Pathway to Japanese Literature

Professor Wataru Ōkawa of the Law Faculty had taken out his leather bag into the middle of the parlor, scattered books, shirts, and such all around, and while pondering something, kept putting them back into the bag. Dr. Ōkawa was a man of leisurely disposition who never showed surprise or panic no matter what occurred. When confronted with situations that would send ordinary people into panic, he remained utterly composed, his ordinarily lucid mind growing ever more transparent. At faculty council meetings and such, when some issue became tangled and the dean found himself at a loss to untangle it, Dr. Ōkawa would slowly rise and present his views in that characteristically grave tone of his, whereupon the matter would generally reach its resolution. His arguments often possessed the keen edge of a blade slicing through tangled complications. That’s why among his friends they said it was a waste keeping that man as a professor—they’d rather make him an administrator and see him handle affairs, or no, better yet make him a lawyer and put that mind to use in graft trials. Yet he himself never involved himself in matters smacking of politics. This was because he detested doing anything halfway. However, Dr. Ōkawa quickly became overwhelmed by trivial details. When it came to matters like travel, he would begin worrying a full week in advance. That was because he found all the trivial incidents accompanying travel to be bothersome. The task of organizing his luggage was another such instance. Now, as for whether he would entrust those bothersome tasks to others—no, he did not. When friends asked why he didn’t let others handle it, he would say that having others do it caused trouble as they inevitably packed unnecessary items. “If one were to say that having unnecessary items mixed in with the essentials isn’t so bad,” he would respond, “that holds true—if you’re wealthy enough to travel with a large retinue and abundant luggage, you might as well carry all your household belongings. But when you have others pack a single small leather bag and find upon arrival that what you seek isn’t near the top, I simply can’t be bothered to dig through it. In such cases, it would be preferable to depart empty-handed altogether.” Therefore, though his wife happened to be out today, he never allowed her assistance even when she was at home. He had of course excluded both students and maidservants, managing everything alone.

Dr. Ōkawa packed only the reference books necessary for this trip at the very bottom. This trip was necessitated by a complex incident at a major Kansai corporation; having received informal instructions from the government, the doctor—an expert in civil law—was ostensibly taking leave to conduct an on-site investigation. The doctor heaved a sigh of relief and lit one of his Egyptian cigarettes. He took a puff, placed it on the ashtray, and telling himself it was the final stretch, mustered his resolve to proceed with packing collars, cuffs, handkerchiefs, and such into the leather bag. Then he clenched the half-smoked cigarette between his teeth and pondered. He pondered what would be best to read on the train. Whenever Dr. Ōkawa rode the streetcar in the city, he invariably carried a book with him. When traveling, he read books on the train. However, he never read academic books in his field. When it came to reading, he read a wide range of materials. That was why when speaking with philosophers, he discussed philosophy. When speaking with doctors, he discussed medicine. He rarely spoke about his own field. And yet, because his conversations spanning these diverse fields proved remarkably concise, he was known among legal scholars as an erudite figure. The doctor pondered for a while, but deciding it was futile to expend further thought on such matters, he placed into the leather bag Volume 8 of Dehmel’s Complete Works and the plays by Hardt and Schönherr that had arrived from Germany two or three days prior. Dehmel’s works had been arriving since last year.

Volume 8 was a collection of essays; when it had arrived and he opened it to check, there on the first page was an essay titled "Verdict,"

Am Anfang war der Genius, am Ende kommt der Kritikus. Zuguterletzt : wer macht den Schluss ? Zieh du ihn, Genius Publikus ! was written. Dr. Ōkawa shook his head and said that the final verdict on Genius Publikus remained uncertain. He had ordered the plays after hearing they had won the Schiller Prize. Since the upper portion still had some empty space, he stuffed in the Kölnische Zeitung, which he had ordered to be sent in weekly bundles.

