. Today was the 210th day but nothing happened.

Jōkichi is flying to Fukuoka today on a five-day trip.

The third.

I indeed felt autumn’s presence. After the sudden rain passed，the sky cleared up.

Satsuko arranged sorghum and cockscomb in the study, with seven autumn grasses in the entrance hall. She finally changed the scroll in the study. It was a mounted poem card containing Kafū Sanjin's seven-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 could hardly be called skillful, his novels remain among my most cherished reads. This scroll came into my possession long ago through an art dealer, but given there was apparently a man exceptionally adept at forging Kafū's works, its authenticity remains doubtful. Until its destruction in the war, Kafū had lived nearby in Ichibei-chō - in a white-painted Western-style wooden house he called Henkikan. This explains the line: "Having divined a dwelling at Basai, seven times autumn has come upon me."

The fourth. At dawn—around five in the morning, I thought—while lying half-asleep and listening, somewhere a cricket was chirping shrilly. Cheep-cheep, cheep-cheep—though faint, the sound rang out distinctly. It was indeed cricket season, yet hearing one in this room felt peculiar. Crickets do occasionally sing in this house's garden, but hearing them while lying in this bedroom seemed strange. How on earth had a cricket gotten into the room?

I unwittingly recalled my childhood. Back when I lived in the Waridōmizu house—I must have been around six or seven—I would lie in bed cradled by my wet nurse while a cricket chirped outside the veranda. It hid somewhere—beneath the garden's paving stones or under the veranda—singing out in a delicate voice. Unlike bell crickets or pine crickets that gather in numbers, there was always just one. Yet that solitary cricket sang with such clarity, its voice seeping deep into my ears. Then the wet nurse,

“Look, Tokuchan, autumn has already arrived. The cricket is singing.” And that was what she had said. “Listen, when you hear that voice, it sounds like it’s saying ‘Sew the shoulders, sew the hem—sew the shoulders, sew the hem,’ you see? Once that voice starts to be heard, it means autumn has come, you see.” When she said that—perhaps due to my nerves—it felt as though a chilly wind was piercing through the sleeves of my plain white unlined nightgown. I had always hated being made to wear those stiffly starched single-layer garments, but my nightclothes carried that cloyingly sweet, rancid smell of paste as always. That smell, the cricket’s chirping, and autumn’s morning chill remain merged as one in my faint, distant memory. And even now at seventy-seven, when I recall that cheep-cheep of crickets at dawn, the smell of that paste returns—that wet nurse’s manner of speaking, the rough texture of starched nightclothes against my skin. Half in a dream, I felt myself still in the Waridōmizu house, lying in bed while being cradled by my wet nurse.

But this morning, as my consciousness gradually sharpened, I realized that cheep-cheep sound was indeed coming from within this very room where I lay bedridden alongside Nurse Sasaki. Even so, it felt strange. There shouldn't be any cricket chirping in this room. With the windows and door tightly shut, there was no way it could be coming from outside. Yet the sound persisted unmistakably. "Oh." With that thought, I strained my ears once more. Ah—so that was it, I finally understood. I listened again and again. Yes—this was it, this had been it all along.

What I had heard as a cricket was not a cricket at all, but my own breathing. That morning's air held such dryness—an old man's throat turned to parchment, teetering on cold's edge—that each passage of breath through his windpipe released a wheezing cry. Whether it came from throat or nasal depths remained unclear, but somewhere along that passageway air whistled through like reed through flute. This rasp could not possibly issue from my own body—mustn't this shrill piping belong to some creature beyond flesh? Yet try I might to disbelieve, each experimental inhalation-exhalation confirmed the truth: wheeze answered wheeze without fail. Amused despite myself, I repeated the test endlessly—breathe deep and hear it strengthen, breathe shallow and hear it soften—until my lungs played flutist to this morbid serenade.

“Are you awake?”

Then, Sasaki raised her upper body. “You, do you know what this sound is?” And once more, I made my throat emit the sound. “It is Sir’s breathing sound, you see.” “Oh, you knew about it, did you?” “I’ve known all along, you see—I hear it every morning.” “Oh, so I’ve been making this sound every morning, have I?” “Sir, you’ve been making such sounds yourself, yet you hadn’t been aware of it?”

“No, I’ve had a sense that I’ve been hearing it every morning since some time ago, but being half-asleep, I kept thinking it was a cricket chirping.” “It’s not a cricket—it’s coming from your throat, Sir.” “It isn’t limited to you, Sir. When people grow old, everyone’s throat becomes parched, and each time they breathe, a flute-like sound comes out, you see.” “It’s quite common among the elderly, you see.”

“So, you knew about this all along?” “Ah, I’ve been hearing it every morning lately—a cheep-cheep, such an adorable little voice.” “Let me have the old woman hear this sound too.” “She already knows about such things, of course.” “Satsuko would laugh if she heard this.” “Is there anything even Madam doesn’t know about?”

The fifth.

This dawn, I dreamed of my mother. For someone as unfilial as I, this was a rare occurrence. I thought yesterday's dawn cricket dream and wet nurse dream must have lingered. The mother who appeared in my dream took the most beautiful and youthful form preserved in my memory. The exact location remained unclear, but she likely belonged to her Waridōmizu period. She wore her customary gray fine-patterned kimono with a black crepe haori for outings. She seemed about to go out from here, but I couldn't discern her destination or which room she traversed. Having taken a tobacco pouch and pipe case from her obi for a smoke, she must have been sitting in the tearoom—yet at some point appeared outside, walking barefoot in azuma geta. Her hair was arranged in the gingko-leaf style, secured with a coral hairpin and matching bead, adorned with a tortoiseshell comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Though her coiffure showed meticulous detail, her face remained blurred. As people were shorter in former times—my mother standing barely five feet—perhaps only her head had been visible. Even so, he knew without doubt this was his mother. Regrettably, she neither looked toward me nor spoke. I too remained silent. Perhaps I kept quiet fearing reprimand had I spoken. Since a relative's house stood in Yokomido, I thought she might be heading there. For a full minute she walked briskly before everything dissolved into haze.

After waking, I kept recalling my mother's figure from the dream as though ruminating. During mid-Meiji—around the 27th or 28th year—on some fine day, my mother must have walked past our house's gate and glimpsed me as a child in the street. Perhaps that single day's impression had revived itself here. What felt strange was how only Mother retained her youthful form while I remained this aged self. I stood taller than her, looking down from above. Yet still I thought myself a child and her my mother. I believe this occurred around Meiji 27 or 28 in Waridōmizu. Whether such details belonged to the dream itself—that I cannot say.

Mother had known that her own son had a grandson named Jōkichi. However, Mother died in 1928 when Jōkichi was five years old, so she couldn’t have known about Satsuko, who came as a bride to her grandson’s household. Given that even my own wife had so vehemently opposed Satsuko and Jōkichi’s marriage, had Mother lived until that time, how fiercely she would have objected. There could be no doubt their marriage would never have come to pass. No—from the very beginning, a marriage with someone from a dancer’s background would never have even been considered. Not only would their marriage have been established, but if there had been an incident where I—her own son—succumbed to the charms of my grandson’s wife, allowed her to permit me petting, and in compensation for that spent three million yen to buy her a cat’s eye stone, Mother would have been so shocked she’d have fainted. If Father were still alive, both I and Jōkichi would certainly be disowned. No, more than that—what would Mother think if she were to see Satsuko’s appearance and demeanor?

Mother was called 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. Recalling that figure and comparing it to Satsuko now—what a stark difference there was. 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 women’s physiques? Mother too had beautiful feet. Yet when I look at Satsuko’s feet, their beauty belongs to another realm. They might scarcely be considered limbs of the same species—the same Japanese woman. Mother’s feet were small enough to cradle in my palm. She would set those feet upon tatami-lined geta and walk with knees turned inward to extremes. (If so, then in my dream Mother wore her black crepe haori but went without tabi. Had she meant to show me her bare soles?) Women of Meiji—not just beauties—all walked pigeon-toed. Their gait resembled nothing so much as waddling geese. Satsuko’s feet taper like willow-leaf flounders. “Ordinary Japanese shoes have flat soles that don’t fit my feet,” Satsuko boasts. By contrast, Mother’s feet were broad. Whenever I see Fukūkensaku Kannon’s feet at Nara’s Sangatsudō Hall, I think inevitably of Mother’s. Their stunted statures too matched hers completely.

Women not reaching five shaku were hardly rare. I too, being born in the Meiji era, am short at five shaku and two sun (approximately 157 centimeters), but Satsuko stands one sun and three bu taller than me, measuring 161.5 centimeters.

The methods of facial makeup had been drastically different in the past, and simpler too. Married women—generally those aged eighteen or nineteen and above—would all shave their eyebrows and blacken their teeth. Though this custom gradually disappeared by the mid-Meiji period onward, it had still persisted through my childhood. I can still recall the distinctive stench of the iron-based dye used for blackening teeth. What would Satsuko think were she to see Mother now? She sets her hair in permanent waves, dangles earrings from her lobes, paints her lips coral pink or pearl pink or coffee brown, applies sumi to her brows, smears eye shadow across her lids, adorns her lashes with false eyelashes—and still unsatisfied, tries to make them appear longer with mascara. By day she uses a dark brown pencil; by night she blends ink with eye shadow to line her eyes. The nail polish follows the same tiresome pattern—to describe it in detail would prove unbearable. Could these truly be the same Japanese women transformed over sixty-odd years? When I consider it—how interminably long I've lived! How countless the changes I've witnessed!—I cannot help but marvel at myself. What would Mother—she who bore me in Meiji 16—think of her son still breathing in this world, feeling such shameless attraction toward this woman Satsuko: her own grandson's lawful wife by marriage? What would she think of me finding pleasure in her torments, sacrificing wife and children alike to win that woman's affection? Could she ever have dreamed—even in nightmare—that thirty-three years after her death in Showa 3, her son would become such a madman? That such a bride would invade our household? No—I myself never imagined matters could come to this.

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

The twelfth.

………Around four in the afternoon, the old woman and Rikuko came in. It had been long since I last saw Rikuko in this room. Since July nineteenth when she met with my rejection, she had completely given up on me. Even when departing for Karuizawa with Keisuke, they had deliberately avoided stopping here and instead met at Ueno Station. During their recent stay in Karuizawa, they had made concerted efforts to avoid crossing paths with me. That they now entered accompanied by the old woman meant there must be some particular reason.

"Recently, the children have been causing you trouble for quite some time." "What do you want?" I suddenly asked point-blank.

“Oh, it’s nothing really…” “Is that so? The children seemed quite lively too.” “Thank you ever so much. They’re delighted again this year—all thanks to your kindness.” “Since I rarely see them, all three have grown beyond recognition.” Here the old woman cut in. “Well now, Rikuko’s heard something rather interesting—I thought you ought to know too, Grandpa.” “Ah, really?” I was just thinking they’d come to stir up more trouble when—

“Grandpa, you remember Mr. Yutani, don’t you?” “The Yutani who went to Brazil?” “Are you acquainted with Mr. Yutani’s son? At Jōkichi’s wedding, they attended as his father’s representatives—” “How should I remember such a thing? What about it?” “I don’t recall either, but through work relations with Hokoda, we’ve recently become close and sometimes meet, you see.”

“So what about it? That’s what I’m asking.” “Well, you see, since Mr. Yutani came around the neighborhood last Sunday, the couple went to visit Hokoda’s place, it seems.” “Now that I think about it, since that Mrs. Yutani was such a chatterbox, Rikuko says she probably came here deliberately just to say this, you know.” “What’s this about?” “Well, you’ll have to ask Rikuko about what comes next.”

The two who had been standing lined up before me as I sat in my armchair now said “Heave-ho” and plopped down onto the sofa. And though only four years younger than Satsuko, Rikuko—who had already settled into middle age—took over the conversation and continued. They came to gossip about Mrs.Yutani, but she herself was no less a gossip.

“The other day, on the evening after we returned from Karuizawa—the evening of the twenty-fifth of last month—there was an Oriental Featherweight title match at Korakuen Gym, you know?” “How should I know that?” “Well, there was one, you know. It was that evening when Haruo Sakamoto, the All-Japan Bantamweight Champion, knocked out Sirinoy Lukprakris, the Thai Bantamweight Champion, and became the first champion—”

Rikuko smoothly rattled off that Sirinoy Lukprakris name and withdrew. For someone like me, it was absolutely impossible to remember after just one hearing, let alone rattle it off in a single breath. I’d end up tripping over my own tongue. Now that’s what you call a silver tongue.

“...The Yutanis had left early to watch from the preliminary matches, it seems—there were two empty seats next to Mrs. Yutani at ringside initially.” “Then when the title match was about to begin, this terribly chic woman came in holding a beige handbag in one hand and twirling a car key in the other, plopping down right beside her.” “Who do you suppose that was?”

“...” “Mrs.Yutani only saw Satsuko at her wedding—that was seven or eight years ago now—so naturally she’d have forgotten my face. In such a big crowd, someone like me wouldn’t have registered with her from the start. But I’d never forget hers—how could I? She’s the sort you can’t forget once seen, truly beautiful, and now she’s grown twice as lovely as back then—that’s what she said.” “But thinking silence would be rude, when I tried to call out ‘Aren’t you Madam Satsuko Utsuki?’, some unknown man cut in and sat beside Satchan. They seemed acquainted and started chatting so amiably that I missed my chance to greet her—that’s what she said.”

“...” “Well, that’s all well and good—not that there’s anything wrong with that—but as for that story, perhaps you’d best hear it from Granny—” “What’s so good about that?” And then, here again, the old woman interjected. “You should hear that from Granny—I’ll keep my distance.” “But what Mrs. Yutani noticed first of all was the cat’s eye stone shining on Satchan’s finger, or so she says.” “Since she happened to be seated to her right, she could clearly see the stone set on her left finger.” “According to Mrs. Yutani’s observations, the stone she called a cat’s eye was such a large and splendid specimen—not something you come across every day—and she was certain it must have been at least fifteen carats.” “Granny says she hasn’t seen Satchan with such a stone until now either, and I don’t know when she could have bought something like that.”

“...” “Come to think of it, when Mr. Kishi was Prime Minister, there was that incident where he bought a cat’s eye stone in French Indochina or somewhere that caused a problem, wasn’t there?” “The newspapers wrote that the stone from 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 make it worth more than double.” “So then, Satchan’s stone must be quite something, right?” “Who on earth could have bought such a thing for her at some point?”

And then, here again, the old woman interjected. “Well, it was such a splendid stone shining so brilliantly that Mrs.Yutani kept staring wide-eyed at it again and again—and Satchan must have felt self-conscious about it, for she took out lace gloves from her handbag and put them on. But instead of hiding it, the stone’s glow became even more conspicuous through the lace! And those gloves—they were likely French-made hand-knitted lace ones, black at that. With black gloves, the gem’s radiance stood out all the more. One might wonder if Satchan deliberately chose them for that very effect.” “When I remarked, ‘My, you observed even such minute details so thoroughly,’ she replied, ‘Well, since I was seated to her right and the stone was set on her left hand, I could observe it as much as I liked. That evening, I was so distracted by the gem gleaming through the lace on her finger that I missed most of the boxing match,’ Mrs.Yutani declared.”

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

4

The 13th. Continued from yesterday.

“Hey Grandpa, there’s no way Satsuko could’ve had something like that, but…”

The old woman’s interrogation suddenly turned urgent at this point. “...” “Hey, when did you buy that for her?” “What does it matter when?” “That’s no excuse! First of all, how could you possibly have had that kind of money to begin with, Grandpa? And yet you complained about all the expenses for Rikuko!”

“...” “What do you mean ‘those expenses’ were such a burden?” “That’s just how it is.” The old woman and Rikuko wore expressions that said they were too astonished to speak. “There may be money I can give to Satsuko, but there’s none I can give to Rikuko—that’s how it is.” I’d managed to take them aback for the moment, but a clever excuse had suddenly come to mind. “When Granny said she wanted to tear down her own retirement house and rebuild it, didn’t you oppose that?” “Well yes, I did oppose it, but...” “Who in their right mind would agree with such unfilial reasoning as yours?”

“In that case, both Lord Zenseiin and Lord Shikan’in must be rejoicing beneath the grass, praising what a dutiful daughter-in-law you are. So that’s why the money I’d set aside for that purpose became available, you see.” “Just because there’s money to spare doesn’t mean you need to go buying such things for Satsuko.” “What’s wrong with it? Better than buying it for outsiders! Giving a gem to my precious daughter-in-law—doing what Buddha would approve! They’ll praise me as an admirable son beneath the grass!”

