Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Across the wide asphalt road, on the side that had escaped war damage, large buildings stood in rows, and street trees grew lush and verdant. The building—originally a barracks—was now said to house occupation forces; against its repainted white walls, crisp blue window coverings stood sharply beneath the clear summer sky, arrayed as if to temper the heat. The colors were dazzling. The scene of multiple jeeps parked beneath dense street trees contrasted so starkly with this side of the road—where even burnt rubble remained uncleared one year after war’s end—that a single asphalt strip seemed too narrow a divide, making it appear like gazing upon a distant foreign land. The road—a single path split into two—continued toward the tram thoroughfare ahead, where blue window drapes faced cornfields. Along a pitted sidewalk requiring cautious steps to avoid tripping walked a group of four or five people including Mine. They were returning from a small gathering. Alcohol having been unexpectedly served, the men’s faces flushed crimson, their moods exuberant. Only Mine remained unflushed—the sole woman—and oppressed by her fixation on Nomura walking clustered among them, she found herself in an odd mental state where she couldn’t smoothly absorb their cheerfulness as usual, watching the men with peculiar detachment. The gentle uphill slope made Mine—vulnerable to heat—sweat copiously. As she panted, shielding her face from the sunset with a white fan, a roadside cornstalk leaf grazed her hand with unexpected sting.

“Ah!”

As she let out a small cry and stroked the cut on the back of her hand, Mine's feet quickly lagged behind. Adjusting to her natural pace, she walked slowly. While walking, she found herself gazing with profound emotion at the retreating figures of two men who appeared indifferent as they gradually increased their distance—one being Mine's husband Yukichi, the other Nomura who had recently married her younger sister. Yukichi's white shirt—his navy suit jacket slung over his arm—and Nomura's white shrunken underwear beneath his similarly navy-hued plain kimono tucked up at the hem glared vividly in the sunset. Both bareheaded—one bald and the other with unruly thick hair—the profusion of white strands in Nomura's disheveled locks matched Yukichi's baldness in testifying to men approaching fifty. Nomura was a novelist and Yukichi a poet. Mine herself, watching their receding backs with deep feeling, likewise wrote fiction and such works. The three had participated in that day's gathering while striving to align themselves with postwar literature's new currents—all having weathered different storms through that turbulent era in their own ways. Within Nomura's great misfortune of losing his wife—leaving him no longer part of a family of four—fate had interceded through Mine's sister Kanko marrying him recently to fill that void. Nomura's former wife had died after a long illness just before war's end during such intense air raids that holding a funeral proved impossible; when they finally received notification by postcard, half a month had already passed. Carrying dwarf sunflowers from their garden, Mine and others had visited Nomura's house in air-raid gear—a time when even altar flowers were scarce, making the blossoms adorning the white parcel on the tokonoma desk appear pitifully inadequate as they framed Nomura sitting dejectedly with downcast eyes, a sight that stirred profound pity.

On their way back, Mine said to Yukichi.

“Mr. Nomura is utterly listless, isn’t he.” Mine, who had heard rumors about Nomura holding hands and weeping at his critically ill wife’s bedside, found herself astonished now to see him so withered—unable even to produce a proper voice—after having finally lost his wife. He appeared so dejected that it felt too bizarre to attribute to marital affection. To the extent she couldn’t fully grasp why he was so despondent, one might say her prior interactions with Nomura had been sparse. As for Nomura’s wife, their daily lives had involved so little contact that they rarely even recalled her existence. The wife who had only sharply impressed herself upon Mine’s heart after death left behind, in Mine’s perception, nothing more than the image of an ordinary spouse bound by societal norms. The sorrow of a woman who—after twenty years of marriage—departed this world mid-war, leaving behind a husband and four children with the eldest just twenty, must have been something beyond what tears could express, even had one clasped hands and wept.

However, if the surviving husband’s dejection was like Nomura’s, Mine thought, it somehow felt unsettling. Was it perhaps due to a lack of compassion? “Even if I were to die, would you end up like that too, I wonder.” Mine, who had spent as many years in domestic life with Yukichi as Nomura and his wife had, gazed at her husband with a certain emotion.

“Well, that might be the case,” he said. “After twenty years together, a married couple becomes like one body, I suppose. But Nomura’s situation is special. He’s a timid man.” “Right?” she replied. “Somehow, when I look at him, Mr. Nomura seems as dejected as a wife who’s lost her husband. She must have been such a capable woman. When she died, she must have held the reins so tightly that it left him adrift.”

Having just left Nomura’s house, her friendship with him up to that point had not been deep enough for her to utter such careless words. It was, so to speak, nothing more than neighborly relations typical among colleagues in the same profession.

That Nomura and her sister would be united was something Mine had never even dreamed of at the time. However, merely a year later, through strange circumstances, Kanko ended up going to Nomura’s household. The intense social upheaval immediately after the war’s end swept away the pressures that had been weighing on the literary activities of certain writers, including Nomura and Yukichi, moving in a direction that allowed them to open their concealed hearts and reveal them to one another. Had immersing themselves in this new current made them feel as though a fresh friendship were flowing between them?

Nomura sent Mine a letter asking her to arrange a wife for him. Mine read that letter while traveling by train.

Thank you for having me the other day. Did Yukichi run in the election?

This may seem abrupt, but I’m looking for a wife (though I haven’t mentioned this to anyone yet)—do you know of any suitable candidates? In any case, as things stand now, I find myself in a bind, unable to move freely. In my situation, I know there are cases where siblings or relatives who understand one’s circumstances might find someone—a fitting lid for a cracked pot, so to speak—but both of my sisters married into Manchuria and Guangdong with no word since, and both of my brothers were killed in the war. Though I do have old friends, after twenty years of living such different lives, I find myself at a loss, unable to even begin guessing where to turn.—

With this opening, I enumerated the hardships of widower life with four children; while I, Nomura, am not considering this marriage solely for convenience—though in truth I am utterly troubled—I cannot simply take in a stray kitten by making such abrupt demands, and though I fear this may have come as a bolt from the blue, if you know anyone who might consider coming to a place like mine, I wish to ask for your assistance; personally, I had intended to finish the novel I’m writing and put my late wife’s memory to rest first, but as the children plead, I now think to marry after June passes her first anniversary; that my search for a wife contains such pragmatic motives may well be characteristic of this era and men of my middle age, but I assure you I harbor no frivolous intent—and with these words, I entrust this matter to you, concluding with: “She need not understand literature. A kind person who can sew would be ideal. Please take this letter lightly—if there happens to be a suitable candidate, that’s fine, and if not, please forget about it. Tonight, after talking with the children about various things, it suddenly occurred to me that it would be easier to write to you in a letter, so I wrote this—but I haven’t mentioned this to anyone yet. It concluded with ‘Good night.’”

Mine read this letter three times over with a certain emotion. Nomura’s candid letter—carrying a joy akin to being the first consulted about such a weighty matter, as if sliding open a fusuma to reveal the chaotic disarray of a wifeless household’s closet—struck Mine’s heart so deeply that she discarded all formal distance toward him through this single missive, coming to regard Nomura with newfound intimacy. The trip served Yukichi—who had been persuaded to run in the first postwar general election and returned to his hometown—requiring Mine to assume her spousal role in campaigning; precisely the sort of travel purpose she found most distasteful. There was another objective. To bring her younger sister Kanko from their provincial hometown to Tokyo. In the war’s immediate aftermath, Mine—compelled to adopt an orphaned infant from a distant relative—had reached her limit under childcare’s added strain. This formed her scheme to enlist Kanko’s aid. Kanko was a woman born under the Fire Horse sign. For this she’d endured unjust persecution—burying her youth beyond necessity by Mine’s account—aging through solitary preservation of purity alone. Now retired from decades of sewing instruction, persisting in lonely solitude at Mine’s ancestral home—this Kanko became abruptly linked in Mine’s mind to Nomura’s letter. A kind woman who can sew—a kind woman who can sew. Ah yes—she embodied precisely that kind seamstress. Mine grew convinced that Kanko’s forty years of spinsterhood had somehow awaited Nomura’s need, even suspecting he’d sent this letter after hearing whispers of her existence. Yet within their shallow acquaintance, Nomura couldn’t possibly have known of Kanko. Only Kanko had come to know Nomura through his published words. When Mine showed Nomura’s letter,

“Someone like me… I could never.”

With a red face, she staggered back sharply. But after discussing it two or three times, she finally said, “In that case, I’ll leave it to Mine.”

“But you know, even though I’m saying this, it’s still just a one-sided proposal—we don’t know what they’ll say on the other end. So if it doesn’t work out, please don’t hold it against me.”

“Of course, that goes without saying.” “But I’ve also started thinking about many things lately.” “I’d intended to live alone my whole life, but at this age I worry about the future—I’ve come to think that if there were a suitable partner... During the war, I grew so weary of being alone.” “But unless I depend on others, I can’t manage anything myself.” In a tone tinged with regret over having resolutely rejected every marriage proposal that had come her way until now, Kanko said. It was the first time Mine had heard such vulnerability from Kanko. Mine felt keenly this loosening of Kanko’s resolve and returned to Tokyo determined that even should Nomura refuse, she must find some place for her sister to belong. Yet now that matters had progressed this far, Mine found herself strangely reluctant to inform Nomura. She confided the situation to Kawashima Sadako, her close associate in their literary group. She had wanted Sadako to sound out Nomura’s true intentions.

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine.” “That’s really wonderful, isn’t it?”

Sadako read Nomura’s letter with a smile and consented to Mine’s proposal. Even Sadako—regarding Nomura, who was after all an old comrade—shared Mine’s joy at his having sent such a letter and expressed through her animated words a desire to act in Nomura’s best interests. Yet her response may have contained some reflection of Mine’s own feelings—feelings given extra momentum by Kanko being her sister. Compared to Mine, who had sunk to the emotional level of an ordinary woman, Mine suddenly sensed that even as Sadako rejoiced alongside her, there remained in Sadako a third party’s detachment and a writer’s complex consideration of Nomura. It was the moment when Sadako’s smile vanished with a soft exhale. Mine, slightly embarrassed,

“He’s putting sewing ability as his top condition.” “My sister’s just a completely ordinary woman, but that same plainness exists in Mr. Nomura too, don’t you think?” “That’s how it feels to me.”

“That’s right. So in that regard, Ms. Kanko is an ideal fit, though.” Mine once again sensed a lingering reservation in Sadako’s words and fell silent. What did she mean by “ideal fit” in that regard?

Whether Sadako was aware of Mine’s inner turmoil or not—she, “Mr. Nomura’s wife was beautiful, wasn’t she.” “I went for New Year’s greetings once, you know.” “Mr. Nomura was out, and his wife and three daughters trooped out—all dressed in beautiful kimonos and lined up neatly in the entranceway.” “They were all beauties, weren’t they.” “Glamorous.” “Truly beautiful.” Was Sadako weighing that beauty against something else? Naturally, one would recall such things—but Mine, who had never met Nomura’s wife or children and knew nothing of their beauty, found only the plainness manifest in Kanko’s appearance rising vividly in her mind. This very plainness had caused Kanko to miss her marriageable age. Once during a trip together, when they stopped at Mine’s hometown—where Sadako, who knew Kanko, naturally compared Nomura’s wife to her—Mine fully grasped this inevitability yet still felt an inexplicable sense of inferiority that stung. Do those born beautiful ever understand the unvoiced sorrow of women denied comeliness at birth? The misfortune of lacking physical beauty—the efforts of unbeautiful women to build upon invisible qualities—efforts rarely valued, bowing before humanity’s natural preference for beauty. The grief of even this humility going unrecognized. Surely Sadako would comprehend this through her perceptiveness. Yet Sadako herself—who understood—was a writer renowned as much for her beauty as her literary fame. Could she help contemplating Nomura’s feelings with different emotions altogether—Nomura who had lost a wife so remarkable that even beautiful Sadako marveled at her? But Mine’s ordinary sensibilities treated Nomura’s misfortune as a fixed condition to offset against a woman’s lack of beauty. This might have been recklessness on Mine’s part—she who had never seen Nomura’s wife or children. Nomura’s unsophisticated country air; the timidity that made him convey in letters what he couldn’t voice aloud—these qualities drew Mine’s interest.

“I could mention it myself, but I think it would be harder for Mr. Nomura to say no in that case.” “So you should be the one to bring it up.”

Having thought that far, Mine made her request to Sadako.

While Sadako, being a writer, seemed unable to convey it to Nomura with the typical matchmaker’s forcefulness, Mine ended up having an opportunity to meet him. Yukichi happened to be there too. When Mine saw signs of Nomura’s widowed life preserving its sorrow—like the futon left spread out being simply folded in half and shoved into a corner of the room—she grew uneasy about not having replied to the letter she had received and resolved to broach the subject of Kanko. She also emphasized her plainness. Nomura’s face brightened for an instant before he suddenly straightened his posture, placed his hands on his knees, and listened intently—then bobbed his head in a quick bow as he said, “Well, I’m already grateful just that you would come.” Mine took her leave, asking that he consult thoroughly with Sadako. As they walked, while lightly regretting how things had unfolded in a way that seemed to sideline Sadako, she looked up at Yukichi walking beside her.

“I wasn’t being pushy or anything, you know. “That’s why I said I’d already informed Ms. Sadako. “If he wants to refuse, he can easily consult with Ms. Sadako, right?”

“Enough of that.” “You’re being too hard on yourself—Kanko’s quite something as she is.” “Humility’s fine, but there’s no call for self-deprecation.”

“But... The fact she stayed single until forty could be seen as a mark against her, depending on how you look at it. But Mr. Nomura’s the sort who can’t find a wife himself, right? So with remarriage, he’d need to depend on others even more. That very timidity of his makes it safe in this case. And Kanko’s just a simple, uncalculating woman herself.”

At that moment, Mine and the others were walking along the same path they had taken a year earlier when visiting Nomura’s house with Himebi-mawari flowers.

It was two or three days later that Mine received a request through Sadako from Nomura for a photograph of Kanko. Due to a certain indifference born from lacking confidence in her appearance, Kanko was a woman with few photographs. From her student days through her teaching career, all the photographs she had taken were those wearing hakama skirts, and she had no suitable ones to show people on short notice. There was just one of her holding a neighborhood child and smiling; Mine handed that over. However, after four or five days had passed, the photograph was returned, and through Sadako, the matter was formally brought to a close. The reason, though unclear from the photograph alone, was that she differed too greatly from the type he had in mind. While Mine fully understood his reasoning, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. She also felt vaguely ashamed toward Nomura and Sadako. Even more than that, she regretted having impatiently pried into Kanko’s feelings without consulting Nomura’s intentions and honestly apologized to Kanko in a letter. Yet at the same time, Mine felt another kind of relief in knowing that Kanko would not stubbornly cling to her previous stance of remaining single during this opportunity. However, before long, Nomura came saying he wanted to revisit the proposal through Sadako. At that time, Kanko had sent word of the imminent date for her move to Tokyo—still ostensibly just to help at Mine’s house for a while. It was already the time when she was just about to leave the countryside that day.

“I’ve already given my sister a clear refusal.” “That’s why she’s planning to come unencumbered.” “I just don’t know what to do.” “In that case, the luggage she brings along will likely change as well.”

With her heart furrowing its brow, Mine received what seemed like half a hope, her feelings still clouded by uncertainty.

“That’s perfectly fine. Once it’s settled, we’ll have them go together to retrieve their luggage during their honeymoon… So anyway, when your sister arrives, you should talk to her again.”

The rapid-talking Sadako stammered it out. Though Mine didn’t know what exchange had occurred between Nomura and Sadako, the latter’s detached way of speaking scattered even the shadows in her heart. And so the matter was rekindled. Kanko had initially objected with visible agitation, but ultimately consented— in a manner that implied this was simply how society’s marriage arrangements unfolded. Yet once settled, she abruptly revealed a startlingly feminine side, humiliated by her ignorance across countless matters yet—

“Even someone like me, who knows nothing of literature or politics—if helping those engaged in such work allows me to join everyone’s circle, then I am resolved.” “I’m simply a person with no wisdom beyond what I’ve learned through living.”

