Pathway to Japanese Literature

Because there was no fire lit, Keisuke and I got into bed together.
Having talked since morning, once in bed we fell silent; I lay on my back with both hands placed over my eyes and gazed upward.
Keisuke too held out both hands.
I tried pressing my hands against Keisuke’s large palms.
“Cold?” Keisuke silently enveloped my hand within his large palm.
The rain falling since morning had settled me into calmness.
I felt no inclination to do anything.
Like dew on grass, that man’s glimmering heart made my own leap inexplicably.
We intertwined our fingers and stretched out comfortably to gaze at the ceiling.
Rain lashed sideways against the glass window.
With a plink-plink like water overflowing a stone basin, rain ran along the gutter while the sky hung dimly yellow-gray, heavy with moisture.
The maid had said Mount Fuji could be seen beyond the window on clear days, but arriving at this inn last night in the rain, Fuji remained hidden.
During the war years, this inn had likely served as a dormitory—in its unchecked decay, tatami mats soiled and futon heavy.
We had come recklessly all the way to Kōfu.
Though we’d haphazardly found this hot-spring inn to stay at, such a squalid room ultimately didn’t trouble us two.
—I was carrying Keisuke’s child.
I wore a coral-colored nightgown.
Its wide seams made this pregnant woman’s unsightliness surprisingly inconspicuous.
As if reminded, Keisuke would occasionally press his ear to my belly and listen for the child’s breath within the womb.

Keisuke had a wife.
I too had a husband.
And yet, though the war had ended, our oppressive circumstances showed no sign of crumbling—no connection to this war whatsoever.
In a few months' time, I would have to make preparations to give birth to the child.

Morning and noon passed without us eating proper meals, yet we didn't particularly feel hungry.
Even for a little while, we wanted to hold on to each other and endure the fate that was rapidly closing in.
It was a feeling of wanting to cling tightly together.
I thought that even if just for this moment, God might take pity on our honest, radiant hearts.
Casting aside the dark anxiety that accompanies a rendezvous, I found myself able to remain calm with bright-hearted ease.
We occasionally told jokes and laughed.
There was no time for making judgments.
Nor any desire to thoroughly carry through such thoughts.
It felt like those strange moments of calm when one thinks—even in prison, there must be times when joy exists purely in the heart.
Even were we to tumble into a valley, there remained this warm contentment as if we could laugh together.
Believing that such a relationship as ours could only meet an unfortunate end, yet knowing that fretting over its arrival was unbecoming of people our age—this very thought brought me calmness. It brushed against me.
I thought I was happy.
I decided that was enough.
What reason could there be to ask for more?
What justification could there possibly be now for how we two had come to this...

Though it appeared disordered, between us existed an orderly structure.
Though it was nothing to boast about—this orderliness born from our timidity—we never once entertained the thought of believing in sweet miracles.
For we had imprinted deeply upon our hearts that one must sink before finding shallows to rise...

Immorality, infidelity, swindler—from society's perspective, such epithets would likely be hurled at us.
Yet we remained calmly nestled together, always smiling serenely. Because it was no mistake.
If one were to speak of mistakes, rather, it was my seven years of married life that seemed the true error to me.
There exists nothing to judge these thoughts save wind and air.

I had no intention of marrying Keisuke.
If the time came for us to part, that too would be unavoidable—but…
We felt certain we wouldn’t separate in some cruel way.
I resolved to raise the child robustly until they gained awareness of the world, then let them go wherever they chose.
Unlike a younger woman, I wasn’t tormented by winding alternate paths.
I simply loved Keisuke.
That alone filled me completely.

