Pathway to Japanese Literature

The hotel faced the sea. That said, between the hotel and the sea, first there was a wide paved road, and then a small green belt of the coastal park. The sea, in the distance, floated white and pale green stylish foreign steamships, numerous flat barges, and harbor debris while slowly heaving its indigo blue skin up and down.

Next to the hotel stood a small flower shop. The late autumn afternoon's weightless transparent light made the multicolored cut flowers and potted plants gleam, scattering vivid colors there alone. From its entrance emerged a pair who seemed to be a young couple. The woman in a thin woolen kimono shaded her eyes with her palm above her brows as if dazzled, while the man in a shirt, sweater, and trousers listlessly twirled a hotel room key on his finger. The two wandered aimlessly forward, crossing the paved road as though stopping or changing direction would be too troublesome, and entered the coastal park.

The woman grimaced. She touched her cheek. “I thought it was rain, but it’s flower petals blowing in with the wind.” “That hurts.” The man approached the bench without answering; the sea crashed with a roar 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 completely exhausted.”

“So let’s go home 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, cupped his hand around it, and painstakingly lit it with his lighter. Without helping, the woman watched.

“We can’t have my mother keep house-sitting forever,” the man said. “Your mother is such a good person.” “I like her.”

“My mother is really worried about you too.”

“Hiroshi took after your mother.” “We agreed not to talk about Hiroshi.” “Ah... I’m sorry.”

The man stretched his arms as if taking a deep breath and leaned back against the bench.

“I’ve decided—I’ll go back to the shop starting tomorrow.” “I’ll head over to the main shop.” “You’re so admirable.”

“That’s not it,” the man said. “There’s also the aspect of escaping into work.”

“You’re admirable,” the woman said again. “I’m glad I wasn’t born a man.”

“Hey, Yoshiko. Cheer up. They say if you give up, that very moment’s the end—that’s how humans are.”

“Well then, I’m already finished, you know.”

The woman lowered her eyes to the park path. “Even if I’m laughed at or scolded, there’s no helping it.” “For me, Hiroshi was... yes, a promise.” “I’ll stop.” “It’s as if Hiroshi is your entire world,” the man said with a forced smile. “But Yoshiko, you were originally my wife… before being Hiroshi’s mother.”

The woman stood up. She walked toward the embankment. The man seemed to be calling out. Because of the headwind, she couldn’t hear him clearly. But the woman did not turn around. The indigo blue sea, its offing slightly hazy. The sea was moving. By now, Hiroshi must have dissolved into the sea. A month had already passed since he was swept away by the waves. A mere four-year-old body, so young and small. Why did we go to the coast in September?

“―Hiroshi.”

The woman muttered. If it had been peak season, someone in the crowd would have noticed sooner. Even if such a huge wave hadn’t come, no one would have forcibly stopped me from rushing into the sea.

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

Again, the man calls. The husband must be worried.

—Husband. Was that my husband? That man? That felt like a complete stranger. A single, unfamiliar man. Suddenly, the sea shrieked. A raw roar. It enveloped the woman.

The woman saw herself in the sea. She said to that self. It was the sea that took Hiroshi. Hiroshi had become one with the sea. ……If I were to jump into the sea, I wonder if I could become one with Hiroshi?

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

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

How foolish. He thinks I'm going to jump in. "It's okay. Let go," the woman said. "If I were going to die, I'd have done it long ago."

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

The memory of just now - when she had been left with nothing 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 within the sea, it’ll keep getting colder from now on. “Winter will come.” “What?”

For a moment, he made a frightening face; then the man contorted his face into an ugly, forced smile.

“All right. But don’t say such childish things anymore.” “I’ll say it!”

“Stop it!” For the first time, the man shouted.

“……Why can’t I say it?”

Voices were swept away by the wind. That’s why I too become a voice that shouts.

“If I don’t say anything, is that okay? If I don’t speak, how can we ever be happy?” “Think about me too. I’m sad too.”