Kanko’s single hopeful condition—to postpone the wedding until autumn—yielded to the man’s impatient proposal, and the ceremony came to be held in August’s sweltering heat. This was also because Sadako had advised that if she was going anyway, it would be better to go even a day earlier to help. Whatever calculations Nomura may have had in his heart at that time, Kanko was at any rate desired and, after being encouraged by others as well, married. Even if there had been some stumbles along that path, Kanko’s feelings needed consideration. At forty, there might have been worldly pretenses and calculations at play, but Mine quietly enveloped those and tried to instill the pride of an ordinary woman. That Nomura’s requirement—a woman who could sew despite him having four large children—must have been such a joy for Kanko. Mine had never encountered a man who would set such conditions among those around her. Rather than dwelling on why Nomura had to place such great expectations on sewing skills, Mine found herself wholly absorbed in promoting Kanko—precisely because this was where Kanko could thrive. If Nomura the writer had simply been seeking a wife, Mine would likely never have thought to connect Kanko to that position. Before the ceremony was held, there had been an instance where Nomura asked Kanko to see the inside of the house once. And that day, Nomura’s three daughters came to pick up Kanko. Aged seventeen and two years younger each, they giggled boisterously while darting in and out of Mine’s entranceway, bashful about visiting her home for the first time. Their childish attitude was so filled with the joy of gaining a mother that Mine felt joy for Kanko’s sake, even tearing up. They seemed slightly sickly, but just as Sadako had said, they were beautiful children with gentle, well-defined features. They had fair-skinned, city-like faces to such a degree that seemed unlike Nomura’s rustic simplicity. As the mother of these children, Kanko still did not seem suited. It had an unmistakably contrived air of a mother and child. Yet Kanko herself did not seem to feel the slightest unnaturalness about it and was talking to everyone. And Mine had gone out together with them. That day, Kanko had made shorts for the eldest boy and slips for each of the girls with her trusty sewing machine and brought them as gifts.

The boy immediately put on the shorts and smiled. This greatly soothed everyone’s hearts, and even Nomura was already consulting Kanko about mending the futon. It spoke volumes about how long the wife’s position in Nomura’s household had remained vacant. Mine felt that Kanko, from that day on, had gained clear confidence and awareness of her place in this household. How could anyone have noticed then that such things would later hinder Kanko’s position as wife? In a way, Kanko was simply too kindhearted for her own good. Until this point, she had not been told that Nomura had wavered again after their meeting. The fact that they had proceeded without informing Kanko of Nomura’s minor anxiety was the responsibility of those around him—including Nomura himself—but Mine believed Nomura bore the greatest blame for treating it as a trivial matter while lacking resolve. The one who had perhaps been most deeply concerned from the beginning was Sadako, though out of reserve, she likely could not fully voice her thoughts. While Mine herself vaguely sensed this apprehension, she understood it as Sadako’s considerate care and compassion toward Kanko as a woman. Moreover, their mutual reserve had been swept away by the torrent flowing beyond those very emotions. At that time too, Nomura had apparently been quite conflicted and sent a letter to Sadako: Kanko’s appearance resembled that of his sister—a woman who was a terrible miser. He therefore inquired how things stood on that point—if Kanko resembled that miser even in spirit, it would be quite troubling. To this, Sadako responded.

“Because she was a beautiful wife.”

Mine intuited that it was already hopeless.

“I think we should discontinue this discussion for now.” “I think that would be better.” Having been invited out and walking toward Sadako’s house, as Mine clearly stated this—

“But what’s really going on?”

With a laugh tinged by her own awareness of this disagreeable turn of events, Sadako asked in return. "Having to explain only after being questioned—somehow I find it distasteful." "You understand, right?"

“I understand.” “It’s not as if I want to ask either.”

“I understand that too. But you know, that sister of mine isn’t a miser at all. Sometimes she’s so lacking in it that it becomes a problem.”

Mine related how Kanko, during her time as a teacher, had failed to get along with colleagues due to her impartiality; how she had rejected several marriage proposals out of resentment that the suitors always sought her as a woman with financial means; how she had resolutely left her teaching career just six months shy of qualifying for a pension; and how she was a woman who lamented why none of these proposals had accepted her as a homemaker. “But you know, I think there are times when she comes across as eccentric.” “Even then she sat there sullenly silent.” “Even at forty years old—even if it was an arranged meeting—you’d think she could at least find some topic to discuss, but she couldn’t.” “She’s terribly awkward in social situations.” “In my hometown, we call that sort of thing ‘nekonikamare’—like a cat digging its claws in.” “Stubborn through and through.” “Yet once she grows accustomed to people, she becomes quite cheerful.” “She sings boldly and can even manage simple piano pieces.” “You know how schools have arts festivals?” “Among all those teachers, they say Kanko the sewing instructor was the only one who could play two-part harmonies.” “So naturally, she’d accompany the teachers’ chorus that closed every program.” “You’d never guess it from her demeanor, would you?” “My sister may seem difficult at first approach, but she’s the sort of woman whose qualities gradually reveal themselves—that’s what I believe.” “Though this must sound like family favoritism.” “But I truly detest having to make such claims now.”

“Well then, let’s just say that’s how it was.” “But we could cancel it.” “It’s not like we have to decide—you should say that too.” “But I hate that.” “It feels somehow like bargaining.” “Oh, I can’t stand it.” “That’s exactly what I say.”

The two laughed resignedly. Laughing along, Mine still found it disagreeable. Somehow it left an unpleasant aftertaste. Mine had no way of knowing about Nomura’s miserly sister whom he disliked. Yet if Kanko had resembled a beautiful woman rather than that person, might the matter have been settled without hesitation—her miserliness notwithstanding—as a woman whose spirit too was beautiful? Was that truly how things worked? Combining such masculine sentiments with Sadako’s existing misgivings, Mine could no longer maintain even a pretense of sincerity. Given those circumstances, Kanko would surely refuse outright herself—nor was she desperate enough to force the matter regardless.

“I still think we should call it off for now, though.”

As Mine declared resolutely, Sadako calmly interjected, "But that's simply not how these things work." "Ms. Kanko has already become willing herself—isn't it enough if she isn't miserly?" "So shouldn't we avoid telling your sister about this matter for now?" "Wait—just a moment." "As you suggested earlier, I'll make another attempt to discuss this with Mr. Nomura."

It was likely that this entire episode had reached Nomura. The matter was finally settled. Unaware of these circumstances, Kanko humbly accepted it.

Mine lingered on the matter. It wasn’t that she had lied. But she couldn’t feign complete ignorance either. Seizing an opening, Mine addressed Kanko—now engrossed in meticulous wedding preparations— “Mr. Nomura detests penny-pinchers, you know. You’ll be fine since it’s you, but apparently you needn’t embrace frugality as some wifely virtue like ordinary households do. That’s fortunate, isn’t it?” “Just focus on using your strengths to make everyone happy.”

Unaware she had been compared to a miserly woman, Kanko appeared innocently pleased. Amidst the flurry of activity—like birds scattering from underfoot—they settled on the auspicious eighth day for a conventional wedding ceremony. When leaving home that day, Mine dabbed faint lipstick on her lips. Pitying the pallid lips that had likely never known rouge throughout Kanko’s drab existence, Mine gifted her that imported lipstick. That Kanko accepted it meekly, that she puckered her lips like a child for application—both surely surprised them equally. Until then, Kanko had been a woman who wore no lipstick. As Mine suddenly recalled some old verse about rouge applied with none to see it—she grew anxious about what colors Kanko might now bring to life with Nomura. The bride wore Mine’s dark gauze kimono fastened with Sadako’s borrowed obi. Her hair carelessly tied by her own hands, her makeup barely perceptible—she lacked all vibrancy expected of a wedding-bound woman. This was Kanko’s natural state—unchanged since yesterday. She seemed to deem this appearance fitting for Nomura. Yet though she made such a plain bride, the reception gathered socially prominent writers and artists—those bound to Nomura through twenty years of literary life—arrayed in rows. These too were acquaintances shared by Mine’s circle. There, Sadako’s words for the bride’s future—noting how Kanko at Mine’s house was ever occupied with tasks—came interwoven with her own girlhood memories of a stepmother: “From now on, Ms. Kanko, do try not to work so fervently—become a mother who plays with the children.” Phrased as kind concern veiling Sadako’s longstanding feelings toward Kanko, these words struck Mine keenly—but what had Kanko herself discerned in them? Afterwards, during her two or three visits to Mine’s house, Kanko remained perpetually busy.

“It’s really tough, you know. “I do not even have a moment to catch my breath. “Because the family of five cannot even manage the underclothes they need to wear each day. “Just waking up at 4:30 to make four lunchboxes and send them off is hard enough. “I feel like my body might give out. “It is just that until now I’ve lived alone without a care, so I cannot quite get used to it. “I do not even have time to write a single postcard.” “Don’t say such things—you should take some time to play. “Didn’t Ms. Sadako say that?”

“I know.” “But Sis, please come inside the house.” “To play with the children, I’d have to get even busier.” “A housekeeper, then.”

“I suppose so. It’s after such a long period of hardship, you know. In return, they’ll be happy, won’t they?”

“The children seem to find everything I do either novel or delightful.”

“And Mr. Nomura?”

“Well...”

Not out of bashfulness, Kanko averted her eyes. The second time, and the third time too—whenever asked about Nomura—Kanko would lower her gaze and say little. Mine, now gripped by decisive unease, could no longer stay still; once she had followed Kanko’s path to unexpectedly visit the Nomura residence. Mine could never forget Nomura’s flustered expression in that instant. Even after regaining composure, Nomura made mundane small talk with an attitude wary of being confronted. Unable to endure his unapproachably distant manner, Mine took her leave without heeding Kanko’s attempts to stop her. The moment she passed through the gate, fresh anxiety welled up. There was something. He must have had some justification. I absolutely had to find out what it was. To uncover what Nomura seemed to be hiding in his heart, I needed to meet him directly—there was no alternative. Mine had indeed been ceaselessly worrying and thinking for this past month.

Driven by such feelings, Mine had come to today’s gathering—a mere social meeting she could have skipped without issue—indeed. Nomura and Yukichi were conversing cheerfully, perhaps owing to the alcohol’s influence, but it remained merely perfunctory literary talk; even toward Yukichi—a fellow man—Nomura seemed to be on guard against something, Mine thought.

Even when they met at the venue, Nomura said nothing, his eyes dispassionate. Shouldn’t they be able to interact more intimately? He could at least say a word or two about Kanko. It wasn’t as though understanding could be expected through silence—if he wasn’t satisfied, she thought, he might have at least hinted that he should withdraw instead. Nomura, who had said nothing since their marriage—what was that very Nomura discussing with Yukichi now? Though Mine, a hundred paces away, could no longer hear, observing from behind, he appeared utterly like a stranger. When they came out onto the tram street, the two stopped and waited for Mine. The figures of the others were no longer visible.

Mine quickened her steps and approached as if she had just spotted Nomura for the first time there, drawing up alongside him. And she said resolutely. "How is Kanko?" "Ah," Nomura nodded. "She's been struggling with stiff shoulders lately." "She mentioned a headache and stayed in bed today." "Oh? Isn't there a masseur nearby?" "Well, there are some," he replied, "but she says women practitioners aren't effective." "The children have been giving her rubdowns quite earnestly though."

Nomura’s face, facing straight toward the sunset sky, was red like an old man in an oil painting, the wrinkles on his weary forehead stood out sharply.

“She’s been suppressing it terribly, hasn’t she? If you’d like, why not send her over to my place for a day? There’s an excellent masseur nearby.”

At this, Nomura suddenly broke into a smile, then timidly erased it as he—

“I see. Then let’s proceed with that promptly.”

He looked terribly relieved. With Nomura in the center, the three walked shoulder to shoulder along that street they rarely frequented—peering into bookstores and such—all the way to the next tram stop. After that, Kanko’s name never came up again.

And the next day, just before noon, Kanko arrived. It was the first time her face had looked bright since their marriage. “I managed to stay over for two nights!”

She looked as happy as a child. Since the appointment had been made the previous day, the masseur arrived as promised at one o'clock. Even after the massage ended, Kanko made no attempt to get up and continued sleeping into the night. She slept, snoring loudly. She remained asleep, unaware even as Mine stood by her pillow. Her hair spilled in waves beyond the pillow, her mouth slightly agape in deep slumber—her complexion not fair, her broad face, reddish-brown hair already streaked with white, and the snoring as she slept. Watching this, Mine grew distressed.

“Auntie, you’re really exhausted, aren’t you. You’re snoring.”

Even Mine’s daughter Masako gazed at her with eyes full of concern. The following day just before noon, Kanko—who had finally awoken—tended to her necessities and then crawled back into bed. And then, this time, she continued sleeping with quiet breaths.

“She’s really exhausted，isn’t she．What should we do about lunch？” In response to Masako’s inquiry，Mine said，“Let her sleep until she wakes up．It’s her day off，after all．” Seeming to have heard the voice，Kanko—who had finally gotten up—remained in Mine’s yukata，her hair disheveled in an unkempt manner，

“Ah, I slept so well.” “I’ve made up for a month’s worth of lost sleep.” To where she sat leaning against the pillar by the threshold, Mine—

“Take a nap every day, even if it’s just twenty minutes.” “Your eyes have been looking tired and haggard lately.” “If I could do that…”

“Don’t they take naps at Mr. Nomura’s household?” “They do take naps, everyone.” “I’m the only one who doesn’t.” “I can’t afford to take naps—I’m just the day laborer housekeeper, you know.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “But that’s how it is.” “It really is.”

She said it as a matter of course, but Mine was startled. She hated it. Had Masako not been nearby, she would have pressed further with her questions but restrained herself. Whether aware or not of Mine’s resolve—who was privately determining she must find the right moment to question her even at night—Kanko stood up,

“Well, I’ll do my hair and be on my way. I’ll have just the meal and then go.”

“Oh? Weren’t you staying two nights?” “But I’ve already recovered.” “Instead, I’ll have you let me come again another time.” To Kanko, who had suddenly begun fidgeting as she prepared to leave, Mine took out the futon fabric she had been asked to buy and set aside, and seeing Masako wasn’t there, asked her question. “Is your bedroom the study?”

Kanko's face darkened slightly, “That’s not it. “I sleep with the children.”

Mine looked dumbfounded,

“Really?” she asked back.

“That’s right. Because the children won’t agree to sleep separately.” “Is Mr. Nomura staying silent about this?”

“He doesn’t say anything about it.”

Mine couldn’t reply immediately, but in a small voice,

“That’s a mistake, Kanko. You must say it like that.” “It’s not like that.”

Kanko blushed, “I intend to be the children’s mother. That’s why I’m the housekeeper.”

After Kanko left, Mine couldn't get the matter off her mind. The vague unease she had sensed became clear, and as Nomura's inexplicable attitude resurfaced in her thoughts, her chest grew heavier still. What was she to do? The more she thought about it, the more Kanko's immense misfortune overwhelmed her mind, and that night she couldn't sleep at all, tossing and turning restlessly. Even now—without having clearly heard his reasons, though she suspected it might be unfair—her desire to resent Nomura refused to subside. She knew things were beyond repair, but even considering rashly taking Kanko back—when she imagined Kanko's feelings about cutting short her two-night respite—required careful thought, and even if she did act, what would become of Kanko then? For someone as proud as Kanko—who clung to appearances—it would surely prove devastating. Though half resigned, Mine realized Kanko's resolve to be the children's mother wouldn't easily break, leaving no choice but to appeal to Nomura once more. However burdensome this might be for him, Nomura ought to bear half the responsibility for placing Kanko in this situation. There remained no other path but confrontation. With this resolution, Mine sprang up from her bed.

When I handed Kanko the futon fabric she had requested today, our conversation about bedding led me to learn that she sleeps with the children. I cannot help but consider this a grave matter; I beg you to let her fulfill her role as the children’s mother only by day and give her the position of wife at night. Though you may resent me for this meddlesome counsel, I implore you to understand these feelings I cannot suppress.

