Pathway to Japanese Literature

S's Back

I

"There was surely a single birthmark on Saruzawa Sasuke's back. Moreover, there was no doubt that three strands of curled black hair were growing right at its center."

At some point, Kanie Shiro had come to think that way.
It might be better to say he believed it rather than merely thought it.
Not only did he think or believe it, but he even sometimes went so far as to say it out loud.
Of course not in public, but stealthily.
Because these were catchy phrases with a rhythm like a 7-5 meter new-style poem, they tended to slip easily from one’s lips.

When alone in his room drinking tea or walking down the street, he would suddenly mutter.
It had a slightly incantational quality.

“On Saruzawa Sasuke’s back lies a birthmark like a knothole.”
“And right in its center…”

When muttering this, Kanie Shiro’s face would always distort slightly, and his expression seemed to take on a somewhat anguished hue.
His normally protruding eyeballs seemed to bulge out even more conspicuously at such times.

However, these 7-5-meter-structured phrases were mistaken in their very conception.
That much Kanie himself knew well.
Originally, this should have been stated as follows.

A birthmark about one centimeter in diameter, with three strands of black curled hair growing from it, exists somewhere in this world. It must surely be clinging to someone’s back. That someone was undoubtedly that Saruzawa Sasuke.

In other words, the issue was not whether there was a birthmark on Saruzawa’s back, but whether the back bearing the birthmark was Saruzawa’s. When phrased they may seem similar, but in meaning they are slightly different.

Kanie Shiro had not yet seen Saruzawa Sasuke’s bare back.
Or perhaps he had seen it before, but he simply couldn’t recall the impression.
When summer arrived and the heat set in, even Saruzawa Sasuke would surely bare his skin.
That's right.
He had indeed seen him take off his clothes until he was down to just his underwear and then water the garden plants, do calisthenics, or jump rope.
Thinking this, he tried to recall that impression, but what floated before his eyelids were only things like the color of Saruzawa’s thickly growing chest hair or the shape of his bulging arm muscles—the back simply wouldn’t surface.

That stood to reason.
In human interactions and dealings, people tended to only observe each other's fronts; it was exceedingly rare for them to gaze intently at one another's backs and commit such impressions to memory.
If such a thing were to occur, it would be under the most extraordinary of circumstances.

It was quite some time ago that Kanie Shiro became acquainted with Saruzawa Sasuke.
It must have been about two years now.
Yet this acquaintance was only natural—beginning with casual recognition before suddenly deepening one night around a specific incident.
These two men lived in extremely close proximity to each other as neighbors.
In houses of completely identical appearance and size—a three-minute walk between their front doors—these two men resided.

It was said that during the war, it had been company housing for a certain munitions company.
In the middle of an expansive field, the land had been squared and leveled, where about twenty houses of identical shape stood neatly lined up.
Some time after the war ended, the company went bankrupt, and this company housing was put up for sale.
And so there now existed a motley community of households and families—completely different from its days as company housing—with varied backgrounds and occupations.
People who lived in the same district—with almost no interaction between them—found themselves pressed together as if by chance, maintaining a semblance of coexistence.

After all, it was a hamlet isolated in the middle of a field—inconveniently located three chō from the butcher and five chō from the bathhouse—yet despite this, the people of this hamlet showed no particular inclination to support one another or band together.
Even after all this time, they remained scattered—like tofu left without its coagulant—showing no sign of solidifying.
In the end, that must have been more comfortable for everyone involved.
And yet, they were not entirely indifferent to their neighbors' comings and goings.
On the surface they might wear casual expressions, but behind the scenes they would oddly fuss over things or meticulously exert their nerves.
For instance, that in such-and-such household they had bought about a hundred me of high-quality beef that day, or that in another household there had been a marital quarrel the previous night—well, things like that.
In other words, the people of this hamlet—especially the women—were very fond of such idle gossip that was neither harmful nor beneficial.

Among such rumors was one concerning Saruzawa Sasuke.
Saruzawa Sasuke was a man who, before the war, had been the ringmaster of a small circus.
It was such a rumor.
Rather than a rumor, it might be better to call it a legend by now.
He himself did not deny it, and even tended to behave in a manner befitting such tales.
He would don a flashy jacket befitting a ringmaster, carry something like a whip, and stroll leisurely through the fields.
From the communal well in the hamlet, women doing laundry watched his figure,

“He really does look just like a ringmaster.”

“Honestly.”
“And even the colors of that patchwork-patterned jacket...”

It wasn’t as if he dressed that way to fuel the rumors, yet he would occasionally swing his whip with a swish as though training animals or let out a sharp whistle.
His gestures were perfectly natural.

“That man’s wife might have been a circus girl too, you know.”

“Oh, that’s right.”
“That must be it.”
“The other day, she crossed that log bridge over there with a rhythm—stepping briskly across.”

“Hmph.”
“So that’s her method—tightrope techniques.”

The birth of rumors was a simple thing—with this, Mrs. Saruzawa’s former identity had become completely cemented as that of a tightrope walker girl.

The Saruzawa couple had one child.
It was still a baby.
There was talk that Saruzawa Sasuke had recently been training the baby in 'delayed gratification' (o-azuke).
He would place a piece of candy before the baby's eyes, then declare in a sharp voice:

"Not yet!"

Saruzawa commanded.
At this, they said the baby would immediately withdraw its outstretched hand and sit quietly with perfect obedience.
Since there were those who claimed to have witnessed this, it might actually have been true.
Regarding this episode, opinions among the hamlet residents split into two camps: critics who called it an infringement of infantile human rights, and admirers who praised it as befitting a former circus ringmaster.
The admirers appeared to consist predominantly of women.
Saruzawa Sasuke cut a reasonably dignified figure and possessed considerable eloquence, making him generally popular among female circles.
Conversely, he may not have been held in high regard by the men.

Saruzawa Sasuke must have been about forty years old by then. However, he always dressed in flamboyant attire, so he appeared youthful. The skin on his limbs was glossy, making him look like a young man. However, his face alone—rather than being glossy—shone red with a greasy luster. The tip of his nose in particular had turned completely tomato-red. This was, needless to say, what they call a drinker’s flush. Saruzawa Sasuke was likely the foremost drinker in the hamlet. Rumor had it he never let his alcohol run dry, not even for a single night. He drank at home and, of course, drank outside. At bars and stalls near the station, Kanie would often catch sight of Saruzawa coiled up there.

