Pathway to Japanese Literature

The hotel faced the sea. That said, between the hotel and the sea, there was first a wide paved road, and then a small green area of the coastal park. Beyond that, the sea slowly heaved its deep indigo surface, bearing white and pale green stylish foreign steamships, countless flat barges, and harbor debris.

Next to the hotel was a small flower shop. The weightless transparent light of a late autumn afternoon illuminated the multicolored cut flowers and potted plants, creating there alone a disordered profusion of vivid hues. From its entrance emerged a couple who appeared to be a young husband and wife. The woman in a thin woolen kimono shaded her eyes by making a visor with her palm over her eyebrows, while the man in a shirt, sweater, and trousers listlessly twirled a hotel room key on his finger. The couple ambled forward and, as though stopping or changing direction would be too bothersome, simply crossed the paved road and entered the coastal park.

The woman grimaced. She pressed a hand to her cheek.

“I thought it was rain—it’s just spray being whipped by the wind.” “It hurts.”

The man approached the bench without answering; the sea crashed a roaring sound at his feet.

“I hate the sea,” the woman said.

The man crossed his legs on the bench. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his glasses.

“When I’m by the sea, I get all worn out, you know.”

“So let’s go back tonight— to the house in Mejiro.”

“But I don’t want to leave the seaside either.”

The woman also sat down on the bench. The man took out a cigarette and, cupping his hand around it, painstakingly lit it with his lighter.

Without helping, the woman watched it. “We can’t very well keep having Mother house-sit forever,” the man said.

“Mother is such a good person.” “I like her.”

“Mother’s also quite worried about you.”

“Hiroshi resembled Mother.” “We agreed not to talk about Hiroshi.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The man stretched his arms as if taking a deep breath and leaned back against the bench's backrest.

“I’ll go back to the shop starting tomorrow. I’ll try going to the main store.” “You’re admirable.” “That’s not it,” he said. “It’s also about escaping into work, I guess.” “You’re admirable,” she repeated. “I’m glad I wasn’t born a man.” “Hey, Yoshiko. Cheer up. They say once humans give up, that’s when it ends.” “Then I’m already finished.”

The woman lowered her eyes to the park path. “Even if I’m laughed at or scolded, there’s nothing to be done about it. To me, Hiroshi was... yes, a promise. I’m done.” “It’s like Hiroshi is your whole world,” the man said with a forced smile. “But Yoshiko, you were originally my wife first... Before being Hiroshi’s mother.”

The woman stood up. She walked toward the quay.

It seemed the man was calling out. Because of the headwind, she couldn’t hear him clearly. But the woman did not turn around. The indigo sea was faintly hazy offshore. The sea was moving. Surely by now, Hiroshi had dissolved into the sea. A month had already passed since he was swept away by the waves. His was the tiny body of a child who had just turned four. Why did we ever go to the coast in September? —Hiroshi

The woman murmured. If it had been peak season, someone from the crowd would have noticed sooner. Even such a big wave hadn't come, nor had anyone tried to stop me by force from rushing into the sea.

It's my fault. We’re the ones to blame. Mama and Papa’s carelessness killed you, Hiroshi.

The man called again. The Husband is surely worried.

--Husband. Is he my husband? That man? That man is a complete stranger. A single, unfamiliar man.

Suddenly，the sea screamed. A raw，thunderous roar. That engulfed the woman. The woman saw herself in the sea. She said to that self. The sea had taken him—Hiroshi. Hiroshi had become one with the sea now. ……If I jumped into the sea，could I become one with Hiroshi?

“Shouldn’t we head back to the hotel soon?”

The man’s hand restrained her shoulder. His eyes peered at her face from the side as if seeing something dangerous, and his stiffened cheeks forced a smile.

You fool. You think I'm going to jump in. “It’s all right. Let go,” the woman said. “If I were going to die, I’d have done it long ago.”

“The sun has clouded over,” said the man. “It’s getting cold.”

However, the memory of this very moment when she had lost everything but the sea rose again within the woman. The woman gazed at the man’s face.

“But the sea is darker than here. “It’s cold.” “And the sea will gradually get colder from now on.” “Winter is coming.” “What?”