—— Having tried to write in an exceedingly bright tone and having written it, Mine wept bitterly. At her work desk, on the same manuscript paper she used for her writing, she could not help but weep from the anguish of having to compose such things without confiding in anyone. The sorrow of being unable to speak of this even to Yukichi or Sadako, yet having to plead with Nomura. It might have been a futile effort to try mending what lay shattered, but when she thought of Kanko, she could not bring herself to abandon it. And so, not wanting Kanko to learn of this, she sealed the letter firmly with rice grains and went herself to mail it the next day. That striving solely to bring others happiness should result in this—and yet this outcome was something she ought to have foreseen entirely. Sadako’s many insinuating words now struck like a whip. Why had she not considered it more broadly?

Mine tried to go straight to Sadako’s house. If it was Sadako, she might offer a different kind of wisdom. Mine wrapped her head—flushed to the point where even rubbing her eyes left her eyelids feverishly hot—in a hand towel like a farmwoman, walking with downcast eyes along shaded paths. As Mine turned toward Sadako’s house along the uniformly aligned concrete walls facing the street, she unexpectedly came face-to-face with Sadako.

“Oh, I was just about to go.” In Sadako’s smile as she turned back with a laugh, Mine detected an indefinable shadow and started, but interpreting it as Sadako’s consideration for her, she silently fell into step beside her. Mine’s face, having hardly slept last night, must have shown evident fatigue.

“Kanko came, you know, but she went back yesterday.” “I see.” They walked on in silence.

After circling the garden and entering Sadako’s room from the damp veranda, the two sat facing each other in silence for a while, until eventually Sadako took out a white envelope from the fold of her kimono, “I’m at a loss.”

and placed it before Mine. Mine felt her chest tighten again.

“Mr. Nomura wrote asking me not to show this to you, but I think I must let you read it.” “I’ve been so troubled.”

With breathless agitation, Mine took out Nomura’s letter, her hands trembling. It really wasn’t working. It really was hopeless. The letter she skimmed in haste could never settle smoothly into Mine’s heart. Mine read and reread the single sheet of letter paper. “There is nothing lacking in Ms. Kanko.” “The failure lies entirely with me.” “For twenty-one years, my late wife’s presence has clung to me—it obstructs any closeness with Ms. Kanko. Even when I try to lose myself in some part of her—her hands, feet, the curve of her waist, her voice, eyes, hair—I end up seeking traces of my late wife.” “Ms. Kanko is utterly different.” “My late wife wore tabi socks worth nine mon.” “She was a woman who melted into my arms.” “The children have grown as attached as stray kittens.” “But sewing skills and household management alone won’t make a man fall in love.—”

Unable to bear it any longer, Mine's hands trembled as she folded it. Sadako said in a slightly shrill voice that sounded like she was holding back, "Even if we say such things now, there's no path left but to move forward, don't you agree?"

And then, slightly lowering her voice, “It really isn’t working out, don’t you agree? ……She was such a beautiful wife.” She let out a long sigh. Mine, still feeling as though she were listening to a fantasy—this strangely unreal sensation accompanying her—returned the folded letter to its envelope, then forced a smile and spoke in a low voice. “Well, this is troubling.” Mine looked at Sadako with an air of having strangely calmed down. And once again, she took the letter in her hands and gazed at it. She lacked the courage to read it again, but she could infer that Nomura had written this while Kanko was away, and she considered that the end had finally come. When Kanko, utterly exhausted, had forgotten even to eat and lay snoring in sleep, Nomura was writing this letter. My late wife was a woman who wore cheap tabi socks. She was a woman who would find her way into my arms. ……Is one to say that Kanko was hiding the fact that she’s a large woman with feet fit for seven-bu tabi? Is one to say that Nomura got married without knowing that? He really wanted a beautiful wife after all, Sadako says. Are we to believe Nomura only realized that after getting married? Or does he think that unattractive Kanko was forced upon him? Or does he not realize—that writing that foolish letter asking her to share the bedroom torments Mine’s heart? Unaware of all these circumstances, Kanko had returned to Nomura’s side once more. Kanko, who had prepared numerous souvenirs and hurried back by shortening her stay from two nights to one—how did Nomura receive her?

Now that everything had come to light, Nomura’s inexplicable attitudes resurfaced in her mind one after another. Mine’s lips trembled as she strained to contain the shame, anger, and regret that gradually flooded through her entire body. Sadako too remained silent with bowed head.

II

For three days at the end of October 1946, the second national convention of the literary group Mine belonged to was held at Shibuya Public Hall.

The young poets from regional branches who had come to Tokyo for this occasion and were staying at Mine’s house, along with her husband Yukichi and the others, left home early in the morning. Delayed by preparing everyone’s boxed lunches, Mine set out alone. Then she found herself walking with unexpected ease somehow. As she was leaving, she recalled the words her daughter Masako had said with a kind of sympathy. “Dad’s so impatient for someone named Yukichi.” “He could’ve waited just five more minutes. How selfish.”

Just because the lunch preparations were a little late, men could berate without giving a thought to the reason. Women weren’t afforded such liberties. Normally, she could have shouted back, but out of consideration for their guests, she remained quiet and sent them off with the excuse that she would bring the lunches later. Even if they woke together, the man read the newspaper in bed, and the woman had to rise to work in the kitchen. While the men woke up and washed their faces, the woman finished cleaning and prepared breakfast and lunch boxes. Only men could complain if things were five minutes late; in the end, it was the woman who ended up carrying three lunch boxes and leaving afterward. Neither the husband nor the wife found this strange; only their daughter Masako considered it the man’s selfishness. Even so, it was nothing more than women’s backbiting among themselves.

“Carrying three lunch boxes would make your shoulders stiff. Should I take them?” Worried about Mine, who had suddenly grown weaker lately, Masako had said such things.

“Come now, during the war I even went out for black market shopping. “Compared to that, this is child’s play.” However, as she was jostled in the crowded vehicle, the three lunch boxes felt unbearably heavy, and Mine had to switch hands repeatedly. But that didn’t make her angry. Far from it—today, Mine even found it enjoyable. The lunch she had prepared herself for the first time in ages contained a rolled omelet, diced ham, rationed dried shrimp simmered in soy sauce, shaved kelp with pickled baby turnips, and red pickled ginger as garnish. Yellow, pink, brown, and white—as beautiful as the vibrant young leaves of turnip greens. She had taken such delight in arranging the vibrant colors with care that this was why the lunch boxes ended up being delayed. Yesterday’s lunch, which she had left to Masako, had been rice balls with pickled plums. That had been too dreary, and since this was our special occasion, we decided to make an effort. There was no way Yukichi could have known about that. When he opened the lunch box, would Yukichi be surprised? Yukichi, who did not complain about the pickled plum rice balls, might not feel any particular interest in today’s lunch box either. This might be nothing but a woman’s naive notion. However, Mine was happy. Within that happiness likely lay not only the joy of being more than just a wife who delivered lunches, but also that of being a woman who could share this meal with the many people gathered here for the same purpose. It was Yukichi’s influence, more than anything else, that had pulled Mine—an uneducated daughter of a poor laborer—into becoming a woman who could participate in such gatherings. Within Yukichi—the Yukichi who shouted, who felt no unnaturalness in ordering his wife and daughter about—there also coexisted the part of him that sought to pull his wife forward and walk alongside her. They might be a complacent couple, so entrenched in their old ways that they don’t even feel their complacency, but there aren’t many married pairs who attend gatherings with matching lunchboxes. There was the couple of Takagi Chieko, Mine’s senior, and there once was the couple of Kawashima Sadako.

But Takagi Chieko’s husband probably wouldn’t come today, and Kawashima Sadako was no longer married now. The three couples had weathered various storms through their long associations and survived the war. And so today it was Takagi Chieko who stood solemnly on the platform. Compared to Mine and her peers’ shameful existence—mired in wartime grime—Takagi Chieko’s dignity, forged through facing headwinds with chest outgrown, had since war’s end permeated everyone’s consciousness like a spring surging with potent shadows. Though welcoming her husband freed from long imprisonment to live vibrant days amidst sudden upheavals together, Mine now found herself excluded from witnessing this resurgence firsthand. On return trips from prison visits to her husband, Chieko would often stop at Mine’s house to stay. In that bitter era when people flaunted meager gifts—single-gō rice bags, slivers of beef, lone apples—while clad in air-raid hoods and mompe trousers, Chieko—her ferocity buried deep within—had approached even Mine with unguarded intimacy.

“Ah... Oh, how about— “Ms. Mine.” Chieko placed both hands on Mine’s shoulders and laid bare her weariness as weariness itself. When Chieko came to Mine’s house—declaring it her traditional day off—she immediately undid her obi upon arrival, took off her tabi socks, fastened a navy serge apron, and removed even her thick corrective glasses. Mine simply delighted in this sight and did her utmost to entertain her. Here, she wondered if they had let their guard down, and they showed each other hearts free of lies or concealment.

“Takagi’s already scheming ways to get released in less than a year.” “When he comes back, I’ll be in such a tizzy.”

She spoke with the innocent, shining eyes of a young wife. During the war, this had been a statement uttered with conviction by a wife whose husband had been sentenced to life imprisonment for violating the Peace Preservation Law and would soon be sent to Abashiri. And that was exactly what happened. What many people could never have imagined was something those inside the prison had understood perfectly. After Takagi returned, there was no longer any need for her to lean on Mine’s shoulder and show that tired face sighing “Ah...”. Mine thought she hadn’t seen her for a very long time. Today, she would get to meet Chieko too. Chieko—who Mine had heard was in poor health—had apparently requested a car to attend today’s conference as a speaker, and Mine had also caught wind of criticism about this. The car had been quite a luxury at the time, and there must have been complaints because of it, but Mine found herself smiling at how quintessentially Chieko-like this demand seemed. Chieko stood a cut above. Everything about her deviated from standard human measurements. If that weren’t true, she would at least be a woman who—unlike Mine now carrying three lunchboxes alone—would never consider such a task trivial. Yet even this Chieko held one small thing that made Mine vaguely suspicious. In their prison correspondence, only Chieko’s name had been written without honorifics. None of the recently published letters exchanged with Takagi included “Ms.” before Chieko’s name in the addresses. This might have been disregard for convention, but it looked unnatural—as if only the man’s side had swelled with self-importance. Moreover, through her autobiographical works, Chieko sometimes gave the impression of being an old-fashioned Japanese woman waiting hand and foot on her husband. Remembering this, Mine found it amusing to compare herself—arms full of lunchboxes—with some aspect of Chieko. These two women differed in everything they’d cultivated—as if their births and upbringings occupied opposite poles. Once they had taken a ten-day trip through Shinshu’s mountains.

It was not long after Chieko had been released from prison. They went to escape Tokyo’s summer heat, yet in Shinshu, autumn’s presence was already pronounced, the Japanese Alps’ peaks crowned white with snow. During their morning and evening walks, Chieko would always gaze at those Japanese Alps mountains and puff out her chest with pride, yet Mine found her eyes drawn only to the alpine plants at her feet and the quaint sight of a tiny tree frog taking a nap atop a fatsia leaf. Mine often recalls that this difference was precisely what set the two of them apart. Chieko, who brought a mountain of books, and Mine, who packed knitting yarn into her luggage—when they settled down in the grassland, Chieko would spread open her Iwanami Bunko volume, and Mine would take out her knitting needles. This difference was not only one of cultivated refinement and temperamental disposition but also of the circumstances they had been placed in. At that time, Mine still had no thought of writing novels. Even when they visited places like hot springs in Shinshu, the financial burden fell on Chieko, and Mine would knit yarn for her. The knitting yarn was sometimes Takagi’s tabi socks, sometimes sweaters, and sometimes Chieko’s cold-weather undergarments.

More than a decade had passed since then. Chieko, standing in the vacant lot like a towering tree, and Mine, like a weed in the alley corner—both had gathered at the same meeting. When Chieko stood on the platform, she was an orator whom even men could not match, but still, as a woman and a wife, she must have harbored certain thoughts. She must have—.

From a woman’s perspective, Mine exited Shibuya Station while thinking about the women who appeared in Chieko’s works. And then, spotting the woman writer Miya Hiroko pacing restlessly outside the exit, she called out to her. Miya Hiroko turned her thin, gaunt face toward her,

“Oh, thank goodness.” “I’m sorry about the other day.” During the war, she had evacuated to her hometown of Hiroshima and survived the atomic bomb; she had come up to Tokyo in time for today’s gathering. Over forty and about to enter married life—perhaps due to her connection with her partner being a Communist Party member—she had come straight to Mine’s place upon arriving in Tokyo. Having previously experienced married life, she knew all too well the bitterness of divorce. Liberated from the complex feelings of being both a working woman and a wife, she who had lived alone for so long was now about to enter into a new marriage.

Mine looked at her with a certain goodwill, wondering whether her outlook on life—having experienced the atomic bomb and witnessed human lives vanish in an instant before her eyes—had brought her to this point.

“I should be completely done with marriage by now, but a woman can’t just go on like that.” “But Mother says a Communist Party member wouldn’t go around spouting things they don’t understand like some ordinary man.” “Don’t you think?”

She spoke matter-of-factly with a country accent as if discussing someone else's affairs, but Mine perceived from Hiroko's thickly rouged makeup that her mind was already made up.

Amid marriages becoming something of a trend, Nomura and Kanko’s wedding had even been announced in the newspaper notices. Given these circumstances too, Hiroko must have come to visit Mine with a carefree heart. She was the same age as Kanko. However, Kanko was in no position for such things now. Now, two full months after their marriage, Nomura already treated Kanko as a cumbersome burden. Moreover, precisely because they had not yet reached the point of confronting it openly between them, Mine’s feelings were in disarray. Seeing Miya Hiroko, Mine suddenly remembered Kanko. Although Nomura didn’t actually believe his plea in the letter to Sadako—asking that Mine be kept in the dark—would bring any resolution, what exactly could Mine say about it herself? When Mine realized she would have to face Nomura at today’s conference, her heart grew agitated. The very name "Shibuya" made her unable to keep Nomura and Kanko from her thoughts. At Nomura’s house—a twenty-minute train ride away—what was Kanko doing now? If I went now, both Nomura and the children would be out. Should I go and check on how things are?

While her heart wavered, Mine walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Miya Hiroko toward the venue, maintaining a cheerful facade. Bathed in a pleasant autumn breeze that enveloped their entire bodies and squinting against the intense sunlight, the two women walked on. Mine with her large, stout frame and slender Hiroko continued forward as men whose gaits instantly marked their identity approached from behind and overtook them.

“Those are association folks, aren’t they? You can spot ’em at a glance.” “The ones up ahead must be too.”

Hiroko said in her thick country accent. “Ah, that’s Mr. K over there—the poet.” “And further ahead—could that be someone named S?” “The one who wrote a novel called *Farmers’ Almanac*.”

While ascending the wide stone steps of the building—its doors thrown open toward the road—Hiroko adopted a manner suggesting she had just noticed,

“Ms. Sadako?” she asked curiously about her absence. “She has work.” “She should come in the afternoon.”

As she spoke, Mine chuckled softly and pulled Hiroko’s hand, descending the steps while—

“It’s the ward office, right here.” “Because you were confidently heading up those steps.”

“But it’s a conference, so I thought it would be the grand stone steps, you know.” The entrance to the public hall was the narrow steps next to those. The venue’s notice modestly caught people’s attention. The meeting had already begun.

When entering from outside, it felt dim like stepping into a movie theater, making the faces in the back indistinguishable at first glance. As Mine settled into one of the frontmost chairs beside Hiroko, Nomura—who seemed to have been waiting in the forward seats precisely for her arrival—approached them. Hunched slightly along the wall-side aisle, he gave Mine a quick nod upon catching sight of her. The gesture unmistakably signaled his summons, prompting Mine to rise at once. Nomura guided her to an unobtrusive corner near the exit and extended a white envelope with exaggerated courtesy, murmuring “Here.” He then drew smoothly backward, inhaled deeply with his chin lifted upward, blinked several rapid times, and dipped his head in another abbreviated bow. Though his lips moved soundlessly, Mine failed to catch any words.