The husband put his arms around the woman’s shoulders. “Losing to sadness or drowning in it—that’s just foolishness.” “No matter what we do, Hiroshi won’t come back.” “We need to reset everything.” “Love each other, support each other—our only choice is to start over from just the two of us.” “You were the one who said there’s no redoing in life—that gambling on nonexistent things is pointless.”

“Yoshiko, shouldn’t you know I love you?”

The man tightened his grip.

“Well.” “Let’s go.” Obediently starting to walk, the woman suddenly thought: We must look like a happy couple. When they reached the bench from earlier, she shook off his hand. She sank onto the bench as if collapsing.

The man also sat down beside her. Again, he began wiping his glasses. The woman gazed vacantly at the man’s face. The man had the fair complexion typical of a young merchant heir, his eye rims faintly flushed. In that unfamiliar profile with narrow eyes unadorned by glasses, the woman suddenly saw an intensely repulsive type of thirty-year-old man. The woman slightly laughed.

The woman laughed slightly.

“It feels just like yesterday,” the husband muttered after a slight pause. “When you think about it, time flies. “Before you know it, Christmas will be here.”

“This Christmas will be lonely, won’t it?”

“Yeah.” “It really is,” the husband said. “A child really is such a significant thing for a couple.” “Those things and Hiroshi’s birthday were like milestones in our life, weren’t they?”

The man suddenly noticed.

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

Her pale cheeks trembling, her eyes seeing nothing, the woman said in a hoarse voice.

“After all, I’m leaving you—I just can’t live with you anymore.” “You’re saying that again—how could you…”

The woman’s throat moved. She kept looking straight ahead.

“Before, Christmas meant nothing to me.” “At home, we never did anything special.” “That was true for me too,” the man said. “We only began celebrating Christmas after Hiroshi was conceived—because he existed.” “All those decorations and presents and feasts—all the effort we poured into Christmas—that day only existed for me because of Hiroshi.”

“Yeah,” the husband said quietly.

“I can’t bear a Christmas without Hiroshi.” The woman shouted. “What about you?” “That day is coming again soon!”

The husband said nothing. “Hiroshi was good at Jingle Bells.” “I could never bear to hear Christmas music in that house—the one where Hiroshi isn’t anymore but once was.” “I’ll go mad.”

“...Jingle Bells, huh?” the man said. “For me too, Christmas became a habit after Hiroshi was born.” “Even though Hiroshi isn’t here, those lively, joyful, splendid Christmases keep going on.” “Into emptiness.” “Certainly, that is a torment beyond imagination… I understand.”

The woman covered her face. She said while choking back tears. “Hiroshi was supposed to give me a present this year. Last year he said: ‘Next year I’ll give you a wonderful present, Mom.’ ‘I’ll give you a bouquet of your favorite flowers...’”

The husband reached out his hand to the woman’s shoulder. The woman sharply pulled back her shoulder.

“I can’t do this anymore.” “I wish I hadn’t remembered.” “I can’t forget anymore.” “I no longer have anyone to give presents to.” “But I’m here, you know.” “That’s not it,” the woman said. “The person I truly want to give something to—the one I enjoy thinking about and planning for—isn’t here.” “That’s right.” “A present is something you give.” “That person—the one who makes giving a joy—is the only one who’s truly necessary.” “They’re the one you truly love.” “I probably don’t love you.” "The only one I ever loved was Hiroshi." “For Hiroshi’s sake, I never found it strange—not even slightly—to be your wife.” “Only as Hiroshi’s mother was I your wife.” “That’s how it is.” “That’s what’s clear now…”

“You’re agitated,” the man said. “Let’s talk in the room. Slowly. Okay?” “I am indeed agitated.” The woman looked at the man angrily with eyes full of tears. “But deciding to separate isn’t some spur-of-the-moment idea for me.” “Right now, it’s simply that starting from Christmas, I’ve managed to put into words what kind of wife I was to you.” “Last night, on that point, you managed to deceive me...”