The two of them could meet whenever they wanted, but there were times when they went about two months without seeing each other.
Even when they went long periods without meeting, there was a trust that if they called out to each other, they could meet immediately.
For the two of them, there was no gloom of being haunted by past phantoms.
Such trifling play with words—like toying with playthings—was something they could not engage in.
They couldn’t even speak of prying into each other’s lives.
Keisuke often smoked cigarettes.
As someone who didn’t smoke, I always carried matches with me.
That alone became my means of recalling Keisuke.
While working in the kitchen, I lit a match.
I gazed at the flame for some time.
Like Venus spinning swiftly along its orbit, a tender affection welled up within me.
Within that memory’s flame, Keisuke was always nestled snugly.
The human heart’s ultimate depths—exactly like celestial bodies’ appearance—give the illusion that everyone has seen through them. Yet I feel there still remain unexplored voids: unspoken mysteries that make me disbelieve in worldly success’s morality.
Though there may be beginnings, I reject human knowledge whose endings vanish like meteor tails—swiftly disappearing into shadowed realms.

“What time do you think it is?”

Placing my hands—which Keisuke had been gripping—on my chest as if to arrange them there, I lay prone and pulled the wristwatch by the pillow toward me.

“It’s strange we don’t eat much.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s three o’clock.”

“What should we do?”

“I’ll go scout around town for a bit. If there’s anything to be had, I’ll buy provisions.”

Keisuke got up and changed clothes.
At such a height that his back seemed to reach the ceiling, he appeared comical.
He went out into the hallway but, announcing he had forgotten his wallet, came right back.

“Silly.”

“Yeah.
“It’s your fault…”

“Don’t lose your wallet.”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

Keisuke went out.

The connection that Keisuke was a surgeon and I was a patient made it lonely that we shared not a single mutual friend—but now conversely, having no common acquaintances had even become our happiness.
Though he was an unremarkable town doctor without a doctoral degree, Keisuke worked diligently yet remained free from any ambition to pursue honor.
He made no effort to embellish his appearance and possessed an unassuming temperament; several women had loved him before.
I heard he graduated from Kyushu Medical University and spent some time in Singapore.

But I didn't care about Keisuke's past or anything like that.
I had naturally come to love Keisuke.
At first, I thought he was a rough-spoken man.
That roughness made me angry.
Because of that, I instead began quietly observing Keisuke.
He was meticulous and considerate in his work, yet spoke in such a crude manner.
Strangely, I dreamed of Keisuke two days in a row.

In a hotel in foreign mountains we had never visited—in a room of a deep-mountain hotel where mist seemed to swirl—we were having a meal by lamplight. Keisuke sat beside me, while two soldiers dined ahead of us. The next night, when I quietly opened the door while searching for Keisuke’s room, he shouted “Who’s there?” in a booming voice. Though it was such an innocuous dream, its lingering shadow tormented me long afterward. In reality, whenever we met, Keisuke wielded a sharp tongue. He was three years younger than me—thirty-four—in his prime working years. During the war, he had maintained a practice in Aoyama until an air raid burned his house down; he then evacuated his family to his hometown in Himeji while remaining alone in Tokyo to work in the surgery department of S Hospital in M Ward. I often teased him with “Your chloroform worked wonders, didn’t it?”—and though Keisuke was usually caustic, he would blush and smile whenever I said this.

Since coming together, they realized how surprisingly powerless past experiences were, and only the two of them felt a kind of joy as if they had suddenly been born together from the air.
I thought that the mystery of Adam and Eve might express this love’s essence.
Long ago in my father’s study—where I once saw Leda embracing Venus in an alluring pose that left my heart rippling for days—I now sometimes find myself entranced by how Keisuke’s hands resemble Leda’s wings.
Passion takes form like water-filled seas—brimming to their very edges.

My husband had seen through my heart. Though he said nothing, he clearly showed signs of knowing through his actions.
However, he did not ask who the other person was.
I found it unpleasant to speak of Keisuke.
My husband was getting on in years and had been a bank employee for twenty years with regular duties.
After the war, he would talk about stories such as there being one individual in Tokyo and three in Osaka who possessed assets of a hundred million yen, or third-country nationals who came inquiring about wanting to establish banks with six billion yen all to themselves.
He would get indignant at claims that this inflation wouldn’t subside unless they implemented new yen restrictions two or three times over, or at plans like deposit premiums—all serving as proof that the government had lost public trust.

A life full of expectations and ambition was something entirely foreign to my husband’s nature, and I used to think his daily existence resembled a bronze statue.