For an instant, he made a frightening face, then the man laughed with an ugly, twisted smile. “Okay. But stop saying such childish things already.” “I will say it!”

“Don’t say it.” For the first time, the husband shouted.

“……Why can’t I?” My voice was blown away by the wind. So I too became a shouting voice. “So if we say nothing, that’s fine?” “If we don’t speak, how can we ever find happiness?”

“Think about me too. I’m sad too.”

The man embraced the woman’s shoulders.

“Losing to sorrow or drowning in it—but that’s foolish.” “No matter what, Hiroshi won’t come back to life.” “We have to start over.” “By loving each other, supporting each other, beginning again from just the two of us—that’s our only path.” “In life, there are no second chances—it was you who said betting on what doesn’t exist is pointless.” “Yoshiko, shouldn’t you know perfectly well that I love you?”

The man tightened his arm.

“Well… let’s go.” Obediently starting to walk, the woman suddenly thought: *We must look like a happy couple*. When they reached their earlier bench again, she shook off his hand and collapsed onto it like falling debris.

The man also sat down beside her. Again, he began to wipe his glasses. The woman gazed vacantly at the man’s face.

The man was pale-skinned in the manner of a young merchant family heir, his eyes slightly red-rimmed. In that narrow-eyed, unfamiliar profile without his glasses, the woman suddenly saw a repulsive thirty-year-old man of the worst sort.

The woman gave a slight laugh. "It's just like yesterday," muttered her husband after a brief pause. "When you think about it..." "It'll be Christmas before we know." "This Christmas will feel empty," she said quietly.

“Yeah.” “You’re right,” said the husband. “Children really are such a big part of a couple’s life. “That and Hiroshi’s birthday were like milestones in our lives, weren’t they?”

The husband suddenly noticed.

“Yoshiko,” he said. The woman’s expression was rigid.

Her pallid cheeks quivered, her eyes seeing nothing, the woman spoke in a rasping voice.

“I’ve made up my mind—we need to separate. I simply can’t keep living with you.” “You’re bringing this up again? After everything…”

The woman’s throat moved. She kept looking straight ahead. “I used to think Christmas meant nothing to me. At home, we never did anything special.”

“That’s how I was too,” the husband said.

“We only started celebrating Christmas after having Hiroshi—because Hiroshi was here. That day of Christmas with its decorations and presents and feasts and all those thoughtful preparations—for me, it existed for Hiroshi’s sake.” “Yeah,” the husband said quietly.

“I can’t endure a Christmas without Hiroshi.”

As if shouting, the woman said, “How about you? That day will come again soon.”

The husband said nothing. “Hiroshi was so good at Jingle Bells.” “I can’t possibly listen to Christmas music in that house—the one where Hiroshi is gone, where he once lived.” “I’ll go mad.”

“...Jingle Bells?” said the husband. “For me too, Christmas became a custom only after Hiroshi was born. “Even though Hiroshi isn’t here, those lively, joyful, splendid Christmases keep happening.” “Empty.” “Indeed, that must be an unimaginable torment... I get it.”

The woman covered her face. She said between sobs.

“Hiroshi was supposed to give me a present this year. “Last year，he said，‘Next year I’ll give you a wonderful present.’ “‘I’ll give you a bouquet of your favorite flowers…’”

The husband reached for the woman's shoulder. The woman violently jerked her shoulder away.

“I can’t go on. “I wish I hadn’t remembered. “Now I can’t forget. “There’s no one left for me to give presents to anymore.” “I’m right here.”

“That’s not it,” the woman said. “The person I truly want to give things to—the one I enjoy thinking about and making plans for—is gone.” “That’s right.” “A present is something you give.” “Only those who turn giving into joy are the people one truly needs.” “They’re the ones you truly love.” “I probably don’t love you.” “The only one I loved was Hiroshi.” “For Hiroshi’s sake, I never thought it strange—not even slightly—that I was your wife.” “I was only your wife as Hiroshi’s mother.” “That’s right.” “That’s what’s become clear to me now…”