It’s finally come! The pounding in her chest grew so violent it seemed to make a sound. Mine went to the toilet and opened the letter.

When I consider what sorrow this letter would bring you, I cannot bring myself to write—

Mine hurriedly put the letter back where it had been.

――How cruel. Handing this over so abruptly in a place like this!

While feeling something akin to anger at having her composure disrupted, Mine returned to her seat. On the podium, Tazawa—the critic who had been Sadako’s husband—continued speaking in his voluminous voice. Beside him, Yukichi sat with a stern expression at the chairman’s seat. Before anything could register in Mine’s mind, Tazawa’s report concluded, and Yukichi stood to say something in a subdued tone. Then, calling out “Chairman,” Nomura rose from a seat in the front right section. He began posing questions with his sunken blue profile visible, but whether due to Nomura’s low voice or the distance of Mine’s seat, she couldn’t discern a single word. She cupped her ear like an old person but still heard nothing. Yukichi’s voice too remained unintelligible. Mine, flushed and overheated, thought her ears had gone strange. As she studied Nomura’s face, the joyless nature of their marital arrangement seemed to have congealed in his very complexion, pressing upon her with oppressive weight. Mine wordlessly stood, deposited Yukichi’s boxed lunch at the reception desk, and stepped outside. Blinding sunlight—so intense it made her want to cast off her haori—flooded the white road. Walking slowly while covering her head with a handkerchief, she suddenly found tears overflowing. Ever since Nomura’s letter to Sadako, Mine’s tear ducts had grown undisciplined as though afflicted by some disorder. There had been nights she cried herself hoarse for Kanko’s sake, truly weeping until dawn. Her pillow would become drenched, requiring replacement from how thoroughly she had soaked it.

“Cut it out already—you’re going to wreck yourself.” Yukichi, forced to endure Mine’s grief, fumbled through his words; yet Mine, her face swollen from tears, smiled through it all at that moment, “I thought wetting my pillow with tears was just a melodramatic tragedy from cheap novels—but it really does exist.” “Tears like hot water—it’s true.” “The tears spilling out are truly as hot as boiling water, you know.” “They keep welling up.” “It’s the first time in my life.” “No—this makes it the second time.” “Like that time, see?”

At that time, it referred to there having been a stumble—a woman-related problem—for Yukichi. When Mine mentioned this, Yukichi would always respond with a silent bitter smile. It was a perilous era over ten years ago for Yukichi and his circle—a time when they seemed to lose their very footing. However, for Mine, who had been nothing more than an ordinary wife by society’s standards, this must have been a devastating blow. Mine often cried. By narrowing her eyes, pushing the other party away, and restraining herself, she overcame that problem. Whether she had truly won or lost, Mine didn’t know. The bond of having been a long-married couple had merely placed Mine in a state that superficially made her appear victorious. Yet from there, Mine felt she had made a new beginning. Mine began writing novels immediately afterward. Through this act, she believed she had managed to shed some of the oldness that had clung to her. That mad acts—like grabbing someone by the lapels and shoving them around—could arise over a long married life; that even from such things spousal affection could well up if one were to put it bluntly—this was something Mine had never known. Through such strange human psychology, they had now become a fearsome yet auspicious couple that could no longer be shaken by trivial matters. And the tears like hot water she shed for the first time in ten years were shed on behalf of her sister Kanko. The pity and frustration of Kanko not yet knowing about those tears; the pain of someday inevitably having to shed them; even imagining how Kanko would fall apart then—it all made her weep. If matters came to light, it was also heartbreaking that Kanko remained a woman who could only be understood through such outdated notions as “being a novelist.” A woman who prized so-called moral rectitude like the Golden Kite Medal until forty; who deemed romance impure; who took pride not in a marriage born of love but in being a bride received through old-fashioned custom—that was why Kanko couldn’t grasp Nomura’s heart. That such a woman—even considering Nomura had children—was the one she had sent to him filled Mine with regret to the point of utter self-reproach. Nomura’s letter to Sadako compounded that regret with shame and anguish. Mine shed tears while having to plead even with Yukichi.

“Look, Mr. Nomura says this issue isn’t about Kanko’s lack of beauty—and of course I don’t think it’s *just* that either—but I still believe it’s the main cause. Because, from the start, Mr. Nomura said Kanko resembled Kenshinbo’s sister, didn’t he? I should’ve firmly rejected it back then. But by that time, Kanko’s heart had already completely gone out to Mr. Nomura—there was no helping it. And now she’s being compared to Mrs. Sen, who wore cheap cloth tabi and ended up in his arms. Mr. Nomura’s surely comparing them without even realizing it. Even if he had noticed, you couldn’t call that wrong. Everyone prefers pretty over plain. But honestly—how can that even be? The one who wore those cheap cloth tabi is nothing but bones now. Kanko’s alive now. Her hands and feet and waist and eyes and voice—all utterly different! Now of all times—it’s an insult! If she knew, what would dear Kanko think?”

Recalling how Kanko had been delighted that someone had taken her despite her plainness, Mine spoke resentfully as if the person in question were Yukichi.

“Cut it out already.” “It can’t be helped.” “We’ll handle the rest ourselves.”

When Yukichi said that, Mine felt as though she alone had been over-worrying, and at last her heart calmed.

“You’re right.” “Since you’re telling me to stay quiet, I’ll keep silent until Kanko consults me about this issue.” “Kanko has her own feelings too.” Oh... Ah—men! Truly—even among us women—they remain men through and through. Women too may be nothing but women. Women are women. They make too much of physical beauty. The less beautiful ones might be even more so. Beautiful people can’t understand this. Those who aren’t beautiful—they can’t possibly understand that self-consciousness. Even if they understand, it’s still someone else’s problem. Kanko was a woman who scorned such things yet cared deeply about them. She feigned indifference while caring intensely. Yet she remained oblivious to everything else. Does she still not understand? She had edgy nerves yet lacked something fundamental somewhere. I think it’s because she’d been alone too long. “If she found out—just how bitterly she’d resent it.”

Mine kept her senses keenly attuned to Kanko every day, maintaining her vigilance. But there was nothing from Kanko, and in the end she was handed a letter from Nomura. The thick letter lay rigid in Mine's bosom. Mine walked toward the station, pressing her flowing tears with the handkerchief draped over her forehead. She entered the burned-out lot still thick with summer grass and sat down on one of the Oya stones haphazardly piled in one spot. By looking at Nomura’s letter—perhaps having gained some resolve—her tears subsided. It stated that continuing the present situation would only compound their mutual unhappiness. It stated that twenty-one years spent together with Sen’s wife had seeped into my body and were causing interference. It stated that being a man who doesn’t philander and thus unacquainted with various types of women, he couldn’t win over Kanko, wandered about as if in a foreign land, and had yet to achieve a single satisfactory marital state. Having come this far, Mine was stunned. Mine thought that Kanko might be physically impaired. However, in the very next line he had added that it was not that Ms. Kanko was physically impaired, but rather that Sen’s wife was interfering, making him unable to grow accustomed to Ms. Kanko. In short, his wife was not Kanko but the woman he had spent twenty-one years with. Just as in his letter to Sadako, it stated that nowhere in Kanko could he find any trace of his deceased wife. But for some reason Mine felt no anger, and no fresh tears came. She simply felt a great bewilderment spreading throughout her heart. She was troubled. Nomura asked Mine to lend him any good ideas she might have. What did he intend to do about this? Why didn’t he just take the initiative and break it himself?

However, as she read it over and over, Mine came to understand Nomura’s timidity—how he couldn’t even manage that much yet continued agonizing—and let out a heavy sigh. There was only one path. Poor Kanko—and Nomura too. To think I’m being pitied by you… He wrote that he had even considered reckless things. What is this recklessness? Does he mean he wants to die? Ridiculous. But this letter is not a lie. Ms. Kanko is very kind to me. The more she does for me, the more I suffer. Considering the blow to my family that would result from a bad outcome (since the children have only just regained their composure), I think it would be best if I could somehow manage things and try to summon courage, but I end up being rebuffed.—

Mine felt as if she were being humiliated and involuntarily stood up. She walked briskly, as if shaking off some oppressive weight bearing down on her. While walking, her mind kept repeating each line of the letter. Nomura wrote that he would bear full responsibility. What could that mean? He would bear full responsibility. Was he saying she should just endure this silently? No. Nomura wanted to escape from Kanko at the earliest possible moment. To think he'd shoulder all the blame alone. When it came to responsibility, none of this rested solely on Nomura.

What Mine found unbearably regrettable was that when their plans had once faltered, why had they made everything regress so drastically for the worse? At that time, whether it was Nomura or herself, it couldn’t be said they’d had no inkling of today’s outcome. They had been wrong. Neither could Mine deny her own responsibility—she had applied his conditions, ostensibly for the children’s sake and seeking a woman who could sew while entirely sidelining Nomura’s true feelings, as though she were a professional matchmaker. A mother for the children’s sake. But even so, everyone had considered Kanko more as Nomura’s wife than as a mother for the children. Both Nomura and Mine had convinced Kanko by saying the children would soon grow up and build their own lives. There was no choice but to conclude they’d all far too naively underestimated the situation. If responsibility for this underestimation were to be assigned, couldn’t it be said that Nomura—the one most underestimated, who’d presented himself as someone to be underestimated—bore the greatest burden? After two months of marriage, Kanko—who still couldn’t discern Nomura’s true feelings—had no right to shoulder responsibility; she was the very model of a foolish woman. Wasn’t it precisely because Kanko was foolish that everyone suffered? Even I must feel this shame. Thinking this, Mine found Kanko exasperating yet pitiful beyond measure. I have to tell Kanko. She surely remained oblivious to these machinations. Nomura wrote that he’d be leaving for Izu on work within two or three days and wanted Mine’s reply sent there. He’d clearly stated he’d keep pretending nothing was wrong with Kanko until Mine responded.

Ah, Kanko—are you truly that sort of woman? How pitiful. Are you such a foolish woman that he can’t even consult you directly? You’ve lost. You’ve lost. That you had nothing to attract a man’s heart. Having remained single until forty without a single misstep—you might have prided yourself on that. But that there was a great deficiency in you as a woman—you probably don’t realize that. If you remain completely ignorant and think this is what marriage is like—how utterly clueless! Can’t you even recognize how pathetic that is, you fool!

Sometime later, Mine was riding a train heading to Nomura’s house. As she approached Nomura’s house, she shuddered at what she now sought to sever with a great axe. Depending on how things go—when I have to show her the letter—what expression would Kanko make? She might have noticed something by now. When she reached into her pocket, the letter bulged awkwardly beneath her obi. It was the baton of anguish passed from Nomura. I will wring out every drop of wisdom and wash this away into some little stream. I must grow clever; therefore I must never shed tears again. Mine put on a show of resolve in her own heart. But when she found Kanko crouching by Nomura’s hedge, her figure draped with a hand towel, she couldn’t help calling out in a gentle voice.

“Kanko.”

“Oh, what’s wrong? There’s the conference today.” Kanko stood up looking genuinely delighted and brushed off her dirt-covered hands. “Sowing seeds?”

“Yes.” “Well, snow peas.” That was the snow peas Kanko had harvested with her own hands when she lived in the countryside. If sown now, they should weather the cold and bloom next spring.

Mine, at a loss for words, silently sat down on the edge of the veranda. With her dirt-covered hands still as they were, Kanko came over and sat down beside her.

“Are your shoulders no longer stiff? “Can’t you come over to my place tomorrow or so?” “Tell Mr. Nomura that.” As if testing her, Mine ventured these words.

“But Nomura is going on a trip within two or three days.” “He’s leaving for work, he says.” “So it won’t work during that time.” She knew nothing at all. Mine averted her eyes and surveyed the house as if observing something strange. The cleaning had been meticulously completed, with camellias and yellow chrysanthemums arranged in a small vase in the alcove. This was Kanko’s taste. Polishing verandas, decorating rooms with flowers—was Kanko misunderstanding these things as life’s true beauty? There had been a time when Kanko—while seeing Mine off to the station after visiting Nomura, who claimed to be ill—suddenly stopped walking, covered her face with both hands, and spoke through tears.

“Sis, I think I might change my approach.”

Nomura would unreasonably lose his temper, and as the children grew accustomed to her, they were becoming increasingly difficult to manage.

“That’s quite different from teaching students from a lectern, Kanko.” “Just look at Yukichi.” “We don’t have a single day without our arguments, you know.” “Once you get more used to it and can start scolding or talking back, you’ll be fine.” “Who on earth doesn’t even raise their voice?” “That’s just fucking boring.”

When Mine affected a casual tone, Kanko shook her head,

“No.” “The people here are different somehow.” “I shouldn’t have come after all.” “Then leave whenever you want.” “—Though I don’t think it’s that simple.”

After that, Kanko never spoke of such things again. Even when she did come to Mine’s house, her return was still hurried and eager. Yet now that she thought of it, that had been Kanko’s way of feeling—straining to the utmost to receive Nomura’s emotions. Mine wished she would say that now. But Kanko was sowing peas outside the hedge. Even upon seeing Mine, she made no move to wash her hands. Was she really so oblivious to Mine’s visit?

“Well then, goodbye. I’m heading to the conference now. Then come by when you’re available. Tell Mr. Nomura that I came by.” Mine felt as if she were lying, and it pained her. However, clinging to a secret hope that if Nomura heard she had come here, he might send Kanko over as soon as tomorrow or perhaps even open up a proper discussion, Mine took her leave. Regretting that she couldn’t see her off, Kanko stood outside the hedge until Mine turned the corner, waving each time she looked back. This too ends today. Mine walked as if she were running. And as soon as she returned straight home, she gave an order to her surprised daughter Masako.

“Make some sushi, and buy a whole 100 yen’s worth of daifuku.”

“Oh, but you said it was meat, didn’t you?” “That’s canceled. Because Auntie will probably come.” “Oh, right.” Sushi and sweets were Kanko’s favorite things. However, Kanko did not come that day. The next day as well, Mine waited, but she did not appear. Nomura might have gone to Izu. While telling herself that fretting wouldn’t help, Mine couldn’t settle down. Unable to get any work done, she went to Sadako’s house and, pretending to be composed, showed her Nomura’s letter.

“It would be good if Kanko followed him to Izu afterward.” As if placing her only hope there, Sadako said and let out a deep sigh.

“It’s no use.” “It’s precisely because of that part that it’s no good, you see.” “And besides…” Though she had spoken with feigned detachment as if discussing someone else’s problem—perhaps having lowered her guard before Sadako—Mine was suddenly overcome by sorrow and silently hid her face.

After some time,

“I do think I understand Mr. Nomura’s feelings.” “I feel terribly sorry for him.” “But I can’t help pitying Kanko too.” “She’s the sort of foolish woman who believes she’ll be acknowledged someday if she just keeps working.” “And this is what she receives in return.” “Yet she lacks the sensitivity to even perceive it…”

While finding it mortifying to cry in front of others, she still wept. She had resolved not to cry—she hadn’t cried this time, neither before Kanko nor during her talks with Yukichi—yet before Sadako, she could always weep. Because she thought Sadako alone would understand. “I sent a letter saying ‘Ms. Mine is crying.’” Sadako said this. But no matter how much Mine cried, it changed nothing. Hearing that Mine was weeping, Nomura must have sent a letter. Nomura, who did not cry, was more earnest; even if Mine found this hard to accept, he must have been tasting far keener anguish.

“In Mr. Nomura’s heart, his former wife is still alive, you see.” “There’s no way Kanko could take her place there.”

“This is so troubling.”

In a voice that said there was nothing more to be done, Sadako sighed again. For a while, both remained silent. Suddenly ashamed of herself for having perceived—through her own distorted lens—the complex workings of Sadako’s impartial feelings, Mine averted her eyes and brought up something else.

“This autumn feels rather early, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” From Sadako’s room stretched a view of wild yam leaves climbing through an osmanthus thicket at the corner of the broad garden—their yellowing autumn hues blending with maple foliage to form an alternating pattern against evergreen trees.