“Yoshiko. “But I…”

“I’d been considering this since before coming to this hotel.” “If divorce proves difficult, I thought I would at least ask that we live apart.”

“Living apart? Why?” “I want to be alone. Anyway, I want to step outside of the life I’ve lived until now and use this chance to slowly confront myself. I think everything comes after that.” “Why would you…”

“I have a place to go. For a while, I’ll have Mayumi let me live with her at her place in Azabu.” “What, Mayumi?”

“Yes. Your most hated person—my old classmate. The vulgar TV personality Mayumi. She’s living alone in her apartment, so…”

“Did you discuss it with her?” “Enough already.”

“Yes,” “Over the phone.” “She said, ‘Come whenever you like—stay as long as you want.’” “I too have been seriously thinking about various things.” “I wouldn’t do something as reckless as separating on a day or two’s whim.” The man remained silent. The fingers trying to take out a cigarette trembled, his eyes fixed on the toe of his shoe. The lighter made a hard, sharp sound. The flame burned astonishingly red and bright. Unnoticed, the sun had begun to set, leaving his face dim in the fading light. Each time he inhaled, the crimson glow intensified, flashing across his rimless glasses.

“Ah… It’s gotten quite dark,” the man said after a while. “Anyway, I’m going back to the hotel.”

The woman gazed at the man's face.

“……If we were made to have another arranged meeting… do you think we’d get married?”

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

Without a word, the man stood up and began walking without waiting for the woman. He did not look back.

The woman took a deep breath. In the steamships offshore, in the piers and buoy markers, and before she knew it, even in the mercury lamps of the park—light had already poured in fully and beautifully. The days were rapidly growing shorter. Moreover, the cold was growing bitter. The woman also left the bench.

When she walked toward the park exit, the sea’s roar clung after her, spreading through the pale ink-gray space, its reverberations echoing through the ground beneath her feet. When she reached the fence at the boundary of the wide paved road—the barrier meant to keep cars out—the woman stopped. The flower shop next to the hotel lit several lights, and in the evening dusk, only that spot was illuminated with a brightness akin to a small stage.

Though the future felt like nothing but an immensely thick, heavy gray wall, when she stood and faced it, the flow of time had passed swiftly like a single gap.

Indeed, before one knew it, Christmas had come to the city.

Life with Mayumi in the apartment was neither enjoyable nor dull. Yoshiko spent most of her time as a house-sitter.

She had not met with her husband even once. Her husband had only sent checks regularly through the mail; there were no letters, and he never called. Because of that, Yoshiko had hardly found herself thinking about her husband.

On Christmas Eve, Mayumi invited Yoshiko to a party hosted by the production company she belonged to. Of course Yoshiko refused.

“I want to be alone, and it’s better that way. You don’t need to fuss over me.” “I’m staying up all night,” Mayumi said. “Thanks to you being here, I’ve been on my best behavior lately, right? Let me stay out just this once.” “I’m lenient every day as it is.”

“Mutual non-interference, huh? We’ll last a long time, won’t we?”

Mayumi laughed.

Perhaps because she was single, even at twenty-five—the same age—Mayumi’s skin was rough, but she remained childlike and youthful, with a charmingly innocent disposition. That gap would surely never close now. After seeing off Mayumi in her gorgeous dress, Yoshiko’s loneliness deepened unmistakably. From both radios and televisions, Christmas overflowed at the mere turn of a switch. The distance of others’ festivities and her own heavy, mist-like sorrow with nowhere to go flooded her heart. After quickly preparing, Yoshiko went out for a change of pace. It had been so long since her last outing that she couldn’t immediately recall how many days had passed.