It was also at a certain drinking establishment near the station that Kanie Shiro came to exchange words with Saruzawa Sasuke.
The name of that drinking establishment was "Violet".
Despite its elegant name, it was a dilapidated, filthy bar with eaves that seemed to sag.

Kanie loved alcohol.
But being on a meager salary, he couldn't drink every night.
He could only drink once every five days or once a week—that was the best he could manage.
How he longed to drink nightly!
Yet that remained beyond his reach.
Clenching his teeth, he would pass before Violet and trudge home silently along the dark path through the fields.
From the station to his house stretched five or six chō.
This distance, compounded by other circumstances, proved particularly grueling when sober.

That was around the time Kanie became acquainted with Saruzawa—in other words, about two years ago now.

At that time, for a Kanie Shiro who was so impoverished, how must Saruzawa’s presence have felt?
Of course, since they were neighbors and he dressed in such a conspicuous manner, Kanie was well acquainted with Saruzawa’s face and name.
He had no idea what line of work the man pursued—yet there he was every day without fail: strolling about aimlessly in flamboyant attire and drinking nightly at places like *Violet*.
He was such an enigmatic, peculiar man.
One might say that was the extent of his impression.
However, it’s possible that even then, he already harbored deeper feelings toward Saruzawa.
In other words, to rephrase it—that was something like a vague sense of lingering resentment.

While I lived half-starved of drink, he guzzled extravagantly every night.
This disparity formed one root of my lingering resentment.
To put it plainly: a vague neighborly jealousy toward Saruzawa.
That phrasing would suffice.
Though countless others lived lavishly worldwide, fixating solely on my neighbor Saruzawa seemed absurd—yet perhaps this defined human nature.
We often hear of comrades squabbling while greater enemies loom.
Human senses may only react to what lies within reach.
Still, these feelings remained formless back then—hazy impressions even I couldn't fully grasp.

The first time he spoke to Saruzawa was on a cold winter night.
That night, Kanie sat in a corner of Violet, slowly tilting his shochu cup as he drank alone.
Across from Kanie’s table, Saruzawa Sasuke—clad in a fur jacket—quietly tilted his sake flask.
Though the two had often seen each other at this establishment before, they had never once exchanged words.

In a chair at the back of the bar sat a fair-skinned young woman alone in quiet solitude.
This was the bar's waitress, a woman named Kumiko.
Though called a waitress, her duties extended no further than heating sake and carrying dishes.

What Saruzawa was drinking was a first-grade sake decanter. Moreover, he had laid out three or four side dishes, making for quite an extravagant spread. In contrast, Kanie's meal consisted of just a single plate—the cheapest flounder stew available. Having finished eating the front side completely, he had just flipped it over to inspect the back.

While quietly bringing his cup to his lips, Saruzawa had been furtively shifting his gaze—stealing glances at Kumiko's demeanor and peering at Kanie's glass—when suddenly his eyes fell on that plate, and he muttered something like a soliloquy.

"A white-backed fish—what a strange thing."

Kanie's alcohol-fogged ears abruptly caught that muttered remark. Moreover, having become sufficiently drunk and now wanting someone to talk to, he inadvertently raised his face and asked in return.

"What did you say? 'A white-backed fish?'"

"That's right," said Saruzawa, feigning an expression as though noticing Kanie's presence for the first time while nodding with utmost nonchalance. "That's a flounder I suppose—black on top and white underneath. How peculiar for a fish to have two distinct sides."

“That’s just how it is. It’s inborn, after all,” Kanie puffed out his cheeks in defense of the flounder. “I happen to really love this fish. The flavor’s good, it’s tender, and it’s packed with nutrients.”

“It might be packed with nutrients,” Saruzawa said as he took out a lighter and clicked it alight, “but its face is all twisted and warped. At my house, this fish gets fed exclusively to the cat.”

When Kumiko made a faint laugh-like sound from her chair in the back, Kanie abruptly moved to set down his chopsticks in displeasure. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, Saruzawa grinned slyly and waved his hand in mock apology.

“Ah, my apologies, my apologies.
“I really didn’t mean to nitpick your side dish.”

“I don’t think I was being nitpicked either, Mr. Saruzawa.”

Having accidentally let slip the other man’s name, Kanie gulped his cup to hide his embarrassment.
Saruzawa maintained his smile while intently watching the motion, but once Kanie had placed his cup on the table, he shifted his gaze and began observing with apparent fascination the translucent shochu swaying within the glass.
From his expression and the bright red hue of his nose, Saruzawa appeared thoroughly drunk by now.

“Hey.”
Saruzawa kept his gaze fixed there as he began speaking in a low tone, like someone broaching a weighty matter.
“Suppose now—hypothetically—you went blind from methyl alcohol.”
“Of course it’s just a hypothetical.”
“At that point, would you choose to become an Anma?”
“Or would you study the koto and become a master in that field?”

Saruzawa’s face bore an uncharacteristically serious expression, making Kanie falter in his response.

“As for hypothetical questions… I can’t quite answer them, but—” Feeling somehow oppressed, he stammered. “Wh-why are you asking such a thing?”

“Oh, I just thought of it now,” said Saruzawa as he slowly returned his gaze, laughing in a peculiar manner.
“Choosing one thing from two options—this is quite a difficult task, you know.”
“In other words, it’s a question of being an artist or a practical person.”

“Then which would you choose?”

Finally realizing that Saruzawa had come up with such an idea while staring at his cup—as if this shochu were methyl alcohol—Kanie retorted in a slightly irritated tone.

“Me?”
“As for me—”

Saruzawa abruptly cut off his words there, gave his sake flask a slight shake, and smirked slyly.
It was an expression that suggested some hidden agenda.
Then he turned his face toward the back and called out to Kumiko in an unpleasantly sweet, coaxing voice.

“Kumiko.”
“Another flask, please.”

“Yes.”

Saruzawa’s eyes intently followed Kumiko’s retreating figure as she responded and entered the kitchen. Finding Saruzawa’s gaze strangely persistent, Kanie felt a faint sense of disgust. There was at least some reason for this unpleasant feeling. Before he knew it, he let out a stifled snort. Then Saruzawa suddenly turned his face toward him, assumed an angry expression, and pressed in a low whisper:

“You like Kumiko, don’t you?”
“Huh, Mr. Kanie?”