“If it’s just the cost of rebuilding, that alone shouldn’t be an issue—there should still be some surplus left.” “Ah, there is some—but the gemstone money is just a part of it.” “Then what will you use that surplus for?” “Whatever 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 hear your plans for future reference.” “Well, what should I come up with? Since she said it’d be nice to have a pool in the garden, I suppose I’ll build a pool first. Then how delighted she’d be!”

The old woman had nothing to say. The old woman fell silent, her eyes wide.

“Can they really build a pool that quickly? It’s already autumn, you know.”

Rikuko said. “It takes time for the concrete to dry completely—even if they start construction now, I hear it would take about four months to finish.” “Satsuko had thoroughly investigated this.” “It’ll be winter by the time it’s completed.” “So there’s no particular need to hurry—if we take our time and finish around March or April next year, that would be fine—but I’d still like to see that delighted expression even a little sooner.”

This silenced Rikuko as well. "Besides, Satsuko isn’t satisfied with some cramped backyard pool like you’d find in an ordinary household—she wants it at least twenty meters long and fifteen or sixteen meters wide." "And her specialty—synchronized swimming—isn’t something you can just perform anywhere." "She says she wants to perform it solo and show it to me." "The whole purpose of building this pool is so she can put on a show for me." "Even so, that’s all well and good—if we have a pool at our own home, Kei-chan would be delighted, and…"

Rikuko said, and the old woman said: "It's not like we're neglecting Keisuke's well-being or anything—after all, his school homework has been left entirely to a part-time student." "Since Grandpa's being this way, our child's the one who suffers." "But now that there's a pool here, even Kei-chan will dive right in." "We can have the children from Tsujidō use it too."

“Even so, let them come in as they please.” I’d be ambushed mid-leap. Surely Keisuke and those Tsujidō river imps mustn’t be allowed in. But July had school until late in the month, and once August came, they’d be packed off to Karuizawa. The problem was rather Haruhisa.

"Now then—how much would building this pool cost?" I had steeled myself for this inevitable question, but both the old woman and her younger counterpart had become so thoroughly sidetracked that they’d forgotten to raise this critical matter. A wave of relief washed over me. Yet their scheme ran deeper—the old crone and Rikuko had meant to corner me gradually through such tactics. First, they’d force a confession about the cat’s eye stone to leave me utterly defenseless, then pivot to addressing Satsuko’s entanglement with Haruhisa. But confronted by the gravity such revelations would unleash, they faltered—hesitant to broach the subject recklessly. My own overbearing manner, so far removed from ordinary discourse, had turned the tables until they found themselves overwhelmed into silence. Still, this reprieve can’t last forever, I suppose.

………

The thirteenth was an auspicious day.

In the evening, Jōkichi and his wife were to attend a friend’s wedding. It had become rare lately for the couple to go out together. Jōkichi wore a tuxedo; Satsuko, a formal visiting kimono. Though September still brought sweltering heat that called for Western attire, Satsuko had chosen to wear a kimono. This too marked an unusual occurrence of late. She wore white *hitokoshi chirimen* silk with skirt patterns of stylized tree branches rendered in black gradients, their surroundings depicted in pale blue shadows. The blue lining of her collar peeked through at the neckline.

“Well, Grandpa, I’ve come to show you.” “Turn this way for me—take a full spin around.”

The obi was a sheer gauze-weave sack-style obi. On a pale cobalt ground mixed with a touch of silver thread, they had woven a Kenzan-style ceramic design using yellowish and gold threads. She tightened it slightly smaller than usual and let the dangling end hang longer than normal. The obi sash was gauze fabric with white and pale pink gradation. The obi-jime was a gold-and-silver rope-like twist. The ring was nephrite jade. She cradled a small white beaded handbag in her left hand.

“A kimono isn’t half bad for a change.” “The fact that you’re not wearing earrings or a necklace shows good taste, don’t you think?” “You really do understand, don’t you, Grandpa?” From behind Satsuko, Oshizu entered carrying a box of geta, took out the wooden clogs, and arranged them before her. Satsuko, who had come wearing slippers, deliberately put on geta before my very eyes to show me. The geta had silver clasps and a three-tiered height, with pink used only on the underside of the straps. The new geta didn’t dig too deeply into the spaces between her toes. Oshizu broke into a sweat while hurriedly assisting. Finally managing to put them on, she took a step or two to demonstrate. She prided herself on how the protrusions of her ankles didn’t stand out when she wore tabi socks. Likely for that very reason, she had donned a kimono and appeared before me to display it. ………

The sixteenth.

Lately, the scorching heat persisted day after day. Though it was said to be mid-September, this heat remained abnormal. Perhaps as a result, my legs felt extremely heavy and swollen. The edema showed greater severity on my instep than my shin; when I pressed near the base of my toes with a finger, it sank with terrifying depth. And the indentation never returned. The fourth and fifth toes of my left foot were completely paralyzed. Their undersides had swollen up like grapes. The heaviness in my calves and around my ankles was bad enough, but the soles of my feet fared worst. It felt as though something heavy like an iron plate had been firmly stuck to the soles of my feet. This wasn't limited to the left foot—it affected both sides. When walking, the shins of both legs became entangled in a peculiar manner, making progress impossible. When trying to put on geta and step down from the veranda, the wooden clogs never slipped on smoothly. I would invariably stumble and drop my foot onto the shoe-removal stone, sometimes stepping directly on bare ground and dirtying my soles. These various tendencies had existed for some time but grew particularly pronounced recently. Sasaki, concerned, had me lie on my back daily and made me cross my knees alternately to test for beriberi, though it didn't seem to be beriberi.

“We must have Dr. Sugita come and conduct a thorough examination.” “As we haven’t taken an electrocardiogram in some time, there is a need to take one and check.” “I’m quite concerned about how this edema is progressing.”

she said.

Another incident occurred this morning. While taking a walk in the garden with Sasaki supporting my arm, the collie that should have been confined to its fenced kennel somehow broke free and suddenly lunged at me. I had intended to play with the dog, but this unforeseen assault left me startled—it felt as if a wild beast had materialized before me. Before I could react, I was effortlessly knocked onto my back across the lawn. Though not excruciatingly painful, the impact against my occiput sent dull reverberations through my skull. Attempting to rise proved futile at first; retrieving my cane and laboriously pulling myself upright required several minutes. Having disposed of me, the dog then turned its roughhousing toward Sasaki. At her shrieks, Satsuko came running in her negligee,

“Leslie, here!” When she gave a sharp scowl and glared at him, the collie immediately became obedient and trotted off toward the kennel behind Satsuko, wagging his tail. “You weren’t injured anywhere, I trust?” As she brushed the hem of my yukata while I stood up, Sasaki said: “No injuries this time, but when such a large beast jumps at you, a feeble old man can’t possibly withstand it.” “It was truly fortunate you fell on the lawn.”

Both Jōkichi and I had always been dog lovers, and we had kept dogs before. However, we had mainly kept small-sized breeds like Airedales, Dachshunds, and Spitzes. We came to keep large dogs only after Jōkichi took a wife. About six months after their marriage, Jōkichi declared, "I want to get a Borzoi," and soon found a splendid specimen. He hired a trainer to conduct daily drills without fail. The care required for meals, bathing, and brushing was so burdensome that complaints never ceased from the old woman down to the maids; yet regardless of protests, it was Jōkichi who enforced this regimen—a fact recorded in the diary of that time. However, upon later reflection, I realized this had not been Jōkichi’s own will but rather Satsuko pressuring her husband—though I hadn’t discerned this initially. Two years later, that Borzoi died of encephalitis, whereupon Satsuko revealed her true nature and declared she wanted a Greyhound instead, ordering a kennel to procure one. She named the dog Cooper and doted on him obsessively—having Nomura chauffeur her around with Cooper in tow, parading him through town—so excessively that people said Madam favored Cooper over Keisuke. However, this Greyhound—apparently an aged dog they had acquired—soon developed fluid retention from filariasis and died. The third acquisition was this Collie. According to its pedigree, this dog’s sire was London-born and named Leslie, so his pup inherited the name. These events too must have been detailed in the diary of that period. Leslie received no less affection from Satsuko than Cooper had, but it seemed Rikuko’s faction had secretly stirred up the old woman, for opinions opposing large dogs like Collies had begun surfacing sporadically within the household two or three years prior.

The reason was none other than this. Until two or three years ago, I was still somewhat robust in my legs and hips, so even if a large dog had leaped at me, they wouldn't have worried—but now the circumstances were different. Even if a dog—or rather, a cat—were to leap at me now, I would collapse helplessly. Our garden wasn't just lawn; there were slopes here and there, terraces and stepping stones. If one were pushed down in such a place and hit one's head in an unfortunate spot—what might happen? In fact, there was an old man at Mr. So-and-so's place who had fallen and suffered major injuries merely because a Shepherd got tangled around his feet; he'd been hospitalized for three months and still wore a cast. "So please have Grandpa tell them to get rid of the Collie," the old woman complained. "I've said as much myself, but if I'm the one saying it, Satsuko won't listen."

“Still, asking her to abandon something she dotes on so much seems cruel...” “Even if you say that, it won’t protect your own body.” “First off, even if we made them stop keeping it, how would we manage to dispose of such a massive creature?” “There must be someone fond of dogs who’d take it off our hands.” “If it were a puppy, perhaps—but something this grown is difficult to keep. Besides, I doubt Leslie himself particularly enjoys this either.”

“Grandpa’s probably terrified of getting glared at by Satsuko—is it really all right if he ends up seriously injured?” “Well then, why don’t you be the one to tell her? If Satsuko agrees to that, I won’t raise any objections.” But in reality, even the old woman could no longer speak her mind. Even without that, as Madam’s authority increasingly overshadowed the retired master’s with each passing day, they could not rashly open hostilities—knowing full well that the issue of dealing with a single dog might spark a major quarrel.

To tell the truth, I didn’t particularly care for Leslie either. Upon reflection, I realized I’d merely been feigning affection for Satsuko’s sake. Whenever I glimpsed her driving about town with that beast pressed against her side, an indefinable irritation took hold. I could accept her riding with Jōkichi—that was natural—or even endure Haruhisa’s company through clenched teeth, but this canine companionship stung precisely because no jealousy could rightfully apply. The damned creature did possess an aristocratic muzzle exuding noble bearing. One might even call its features more distinguished than that swarthy Haruhisa with his suspiciously dark complexion. Satsuko would settle him beside her seat until their bodies merged into single silhouette. He’d clamp his jaws about her neck while she nuzzled against him during drives. Any passerby witnessing this spectacle would surely recoil in disgust.

“Please don’t act like that in public—yet you do such things so readily when the master is watching,” Nomura said. But if that were the case, this too might have been meant to mock me. If that’s how it was, then out of a desire to ingratiate myself with Satsuko, I would speak kind words to Leslie in her presence despite my true feelings and toss him treats from outside the fence. Then Satsuko turned stern and scolded me.

“What are you doing, Grandpa? Don’t go giving him sweets on your own.” “Look here—see how well-trained he is? He won’t eat anything you give him.” So saying, she alone entered the enclosure and made a deliberate show of petting Leslie demonstratively—not just kissing him but even rubbing her cheek against his— “You must be jealous.”

I recalled how she had smirked as if to say just that.

I did not consider sustaining injuries to win her favor a waste; indeed, were such injuries to lead to my death, I would welcome it. But being trampled to death by her was one thing—I could not bear being trampled to death by her dog. ……… At 2:00 PM, Dr.Sugita came for an examination. Even had it not been today, Sasaki had already reported the dog incident. “It seems he’s had quite the ordeal.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about at all.” “In any case, let me take a look.” He was made to lie down and had his hands, legs, and lower back thoroughly examined. The pain in my shoulders, elbows, and knees that felt rheumatic wasn’t because of Leslie. Fortunately, it seemed he had suffered no harm from Leslie. Dr.Sugita auscultated his heart multiple times, examined his back, had him take deep breaths, and took an electrocardiogram using a portable device, “I don’t believe there’s any particular cause for concern, but I will report the results later after returning.”

With that, he left. That evening brought the report. "The electrocardiogram results still show nothing particularly concerning." "Given your advanced age, some changes are unavoidable—but there are no abnormalities compared to the previous measurement." "Moreover, it will be necessary to conduct a kidney examination once." He said.

The twenty-fourth. Sasaki said he wanted to go see his child starting that evening. Since we had only just allowed him to go last month, we couldn't permit it again. He was supposed to return by the next morning, but unfortunately the next day was Sunday. Since Saturday leading into Sunday would allow Sasaki to meet his child more comfortably, we needed to consult Satsuko first. The old woman had been saying since July that she refused to act as Sasaki's substitute.

“Oh, it’s fine—since he’s finally having a good time, just let Sasaki-san go.” “Are you sure that’s okay?” “What are you asking that for?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, you know.” “Oh, I’ve already got that. What’s your point?” “You may say it’s fine however you like, but hasn’t Jōkichi been doing nothing but traveling lately?” “What’s that got to do with anything?” “Because he’s home on the occasional Saturday and Sunday, you see.” “So what’s your point?” “He probably wants to sleep in leisurely at his own home with his wife once in a while.” “Even a delinquent old man like you sometimes feels like being filial to his son, hmm?”

“Atoning for my sins, I suppose.”

“That’s unnecessary meddling—Jōkichi would say he’s quite troubled enough as it is, I tell you.” “What do you say?” “It’s fine, I tell you—you needn’t go worrying yourself over such things.” “I’ll properly act as Mr. Sasaki’s substitute tonight, I tell you.” “Since Grandpa got up early, I’ll go over to his place now, I tell you.” “It’d be pitiable to have you come barging in where I’m sleeping just to wake me up.” “Oh, I’ll be waiting up anyway, you know.” “This guy’s been had.”

He bathed at 9:30 PM and went to bed at 10:00. As usual, Oshizu brought a rattan lounge chair for her. "Are you going to sleep on that thing again?" "It's fine either way—Grandpa should just hush up and rest." "You'll catch cold on a rattan chair." "I'll have them bring plenty of blankets so I don't catch cold." "Oshizu knows what needs doing—just leave it to her." "If you make me catch cold, Jōkichi won't forgive us—no, not just Jōkichi."

“Quiet down, will you—asking for Adalin again with that look of yours.” “Two tablets might not be effective enough.”

“Don’t lie! Last month too, two tablets worked immediately—you took them and slept like a corpse, mouth agape with drool.” “You must’ve kept quite the prim face yourself.” “Let your imagination run wild, Grandpa—but why not remove your dentures when sleeping with me? You always take them out when resting, I tell you.” “It’s more comfortable to remove them at night, but doing so makes my face hideously aged, you see.” “Though even if seen by Granny or Mr. Sasaki.”

“You think I haven’t seen it before?” “You have seen it, haven’t you?” “When you had that seizure last year—weren’t you comatose for half a day?” “Did you see me then?” “Dentures or no dentures make no difference—it’s just absurd to hide them.” “It’s not that I want to hide them—I simply don’t wish to make people uncomfortable.” “If you don’t remove them, how can you imagine hiding them?” “Fine—I’ll take them out.—Look—this face.—”

I rose from the bed and went before her. Facing her directly, I first removed both upper and lower jaw-attached dentures and placed them into the denture case on the night table. Then I deliberately clenched my upper and lower gums together forcefully, contorting my face into as small a shape as possible to show her. My nose flattened out, and my upper lip dangled limply over my lower one. Even a chimpanzee’s face would be superior compared to this one. I repeatedly opened and closed my upper and lower gums with a clacking sound, made my yellow tongue loll about in my oral cavity, and put on a disgustingly grotesque face for her to see. Satsuko had been staring fixedly at that face when she pulled a hand mirror from the night table drawer and thrust it toward me.

“Showing me that face won’t do anything for you. Wouldn’t it be better to take a good look at your own face? If not, I’ll make you see it.” “There—look at this face.” As she said this, she held the mirror up before my face. “Well? How about this face?” “An indescribably aged and ugly face.” After looking at my face in the mirror, I turned my gaze to Satsuko’s figure. No matter how I considered it, I couldn’t believe these two belonged to the same species. The more hideous I found the face in the mirror, the more peerlessly superior the creature called Satsuko appeared. I regretfully thought that had the face in the mirror been even uglier, Satsuko would have seemed all the more magnificent by contrast.

“Come on now, let’s get to sleep, Grandpa—go over there quickly.” “I want you to bring me Adalin.” I said this while returning to my bed. “Can’t you sleep again tonight?” “Being near you always excites me.” “You wouldn’t get excited looking at such a face.” “When I see that face and then look at yours—I can’t help but get excited.” “You wouldn’t grasp this psychology.” “I don’t understand it.” “In short—the more hideous I am, the more boundlessly beautiful you appear by contrast.”