“You’re agitated,” the man said. “Let’s talk calmly in the room. All right?” “I am indeed agitated.” The woman looked at the man angrily, her eyes brimming with tears. "But deciding to separate isn’t some sudden notion." “Right now, it’s simply that through Christmas matters, I’ve finally found words for what kind of wife I was to you.” “Last night, at that very point, you skillfully evaded it…”

“Yoshiko.” “But I…”

“I’d been thinking about this even before coming to this hotel.” “If divorce proves too difficult, then I would ask to at least live separately.” “Live separately?” “Why?” “I want to be alone.” “Anyway, I want to step outside of my current life and take this opportunity to slowly confront myself.” “Everything else comes after that, I think.” “Why would you…”

“I have somewhere to go. I’ll stay with Mayumi in her Azabu apartment for a while.”

“What, Mayumi?”

“That’s right—that Mayumi you detest, my old classmate. The vulgar TV talent, Mayumi. She’s living alone in her apartment, so…” “Did you consult her?” “Enough.”

“Yes. Over the phone.” “Anytime is fine—you can stay as long as you want,” she said. “I’ve been seriously thinking about all sorts of things too.” “I wouldn’t do something as reckless as separate on a day or two’s whim.”

The man remained silent. His fingers trembled as he tried to take out a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the tips of his own shoes. The lighter made a hard, sharp sound. The flame burned startlingly red and bright. Before they knew it, the sun began to set, and the man’s face was dimly lit. Each time he inhaled his cigarette, the red of the flame flared, glinting off his rimless glasses.

“Ah.” “It’s gotten quite dark,” the husband said eventually. “Anyway, I’m going back to the hotel.”

The woman gazed at the man’s face.

“...If we were made to have another arranged marriage meeting, would we get married, I wonder?”

said the woman. It was a serious, terribly somber tone.

Without a word, the man stood up and began walking without waiting for the woman. He didn't look back.

The woman took a deep breath. In the ships offshore, on the pier and buoy markers, and even in the mercury-vapor lamps of the park—when she noticed—each was already filled with beautiful light.

The days grew rapidly shorter. Moreover, the cold intensified. The woman also left the bench. As she walked toward the park exit, the sea’s roar clung after her, spreading through the pale ink-colored space, its vibrations resonating through the ground beneath her feet. When she reached the fence at the boundary of the wide paved road—installed to block vehicle access—the woman stopped. The flower shop next to the hotel turned on several lights, and in the dusk, only that spot was illuminated as brightly as a small stage.

Even though the future felt like nothing but an impossibly thick, heavy gray wall, when she stood and considered it, the passage of time had slipped away swiftly, like a single gap.

Indeed, before they knew it, Christmas had arrived in the city.

Life in the apartment with Mayumi was neither enjoyable nor unenjoyable. Yoshiko spent most of her time as the one keeping watch over the apartment.

She never once met with her husband. Her husband also only sent checks regularly—no letters, no phone calls. Thanks to this, Yoshiko hardly ever thought about her husband.

On Christmas Eve, Mayumi invited Yoshiko to a party hosted by her production company. Of course Yoshiko refused. “I want to be alone, and that’s for the best.” “There’s no need to worry about me.”

“I’m pulling an all-nighter!” Mayumi said. “Thanks to you being here, I’ve been so well-behaved lately, right? Cut me some slack if I stay out occasionally.” “I’ll overlook it even if it’s every day.”

“Mutual non-interference, huh?” “We’ll last forever, huh?”

Mayumi laughed. Though they were both twenty-five—perhaps because she was single—Mayumi's skin was rough, yet she remained much more childlike and youthful, her demeanor charming. That gap would surely never narrow.

When she saw off Mayumi in her gorgeous dress, Yoshiko's loneliness deepened.

From both the radio and television, Christmas came flooding out the moment the switch was turned. The remoteness of others' celebrations and her own heavy sorrow—like formless mist—overflowed in her heart. After making quick preparations, Yoshiko went outside to clear her head. It had been so long since her last outing that she couldn't instantly recall how many days had passed.

However, Christmas was overflowing even more boisterously in the city. Every store had devised elaborate decorations for their Christmas sales, and wherever one went, several different Christmas melodies could be heard simultaneously. And almost everyone walking through the city was happily clutching beautifully wrapped items that appeared to be presents. ......