He properly knew Kanie’s name as well.
Kanie’s shoulder twitched, and his face rapidly turned bright red.
This was because it had struck right at the mark.
Then Saruzawa broke into a grin and, domineeringly, uttered something incomprehensible.

“Then she too must face a binary choice.”

“And about that methyl alcohol earlier—”

Thoroughly flustered, Kanie uttered this disjointed remark.
Just then Kumiko emerged carrying a sake flask, prompting Saruzawa to abruptly straighten his posture and adopt a matching conversational tone.

“I’d choose being an Anma.”
“Well, that settles it.”
“Though I suppose you’d pick the artistic path?”

The wheat-toned profile of Kumiko pouring sake into Saruzawa’s cup suddenly seemed blindingly vivid, leaving Kanie blinking wordlessly.
Saruzawa then released a laugh like rusty hinges grinding—utterly without cause.
This grating sound naturally irritated Kanie’s nerves.
Before him, Saruzawa thrust out his right hand in mock handshake posture.

“Well then.
“Let’s take this as our chance to become friends.
That’s fine with you, right, Mr. Kanie?”

II

Whenever he thought back on that night, Kanie couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been deftly manipulated.
He had meticulously orchestrated the conversation, thoroughly confused him, and then struck right at the mark.
When he thought about that cunning tactic, Kanie became utterly irritated.
However, this was not something he could afford to simply resent.

“That guy also seems to be in love with Kumiko.”

Whenever he thought of that, Kanie found himself driven into a state where he could neither sit still nor stand still.
That—though he had not yet confessed it even to Kumiko herself—was a love that had been nurtured in Kanie’s heart for half a year.
If that were to be smoothly snatched away from the sidelines now of all times, it would be utterly unbearable.

“I must do something about this quickly.”

Kanie seriously thought this.
To "do something about this" meant seizing an opportunity to propose to Kumiko and become husband and wife.
In other words, Kanie was single at that time.

The fact that he remained single even at thirty-six was not without its reasons.
The truth was that Kanie too had once had a wife, but after being drafted into the military and dragged off to foreign lands for five years, when he finally managed to return home after demobilization, his wife was already living with another man.
To Kanie, standing there in his demobilized state, she said calmly.

“What, you’re alive.”
“I was sure you were dead.”
“But it’s already too late.”
“You’re completely late.”

"What did she mean by 'You're way too late'?" Kanie burned with anger, but there was nothing to be done.
So he abandoned this cold-hearted former wife and found himself forced into solitary life.
At first his bachelor existence had felt liberating and even pleasant enough, but as desolation slowly permeated that life and he began finding it hard to bear along came Kumiko of Violet.

Kanie’s workplace was a certain private library.
He was the checkout clerk there.
Since it was a shabby, small library, there were few visitors.
Therefore, the work of a checkout clerk was an extremely uneventful job.
Sitting behind the checkout counter, he only needed to stand once or twice an hour to enter the stacks, and then just remain still for the rest of the time.
Kanie liked this workplace.
Because there was plenty of free time and he could read books to his heart’s content.
The only drawback was that the salary wasn’t high, but since the work was easygoing, this was an unavoidable reality.
The fact that he could read the tens of thousands of books in the stacks for free provided ample compensation.
Having thought that, he had resigned himself, but since Kumiko appeared at “Violet,” it seemed he could no longer simply resign himself time and again.
To see Kumiko’s face required a commensurate bar tab.

Kumiko, who seemed to have been born in a warm region, was a woman with dusky eyes that were large and wide.
Her face was oblong, with skin as smooth as a succulent fruit's seed.
Moreover, she was rather quiet and gave off a docile impression.
The reason Kanie felt affection for Kumiko may have been that his ex-wife had been too talkative and loud, making him reflexively attracted to such a Kumiko.

"If I made a woman like that my wife, things might go smoothly."

After visiting Violet two or three times, Kanie had already come to think that way.
Peaceful domestic harmony.
What Kanie vaguely hoped for was precisely that.
Propose to Kumiko and welcome her into his home.
Despite there being no circumstances to hinder it, the fact that Kanie had hesitated for half a year was actually because he lacked confidence in his own appearance and other aspects.
He was short, had square shoulders, his eyes bulged noticeably, and he was fully aware that his appearance generally lacked any redeeming features.
Therefore, in that regard, Saruzawa’s presence at Violet was more than sufficient to threaten his peace of mind.

"But that guy has a wife, doesn't he? That's utterly outrageous!"

Even if the man in question had a wife, would a woman’s heart still be swayed? When he thought about how in novels hearts often seemed swayed like that, Kanie began to feel a restlessness that made enduring stillness unbearable. That guy was taller than him; he dressed flashily and threw money around like it was nothing. Moreover, he apparently had a silver tongue. However, would someone as intelligent-looking as Kumiko really be swayed by such things? He felt both uneasy and somehow reassured. But wouldn’t Kumiko still feel more sympathy and interest in a single man rather than one who already had a wife?

The reason Kanie thought this way was because of something that had happened.
About twenty days before the night of the Methyl Alcohol Discussion, as he was drinking alone at Violet, Kumiko—for reasons unknown—walked briskly up to his side.
And then, in a quiet voice, she said this:

“Oh, your button’s coming loose.”

It seemed Kumiko had keenly noticed the coat button that had come loose when he was jostled on the train.

“I’ll sew it back on for you.”

As she mended it with needle and thread, Kanie watched the movement of Kumiko’s fingers with a warmth that seemed to suffuse his entire body.
His heart fluttered so elatedly that the shochu tasted nearly twice as good as usual.

“Thank you.”
“You’re really skilled at sewing.”

“Hohoho,” Kumiko laughed.
And she said in a friendly tone:

“Are you single?”

“Ah, yes.”

“It must be inconvenient alone.”

There, the two exchanged a brief conversation about bachelorhood.
The bar was empty except for them.
Perhaps because of this solitude, even the normally quiet Kumiko seemed to feel like talking to him.
As they spoke, the front door clattered open and a customer entered, cutting off their conversation and sending Kumiko scurrying to the back room.
Kanie felt bitterly disappointed.
The customer was Saruzawa Sasuke.