She listened to my words distractedly and went to get Adalin. Then she came back with a single American cigarette called "Cool" held between her fingers. “Come on, open your mouth wide—like ‘Aah’,” “You mustn’t let this become a habit, so take two tablets again tonight.” “Can’t you feed them to me mouth-to-mouth?” “You should think about that face of yours before making such requests.” Still, she picked them up with her fingers and put them in my mouth. “Oh? Since when have you been smoking?” “Lately I’ve been sneaking up to the second floor to smoke sometimes.”

A lighter glowed in her hand.

“I don’t particularly want to smoke, but this is also a kind of accessory—tonight’s just a palate cleanser from earlier.”

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

28th. ……On rainy days,the poor condition of my hands and feet grows even worse—I can sense it coming a day before the rain starts—but today，from the moment I awoke this morning，the numbness in my hands，the swelling in my legs，and that tangled sensation had all been particularly severe. Because of the rain，I couldn’t go out into the garden，but even walking along the corridor wasn’t easy. I teetered so unsteadily that I might collapse at any moment，and worried I might fall off the veranda. The numbness in my hands had spread from my elbows up to my shoulders，and I feared that if this continued，I might become hemiplegic. In the evening，starting around six o'clock，the coldness in my hands intensified even more. They became completely numb，as if submerged in ice. Well，though I called them numb，when the coldness grew this intense，I felt something akin to pain. Yet when others touched them，they claimed they were just ordinary warm hands. Only he himself found it unbearably excruciating. I had often experienced such coldness before—it mostly occurred during midwinter’s chill，though it wasn’t necessarily limited to winter. But today，having such a thing occur in September was rare. According to past experience，when it got this cold，I soaked a large towel in hot water and wrapped it from my fingertips to cover the entire arm，then wrapped a thick cotton cloth over that，and finally applied a platinum warmer to two places. Even so，it cooled down in about ten minutes，so I reheated the towel that had been brought and placed by the pillow with hot water and wrapped 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 too，by repeating this method，the coldness had finally lessened somewhat.

5

29th.

Because I had soaked in the bath for quite some time last night, the pain in my hands subsided somewhat and I was able to sleep peacefully. But when I awoke at dawn and checked, I found that the pain had started up again. The rain had stopped, and the sky was beautifully clear. If only my body were healthy—how invigorating such an autumn day would be. When I think how I used to fully savor that exhilaration up until four or five years ago, it makes me both envious and bitterly resentful. Took three Dorisin tablets. At 10 AM, measured blood pressure. Upper dropped to 105, lower 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 I measured it again about twenty minutes later. The upper rose to 158, the lower to 92. Such violent fluctuations in blood pressure within a short period were far from desirable.

“Wouldn’t it be better for you not to push yourself so hard with your writing? I worry the pain will start up again.” Sasaki said upon seeing me keep my diary. I didn’t let anyone read the diary’s contents, but when the need for nurses arose so frequently, Sasaki must have perceived some degree of it despite herself. I didn’t know if it would come to the point of having her grind ink for me.

“Even if it hurts a little, keeping yourself occupied like this helps distract you. If it becomes too painful to bear, you should stop—it’s good you can still work for now. Go on over there.”

I took an afternoon nap starting at 1 PM, drifting off sluggishly for about an hour. When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat.

“You’ll catch a cold like this.” Sasaki entered again and had me change into sweat-drenched gauze underclothes. My forehead and the back of my neck had grown unpleasantly clammy.

“Dorisin might be fine, but you can’t keep sweating like this—isn’t there some other medicine?”

At five o'clock, Dr. Sugita came for an examination. The medicine had run out, and the severe pain began again. "He says he can't stand how much Dorisin makes him sweat." Sasaki was explaining to Dr. Sugita. "This presents quite a difficulty, I'm afraid. "As I've mentioned before, this pain derives two or three parts from causes in the brain's central nervous system and six or seven parts from neuralgia due to physiological changes in the cervical spine—the diagnosis stands confirmed by X-ray examination." "To treat this properly, we have no choice but to relieve the nerve compression through either a plaster bed or traction method—though this would require enduring three to four months of rigorous treatment." "However," he continued with a slight bow, "given this concerns an elderly gentleman of advanced years, we cannot expect such strenuous endurance." "In that case," he adjusted his glasses, "we must resort to medicinal palliation." "Since various options remain available—if Dorisin proves disagreeable and Nobron likewise—let us instead attempt Parotin injections without delay. This should mitigate the immediate discomfort."

As a result of the injection, I found some relief………

October 1. The pain in my hands continued unabated—sharpest in the little and ring fingers, milder toward the thumb—yet gradually spreading to all five fingers. Not only in my palm but extending toward my wrist, the pain reached from my little finger to the styloid process of the ulna and the process of the radius; when I attempted to rotate my wrist, it became particularly painful and refused to turn smoothly. The paralysis was most severe at the wrist; as for the sensation of being unable to move my hand, I could not clearly distinguish where the paralysis ended and where the pain began. Parotin injections were administered twice in the afternoon and at night.………

2nd. The pain did not abate; Sasaki consulted Dr. Sugita and gave a Sobrocanon injection. ………

4th. Disliking the Nobron injections, we tried suppositories; they had little effect. ………

9th. From the 4th until today, the pain continued almost without respite, leaving me no strength to keep this diary. I lay confined to my bedroom while Sasaki attended to me daily. Today, however, I felt somewhat recovered and found myself inclined to write again. These past five days saw me subjected to countless injections and medications. Pyrabital, Irgapyrin, Parotin, Irgapyrin suppositories, Doriden, Probarin, Noctan—Sasaki recited these pharmaceutical names for me, though I suspect there were others beyond this list. No mortal could retain them all at once. Doriden, Probarin and Noctan prove to be not antispasmodics but soporifics. Even I—once blessed with effortless sleep—now lie awake through agony's nights, reduced to swallowing various sedatives. The old woman and Jōkichi paid occasional visits.

On the afternoon of the 5th, the day when the pain was at its most severe, the old woman peered into the sickroom and spoke.

“Satsuko was wondering if she should come visit—she says she wants to help somehow, but…”

“………” “Shouldn’t she come visit? Especially at a time like this—I told her that if you were to see her, it might help you forget the pain, even if just a little.” “Idiot!”

Suddenly, I shouted. Why I had felt compelled to shout was something even I myself couldn’t comprehend. The moment I thought, “It would be mortifying for her to see me in such a pathetic state,” these words came out—though truth be told, I didn’t want her to come either. “Oh? Is it so terrible for Satsuko to come visit?” “It’s not just Satsuko—if Rikuko or anyone else comes visiting, I won’t have it!” “I quite understand—no matter how much you complain of pain, there’s no need to worry about your hands. I told you not to hold back—that’s why I sent even Rikuko away.” “Rikuko was crying, you know.”

“What does she have to cry about?” “Since even the children said they wanted to come visit, I’ve been strictly forbidding it.” “But isn’t Satsuko an exception? Why are you developing an aversion to her now?” “Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Who said I dislike her? It’s not aversion—it’s that I’m too fond! Too fond to let her see me in this miserable state!” “Oh my, you put it that way now? I may have spoken carelessly, but please don’t rage so—getting agitated harms your health most of all.”

The old woman spoke in a tone one might use to soothe a baby and left crawling away. I had clearly panicked and lashed out in anger to hide my fluster—the old woman had suddenly struck at my weak point. After the old woman left and I calmly thought it over alone, I realized I hadn't needed to get so angry; yet I became terribly anxious about how Satsuko might have interpreted things from what the old woman told her. Since she saw through every corner of my innermost thoughts, I thought she probably wouldn't take it the wrong way—but...

“That’s right—it’s better if I meet her after all. If I watch for an opportunity in the next two or three days and somehow skillfully broach the subject, then…” This afternoon, I suddenly thought— My hands would surely start hurting again tonight—though perhaps I was anticipating the pain—and I’d seize that moment of greatest agony to summon Satsuko. “Satsuko! Satsuko! It hurts! It hurts! Help me!” I wailed like a child. Satsuko entered in astonishment. While cautiously thinking, Is this old man really crying this hard for real? Who knows what he’s scheming, she came in with a feigned look of surprise, her face deliberately blank. “I only need Satsuko! I have no use for anyone else!” I shouted again, driving Sasaki away. Now that we were finally alone—well, how on earth should I broach the subject?

“It hurts! Help me!” “Okay, okay, Grandpa. Asking me to fix it? Just say what you want done.” If she came over like that, I could grab her—but blurting that out would be reckless. How to coax her into it? “A kiss might make me forget the pain.” “Feet won’t work.” “Not even necking.” “It has to be a real kiss.”

What if I were to throw a grand tantrum like this, raising my voice in tears and letting out screams? If even she were forced to relent, wouldn't she come around? I should at least try carrying it out once within the next two or three days. I'd said "target the most painful time," but even if it wasn't truly painful, putting on a show of pain would suffice.

I should at least shave this beard. I hadn't shaved for four or five days, leaving my face covered in stubble. This sickly appearance of mine was actually effective in its own way—but when imagining a kissing scenario, having such a thick beard would prove terribly inconvenient. I should remove my dentures too. And I needed to keep my mouth inconspicuously clean. ……… While muttering these things to myself, that day too saw the pain begin come evening. I couldn't write another word. ………I flung down the brush and called for Sasaki.

………

The 10th. Received an Irgapyrin injection: one syringe, 0.5 cc. Felt dizzy for the first time in ages. The ceiling spun round and round as a single pillar appeared to fracture into two or three. The vertigo lasted five minutes before normalcy returned. There was pressure at the base of my skull. Took 0.1 grams of Luminal divided into three doses and slept.

The 11th. The pain showed little difference from yesterday. Today I used a Nobron suppository.………

The 12th. I took three Dorisin tablets. As usual, broke out in a drenching sweat. ………

The 13th.

This morning was slightly better. In the meantime, I needed to hastily record last night's events.

At eight in the evening, Jōkichi peered into the sickroom. He too had recently been making an effort to return home early in the evenings.

“How are you? Are you feeling a bit better?” “Good? It only grows increasingly worse by the day.” “But you’ve shaved your beard and look quite refreshed now, haven’t you?” In truth, my hands ached so that using a razor proved difficult, yet I endured it and had shaved just this morning.

“Shaving a beard isn’t exactly easy, you know. But even so, if I let it grow too much, I’ll look even more like a patient, don’t you think?” “Why not have Satsuko shave it for you?” What on earth was that bastard Jōkichi thinking, saying such a thing? Had he noticed my shaved beard and already discerned something? He simply disliked Satsuko being treated casually within the household. This arose from his own inferiority complex over his wife having been a dancer—which naturally led to this state of affairs—and that only further emboldened “Madam.” It resulted in heightening Madam’s presumption. Though I couldn’t claim innocence in having encouraged her presumption, that bastard Jōkichi—despite being her husband—had shown a deferential attitude toward her from the very beginning. I couldn’t say how they behaved when alone, but in front of others, they made a particular show of it. That he would say it’s just his father’s beard—did he seriously intend to make his precious wife shave it?

“I won’t have a woman touching such a place.”

I made sure to say it just like that. But if I were to lie back in the chair and have her shave my face—how clearly I'd see into those nostrils of hers—the thin nasal flesh glowing crimson through translucent skin wouldn't be unpleasant at all—such thoughts even crossed my mind. "Satsuko handles electric razors quite skillfully, you know. I've had her shave me too when I was ill." "Oh? You make Satsuko do such things?" "Whether I make her or not—is there anything strange about having her do it?"

“I never imagined Satsuko would be made to do such things so obediently.” “Don’t limit it to shaving—since anything’s fine, use Satsuko however you need. She’ll do anything.” “What do you think—you can say such things to *me*, but could you actually give those orders to Satsuko’s face? Just make her do everything exactly as Father says.” “Even if it’s a nuisance, I’ll be sure to pass it along.”……… I never learned what he told her or how he phrased it, but that night, past ten o’clock, Satsuko slipped into the room.

“You told me not to come, but Jōkichi said I should, so here I am.”

“What did Jōkichi do?” “Where’s he gone off to now? Said he’s going out for a quick drink.” “I wanted Jōkichi to bring you here and order you right before my eyes.” “He can’t give proper orders—it got awkward, so he ran off.” “But I did hear what he said—since you’d be in the way here, I told him to go somewhere else and chased him out.” “Even so—there’s still one more nuisance left.”

“Yes, yes, got it.” With that, Sasaki promptly took the hint.

The moment he signaled—or so it seemed—the pain in his hand intensified. From the styloid processes of the ulna and radius to the tips of all five fingers, his hand stiffened into a single rigid block of bone, while the inner and outer parts of his palm began aching with a prickling and gnawing pain—small yet excruciatingly precise. It resembled what's called an ant-crawling sensation, but this was no mild discomfort—a far stronger, more violent pain. Then as though thrust into thick rice bran paste, the hand stiffened. Stiffened and yet it hurts. Stiff to numbness—and yet it hurts. No one can understand these sensations without experiencing them oneself. No matter how I explain it to doctors, they never seem to grasp it.

“Satchan! It hurts!” And then—before I knew it—a cry burst out. After all, such a voice wouldn’t come out unless it were truly painful. If I were faking the pain, such a genuinely desperate voice wouldn’t come out. First, I had never once called her “Satchan,” yet it came out naturally. The fact that I could call her that filled me with such joy I could barely contain it. It was painful, yet I was happy. “Satchan! Satchan! It hurts!” It had precisely become the voice of a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old punk. It wasn’t intentional—the voice had taken on that quality all by itself.

“Satchan! Satchan! Oh, Satchan!” Even as I said this, I began wailing—waa waa—tears streaming down my face. Tears streamed uncontrollably from my eyes, snot ran from my nose, and drool flowed copiously from my mouth. “Waa, waa, waa—I wasn’t putting on an act; the moment I cried out ‘Satchan,’ I suddenly reverted to being a bratty child in my prime of mischief and began wailing uncontrollably, unable to stop myself even when I tried to rein it in.” Ah, could it be I’ve actually gone mad? Isn’t this what they call madness?

“Waa, waa, waa.” If I’d gone mad, then let me stay mad—what did it matter if I’d lost my mind? I thought. But the problem was, the very moment that thought came, a sudden surge of self-awareness welled up, and I grew terrified of truly descending into insanity. Then it unmistakably became an act—I deliberately started mimicking a spoiled child.

“Satchan! Satchan! Waa, waa, waa—”

“Stop it now, Grandpa.”

Satsuko, who had been silently watching my expression with a slightly eerie look since earlier, seemed to instantly perceive the change in my mind the moment our eyes met by chance. “If you keep pretending to be crazy, you’ll end up truly mad.” She brought her mouth close to my ear and said in a low voice laced with a sneer, her demeanor warped derisively. “The fact that you can pull off such an idiotic act is proof you’re already halfway to madness.”

Her tone carried sarcasm as chilling as having cold water poured over one’s head. “Hmph. Are you telling me you want something done? As long as you keep making those whimpering noises, I won’t lift a finger for you.” “Alright then—I’ll stop crying.”

I had reverted to my usual self and said casually. "You should know better—I'm stubborn by nature, so if you stage such performances, I'll only grow more obstinate."

I stopped tediously writing any more of this. The kiss was ultimately evaded. Without letting our mouths meet—keeping them about a centimeter apart—she made me open my mouth with an “Ah—” and let a single drop of saliva fall plop into it. “There, this should suffice. If this isn’t enough, do as you please.” “It hurts—it hurts—the pain is real!” “With this you should’ve improved *somewhat*.”

“It hurts! It hurts!” “Don’t make that noise again! If I go over there, you can cry alone all you want.” “Hey Satsuko—let me call you ‘Satchan’ sometimes from now on.” “How absurd.”

“How ridiculous.” “Satchan.” “You spoiled brat, you lying brat—who’d ever fall for that?” She left in a huff, sulkily.

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

The fifteenth. ...Tonight I took 0.3 grams of Barbital and 0.3 grams of Bromural. Sleeping pills would also immediately lose their effectiveness if I didn’t occasionally switch between different types. Luminal had no effect on me whatsoever.

The seventeenth. At Dr. Sugita’s suggestion, it was decided to request a house call from Dr. Kajiwara of Tokyo University’s Department of Internal Medicine, and the doctor came this afternoon. Dr. Kajiwara had made several house calls even during my cerebral hemorrhage episode years ago, so we were acquainted. Dr. Sugita provided a detailed explanation of my subsequent progress and had him examine the X-rays of my cervical and lumbar vertebrae. The doctor said: “As my specialty differs, I cannot confirm with certainty that the cause of your left hand pain lies there, but I believe Toranomon Hospital’s orthopedics department’s findings are likely correct. Accordingly, I shall take these X-rays back to the university and have a specialist examine them before giving you a definitive answer. However, even to my non-specialist eye, it seems certain there is deformation in the area governed by the left hand’s nerves. Since you refuse casts, bed rest, and traction methods, there remains no way to relieve the nerve compression other than relying on temporary measures like those Dr. Sugita has employed. Regarding medication, Parotin injections remain your best option—you must discontinue Irgapyrin due to its harmful side effects.” After conducting an extremely thorough examination, he borrowed the X-rays and left.