About thirty minutes later, Keisuke returned with eggs, sausages, and Coppé bread.
The hem of his suit was thoroughly soaked.
When I saw the eggs, I felt nauseated.
Putting my hand to my forehead revealed a vague warmth.
Keisuke poured pink Ovestin granules into his palm and brought them to my lips.

“Your face looks pale.”

“Yes, it feels swollen.”

Having been given lukewarm tea, Keisuke was chewing Coppé bread listlessly.
As I watched him eat like that, I felt with piercing clarity how our wretched decline into ruin carried an unexpected freshness akin to evening glow.

I got up and sat before the dressing table.

The stocky torso looked awkward.
The lower abdomen suddenly grew heavy and sank; the muscles in both legs cramped, and for a while I couldn’t move.

“What’s wrong?”
“The muscles in my legs hurt.”
“It must have come on suddenly…”

“I wonder if this is punishment.”

I made a joke.
Because it hurt so much, I suddenly wanted to laugh.
Keisuke lowered his head and remained silent.

“Sooner or later, we really should go through with the surgery.”

By "surgery," he meant us living together completely.
Tears overflowed.
Keisuke’s wife, whom I had never seen, became pitiful to me, and suddenly pain began throbbing deep in my head.

“We won’t know until that time comes.”
“When that time comes, the path will somehow unfold.”
“Secretly planning to just be together feels impure toward both our families.”
“There’s no way forward but to let things take their course.”
“Rather than trying to neatly resolve things, I want to hurry and have this baby.”
“The struggles until childbirth are harder for me than any solution.”
“Surgery or such… it hardly matters…”

“If you can’t give birth at home, what are we supposed to do?”

“I’ll go to a town where no one knows me and give birth.”
“I’ve found a maternity clinic, you know.”

About a month ago, in much the same way, I had ventured out into sleet-laced rain to visit a small maternity clinic in Zōshigaya, guided by a newspaper advertisement.
The lively midwife treated me with an air of knowing exactly how to handle everything and told me to come back reassured.
She told me that if I intended to give the baby away, there were people who would take it, so I should rest assured.
I had not the slightest intention of giving the baby away.
I thought it would be acceptable to put the baby into foster care for the time being if there was a kind person.—After sitting for a while in the dimly lit room, a couple who said they wanted a child came in.
This house had the unmistakable air of a place where women worked, its rooms grimy and cluttered with haphazard cleaning, where the plump midwife kept puffing away on a cigarette.
Apparently having made prior arrangements, from the second floor came down a young woman who still looked like a girl, holding a baby wrapped in a red hemp-leaf-patterned birth garment.

“This too is a matter of fate.”
“This baby’s happiness is what truly matters here, isn’t it?”

The middle-aged couple immediately took hold of the baby, eagerly cradling it as they gazed intently at its face.
It seemed they were appraising its condition like merchandise—the sight was so unbearable I could hardly remain seated.
No matter what came to pass, I vowed never to let my own child endure such scrutiny.
After accepting several money-stuffed envelopes, the couple departed with both infant and bulky luggage in tow.
The young mother retreated upstairs at once, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Well, things do manage to work themselves out somehow.”

Having finished her task with an air of relief, the midwife lit a cigarette using an electric stove.

When I was shown the second floor, about three people were gathered around the young woman from before, whispering intently.
Every futon lay as desolate as a rag, and whether because the shoji screens had been tightly closed, a sour smell struck my nose with acrid force.
Magazines with pages flipped open lay scattered.
Two small baby beds were laid out.
One appeared to be the bed of the baby who had been taken earlier; beside it sat an old trunk with its lid left open.

In the other bed lay a fair-skinned baby—who must have been about two months old—with eyes wide open, its gender indistinguishable.

When I thought that in four or five months I too would be lying there, a dreariness came over me.

Perhaps thinking this place might become my final grave, even that filthy delivery room began to feel dear.
But I couldn't bear the thought of Keisuke coming to see the child.
Seeing Keisuke’s dejected way of pitying the fate of a woman who had given birth where no one knew her made me feel lonely.
Miracles are not to be found in this world.
There exists only the reality that sown seeds bring forth their proper results.
It seemed absurd to start pitying or indulging myself now.
In this world’s morality, it is infidelity itself—this love will undoubtedly be scorned as something indecent…

I could not bear to expose myself to such scorn.