"At that time, seeing me and Kumiko talking so familiarly, Saruzawa must have decided to pick a fight with me."

However, since he had never imagined Saruzawa might harbor any interest in Kumiko, that night of the Methyl Alcohol Discussion came as a profound shock to Kanie.

Ever since that night, Kanie had been forcing himself to stop by Violet about once every two or three days, but each time he did, Saruzawa was invariably settled there, tilting his cup over octopus sashimi or something of the sort. And when he saw him,

"Oh, Mr. Kanie."

He would greet him in a cheerful tone that could almost be called triumphant.
So Kanie naturally ended up sitting beside him, finding himself making small talk while drinking.
However, regarding Kumiko, Saruzawa had not once mentioned her since that night.
It seemed he was attempting to pressure Kanie through demeanor alone.
In other words, he would do things like speak to Kumiko in an exaggeratedly friendly manner right before Kanie’s eyes, or—while Kanie contented himself with just simmered flounder—lavishly order sashimi and vinegared dishes; well, it was generally that sort of behavior.
It was a kind of psychological tactic.

With matters proceeding in this manner, as days passed, Kanie’s growing irritation and anxiety might have been due to falling prey to those skillful tactics.

Even during the day while sitting at the lending desk, whenever he thought about Kumiko and Saruzawa, his chest would suddenly pound and a chill would run down his spine.
Whenever he thought that Saruzawa might have already claimed that wheat-colored body of Kumiko’s, he felt like letting out a scream.
Therefore, trying as much as possible not to dwell on such thoughts, he would cling to the lending desk and immerse himself in reading seemingly interesting novels in an attempt to distract himself.
But then the novel would turn out to be one by a newly acclaimed author about adultery, causing him to suddenly remember Kumiko and become agitated.

The transformation of his reserved affection for Kumiko into an intense passion—one that had erupted with reckless abandon since Saruzawa’s appearance—was something even Kanie found surprising.
In other words, it must have been that competitive spirit at work.
The apprehension of potentially being robbed of her must have suddenly ignited Kanie’s passion.
If I were to lose Kumiko now, my life would be over.
It was exactly that kind of feeling.
Be that as it may, above all else, making Saruzawa withdraw was Kanie’s foremost problem.

"Alright." One such day, Kanie made a firm decision in his heart.
"I’ll have a talk with him and make that guy back off completely."

Whether Saruzawa would obediently withdraw.
While this was somewhat doubtful, Kanie had thought through various possibilities and discovered something like a trump card.
That was about Mrs. Saruzawa—the one rumored to have once been a tightrope walker girl.

Mrs. Saruzawa was a slender woman with an agile-looking build.
Her face was beautiful yet somewhat severe, evoking the image of a leopardess or something like it.
Kanie had long suspected that this Mrs. Saruzawa was a stubborn and jealous woman.
Saruzawa must undoubtedly be under this Mrs. Saruzawa’s thumb.
That’s the weak spot to target.
What Kanie had come up with was precisely that.
He had to effectively utilize this to crush Saruzawa’s philandering tendencies.

It seemed Kanie’s aim had splendidly succeeded.

This was a night two or three days later.

When he stopped by Violet on his way home from work, sure enough, that night too Saruzawa sat there in his arrogant posture, drinking nonstop.
Ever since that night, Saruzawa appeared to have taken up nightly residence there.
He was thoroughly drunk now, his face flushed crimson as he teased Kumiko.
How utterly carefree he must be, Kanie thought bitterly, biting his lip as he quietly settled into the seat beside him.

For about an hour after that, Kanie drank together with Saruzawa.
Because he had an ulterior motive, Kanie kept his cup count more moderate than usual.
The side dish was of course simmered flounder.
By this time, even if he stayed silent, Kumiko would bring this over.

It was on Hatakenaka Road, about two blocks from Violet on their way back, that Kanie initiated the formal negotiation with Saruzawa.
He suddenly said this:
"I love Ms. Kumiko."
"So I want you to back off."
"For one thing, I was here first."

Saruzawa was walking unsteadily along Hatakenaka Road under the thirteenth-night moon when, suddenly addressed in this manner, he turned around with a start.
However, his voice alone replied energetically.

“How could you possibly know who came first?”

"I've been here for six months already!"
"And I'm dead serious about it."
"Isn't yours just some fling?"

"What's this now?" Saruzawa squared his shoulders forcefully.
"You intend to restrict my freedom, huh."

“I don’t intend to restrict you.” Then Kanie pronounced each and every word clearly, measuring their effect.
“Anyway, I intend to discuss this matter with your wife too.”

Saruzawa stood silent and rigid like a pole.
"Got him," Kanie thought.
The fact that he couldn't reply immediately must have meant it had struck him as a significant blow.
That was because Kanie had drawn that conclusion.
However, Saruzawa soon regained his composure and burst into loud laughter.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but there was something oddly forced about its tone of bravado.

“Very well,” said Saruzawa amidst his laughter. “I see how serious you are. If you insist that much, I’ll back off. But there’s an exchange condition.”

“What’s the condition?”

“When you two marry, make me your go-between. That’s one condition.”

“Hmph.”
“There’s more?”

“That’s right.”
“That you’ll pay off all my debts at Violet.”
“Well, that’s about it then.”

This time, Kanie fell silent and stood rigidly like a wooden stake in the moonlight.
For a while, the shadows of the two men remained still, dark and heavy upon the cold, dry field soil.
The longer shadow belonged to Saruzawa, the shorter one to Kanie.
Eventually from the shorter shadow, a hand-shaped silhouette jutted out abruptly.

“Very well.”
“I accept.”

The reason Kanie hesitated was that he was calculating how accepting those terms and then being rejected by Kumiko would result in him losing the entire debt amount he’d been saddled with.
Then Saruzawa also thrust out his hand, and their palms were pressed firmly together.
Saruzawa said as if to confirm:

“You’ll make sure to pay off the debt, right?”

“I’ll pay it.
In return, don’t you dare set foot there again.”

Thus, the agreement was reached.
In the cold night air, in that moment, Kanie felt something akin to heroic exhilaration.
This man wasn't such a bad fellow after all.
I might even become friends with him.
He had genuinely entertained such thoughts to that degree.
It was as if the dark clouds overhead had been swept away—a refreshed clarity of mind he hadn't felt in ages.