The nineteenth.

There was a call from Dr. Kajiwara to Dr. Sugita, informing him that the orthopedics department at the university had reached exactly the same findings as Toranomon Hospital.

Around eight-thirty in the evening, someone timidly opened the door without knocking. “Who is it?”

Even though he called out, there was no reply. “Who is it?” When he called out a second time, Keisuke entered in his sleepwear, accompanied by faint footsteps. “What’s with this hour? Why have you come?”

“Grandpa, does your hand hurt?”

“Such matters needn't concern the child. Shouldn't you be in bed by now?” “I was sleeping, but I sneaked down secretly to see you.” “To bed, to bed—the child's being meddlesome...”

When I thought I'd said this much, my voice caught in the back of my nose and tears suddenly pattered down. These tears differed in nature from those I'd shed before the child's mother days earlier. That time they'd gushed forth torrentially, but today's fell plop—a single genuine tear dropping to the edge of my eye. I hastily grabbed my glasses to conceal them, but the lenses fogged instantly, worsening the situation. I could no longer hide it even from the child.

I thought those earlier tears might have been proof of madness, but what did these tears today prove? Those previous tears hadn’t been unexpected at all, but today’s were ones I hadn’t anticipated in the slightest. I shared with Satsuko this penchant for affected wickedness—though as a man I found crying utterly contemptible—yet truthfully I was absurdly prone to tears that flowed over the most trivial matters without reason. Still I struggled desperately to keep others from knowing this weakness. From youth I’d played the villain—constantly speaking spitefully to my wife and others—yet when reduced to tears by that same wife’s actions, I’d spinelessly capitulated every time without fail. That’s why I’d strived so fiercely never to let her discover these tearful vulnerabilities of mine. Phrased thus it might make me sound saintly—but though tear-prone and sentimentally weak by nature—my true self remained warped and utterly heartless. Such being my character—when that meddlesome child suddenly appeared and addressed me with such kindness—I could no longer hold back; no matter how fiercely I wiped at them—my glasses kept fogging with moisture.

“Grandpa, stay strong—if you keep enduring, it’ll get better soon.”

I covered myself from head to toe with the futon to conceal my tears and sobs. The thought that Sasaki might have noticed irritated me more than anything. “Ah, it’ll heal soon… Go upstairs and sleep now…” I had meant to say that, but from “Go upstairs” onward, my voice turned strangely hoarse until even I couldn’t understand my own words. In the pitch-black darkness beneath the futon, tears streamed down my cheeks in an unrelenting cascade as though some dam had broken. That damned Keisuke—how long would he keep loitering here? Get the hell upstairs already, you insufferable brat! Yet even as I raged inwardly, the tears kept flowing.

After about thirty minutes had passed and my tears had completely dried up, I stuck my face out from the futon. Keisuke was already gone. “Master Keisuke says such grown-up things, doesn’t he?” “Master Keisuke says such grown-up things,” said Nurse Sasaki. “Despite being so young—truly—he still worries himself over you.” “For a child, he’s oddly precocious—a cheeky little brat I can’t stand.” “I can’t stand that sort of thing.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t say such things!” “Even though I’d told them not to send the child to the sickroom, he came barging in on his own.” “Children ought to behave more like children.” At my age, being reduced to tears by this child without any resistance—I felt furious beyond endurance. To think tears would flow over such a trifle—no matter how prone to weeping I might be—this defied all reason; I couldn’t help sensing my death must be drawing near.

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

The twenty-first. Today I heard some interesting news from Sasaki. According to Sasaki, she had once worked at P.Q. Hospital, and yesterday afternoon—having been granted an hour’s leave to visit a dentist in Shinagawa for dental treatment—she happened to encounter an orthopedic surgeon named Dr. Fukushima at that dental clinic, whom she knew from her time at P.Q. Hospital. And during the twenty minutes she was made to wait, she engaged in conversation with the same doctor. When Dr. Fukushima asked, “What are you doing now?” and she replied that she was nursing a patient at the Utsuki residence, the conversation turned to the matter of the master’s hand pain. When she said, “Surely there must be some better treatment—given that it’s an elderly gentleman, he dislikes cumbersome methods like traction and others that require such effort,” Dr. Fukushima replied that there was indeed a method available. He said it was a method accompanied by danger—extremely difficult and requiring technical skill—that ordinary physicians could neither perform nor would attempt. “But *I* can do it,” he asserted. “I’ll show you how expertly I can manage it. 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 process to block the sympathetic nerve there. This would immediately eliminate the hand pain. However, since the cervical nerves run behind the carotid artery, inserting the needle into the nerve without touching that artery is exceedingly challenging. Should you accidentally damage the artery—or even one of the countless capillaries running through the neck—if xylocaine enters a vessel or mere air slips in, the patient will instantly fall into respiratory distress. Given such risks, most doctors avoid this method. Yet *I* have dared to attempt this gamble repeatedly on many patients to this day without a single failure. That’s why I’m confident *I* can perform it safely.” When asked how many days it would require, he said no—just one day, and in fact merely one or two minutes to complete. Though they would first need to take an X-ray, even that would only take twenty to thirty minutes. Since it’s a nerve block, if successful, the pain would vanish on the spot, and after just half a day’s patience, one could return home feeling completely relieved—so why not give it a try? That was his proposal.

“Is this Dr. Fukushima someone we can trust?” “Oh, but of course—he is a doctor employed in the orthopedic department of that P.Q. Hospital, so there can be no mistake. He’s an M.D. from Tokyo University, and I’ve had the honor of knowing him for quite some time now.” “Is it truly safe? If something goes amiss, what will become of us?” “If the doctor says so, I’m sure there’s no mistake—but if you wish, I could go meet him again to hear the details firsthand.”

“If they can actually do such a thing, it’s too good to be true.” When they promptly sought Dr. Sugita’s opinion, she replied, “Oh really? They can manage such delicate work? If they can pull that off, it’s practically a miracle.” But her apprehension kept her from readily agreeing.

The twenty-second.

Sasaki went to P.Q. Hospital, met with Dr. Fukushima, and inquired in detail on my behalf. There were all sorts of specialized explanations, but the details remained beyond my grasp. As I had mentioned yesterday too, Dr. Fukushima had treated dozens of patients to date with this method, achieving straightforward successes—he didn’t consider it some miraculous feat requiring divine skill. None of the patients had been particularly anxious or fearful either; they’d all received their injections without fuss, improved immediately, and gone home delighted. However, he reportedly said that if we still felt uneasy, they could have an anesthesiologist standing by and prepare oxygen inhalation equipment just in case—in short, should any medication or air accidentally enter a blood vessel, they would immediately insert a tube into the trachea to administer oxygen. While they didn’t normally make such preparations for ordinary patients, there’d never been any mishaps. But since it was an elderly gentleman receiving the injection this time, they’d take those extra precautions—so there was no need to worry—or so he had assured us.

“What would you like to do? Dr. Fukushima absolutely will not force you—he says it would be better to stop if you’re not inclined. So please consider it carefully, and—” The incident from the other night, when I was caught off guard and made to weep by a child, still lingered in my heart; in such circumstances, I could not help but recall it as some ill omen. That I had shed such tears that night was surely because a premonition of death had begun to sprout in my heart. Though I appeared reckless—I who was in truth exceedingly timid and cautious—I found myself swayed by Sasaki’s words, feeling compelled to receive such a perilous injection. I could not help but think this was no mere coincidence. Ultimately, was I not fated to suffocate and die due to the injection?

But had I not always been prepared to die at any moment? Had I not long since readied myself for death? When they told me this summer at Toranomon Hospital that my cervical vertebrae might be cancerous, the old woman and Sasaki turned pale—yet I remained utterly composed. I was even surprised at my own equanimity—if my life were ending here, I thought, it might even come as a relief. If that were so, why not seize this chance to test my luck? What did I have to lose if fortune failed me? My hands pained me so relentlessly day and night, and seeing Satsuko’s face brought me no solace—she treated me like an invalid and never engaged earnestly. What purpose did living like this serve? Yet when I thought of Satsuko, I wanted to entrust my fate to heaven and cling to life by any means necessary. If not for that, continuing to breathe felt utterly meaningless anyway. ………

The twenty-third. The pain remained unchanged. I took Doriden to see if it would help me sleep, but the moment I thought I'd drifted off, I was immediately awake again. I had them inject me with Zarubro (Zaruborokanon).

I woke around six and again considered yesterday’s problem. I’m not afraid of death in the least—but when I think that at this very moment I’m facing death—when I think that death is pressing upon me this instant—the very act of thinking so terrifies me. If it must happen, let it be here—in this room, lying peacefully on this bed, surrounded by relatives. (No, better without relatives—and above all, better without Satsuko. How pitiful to bid farewell with “Satchan, you’ve cared for me so long”—tears would surely flow again. And then *she’d* have to dutifully weep for show—how mortifying! To die resenting death itself... When I die, she’ll coldly forget me in an instant—engrossed in boxing matches or diving into pools to practice synchronized swimming. Ah, even that swimming form—if I don’t survive until next summer, I’ll never see it again.) Let me slip away unknowingly, as if falling asleep. I don’t want to be taken to some unfamiliar bed at P.Q. Hospital, surrounded by all these important-sounding doctors I’ve never met—orthopedic surgeons, anesthesiologists, radiologists—treated with such elaborate ceremony that I can barely breathe, teetering on the brink of death. Wouldn’t just being enveloped in that tense atmosphere alone be enough to kill me? Falling into respiratory distress, gasping for air with ragged breaths, gradually losing consciousness—what must it feel like when they insert a tube into your trachea? I don’t fear death itself—it’s the pain, the tension, and the terror that come with it I can’t abide. In that decisive moment, the countless misdeeds accumulated over seventy years of life would likely parade before me like a revolving lantern—*Ah, you did this and that, and now you think you can die peacefully? How presumptuous! Your current suffering is only natural—serves you right!*—and somewhere, I’d hear such voices. After all, I should probably stop going to P.Q. Hospital.………

It was Sunday. It was cloudy and raining.

After much agonizing，I resolved to consult Sasaki again. In any case，I would visit Dr.Kajiwara at Tokyo University’s Kajiwara Internal Medicine tomorrow—Monday—and see what he said：I would explain Dr.Fukushima’s proposal in detail，hear his opinion，and have him administer the injection if he advised it；but if he absolutely forbade such measures，I would desist．That was what I determined to say． Well then，that settled it．

The twenty-fourth. In the evening, Sasaki returned. According to her report, Professor Kajiwara had stated: "I don't know this Dr. Fukushima at P.Q. Hospital, and as this lies outside my specialty, I'm not qualified to offer detailed opinions on its advisability. However, given that he's a Tokyo University-educated doctor employed at P.Q. Hospital, you may place provisional trust in him—this is certainly no quackery or fraud. Even if unsuccessful, they'll undoubtedly take every precaution to prevent mishaps. Therefore, I recommend entrusting yourself to this doctor's care." I'd secretly hoped Professor Kajiwara would voice disapproval—had he done so, I thought it might actually ease my mind—but with matters standing thus, there was no alternative. Was I truly fated to be exposed to danger? Could there really be no escape from this? While thus agonizing, I still clung to the hope of finding some pretext to cancel, yet ultimately drifted into making the decision.

The twenty-fifth. "I heard from Sasaki—are you quite sure about this, Grandpa? It must hurt terribly, but you'll surely recover in time even without such drastic measures."

The old woman seemed beside herself with worry. "Even if they botch it, it won't kill you." "But even if you don't die, just seeing you faint and look like you're about to pass away any moment would be unbearable."

“If I must live thinking this way, I’d rather be dead.” I proclaimed with theatrical gravity. “When will you do it?” “The hospital says they’re prepared whenever. Once decided, sooner suits best—I’ll go tomorrow.” “Now hold on—you’re forever rushing headlong.”

I thought the old woman had left, but she returned carrying the Takashima Ekidan almanac. “Tomorrow is Sensho, the day after Butsumetsu—the twenty-eighth is Taian, an auspicious ‘flat’ day. You must set it for the twenty-eighth.” “What do calendars know? Even if it’s Butsumetsu or whatever nonsense, sooner is better.” Of course I said this knowing full well the old woman would object. “You mustn’t go through with this—set it for the twenty-eighth. I’ll accompany you that day.” “You don’t need to come, old woman.”

“No, I will come.” “Now that you’ve agreed to proceed properly like this, I too can feel at ease.” And even Sasaki chimed in.

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

The twenty-seventh. It was Butsumetsu. "On this day—relocations，shop openings，all other endeavors—ill-omened." It declared. The next day，the old woman，Sasaki，Dr.Sugita，and others were to accompany me to P.Q.Hospital at 2:00 PM，and the injection was scheduled for 3:00. Unfortunately，that day too had brought severe pain from early morning—a Barbital injection. Evening had brought another bout of agony. A Bron suppository was administered，followed by an Ospitan injection that night. This medicine was being used for the first time. It wasn’t morphine，but they said this too was a type of narcotic. Fortunately，the pain subsided enough for me to sleep peacefully. From then on，I would be unable to write for several days；entries from that period would later be filled in using Sasaki’s nursing journal.

The twenty-eighth. I woke at 6 a.m. The day of fate drew ever nearer. My sense of foreboding grew ever stronger, and I felt a surge of excitement. Since they had told me to rest as much as possible, I remained lying down in my bedroom. Both morning and noon, I had my meals brought here. I was laughed at for saying I wanted to eat Dongpo pork. "If you've regained such an appetite, that's reassuring," said Sasaki. Of course I had no real intention of eating it—I only said so to keep up appearances. Lunch consisted of a glass of rich milk, a slice of toast, one Spanish omelet, one Delicious apple, and a cup of black tea. I thought that if I went out to the dining room, I might catch a glimpse of Satsuko's face,

“You must not go out.” I was stopped and obediently heeded the instruction. A thirty-minute nap after meals—unsurprisingly, sleep eluded me. At half past one, Dr.Sugita came. He briskly measured blood pressure and performed an examination. We departed at two. To Dr.Sugita’s left sat I, beside me the old woman, and next to the driver sat Sasaki. Just as our car began creaking forward, Satsuko’s Hillman too came creaking into motion. “Oh Grandpa—where might you be off to?” So saying, Satsuko stopped her car and spoke.

“Yeah, just going to PQ Hospital to get an injection. I’ll be back in about an hour.” “Is Granny coming along too?” “Since Granny might have a stomachache, she said she’d go get checked while we’re there—but it’s just her nerves.” “So everything’s settled then?”

“You—” I began to say but corrected myself.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m off to the Yūrakuza—do excuse me now.”

If I were to say that—since the shower season had ended—it occurred to me I hadn’t seen that Haruhisa fellow’s face in ages. “What’s showing this month?” “Chaplin’s *The Great Dictator*.” With a lurch, the Hillman sped off and vanished down the road. By prior agreement, today’s affair wasn’t to be mentioned—Satsuko shouldn’t have known. Yet surely Granny or Sasaki must have tipped her off. She was likely playing dumb on purpose. And without pretext, she’d probably waited for this very moment to corner me. Perhaps it was Granny’s doing—who could say? Well, at least catching sight of her face wasn’t unpleasant. Being a virtuoso of feigned ignorance, she drove off to the Yūrakuza as usual, brimming with self-satisfaction. —The thought that even this might be part of Granny’s machinations made my chest constrict.

I arrived at the appointed time. I was immediately taken to Room XXX. A nameplate inscribed “Mr. Tokusuke Utsuki” hung there. It appeared to be a formality of being hospitalized here for just today. I was placed on a patient transport cart and taken down the long concrete corridor to the X-ray room. Dr. Sugita, Nurse Sasaki, and even the old woman came along. The old woman’s legs were slow, and she kept making strained grunts as she tried to keep up with the transport cart. Considering this kind of situation, I had come in a kimono. The old woman helped me take off my clothes and stripped me completely naked. I was made to lie on a hard stiff board and ordered to bend my body into various shapes. Then a large apparatus resembling a photographic dark box descended from the ceiling and was skillfully adjusted to align with my posture. Operating the machine with its large complex components from a distance meant that even a millimeter’s misalignment would cause issues, and since they couldn’t quite bring the target of their adjustments into position as instructed, it took considerable time. Since it was late October, the cold board felt slightly chilly, and the pain in my hands persisted, but perhaps due to the strange tension I felt, I perceived neither cold nor pain. First I was made to lie with my left arm underneath; next with my right arm underneath; then turned sideways onto my back and neck—various types were taken. Each time adjustments to the dark box were required, which proved rather cumbersome. At the momentary instant when the X-rays passed through, I was instructed to stop breathing. It was generally the same as at Toranomon Hospital.