But she alone had no connection to any of the presents. She had no one to give to her, and no one for her to give to. She neither bought nor received anything. She was all alone. Suddenly, it was unsettling. Amid countless people jostling and laughing through the city, amid all other humans bound together by such presents, she felt herself living utterly alone and disconnected from them all. But why was it that for me alone, presents held no connection? Why was it that I alone had no one to love? …The absence of someone to love—more than sadness, it was a terror as if I myself had vanished for the first time—struck Yoshiko’s heart.

She wandered dazedly into the Western-style clothing store at the corner. Mayumi. If I gave her a present. But Yoshiko’s legs carried her past the women’s section and brought her to a halt before the men’s display case. That's right. Even Mayumi would surely be happier receiving something from one of her boyfriends than from someone like me. I want to give a present to some wonderful man myself. Yoshiko reached out toward the men’s leather gloves. At that moment, the shop clerk called out. Of course, there had been no particular intention behind this action. She hadn’t given her husband a single thought. It was simply that the supple texture of those leather gloves made her imagine the cold, cruel allure of a ruggedly handsome man. She bought them.

As she hurried along the dark path back to the apartment, she realized her cheeks were burning for no reason, her eyes fixed wide open, her nostrils flaring slightly. When she took a deep breath of the chilled winter night air, her chest quivered. At times, she felt her knees might give way. She entered the room, turned off the light, and lay down immediately, but she couldn’t sleep at all. ...Yoshiko realized for the first time that she actively desired her own existence, like a character in a novel. In the darkness, her cheeks burned hot with blushes again and again.

Mayumi returned home near noon the next day. Mayumi’s high-pitched voice roused Yoshiko, who had just barely managed to fall asleep.

“Hey, are you still asleep?” “Yoshiko.” “There’s a present here for you.”

“Are you just getting back?”

Yoshiko saw Mayumi standing in the bright room holding a slender cardboard box wrapped in cellophane on the front, while rubbing her eyes as if to hide the traces of having cried herself to sleep.

“Look, a present—a flower bouquet.” “Isn’t it lovely?” “It’s even got a poinsettia in there!”

Mayumi passed the box to Yoshiko on the bed, then placed both hands on her hips.

“I just ran into the florist in the hallway and took this instead, but you—who do you think sent this present?”

“...Hiroshi who died said he’d give Mom a bouquet this Christmas, you know.”

Yoshiko said in a quiet voice.

“Oh my, how absurd!” “Aren’t you surprised?” “The sender is that little boy.”

Yoshiko placed the flower bouquet on the side table. “It must be your husband, right? He used the little boy’s name on purpose,” said Mayumi. “For the son of a dried goods store, he’s not half bad, huh? Pretty impressive.”

Yoshiko slowly sat up. Why did this bouquet stir no interest in her at all? That was strange, even to herself.

The sender of the bouquet was Yoshiko herself.—After resolving to separate from her husband at that seaside park, she had gone alone to the small florist next to the hotel, given Mayumi’s apartment address, prepaid even the out-of-town delivery fee, and requested that it be sent here to herself for Christmas. ...But why did I do such a thing?

Mayumi was humming a tune as she rode the bus. Listening half-consciously to the leisurely humming, Yoshiko remained seated on the bed, vacantly gazing at the bright, clear sky outside the window. Yoshiko tried to think: I sent myself this bouquet as a substitute for Hiroshi—who had become the sea—anticipating how empty and sad this Christmas would feel without any presents unless I kept even a fragment of his memory vivid. But...unlike that time of chaotic emptiness when I felt as if I were endlessly falling into a pitch-black void, now I remain fixed in place with a pitch-black hole drilled into my very core. In the end, what my past self had given me was the "me" of that time. But now, even if I were given the me from that time as a present, it would have no effect. I have, so to speak, already become a different person—because of that.

Suddenly, Yoshiko thought. Indeed, I am now a stranger to who I was then. And if the person you give presents to is truly the one you love and need most, then perhaps back then, I had seen in my future self the only such stranger capable of being loved.

