Pathway to Japanese Literature

The first volume of the Terada Torahiko Essay Collection was published in the Iwanami Bunko series.
Edited by Mr. Komiya, this was the first volume of a five-volume collection.

At the beginning of this volume appears "Acorn". When compared with the first volume of the complete works, counting in chronological order of composition, the first eleven essays had been omitted, and the twelfth piece, "Acorn," was placed at the beginning. Of course, even from a purely literary perspective, both this "Acorn" and the subsequent "Dragon's Tongue" stand as works that deserve particularly high acclaim among Mr. Terada's writings. However, beyond that, this "Acorn" is a work of profound significance, and regarding its placement at the beginning of this collection, it seems to us that Mr. Komiya's feelings toward Torahiko can be discerned.

"Acorn" was published in April of Meiji 38 (1905), the same year Soseki's "I Am a Cat" first began serialization in Hototogisu, appearing as a short story in that very magazine.
It tells of Mr. Terada's first wife, who died young.

"On the evening of the 26th near year's end, my wife went out to the Shitaya Marishiten festival with the maid.
Returning past ten o'clock, she took kintsuba sweets and roasted chestnuts from her sleeve as souvenirs, gently placing them at the corner of the desk where I was reading my notebook before going to the bathroom; when she emerged shortly after and sat pale-faced beside the desk, she suddenly coughed up blood.
It wasn't only she herself who was shocked.
'Later,' she recounted, 'seeing all color had drained from my face at that moment made me even more disheartened.'"

This occurred at the end of Meiji 33 (1900). At this time, Mr. Terada was twenty-three years old and still a second-year student in the physics department of the Imperial University's College of Science. Having been raised as the only son of an old-established family in Tosa Kochi, Mr. Terada had married exceptionally young, both due to the customs of the time and his father's particular wishes. The year after entering Kumamoto Fifth Higher School, at age twenty, he married this Mrs. Natsuko. The wife was probably around fifteen years old.

Mr. Terada deeply loved his wife, so his anxiety was no ordinary matter. Moreover, when the maids heard it was tuberculosis, they asked for leave. As this was the era of Hototogisu, it wasn't a rare occurrence. However, fortunately, a conscientious maid named Miyo came to serve.

"Fortunately, she was kind-hearted and honest—though admittedly a bit absent-minded and prone to believing that tanuki could transform into people—but in any case, she faithfully nursed the patient, never grew angry when scolded, and occasionally made blunders."
She once dropped the water basin in the middle of the parlor, causing a minor flood, and another time fell asleep with the kotatsu's heating pan still lit, burning a hole about one shaku in diameter through the bedding down to the tatami mats.
"Nevertheless, even now, my sense of gratitude toward this Miyo has not diminished."

This Miyo appeared to be her real name. The February 1, Meiji 34 (1901) diary entry states: "Miyo returns. While carrying water in the hand basin, she dropped it in the kitchen, creating a flood." This was likely referring to that Miyo. This Miyo was the maid who, not long afterward at the end of February, accompanied Mrs. Natsuko back to her hometown of Kochi for convalescence.

Mrs. Natsuko's illness began gradually improving with the New Year's arrival. However, with her first childbirth approaching in May alongside this hemoptysis, one could not feel reassured. In the early January Meiji 34 (1901) diary entries, daily notes about the patient were appended.

January 1st: "The patient rose and celebrated zōni."

2nd: "The patient well."

3rd: "The patient well."

4th: "The patient has a headache.
"Her ankle joints also ache."

5th: "The patient remains unwell.
The patient lays a koto across the bedding and strums it.
She quickly closes the door and brings the meal utensils near the sickbed.
Outside, the sound of wind blowing.
A desolate night.
Talk of a dream.
"A story about tanuki tricking people"

6th: "The doctor comes for examination.
He states there are now absolutely no abnormalities...
I talk about Les Misérables and such."

7th: "I return and continue discussing Les Misérables.
The patient is in excellent condition."

While fluctuating between joy and despair over her illness’s unpredictable course, Mr. Terada remained meticulously attentive in his care.
On evenings when wintry winds howled outside,
he would carry meal utensils near her sickbed while she told tales of tanuki tricking people and he discussed Les Misérables.
Miyo—who believed such notions as tanuki transforming into humans—
must have been listening nearby to these conversations.