At that moment, the sliding door opened, and a house student wearing an ogura-weave hakama pressed his hands against the threshold's edge. “Professor. Dr. Sugimura has arrived.” Before the house student could guide him in, Professor Shigeru Sugimura of the Medical University came bustling into the room. The house student withdrew as he was.

Dr. Sugimura entered his host’s room and, without sitting down, fiddled with the pince-nez he had removed in his right hand while surveying the surroundings before remarking: “Well, you’re making quite a commotion here.” “Going somewhere?” “Hmm. “What you might call a semi-official, semi-private trip.” “Do sit down.” “Since I’m taking the night train, there’s still time enough.”

“I see.” “I hadn’t a clue.”

The visitor pulled over the floor cushion that was there and sat down.

The master. “It had already been sniffed out in today’s newspaper.” “I hardly ever look at newspapers, you know.”

“I’m much the same. I only heard from others that matters concerning myself were mentioned. You’ve gone out again—quite the rare occurrence. Did you go see the flowers in Ueno or something?” “I did pass through Ueno, but the flowers were already past their prime. I sent the carriage back from Seiyōken and strolled over to Kanai’s place. To tell the truth, since your place was nearby, I dropped in on my way back.”

When the master was ordered to study civil law abroad, it was decided that Sugimura from the medical department and Kanai from the humanities would accompany him. All three had been in Berlin during their study abroad, so they felt completely at ease. Their temperaments were also quite similar. Among them, only Shin Kanai differed slightly in his neurotic tendencies; as for Drs. Ōkawa and Sugimura, their broad and relaxed dispositions were nearly identical. The master. “You came by after all. Given that you run a Praxis outside the university and even make house calls when necessary, you can hardly find time to visit people’s homes for conversation. I too am bound by tedious social obligations and handle lecture responsibilities, so I’m similarly pressed for time. If you don’t drop by even on occasions like this, we can hardly ever talk.”

The maid brought tea. The master further ordered black tea. The guest.

“What happened to your wife?” “Her mother in Koishikawa was unwell, so I had my wife accompany Dr. Isogai there for an examination.When I called asking him to go together over the telephone—since my wife mentioned that I was departing—he apparently said he’d go alone then.But since my wife didn’t need to stay for my departure,I told him he absolutely must take her along and sent her with him.Even so，it’s about time they came back.”

Mrs. Ōkawa’s family was a household renowned in the business world, and in Koishikawa they maintained a large secondary residence. The master’s mother-in-law resided there.

“What kind of illness is it?” “Oh, it’s nothing. Her condition doesn’t seem much different from when you examine her, but since someone suggested a nervous system specialist would be better, they apparently decided to go to Isogai.” “Her condition doesn’t seem much different from when you examine her, but since someone suggested a nervous system specialist would be better or something, they apparently decided to go to Isogai.” “I see. “When Klimakterium manifests like that, it should’ve been treated as a nervous system disorder from the outset.” “Hahaha.” “Then you would’ve been spared the trouble, I suppose.” “Since it doesn’t seem to be a particularly interesting casus.”

“No. I treat every patient with interest.” “Of course that’s likely so. I think it would hold true even were I a lawyer. But doesn’t someone like Isogai select his patients?” “Hmm. They say once he takes on a patient, he commits fully. No one would perform half-measures, but with fewer patients comes greater capacity for meticulous observation—that too shows discernment.”

Black tea was served. Host and guest both drank. The master stopped the guest as he was about to take one of the Egyptian cigarettes there and said... “Wait. For you, this one is preferable.” What he took out was the remaining portion of the Manual Garcia he had earlier half-wrapped in paper and placed in his leather bag. The guest briefly examined the box’s lid and took one. “You’re living quite luxuriously.” “I don’t always smoke such things. The other day, the German ambassador asked me to translate some trivial matter, and I did so; this is what I received in thanks.”

The guest took a few puffs, gazed at the cigar’s ash—now snow-white yet still intact—and seemed lost in thought when he abruptly spoke up.