Now, it was the evening of the following day.
Stopping by Violet and tipping back a glass, he casually inquired about Saruzawa’s debt amount, only to be told it had accumulated to a staggering twelve thousand yen.
Having expected it to be at most one or two thousand yen, Kanie was so thoroughly flustered that he dropped the simmered flounder he had been holding with his chopsticks right onto the dirt floor.

“Twelve thousand yen?!”

“Yes, that’s right. He’s been coming every night lately,” Kumiko answered puzzledly.
“Why do you care about such a thing? It’s someone else’s business.”

“That… that’s absolutely not someone else’s business!”

Kanie rolled his eyes wildly and lightly bit his lip. While looking at the foamy saliva bubbling at the corner of his lips, Kumiko gently asked again.

“Why isn’t it someone else’s business? Are you saying you’ll pay it?”

“The truth is, I am.”

“What reason could there be for that?”

Kanie looked down with a perplexed air and fell silent. A deep silence fell, and only the sound of the night wind passing through the eaves rustled softly, softly. Kanie’s downcast gaze had fallen onto the dimly lit dirt floor. There, the flounder he had dropped earlier—with a pitiful face as if it had been squashed flat—was quietly looking up at Kanie.

A sudden heat welled up in his gut, and Kanie abruptly lifted his face.
And as if driven from behind, he flushed his face fervently and began chattering away.

Late that night, Kanie Shiro wrote the following entry in his diary.

"I went to Violet at night and confessed my true feelings to Kumiko. Kumiko did accept this. Upon returning home, I felt somewhat drained. 'Is happiness truly such as this?'

In reality, he felt somewhat disappointed. Why he felt that way, even he himself couldn't clearly grasp. Then he, thinking and thinking all the while, continued writing.

'I believe this world is but a transient realm. It exists solely upon promises. That is to say, life is performance. For that too requires some stage machinery.'"

Somehow things became strangely convoluted, and since he himself could no longer comprehend what he was writing, he clicked his tongue and slammed the diary shut. Then, with a gloomy expression, he stretched mightily.

In fact, the antiquated style of these diary entries was an imitation of the writing style found in a certain literary master’s diary. He had recently been immersed in reading it at the lending desk and had fallen completely under its influence—that was the reason. However, expressing modern melancholy in this style seems to be a rather difficult task indeed.

Days passed, and it gradually grew warmer.

Since that time, Saruzawa Sasuke had admirably kept his promise and seemed to avoid stepping through Violet’s curtain.
At the same time, Kanie Shiro’s presence also ceased to frequent it as often as before.
This was because he had borrowed money from his workplace to pay off Saruzawa’s debt, resulting in deductions from his monthly salary that left him unable to scrape together drinking money.

When spring finally arrived, the two of them held a joyous wedding ceremony.
Even calling it a marriage was stretching things—it was merely a matter of Kumiko’s person, along with a single trunk, relocating from Violet to Kanie’s house.
It was an extremely simple affair.
The wedding ceremony was also held at the Kanie household, where they invited a small number of neighbors, and as promised, Saruzawa served as the matchmaker.
Saruzawa Sasuke had forgotten Takasago Ya, so instead he sang Kurama Tengu.
That passage from When blossoms bloom, I shall proclaim... from the mountain village.
In a remarkably sonorous voice, all those present seemed thoroughly impressed.

Thus began the life of Kanie and Kumiko.
However, that life lasted only about a year and a half before coming to an abrupt end.
This was because Kumiko had aggravated an early autumn cold, finally developed pneumonia, and all too fleetingly passed away.

In the face of this misfortune, Kanie grieved and lamented as a matter of course.
Because his tears flowed endlessly and parched his throat, he would drink water and cry, drink water and weep, wailing ceaselessly like an insect throughout the day.
Of course Kumiko’s death pained him, but what truly clawed and twisted at his chest was how peaceful domesticity had utterly abandoned him.
The man called Kanie was fundamentally one who perceived the world through such self-centered lenses.
Though his appearance suggested poverty, that very quality likely accounted for the tenacious air clinging to him.

"I was a good husband too—" he muttered from the depths of his sorrow.
"Kumiko was my good companion too."

Grief eventually turned to fatigue, he grew accustomed to that dreary weariness, and about a month passed.

One Sunday afternoon, while sorting through Kumiko’s belongings, a notebook emerged from the trunk. When he looked at the cover, it read “Fleeting Diary: Kanie Kumiko.” This appeared to be Kumiko’s diary. Seeing that handwriting, Kanie suddenly felt tears threatening to spill and hastily looked up at the ceiling or stared out at the scenery outside. After two or three minutes, he finally began turning the pages.

Upon reaching a certain page, Kanie’s previously animated expression abruptly stiffened as if frozen, his eyes tracing the same spot repeatedly. Soon, vague shades of doubt and confusion began drifting across his face.

III

"I love S."

That was what was written on that page.

"S comforts me in my unhappiness."
"Through that comfort, I can finally keep living."

Kanie, sensing an ominous pulse in his chest, continued reading onward.

Then, in the middle of the next page, the date changed,

“July 15th.”
Today was clear weather.

During the day, someone else’s black cat came and stole a flounder from the kitchen before running off.
“This marked the third time that cat had stolen something.”

Then leaving a line space,

"I like S's back."
S's back is broad and sturdy.

In the middle of that back lies a small brown birthmark.
The diameter must be about one centimeter.
Three curled hairs grow there.
When I hug him, my fingers brush against it.
That sensation.

The birthmark has expressions.
A sorrowful expression.
"A happy expression."

Leaving another line space, this time in a form resembling poetry,

The birthmark is at the center of the back.

“The birthmark is the back’s heraldic crest.”
“My love’s insignia.”

Because his heart pounded and his spine had begun tingling numbingly upward from its base, Kanie unintentionally let his gaze float into empty space.
His eyes rolled restlessly with unease—an utterly despondent expression.
Then as if startled by something unseen, he swept his gaze all around every corner of the room.

“I just can’t seem to understand it,” he muttered thickly under his breath.
“S.
What is S?”