However, Christmas overflowed even more boisterously through the city. Every store elaborately decorated for Christmas sales, and wherever one went, several different Christmas melodies could be heard overlapping at once. And nearly all the people walking through the streets held beautifully wrapped packages that resembled gifts happily against their chests. ……

But she alone had no connection to any of the presents. There was no one to give them to her, and no one for her to give them to. She neither bought anything nor received anything. She was utterly alone. Suddenly, this filled her with anxiety. Amidst the teeming crowds and laughter-filled multitudes of the city, amidst all those other people bound together by such presents, she felt herself living completely apart from them—utterly solitary. But why was it that presents had nothing to do with me alone? Why was it that I alone had no one to love?...The absence of someone to love came over Yoshiko not as sadness, but as a terror akin to herself vanishing for the first time.

She drifted 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 halted her before the men's display case. Right. Even Mayumi would surely prefer receiving gifts from one of her boyfriends rather than from someone like me. I want to give a present to some wonderful man too.

Yoshiko reached for the men's leather gloves. Just then, the shop attendant spoke. Of course, she hadn't singled out anyone specific. Her husband hadn't so much as flickered through her thoughts. Yet the gloves' supple texture made her envision the cold, ruthless allure of a dashingly handsome man. She purchased them. Hurrying down the dim path toward her apartment, she became aware of her inexplicably burning cheeks, her unblinking widened eyes, the faint quivering of her nostrils. Each deep inhale of frigid winter night air sent tremors through her chest. At intervals, she felt as though her knees might buckle. She entered her room, switched off the light and lay down immediately, yet sleep refused to come. ...For the first time, Yoshiko understood—like some fictional character—that she was actively yearning for her own existence. In the darkness, her cheeks flushed crimson again and again.

Mayumi returned home near noon the next day. Yoshiko, who had just fallen asleep, was awakened by Mayumi’s shrill voice.

“Hey, are you still sleeping?” “Yoshiko.” “There’s a present that’s arrived for you!”

“Did you just get back?”

Yoshiko rubbed her eyes as if to hide the traces of having cried herself to sleep, and in the bright room saw Mayumi standing holding a long narrow cardboard box covered with cellophane on its front.

“Look—a present! A bouquet!” “Isn’t it lovely?” “It even has poinsettias included!”

Mayumi handed the box to Yoshiko on the bed and placed both hands on her hips.

“I just met the florist in the hallway and took it for you, but hey—who do you think sent this present?” “……Hiroshi—my dead son—said he’d give me a bouquet this Christmas.”

"...", Yoshiko said in a quiet voice.

“Oh my goodness! Aren’t you surprised? The sender is that little boy!”

Yoshiko placed the bouquet on the side table.

“It must be your husband.” “He used the boy’s name on purpose,” Mayumi said. “For the son of a stodgy old establishment, he’s not half bad, huh? Pretty impressive.”

Yoshiko slowly raised herself up. Why did this bouquet fail to stir any excitement in her at all? It was strange even to herself.

The sender of the bouquet was Yoshiko herself.—Right after resolving to separate from her husband at that coastal park, she had gone alone to the small flower shop next to the hotel, given Mayumi’s apartment address, prepaid even the out-of-city delivery fee, and requested that it be delivered there to herself for Christmas.

...But why had I done such a thing?

Mayumi was taking a bath while humming a tune. Half-consciously listening to that carefree humming, Yoshiko remained seated on the bed, vacantly gazing at the bright, clear sky outside the window.

Yoshiko tried to think that she—by doing this, by keeping Hiroshi's memory even slightly vivid—had become a substitute for Hiroshi who had transformed into the sea, giving herself this bouquet out of anticipation for how empty and sad my Christmas would otherwise be without any gift. But unlike that time when I was endlessly falling through emptiness like plummeting into an abyss—a chaotic state within void—now I find myself fixed with an excavated black hole at my core. Ultimately what my former self gave me was nothing but that moment's version of "me". Yet now being gifted with that former self would achieve nothing. For I have already become someone else entirely.

—Suddenly, Yoshiko thought. Certainly, the current me is a stranger to the me of that time. And if the recipient of a gift is truly the person one loves and needs most, then perhaps back then, I saw in my future self the only such stranger I could love.