“Do you associate with Isogai?” “Hmm. It’s not as though we’re particularly close. Just as we were about to leave Berlin, that man arrived, so we likely only met briefly. Then he immediately left for Heidelberg after mentioning some professor called Erb. Even after returning here, we only exchange words at banquets. However, considering he’s achieved such renown without sinking into mere practice and maintains scholarly rigor throughout, I must say I find him quite remarkable. He apparently submits reports to foreign journals periodically. Not ordinary casuistry either. He ventures far beyond his own field. The other day I noticed his theories cited in my legal text’s discussion of Zurechnungsfähigkeit. He seems to analyze rather minute details. A sharp man.”

“That’s right.” “In that respect, even among our circle, he doesn’t exceed what can be counted on one hand.” “But what do you think of his character?”

“I don’t know him well.” “Socially, he navigates everything flawlessly—though there’s something almost excessively polite about it.” “He’s a fair-skinned, petite man—perhaps due to his nimble movements—but leaves an impression of being too polished.” “To speak plainly, he possesses an eel-like slipperiness that defies grasp.” “Even after repeated meetings, one never feels truly acquainted.”

A shadow of irony flashed in Dr. Sugimura's eyes. “Compared to someone as rough around the edges as I am, he might be better suited as a doctor.” “He doesn’t seem too sympathisch to you either, I suppose.” “He is neither sympathisch nor antipathisch.” “In any case, I respect him as a scholar.”

“I have no objection to that. However...” The guest hesitated slightly in his speech. “However, I don’t care to criticize a colleague, but since this is between you and me, I feel I must say it: do not send your wife to Isogai.”

“Hmm.”

The master looked at his guest in surprise. The guest too remained silent for a while, smoking his tobacco. In the next room, there seemed to be some rustling noise, but it soon ceased.

The guest.

“Didn’t you still have business to attend to? I’ve overstayed my welcome and even ended up slandering others.” “My luggage is prepared, so I’ve nothing left until the carriage arrives. Since you’re not one to gossip idly, I shall resolve to be more cautious henceforth.” “Well—your wife is sensible and accompanied by her mother. As she herself isn’t the patient, there’s no real danger...” “Yet to navigate society’s currents, what must be forestalled must indeed be forestalled.”

“Hmm. That’s precisely why I said it—though it may have been unnecessary.”

Dr. Sugimura shook the ash from his cigar, took out a pipe from his pocket, inserted the shortened cigar into it, and half-rose. “You’ll be returning soon, I suppose.”

“Hmm. I don’t suppose it will take a week.”

“I see. Then in due time.”

The guest stood and went out into the corridor. The master saw him out to the entrance and suggested calling a rickshaw, but the guest, declaring he would walk a little since the weather was fine, swung his walking stick and exited through the gate.

The master noticed the Chiyoda zōri sandals that appeared to have been shifted aside from the Nebukawa stone—positioned atop the shoe rack within the lattice door to adjust the departed guest’s footwear—and turned to question the maid kneeling behind him.

“Has my wife returned?” “Yes.” “Madam has just returned and entered her room.”

Dr. Ōkawa slightly furrowed his brow. He sensed something different in his wife’s demeanor. Slowly pivoting toward the living room, he thought it must have been his wife who had made that rustling noise beyond the sliding door earlier. At the same moment, he wondered why she hadn’t shown herself despite Sugimura’s reassuring voice being audible. Mrs. Ōkawa’s room lay adjacent to the doctor’s study and was accessible directly from the corridor as well. However, while pondering this, Dr. Ōkawa first returned to his own study before opening the sliding door connecting to his wife’s room.

“You were back?” “Yes.”

Her voice was tearful.