I returned to Room ××× and lay down on the bed. The developed X-ray photographs were brought immediately while still wet. After Dr.Fukushima carefully observed them, “Well then, I will administer the injection.” he said. Dr.Fukushima was already holding a syringe filled with xylocaine.

“Please rise, come here, and stand. That position will facilitate the injection.”

“Understood.” I stepped down from the bed and moved with deliberate vigor toward the bright window where Dr. Fukushima stood, steady strides carrying me until I faced him directly. “Then I shall begin here,” he said. “There’s nothing particularly painful about this procedure, so please set your mind at ease.” “I have no concerns—proceed without reservation.” “Very well.” The needle pierced my neck. What nonsense—this barely registered as sensation, neither pain nor itch worth noting. My complexion likely remained unchanged; my body betrayed no tremor. I recognized my own composure. “So what if I die?” I thought, though death felt no more imminent than usual. Dr. Fukushima inserted the syringe once before withdrawing it slightly—standard practice when administering injections. This precaution applies beyond xylocaine: whether vitamin supplements or other medications, physicians routinely test for blood infiltration by pulling back the plunger before injection. Prudent doctors never omit this safeguard. Given the critical nature of this procedure, Dr. Fukushima naturally adhered to protocol. Then abruptly—

“Ah, this won’t do!”

“Ah, this won’t do!” he said abruptly, sounding disappointed. “I’ve given this injection countless times to patients without ever touching a blood vessel, yet today of all days... Please look—you can see blood has mixed in. I must have nicked a capillary somewhere.” “In that case,” Nurse Sasaki inquired, “what shall we do? Should we try again?” “No, when there’s been a failure like this, it’s best to stop here,” Dr.Fukushima replied. “I’m truly sorry, but please come back again tomorrow. We’ll take extra care to ensure there’s no failure tomorrow—after all, such a mishap has never occurred before.”

I felt somewhat relieved and stroked my chest, thinking that today I had been spared. Fate had granted me one more day. But when considering tomorrow, I also desperately wanted them to redo it immediately—to decisively settle whether it would extend or recoil. “You’re being overly cautious! Even if that much blood came out, there’s no need for such fear—why not just proceed?” Sasaki said in a hushed voice. “No, that’s precisely where his greatness lies! They summoned an anesthesiologist and made thorough preparations—anyone could’ve finished it easily. But halting everything over a mere drop of blood—that’s truly difficult to achieve.” “We must acknowledge that stopping there shows truly commendable judgment as a physician.” “All doctors must exercise that level of prudence.” “I’ve learned a great deal indeed.”

“...” said Dr.Sugita.

Having arranged to try again tomorrow, we hurriedly left and returned home. Even in the car, Dr. Sugita kept lavishing praise on the doctor's approach without end, while Sasaki repeatedly said, "If he'd just gone through with it decisively, wouldn't it have been fine?" In essence, they concurred that excessive caution had caused the failure—that had they avoided such extravagant preparations for every possible contingency and maintained their usual carefree attitude, things would have gone smoothly. The real issue lay in Dr. Fukushima himself becoming overly nervous.

“Puncturing near the carotid artery is dangerous—I’ve been against it from the start. If tomorrow’s attempt gets canceled too...”

“Puncturing near the carotid artery is dangerous—I’ve been against it from the start. If tomorrow’s attempt ends up being called off too...” the old woman said. When I returned home, Satsuko still hadn’t returned. Keisuke was playing gleefully in front of the doghouse. I took supper in my bedroom again and was instructed to rest. My hand began aching once more.

The 29th.

Today again, I departed at the same hour as yesterday. My companions remained unchanged. Regrettably, events unfolded identically to the previous day. Once more they pierced a blood vessel, letting crimson seep into the syringe. The very thoroughness of preparations magnified Dr. Fukushima's crushing disappointment. We found ourselves transformed into objects of pity instead. After collective deliberation—though profoundly regrettable—they resolved to abandon these injections entirely. Should tomorrow bring another failure, matters would grow untenable; even the doctor appeared unwilling to try anew. This time alone did true relief flood through me—I exhaled deeply.

I returned home at four o'clock. The flower arrangement in the alcove had been changed. Amaranth and Kifune chrysanthemums were arranged in Rōkan-sai's basket. The Kyoto flower master must have come today. Had Satsuko shown this consideration for the old man? Or perhaps someone had arranged these flowers with particular care, thinking they might serve as pillow flowers by chance? The Kafū scroll that had hung neglected for so long had also been replaced. The painting was the work of Naniwa Itsumin Sue Tatemitsu—an extremely narrow vertical composition showing a lighthouse with its lamp lit. Tatemitsu had a habit of inscribing Chinese poems and waka, and here too a single Man'yōshū poem stood written vertically in one line.

Where might my beloved stray in play— 6

The 9th.

It had been ten days since PQ Hospital. The old woman had said I would recover soon, but somehow or other, I began to feel slightly better. I had managed to endure single-handedly through desperation, but whether it was simply time taking its natural course or if even the patent medicine had somehow become effective was perplexing. Being practical, I came to feel that if things had improved to this extent, I should go look for a burial site. I had been considering it since this spring, and now I thought I should seize this opportunity to make the trip to Kyoto...

The 10th. ………

"If you feel even slightly better and immediately act on it—that's why we're worried about you, Grandpa. Why don't we wait a little longer to see how things go? What would you do if the pain flared up on the train?" "I'm perfectly fine now—it's already November 10th. If we keep dawdling, winter will arrive early in Kyoto." "But must it absolutely be this year? Couldn't you wait until next spring?"

“This isn’t like other matters—I can’t indulge your leisurely pace. If I go this time, it may well be my final chance to see Kyoto.” “You’re going on about that kind of unpleasant talk again.” “—And just who do you plan to take along?” “Since it’d be unnerving with just Sasaki and me, why not have Satsuko come along?” The true primary purpose of my Kyoto trip lies here. Grave hunting is rather a pretext. “Won’t you be staying at Nanzen-ji?”

“Because staying somewhere with a nurse would only mean extra trouble,” I said. “Besides, Satsuko will be coming along—she says she’s had enough of staying at Nanzen-ji and asks you to humor her just this once.” “No matter where you stay, if Satsuko goes there’ll be another fight.” “If they actually come to blows, that’d make for fine entertainment.” I went through this back-and-forth with the old woman. “When you mention Nanzen-ji...the maples at Eikan-dō must be at their peak now,” she mused.

“Eikan-dō’s still too early. Takao and Makinoo are just at their peak now—but with these legs of mine, I couldn’t possibly go.”

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

The 12th. ………I departed on the second Kodama at 2:30 PM. The old woman, Oshizuka, and Nomura saw me off. The plan had been for me to sit by the window with Satsuko next to me and Sasaki across the aisle, but once we started moving, someone insisted the window seat was too drafty—so I switched places with Satsuko and ended up seated nearer the aisle. Unfortunately, the pain in my hands had intensified slightly. My throat parched, I had the train boy bring tea and discreetly slipped two Sedus tablets from my pocket into my mouth—prepared for such occasions—taking care that neither Satsuko nor Sasaki would notice. If those two found out, it would mean endless nagging. My blood pressure at departure had been 154 over 93, but after boarding I secretly sensed myself growing unmistakably agitated. Though having an unwanted companion nearby played its part, perhaps sitting beside Satsuko for the first time in months—and her strangely provocative attire today—contributed to this state, though I couldn’t be certain. (She wore a modest suit paired with a gaudy blouse and a five-strand imitation gemstone necklace of probable French make cascading from neck to chest.) (Such necklaces often appear in domestic imitations too, but their clasps—studded with multicolored gems at the nape—remain beyond local craftsmanship.) When my blood pressure rises, I develop urinary frequency; yet dwelling on this frequency only exacerbates the hypertension. Chicken or egg—the causality eluded me. I visited the lavatory once by Yokohama and again before Atami. The restroom’s distance from my seat made me stagger perilously with each trip. Sasaki fluttered about me anxiously. The second bathroom visit dragged on so long that even after clearing Tanna Tunnel I remained occupied. When I finally emerged, we neared Mishima. Returning to my seat, I nearly fell—saved only by clutching a fellow passenger’s shoulder.

“Isn’t your blood pressure too high?” As I sat down, Sasaki said this. Then she quickly approached and tried to take my pulse. I pushed her away angrily. After repeating this routine several times, we arrived in Kyoto at 8:30 PM. Itsuko, Kikutarō, and Kyōjirō were waiting on the platform to greet us. “Auntie, how kind of you all to come meet us,”

Satsuko offered an uncharacteristically polite remark. "Oh, it's nothing—tomorrow being Sunday, everyone's just out enjoying themselves." When disembarking at Kyoto Station, one had to climb numerous overpasses—an excruciatingly tedious requirement. "Grandpa, let me carry you up the stairs." Kikutarō crouched down before me with his back turned. "Don't be absurd—I'm not some feeble old man yet."

I said as much, but Sasaki pushed against my hips. Having stubbornly climbed the stairs without resting at the landing, I was left gasping for breath, my face contorted in agony. Everyone watched my face with anxious concern.

“How many days will you be staying this time?” “Well, no matter what, it’ll likely take about a week. Having to impose on your place even one night would be troublesome—today I’ll simply stay at the Kyoto Hotel.” Before any superfluous conversation could begin, I hastily boarded the car. The Shiroyama family trailed behind in a separate vehicle toward the hotel.

A room with two single beds and a room with one single bed were adjacent. This was an arrangement I had requested in advance. “Nurse Sasaki, you’ll sleep next door. I’ll stay here with Satchan.” I deliberately used the nickname “Satchan” in front of Itsuko and the others. Itsuko was making a strange face. “Let me sleep alone, Grandpa—you should rest with Nurse Sasaki.” “Why won’t you sleep with me? Don’t you do that for me sometimes in Tokyo too?”

I said this deliberately for Itsuko to hear. "If Nurse Sasaki sleeps next door, wouldn't that be reassuring? Right, Satchan—you should stay here with me." "It's such a nuisance that I can't smoke." "If you want to smoke, go ahead and smoke as much as you like." "If you do that, you'll get scolded by Nurse Sasaki."

“Your cough seems quite severe, isn’t it?” Sasaki took over from there. “If you smoke nearby, your hacking cough won’t stop.” “Bellboy, please bring that trunk to this room.” Without another word, Satsuko briskly entered the adjacent room. “Has your hand completely healed already?” Itsuko, who had been wide-eyed and overwhelmed since arrival, finally managed to interject here.

“Healed? What nonsense—it still hurts all the time!”

“Oh? But Granny’s letter said you’d recovered completely.” “Granny’s the one who wrote that. I had to play along or they wouldn’t let me out.” Satsuko removed her duster coat, swiftly changed her blouse, replaced her necklace with a three-strand pearl one, freshened her makeup, and reappeared. “I’m starving, Grandpa—let’s hurry to the dining room.”

Since Itsuko and the others said they had finished eating, the three of them took their seats at the table. The Rhine wine was uncorked for Satsuko. She—being fond of raw oysters—declared these were safe since they came from Matoya Bay and proceeded to devour them voraciously. After dinner in the lobby, they spent about an hour making small talk with Itsuko and her companions.

“Since we’ve finished eating, one cigarette should be fine, Nurse Sasaki—it’s not like we’ll be cooped up here that much.” Satsuko took out a Kool from her handbag and smoked it. She usually put it directly in her mouth, but today she was unusually using a holder—a slender, crimson-colored one. She had colored her manicure redder than usual to match the holder’s shade, with her lip rouge following the same scheme. Her fingers stood out starkly white against these hues. Was her purpose to flaunt this contrast of red and white before Itsuko?

The 13th.

At ten in the morning, I visited the Shiroyama residence in Nanzen-ji Shimogawara-chō. I was accompanied by Satsuko and Sasaki. This marked my second visit to this house, though I could scarcely remember when the first had occurred. The Shiroyama family had originally lived in Yoshidayama—I recalled visiting them frequently in those days—but after the household head Kurazō’s death when the bereaved family moved here, my visits became rare exceptions. Today being Sunday, Kikutarō—employed at the department store—was absent, but Kyōjirō, attending Kyoto University’s engineering program, remained at home. “Grandpa, I’d rather not accompany you on your grave hunt—it’s too tedious. I’ll excuse myself here and head out to Shijō-dori’s ‘Kirihata’…” “First I’ll shop at Takashimaya, then this afternoon I want to see Takao’s autumn leaves—but going alone would be dreary. Couldn’t someone show me around?” “Grave-hunting can’t compare to that. I’ll guide you,” said Kyōjirō. With matters thus settled, Satsuko and Kyōjirō departed first. The three of us—myself, Itsuko, and Sasaki—decided that after lunching on Hyōtei’s Hangetsu Bento, we would drive from Hōnen-in Temple in Shishigatani through Shinnyo-dō Hall in Kurodani to Manshu-in Temple near Ichijō-ji. In the evening, Satsuko’s group and Kikutarō were to join us for dinner at Sagano Kitcho.

My ancestors were said to have originated from Ōmi merchants in the distant past, but since four or five generations back they had lived in Edo, and I myself was born in Honjo Warigesui—there could be no doubt I was a true Edokko—yet despite this, I found present-day Tokyo increasingly dull. Kyoto had an atmosphere that reminded one of old Tokyo, which paradoxically evoked nostalgia. Who was responsible for reducing present-day Tokyo to such a shallow, disorderly metropolis? Was it not the doing of those so-called politicians—country bumpkins, upstarts, peasant climbers—who knew nothing of old Tokyo’s elegance? Was it not all those wretches who had turned that once-beautiful river—Nihonbashi, Yoroi Bridge, Tsukiji Bridge, Yanagibashi—into something like a black-dyed ditch? Was it not all those wretches who knew nothing of the era when whitebait swam in the Sumida River? If I were to die, I wouldn’t care where I was buried—but I’d hate to be interred in some disagreeable place like present-day Tokyo, a land that had become utterly disconnected from me. If possible, I’d want the graves of my father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, and the rest all moved somewhere outside Tokyo. It wasn’t as though they were buried where grandparents and parents should be—in the places where they had first been interred long ago. The graves of my grandparents had originally been at a Hokke-ji temple near Onagigawa in Fukagawa, but not long after, when the entire area became an industrial zone, the temple relocated to Ryusenji-chō in Asakusa. That location too had been destroyed in a great earthquake, so now they were moved to Tama Cemetery. Therefore, if we left our ancestors in Tokyo, even after they’d turned to bones, they’d have to keep fleeing from one place to another. In that respect, no matter what anyone said, Kyoto was the safest. Even if we claimed our ancestors for generations were Edokko, one couldn’t know anything about five or six generations back. I believed even my own family’s distant ancestors must have originally come from somewhere around Kyoto. At any rate, if I had them bury me in Kyoto, people from Tokyo would also come to visit frequently. “Ah, if Grandpa’s grave were here,” passersby would stop by and offer at least a stick of incense. It would be far preferable for an Edokko like myself—with no connection whatsoever—to be buried here than in someplace like Tama Cemetery of Kitatama District.

“In that sense, wouldn’t Hōnen-in Temple be the most suitable choice?” Itsuko said while descending the stairs of Manshu-in Temple. “If it’s Manshu-in Temple, it’s too far to visit casually during a stroll—and even in Kurodani, you’d have to make a special trip up that slope.” “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” “With Hōnen-in Temple being right in the city center nowadays—the streetcar passes close by—it becomes especially lively when the canal’s cherry blossoms bloom. Yet once you step into the temple grounds, that same profound tranquility naturally quiets the mind. I do think we should settle on that spot.”

“I don’t mind changing to the Jōdo sect since I dislike Hokke anyway, but will they actually allocate a burial plot for us?” “I also go to Hōnen-in Temple for walks sometimes, and since I’m acquainted with the head priest, I tentatively inquired—they said they’d allocate a burial plot if you wish. They don’t restrict it to the Jōdo sect; even the Nichiren sect would be acceptable, he mentioned.” Abandoning the grave search there, they departed from Daitoku-ji to Kitano, passed through Omuro to Shakadō-mae and Tenryū-ji-mae before arriving at Kitcho; since the time was still too early, neither Satsuko and the others nor Kikutarō had come yet. They rested after having a separate bedroom prepared for them. While they were doing so, Kikutarō arrived first. Next, after six-thirty, Satsuko and the others arrived. They said they had once returned to Kyoto Hotel and then come back again.