Suddenly unable to bear it any longer, Kanie closed the diary in a great flurry and returned it to the trunk.
And after putting the trunk into the closet, he returned to the center of the room, shrugged his shoulders, and sat cross-legged.
Even so, he couldn’t shake his unease—that relentless feeling of being pursued refused to subside.

“Marriage.
What is marriage?
What was it?”

He groaned painfully.
Four or five days earlier, he had read in a philosopher’s book at the library that marriage was merely one form of human gregarious habit (gregariousness), and this suddenly came back to him.
Then he suddenly stood up, took something out from the desk drawer in the corner of the room, and slumped back down there.
That was Kanie’s own diary.

"It was definitely July 15th."

While muttering this, he busily flipped through the pages of his own diary.
When he opened to July 15th, he fixed his eyes intently on that spot.
There, it was written like this.

“July 15th.”
Clear.
A hot day.

On my way home, I met Usui-kun inside the train car.
When I got off the station holding my briefcase and hurried homeward along Hatakenaka Road, a gust of wind came and blew off Usui-kun’s boater hat.
Usui-kun, in a great fluster, chased after it.

“I was doubled over with laughter.”

On the same day I had been doubled over with laughter in ignorance, Kumiko had been fingering the birthmark on S’s back—that much I now understood.
With a pained expression, Kanie could not help but think so.
Then that seemingly gentle, dusky face of Kumiko rose in his mind with an impression different from before.
In his imagination, that face was smiling cheerfully.
Grief, anger, and pity filled his heart like a storm.
The pity was directed less toward Kumiko and more toward himself—the one who had been betrayed.

Ever since then, he would—when lost in thought or when spotting the letter S in printed text—abruptly recall that fact and bite his lip softly.
He couldn't consult with anyone or confide in them.
That was because it would only make his foolishness known to others.
In any case, I alone must ascertain S's true identity.
What is S?
So absorbed was he in these thoughts that he even overshot his train station.
What is S?

In this way, Saruzawa Sasuke’s existence had once again emerged as a knot of unease within his heart.

When exactly the letter S became linked to the image of Saruzawa Sasuke was something even Kanie himself couldn't quite grasp.
When he suddenly noticed, he realized that within his mind, he had been vaguely pondering while substituting Saruzawa Sasuke with the letter S.
Or perhaps it had become linked in a dream, and that connection had been carried over into his waking consciousness.
I feel like I had such a dream one night.
Thinking this, I tried probing my memory in various ways, but I simply couldn't recall it.
It remained unclear.

"But now that they've become connected—" he would think.
"At some moment, I must have clearly envisioned Saruzawa Sasuke in the depths of my consciousness."

Even if the basis for this assumption remained unclear, upon reflection there were various suspicious or dubious aspects to consider.
First of all, Saruzawa Sasuke's very name—in its phonetic resonance alone—seemed like a solid mass of S.
What an utterly S-like name—don't you agree? Kanie thought.
Moreover, there was the crucial fact that Saruzawa Sasuke had once been enamored with Kumiko.
That birthmark with three coiled hairs—that vulgar thing like some hot spring insignia—wasn't it clinging to Saruzawa Sasuke's back?

Thanks to having had Saruzawa serve as their matchmaker, the Kanie couple had grown quite close to the Saruzawas and had even begun visiting each other’s homes.
On Saturday nights, it had become customary for them to visit the Saruzawa household without fail and gather around the mahjong table.
They would play for small stakes, but Kanie was unskilled, so he always ended up losing.
However, Kumiko was quite skilled—or rather, she was lucky—and always took first or second place.
So for the Kanie household, there were more gains than losses, so to speak.

The Saruzawa couple—and especially Saruzawa Sasuke—were exceedingly kind to Kumiko.
When Kumiko took first place, Saruzawa would laugh cheerfully and praise her with repeated "Bravos."
However, even when Kanie fluked into first place, Saruzawa never praised him or laughed.
He would merely make a face that said "Hmph."

Even after they had grown close following Saruzawa serving as their matchmaker, looking back now, Saruzawa Sasuke had maintained a peculiar reserve toward Kanie.
In other words, it seemed that Saruzawa harbored something like a lingering resentment.
At that time, Kanie had not paid much attention to it.
He had thought Saruzawa must have been acting bashful.
There’s no way he could be jealous of me or harbor hatred toward me.
After all, I’d properly repaid the debt for him.
And 12,000 yen at that!

However, ever since Kumiko’s death, Saruzawa Sasuke had begun acting strangely—uttering oddly kind words and behaving with unwarranted familiarity toward him.
Even on the day Kumiko died, Saruzawa had come to his house and patted his back as he wept,

“Ah, go ahead and cry.
“Go ahead and cry.”
“Just cry and wash all that sadness away.”

With a saccharine, coaxing voice, Saruzawa had comforted him with such words.
Stimulated by those words, he sobbed all the more bitterly, but looking back now, he felt that the tone of those words had carried a certain superiority—that of the triumphant toward the vanquished.
Moreover, beneath that superiority, there seemed to lurk a certain malice.

“There’s something really suspicious about this guy!”

Even when sitting at the library’s checkout counter, because he was always thinking about such things, his reading efficiency showed no improvement at all.
And he would mutter under his breath.

“There must surely be a birthmark on Saruzawa Sasuke’s back.
And three curled hairs...”

Even though all the happiness he had believed in turned out to be an illusion, Saruzawa Sasuke showed no sign of unhappiness and appeared to live joyfully.
This filled him with vague detestation and envy.
In terms of interpersonal feelings, Kanie had completely reverted to his state when they first met at “Violet.”
Meanwhile, Saruzawa’s attitude toward him had grown oddly familiar and arrogant—different from during Kanie’s marriage.
It was nearly identical to how he had acted when they first became acquainted.
He would feign magnanimity while dismissively sniffing or play cunning jokes to unsettle him.
This grated on Kanie’s nerves and sowed nebulous suspicions.
One might call this meaningless hysteria from an aging bachelor.
Yet now the “S” in Kumiko’s diary pressed down upon his entire existence with ten thousand thunderbolts’ weight.

“At any rate, I have to see this bastard’s back just once.”

One Saturday evening while being treated to drinks at Saruzawa’s house, he found himself thinking this intensely.
Even after Kumiko’s death—adhering to prior custom—he had continued visiting the Saruzawa household every Saturday and partaking of their dinner and drinks.

This too needed urgent action.
He couldn’t afford to wait until next summer.