In Mrs. Ōkawa’s room, a chest of drawers stood positioned to block two of the four partitioned sliding paper doors, with a mother-of-pearl desk placed against it. When he looked, his wife sat before the desk without changing her clothes, her face buried against its surface. Though she would always change into everyday attire immediately upon returning from outside, today she remained in her going-out clothes. His gaze fell upon her hand half-buried in the disheveled knot of her hair—the ring she customarily wore when going out was absent. That earlier rustling must have been her storing the wallet and ring in the drawer atop the chest.

In Dr. Ōkawa’s mind first surfaced what Sugimura had said. Then he recalled that his wife was seven months pregnant. When he had suddenly received Sugimura’s warning earlier, various imaginings had been sketched in his mind. Among them surfaced the matter of a Baden physician that had appeared in a German newspaper he had read two or three days prior—a man who had been practicing in Karlsruhe for years and commanded some respect. This man had a wife and four children. The story told how he had been arrested for committing indecent acts against female patients. After his arrest, it became clear this doctor had harbored such tendencies for quite some time. There were women driven to depravity because of him, and others said to have swallowed their resentment while concealing their shame. Until his arrest, people had only whispered about it; but once he was taken into custody, those whispers turned to open speech. Thus it became known that his proclivities stretched far back. Dr. Ōkawa recalled this matter and felt intense disgust flare within him, yet he strove to suppress such imaginings. There was no need yet to dwell on extreme misfortune. A woman seven months pregnant might naturally behave differently than usual—especially one who had visited a place teeming with patients and might have seen unsettling things that agitated her nerves. He had indeed questioned whether letting her accompany her mother to Koishikawa today was wise, but given her smooth pregnancy and unchanged daily routines, he judged this minor outing harmless—arranging for a carriage from Koishikawa to stop at their Nishikata-chō residence, with his wife serving as guide. Since he had previously introduced her to Isogai at garden parties and similar events, he deemed her presence advantageous and permitted it. Had he known this would inflict such mental anguish upon his beloved wife, he naturally would never have allowed her to go. These thoughts raced through Dr. Ōkawa’s mind with tremendous speed.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” Dr. Ōkawa’s voice was exceedingly gentle. “No. I will come over there to explain, so please.” His wife raised her face and adjusted her posture. She was urging Dr. Ōkawa to return to the living room. His wife was a rare beauty. At the time of their marriage, Dr. Ōkawa had once remarked in jest—or so it was said—that she was glass-made and thus troublesome to handle. Generally among Japanese women considered exceptional, those with a bluish tinge to their skin have subcutaneous tissue that appears somewhat thick and hard. Mrs. Ōkawa’s skin and subcutaneous tissue were both thin and soft, such that the blood coursing beneath appeared translucent. Women with such skin often have unattractive features. His wife alone was exceptional. Her hair was not the thick-strand raven-black that had long been considered beautiful in Japan but rather slightly tinged with brown, with abundant fine, soft strands. Of average build and medium height with good proportions, the unsightliness of her seven-month belly was not too noticeable. Mrs. Koishikawa was not Black but had been the daughter of someone of low social standing, whom the doctor’s father-in-law had apparently married for her beauty by providing a dowry. This wife’s beauty derived from her mother’s lineage. As she adjusted her posture, from beneath the vibrant two-layered quail-patterned silk flashed the pale thrush-gray of her crepe underrobe’s family crest design—unusually stimulating Dr. Ōkawa’s eyes. Her eyes—taut like stretched bells—revealed both unease and solemnity.

Dr. Ōkawa returned to the living room and sat down before the desk. When he saw his wife about to sit across the brazier, he said, "There's a cushion there." His wife pulled over the cushion Dr. Sugimura had been using and laid it out. His wife spoke.

“Um, are you still intending to depart on the 7:30 train?” “Hmm. That remains the arrangement. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no. There is something I wish to inquire about, but I was wondering if it would be all right to trouble you while you are busy.”

“Nonsense. “Don’t be ridiculous. “Since we need only depart at six thirty, there are still two hours left. “There’s nothing left to do but change into my Western clothes.” “The truth is, when I returned earlier to where Dr. Sugimura was speaking, something I happened to inquire about has been weighing on my mind. “And today Dr. Isogai’s manner was truly peculiar.”