“Have you been waiting long?” “We’ve waited ages.” “What were you doing at the hotel?”

“It looked like it was getting cold, so I changed and came back. You should be careful too, Grandpa, or you’ll catch a cold.” She must have wanted to try on what she bought on Shijō-dori right away—there she wore a white blouse under a sweater embroidered with Bruyni silver lamé. She had also changed her ring and now sported that problematic Cat’s Eye stone. “Have you decided on the burial site?” “We’ve more or less settled on Hōnen-in. The temple authorities have agreed too.”

“That’s good to hear. So when will you be returning to Tokyo?” “Don’t talk nonsense! First we must call the temple’s stonemason and discuss every detail about the grave’s design. It can’t be decided so easily.” “Grandpa, you were the one who kept poring over Mr. Kawakatsu’s stone art book, weren’t you? And you did insist a grave should absolutely be a Five-ring Pagoda.” “My thoughts have shifted again—I’ve come to feel it might be fine even without the Five-ring Pagoda.”

“I can’t imagine what’s supposed to be good about me—it’s not like this has anything to do with me anyway.” “That’s not true, you—” He began but corrected himself, “This concerns you in a significant way too.” “What could possibly concern me about this?” “You’ll understand soon enough what it concerns.” “Why don’t you just decide quickly so we can return to Tokyo sooner?” “What’s this rush to go back? Boxing matches or something?” “Oh, nothing like that.”

The eyes of Itsuko, Kikutarō, Kyōjirō, and Sasaki all converged unexpectedly on Satsuko’s left ring finger. Satsuko remained composed, showing no sign of being flustered. She kept sitting reclined on the zabuton cushion, the Cat’s Eye glittering on her lap. “Aunt, is that what they call a Cat’s Eye stone?” Perhaps sensing the strained atmosphere, Kikutarō suddenly spoke up. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Does a stone like that really cost hundreds of thousands of yen?” “How rude to call it ‘a stone like that’! This is three million yen!” “Getting Grandpa to cough up three million yen—Aunt, you’re really something.” “Now, Mr. Kikutarō—I beg you to stop with that ‘Aunt.’ Even though you’re called Kicchan, you’re not a child anymore—you have no right to treat me as your Aunt when there’s barely a two- or three-year difference between us!” “What are you going on about? Even if it’s three years, you’re still my aunt.”

“Please stop with ‘Aunt’ and call me ‘Satchan’—Kicchan and Kyōchan do it too. If you don’t, I won’t answer.” “Aunt—oh, there I go with ‘Aunt’ again—you might be fine with it, but Uncle Jōkichi could get angry, you know.” “Would Jōkichi even get angry? If he does, I’ll be the angry one!” “Grandpa can say ‘Satchan’ if he wants, but having our children call you that is too much. Let’s compromise on ‘Satsuko-san’—that’ll work.”

Itsuko made a pained face. With me strictly prohibited from alcohol, Itsuko being a teetotaler, and Sasaki abstaining despite being able to drink moderately, the remaining three—Satsuko and the Kikutarō brothers—kept things lively until dinner concluded around nine. Satsuko alone saw the Itsuko group off to Nanzen-ji Temple before returning to the hotel, while I stayed at Kitcho with Sasaki due to the late hour.

The fourteenth.

Around eight in the morning, I got up. I had Saga tofu from near Shakadō delivered and ate breakfast. I also brought some tofu wrapped in a vinyl bag as a souvenir and, around ten o’clock, invited Itsuko to visit Hōnen-in. Satsuko had called a teahouse on Hanamikoji Street today and invited two or three Gion geisha she’d befriended this summer while with Haruhisa; after sharing lunch together, they went to S.Y. Kyoto Eiga in Kyōgoku, and at night, she dragged everyone off to a cabaret where they danced, she said. Through Itsuko’s introduction, I met with the head priest of Hōnen-in and promptly had the candidate burial site shown to me. The temple grounds' serenity truly matched Itsuko's description; though I had dragged my cane through them two or three times before, I could only marvel that such a place existed within the metropolis. Merely being exposed to this scenery made it incomparable to Tokyo—that jumbled cesspool of conflicting flavors turned upside down. I think deciding here was the right choice. On the way back, accompanied by Itsuko, we sat at Tankuma’s counter for a meal and returned to the hotel around two o’clock. At three o'clock, apparently after receiving contact from the priest, the stonemason came for a meeting. We met in the lobby. Itsuko and Sasaki were in attendance.

Regarding the style of my gravestone, I had various ideas but remained undecided on which to choose. Even if it shouldn't matter what shape of stone would cover me after death, I still found myself preoccupied. It wasn't as if I could simply declare any stone would suffice. At minimum, that common modern style—a flat rectangular slab bearing one's posthumous or secular name on its face, set upon a base stone with holes drilled before it for incense sticks and libation water—struck this contrary old man as hopelessly banal and vulgar, utterly failing to satisfy my exacting tastes. Though I felt remorseful for defying my parents' and grandparents' grave styles, I absolutely had to have a five-ring pagoda. It didn't need to follow overly antiquated forms either—the late Kamakura-period Goryeo style would suffice. Take for instance Anrakuju-in Temple's five-ring pagoda in Takatanoubatachō, Fushimi Ward: its water ring narrowing into a jar-like shape at the base, fire ring eaves curving thickly, with wind and void rings harmonizing into a representative relic from the mid-to-late Kamakura transition period as described by Mr. Kawakatsu Masataro—how might that design fare? Then there was Zenjō-ji Temple's five-ring pagoda in Ujitawara Village—said to typify Yoshino-era relics with a style that flourished in the southern Yamato cultural sphere—which also held appeal.

Now, here was another distinct idea that had taken root in my mind. In Mr. Kawakatsu’s book, I saw there existed what was called the Amida Triad stone Buddha at Sekizō-ji Temple in Kamigyō-ku, Senbon Agaru Imadegawa-sagaru—the central figure being a seated Amida Buddha in the meditation mudra, flanked on his right by Kannon and on his left by Seishi as standing attendant statues, with photographs of each of these three deities published separately. Starting with the seated statue of Amida, the standing statues of Kannon Bosatsu and Seishi Bosatsu were exceedingly beautiful. The Kannon Bosatsu showed some damage, but the Seishi Bosatsu statue remained perfectly preserved. Seishi, like Kannon, was adorned with identical ornaments, with every detail from the frontal crown down to the jeweled necklaces, heavenly robes, and halo meticulously carved. The crown's front displayed a jeweled vase, and he stood with hands pressed together in prayer. Few stone Buddhas in granite demonstrated their beauty as fully as this one. [...] the fact that it had been erected and consecrated in Gen'ni 2 (1225) was carved on the back of the central deity. "It is recorded that 'as a stone Buddha statue carved from a single stone with both pedestal and halo, this is the oldest dated example nationwide and a precious artifact that provides a stylistic benchmark for Kamakura-period stone Buddhas.' Looking at this photograph, I suddenly hit upon an idea." If possible, could I not have Satsuko’s form and features carved into such a bodhisattva statue, secretly likening her to Kannon or Seishi, and make that my grave marker? I do not believe in gods or Buddhas; as for religious sects, any would do—if I were to have a god or Buddha, there would be none other than Satsuko. If I were to be buried beneath Satsuko’s standing statue, that would fulfill my deepest desire.

The only problem lay in how to put this into practice. It was possible to prevent Satsuko, Jōkichi, and the old woman from realizing who served as model. To achieve this required avoiding overt resemblance to Satsuko's features while faintly suggesting her essence. I resolved to eschew granite and use soft matsu-ishi stone instead. The lines must remain indistinct—rendered as hazily as possible. If achievable none would notice save myself alone—perceptible solely and entirely to me. This seemed not wholly impossible. Yet complications arose from needing to inform the sculptor of the model's identity. Who then could undertake this commission? What craftsman would accept such an arduous task? Mediocre artisans lacked sufficient skill—and I regrettably knew no sculptors. Suppose some friend existed—suppose even one possessed consummate technique—would they consent upon learning my purpose? Would any rejoice in realizing this blasphemous lunacy? However gifted an artist might be—would they not recoil? (Truthfully even I lacked courage for such shameless entreaty.) That doddering fool risks appearing mad—the mere thought proved unbearable.

I had pondered this matter thoroughly when I realized there might not be any viable method available. The solution was obvious—while carving a bodhisattva image in deep relief on the stone surface would require a specialist’s skill, shallow line engraving might be within an ordinary craftsman’s capabilities. This too was documented in Mr.Kawakatsu’s book—the line-carved four-sided stone Buddha at Imamiya Shrine in Imamiya-chō, Murasakino, Kamigyō Ward. “A roughly two-shaku-square slab of dense hard sandstone from Kamo River’s Nuke stone, its four faces bearing line carvings of directional Buddhas using chisel techniques...” It continued: “Dating to Tenji 2 (1125) during construction in the late Heian period, this relic contains one of Japan’s oldest dated inscriptions among stone Buddhas.” Thus were presented rubbings of the four-direction Buddhas—Amida Nyorai, Shaka Nyorai, Yakushi Nyorai, Maitreya Bosatsu and others—each seated figure carved on one face. Additionally included was a rubbing from one of the dragonfly stone line-carved Amida Triad statues—the seated Seishi Bodhisattva. “Carved in line engraving across three sides of a tall natural hard sandstone boulder following the Amida Triad’s Welcoming Descent format as shown in the accompanying illustration—we display here the best-preserved face bearing Seishi Bodhisattva’s relatively clear visage. As attendant to Amida Buddha’s welcoming descent posture—slanting downward from heavenly clouds toward earth—the figure’s beauty shines. Kneeling in prayer with palms pressed together and heavenly robes fluttering windblown—this evokes late Heian period aesthetics when Raigō art flourished.” So it states. While all Tathagata seated statues adopt masculine cross-legged postures, this Seishi Bodhisattva sits with knees together in feminine fashion. I found myself particularly captivated by this bodhisattva statue………

The fifteenth.

Continued from yesterday. I did not need a four-faced Buddha. A single-faced Seishi Bosatsu Buddha would suffice. Therefore, a square stone became unnecessary. A stone of appropriate thickness bearing only a Bodhisattva carving on its front would be adequate. On the reverse side, I decided to have my secular name engraved along with my posthumous name if required and my age at death. I knew nothing about the specifics of chisel carving techniques. In my childhood days when attending temple festivals, shops selling protective amulets often lined the main streets. They would make shrill metallic screeches while engraving children's addresses, ages and names onto brass amulet surfaces using chisel-like tools. When carved, the characters formed through exquisitely delicate lines. A chisel must refer to that implement. If that constituted the entire process, it hardly seemed difficult. Moreover, this method allowed commissioning the carving without revealing the model's identity to the craftsman. I resolved to first order an artistically inclined Buddhist sculptor from Nara to draft a design resembling the line-carved Seishi Bosatsu statue modeled after Imamiya Shrine's four-faced Buddha. Then I would show them photographs capturing Satsuko's elegant poses - her facial features and physique - instructing them to render the Bodhisattva's face, torso and limbs precisely matching hers. Next I planned to present this design to a stonemason for execution in line engraving. This approach enabled creating my desired stone Buddha without risking exposure of my secret intentions. Thus I envisioned myself resting eternally beneath this Satsuko Bodhisattva statue - her stone form crowned and bejeweled with necklaces, celestial robes billowing in an eternal wind.

The stonemason and I, with Itsuko and Sasaki at our side, had talked about this and that in the hotel lobby from around three until five o'clock. I had of course not let the stonemason or Itsuko realize that Satsuko was being used as the model. I had merely put on a show of the knowledge about stone statue art acquired from Mr. Kawakatsu's book with a pretentious air. With my disquisitions on five-ring pagodas from the Heian and Kamakura periods, on the line carvings of Tathagata and Bodhisattva statues adorning Imamiya Shrine's four-faced Buddha, on the dragonfly-stone line-carved Seishi Bodhisattva sitting with knees pressed together—with all this I had astonished them; meanwhile, I kept the Satsuko Bodhisattva scheme sealed deep within my heart, resolved that none should ever discover it.

“So then, which style had you decided upon for the tombstone? Truly, you possessed knowledge surpassing even specialists—I could hardly presume to offer any suggestions.” “I myself was at a loss about how to proceed and still wavering.” “Now there was also something new I’d just thought of—perhaps I might have you consider it for another two or three days.” “Once I’d settled on a design, I would have you come again.” “Though I’d kept you here 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 be going at this hour, sir? It’s quite chilly tonight—perhaps you should wait until tomorrow.”

Sasaki was startled and attempted to stop him. “No, it’s just nearby.” “It’s within walking distance.” “Walking won’t make you fly there—the Kyoto nights are cold, so I was repeatedly instructed by Madam to ensure you take care.” “There’s an absolutely necessary purchase I must make—you must come with me. It’ll be over in five or ten minutes.” Since I headed out without any formalities, Sasaki hurried after me in a fluster. My destination was Chiksuiken, a brush and ink merchant located east of Kawaramachi Nijo. A place not even five minutes from the hotel. I sat down at the shopfront, exchanged greetings with the owner—an old acquaintance—and purchased a single stick of the finest Chinese-made vermilion ink, one the size of a little finger, for two thousand yen. In addition, I spent ten thousand yen on one Duanxi inkstone with purple mottling said to have been owned by the late Mr. Kuwano Tetsujo, and twenty large white Tang paper shikishi with gold-edged borders.

“It’s been quite some time since I last saw you, though you remain as healthy as ever, sir.” “Nah, I’m not well at all. This time I’ve come to Kyoto to find my own grave—so I can die whenever I please, you see.” “You must be joking—with that vigor, you’re still in fine health, sir.—Now, was there anything else you required?” “We have some works by Zheng Banqiao—would you care to view them, sir?”

“By the way—this may sound rather odd coming out of nowhere—but there’s something I’d like you to sell me if you have it.”

“What would that be?” “I’d like about two shaku of red silk fabric and one lump of futon cotton, if you could give them to me separately.” “What an unusual request to fulfill—what on earth might this be for?” “The truth is, I’ve suddenly found myself needing to make a rubbing—so I require a tampo for that purpose.” “Ah, I understand—you’re needing to make a tampo, sir. If it’s something like that, we may have something in stock—I’ll have my wife look for it immediately.”

Within two or three minutes, the housewife emerged from the back with a piece of red silk fabric and some futon cotton. “Will this suffice, sir?” “Splendid, splendid! This will do perfectly right away.” “And what about the payment for this?” “We couldn’t possibly accept payment for such trifles. If this is sufficient, we still have plenty in stock—please just say the word if you require more.” Sasaki, having no clue what it was to be used for, stood utterly dumbfounded. “There, that’s done. Let’s go back.”

I promptly boarded the automobile. Satsuko had still not returned to the hotel.

The sixteenth. Today I resolved to rest at the hotel all day. Having been uncharacteristically active these four days since departure while maintaining that bothersome diary, I myself required rest; yet I had promised to grant Sasaki this single day off. Sasaki was born in Saitama Prefecture and had never once journeyed to the Kansai region. Thus I had declared this Kyoto trip should serve as her pleasure excursion, urging her to take a day during our stay to tour Nara. I possessed particular reasons for selecting this specific day. Accordingly, I had arranged to assign Itsuko as Sasaki’s guide and dispatch them. The rationale being that Itsuko too had not visited Nara for some time, so I had recommended she seize this opportunity. Itsuko by nature remained introspective and withdrawn, seldom venturing outdoors. Even during Kurazō’s lifetime, the couple had rarely traveled together. At least viewing Nara’s temples would prove worthwhile—particularly as it might inform my burial site selection—so I had insisted. I secured an automobile for Itsuko’s full-day use, directing them to visit Byōdō-in Temple in Uji en route to Nara while ensuring they missed neither Tōdai-ji, Shin-Yakushi-ji, Hokke-ji in Saikyō, nor Yakushi-ji. Though a day trip rendered the schedule rather demanding—verging on a forced march—they were to depart early with Izuju’s conger eel sushi, complete Tōdai-ji by noon while taking lunch at the Great Buddha’s teahouse, then proceed through Shin-Yakushi-ji, Hokke-ji, Yakushi-ji and others. As daylight grew short, they would finish viewing before dusk and return after dining at Nara Hotel. However late night might find them, they must return by day’s end. We required no concern. Today Satsuko kept watch—remaining indoors all day steadfastly by my room—so I had informed them.

At seven in the morning, Itsuko came by automobile to fetch Sasaki. “You’re up early—Grandpa’s always an early riser in the morning.” Having said that, she untied the wrapping cloth and placed two bamboo-leaf-wrapped packages on the table. “Since I’d bought Izuju’s conger eel sushi yesterday, I brought it along. Have breakfast with Satchan.” “That’s kind of you.” “Is there anything else you need to buy in Nara? How about some warabimochi?”