Beside the dining table, Mrs. Saruzawa was changing her child into pajamas.
With nights growing colder now, these were flannel sleepwear.
They bore a gaudy pattern matching Saruzawa’s tastes.
At that moment he glimpsed the child’s back—
a small unblemished expanse of skin that looked smooth and supple.
Immediately associating it with Saruzawa Sasuke’s back,
Kanie arrived at precisely that conclusion.

“His back is showing. Hurry and dress him, or he’ll catch a cold.”

Saruzawa cautioned Mrs. Saruzawa while holding a cup.
When Saruzawa uttered the word “back,” Kanie felt a faint shudder.

After a moment, Kanie deliberately cleared his throat and, placing his palm on his shoulder, rubbed it vigorously in circles as he spoke.

“Lately, my shoulders have been stiff.”

“Now that there’s no one to massage them for you, that’s a shame.”

Saruzawa replied lightly.
Saruzawa’s face, centered around his nose, had already grown quite red.
It was proof he was steadily getting drunk.

“I really hate the back. It’s utterly meaningless.”
“It’s truly meaningless.”

And Kanie obliquely steered the conversation toward the topic of backs.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, you see—”
Kanie thought for a moment. “The back occupies the largest surface area in the human body."
“It must account for about a quarter of a person’s surface area.”

“That’s true. It’s like Siberia on Earth.”

“And yet,” Kanie pressed on with growing intensity.
“When it comes to the back, it’s practically useless to humans.
“The only times we use our backs are when leaning against chairs and when sleeping.”
“Moreover, if you don’t sit on chairs and just sit properly, that’s all you need. And when sleeping, if you lie on your side, you can manage without using your back.”
“Then what’s the point of having a back?”

“But you see,” Saruzawa said with an elder-like composure.
“If humans didn’t have backs, don’t you think they’d be in trouble?
“Your stomach, liver, and ribs would be left completely exposed.”

“The back’s truly meaningless, I tell you,” said Kanie, using a sidelong glance to scrutinize Saruzawa’s demeanor. “For example, the stomach has a belly button—it has closure. But the back is completely flat and featureless—it has no center at all.”

Mrs. Saruzawa tittered beside them.
There, Kanie pressed on as if delivering a finishing blow.

“Though I suppose some people might have one. Like a mole, for instance—”

“That might be possible,” Saruzawa said with a bored look, letting out a small yawn. “By the way, you’ve seemed a bit thinner lately. I suppose cooking for yourself just doesn’t provide enough nutrition after all.”

Just when they were on the verge of addressing it, the conversation veered off in that direction, leaving the matter of the back unresolved. Kanie felt slightly disappointed. That stifled laugh of Mrs. Saruzawa’s had certainly seemed meaningful. Perhaps she had recalled her husband’s birthmark, he found himself thinking.

Around this night, Kanie’s living passion seemed to become clearly directed toward a single tangible goal. In other words, whether Saruzawa’s back bore a birthmark—that single point had become his sole focus. Isn’t it true that human passion shows a stronger tendency to coalesce around a single core rather than scatter here and there? For example, it’s akin to how a pearl oyster’s bodily fluid captures some foreign object and strives to form a pearl around it. Moreover, whether that foreign object be gravel or a shard of glass—anything will do as long as it has form. Is it not precisely this mechanism that allows humans to pour their passion into even the most absurd of things? To Kanie, S’s birthmark was precisely such a thing. Longing for his deceased wife, falsified happiness, his current drab daily life, vague jealousy toward worldly happiness—the chaotic sum total of all these coalesced densely around the phantom birthmark as its core. If only this birthmark issue could be resolved, everything else would simultaneously fall into place. Well, to put it another way—that was the mood he found himself in. Indeed, it was something akin to a religious sentiment.

“In any case, I must see Saruzawa’s back once.”

Winter was gradually approaching, and as people increasingly bundled up against the cold, opportunities to catch a glimpse of a bare back grew ever scarcer.
Regarding this, Kanie felt a peculiar impatience.
Or perhaps—in some unconscious corner of his mind—he was savoring that very impatience.
To know would mean an end—everything would conclude there.
That was precisely why within Kanie’s chest, even a reluctance to see Saruzawa’s back drifted faintly like a dim shadow.
Yet it remained something he had to see.
He had to strive to create every possible opportunity.
As his passion demanded.

Peacefully, uneventfully, the days passed by.

Around nine o'clock on a Saturday night, across the long brazier in the Saruzawa household's living room, Mr. and Mrs. Saruzawa were having this conversation.

“Mr. Kanie has become rather odd since his wife passed away, hasn’t he? There’s something unnerving about him now.”

“True enough. He’s always been somewhat peculiar, but these days he’s grown downright strange.”

“Perhaps the disappointment loosened a screw in his head. He keeps spouting such nonsensical things lately.”

“That glaring gaze of his is what’s strangest about him,” Saruzawa said. “Maybe we shouldn’t engage with him for a while.”

“But he’s the one coming over here.”

“That’s why we should scale back our hospitality."
“That man’s grown rather presumptuous.”
“We ought to teach him the world doesn’t indulge such naivety.”

Just then, the entrance clattered open, and with a voice calling “Pardon the intrusion!”, none other than Kanie Shiro entered.
It was a voice that sounded slightly buoyant.
He nonchalantly made his way into the living room.
He seemed slightly drunk.

“Oh, welcome!”

Mrs. Saruzawa answered in a friendly tone.
Saruzawa merely gave a slight nod and silently kept busying himself with a toothpick.
This was mainly to show Kanie that the meal had already ended.

“It’s cold,” Kanie said with a smile as he held his hands over the long brazier.
“It’s such a quiet, lonesome evening.”

“That’s right.
“If only there were someone like Ms. Kumiko,” Saruzawa answered, sticking a toothpick into his collar.
“This would be a good time to play mahjong, but...”

“With three people, it’s no good,” Mrs. Saruzawa added regretfully.
“And we can’t play mahjong either.”

“What a real shame,” Kanie chimed in.
“Then how about we play five-in-a-row instead?”

“I’d like to,” said Saruzawa.
“But there’s no go board.”

“Ah, right.
“Then you can play shogi, right?”