“The world had entered an auspicious New Year with continuing warm weather,”
he wrote.
“The patient gradually improved.
On windless days she would emerge onto the sunlit engawa to fold countless paper cranes or sew clothes for her cherished doll; on cloudy cold days she took to playing ‘Kurokami’ on her koto beneath the covers.
At times she’d voice plaintive complaints that troubled both Miyo and me.
My wife was already with child then—come May she’d face a woman’s great trial of first childbirth.
To compound matters,
they said this coincided with her nineteenth year,
the ‘great misfortune’ age.”

On nights when Miyo stayed over,
he’d sit at his desk listening to winter winds mingle with faint breathing from the adjacent room,
staring fixedly at his lamp while releasing long sighs.

The patient recovered surprisingly quickly, and by January 13th had even reached the point where "Natsuko got up and wiped windows and such."
It was a clear, cold day.
"Even if bird shadows fell upon the shoji screens, no one came.
[She] created a single artificial plum blossom and attached it to a dried branch in the garden."
"It seemed the gentle life had returned—one where she would take out her violin and practice 'The Harmonious Blacksmith.'"
For some time after that, there were no records of the patient in the diary.
She had probably been recovering smoothly.
And by January 30th，she had even reached the point of “buying a battledore (hagoita) and shuttlecock for Natsu.”

Had things remained like this, perhaps nothing would have happened.
However, it was there that an incident began—one that would leave a profound impact on both the life and character of Terada Torahiko.
It originated when his father, who harbored an extreme dread of Mrs. Natsuko's illness, conceived a plan to separate her from Mr. Terada for convalescence.
On January 31, Natsuko’s father visited and proposed: "How about returning to her hometown for Natsuko’s recuperation?"
A discussion ensued.
By February 2nd, matters progressed rapidly with reports that "the doctor came and expressed concerns about Natsu’s sea voyage," accelerating developments.

This return was carried out on February 22nd.
There remained twenty days until then.
The feelings of Mr. Terada—compelled to send his beloved wife alone to distant Kochi—remain preserved in his diary through entries like “finger wrestling with Natsu over the brazier” and “going to Asakusa with Natsu from midday.”
And the account of visiting the botanical garden to gather acorns—that forms this story’s central theme—also occurred during this period.
“From noon I took Natsuko to the botanical garden.
Before a certain temple in Tozakicho stood toburai carriages.
In the greenhouse bloomed unfamiliar flowers in profusion—beautiful.
Amusing how the one throwing stones at the frozen pond proved unexpectedly adult.
We gathered many acorns and returned.”

This day was Sunday, February 3rd, a clear day.

The essay "Acorn" contains a detailed account of this scene.

"Nevertheless, her condition was gradually improving."
On some tenth day of the month—a windless warm day—when I told her I would take her to the botanical garden now that I had obtained the doctor's permission, she became tremendously excited.
As we were about to depart and stepped down into the garden, she said, "Please wait just a moment while I fix my hair—it's too dreadful like this."
Tucking my hands into my sleeves, I sat on the veranda and surveyed the desolate little garden.
Last year's withered chrysanthemums remained as they had been uprooted, pitifully decaying.
Scraps of decorative paper or something similar had caught on them, trembling as if chilled despite the absence of wind.
By the water basin stood a plum branch bearing about two fully bloomed flowers.
When I drew near and examined them closely, I found artificial blossoms affixed there.
"It was likely the patient's little prank."

We entered through the gate of the botanical garden and proceeded up the wide, gently sloping hill.
"Gentle sunlight filled the vast garden, and the barren earth devoid of flowers or greenery lay quiet as if asleep."
When we entered the greenhouse, we were strongly struck by "the humid tropical air thick with vitality," where numerous "leaves of deep green speckled with vermilion" and "red flowers" stood lined up.