“Hmm.”

“You said Isogai’s demeanor was strange—what exactly was it like?” “I fear this may displease you to hear,” she said, “but as you always say that between husband and wife there should be no concealment, I must speak.” “Today Mother and I went to Dr. Isogai’s office in Tsukiji; I first met with him, explained Mother’s condition, and had him conduct the examination.” “When the examination concluded, Mother said that since he would not give clear answers no matter what she inquired, I should be the one to ask properly—declaring she would return home ahead.” “Since Mother is gravely concerned about her illness, I reasoned that even if there were matters being concealed from the patient, they would likely be disclosed to me—and thus I made that suggestion.” “Without giving it a second thought, I consented and sent Mother home.” “Dr. Isogai took Mother to the examination room, conducted the examination, and then came out to the waiting room where I had been waiting, so I fully intended to receive [the information] there and return home.” “I asked Dr. Isogai to please inform me about Mother’s condition.” “When I did so, Dr. Isogai said, ‘I will explain, so please come this way,’ and opened the door that was not to the examination room.” “When I entered there, it appeared to be Dr. Isogai’s office, with large desks and bookcases and such.” “He told me to sit on the sofa and brought a chair for himself to sit before me.” “I said, ‘What should I do?’” “Dr. Isogai said, ‘Well, it’s not a particularly serious illness, but somewhat difficult to cure completely. While medication may certainly be used, she must undergo massage treatment—I have already informed Mother about this.’ When I expressed that ‘massage treatment’ sounded rather troublesome, he explained it in this manner, then suddenly seized my hand and began stroking it smoothly downward from my shoulder.” “Though I felt most unpleasant, since these were actions performed by such a distinguished doctor, I thought it would be improper to hastily pull my hand away like some child or woman might—and so I remained at a loss for how to respond.” “When I did so, he proceeded to stroke downward from my shoulder over and over.”

“Hmm. “Then what happened?”

Dr. Ōkawa’s eyes gradually began to gleam. "And while he was stroking my hand, he kept staring fixedly at my face." "Though I had never considered his eyes particularly remarkable before today, on this occasion alone they appeared to shine with such cruel intensity that I perceived them as terrifying." "Thus even when I resolved not to meet that gaze, I found myself compelled to look nonetheless."

“Hmm.” “Then what happened?” “As he was doing this, for a brief moment I felt as though I might lose consciousness, but even when reflecting on that time afterward, I must say it remains rather unclear.”

“I see. What happened after that?” “When I came to my senses with a start, Dr. Isogai had already rested his elbows on the desk and was writing something. I had a slight headache, but at that moment could think of nothing but somehow managing to return home quickly; as I began to feel rather unwell, I apologized for my rudeness and attempted to rise to leave. When I did so, Dr. Isogai set down his pen and said, ‘That must be it—as you are with child, such things occur. You need not worry about Mother in the slightest,’ then saw me out.”

When Dr. Ōkawa had heard her account to this point, the gleam in his eyes faded; appearing deep in thought, he crossed his arms and fell silent. His wife earnestly continued her account. "What on earth could have happened?"

Dr. Ōkawa said slowly in a solemn tone. "Hmm. It's only natural you'd be concerned." "You encountered grave danger." "Given your condition, I hesitated to tell you this—but speaking ambiguously would only deepen your anxiety. So I'll explain plainly." "Isogai has done something unconscionable." "He tried to hypnotize you." "That hypnosis..."

As she spoke these words, tears welled up once more in the wife’s eyes with each passing moment. His wife took a handkerchief from her sleeve and, wiping her eyes, continued her account. The words emerged painfully and haltingly. “Um... Then could it be... that he did something to my body?” “Nothing.” “There shouldn’t be anything particularly wrong.” “You haven’t noticed anything either, have you?” “You haven’t noticed anything unusual, have you?”