After being persuaded to stay by Sadako and treated to dinner, Mine hurried home. The sight of Yukichi frowning as he lingered weighed heavily on Mine’s heart. Why must women endure such things, I wonder. Even if a man comes home a bit late, even if it’s past midnight, a woman wouldn’t so much as furrow her brow. Moreover, it’s between us—that’s what makes it so absurd— Mine turned into the alleyway leading home, a secret rebellion smoldering in her chest. From the opposite direction, a woman approached like a traveler, carrying a backpack and holding a bag. It was Kanko. Mine waited by the gate.

“Elder Sister.” Kanko’s voice was hoarse.

“I’ve come back.” “I left without a word.” “Please don’t stop me now.” “I’ve grasped the evidence, so no matter what anyone says, I won’t go back.”

As she spoke, Kanko’s voice began to tremble.

“Come on, let’s go into the house.” “I know, I know.”

Speaking as if comforting a child, Mine took the bag and invited Kanko to her study. When Mine lifted the backpack from behind and helped her remove it, Kanko straightened her posture, turned to face her, and remained standing— “His former wife was beautiful and noble like aristocracy.” “And it says here—asking me to step aside without a word.” “It’s his diary.” “That’s why I came back silently.” “Nomura’s leaving for Izu tomorrow—he’ll be helpless without me there, wouldn’t he?” “But I won’t return.” “Who would stay in such a place?” She hurled the words.

She said as if hurling the words. While painfully aware of Kanko’s naive conviction that she would be told to return home properly and begged to come back, Mine nodded tersely. She didn’t have to go back. Kanko was so naive that it felt cruel to have to tell her she couldn’t go back anymore. Two large bags—inside them were probably all the personal belongings Kanko could carry. With those, Kanko returned. Yet Mine couldn’t help sensing that Kanko’s heart still belonged to Nomura’s household. Could it be that Kanko rushed out in a fit of pique, to cause him trouble, out of simple jealousy?

“Oh, let’s sit down.”

While sitting down herself, Mine took Kanko’s hand and pulled. With eyes that seemed ready to denounce her, Kanko stood obstinately. The room was already beginning to grow dark.

Three

Perhaps weighed down by her heavy heart, her feet had naturally strayed from the main street; before she knew it, she found herself on a wretched back alley slick with thawing frost. By the time she thought Oh no, she was already stranded in the middle of a muddy field with no retreat—though the main street lay just ahead in plain sight, she found herself paralyzed, unable to move. When she stood at the crossroads leading to farm paths, a bitterly cold wind—unseasonable for early spring—numbed her cheeks and seeped into the very core of her body. Brr, it’s freezing.

Along with her muttering, Mine readjusted her shawl over her head and tucked in the ends. While pondering, she had to place each step with care. Moreover, no step taken with such deliberation was ever truly safe. Mine’s tabi socks had become stained mud-brown all around. I wish I could wear rubber boots and stride confidently through this. Strange how she kept forgetting this mire despite countless encounters. Stranger still that no one possessed the sense to fix this rutted path—enduring a third of each year until April’s arrival. In summer it transformed into a trail where dust rose like smoke. Along this sewerless path bordering fields—in an area still farmland a decade prior—modest houses stood at prudent intervals. These dwellings appeared maintained within original size limits by people who cherished their sole asset earned through meticulous thrift, their hedges trimmed with exacting care. Yet beyond those hedges lay this truth. Hugging hinoki barriers like cliff walkers, people navigated cautiously—only to find their feet caked in mud whenever vigilance wavered. All knew this and whispered about it. Mine numbered among them. Today again she sighed over mud-caked tabi socks. Where her sigh escaped, the path improved slightly— It narrowed into a grassy farm trail. Why did field paths walked in work tabi prove better than sock-and-geta residential lanes, only to revert to mire upon reentering housing areas?

Kawashima Sadako’s house stood on the hill beyond, linked by this farm path. Mine’s feet moved toward that hill. The small package hidden beneath Mine’s shawl contained a congratulatory gift from Kanko for Sadako’s eldest daughter, whose wedding ceremony would soon take place. Inside were a pair of charming geta. The wooden clogs were fair-weather mid-toothed ones lacquered vermilion. Young leaf-green thongs adorned them, while on the same green toe cover, a single red folded crane stood out vividly. They were precisely the sort of geta a young bride might wear. Clutching this lovely gift to her chest, Mine found no lightness in her heart. The present from Kanko—so recently divorced—was something the recipient could hardly accept casually when one considered the unspoken sentiments it must carry. As Kanko fretted over this, Mine tried to gauge her sister’s true feelings and—

“You’re fine. It’s the same as our family’s, you see. If we do it, that’s good enough, isn’t it?”

Then Kanko's eyes suddenly flashed, "If you think it's bad luck getting congratulations from a returned bride, I'll stop." "Don't twist things so strangely like that. If you want to congratulate her, she'd surely be delighted. Why, even just an obi cord would make anyone happy as a wedding gift."

“It’s not that I’m congratulating her out of genuine goodwill.” “I’ve no ambition to join your sophisticated circles.” “Since I received gifts too, I must return the courtesy—that’s all there is to it.” “Nothing more.” “I’m thoroughly done with keeping company with those esteemed writers and their ilk.”

Mine remained silent. She had no choice but to remain silent. That exchange of words was what had led Kanko to buy the geta. It was a meticulousness born from years of country living, where ceremonial occasions were considered nothing more than obligation and formality. The obligation from having once been celebrated herself must have felt inescapable no matter what. Such were the geta she had bought out of duty, but at that time Kanko had proudly shown them to Mine and Masako.

“See? Aren’t they nice?” “When I pictured Ms. Asako wearing these and holding a parasol with concentric circles, I thought how fortunate must be those who can wear such geta.” “Especially someone as lovely as her.” Kanko was wholeheartedly delighted. Mine even wanted Sadako to know this sincerity. Because she knew that Kanko became far too gloomy and burdensome when appearing before Sadako. Given that, it was no wonder Nomura found her unpleasant—that must have been what Sadako was thinking. Even Mine, seeing Kanko lately, came to share Nomura’s feelings more often. And she felt sorry for Kanko because of that. Was Kanko truly such a woman that even her own sister found her burdensome? Mine considered where such an aspect of Kanko was rooted. A woman who had lived alone until forty; a woman who had stood at lecterns for twenty years teaching young girls; a woman inexperienced in the ways of men and women who had spent her youth without ever writing a love letter; a woman who had lived with confidence in this respectable life—perhaps therein lay the root of the problem. Kanko, who in her simple solitary life had managed to conceal her shortcomings, had suddenly become the mother of four children and the wife of a fifty-year-old man. Kanko, who had spent her days looking down from the lectern at dozens of faces with her two eyes, now found herself under the scrutiny of ten eyes in a confined household. Innocent couples begin by spacing their children at appropriate intervals one by one, through which process both husband and wife gradually become complex fathers and mothers—without traversing that path, Kanko became the mother of four children, and large ones at that, while also becoming the wife of a writer without properly considering his profession. Without undergoing the development of a woman’s heart, Kanko had brought the measuring stick she used on the lectern into her household. How could that ever work? That they had relied solely on Nomura’s birth and upbringing without examining the man he now was as a writer could only be called careless on everyone’s part—including his own. To that extent, they could not blame Kanko. Despite this, it was Kanko who received the greatest blow of all.

Moreover, Kanko still remained unable to accept the predicament she had been cast into. If she had been a woman who could accept it, she might not have been cast out. Kanko was so unfamiliar with the world of human emotions that she could not even comprehend the affection Nomura had built up over twenty years with his former wife as something natural. On the day she returned home furious after seeing Nomura’s diary, she cursed him without restraint, grinding her teeth.

“You kept saying he was such an admirable man, someone trustworthy—but where exactly is Nomura admirable? After making all those fine promises, didn’t he tell me to come as soon as possible? And yet what do I find? He can’t forget his previous wife—writing about how she was noble as aristocracy, how she kept her beautiful eyes until death, how her intelligence spanned both literature and politics, wondering where such nobility came from. Is it just because I’m foolish and plain? Didn’t he accept that I’m unattractive? Acting all aristocratic as if he’s some handsome prince! The nerve—going on about being a proletarian writer while praising nobles as noble! Even little girls are selfish, but I tolerated it all thinking it was normal! And now he claims his mother wouldn’t let anyone touch her belongings—absurd! My mirror stand and sewing box were such rarities that I only used my own things. Towels, footwear—it’s the same story. Since embroidery thread isn’t available now, I’ve been carefully winding bits onto my own spools. He ignores all this, so his mother says she can’t indulge him! Like some youth craving romance—the diary’s filled with nonsense about his dead wife’s smile melting his soul!”

Kanko spoke in a domineering tone, as if this were Nomura’s defining flaw. Though Mine had already learned the essentials through Nomura’s letters before Kanko did, listening now made despair increasingly unavoidable. What poverty of spirit. Here was a woman incapable of rejoicing in her fifty-two-year-old husband’s youthful longing for love—and Nomura’s expectations for such a woman had been excessive from the start. Missing each other was inevitable.

“Look, Kanko, I’m not taking Mr. Nomura’s side or anything, but writing in his diary is his own right, you know. Especially since he’s a writer. Writing comes naturally to him. His way of thinking’s more meticulous than ordinary people’s too. If ordinary folks think something, they rarely put it in diaries. The fact that he writes honestly is precisely what makes him a writer. I write things down too. My notebook’s full of complaints about Yukichi, you know. Things I couldn’t say out loud are written there. There are entries about being fed up and wanting to run away, and even some marital affection too. A diary’s an unflinching record of the heart. So even if Yukichi wrote about wanting romance in his diary, I couldn’t say a thing about it. If you hate that idea, your only choice is to leave—and if you can’t leave, then you must take that man’s romantic yearnings and make them your own burden too. That’s what I’d do.”

While keenly feeling the immaturity in Kanko having to state such obvious things, the very act of saying it made Mine burst into laughter. She had pictured the state of their gray-haired marriage as if looking in a mirror. Yet what flickered through her mind like a revolving lantern as she laughed were the painful memories she had endured as a woman through twenty-odd years of marital history. At that time, Mine had still been young. When she imagined what might have happened had she acted on impulse and divorced back then, she couldn’t help but compare her past self—weeping in an even more foolish manner than Kanko—to Kanko’s present state. However, their circumstances were far too different to compare. Unlike Nomura—who wanted Kanko to leave quietly, a man with scarcely any marital bond—Mine and her husband had been an utterly straightforward couple. This occurred right after the incident with Yukichi. There had been that time when Yukichi slipped on the second-floor stairs in an instant and fell all the way down. With a thunderous clatter, he landed squarely on his backside and, remaining motionless as he bore the pain, finally caught his breath and uttered his first words:

“Thank god it wasn’t you!” The ceremonial straw mat that had been rolled up and propped in the corner of the wooden-floored area was pressed down by the full force of someone’s foot, its middle dented like a rice cracker and bent out of shape. Mine often recalled that incident.

“If you die before me, I’ll make sure to write about this in my memoir—just this one thing, I won’t forget.” “He was such a devoted husband, you see.” She had often made such jokes. However, the two remained a couple who never ceased to clash. How many times had Mine, fed up with Yukichi’s short temper, tasted that chilling feeling in her heart? And Mine herself would also frequently fly into terrible fits of temper. While exhausted from exchanging “decisive” words, yet the two remained a couple after all. Nomura and Kanko likely never exchanged a single harsh word, yet their marriage shattered within mere two months. Nomura was merely bowing his head with his hands on the floor in front of Mine and the others, but the more he prostrated himself, the more Kanko became convinced that there had been no shortcomings in her position. In her belief that lending towels to Nomura’s children and making clothes for them sufficed lay her inadequacy as a mother—and might there not have been Nomura’s dissatisfaction in this as well? However, if one were in Kanko’s position, it was only natural that the breadth of her feelings couldn’t expand so suddenly to that extent. It had been fundamentally impossible from the start.

“I knew it was wrong from the start.” “Expecting you to shoulder Mr. Nomura unconditionally was never feasible.” “To me, his diary isn’t the real issue.” “But for you—that’s the heart of it.” “Even ignoring the diary entries—” “If you’re not living as husband and wife day after day, what’s the point of this farce?” “That’s precisely what Mr. Nomura argues.”

“You think I’m the one at fault, Elder Sister.”

Quivering her lips, Kanko said something that strayed from the matter.

“This isn’t about who’s right or wrong.” “Well, if you just consider surface appearances, Mr. Nomura is utterly maddening.” “If he keeps clinging forever to a dead person, he’s essentially walking backward through life.” “He makes no effort whatsoever to build a new life.” “That way he’ll never move forward—no matter how much time passes—” “So it says he wants to die—that he wants to die and go be with his wife.” “No—even if he feels that way, then there’s simply no foundation left at all.”

“But it’s true.” “Do you think I’m lying?” As if rushing to quell another outburst, Mine softened her voice into a placating tone.

“If he’s that kind of man, all the more reason you should give up, don’t you think? It’s hard on you—but I’m sure coming back will turn out to have been for the best. So just give up already.”

“Of course.” “That’s why I came back.” “By now he’s probably asleep clutching his wife’s memorial tablet.”

Kanko’s words took on a tone of habitual disappointment toward Mine, and once they did, she could no longer string her sentences together. Yet this was her own flesh-and-blood sister. If Mine didn’t handle this, who could? Without knowing this aspect of him, she had described her as a gentle woman who could sew, fitting Nomura’s superficial conditions. The gentle woman who could sew had turned into a demoness in just two months and become like an imbecile. Facing her, as if lecturing a young girl, she patiently repeated the same thing over and over, layering despair upon despair. It’s you who’s the idiot! Even the times when she suppressed her urge to yell “It’s you who’s the idiot!” at Kanko and instead apologized, begging for understanding, likely never got through to Kanko. Therefore, as if she had completely forgotten how she had cursed Nomura with such harsh words, Kanko came and sat by Mine’s bedside the next morning while Mine was still asleep. She was preparing to leave.

“Last night I thought about it—I realize it was my fault for leaving without a word.” “That’s why I think I’ll go back and apologize.” “Well, I said that, but I don’t think there’s anyone in the world without complaints.”

She said it as if that had emerged solely from her own argument.

“W-wait.” Mine bolted upright. “I think Mr. Nomura will come today. To settle matters, you know.” “Hmm.” Kanko blinked her sleep-deprived, bloodshot eyes rapidly. Her clouded small eyes were pulled up at one corner. At those unpleasant eyes, Nomura shuddered. They were unsettling eyes. Even knowing they were eyes that had cried all night without sleep, they were unpleasant eyes. “But will he really come?”

Kanko thought for a moment, then said anxiously.

“He’ll come. I sent a telegram yesterday.”

Then Kanko suddenly became animated and began fidgeting restlessly. Even during breakfast, every time the front door opened, she would half-rise from her seat, strain her ears, and even dash out at the mail carrier. Feeling sorry for Kanko like that and intending to prepare her as much as possible for the coming blow, Mine said:

“Mr. Nomura is coming today to settle matters, you know.” “A letter has arrived at Ms. Sadako’s place too, so I think it’s better if you also prepare yourself for that.” “There’s no hope with him.” “Everyone says so, you know.”

Mine vaguely spoke about the hopelessness of Kanko as a wife in that regard, framing it as everyone’s opinion. It was at least some consideration for the defeated one. However, Kanko was strong and, like a completely different person, with passion, "But there are times when I don’t think that’s the case at all." "It’s just that if I’m the only one who has to endure it, then that’s fine." "So I’ll tell him that when he comes today." "I think he’ll understand." "That household would all be in trouble if I weren’t there, you know." "First of all, the children are pitiable." "While they’re all such self-willed children, when I think about who would call me ‘Mom, Mom,’ I feel like I’ve done something wrong." "For the children’s sake too, I think I’ll go back."

“The problem isn’t in such half-hearted matters.” “It’s something far more definitive, you know.”