At the gazebo on the pond's islet, a refined woman in her thirties wearing glasses was letting a boy in a navy uniform and a small girl play. The navy-uniformed boy kept picking up pebbles and sliding them across the ice, creating a pleasant sound. On the bench was spread wrinkled hanshi paper, upon which lay a large piece of castella. “I’d love to have a girl like that,” my wife said, voicing an uncharacteristic wish.

This unprecedented matter was subsequently realized when, in May at her hometown convalescence residence, their eldest daughter Sadako *Acorn*—"Mitsubo"—was born.
And the theme of *Acorn* is composed of the story of the young wife gathering many acorns on this day and the story of her posthumous child "Mitsubo" gathering acorns in this same botanical garden five years later.

"We walked along beneath the cliff toward the exit."
There was nothing to see.
Later, my wife suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, acorns!” and plunged into the fallen leaves by the path.
Indeed, mingled with fallen leaves, countless acorns lay scattered upon the frozen soil beneath the cliff.
The wife crouched there and began gathering them earnestly.
Before long, her left palm was full.
I too picked up one or two acorns and threw them onto the outhouse roof across the way; they clattered as they rolled off the other side.
The wife took out a handkerchief from her obi, spread it on her lap, and earnestly gathered them.

“What on earth do you plan to do with all those acorns you’re gathering?” I asked. Laughing in amusement, she replied, “But isn’t gathering them fun?”
She had filled her handkerchief to the brim, carefully wrapped it up, and was tying it securely when I thought she might finally stop—but then she said, “Please lend me your handkerchief too.”
Finally filling my handkerchief with a good amount of acorns as well, she said in her carefree manner, “Let’s stop now and go home.”

February 21st—it was finally decided that tomorrow they would close up the house: Mr. Terada would move to a boarding house, while Mrs. Natsuko and Miyo would stay overnight at a relative’s home before embarking on their journey back to her hometown.
"I sent luggage to the boarding house.
Having paid the doctor, landlord, and others, when I realized this house too would end with tonight, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic."
Mr. Terada had been fond of this house in Nishikata-cho, so his sense of nostalgia must have been especially profound.

Mr. Terada had married during his higher school days, but his wife remained at home while he pursued his studies in Kumamoto, and even after entering university in Tokyo, she initially continued living alone in their residence. This must have been due to his father—a man of strict military bearing—being concerned about his only son’s well-being. Initially, she had been entrusted to a relative’s store in Ginza; later, she was moved to a room in an old, grimy temple in Yanaka. Even after becoming a second-year student and his wife coming to live with him, they rented a grimy back-alley annex in Aizomecho and were moved to the annex of an old moneylender woman in Nakaokachimachi. Mr. Terada himself remarked, “I led quite a nomadic life.” They had finally secured the house in Nishikata-cho, moved in, and just when he thought they had at last begun life in Yamanote, his wife fell ill and died. He once reflected: “Why did we keep wandering through such unsanitary, unpleasant places? It infuriates me now when I think about it.” He had said, “For a long time, passing before that house filled me with unpleasant feelings, but lately I’ve finally become able to bear it”—this “lately” referring to the early Shōwa period, twenty-five years after the era of Acorn.

After seeing off his wife and Miyo, Mr. Terada went as far as Hamamatsu.
There he met with his father, entrusted both of them to his care, and departed on the 6:00 a.m. train the following day to return to the capital.
He returned by rickshaw from Iidamachi to the boarding house in Hongo 5-chome,
and from that day on, Mr. Terada's lonely boarding house life began.
Though a telegram arrived stating that Natsuko and the others would depart by ship from Kobe that evening, Mr. Terada had no choice but to pray alone on his cold boarding house floor: "May even Wadatsumi deign to protect this helpless child."

On the sunny Saturday afternoon of March 2nd, though the plum blossoms were fully open, Mr. Terada felt lonely.
While going to the doctor in Nishikata-cho, he passed by peeking at the back of his former residence—"the fence remained broken"—which stirred profound emotions.
That evening: "Sent Shōnen Sekai to Natsu."