“No. I have not noticed anything at all.” “I see. “No.” “In that case, there should be nothing to worry about.” “However, from now on, you must never go to that man’s house again.” “Not only are you forbidden to go there.” “You must make every effort to avoid meeting that man or engaging in any conversation with him.” “There is no need for you to tell me that.” “I felt as though fleeing that seat was akin to escaping the jaws of a poisonous snake.” “No matter what may occur, I shall never seek audience with him again.”

“That’s good.” “(Pause.) There remains one further matter I must caution you about.” “You must not speak of today’s events to anyone—beginning with Mother, nor to any other confidant.” “Yes.”

“If such matters were to leak to society, there would be no way to counteract whatever misinterpretations people might impose.” “Such matters always leak from those directly involved.” “Isogai has his own interests to protect—he would have no reason to divulge anything.” “He likely does the same thing to numerous female patients.”

A pained smile flashed across Dr. Ōkawa’s face. And he spoke.

“As long as you and I remain silent, that suffices.” “Moreover, between you and me too, we shall not speak of this matter beyond this occasion.” “What has occurred cannot be made as though it never existed.” “Were we to exchange trivial words and gradually wound each other’s feelings—what purpose would that serve?” “You must certainly be distressed by this, but strive to restrain your heart—it would be best to cease dwelling on this matter.” “(Pause.) Now then.” “Go promptly and change your attire.”

“Yes.”

His wife once again wiped her overflowing tears with a handkerchief, trembling unsteadily as she rose from her seat, and entered her own room.

Dr. Ōkawa suddenly stood up, opened the south-facing shōji, and gazed at the garden. The flowers of Japanese quince and azalea bloomed crimson, while a wind carrying warmth in its depths brushed against his forehead. From his wife’s room came various sounds once more. She must be changing her clothes.

Dr. Ōkawa was a man who had passed two years beyond forty this year, his physique robust, yet by nature possessing strong self-control, his sexual desires remarkably placid. Moreover—today of all days—his wife’s eyes now came vividly to mind. From a face that seemed both young and old—pale and wrinkled—narrow, sharp eyes shone with a peering expression, dazzlingly. This vision inflicted a needle-like pain in Dr. Ōkawa’s chest, making him want to shout something like “Damn it!”—an impulse he forcibly suppressed. He then closed the shōji screen and began putting on the Western clothes laid out in the corner of the parlor.

The telephone bell rang. The student seemed to head toward the telephone. Sure enough, the student's voice sounded.

“Yes. (Pause.) Yes.” “That is correct.” “Please wait a moment.” “I will inquire with Mrs. Ōkawa.” The student came to Mrs. Ōkawa’s room and spoke. His wife changed into her finest everyday kimono and entered Dr. Ōkawa’s parlor. His wife. “Um, Mother in Koishikawa has requested that I come over tonight to discuss matters regarding her illness. What should I do?” Having changed into Western clothes and taken his pocket watch and cigarette case from the cluttered box to place them in his pockets, Dr. Ōkawa turned to his wife and said this.

“Well... “It wouldn’t be bad for you to go, but how about refusing by saying that we would prefer Mother to come here tomorrow instead?” “I had also thought to say as much.” “I intend not to go out while you are away.” “That would be best.”

His wife went to the telephone herself to decline.

Dr. Ōkawa was having his wife serve him tea over rice and hurriedly eating it when the carriage he had arranged arrived. Dr. Ōkawa told his wife to take care of herself and boarded the carriage. The student had offered to carry the leather bag as far as Shinbashi Station, but he had already declined this when arranging for the carriage.

Dr. Ōkawa clamped the leather bag between his thighs and boarded the carriage. When he did things this way, he had initially felt it somewhat unbecoming of a gentleman and found it unbearable when first returning from the West, but of late he no longer thought anything of it at all. It seems humans are powerless to resist the force of milieu.