“Definitive—” “He just can’t love you.” “There’s no marital feeling between you.” Kanko lowered her eyes. Mine resumed explaining in that tone one uses with first-graders: “The initial talk of doing it for the children was just pretext.” “However you spin it, marriage for children’s sake is a lie.” “You’re proof enough, Kanko.” “What woman becomes a mother in a house without a husband?” “Our failure lay in thoughtlessly pushing this marriage gamble—and from a writer who fancies himself progressive!—letting ourselves be steered by such worldly concerns.” “Mr. Nomura’s come to regret it, and I see my own foolishness.” “You might want to endure it again like ordinary folk, but our sort can’t stomach such deceptions.” “Who divorces a wife they’d paraded before friends at a proper wedding over trifles?” “Wouldn’t Mr. Nomura fare perfectly well that way?” “For having pushed you into this, Kanko—I prostrate myself in apology.”

It remained unclear how much of Mine's earnest words were getting through - Kanko stayed distracted, her attention still fixed on the entrance. "Ah, he's here!"

With a lightness never before seen, Kanko stood up and left with small, hurried steps. Mine watched with endless sadness as Kanko’s retreating figure—hunched back bent forward, one hand smoothing her hair—ran buoyantly down the long central corridor stretching straight from Mine’s room entrance toward the front entrance, her feet moving with urgent haste. The woman who had been brought in after the death of his beautiful, petite wife—through that wife’s dying wish—to serve as a mother capable of sewing for the children—was a large-framed woman with curly hair and thick lips. Could it be that this unsightly appearance had determined the greater part of the woman's value? Mine, who shared many similarities with her, looked back on herself with the sense that they had both been humiliated. Not beautiful. Ourselves who were by no means beautiful. But—

Kanko returned looking disappointed. The visitor was not Nomura. It was a dark-complexioned man with a large face wearing a somewhat awkward smile. As she paced back and forth down the narrow corridor, repeating her retreating and approaching figure countless times, the afternoon wore on. Then, a telegram arrived from Nomura stating he couldn’t come today.

Even though his wife had run away from home... Perhaps having sensed the great dissatisfaction swelling within Mine's heart, Kanko apologetically defended Nomura.

“He must be busy, you know. “That’s right—there was supposed to be a discussion meeting today.” “So that’s why.” “Well then, I’ll just go for a bit.” She briskly stood up and tightened her obi. None of what Mine had said had registered in her mind. Now that dinner was near, without even having lunch, Kanko shouldered the rucksack she had brought back and went out. Mine found it bitterly vexing that this was no mere marital quarrel. However, Kanko’s lightheartedness also gave Mine a faint glimmer of hope. As Kanko was leaving, Mine saw her off to the street, and at the moment of parting,

“If you mean to go back, you must become a fool.” “There are times when losing means winning.” “Don’t try to be smart.” “A woman can’t win unless she turns herself into a fool.”

What a sorrowful counsel this was. Yet Kanko nodded obediently and hurried down the road with a bright “Goodbye,” her body leaning forward as if propelled. Her entire being seemed saturated with the guilt of a wife who had left her husband’s home without a word. Mine hung her head and returned home. When she entered the room, Yukichi stood waiting.

“What’s wrong?” “There’s nothing to be done about it.” She answered curtly. And as if the very enemy were Yukichi, Mine planted herself firmly before him and,

“How sly of you, Mr. Nomura—trying to make me bear all this karma alone.” “Kanko merely saw the diary and hasn’t heard a single word from Mr. Nomura’s own mouth.”

Even as she spoke, it suddenly occurred to Mine that her own attitude today might have driven Kanko closer to Nomura instead. Should we have joined forces and crushed them mercilessly? However things might have been, the outcome was already clear. And then came the next day. Nomura came hurrying over. With a restlessness as if terrified of something, he bowed deeply before Mine and Yukichi, hands pressed to the floor in supplication, attempting to push through with that approach. It looked as abject as peasants prostrating themselves before a feudal lord, yet its core revealed an unyielding tenacity that could no longer be swayed. The mere two days that Kanko had left the house had rendered unnecessary any need for Nomura to seek Mine’s counsel through letters, and his resolve had likely grown all the more resolute. While bowing his head more times than necessary, he asked them to bring Kanko back. Nomura, who hadn’t gone out for his wife who had run away, was now hurrying over in a panic to ask them to retrieve his wife who had gone back. Even if Nomura’s emotional honesty was evident there, this was far too irresponsible.

“You could have either brought her here yourself or had her sent over.” Hiding her anger, Mine said. “However, I feel too sorry for Ms. Kanko to say it.” “No—this is an utterly selfish request—but I thought it best if you could bring her here and have us talk properly.” He said while blinking his frightened eyes rapidly. “Without telling Kanko? “Does she not even know you’ve come here now?”

“Yes. “She was quite agitated last night, saying she’d read my diary.” It was an unconfident, listless voice—low and hoarse. To have come this far and still be unable to speak the truth. Or was Kanko such a nauseating presence that he couldn’t bear to involve himself further, even at the cost of being called irresponsible? That feeling of being powerless before an unpleasant matter—like hesitating to touch again the luggage one had cast aside when its weight became unbearable—and that desperate urge to escape it all; even Mine couldn’t claim ignorance of such emotions. There were times when even looking at her face became unbearable. Had Nomura come here fleeing from Kanko? By placing herself in his position, Mine strained to comprehend Nomura. Yet she must also stand in Kanko’s shoes. But what if she were Kanko... A violent emotion seethed in her breast. At that moment, Mine had slapped Yukichi’s cheek with all her strength. The sharp cracks of impact rang out. She had grabbed the woman’s shoulders and shaken her with every ounce of force. The woman’s head lolled wildly, hair unraveling across her shoulders. That had become the first thread toward resolution. Ah, but Kanko could never do such a thing. Nomura must have prostrated himself before Kanko too. Who could strike down a man groveling on the ground?

“Ah!”

Suddenly, Nomura collapsed face-up onto the tatami mats. Tears overflowed. Though he had turned upward to avoid being seen, tears spilled from his eye corners and dampened his ears. Mine too covered her face with both hands and wept into the desk. Kanko, you must give up. Mr. Nomura is crying—a man is crying—.

How many hours had they spent like that? In any case, it was decided they would consult Kawahara—the poet who was their mutual friend—and the three of them set out. Yukichi had remained silent throughout, but when they boarded the train, he began talking about their literary group with a relieved expression—about the recently acclaimed novel by a young workplace-born writer that Nomura had discovered; about the recent harshness in tone among young critics; about the novels and poems submitted to the creative competition. While listening to those words as one might listen to wind, Mine’s mind’s eye remained fixed on Kanko and the others. What pitiful people they were. How utterly spineless! Both were small-minded souls. And ultimately, the final burden would always fall solely on the woman’s side. In such situations, only men could break free and breathe easy, while women shouldered unforeseen blame. Crushed by that weight and diminishing themselves to survive—this was the history of Japanese women. Even Nomura and Mine—who had joined hands under shared ideals to sweep aside such burdens—now carelessly seemed poised to push yet another woman into that very position. They wanted at least to avoid mutual wounding—but was such a thing possible? Nomura wept. Kanko seethed. And Mine’s group merely let their bewilderment swell. Sadako sighed and watched them evenly. What wisdom could Kawahara possibly offer? Kawahara’s house stood right near Nomura’s. Having apparently been forewarned by Nomura, Kawahara—wearing a military uniform that made him look youthful—nodded with an “Ah” as he welcomed the three.

Nomura did not speak a word, and Mine ended up doing all the talking. Mine, perhaps having let her guard down with Kawahara, recounted the details while shedding tears and mixing in emotion.

“Whether her looks are good or bad isn’t the issue here—what matters is that Nomura must take a clear stance now.” “Ah, right—Ōgai wrote about how a man should conduct himself in such situations.” Kawahara brought out two or three thick volumes of Ōgai’s works from the study and calmly turned the pages. The high-quality paper rustled crisply under the deft manipulation of Kawahara’s dark fingers. Even after considerable time had passed without finding the desired passage, he continued flipping pages back and forth,

“In other words,” Kawahara continued flipping through Ōgai’s works, “one must either stand resolutely in the line of fire to resolve matters responsibly, or resign oneself to burying one’s entire life alongside one’s wife—there are only these two options.” “But consider this merely a reference,” he added. “In our present circumstances, rather than discarding our lives, we must devise some way to break this impasse.” Without meeting anyone’s gaze, Kawahara kept turning pages as he laid out his view: Nomura must clearly explain the situation to Kanko; he mustn’t let Mine’s group sense even a hint of evasiveness—if matters reached an irreparable state, he should personally deliver Kanko’s belongings and handle the transfer procedures at the ward office himself; every effort must be made to alleviate Kanko’s anxieties. This gave the affair an air of resolution. Nomura already clung to no shred of hope regarding Kanko. Yet even as matters settled thus, Mine detected lingering dissatisfaction shadowing Nomura’s face. Though Nomura kept bowing deeply before them all—insisting the full responsibility was his—Mine suddenly wondered whether he resented Kawahara’s insistence on total accountability. But Nomura appeared determined to avoid voicing such thoughts outright.

Outside, it had already grown dark.

At Nomura’s house, where dinner seemed to have just ended, Kanko and the children sat around the built-in dining table atop the sunken kotatsu in the family room, their expressions heavy with unspoken tension as they welcomed the three. As Mine called Kanko and spoke with her in the room next to the entrance, a wail erupted from the family room! The sound of tangled weeping reached them. The three daughters cried out in unison. Having heard the outcome from Nomura, they had likely burst into tears through the simple innocence of daughters’ hearts.

“No—no! “Don’t go away!” “You idiot, Dad!” “Mooom—” It was a commotion just like a play. Kanko was also crying as she packed her belongings. Mine watched this with a hollow feeling, as if it were someone else’s affair. Nomura entered, wearing a touched expression on his face, “I’m just… overwhelmed.” “The children are like that, so I’m at a loss.” “It may seem strange to bring this up now, but please allow me a little more time to think.” “Three days.” “And then I will give my answer.”

Nomura delivered the latter part in polite language. He explained he wanted Kanko to return home without her belongings during those three days. The implication that she might be asked back went without saying. Kanko's face abruptly brightened, and at this the children's weeping stopped. Yet he never actually said "Stay." Thus Kanko had no choice but to depart.

“Goodbye.” When Kanko, standing in the entranceway, spoke, the children forced smiles onto their tear-streaked faces and all began to say—

“Goodbye.” “Take care.” “We’ll come to pick you up, Mom.” It was a farewell like seeing off a mother departing on a journey. Nomura alone wore a somber expression as he bowed deeply with polite formality. Outside lay utter darkness where no bearings could be discerned. Standing frozen while staring into the void, Nomura’s eldest daughter emerged holding a lantern. Her smiling face offering it appeared frightful when framed by the lantern’s shadows.

“Mom, don’t worry, okay? We’ll make sure to talk to Dad properly.” She said this in a small voice and went back inside without waiting for a reply. While the small lantern illuminated the ground at their feet, the three walked in silence along the narrow path. Thus Kanko returned. And three days passed, then five. There was no word from Nomura.

“After three days of thinking, the mail can sometimes take about three days, you know.” Kanko had waited until she could wait no longer. Seven days passed, then ten. Kanko’s face remained shadowed by gloom, her eyebrows perpetually drawn together. “I’ll go.” “Stop this. If he wants you back, he’ll come to fetch you himself.” “But I’m going. I’ll go and hear his answer. It was a promise. This wasn’t how things were meant to be.” “You don’t understand. You should make a clean withdrawal.”

“No. “I don’t know what Nomura’s intentions are, but if I go back, the children will be happy.” “On our wedding day, we exchanged cups as mother and children.” “I said stop it already!” “How can you still go back to the children?” “If you were going to Mr. Nomura’s because you’re in love with him—if you’re so smitten that you’d go no matter what anyone says—then by all means, go.” “Go and carve out your own path then.” “You’re allowed something like that.” “If you can accept that such things exist between men and women, regardless of reason, then fine.” “But I’m against it.” “Make sure you tell Mr. Nomura that clearly as well.” “You went ahead and left despite my objections, you know.” “A woman in love with a man does such things without consulting anyone, you know.” “If that’s how it is, I won’t try to stop you.” “Cut out this nonsense about doing it for the children.”

Mine said in a harsh voice. She had known how violently the word “love” would shake Kanko’s self-esteem—enough to make her retch—and had deliberately wielded it. Kanko lowered her eyes as if peering into her own heart and bit her lip, but then stood up resolutely. “Didn’t you tell me to play the fool, Elder Sister? Didn’t you say to lose the battle to win the war? I’ll go become that fool. And besides—I’ve done plenty wrong myself. I realized that if I just keep trying, things will work out. I’ll go ask Nomura.”

Could it be that Kanko didn't even realize how completely the situation had changed from before? But Mine had never seen such an assertive Kanko before. She was trying her hardest. If there was no reply from Nomura, then Kanko—who had no recourse but to cling to the children—was indeed trying her hardest. Even someone as ordinary as Kanko couldn't help causing such a stir. Mine saw Kanko off at the station—she had gathered all her remaining luggage and was leaving—and spoke in a gentle voice.

“Since you told me to take the plunge, I’ll try it.” “I must do everything possible, or you’ll never accept this.” “I suppose I arranged things too thoroughly behind your back.” “From your perspective, that must seem true.” “If this fails, you’ll finally let go.” “When that happens, hold your head high and come straight home.” “The world holds more than this.” Mine bought apples and mandarins at the station greengrocer and had the children carry them—a meager attempt to dignify Kanko’s awkward homecoming.

“I don’t plan on returning over some trivial matter.” “Even if they tell me to leave, I’ll stand my ground if it comes to that.” “It’s not as if I alone must bow and scrape to every demand they make.” “If I maintain my resolve, they can’t simply cast me out like some thief’s cur.”

Kanko had committed herself to self-sacrifice. The midday train, nearly empty, glided away carrying this woman burning with tragic resolve. Standing by the rear operator’s compartment, Kanko pressed her open palms against the glass door like a child and nodded. It was a lonely woman’s face. Mine walked unsteadily down the main street, sniffling loudly as a prickling sensation welled up deep in her nose. She had no intention of visiting the bookstore. She couldn’t muster the will to call on Sadako’s house. She peered into the florist’s shop but found she lacked even the desire to buy flowers. Across from the florist stood an antique store. In its dust-clogged window lay a knife amid assorted junk—cigarette cases, small jars, floral shears. Mine asked to see it. A multi-tool device. Two blades—large and small—plus an awl, can opener, even an ear pick. Every trick of daily life lay hidden within this thing called a knife. Practical perhaps, yet somehow discordant with her sensibilities. Puzzling over why this object drew her, she startled herself by linking it to Kanko—Kanko whom she’d just parted from. What sort of tool would Kanko wield to resolve matters? Whether walking or sitting at her desk at home, Kanko’s presence clung to her mind. Kanko’s vow not to return over trifles now felt like a congealed mass of feminine obsession, while Nomura’s bewildered face surfaced pitifully in her thoughts. Kanko would lay bare my shame alongside hers.

It couldn't be helped.

In the evening, Mine stood in the garden. Her eyes gazed at the sky, though its color hadn't actually registered in her mind. Through the haze of her thoughts, only Kanko filled her consciousness. She couldn't imagine what words or mannerisms Kanko might use to assert herself. Kanko wasn't one for theatrical displays. What awkwardness must Kanko be enduring at this very moment? She couldn't linger like some pitiful borrowed kitten, nor fill the silence with empty chatter. The likeliest image was Kanko weeping gracelessly before Nomura—though Nomura might well have fled outdoors to escape it. Just as Mine pictured this distant version of Kanko—the real one materialized before her. Clattering in wooden sandals, clutching a Boston bag, every line of her face etched with anguish—Kanko had returned. Acting oblivious to Mine's presence, she ascended from the veranda. Then she entered the three-mat room—the space least touched by human interaction—and snapped the shoji shut.

It had failed. Afterwards, Mine also entered. Kanko was sitting facing the wall. She didn’t turn around.

“Kanko.”