The following Sunday, he headed out to visit Takesaki, but as it was drizzly and cold, he went toward Ueno Hirokoji instead. Having run out of geta, he bought new ones.
On a drizzly day when Mr. Terada had run out of geta, as he passed before Kiritoshi's Furniture Shop, the storage chest he had sold off days prior still sat on display with its handle detached.
The memories only intensified.
In Mr. Terada’s life, this brief period in Nishikata-cho might have been his only genuinely happy memory.
For thirty years thereafter, Mr. Terada’s reputation only continued to grow, but the teacher who "played finger sumo with Natsu over the hibachi" seemed to have vanished from that time onward.

The wife who had returned to Kochi was not staying at the Kochi residence either, but continued her convalescent life alone at Tanesaki on the nearby coast.
Her existence there found sole comfort in exchanging letters with Tokyo.
Nevertheless, May brought the safe birth of their eldest daughter.
On the 26th, when Mr. Terada received that telegram, he recorded this verse in his diary:

"May you have fortune and shine bright as peach saplings' young leaves."

This firstborn daughter Sadako was soon taken from her mother's arms to be raised at the Terada family home in Kochi on a wet nurse's milk.
A child born without knowing maternal tenderness.
The nineteen-year-old wife found herself separated from husband, family, and newborn alike - left solitary with breasts aching from milk engorgement.
She could only pour this anguish into letters.
June 9th: "Clear."
Registered mail arrived from his hometown.
Another letter came from Natsu.
Each time her milk swelled, she wrote of how joyful she would feel could she but nurse with this milk.
He read Myōjō.

Twenty years of thy worldly dream had been bitter.
"Laugh, sulk, read love poems"

In Mr. Terada’s diaries from around this time, the names appearing with frequency equal to Mrs. Natsuko’s were those of his friends from Tosa First Middle School days: Mr. Mazaki Junchi and Mr. Takesaki.
In Mr. Kobayashi Isamu’s *Recollections of Terada Torahiko*, there is a transcript of Mr. Mazaki’s remarks.
Although Mr. Terada was not by nature one to openly express his emotions, it is said there were times when he would confide his anguish to Mr. Mazaki and others, saying, "Mazaki, the old man says such things."

“Though I never met Mrs. Terada myself, I heard she was an exceptionally beautiful and refined woman.”
“She was General Sakai’s daughter from Tosa—he commanded a division—and since Mr. Terada’s father was also military men, that’s likely how their match came about.”

When Mrs. Terada fell ill—this being an era when pulmonary diseases were greatly feared, the age of *Hototogisu*’s Takeo and Namiko—Terada’s father refused to let them live together, given his son’s delicate constitution and status as precious only heir.
“So the father came to retrieve her, and Mrs. Terada ended up returning alone to Tosa to convalesce at that coastal place called Tanesaki.”

“Terada was unbearably lonely, so he’d come over on the pretext of bad weather,”
“or claim the wind was blowing to visit.”
“When we asked why he came on such days, he’d simply say ‘Because I wanted to.’”

“I still recall it clearly.”
“At Aokido, the three of us would watch the rainy streets darken through the windows—even carefree Takesaki and I found ourselves growing somber.”
“How much more acute must have been the anguish of one who’d sent his ailing wife to live alone far away, himself separated from family?”
“Terada couldn’t endure leaving her in solitude.”
“He longed to comfort her personally.”
“He felt so desperate he wanted to commit shinjū, yet circumstances forced their separation.”

Mr. Mazaki would later recount memories of Mr. Terada from that time: "Even now, I sometimes recall how Terada would appear on those wretched rainy or snowy days, thoroughly drenched through and through."
The "even now" here referred to thirty-five years after Mr. Terada’s passing—that is, thirty-five years after the era of *Acorn*.

This life of appearing at friends' boarding houses "soaked through and through" finally came to an end when summer vacation arrived.
On June 28th, he purchased some dried grapes at Aokido and returned to Kochi with them as gifts; however, no records remained from the summer vacation period.
And it was only on the day when his vacation had ended and he was to return to Tokyo the next day that he finally resumed his diary.
September 3rd: "As I was to depart tomorrow but felt heavy-headed and unwell, I requested Dr. Katayama's examination and was informed it was apex catarrh."