“I don’t need such things, but when you go to Yakushi-ji, don’t forget to pay respects at the Buddha’s Footprint Stone.” “The Buddha’s Footprint Stone?” “Yes, that’s right. “It’s a stone carving of the Buddha’s foot. “The Lord Buddha’s feet hold miraculous power—when He walks, His feet hover four sun above the ground, with soles bearing thousand-spoked wheel marks that imprint upon the earth. “Even insects crawling beneath His feet are said to remain unharmed for seven days. “Such carvings of His footprints are preserved in China and Korea too, but in Japan they exist only at Yakushi-ji Temple in Nara. “You must go worship them without fail.”

“Understood.” “Then I shall take my leave.” “I’ll properly look after Ms. Sasaki for today alone—and Grandpa, you mustn’t push yourself too hard now.” “You’re up early.”

And Satsuko entered from the adjacent room, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Today we must apologize profusely to you, Madam, for having presumptuously disturbed your well-deserved rest—such a waste that divine retribution will surely befall us.” Sasaki continued offering profuse apologies while bowing repeatedly as they left together with Itsuko. Satsuko wore a blue nightgown over her negligee and kilt-style blouse, with satin slippers of matching color featuring pink floral patterns, yet made no move to sleep in the bed Sasaki had used—instead lying down on the sofa and wrapping her legs in the Aegis lap blanket I employ during outings, its white base patterned with black, red, and blue tartan checks, before fetching a pillow from her own room to resume sleeping. Lying on her back with nose pointed ceilingward, she kept her eyes tightly shut and made no attempt to speak to me. Perhaps she hadn’t slept enough after returning late from the cabaret last night, or perhaps she feigned sleep to avoid conversation—there was no telling which.

I got up and finished washing my face, had Japanese tea brought to the room, and devoured the conger eel sushi. Three pieces were more than enough for breakfast. I ate carefully so as not to disturb Satsuko's sleep. Even after finishing eating, Satsuko was still asleep. I took out the inkstone I had acquired at Chikusuiken, placed it on the desk, and began grinding the vermilion ink slowly and deliberately. I first ground down about half of one stick of vermilion ink. Next, I tore futon cotton into large pieces of six to seven centimeters and small ones of around two centimeters, rolled them into balls, wrapped them in red silk fabric, and made tampons. I made two large and two small tampons, totaling four.

“Grandpa, can I go out for about thirty minutes?” “I just want to go to the cafeteria for a bit.” At some point, Satsuko must have awakened. She sat on the sofa, both knees emerging from beneath her gown. I recalled that figure of Seishi Bosatsu. “Why don’t you just stay here instead of going to the cafeteria? There’s sushi left—eat this here.” “Alright, then I’ll do that.” “The last time I ate conger eel with you was at Hamazaku.”

“That’s right.—Grandpa, what have you been up to since earlier?” “Oh, nothing much.” “What are you grinding vermilion ink for?” “You don’t need to ask about such things—just eat the conger eel.”

Without any particular purpose in my youth, I had casually observed things—one never knew when they might prove useful. I had traveled around China two or three times, and not only in China—on occasions when I traveled somewhere in Japan as well, I happened to see people standing outdoors making rubbings. The Chinese were highly skilled in this technique, calmly moistening their brushes with water even in blowing winds, laying white paper over the stone surface and tap-tap-tapping it from the side. Even so, a splendid rubbing was produced. The Japanese worked meticulously and fastidiously, taking great care as they soaked large and small tampons with ink or ink paste and diligently rubbed off each fine line one by one. There were cases where black ink or black ink paste was used, and there were also cases where vermilion ink or vermilion ink paste was used. I found this vermilion rubbing to be exquisitely beautiful.

“What a treat—it’s been ages since anything tasted this good.” While Satsuko was drinking tea, I took hold of her and began speaking earnestly. “These cotton balls here—these are what they call tampons.” “What’s this for?” “You soak these with ink or vermilion, tap-tap the stone’s surface to make a rubbing—and I’ve always been particularly fond of making them in vermilion.” “There’s no stone here though, is there?” “Today I won’t use a stone—I’ll use something else instead.”

“What are you going to use?”

“Let me make a rubbing of your soles.” “I’ll imprint your feet in vermilion on this white Tang paper.” “What good would that do?” “From this rubbing, I’ll carve Satchan’s feet into a Buddha’s footprint stone.” “When I die, have my bones buried beneath it.” “That’s what you call a true peaceful end!”

7

The seventeenth. Continuation of yesterday’s entry.

I had initially intended to keep my purpose for taking a rubbing of Satsuko's soles hidden from her. The plan to have her soles carved into a Buddha's footprint stone, bury my bones beneath that stone after death, and thereby substitute the grave of the person called Tokusuke Utsuki—I had thought it better not to inform even Satsuko of this. Yet yesterday I abruptly changed my mind and concluded it would be better to confess to her. Why was that? For what reason did I lay bare my heart to Satsuko?

First and foremost, I wanted to see what expression she would make and what psychological state she would enter—to observe her reaction—were I to confess this plan. Secondarily, I wanted to understand her feelings when she saw the vermilion imprints of her own soles on white Tang paper after learning their purpose. She who took such pride in her feet would surely feel irrepressible joy upon seeing them compared to Buddha’s own and leaving crimson traces on paper. I longed to witness her delighted face in that moment. “Sheer lunacy,” someone might declare aloud—but how exultant would their hidden heart feel? Moreover, she would inevitably continue thinking long after my death—“That senile fool sleeps beneath my beautiful feet; even now I trample that pitiful old man’s bones underground.” While this might bring her some perverse satisfaction, disgust would likely dominate her feelings. Yet try as she might to forget this repulsive notion, she could never erase that memory—not in her entire lifetime. In life I’d adored her blindly—but if any posthumous desire for retribution remained, no method surpassed this scheme. Would death extinguish such vengeful will? I refused to believe it. Though logic dictates that without flesh there can be no volition—exceptions must exist. Perhaps part of my consciousness could migrate into hers and persist. When she treads upon that stone thinking “Now I crush that doddering fool’s bones beneath this earth,” my lingering soul would sense her full weight—the pain—the sleek texture of her soles against stone’s surface. Even deceased, I’d force myself to feel this torment! Feel it I must! Similarly Satsuko would perceive my soul underground—relishing its suffering beneath her tread. Perhaps bones would clatter together belowground—entwining laughter merging with grinding song—their cacophony audible through soil’s veil. This communion wouldn’t require her physical contact with the stone—merely contemplating its existence bearing her foot’s likeness would let her hear those buried bones weep.

Through my tears, I cried out, "It hurts! It hurts!" then shouted, "It hurts but feels good—so good beyond measure, far better than when I was alive!" and screamed, "Trample me more! Trample me more!" … "Today I won’t use a stone—I’ll use something else instead." When I had said that earlier— "What will you use?"

“What are you going to use?” she asked. To this I answered: “I will have you let me tap the soles of your feet.” “And then make a vermilion rubbing of your soles on this white Tang paper.” Had she truly found this repulsive, she should have shown a slightly different expression.

However, she— “What’s the point of something like that?” That was all she said. Even when she learned the facts—that I would create a Buddha’s footprint stone of her feet based on that rubbing, and that after my death my bones would be buried beneath that stone—she voiced no particular objection. Here, I recognized that Satsuko not only had no objections but at least found it amusing. Fortunately, my room had a separate space—an eight-tatami matted area. To avoid dirtying the tatami room, I ordered the boy to bring two large sheets. Then I layered those two sheets and spread them over the tatami. I placed the vermilion inkstone and writing brush on a tray and carried them over. Next, I took Satsuko’s pillow from the sofa and positioned it appropriately.

“Come now, Satchan—there’s nothing troublesome involved. Just come over here as you are and lie down on this sheet for me. I’ll take care of the rest.” “Like this? Won’t the vermilion ink stain my kimono? Won’t the vermilion ink stain the kimono?” “I won’t let any get on your kimono—the vermilion ink will only be applied to the soles of your feet.” She did exactly as she was told. She lay on her back with both feet neatly aligned, slightly arching them so that the soles were clearly visible to me.

When all preparations were complete, I first saturated the initial tampon with vermilion ink. Then using that, I tapped the second tampon to thin the pigment. I spread her feet two or three inches apart and began carefully tapping the sole of her right foot with the second tampon, ensuring each pore stood distinctly separated in the imprint. The transitional area between raised and unstamped portions proved particularly troublesome. My left hand's impaired mobility made precise manipulation nearly impossible. "I absolutely won't stain your kimono—only the soles," I'd vowed, yet repeatedly smudged the tops of her feet and negligee hem. But this cycle of failures—wiping soles and insteps with towels, reapplying pigment—became unexpectedly pleasurable. Excitement mounted. I redid the process endlessly, insatiable.

At last, I had finished coating both feet satisfactorily. Starting with the right foot, I had her raise it slightly higher before pressing the colored paper against it from below to make her stamp the impression with her sole. I tried repeatedly, but it never went smoothly, and the desired rubbing failed to materialize. All twenty sheets of colored paper ended in futility. I called Takezuiken and immediately had them deliver forty more sheets. This time I altered my method—thoroughly washing the vermilion from her soles, meticulously wiping between each toe one by one, having her stand and sit 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 original plan had been to complete the work before Itsuko and Sasaki returned—hand the soiled sheets to the bellboy, leave the dozens of sole-imprinted papers with Takezuiken without retrieving them, clean the room as if nothing had happened, and maintain an innocent expression—but things did not proceed so smoothly.

Itsuko and the others returned unexpectedly early, before nine o'clock. I heard the knock at the door but had no chance to respond before it swung open and they came in. Satsuko swiftly hid in the bathroom. In the Japanese-style room, countless vermilion and white blotches were scattered about. They stared at each other in silent bewilderment. Sasaki wordlessly measured only the blood pressure. "It's two hundred thirty-two," she said with a strained expression.

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

It was around eleven in the morning when I learned that Satsuko had left for Tokyo without permission on the morning of the seventeenth.

The reason she wasn't in the dining room at breakfast was because it was her habit to sleep in, so I still thought Satsuko was in bed. Little did I know—she was already in a car heading toward Itami at that very moment.

Around eleven o’clock, Itsuko came to my room,

“There’s been some trouble.”

Itsuko informed me. “When did you find out about that?” “Just now. I came to ask where I should accompany you today, but when I did, they suddenly told me at the front desk, ‘Mrs. Utsuki has just left for Itami by herself.’” “Don’t talk nonsense—you knew about this all along!” “Don’t be absurd—how should I know anything?” “What nonsense are you spouting, you old fox? This was all arranged between you!”

“That’s not true at all! I just heard it now at this hotel—the front desk told me，‘Actually，I was instructed by my father in secret to return home ahead on JAL earlier，and told not to breathe a word to anyone until I arrive at Itami.’ I was utterly shocked!” “Stop lying，you old fox! You must’ve manipulated Satsuko into storming off by provoking her!” “When it comes to inciting and deceiving people，you and Rikuko have had considerable skill since long ago.” “I regret having forgotten that very thing.”

“How outrageous!” “What are you saying?” “Nurse Sasaki.” “Yes?” “Don’t ‘yes’ me! You must’ve heard this from Itsuko—you’ve all conspired to deceive this old man! Every one of you is obstructing Satsuko!” “If you insist on thinking that way, you’re just making things difficult for Nurse Sasaki here.” “Nurse Sasaki, would you mind stepping out briefly? Since you’ve gone as far as calling me an old fox, Grandpa, I’ll take this chance to say what needs saying—now that we’re here, I’ll have my full say too.”

“Since your blood pressure remains elevated, I must insist you moderate your recreational activities—” “Yes, yes, understood.”

Itsuko’s account was as follows.

―――

"The accusation that I manipulated Satsu-chan into leaving is utterly baseless," she said. "This is merely my own conjecture," she continued, "but I suspect Satsu-chan had some other reason for leaving in such haste—something compelling her return to Tokyo." She insinuated slyly: "You must have sensed something yourself—wouldn't you agree?" I retorted: 'Not only am I aware of her rapport with Haruhisa—she openly acknowledges it herself—but Jōkichi-san knows full well too.' 'By now,' I added pointedly, 'there's not a soul unaware of their friendship.' "But friendship doesn't prove impropriety!" she interjected with an odd smile twisting her lips. Leaning closer: "I shouldn't speak ill... yet I sense Jōkichi-san's affections have shifted. Suppose something did occur between Satsu-chan and Haruhisa-san—Jōkichi-san feigns ignorance but harbors no forgiveness. No—truthfully? I believe Jōkichi-san keeps his own paramour. Naturally," her voice dropped conspiratorially, "Satsu-chan and Haruhisa-san reached their... understanding long ago." As these words slithered forth, volcanic fury churned through my arteries. A roar swelled behind clenched teeth— but fear of bursting vessels forced restraint. Even seated, darkness encroached my vision, threatening collapse. Witnessing my livid pallor, Itsuko blanched white herself.

“Stop it—this kind of talk.” “Stop it and go home.” I said in as low and trembling a voice as I could manage. Why did I get so angry? Was it because she had unexpectedly uncovered a secret beyond imagining? Or because this old fox had suddenly laid bare what I myself had long been privately aware of yet had strenuously pretended not to notice?

Itsuko was no longer in the room.

The strain from yesterday’s excessive activities had taken its toll—the pains around my neck, shoulders, lower back and elsewhere grew severe, and since I couldn’t sleep properly last night either, I took three Adalin tablets and three Atrakin tablets again, then had Sasaki plaster Salonpas patches all over my back, shoulders and waist before crawling into bed. However, I still couldn’t sleep, so I considered getting a Luminal injection, but stopped myself thinking it would be troublesome if I overslept. After that, I decided to catch the afternoon train and pursue Satsuko, having a friend at the Mainichi News branch secure the tickets for me by any means necessary. (I have never flown on an airplane.) Sasaki vehemently objected, insisting that travel under such severe hypertension was unthinkable—she tearfully pleaded for me to rest three or four days first and wait until my blood pressure stabilized—but I did not comply. Itsuko came to apologize and then said, “In that case, I too shall accompany you to Tokyo.” “Because seeing your face gives me a pain—if you’re tagging along—I’ll have you ride in a separate carriage……”

The 18th.

Yesterday at 3:02 p.m., I boarded the No. 2 Kodama departing from Kyoto. I was in first class with Sasaki; Itsuko was in second class. We arrived in Tokyo at 9:00. Old Woman, Rikuko, Jōkichi, and Satsuko—the four of them came out onto the platform to meet us. Had they thought I couldn’t walk? Or had they decided I shouldn’t be made to walk? A wheelchair was waiting there. That wench Itsuko must have called ahead and arranged everything.

“What nonsense! How idiotic! Mr. Hatoyama is here!” I threw a prolonged tantrum that left everyone flustered when suddenly I felt another soft palm against my right hand. It was Satsuko who had taken hold of me. “Now Grandpa, you must listen to what I say.” Instantly I quieted my protests and fell into compliance. The wheelchair immediately began moving, descending via elevator into an underground passage where it clattered along a long dark path. The entourage trailed behind in disarray, struggling to keep pace with our speed. Grandma became separated from the group, forcing Jōkichi to turn back and search for her. I marveled at Tokyo Station’s cavernous underground network with its labyrinthine branching paths. We emerged at a special carriage porch near the Central Exit on the Marunouchi side. Two cars stood waiting. In the lead vehicle sat three of us—Satsuko and Nurse Sasaki flanking me. The following car carried four—Grandma, Itsuko, Rikuko, and Jōkichi.

“Grandpa, forgive me, okay? I came back without saying a word.” “Did you have some promise with someone, hmm?” “No, that’s not it. To be honest, I was made to attend to you all day yesterday and got completely worn out. From morning till night having my feet soles messed with like that—I couldn’t stand anything anymore. After just one day I was at my limit, so I ran away, you know. Forgive me, okay?”

The tone of her voice wasn't characteristic of her; there was something contrived about it.

“Grandpa must be exhausted.” “I left Itami at 12:20 and arrived at Haneda by 2:00, you know.” “Planes are so fast, you know.”……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Nurse Sasaki’s Nursing Records Excerpts ...The patient, who had returned to Tokyo on the night of the 17th, likely due to the accumulated fatigue from consecutive days in Kyoto, spent most of the 18th and 19th sleeping; nevertheless, he occasionally emerged to his study to add entries to the previous day’s diary. However, at 10:55 AM on the 20th, an incident of the sort to be described below occurred.