When called, Kanko faintly shook her head. When she sat down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, in a murmuring whisper, “No one showed me a space where I could sit. “It was dreadful—that household.”

She remained staring fixedly at the wall. Tears streamed down Mine’s cheeks. But Kanko did not cry.

“Oh, absolutely—we were strangers after all.” And so Kanko had truly returned. Quick-eared newspaper companies promptly arrived and tried to get Nomura and Mine to write statements from their respective positions. Mine paid them no heed. The woman journalist close to Mine insisted that she absolutely wanted Mine to write a protest from a woman’s perspective for the magazine. In such cases women were usually placed at a disadvantage, but in this new era they wanted her to exemplify what demands men and women should make and what methods of redress Nomura—a writer touted as progressive—had used to resolve things.

“Don’t say such things—how pitiful!” Mine grew angry even while half-laughing. Shunning the surrounding scrutiny, Kanko lived secluded like a cat in hiding. Even when Mine urged her, she stubbornly refused to emerge. Moreover, each day passed in listless stagnation without purpose. In those cloistered days, she would sometimes stage hysterical outbursts—berating Mine and Masako without cause—only to then mention Nomura’s name and spend entire days weeping beneath her futon. Would time ever allow new buds to sprout naturally? For Kanko, this had become life’s winter season. Mine and the others showed utmost consideration, careful not to graze those raw wounds. Yet Kanko’s somber presence cast its shadow over all, filling the once-cheerful home with an oppressive heaviness. Mine felt lonely realizing even close friends like Sadako no longer visited with their former ease. With Sadako’s eldest daughter’s marriage arrangement finally settled—whether due to busyness or not—her visits grew scarcer still. When the home’s stifling air became unbearable, Mine would feel compelled to wander toward Sadako’s house. Today proved no exception.

“I’m going for a walk.” While taking the shawl from the clothes rack, Mine said to Kanko, who was rattling a drawer nearby, but Kanko did not even turn around. “To Sadako’s place.” It had a spiteful ring to it. Suppressing something that felt like a dull ache in her chest, Mine approached Kanko and, without responding to that remark, said in a soothing tone, “You look tired. Shall I call a masseuse for you? While I’m at it.”

Even so, Kanko remained facing away, “I’m fine. Hiring a masseuse is beyond my station.”

She rebuffed with self-deprecating words. Though irritated, Mine remained silent to avoid falling into that trap—knowing full well that retorting would only result in being wept at, pleaded with, resented, and lamented. “Well, if it’s Ms. Sadako’s place—there’s something I want to ask her. Won’t you take Ms. Asako’s congratulatory gift along?” she said with a pout. Mine now cradled the geta bundle to her chest, repeating Kanko’s words in her heart. Why did Kanko—who had bought such lovely geta, who could beautifully envision and delight in Asako’s figure holding a snake-eye-patterned umbrella while wearing those geta—have to see her marriage end in ruin? The celebrating Kanko was an ugly divorced woman who even felt self-conscious about bringing that gift, while the celebrated Asako was a young, beautiful woman exuding nothing but the pride of a cherished wife. While wondering at her own role in attempting to bridge these extreme contrasts with a single pair of geta, Mine suddenly recalled walking this same path with Takagi Chieko just four or five days prior. It had been on the way back from the novel study group held at Sadako’s house.

“Why don’t you let them marry on their own and instead send them off as brides?” Chieko said in a shrill voice. Whether it was Sadako or Mine, she found it strange that they wouldn’t let their daughters or younger sisters choose their own partners and instead imposed grooms on them. At that moment, Mine felt a slight resistance as she said, “But you know, there are plenty of women who can’t choose for themselves. For women like that, don’t those around them still have to arrange their marriages? If you want to call it a lack of gumption, fine—but if those around her don’t look out for such a woman, she’ll end up alone forever. My sister falls into that category.”

“That may be so. “But there’s such a thing as compatibility, you know. “In Ms. Kanko’s case, it’s as if that compatibility just isn’t there at all. “It was such a bizarre mismatch! “I thought it was utterly strange.” Recalling this, Mine remembered how Chieko had even given a table speech at Kanko’s wedding about what an unexpected match Nomura and Kanko were. The eyes of Mine, who had thought them well-suited, had indeed gone mad. Was it the bias of a blood relative that made her see them as well-suited? Was there truly something so lacking in Kanko?

As Mine walked while thinking such thoughts, she suddenly remembered the straw sandals Kanko had given to Nomura’s eldest daughter as a wedding gift and was stunned. The straw sandals with tatami-mat uppers had crimson thongs clinging to them and were of high quality with felt lining. Long ago, during a time when such straw sandals could still be bought, they had been Mine’s New Year’s gift to her. When living in the countryside, Kanko had loved and cherished the beautiful straw sandals, several times tried to take them out only to resign herself, and ended up placing them in a box to gaze at them. Kanko had brought the straw sandals—now grown too gaudy—with her to Tokyo. And so the straw sandals were never once worn on Kanko’s feet, ending up given to someone else just as they were. Kanko had cherished beautiful footwear—she was such an ephemeral woman. Kanko—wasn’t your misfortune also rooted there? It’s not too late even now—Kanko—why don’t you wear beautiful geta? Why don’t you put them on and plow through the muddy fields? You must not abandon your right to wear beautiful geta. Beautiful geta aren’t meant solely for beautiful people. Kanko, I want to give you beautiful geta once more. I must make it happen.

IV

For the first time in a long while, Mine leisurely enjoyed sleeping in without worrying about anyone else's feelings and was in good spirits while still in bed. The weather seemed splendid, with bright light streaming through the gaps in the storm shutters to cast patterns on the paper doors. "Mama, let's have today's meal on the veranda," she said coaxingly. It had been truly ages since she'd used that affectionate "Mama" when calling to her daughter Masako. Mine was startled to realize this forgotten term had emerged so naturally not because she'd slept deeply, but because Kanko wasn't there. Had she really been unconsciously restraining herself even over such trivial matters?

“Shall I open the storm shutters?” Masako’s caring words soaked into her heart. What a difference compared to Kanko. If it had been Kanko, she would have clattered them open with pointed sarcasm. And she often said.

“You know, the best thing about Nomura was how he woke up early.” “They always say writers stay up late and sleep in as if by mutual agreement.” “In that regard, he was quite methodical.” Kanko praised Nomura as though reminiscing about a deceased husband. However, Mine knew this wasn’t meant to commend Nomura but rather conveyed Kanko’s demand that they wake early and share meals together. When Yukichi heard this, he furrowed his brow. Sensing even in the edges of such words the subtle tremors in Kanko’s heart, Mine released a quiet sigh.

“Well, you see, Mr. Nomura’s household has four children all in school, so naturally they’d end up waking early.” “Since there’s no one in our household bound by time, you should sleep in more.” When Mine said this, Kanko made a huffing face and muttered that a dependent couldn’t possibly do such things. She suppressed her urge to retort that if that were the case, then so be it, and resolved to rise early to avoid provoking Kanko’s feelings—yet decades of habit inevitably slowed her movements come morning. It was also due to her chronic spinal caries.

“I’ve been terribly considerate of Kanko.” When Mine appealed to Yukichi, he pursed his lips in dissatisfaction and muttered, “Exactly.” That a couple should lay their futons side by side in one room—even such an ordinary matter required her consideration. But what alternative existed beyond that? Even when she tried expanding the issue to housing reforms and economic problems, reality remained immovably fixed. Everyone was sinking into this stagnant state. Still—what must Kanko be feeling? That Kanko who loved work and tidying had lately shown no dedication to anything. Yet she rose early each morning only to act prickly. When Mine and the others slept until nearly ten, the sound of Kanko’s dusting cloth changed. It had been their twenty-year habit to read newspapers in bed, but the moment newsprint rustled, vigorous dusting would commence beyond the sliding door—as if she’d been lying in wait there, listening intently. The ferocious noise—like violent slapping—and the vehemence, as though reproaching them with pent-up emotion, were something someone as good-natured as Masako could never have managed.

“She’s on edge.” When Mine heard Yukichi click his tongue, she could not remain silent, “Now, Masako, keep it down a bit more.” she said in a calm voice. The dusting cloth stopped abruptly, “Yes, yes, it was me. “I’m sorry.”

This too was a voice feigning composure. And Kanko continues.

“Um, if you were sleeping, I’m sorry.” “The meal has been ready for quite some time.” “The miso soup has already cooled three times over, but aren’t you getting up yet?” Her tone was clipped. “I’m sorry. It had all gone cold.” She apologized, but inside, Mine ground her teeth. Whether aware or not, Kanko pressed on. “I should have waited. My apologies.”

Mine always had no choice but to fall silent. There was even a time when Kanko proposed that if Mine and the others wanted to sleep, they should first get up and finish their meals. By this point, she had become impossible to reason with. Mine simply responded with dismissive huffs, letting the words roll off her. This too seemed to irritate Kanko. Anticipating how any conflict would inevitably turn to Nomura, Kanko began adopting a combative stance in every matter. Chie, Kanko's younger sister who had come from rural Saitama out of concern, apparently finding the situation unbearable, once took it upon herself to intervene.

“Shall I try inviting Kanko to my place?” “In that state, Sis, you can’t do anything at all, can you?” “Please, even three days would help.”

Mine instinctively clasped her hands together. The discussion had taken place during Kanko’s brief absence, but Chie promptly put it into action.

“Kanko, won’t you come to my place?” Then Kanko, her eyes narrowing in that characteristic way, turned defiantly toward Chie and,

“Whose idea is that?” “It’s Chie’s opinion. The countryside would be nice for a change of scenery.” Chie referred to herself in the third person—using the speech of her maiden days—and spoke with a childlike innocence unbecoming of a mother of three. That exaggeratedly artificial innocence—Kanko, who detested such displays of dependence, rejected in a voice that cut through pretense, “A change of scenery, you say? I think my mood would clear up?”

“It’ll clear up, I tell you. “Oh, just come once.”

“No!” “I’d be ashamed.” “Even at Sis’s place I’m already heaping up reservations—how could I go shame myself at your house?”

Kanko burst into loud, wailing sobs. Chie, who had proposed it, also began shedding tears in streams while saying: “There’s no need for you to think so much about it. Who would go around scrutinizing you like that? No one would know. And actually, I’m being selfish here—I want you to come help me out. Far from being a burden—I’m the one who wants to ask a favor of you!” Chie became desperate, but Kanko, sobbing quietly, ultimately did not agree.

“Now now, it’s alright.” “You’re right where it hurts.” “Go when you want.”

Reluctantly, Mine said this. Mine tried to savor as her own the suspicions Kanko seemed to harbor—that Mine had requested Chie take her in—making them her own burden. She could only feel utterly sorry for her sister. Though she hadn't made the request outright, she had certainly wished for it. Kanko must have sensed that intention. As Chie had observed, Mine didn't believe she alone suffered unbearably for Kanko's sake, but they absolutely needed respite from their mutual strain. By avoiding direct encounters that might soothe their spirits—and paradoxically sensing this distance might foster understanding—Mine had lately fixated on redirecting Kanko's affections toward their rural hometown. This scheme had been shrewdly detected by Chie during her impromptu visit, yet Kanko herself showed no inclination whatsoever toward such plans, appearing instead consumed by her desperate resolve to remain in Tokyo at all costs. This fire burned not to illuminate new paths, but rather to mercilessly expose every detail of the woman cast out from her marital home. Through this conflagration, Mine discovered unexpected hidden facets—not just in Kanko, but in Nomura and Yukichi too, even within herself: irony and despair and spite, and hope's fragile smallness when confronting them all. Still she had to rise up. She must not yield. Let every hatred and stumble become stepping stones along hope's renewed path.

Less than ten days had passed since Chie arrived. Kanko suddenly suggested going to Chie's place. With the stubborn set of her jaw that had become habitual, Kanko pulled one corner of her mouth tightly forward and twisted her lower lip into a severe lopsided grimace. When her mouth took that shape, Mine had to steady her nerves. While thinking "Aha, that must be it," Mine said nonchalantly.

“That’s fine. Go help Chie and come back.”

Chie had suffered from severe rheumatism that left her limbs disabled. When Kanko first came to Tokyo, her purpose had been twofold—to help with Mine’s household while showing compassion for her rheumatic sister—and her ration registration, which couldn’t be transferred to Tokyo, had been moved to Chie’s household. Within those parameters, there should have been no need for reservation, but Kanko was the type who more often than not forgot such things. “Chie’s place would be fine too. The worst of the cold has passed now. Breathe in the Kanto Plain’s air and take your time relaxing there.”

Then Kanko showed a sardonic smile, “That way, Elder Sister, you’d be able to relax too.”

“We both would, I suppose.”

When Mine took it as a joke, Kanko suddenly covered her face with both hands and said in a tearful voice: "Though I have my own home... I've become unable to return to it..."

Having resolved that her hometown house would be her lifelong dwelling, she had found modest joys in solitude—or so she told herself. For Kanko, even the comings and goings between Mine’s and Chie’s homes after moving to Tokyo had been a pleasure born of a single woman’s carefree ease. That marriage to Nomura had led to her forty-year home being rented out to others. Just because she was divorced now didn’t mean it couldn’t be rented out again. It wasn’t that cohabitation was impossible, but Kanko—who considered even visiting Chie’s house a disgrace—wept as she imagined returning to a household where others lived as being several times more wretched than reality. And it was Nomura, she declared, who had thrust her into that misery. Nomura would be satisfied if he drove me out, but I—cast aside—would weep with nowhere left to return.

“We promised not to talk about that anymore, didn’t we? Let’s not dwell on things that won’t do any good. It’s not some precious treasure you’d regret letting go of, you know. You could say it’s a rotten bond, couldn’t you?” Though suddenly realizing this was actually the opposite of a rotten bond, Mine couldn’t help pitying Kanko—who seemed desperate enough to cling even to such a tainted connection. The reason she had suggested going to Chie’s place was that yesterday a letter had arrived from Nomura’s middle daughter. Addressed to Ms. Nomura Kanko—the nominal mother who had separated and even taken back her belongings—on its front was a small pink square envelope embossed with roses, containing stationery adorned with a drawing of a girl’s bobbed hairstyle. With girlish sentimentality, the writing was already tearful from the very first line. “MotherMotherMotherMother—no matter how much I call, Mother isn’t here anymore—” The letter, half-filled with repetitions of “Mother,” overflowed with the voice of a motherless girl calling out to her parent. That might have been a call to her deceased biological mother. Nowhere in the letter that ended with nothing but cries of “Mother” were there any words asking her to return. Just like her dead mother, she was only calling out to Kanko as a mother who could no longer be summoned back to her side. When Mine and Yukichi went to collect Kanko’s belongings, the daughters—who had cried and made a fuss over parting with Kanko, thus momentarily souring Nomura’s mood—were in the next room giggling and amusing themselves with something. It was astonishingly innocent. Feeling a certain loneliness, Mine found herself impressed at that moment, thinking This is good—it must be this way. The daughters, who had been handed a letter from their father Nomura listing in meticulous detail the items to be returned—written in Kanko’s characteristic itemized style—suddenly drew their faces together and began packing each article one by one before Mine’s eyes.

“Here’s the scissors.”

Prodded by the small voice, the middle daughter who had been using the scissors hurriedly placed them on the tatami mat.

“The electric iron.” “Oh, there! We used it yesterday, didn’t we?”

So the youngest daughter dashed off to the family room. “The wool half-coat… Oh.” The eldest daughter, her face flushing crimson, hurriedly removed the navy coat she had been wearing. As she lowered her long eyelashes, one could see shame suffusing her features.

“I’m sorry.” Mine offered a consoling smile. She recalled how Kanko had once taken the coat from the luggage left at her house, saying she might have to give it to the eldest daughter. Hadn’t Kanko said she would give it away? But now that things had come to this, thinking it better for both their sakes not to leave it behind, Mine silently watched the daughter folding the coat. The daughters, who had been exchanging stifled giggles surging with youthfulness, now wore stern expressions. They were still girls needing a mother. As Mine packed the small items she’d organized while thinking of Nomura’s deceased wife, Nomura emerged from his room and held out a small object, saying “Here.” It was lipstick. This was what Mine had given Kanko at their wedding. Where in Nomura’s room had it been kept?