Due to this illness, Mr. Terada took a one-year leave of absence from university and relocated to Susaki Beach for convalescence.
The wife remained in Tanesaki while Mr. Terada stayed in Susaki—thus began their separate lives of recuperation.
Through sparse letter exchanges alone were they permitted to comfort one another.
Mr. Terada would occasionally return to the Kochi residence.
Yet the infant Sadako—whom neither father nor mother properly knew—only deepened his melancholy.
October 20th: “Sadako has fever; crying persists.”
“The ceaseless child discerns no east or west.”
“Does she know me as father?”
“Where stands mother? Shore pines whisper.”
This inward-turning nature that increasingly characterized Mr. Terada’s later years likely owed as much to circumstance as to innate disposition.

In Tanesaki, the wife's condition did not appear particularly grave.
"A letter arrives from Natsu in the evening: 'On the second of next month at Hama's autumn festival, I have been entrusted with much sewing work,' she writes." "The wife of Takesaki from Hama comes."
"Natsu had gone matsutake digging today"—that was all that had been recorded.
Her daily routines seemed generally unremarkable.

Mr. Terada's apex catarrh likewise showed no severity warranting grave concern, and he passed time shuttling between Susaki and Kochi in what amounted to leisurely convalescence.
Had both been fully bedridden, one might have accepted their separation—yet despite these mild symptoms, they were compelled to live apart solely through the dread invoked by the word 'tuberculosis'.
November 26th: The diary preserves an account of Mr. Terada's figure being drawn toward Tanesaki during his boat journey from Susaki back to Kochi.
"As we entered Funaura Port and passed before Zatsuonoba, there stood upon Tanesaki's shore a woman bearing resemblance to Natsu."

When Mr. Terada returned to Kochi, it seems his wife would occasionally come out from Tanesaki as well.
November 9th: “Natsu comes, brings sardines.”
“She left quickly.”

November 29th: “Natsu came.”
She brought Mr. Mazaki’s photograph.
All who have departed dwell in sorrow.
“She returned in the evening.”

It seems she would typically leave immediately without staying over.
Still, during New Year's she did come from Hama to stay one night after all, and on the occasion of Sadako's first Doll Festival, there were also fleeting moments of happiness when she unusually stayed two nights and sewed garments meant to hang on the dolls' racks.

Under such circumstances, it was only natural that letters became their sole comfort.
In Mr. Terada’s diary appeared nearly daily entries such as "Write letter to Natsu," "Send long letter to Natsu," and "Edit and send Natsu’s diary to Hototogisu."
From his wife came messages stating "my present circumstances resemble autumn leaves at the water's edge," along with news of their friend Mr. Mazaki—who had succumbed to the same illness—and his pitiful tale.
"Though childbirth had occurred the day before her death, the child being premature from the outset did not survive."
The remains were placed in a single coffin and buried—so wretched one could scarcely bear to look.
Were one to say the grave lies just before Daiba, free of insects, moonlight at night would fall upon shore-familiar pine shadows and newly erected marker posts.
Human tears meant to moisten the sand became involuntarily mournful.
In days past with Natsu, sleeves fluttering—there stood one fishing beneath the wharf’s evening sun.
"A child unseen by father, embraced by a world where even a mother like a bagworm cannot see—sleeping in cold shadows beneath pine waves. Ah, cruel world!"

The New Year passed, February ended, and when March arrived, Mr. Terada’s health steadily recovered.
However, his wife appeared to remain in much the same condition as before.
Alone on Tanesaki’s coast—where her circumstances were “like autumn leaves at the water’s edge”—
it was only natural that her health showed no satisfactory improvement.

With March came the first appearance of the word “religion” in the diary.
“In the morning wrote to Natsu and spoke of religious matters.” “Sent Comfort for Christian Believers to Natsu.” “Obtained a New Testament at a church.”
“To send to Natsu.”
Entries such as “Afternoon visit from Ryo for more religious discussion” and “Evening visit to Kochi Church” followed in quick succession.
Around this same period appeared entries like “Discussed the evils of the current family system” and “Visited Dr. Kusuume at Kusunoki Hospital—postoperative progress favorable, younger brother also present.”
Thus did even the gentle Mr. Terada finally seem to develop a critical eye toward those two lives rendered unbearably tragic—discussions ranging from Kunikida Doppo’s Hototogisu story to critiques of contemporary family structures and religion having apparently opened his perspective.