Before that, Madam Satsuko had returned to the Tanuki-ana residence from Haneda around 3:00 PM on the 17th. Madam Satsuko immediately summoned Mr. Jōkichi to the phone and informed him that due to the old man’s increasingly strange mental state, she could no longer endure spending even a single day acting in concert with him, and had therefore taken the liberty of returning ahead on her own. After discussing the matter, the couple secretly visited their friend Professor Inoue, a psychiatrist, to inquire about how best to handle the situation, keeping it hidden from the elderly madam. According to Professor Inoue’s opinion, the old man’s condition should be termed abnormal sexual desire rather than psychosis in his current state; however, considering that this patient required constant emotional/sexual urges as they served as the lifeline sustaining him, caregivers must adapt their approach accordingly. Madam Satsuko should take particular care in this regard—avoid unduly exciting him or acting against his wishes, and strive to tend to him gently—as this constituted the sole viable treatment method. Therefore, following Professor Inoue’s advice as much as possible since the old man’s return to Tokyo, Mr. and Mrs. Jōkichi had been treating him accordingly.

20th - Tuesday - Clear 8:00 AM: Temperature 35.5°C, pulse 78, respiratory rate 15, blood pressure 132/80 mmHg. The general condition showed no significant changes. The words and actions seemed sullen.

After breakfast, the patient entered the study. He seemed intent on writing the diary. At 10:55 AM, he emerged from the study into the bedroom in a state of abnormal excitement. He appeared to be saying something, but I couldn’t understand it. He was carried into bed and made to lie still. Pulse 136, tense with no irregularities or pauses. Respiratory rate 23. Complains of palpitations. Blood pressure 158/92 mmHg. He indicates a severe headache through gestures. His facial expression contorts with fear. I contact Dr. Sugita by phone, but there are no special instructions—as always, this doctor habitually disregards the nurse’s observations.

11:15 AM: Pulse 143, respiratory rate 38, blood pressure 176/100 mmHg. Contacted Dr. Sugita by phone again, but there were no instructions. Inspected room temperature, lighting, and ventilation. Only the elderly madam from the family was present in the sickroom. Felt the necessity of oxygen inhalation, contacted Toranomon Hospital, reported the patient’s condition, and requested medical attention. At 11:40 AM, Dr. Sugita arrived for examination; the course of the illness was reported. After the examination, Dr. Sugita took out an injection from his medical bag and administered it himself. The ampoules contained Vitamin K, Contomin, and Neophyllin. After Dr. Sugita finished administering the injection and was still in the entranceway, the patient suddenly let out a loud cry and lost consciousness. Violent convulsions occurred throughout the body, and cyanosis became pronounced in the lips and fingertips. When the convulsions eventually subsided, intense motor restlessness arose, and he attempted to leap up despite attempts to restrain him.

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, when the elderly madam attending him suddenly complained of dizziness, she was moved to another room and made to rest quietly. She recovered in about ten minutes. The elderly madam’s care was taken over by Mrs. Itsuko. At 12:50 PM, the patient rested peacefully. His pulse measured 80 beats per minute with a respiratory rate of 16. Madam Satsuko entered the room. At 1:15 PM, Dr. Sugita returned home after issuing instructions to refuse visitors. At 1:35 PM, his temperature registered 37.0°C with a pulse of 98 and respiratory rate of 18. Occasional coughing was observed alongside profuse cold sweat across his entire body; his nightclothes were changed.

At 2:10 PM, relative Dr. Koizumi paid a visit. The course of the illness was reported. 2:40 PM: Regained consciousness. Consciousness clear. No speech impairment. He complained of bruise-like pain throughout his face, head, and nape. The pain in the left upper limb present before the seizure had disappeared. Administered one tablet of Salidon and two tablets of Adalin per Dr. Koizumi’s instructions. Noticed Madam Satsuko but kept his eyes quietly closed. At 2:55 PM, natural urination occurred. 110 cc, no turbidity. 8:45 PM: Complained of severe thirst. 150 cc of milk from Madam Satsuko’s hand. Vegetable soup 250 cc was administered.

23:05: Light sleep state. Though the old man had fully regained consciousness and seemed to have escaped critical condition, since the risk of recurrence couldn't be entirely ruled out, it was deemed prudent to request an examination by Professor Kajiwara of Tokyo University as a precaution; despite the late hour, Mr. Jōkichi succeeded in bringing the professor. After examination, it was determined this wasn't a cerebral hemorrhage but a cerebrovascular spasm, eliminating immediate concern. There followed instructions for twice-daily injections—20 cc of 20% glucose, 100 mg of Vitamin B1, and 500 mg of Vitamin C each morning and evening—plus two Adalin tablets and a quarter Solven tablet administered thirty minutes before bedtime. Detailed directives were issued: for roughly two weeks he must prioritize rest while maintaining visitor restrictions; bathing should be deferred until he felt distinctly improved; initial ambulation upon leaving bed must be confined to room pacing; brief garden walks on fine days were permissible contingent on physical condition monitoring, though outings remained strictly forbidden; mental haziness should be cultivated to prevent deep contemplation or fixation; diary-keeping was absolutely prohibited—these and other meticulous precautions were recorded.

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Excerpts from Dr. Katsumi’s Bedside Diary

December 15: Clear, temporarily dense smog, then clear. Chief complaint. Attack of chest distress. Past medical history. For thirty years he has had high blood pressure, with highest readings ranging from 150 to 200 mmHg and lowest from 70 to 95 mmHg. At times, the highest blood pressure has reached around 240 mmHg. Six years ago, he suffered a stroke and has since had mild walking impairment. For several years now, there has been neuralgia-like pain in the left upper limb, particularly from the wrist onward, which intensifies when exposed to cold. In his youth, he suffered from a venereal disease and consumed nearly one shō of sake, but recently, even when he drinks, it’s only about one or two small cups’ worth. He has abstained from tobacco since Showa 11.

Present illness. Approximately one year ago, findings suggestive of myocardial damage—such as ST segment depression and T wave flattening on electrocardiograms—had already been observed; however, until recently, there had been no particular complaints regarding the heart. On November 20, an attack involving severe headache, convulsions, and impaired consciousness occurred; Professor Kajiwara diagnosed it as a cerebrovascular spasm, and the subsequent course proceeded smoothly under his instructions. However, on the 30th of the same month, the patient had an argument with his disliked daughter, during which he felt mild distress in the left anterior chest region for ten-odd minutes, and since then similar attacks had begun to occur frequently. The electrocardiogram at that time showed no significant changes compared to a year earlier. On the night of December 2nd, after straining during defecation, an intense constricting pain occurred in his cardiac region that persisted for over fifty minutes. A nearby physician was summoned for a house call, but electrocardiogram testing conducted the following day revealed findings in the chest leads suggestive of an anterior septal infarction. On the night of the fifth as well, a similarly severe attack occurred lasting over ten minutes; furthermore, minor attacks had been occurring daily with frequency. Originally prone to constipation; attacks were prone to occur after defecation. For the attacks, he had thus far received from physicians the administration of P agent and Q agent, oxygen inhalation, sedatives, papaverine injections, and other treatments. December 15: Admitted to Room A of this department (University of Tokyo Department of Internal Medicine). Listened to the course of the illness from Attending Physician S and the young Madam, and conducted a brief examination. The patient was slightly obese, with no anemia or jaundice; mild edema was observed in the lower legs. Blood pressure 150/75 mmHg; pulse 90, rapid and regular. No venous distention was observed in the neck. In the chest, mild moist rales were observed in both lower lung fields; the heart was not enlarged, and a mild systolic murmur was heard at the aortic valve orifice. In the abdomen, the liver and spleen were not palpable. It was stated that there was mild motor impairment in the right upper and lower limbs; however, there was no gross strength reduction, and abnormal reflexes were not demonstrated. The patellar tendon reflexes were diminished to the same degree on both sides.

No abnormalities were observed in the cranial nerve region; while the family stated his speech was normal, the patient himself claimed he had been a bit off since the stroke. From Attending Physician S came a caution that the patient was more sensitive to medication than others, with one-third to one-half of the standard dosage proving effective and regular doses being too strong; from the young Madam came an admonition that vascular injections should not be administered due to a prior incident of convulsions caused by intravenous injection.

16th: Clear, temporarily cloudy.

Perhaps due to feeling relieved upon hospitalization, he reportedly had no seizures last night and slept well. He reportedly experienced mild distress in his upper chest several times for a few seconds each toward morning, though it may have been nervous in origin. It was recommended to take laxatives to avoid constipation. The patient had also noticed this and was already using Bayer’s Istizin—a laxative specially procured from Germany. Having suffered from hypertension and neuralgia for many years, the patient was extremely knowledgeable about medications, and inexperienced doctors might find themselves outdone if not careful. Various medicines were placed around the bed, and without needing to issue specific prescriptions, the staff instructed him to continue taking P agent and Q agent from among them. When seizures occurred, they also directed him to dissolve nitroglycerin tablets from his personal supply. An oxygen inhaler was installed at his bedside and kept ready for immediate use. His blood pressure measured 142–78 mmHg; the electrocardiogram showed ST-T wave abnormalities similar to those observed three days prior, along with findings suggestive of anterior septal infarction. The chest X-ray revealed minimal cardiac hypertrophy but evident arteriosclerosis. No accelerated erythrocyte sedimentation rate, leukocytosis, or elevated S-GOT levels were detected. There had been prostate hypertrophy for some time, with reported difficulty urinating and cloudy urine; however, today’s specimen was clear with no protein and weakly positive for sugar.

18th: Clear, later cloudy.

Since admission, no severe attacks had been observed. The nature of the attacks consisted primarily of distress in the upper chest or left anterior chest region, and even these rarely persisted for more than a few minutes. When it was cold, not only did the neuralgia cause pain, but cardiac episodes were also more likely to occur. As the steam heating in the hospital room proved unreliable, two or three electric and propane stoves had been brought in. 20th: Hazy, later clear.

Last night around 8 p.m., a sense of distress persisted for about thirty minutes from the epigastrium to the posterior aspect of the sternum. The distress soon subsided with nitroglycerin tablets, sedatives from the on-duty physician, and injections of coronary vasodilators. The electrocardiogram showed no significant changes compared to the previous reading. Blood pressure 156–78 mmHg. 23rd: Clear, later occasionally cloudy. Mild attacks occurred daily. Since sugar was detected in the urine, this morning he was made to eat a sufficient amount of rice and side dishes for breakfast, after which the blood sugar level was examined to test for diabetes.

26th: Sunday. Clear, temporarily cloudy. Around 6 p.m., strong distress occurred in the left anterior chest region. When it persisted for over ten minutes, the hospital was contacted by telephone. Emergency treatment was requested from the on-duty physician, who arrived at the scene around 7 p.m. Blood pressure measured 185/97 mmHg; pulse 92 beats per minute, regular. A sedative was administered, after which the patient soon stabilized. Sundays—when no attending physician was regularly present—tended to see increased seizure frequency, likely due to heightened anxiety. During such episodes, blood pressure showed a marked tendency to rise. 29th: Clear skies interrupted by temporary hail and dense haze, later clearing.

For some time now, no severe seizures had been observed. The vectorcardiogram also showed findings suggestive of an anterior septal infarction. The serum Wassermann reaction was negative. It was decided that starting tomorrow, the new coronary vasodilator R—newly arrived from America—would be used.

January 3: Clear → cloudy → rain. The clinical course appeared favorable, possibly owing to the new medication's efficacy. Urinary turbidity was reported. Microscopic examination revealed innumerable white blood cells. 8th: Clear skies interrupted by thick haze before clearing again.

Received a house call from Professor K of Urology. Bacterial infection due to prostate hypertrophy and residual urine was observed; monitoring through prostate massage and antibiotic administration was advised. A mild improvement was noted on the electrocardiogram. Blood pressure 143–65 mmHg. 11th: Alternating between sunny and cloudy. The patient had been complaining of lower back pain for two to three days prior, which gradually intensified. As he endured it, a constricting pain developed in both sides of his chest during the afternoon, persisting for over ten minutes. This marked the most severe attack in recent times. Blood pressure measured 176–91 mmHg with a pulse of 87. The episode subsided shortly after administration of nitroglycerin tablets, coronary vasodilators, and sedative injections. No new pathological findings appeared on the electrocardiogram.

15th: Clear.

The results of yesterday’s X-ray showed a diagnosis of degenerative spondylosis. As it was advised that the lower back should not bend excessively, an ironing board was placed in the lumbar region to prevent the body from sinking into the bed. [...]

February 3rd: Clear weather.

The electrocardiogram showed significant improvement, and recently there had been almost no small attacks occurring. Given this progress, discharge appeared possible in the near future.

7th: Alternating between sunny and cloudy. Discharged following improvement.

It was an unusually warm day for February. Since cold had to be avoided, they selected the warmest time from noon onward and transported him in a heated vehicle. At the Utsuki residence, they were heating the master's study with a large stove, it was said.

Excerpts from Shiroyama Itsuko's Notes

My father, who collapsed from cerebrovascular spasms on November 20th of last year, subsequently developed angina pectoris and myocardial infarction, was admitted to the University of Tokyo Hospital on December 15th of the same year, narrowly escaped critical condition thanks to Dr. Katsumi, was able to be discharged after over fifty days on February 7th of this year, and returned to his home in Tanizaka. However, his angina pectoris had not been completely cured; there continued to be occasional mild attacks afterward, and even now he still relied on nitroglycerin from time to time. From February through the entire month of March, he did not take a single step out of his bedroom. Nurse Sasaki had remained at the Utsuki household during Father’s hospitalization to attend to Mother’s sickbed, and when Father was discharged, she once again became his primary caretaker, managing everything from his three daily meals to his excretory needs, though Oshizu occasionally assisted.

Even when staying at the Kyoto house, as I had no particular business there these days, I spent half of each month living in Tanizaka and attended to Mother’s sickbed in place of Nurse Sasaki. Whenever Father saw my face, it put him in a foul mood, so I took care to avoid being seen by him as much as possible. In that respect, Rikuko was no different from me. Satsuko’s position was exceedingly delicate and fraught with difficulty. In accordance with Professor Inoue’s instructions, she made efforts to show Father gentle kindness, but if she became overly affectionate or lingered too long at his bedside, he would often grow emotional and agitated. After Satsuko had been in the sickroom, Father would often suffer attacks. However, if she did not appear at his bedside several times a day, it was inevitable that the patient would fixate on her absence, which would consequently exacerbate his condition.

Father too shared Satsuko's delicate psychological state. Since angina attacks brought excruciating pain, Father professed no fear of death itself yet dreaded the physical torment preceding it. Thus he appeared to make private efforts to avoid excessive familiarity from Satsuko, though found himself utterly incapable of ceasing their meetings.

I have never been to the second floor where Jōkichi and his wife live. However, according to Nurse Sasaki, Satsuko had apparently not been sleeping in her husband’s room lately and had moved her bedroom to the spare room prepared for overnight guests. It was also said that Haruhisa occasionally sneaked up to the second floor.

One day, when I was back in Kyoto, I suddenly received a call from Father. Wondering what he wanted, it turned out he was saying that since he had previously left Satsuko’s foot rubbings on colored paper deposited at Chikusuiken, I should retrieve them, show them to the stonemason from before, and have him carve them like a Buddha’s footprint stone. According to *The Great Tang Records on the Western Regions*, Shakyamuni Buddha’s footprints remain in Magadha to this day, each foot measuring one shaku eight sun (approximately 54.5 cm) in length and six sun (approximately 18.2 cm) in width, both bearing wheel marks. As for Satsuko’s soles, while there was no need to depict the wheel marks, he wanted the length enlarged to one shaku eight sun while preserving their current shape. He insisted, "You must place the order exactly like that." Since there was no way I could make such an absurd request, I humored him and cut the call for the time being,

"The stonemason is currently traveling in the Kyushu region and will give his answer at a later date." I answered and left it at that. Then, a few days later, Father called again and said that in that case, I should send all the rubbings to Tokyo. I did as I was told. Nurse Sasaki soon came to inform me of the arrival of the rubbings. Father would select four or five well-executed sheets from over ten rubbings, scrutinizing each one intently for hours on end without tiring. The nurse said she thought it best not to forbid this, reasoning that letting him satisfy himself with such things was preferable to allowing direct contact with Satsuko.

From mid-April onward, on fine weather days, he began taking walks in the garden for about twenty to thirty minutes. Usually, the nurse accompanied him, but on rare occasions, Satsuko would take his hand. The construction of the pool that I had once promised to build for him had already begun by that time, and the garden lawn had been dug up. “It’s useless even if you build it. Grandpa won’t be able to go outside during the day come summer anyway—you should stop this wasteful expense.”

When Satsuko said this, Jōkichi replied: “Just seeing the pool construction proceed as promised makes all sorts of fantasies bloom in Father’s mind.” “The children are looking forward to it too, you know.”