When people witnessed others’ downfall—those imprudent mishaps, so to speak—I thought those in society harbored a secretly spiteful joy, surprisingly enough.
I knew all too well the sort who peered down at those suffering at the bottom of pits without even attempting to throw them a rope—people who traded criticisms with carefully crafted words…

“The rain shows no sign of clearing up.”

“I wish it would rain forever…”

“Don’t say such reckless things.”

“Is that wrong?”

“That won’t do…”

“Sometimes there come moments like this when I feel so restless.”

“August or September, right?”

“You mean the day it’s born?”

“Yeah.”

“When the time comes… will you come to the maternity clinic?”

“I’ll go.”

“Yes… but perhaps it’s better if you don’t come.”
“…Because I feel sorry for you…”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I stayed with you?”

“Yes… In that case, it would be a relief, but…”

If I were to finally go to the maternity clinic, I would have to make all manner of small preparations. In such unnatural circumstances, when I thought how being made to arrange everything myself was always the misfortune imposed on women, a desolate feeling welled up within me.

Day by day, the terrifying result was drawing nearer, yet we never spoke of such things with each other.
Even if we had discussed the future several months ahead, we already knew full well it would be futile...
Only the desperate wish not to create an unsightly outcome was far stronger in me than in Keisuke.

“Won’t you try some sausage…”

“Yes, that’s quite enough.”
“I’d like some hot tea with pickled plums, but…”

Keisuke remained silent and looked down again.
Disheveled hair on the forehead gave off a youthful scent.
I took out pickled plum paste from the small Boston bag and chewed about three pellets.
A refreshing taste, sharp like vinegar, lingered on my tongue.

“You’ve been through so much…”

“Oh, what do you mean?”

“Well… I imagine your body must be suffering,” he said. “But when we try to find solutions where none exist… there’s simply no way forward.”
“Yet time keeps passing, and you—standing so resolute and defiant—make it impossible to intervene.”

“So what do you think would be best?”

“Those who love each other must be together—there’s no alternative. If someone must be hurt by this… better it happens quickly than drag on.”

“Yes… but I still end up thinking about all sorts of things and become weak.—Please don’t be angry with me for saying this.”
“I sometimes have moments when I want to kill you, you know.”
“Because I love you beyond all reason, I can’t bear causing even the slightest strange sadness in you or my family.”
“Even though it’s a matter for just us two, merely imagining making unrelated people sad—it makes me shudder.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Old, old things must have taken root in my thoughts.”
“It might be cowardly, but ultimately, this concerns only us two.”
“The problem is… how agonizing it feels to have others worry about it too.”

“Selfish.”

“I wonder… Though I can’t properly put it into words for you to understand, in the end it all becomes other people’s troubles—well, I suppose things will work out somehow… These aren’t things we need to think about anyway.”
“There’s nothing to do but resign ourselves to things working out somehow…”

Though it was called April, whether due to the rain, the outskirts of Kōfu were still cold, and the tips of my hands felt chilly.

“Let’s go take a bath.”

“Yes, it’s gotten rather cold, hasn’t it?”

Keisuke and I walked along the long corridor to the bathhouse.
In the spacious bathing area past noon, no one else was present.

When I undressed, my swollen abdomen—crisscrossed with blue veins like creeping vines—evoked a sickening sensation, that heavy oppressive disgust one feels when beholding something revolting.
Keeping our distance from each other, we stepped into the bath without looking at our bodies.
A comforting steam hung thick in the bathhouse.

“Do I look like a raccoon dog?”

“Hmm?”

As if startled, Keisuke—who had been washing his feet—turned toward me through the steam.

“I somehow feel like a raccoon dog. Isn’t that strange…”

“You’re growing stranger by the day.”
“You’re the one inventing spiteful notions and tormenting yourself.”