With April's arrival, Mr. Terada recovered his health sufficiently to leave Susaki and return to Kochi. Natsuko's condition had also significantly improved around this time; when she came to Kochi for Sadako's first Doll Festival on April 10th and stayed unusually for two nights to sew "garments meant for the doll racks," she underwent a medical examination at Katayama during her return journey. The results showed marked improvement, kindling hopes for their future. Yet when Sadako's birthday arrived on May 26th, an entry noted: "Natsu had not yet shaken off her cold and therefore did not come." As June began, her health showed signs of deterioration. On June 10th came the notation: "Aunt Yasooka returned from Hama." Natsu's fever persisted unabated, accompanied by reports of abdominal pain during febrile episodes. A final entry recorded: "Their Excellencies will depart for Hama tomorrow morning."

Not a single entry in Mr. Terada's diary recorded his having gone to "Hama" in Tanesaki.
Though tormented by news of her worsening condition, with only Their Excellencies going in his stead to visit, Mr. Terada had been forbidden from appearing at the bedside of the 'tuberculosis' patient.
The anguish of his heart during that interval found expression only in a single phrase scribbled in the diary's margin: "Lord, grant me tears."
And the next day: "In the morning, Their Excellencies departed for Tanesaki.
In the evening, they returned.
'Natsuko's illness was reported as nothing serious'—there had been nothing to do but take comfort in this fleeting reassurance."

Into this situation came July, bringing an incident that further tormented this ill-fated patient.
It was the July 25th decision: "Tuberculosis patients shall no longer be permitted residence in Tanesaki."
"Father went from Tanesaki to Nagahama to investigate houses." "There was reportedly a house for sale at the border between Tanesaki and Niida."
"They had also ordered a Nagahama carpenter to prepare estimates for new construction," suggesting extensive deliberations.
Yet Mr. Terada could do nothing but watch passively.
At home, when Sadako begged him to play ball, he would go to the garden and throw it onto the roof to catch.
That night came the diary entry: "Around nine o'clock, Natsu returned with the Takesaki housewife.
They decided she could no longer stay in Takesaki.
Natsu appeared severely emaciated and weakened.
'That too was inevitable.'"

The next day: "Father borrowed a house in Urado that he had prearranged through consultations from Tanesaki early in the morning; Natsu headed there from the afternoon."
Just when they thought matters had finally settled, a day later, the Takesaki housewife came from Hama to report that the house they had moved into two days prior was originally a rental property and that the landlord had filed a complaint.
Such events could not help but affect this pitiful patient both mentally and physically.

August 11th: "Stormy weather. I thought of the thatched cottage at Katsurahama."

August 13th: “I was attacked by morning dreams and wept.” “A postcard arrived from Natsu.
'Since the day before yesterday she had been experiencing nausea, and reports of difficulties had come.'
'I went to Dr. Katayama to inquire about Natsu’s condition; it was reported that she would likely weaken.'
The circumstances grew increasingly urgent.
Father would frequently go to Katsurahama.
And then, 'Around nine o'clock in the evening, Father returned home.
It was reported that "Natsu’s nausea had subsided and her progress was favorable."'

Summer vacation was drawing to a close, and Mr. Terada’s year-long leave of absence had expired; the time for his return to school was approaching.

On August 21st, to exchange parting words, Mr. Terada visited the sickbed at Katsurahama for the first time.
Father was also with him.
"From noon, Father and I went to Katsurahama and visited Natsu."
"It was reported that she was gradually recovering."
"Natsu was not as weakened as I had feared.
Playfully, I sketched in my sketchbook her figure with a handkerchief wrapped about her neck.
At our parting, when I saw the disheveled bulge in my coat's pocket—" and here the diary abruptly ends.
In its margin, the words "Last interview!!!" added afterward remain etched in sorrow.

Having concluded this final interview, Mr. Terada departed for Tokyo.
However, by the end of August, the university had not yet opened.
"He proceeded to the school in Hongo.
The doors were closed, with no sign of people."
And so, unusually, Mr. Terada sojourned for about a week in Enoshima and Zushi from the beginning of September.
It was during this time that he visited Professor Minoda’s house mentioned in the essays and had it looked after.