Dr. Ōkawa boarded the 7:30 train. The first-class compartment was quite crowded, but there remained just enough space to place the leather bag beside him. The adjacent seat was occupied by a young Western woman. She wore a salt-and-pepper walking suit and a hat adorned with mouse-colored ostrich feathers. She did not appear to be traveling far. At close range, her face showed a peach-like down of fine hairs, yet apart from her bright hair and Centaurea-flower eyes, there lingered something reminiscent of his wife. She too possessed that glass-like beauty.

Opposite him sat a large, ruddy-faced man who looked as though grease were oozing from every pore of his skin. The brown suit with vertical and horizontal stripes had buttons that somehow seemed on the verge of tearing, which worried him. Despite being on a train with a dining car, he had popped open a beer brought from home, taken out a cup from his leather bag to drink it, and was noisily devouring a boxed sandwich.

Dr. Ōkawa wanted to smoke, but out of consideration for the woman beside him, he refrained. Yet despite that, several others here and there were drinking Shikishima-brand liquor or something similar. Dr. Ōkawa opened his leather bag and took out the book at the top to look—it was Hardt’s Tantris der Narr. He opened it to the beginning and looked, without any intention to read. When he read through about two pages set in conspicuously large type, he found it was a song sung by the heroine Isolde as she had her maidservant undo her bright hair. Dr. Ōkawa closed the volume and looked at the hair of the woman beside him. Because he had been reading horizontal text under the dim electric lamp, his eyes had grown slightly itchy. When he looked across, the sandwich man was sleeping with his mouth open, snoring. Outside the window was grey. Suddenly, two or three lights streamed past outside the windowpane. The train was probably passing Ōmori Station.

Dr. Ōkawa held the book in his hand while leaning his head against the window frame behind him and closed his eyes.

The unpleasant incident from that afternoon floated into his mind. Among the various books Dr. Ōkawa had read, he had unfortunately encountered fairly extensive writings on hypnosis. There was a reason for this. When Dr. Ōkawa was a child, a spirit-summoning craze had been popular in Tokyo. Then during his European studies, a practice called table-tapping had become fashionable. Having long been intrigued by the mysteries of spirit summoning, he sought to interpret this similar table-tapping phenomenon and thus consulted books on Spiritismus. This led him subsequently to study texts on hypnosis. When today he heard from his wife's account that Isogai had gripped her hand and stroked downward from her shoulder, Dr. Ōkawa's memory instantly recalled the name Mesmer. Then upon hearing that his wife had tried not to look into Isogai's eyes yet found herself unable to resist doing so, the name Braid now surfaced from memory's depths. Hypnosis must indeed have succeeded upon his wife. If it had succeeded, what had Isogai done while she lay entranced? He had told her nothing extraordinary could have occurred. Yet this conclusion lacked any foundation. Isogai could have suggested anything during that hypnotic state. Moreover, his wife would retain no memory of actions suggested during hypnosis after awakening. To what degree had events progressed during this trance? Isogai might have done everything within his power. At minimum, this remained possible. When hearing his wife's account, Dr. Ōkawa found himself compelled to reason thus far. Having reasoned this far while experiencing intense revulsion, he strove to conceal that disgust from his wife.

Dr. Ōkawa, having thought this far once again, felt the same disgust as before, as though experiencing it anew. Dr. Ōkawa had once given thought to the matter of chastity. As for something like chastity—while it may have value recognized in matters of the heart—I considered it trivial in the physical realm. When Dr. Ōkawa was still single, there had been someone who proposed arranging a marriage with the daughter of a pawnshop called Sanoya. After some time passed, another person spoke of how the daughter was carrying on with one of the shop’s employees. Dr. Ōkawa had laughed at that time and even said that if that were the case, she should just bring Hisamatsu along when coming as a bride. However, when it came to practical matters, Dr. Ōkawa could not avoid hesitation. Dr. Ōkawa explained to himself, saying as follows. What. I am not rejecting a woman who has been defiled out of some antiquated premodern notion. But speaking from emotion, even a vessel that someone else has used is repugnant. From an intellectual standpoint, I say it would hardly come to receiving some foul disease as a souvenir. In truth, Dr. Ōkawa might still be bound by convention after all. In any case, as Dr. Ōkawa considered the possibilities of what had occurred during his wife’s hypnosis, he felt an indescribable disgust.