Suddenly, Yoshiko realized. Could it be that the self of that time had been chasing Hiroshi, seeking Hiroshi, with my heart occupied solely by him, and together with Hiroshi, had become the sea? Could this flower bouquet be an earnest token of love—from that self of hers who had died in the deep indigo sea alongside Hiroshi—to a different, new self…?

Yoshiko reached out to the flower bouquet. For the first time, her heart stirred to savor that present as something from another person to her current self.

In December, the coastal park had few visitors. The lawn withered, and the trees shed their leaves; only the sea’s thunderous roar reverberated unchangingly across the desolate, flat expanse of the park.

A lone man in his early thirties, wearing glasses, sat on one of the benches. He was looking at the midwinter afternoon sea. The sea was a sedimented grey, and today the mist hung somewhat thicker than usual.

A young woman alone, clicking her high heels, passed through the fence connecting to the sidewalk from the hotel and entered the coastal park.

The man didn’t notice. The sound of footsteps was likely drowned out by the crashing waves and the wind from the sea. The woman walked straight toward the bench where the man sat.

“So it was you, after all.”

“So it was you after all,” said the woman. The man looked up. But he said nothing. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who sent me the bouquet in Hiroshi’s name.”

“……It was me.”

“Forgive me,” said the man. “I overstepped.” “I didn’t mean it that way when I asked.” A curtain of white waves rose against the quay and collapsed.

The woman sat down on the bench beside the man.

“I sent myself a flower bouquet, you know. “So at first, I thought that bouquet had arrived. “But when I looked closely, the shop’s name was different from what I’d remembered. “That made me curious, so I came to check the shop I’d ordered from.”

The woman turned toward the hotel. “That shop. Remember? There was that time in autumn when we stopped by. The one next to the hotel.” “Ah, that place has become a gas station now.”

“I see.” “How irresponsible.” “Even though they went so far as to charge a special fee for out-of-town delivery, they didn’t even give a proper notice and just played dumb.” “I see.” “Then… you took mine…” “Yes, at first I made a mistake.” “But when I came here and saw your back, I was struck.” “I’d forgotten there was another person qualified to use Hiroshi’s name.” “I’m sorry.” “Until now, I’ve been so awful to you.”

“So will you accept it? That present.” “Of course. You were the one who stood in for Hiroshi. As both a mother and a wife, there’s no reason for me not to accept it.” “In the end, you were the only person I wanted to give a present to.” “Will you accept mine as well?”

The woman took out the gloves she had bought last night from her handbag and placed them on the man’s lap. “The person I want to give a present to is، after all، no one but you.” “Now I finally understand that.”

“Thank you.”

The husband carefully put them into his pocket. "I didn't get any presents from anyone. I was terribly lonely." "Marriage must be about exchanging our loneliness as presents."

The woman shifted her gaze to the far-off, white-hazed horizon as she spoke.

“……But why did you come here today? Coincidence?” “I came to see Hiroshi. I’ve been staying at that hotel since yesterday.” “……Because it’s Christmas.” “Why here for Hiroshi?” “At some point, you saw Hiroshi in this sea, didn’t you? I came to see the same thing.”

The woman fell silent. What I saw back then was Hiroshi's absence. But perhaps it amounts to the same thing. "Hiroshi called us here. You and me." Perhaps it was Hiroshi’s absence that had summoned us here.

The two of them gazed at the sea. The sea, hazed in ash-white, piled ominous murky folds one after another as it advanced expressionlessly toward the quay, swelling into brilliant white foam only to retreat again. Each time, something unknown lapped in, and beyond the dimly glowing wall, she felt the presence of an impossibly vast life stirring.

“It’s… Hiroshi’s present，isn't it?” “The one who brought us together here was…” the woman said quietly. “So when will you come back home?” the man asked.

The woman laughed. “I didn’t tell Mayumi that I sent myself the bouquet. So Mayumi’s been convinced from the start that it was your present.”

“Mayumi?”

As he said this, the husband took out a lighter and cigarettes. The woman’s hand cupped around it, and the husband exhaled white smoke. “That’s right. Mayumi was quite pleased about that.” “Why?” “Oh, figure it out yourself,” the woman said, laughing again. “When I’m around, she says it makes her behave much better.”