As a third-year university student, Mr. Terada embarked on his research experiments, and a considerably busy life began.
The letters to Mrs. Natsuko also seemed to have become somewhat less frequent than before.
However, it seems her presence never left his thoughts.
"While thinking that a letter from Natsu might not arrive today, I visited Viscount Tanaka at Koishikawa Bashō-an. He was at home. We toured the mansion under construction."
"I returned after four o'clock."

A letter from Natsu arrived.
“Wrote a reply,” “In the morning wrote a postcard to Natsu and went to high school to play the organ,” and “A photo arrived from Natsu.”
Entries such as “Read Thomson’s Dynamo at night” were recorded every three or four days.
The condition appeared to be gradually yet steadily worsening.

The diary that had been kept up daily since September showed three days of blank entries starting October 13th. Then on the 16th came the report: "Natsu's illness has taken a favorable turn and there is no longer cause for concern." He had written, "Though her condition deteriorated severely over recent days with daily reports from Father, it was said there was no longer any danger." In those blank diary pages, Mr. Terada's figure seemed vividly visible - tormented by each paternal update. The diary resumed as he delivered "the promised violin score" to Mr. Tamaru Setsurou, stopped by the high school to play piano, and strolled as far as Mikawashima. Yet after three days, another gap appeared, lasting about nine days. Then in the November 15th entry below a terse line reading "Science University Alumni Meeting," a pencil notation followed: "Natsu passed away at ten o'clock in the evening." This was a daily-use diary with printed maxims in its upper margins. By chance, that day's maxim read: "Only virtuous deeds remain noble after death." Beneath these words remained a wavy line drawn by Mr. Terada's hand.

The following November 16th: "At four o'clock in the morning came news of Natsu's critical condition.
At six o'clock next came the report of her last breath. At twelve o'clock, I departed on the express train from Shinbashi.
Sakai Ryōjō was escorted here.
Last night, upon returning from the gathering and preparing to retire, I experienced a sudden restlessness in my chest—realizing it coincided precisely with the hour of Natsu’s final moments.
Before the second telegram of that morning had yet arrived, the crows at dawn cawed noisily on the roof."
Having completed the burial on the 19th, he returned to Tokyo within a week.
From then on, his visits to Mr. Mazaki and Mr. Takesaki mentioned in Recollections of Terada Torahiko became increasingly frequent.
"In the evening, I visited Takesaki, went together to a Western-style restaurant in Kagurazaka, and spoke of matters concerning the deceased until past nine o'clock."
"I arrived at Takesaki and Mazaki as usual, went out from Ueno to Mansei, and dined at Seiyoro in Kagurazaka.
I then went to the lodging of Mr. Mazaki’s younger brother next to Warashibe Store, where our conversation shifted from legal matters to a debate on the immortality of the soul, and returned home at midnight."
It appeared that a lifestyle of 'arriving at the lodging past one o'clock' continued for quite some time.

December 24th: "Tonight, Natsu’s spirit transfer ceremony was to be conducted from eleven o’clock."
In the margin.

Communing with the departed soul—the midnight drizzle at the window.

The conclusion of "Acorn" was tied in the following chapter.

"The wife who delighted in gathering acorns was no longer here. Upon the grave's soil, moss flowers had bloomed several times over. When acorns fell in the mountains, falling leaves would descend with the cry of bulbuls. In February of that year, I took Mitsubo - who had turned six - to this botanical garden, letting her gather acorns as we once did. Whether something like heredity could manifest in such trifling matters, Mitsubo found it immensely entertaining. Every five or six acorns collected, she would come running breathlessly to my side and toss them into the handkerchief spread within my hat. Peering into the growing hoard with flushed cheeks, she made a face brimming with delight as though melting from joy. The undeniable visage of her mother peered fleetingly from some corner of that innocent countenance, summoning faded memories of bygone days. 'Daddy! Big acorn! This one and that one and that one - all big acorns!' she exclaimed, grubby fingertips poking each rounded head amassed in the hat. 'Big acorn, tiny acorn, all clever little acorn-chans!' she sang in a nonsensical nursery rhythm, skipping about as she resumed her gathering. I gazed fixedly at that guiltless profile, thinking deeply that while there could be no harm in this child inheriting all my late wife's flaws and virtues - her love of acorns, her skill at folding paper cranes - the one thing I desperately wished never to repeat was her mother's tragic fate that had been wretched from beginning to end."