Now, here lay a curious matter. This had always been Dr. Ōkawa's way of reacting when persecuted by others. Though feeling such intense disgust, he scarcely entertained the thought of hating Isogai. In such moments, contempt always arose so forcefully in Dr. Ōkawa's heart that it overcame hatred. If one looked down upon something, he reasoned, it ceased to merit hatred. This very trait often caused others to belittle him. For they interpreted this inability to hate as unmanly. Or perhaps Dr. Ōkawa fundamentally lacked that masculine quality. He then recalled having told his wife never to meet Isogai again. He remembered reading how those once hypnotized become susceptible to hypnosis anew. Moreover, he recalled that hypnotists could re-induce trances effortlessly in previously susceptible subjects. There was another fact lodged in his memory. What had been suggested during initial hypnosis would resurface in consciousness during subsequent sessions. Therefore, he resolved never to let his wife encounter Isogai again. He now remembered the fleeting thought he'd had when hearing her account—the connection between this incident and her pregnancy. It ran thus: Strindberg asserted that fatherhood cannot be proven. Though my wife bears the child, raising one whose parentage remains unknown—this would exceed what present consciousness could endure. Even should the father be identified, raising another's proven offspring would prove equally unbearable. While assertions that women never remain faithful—read in Boccaccio or satirists—might amuse abstractly, even Dr. Ōkawa—incapable of hating his enemy—couldn't calmly apply such notions to his own household.

In any case, Dr. Ōkawa was carved from different timber than that which shapes what Westerners call overly good-natured husbands. There had been an occasion when Dr. Ōkawa, while reading court records from a married woman's adultery case, involuntarily burst out laughing alone upon reaching the part where a base man testified, *"Since she already had a bottom in place, I thought it'd be fine"*—but then immediately furrowed his brow and released the documents from his hand. While suppressing his discomfort and attempting to forgive his wife, Dr. Ōkawa simultaneously recalled this phrase "already had a bottom in place" and felt a peculiar sensation. Dr. Ōkawa thought this must resemble how savages feel when drinking excrement to expel poison from their bellies. Once more wanting to cry out—"Yes, drink excrement"—Dr. Ōkawa endured it motionlessly.

The train stopped. It was Hiranuma Station. Three or four Western men and women alighted. The Isolde with light-colored hair sitting nearby was among their group. Dr. Ōkawa stowed the book he had been holding into his leather bag while smoking Egyptian tobacco. He resolved not to read in the dim light. And occupying the adjacent seat, he stretched out at length with his overcoat still draped over him.

The passengers who had been talking until now gradually stopped their conversation. Dr. Ōkawa, having reclined at length for some time, felt fatigue in his head—agitated since the afternoon in a way he was unaccustomed to—so he discarded his half-smoked tobacco and closed his eyes.

Dr. Ōkawa would read Tantris der Narr in the train car the following day. Even amidst a love as profound as Tristan and Isolde’s, a man must endure his lover being another’s wife. A married woman must yet endure. Why must a malicious enemy of love like Denovalin appear and ensnare the two? The faggot fire meant to burn them to death was extinguished by God’s breath. The two emerged at the marshes of Morois and, like beasts escaped from hunting grounds, slept in exhaustion. Their bodies lay on the ground, separated by an arm’s length. In the very center lay Morholm’s sword. Even if Dr. Ōkawa had mocked chastity, he could not help but be moved by this. In any case, this single volume of the play must have provided the Doctor with some measure of solace.

(June 1909)