Suddenly, Yoshiko noticed. Could it be that back then, she—her past self—had been chasing Hiroshi, seeking Hiroshi, her heart occupied solely by him, and together with Hiroshi, had become one with the sea? Could it be that this bouquet was a heartfelt token of love from that self—the one who had died alongside Hiroshi in the deep indigo sea—to a different, new self...? Yoshiko reached out her hand to the bouquet. For the first time, her heart stirred to savor that present as one from another person—to her current self.

In December, the coastal park had few visitors. The lawn withered, the trees shed their leaves, and only the sea’s roar continued its unchanging reverberation across the desolate, flat expanse of the park.

Only one man—around thirty years old and wearing glasses—was sitting on one of the benches. He was watching the midwinter afternoon sea. The sea was stagnant gray, and today the haze hung particularly thick.

A young woman alone clicked her high heels as she passed through the fence connecting to the paved road from the hotel and entered the coastal park. The man didn't notice. Her footsteps were likely drowned out by crashing waves and sea wind. The woman walked straight toward the bench where the man sat. "So it was you after all." said the woman.

The man raised his face. But he said nothing. “It was you, wasn’t it?” “You sent me the bouquet under Hiroshi’s name.”

“……It was me.”

“Forgive me. I did something unnecessary.” “That’s not what I meant when I asked.” A white curtain of waves rose up along the quay and collapsed.

The woman sat down on the bench next to the man. “I went ahead and gave myself a bouquet beforehand. So at first, I thought that bouquet had arrived. But when I looked closely, the shop’s name was different from what I remembered. That’s why I got curious and came to check out the shop I’d ordered from.”

The woman turned toward the hotel. “It’s that shop.” “Remember? We stopped by there once in the fall, didn’t we?” “The one next to the hotel.”

“Ah, that place has become a gas station now.” “I see. That’s irresponsible. Even though they charged a special fee for out-of-town delivery, they didn’t even send a notice and just covered it up.”

“I see.” “Then you got mine…” “That’s right—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 really awful to you.” “So you’ll accept it?” “That gift.”

“Of course. You became Hiroshi’s stand-in for me.” “As both a mother and wife, I’ve no reason to refuse.” “I realized... you’re still the only one I want to give presents to.” “Will you accept mine too?” The woman took the gloves from her handbag—purchased last night—and laid them on the man’s knees. “There’s still no one but you I want to give presents to.” “I’ve finally understood that.”

“Thank you.”

The man carefully put them into his pocket.

“Not getting any presents from anyone, I was terribly lonely.”

“A couple must be those who exchange their own loneliness as gifts, I suppose.”

The woman shifted her gaze to the distant, white-hazed horizon and said. “...But why did you come here today? A coincidence?” “I came to see Hiroshi. I’ve been staying at that hotel since yesterday. ...Because it’s Christmas.”

“Why here for Hiroshi?” “Did you once see Hiroshi in this sea?” “I came to see the same thing.” The woman fell silent. What I had seen back then was Hiroshi’s absence. But perhaps that amounted to the same thing.

“Hiroshi called us here, didn’t he? You and me.” “You and me.”

That which had called them there might have been Hiroshi’s absence.

The two of them gazed at the sea. The ash-white hazed sea layered ominously murky folds one after another, pressing expressionlessly against the embankment, swelling up brilliant white foam only to retreat again. Each time, unknown things surged in with a lapping rhythm, and beyond the dimly glowing wall, it felt as though an unimaginably vast life was stirring. “…It’s Hiroshi’s gift, isn’t it—the one who brought us together here…” the woman said softly.

“So, when are you coming back home?” the man asked.

The woman laughed.

“I didn’t tell Mayumi that I sent the bouquet to myself, you know.” “So Mayumi has believed from the very start that that was your present.”

“Mayumi?” While saying this, the man took out a lighter and cigarettes. The woman’s hand cupped around, and the man exhaled white smoke. “That’s how it is. Mayumi was in a good mood because of that.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you should figure that out yourself,” she said, laughing again. “She says that when I’m around, she ends up behaving so properly because of it.”