After the spirit transfer ceremony was completed, following a day's interval, the professor went on an excursion from Okitsu to Shuzenji for several days.
It was during this brief excursion that his immersion in Rayleigh's *The Theory of Sound* began.

The New Year's Day of Meiji 36 was spent at a Tokyo boarding house.
"In the warmth, the first sunlight was gently beheld"—a fine day it was.
Yet "the events of last year’s New Year came flooding back"
were recalled.
Enduring unpleasantness while continuing an unhygienic "wandering" life in the lower town, he had finally been able to spend his first New Year with Mrs. Natsuko in a house they had come to favor in Nishikata-cho.
Yet by that time already, an incurable malady had taken root within the young wife’s body.
That "the events of last year’s New Year came flooding back" stood as no unreasonable occurrence.

Painful yet beautiful memories gradually took on a soft haze as days passed.
On Sunday, April 5th—bathed in bright spring sunlight—he went to the botanical garden with Takesaki. The greenhouse contained countless rare flowering plants.
The cherry blossoms too were at their peak.
Hyacinths blooming riotously in red, white, and purple appeared even more beautiful.
"The garden's enduring splendor—seeds recalling people of old remain plentiful."

A beautiful gauze curtain had settled over these memories.
To this transformation likely contributed Mr. Soseki's return from London that January and the renewed frequency of visits to his home.
Added to this were the intensifying demands of graduation experiments; he read books voraciously and plunged deeper into physics.

During this period, relations between Japan and Russia gradually deteriorated, and finally in the following year of Meiji 37 (1904), war broke out.
The professor was supposed to specialize in experimental physics in graduate school, but initially involved himself more in geophysical work.
And in February of the Russo-Japanese War's outbreak during Meiji 37 (1904), he conducted research on Atami's geysers together with Professor Kotaro Honda.

Mr. Natsume Soseki too was living a life centered on 'I Am a Cat' that had little relation to the war.
On January 2nd of Meiji 38 (1905), when the nation was abuzz with news of Port Arthur's fall, Professor Terada was invited to Mr. Mizobuchi's home for toso sake and broke one of his front teeth biting into a shiitake mushroom.
"I Am a Cat" began serialization in Hototogisu this January.
And 'Acorn' appeared in the same Hototogisu that April.

The fact that "Acorn" had been written likely indicated that bitterness had already faded from memories.
And in August of that year, the professor was married to Mr. Hamaguchi Masumi's daughter Hiroko.
Through life with Mrs. Hiroko, the professor appeared to have regained happiness.
On days when the professor could not maintain his diary, Mrs. Hiroko would sometimes write in his stead.
November 16th (Hiroko's note): "Today being the fifth memorial of Sadako's late mother, we performed a ceremony in spirit."
December 19th: "Since last night Master has shown signs of a cold and took leave from school." Such was the wife who would write these words.

However, this wife too passed away in Taisho 6 (1917), when the professor was forty years old.

“Mitsubo” had been raised entirely at her grandparents’ home in their native Kochi, remaining under their care until the Kochi residence was vacated in Taisho 3 (1914).

"Mitsubo," who had returned to her father’s care for the first time upon entering girls’ school, saw off the passing of Mother Hiroko, nursed the professor through his two-year convalescence that began with a hemorrhage, and then married.
However, within a few years she was widowed and remained in her marital home to raise her surviving child.
This situation embodied how he had "desperately wished not to let this child repeat her mother's fate that had been wretched from beginning to end."
To the professor who had cherished this wish, it appeared to have been a grievous blow.
In his later years, the professor seldom spoke of Mitsubo.
Even when the subject rarely arose, he would habitually divert the conversation with but a word or two.
(22, 11, 15)