“Of course I can play.”
“Come to think of it, I’ve never played against you before.”
“I’d like to try a game sometime.”
“But you see—”

“We don’t actually have any pieces or a board,” Mrs. Saruzawa interjected.
“We should have bought a set.”

“I brought the pieces.”

Kanie smiled and took out a paper box from his pocket.
They turned out to be those crude shogi pieces sold at toy stores.
And then he had already spread out a paper shogi board on the table with a rustle.

Mr. and Mrs. Saruzawa briefly exchanged glances.
However, as Kanie began arranging the pieces with a patter, Saruzawa also slowly shifted his posture to face him.

“Now, how much shall we bet?”

Having seemingly made up his mind, Saruzawa said this in a challenging tone.

“Hmm, let’s see... I’ve grown tired of betting money too,” Kanie said as he finished arranging the pieces and glared at Saruzawa’s face. “Why don’t we bet something different tonight?”

“What do you mean by ‘something different’?”

“Well, for instance…”
Kanie pretended to ponder deeply for a moment before abruptly saying:
“How about something like the loser getting naked and showing themselves?”

“Naked?”
Saruzawa smirked smugly.
The moment he did so, he must have imagined Kanie’s naked appearance.
“That does sound interesting.”
“So you’ll dance then?”

“No—since it’s cold, we probably don’t need to dance.”
“Let’s just take a quick walk around the area instead.”

“Stop it! How ridiculous,” Mrs. Saruzawa interjected in a shrill voice. “Seeing your naked bodies wouldn’t interest me at all. Let’s just stick to two hundred yen per game instead.”

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Before Kanie could open his mouth, Saruzawa had already spoken, leaving Kanie to mumble wordlessly before reluctantly falling silent.
His face flushed crimson, his expression now one of having abruptly lost all interest.

Even so, Kanie first opened the bishop’s diagonal, Saruzawa pushed the pawn in front of his rook, and the battle began.
Both fell silent and moved the pieces intently.
As the piece formations changed, the fighting spirit of both men gradually seemed to intensify.
In particular, Kanie hunched his shoulders and took on an appearance that clearly spoke of a fierce struggle.

Mrs. Saruzawa took out her knitting needles and began knitting beside them.
The room was silent, and only the sound of moving pieces occasionally rustled.
When the sound abruptly ceased, Mrs. Saruzawa looked up to find Saruzawa Sasuke wearing a cunning smile that masked his bewilderment and frustration, alternately staring fixedly at the board and glaring at the captured pieces placed near Kanie’s hands.
His position seemed to be deteriorating.

Eventually, Saruzawa cast a sharp glance at Kanie’s captured pieces and spoke in a low voice for the first time.

“Mr. Kanie. Would you sell me that knight of yours for thirty yen?”

Kanie looked up as if startled.
He then surveyed the board, appearing to calculate something intently, but after a while answered resolutely.

“Very well.”
“But in exchange, cash.”

There, Saruzawa produced three 10-yen bills in one swift motion, purchased the knight, and snapped it onto the board.

A short while later, Saruzawa produced cash again and purchased Kanie’s silver general and pawn.
Then once again, he bought a lance for twenty yen.
As cash kept pouring in, Kanie smiled and handed over the captured pieces.

After that, about thirty minutes had passed.
When Mrs. Saruzawa looked up from her knitting again, Kanie now wore a grave expression sunk deep in thought, and she saw over ten captured pieces heaped into a mound near Saruzawa’s hands.
Saruzawa gazed smugly at the ceiling, exhaling rings of tobacco smoke with soft puffs.

“Mr. Saruzawa.”
Eventually, Kanie said in a somewhat frustrated tone.
“Could you let me have one of your knights?”

“Ah, sure.”
“Fifty yen.”

“Fifty yen?” Kanie widened his eyes in shock.
“That’s absurdly high.”

“That’s the going rate here.”

Saruzawa said nonchalantly.
Kanie hesitated for a moment but reluctantly handed over fifty yen and took the knight.

After that as well, the situation did not seem to improve much, and Kanie squirmed restlessly, each time buying lances or pawns.
Despite this, Saruzawa’s captured pieces seemed only to increase in number, and he organized them into neat rows, stacking pawns three high in piles.
This meant that one stack of pawns was thirty yen.

After that, the board changed drastically, and twenty minutes later, despite Kanie having bought several pieces in vain, his king was left nearly defenseless.
Kanie bit his lips, let out low groans, his head completely flushed so much that he seemed unable to clearly perceive his surroundings.
He glared fiercely at the board and asked in a groaning voice:
“How much for the gold general?”
Kanie’s king was in check, needing some powerful interposing piece.
Saruzawa thought for a moment before answering calmly.

“The gold general’s a bit pricey.
About 115 yen.”

“That’s outrageous.
Absurdly high.”

“Just following market rates.”

“Then tell me—what about the bishop?”

“The bishop is 140 yen, and the rook… let’s see… 165 yen.”
“The king—this isn’t a captured piece, but if I were to sell it, I’d let it go for around 250 yen.”

“What?”
“250 yen?”

As he spoke, Kanie glared spitefully at Saruzawa’s king.
As he stared, the king piece suddenly began to resemble Saruzawa’s face.
The impulse to snatch up that king piece and inspect its back flashed through Kanie’s chest—his hand nearly lunged forward of its own accord.
At that moment, Saruzawa’s calm voice returned.

“That’s right. It’s 250 yen. It’s the king, after all.”

Kanie seriously considered paying 250 yen to buy his opponent’s king piece, but since the match’s total stake was only 200 yen, he weighed the loss against the gain and finally held back.

Beside them, Mrs. Saruzawa let out an exasperated sigh as she yawned widely.

“Hasn’t this match been decided yet?”
“It’s quite a drawn-out match, isn’t it.”
“I think I’ll excuse myself to rest first.”

Kanie and Saruzawa’s Saturday meetings had generally been like this lately.
Given this state of affairs, it was rather unclear when Kanie would get to see Saruzawa’s back.

But perhaps Kanie should no longer look at Saruzawa’s back.
Even if there were a birthmark on Saruzawa’s back, Kanie would be unfortunate, and if there weren’t one, he would undoubtedly be even more unfortunate.
There are indeed things in this world that one is better off merely thinking or imagining rather than actually seeing.
"S’s back" was now undoubtedly one of them.
That is what I think.