Keisuke looked down again, scrubbing the soles of his feet.—Amidst the rain, the airplane’s roar had been audible in the distance like far-off thunder, but suddenly the noise drew so near it startled us, transforming into a monstrous clamor as though about to crash onto the bathhouse roof.
A monstrous black shape scraped against the bathhouse window—the airplane’s form—passing by with a thunderous roar.
There were people rushing out into the garden through the rain.

“Hey—isn’t that plane going to crash?!”
“Are they alright? Can’t anyone help them… It’s definitely about to crash.”
“Someone help them… I can’t stand this!”
“I can’t stand this….”
“How awful—out there in this rain… Isn’t there anything we can do?…”

I frantically opened the windowpane, clung to it, stared at the roaring airplane flying away, and called out fiercely to Keisuke.

“It’s okay. That’s an American plane—a fine one at that—so it won’t crash.”

“That’s not true at all.”
“Even American planes aren’t guaranteed not to crash.”
“The people on board are pitiable—can’t someone help them?…”

Keisuke embraced my shoulder as I clung to the window,

“You’ll catch a cold, you know.”
“You madwoman… Come on, get in the bath.”
“Your body’s gone cold.”
“They don’t crash all that often!”

“That’s unmistakably the sound of a crash. Long ago, I saw an airplane falling down in the countryside, you know…”

“It’s okay.”
“You’re such a fool…”

Keisuke wrapped a towel around his waist,

“The two of you, parent and child, are a bit heavy.”

With that, he effortlessly lifted my chilled body and lowered me into the bath.
From the windowpane we had hurriedly opened earlier, a south wind blew in, sweeping away the steam as it rushed through.
It seemed someone had twisted the light switch, and the dome-shaped ceiling light inside the frosted glass flickered on.

“You’re like a child,” he said. “When I lower you into the bath, your body swells up so much…”

“It’s strange… Even if a plane were about to crash, no one could save them…”

In the spacious bath, I grasped Keisuke’s hands and turned slowly. Enduring the suffering from so much confusion in my heart, my thoughts grew increasingly abnormal. A dreadful terror—as if the domed ceiling might come crashing down exactly as it was—spread through my body like a shiver. In the bath’s warmth, the fetus stretched out its legs with a thud. I felt a pressing pain in my abdomen, as if being pushed. A small lump of fate, head down, was moaning… Not causing trouble to anyone, settling into quietness, the figure of the lonely fetus was dear to me. Feeling relieved, I decided to give birth at that maternity clinic. I resolved that I wanted to give birth quietly, without causing trouble to anyone.

If I could just give birth to a healthy child, I wouldn’t need Keisuke either.
At times when the chance arose, the two of us would meet at Shibuya Station.
We walked slowly through the scorched remains of the town, continuing in endless silence.
On the path we always took, when we reached a hilltop vantage point with a clear view, we would sit on discarded stones amid the burned ruins and gaze down at the bustling market town below...

Keisuke, who had gotten out of the bath first, waited for me as I slowly readied myself.

“See? No one’s making a fuss about the plane crashing…”

“It landed safely after all…”

“They don’t crash all that easily.”

When we returned to the room, the early dinner tray had been laid out.
The tray’s arrangement was undeniably meager.
The rain was still falling in a feeble drizzle.
We decided to stay another night.
Like people who had survived another day, the two of us naturally smiled at each other.
Within those smiles lay no sentimentality.
Facing the warped table while eating, I felt unease for the first time about leaving home for two consecutive nights, and thought that upon returning tomorrow, I wanted to tell my husband everything without reserve.
The waves had shattered and scattered.
The spray had scattered far away to where it could never return.

Like a flood, everyone jostled and pressed forward... Through which I too desperately staggered along after them. Countless faces emerged, each bearing troubled expressions. There was nothing to do but be swept forward unconsciously... Even if this love were to bury my entire life, what regret could there be...

All day long, Mount Fuji remained hidden by the rain, though it was said that should the skies clear, a great mountain would immediately appear before one's eyes. Looking down from the second floor, through the twilight rain-mist, a vast expanse of green wheat fields spread out vividly.