On the way back, Mine recalled how strangely that had bothered her. It was likely that Kanko had had no use for lipstick during her two months living in Nomura’s household. And yet she had discovered that Kanko had recently been occasionally using lipstick. “I also thought I should try to make myself up a little.”

While making excuses, she would sometimes pat her face with powder as if suddenly remembering. It was an attitude she had never shown before. Linking this to Kanko’s recent behavior, Mine suspected it must have been Kanko who prompted the children to send letters. Could one think that the gloves Kanko knitted and the beanbags she made while hiding in her three-tatami room would be sent to any daughter other than Nomura’s? Kanko was trying to cling to a glimmer of hope there. Holding the rose-embellished letter, Kanko—with a look of joy tinged with irony—practically thrust it into Mine’s hands as if demanding she read it. Having read it, Mine—unable to say anything—

“You see, the children have no complaints.” “He could at least let us exchange letters.” “I do think the children are dear.” “Even if the parents say anything, the children still send letters like this—”

Was she trying to regain Nomura's feelings with this? Was Kanko trying to ignore that Nomura had already clearly refused her on that matter? Could it be she had forgotten? Kanko had gone to Nomura's house two or three times before this, returning in despair each time. Each time, Mine comforted her by rubbing her back. Yet these were merely words that layered over Kanko's despair. There were times when Kanko pleaded with Sadako in an impassioned voice, wanting her to fully hear out her grievances. Even Sadako could only listen and console—though she found Kanko's arguments reasonable, this resolved nothing. When Sadako and Mine made clear they wouldn't reconnect Kanko with Nomura, Kanko spat out desperate words and left, stopping at Kawahara's house to tell his wife Takeko she would defy Mine and Sadako's opinions and go to Nomura's home by her own will this time. Kanko likely intended to have Takeko—who'd served as neighborhood guide during the wedding—lend a hand, but that encounter ended up shattering her resolve instead. Kanko returned with an uncharacteristically cheerful face and told Mine.

“Sis, I’ve... I’ve made up my mind to give up completely.” “Ms. Takeko stated clearly that it wasn’t worth sacrificing one’s entire life for.” And there was a time when Nomura brought up Takeko in conversation; when he tried to mention that Takeko was what they call a “Fire Horse” woman, only to realize that Kanko was also a Fire Horse, he got as far as saying “Ms. Takeko is a Fi—” before mumbling incoherently and laughing uproariously. Mine also laughed along, never imagining that Nomura would be the type to care about the “Fire Horse” zodiac, but in the letter he had sent earlier, he had made excuses, insisting that their separation had absolutely nothing to do with Kanko being a Fire Horse. Mine recalled how she had been lightly struck then by the thought that a man of Nomura’s stature would take issue with the Fire Horse zodiac, even if only in that manner. Even Mine didn’t think being a Fire Horse made any difference, but in practical terms, it was an undeniable fact that the Fire Horse had greatly influenced Kanko. Mine knew that part of the reason Kanko had remained single until forty was due to the resolute influence of the Fire Horse. Not limited to Kanko, in Mine’s hometown and such places, people were not indifferent to the Fire Horse zodiac either. How many times had Mine, over the years, tried to enlighten Kanko—who had always seemed to brace herself against it—in various ways? In that sense, Mine too had been making the Fire Horse an issue. But what about Nomura’s? But be that as it may, Mine thought being able to laugh and speak about the Fire Horse showed Kanko's growth. And Mine had felt relieved thinking Kanko might finally settle down like this, but before she knew it, Kanko was attempting to reestablish contact with Nomura’s children again, suggesting that sending letters at least might be permissible.

“I oppose it. It’s foolish.” Having been brushed off so curtly, Kanko seemed to bristle, her face darkening into silence. She was crying, but Mine deliberately pretended not to notice. After crying, when she decided to go to Chie’s place, Mine tried to let her go as calmly as possible, but it seemed she still needed to confront things head-on. “Going to Chie’s place isn’t some carefree trip where I’ll be blown about by the winds of the Kanto Plain.” “Because I’m going to sell my kimonos—I’ve finally fallen to this state.”

If it weren’t for Nomura, she could have settled down to work properly—she likely meant to say her daily inability to focus on tasks was all his fault. Yet word had reached Mine through various channels that Nomura too was enduring dreary days—mending kimono hems while rattling the charcoal stove, standing in ration lines, writing Yukichi about feeling self-conscious since their separation and dreading public appearances. Even amid this disarray, Nomura showed no desire for Kanko’s return as he rebuilt his life from these ashes. Still Kanko wandered aimlessly, refusing to confront herself. Perhaps through this restless drifting she fantasized some chance occurrence might push her back toward Nomura. Was she trying to invite sympathy through pitiable displays, hoping someone would exploit this vulnerability? How pathetic you are, Kanko—that’s precisely the mindset of one who’s hit rock bottom. With a heavy heart, Mine withdrew several bills from her clasp purse,

“Don’t sell the kimonos. Keep them.” “Even if you do end up selling them later on, I wouldn’t call that being destitute.” “Go see Chie.” “Selling them off one after another behind my back, yet putting on that innocent face—aren’t you?” “You haven’t fallen into ruin at all.”

“Well, Chie has a son-in-law named Minoru and three children.” “No matter where I look, I’m not the only one who’s all alone.”

Kanko sobbed like a child between hiccups as she stuffed her belongings into the Boston bag, refusing to so much as glance at Mine before leaving with a shake of her shoulders. Mine, knowing Kanko wouldn’t stay even if restrained, remained silent and let matters unfold—but imagining Kanko departing tearfully on a comfortless journey made her anxiety gradually expand. A woman standing alone on the frigid platform awaiting the train, with no one to speak to—when Mine considered what temptations might infiltrate that vacant heart, gooseflesh prickled her skin and she began rushing frantically. After informing Masako, Mine left home without changing her kimono. She transferred from the suburban train to the main line and endured an hour of gnawing dread before reaching Akabane. Mine sprinted across the footbridge toward the train platform with uncharacteristic nimbleness. The stair climbs squeezed her corpulent heart. Her running legs gradually dulled, yet she wheezed onward without stopping.

The train’s departure time seemed imminent; people were running both ahead and behind. Mine was jostled by trunks and bundles against her hips and shoulders, each collision leaving her overtaken. Calling out silently—Kanko! Kanko!—she finally descended the stairs and crouched there, trying to soothe her parched throat. Still, Mine’s eyes kept searching for Kanko in the crowd ahead.

“Sis.”

Kanko spotted her and came running.

“What’s wrong?” Kanko was genuinely surprised. Mine, relieved, slumped against her. Mine felt glad that Kanko’s face looked like that of an ordinary woman. She was neither crying nor angry. Mine was the one spilling tears. Enticed by this, Kanko also teared up as she stroked Mine’s back. Mine thought she wanted to drink some water, but the faucet was broken. After her shoulders finally stopped heaving, Mine spoke.

“Don’t go today.” Kanko took the ticket out from her work pants pocket, gazed at it slowly, and showed it to Mine. “But it’s only valid for two days. If I cancel today and tomorrow doesn’t work out either, it’d be such a waste—” Just then, the train pulled into the station. In a situation decided beyond refusal, Mine ended up seeing her off.

“Don’t worry.” “I’ll be all right.” “I’ll bring you a souvenir.”

Not looking like a woman burdened with sorrow, Kanko spoke in a calm voice and melted into the crowd jostling near the narrow entrance. Mine peered into the train carriages but couldn’t make her out, and before she knew it, the train began to move.

By the time she arrived home, it was already evening. As soon as she entered the room, Mine buried her face in the kotatsu and cried without even adjusting her collar. The fact that Kanko had looked so ordinary when she saw her outside had made her happy. Moreover, the sorrow Kanko hid beneath that composed expression had—through their recent parting—become even clearer, melting into Mine’s heart and bringing fresh tears. The dinner table felt conspicuously empty without Kanko’s presence. It wasn’t that they felt lonely now that she was gone. They wanted to feel relieved, but somehow that absence weighed on them as an oppressively heavy void. Yet it was certain everyone wanted to feel relieved. Even though Mine’s eyes—which she had reddened chasing after her in worry and weeping at her pitiful state—were still swollen.

“Kanko has changed, hasn’t she? From just a little stumble she becomes mean or acts unpleasant—doesn’t she? At heart she’s honest... such a kind soul.”

“But when it gets like that, it’s a problem. When women hit forty, they just take up more space.” “Though I don’t mean to be in the way at all, I must seem so cumbersome, don’t I. I wonder if I’m heartless.” “It’s exhausting either way.”

Mine and the others had this kind of conversation. And truly exhausted, Mine went to bed at evening’s end. Then Yukichi and Masako likewise suggested retiring early tonight. Everyone had become exhausted. “What on earth was she even… that…” “What do you think you’re doing?” “Making people feel self-conscious even about sleeping—what a dreadful creature.” Mine was growing increasingly angry. Once when Sadako visited,Mine had called out for Masako to serve tea. Since Masako didn’t appear,Kanko emerged instead,calling from behind the shoji screen without regard for Sadako’s presence,

“It’s about the tea, isn’t it. “It has to be Masako-chan, doesn’t it.” It was that familiar cutting tone of hers. Mine recalled how Sadako had made a face like “Haaah” while shooting her a sympathetic look. As if wholly unaware of Mine’s efforts to gently shield her and help her recover, Kanko even seemed determined to scatter something akin to emotional poison before others. Remembering this too brought a surge of nausea rising within her.

“It’s like she’s going around blaming me for this whole thing.” “How stupid she is—it’s truly infuriating.” When Yukichi heard Mine trying to vent the tangled emotions she couldn’t express to Kanko, he, in good spirits, began to laugh,

“Stop it—I can’t handle you getting hysterical too.” “Let’s take it easy while we have the chance with Kanko not here.”

While saying this, he burrowed into the futon. "I'm sorry, you're right." She immediately reconsidered, but hearing Yukichi put it that way made her feel sorry for Kanko anew. Kanko knew no such moments. When Mine imagined that absence permeating every place Kanko went, she felt she understood how her sister's emotions grew unbalanced. Yet realizing even Yukichi had become restricted by it all, Mine resolved never to mention Kanko again.

“Ah... This is no utopian age.” “Though I never considered myself happy, someone like me can’t exactly be called unhappy.”

Mine stretched both hands upward and let out a groan as she arched her back. As if no matter how much she stretched she couldn’t stretch enough, she leaned back and continued groaning repeatedly. And before she knew it, she had fallen asleep, and when she awoke, the sun was already high. Masako had fried eggs and prepared tororo yam miso soup entirely on her own initiative, and the dining table had been carried out to the sunny veranda. Even after finishing the meal, Mine and the others did not move from there. Even after noon passed, they still did not want to move. It felt as though they had returned to their own home after a long time. Yukichi began writing letters on the low dining table, and Mine brought over the book she had been reading and turned her back to the sunlight. Though they would normally want to retreat to their rooms immediately after finishing a meal, it was as though they were reclaiming some long-forgotten happiness. Then are we to say that Kanko was the one stealing this peace? Poor Kanko. But before long, Kanko would come back carrying that heavy air again.

As Mine thought without thinking, the uneven clatter of a geta missing one tooth reached her ears. "It's Chie!" Mine closed her book and prepared to wait. Chie, her rheumatoid frame, came picking her way across the garden stones toward them. "What's wrong?"

She opened the glass door and welcomed her in.

“Elder Sister, it was really tough, wasn’t it.”

Without even a greeting, Chie abruptly spoke. She was shedding tears. “Is it your turn to have troubles now?” “Yeah.”

Chie took a deep breath, requested a refill of the tea Masako had poured, and finished drinking it,

“Even if I go talk to him myself, do you think Mr. Nomura would listen?” According to Chie’s account, Kanko had ultimately been unable to make Nomura commit decisively—last night she had written a letter and come to consult her about it. “Honestly—it’s mortifying! Just reading that letter made me want to retch.” “I told her not to send it and said I’d go speak with him instead.” Chie’s face flushed crimson as she spoke of the letter. Listening, Mine too turned red. The letter reportedly laid bare—in brutally candid terms—the emotional realities of her marital life with Nomura. By the time natural feelings had finally welled up within Kanko, they said Nomura’s ardor had already cooled. Mine found herself unable to respond. This belated awakening of physical desire—why couldn’t they have nurtured it into full bloom? It was already too late. The issue had transcended mere flesh now—all hope for spiritual connection lay abandoned. Should anything new arise from this point, it would surely be naught but hatred, contempt, confusion, resentment. Whose fault could one possibly call this? Nomura should never have lost his first wife. Yet war had stolen away that beloved spouse. Kanko ought to have kicked aside both the Fire Horse superstition and those iron shackles of family tradition—ought to have grasped love’s true worth. But Kanko remained mired in archaic Japanese mores that equated ignorance of love-letter composition with moral rectitude—and Nomura proved powerless against such entrenched customs. They’d sought a woman skilled at sewing—set conditions rooted in Japan’s antiquated ways—yet failed to harness that very tradition productively. And still—who could possibly be deemed at fault?

And yet within this, the blow dealt to women compared to men was of an incomparable magnitude. The history of marriage in Japan, harsh on women, had seen the derogatory term "returned bride" bestowed solely upon women who had their marriages broken, without even inquiring into the reasons why. Women themselves, as if accepting it as their own responsibility, did not squarely confront this "returned bride" status. Toward that woman, who could have shown any responsible attitude? The figures of women driven from their positions as wives passed through Mine’s mind. A woman named Oaki-san from the village where Mine and the others were born had fled her marital home, leaving behind one child, due to her mother-in-law’s unreasonable complaint about how she washed the pot used for boiling paste. Brides from impoverished farming households had to wipe the last paste pot with a cloth until it looked as if licked clean to avoid displeasing their mothers-in-law. If even two or three grains' worth of wheat paste remained stuck, the mother-in-law would complain loudly, they said. A woman named Ms.Koume, who was the same age as Mine, had divorced her husband out of dissatisfaction that he had taken a mistress. Mine’s close friend Tsurue-san, unable to bear her husband—a cousin to whom she had been betrothed—had run away. Three women who defied the brides’ code. Oaki-san had remarried as if in spite, but there she became the mother of three children. And the child she had borne came to call another woman "Mother". Ms.Koume had also remarried a man with two children, but here too, her husband was deeply involved with another woman. Ms.Koume had been welcomed as a mother to his children and as a wife to the household. Even Tsurue-san, who had fled out of dislike, had left her second marriage entirely to a matchmaker, with an age difference akin to that between father and son. Ms.Koume’s former husband had taken his mistress as his new wife, and Tsurue-san’s abandoned husband—perhaps out of sympathy for having been fled by his wife—had been assigned a first-marriage daughter and seemed to be living happily. What thoughts must Oaki-san have been harboring, entrusting her own child to others and raising another’s child? What feelings must Ms.Koume have harbored as she looked upon her second husband's mistress? As for Tsurue-san, could she ever have come to love a husband like a father?

Had she given up? There was also a pitiable woman called Otsujisan who—though disliked by her husband yet enduring as his wife—ended up being left behind when he walked out of their home. They all seemed to have abandoned any thought of leaving their homes or husbands again, living placidly on the surface—but one couldn’t help wondering how things truly were. Even with just three or four examples, one could see how women’s circumstances had deteriorated. The sorrow of women’s position is a misfortune Japanese women have inherited since ancient times. Was Kanko thinking of that and trying to enlist even Chie? Or had something taken root in her heart after she tried separating from Nomura? But—but—it was already too late. Before they could separate, the problems had already shattered into fragments. Not understanding that, and thinking Mine wouldn’t do anything about it, she must have gone to Chie’s place. Chie gave up and went back. Dragging her afflicted leg, Chie returned home. Though urged to stay overnight and rest, she left so as not to miss the last train—her husband was coming to meet her at the station, she said. Mine noticed that Chie’s limp had worsened since her arrival. But she didn’t try to stop her.

“Kanko seems to be causing trouble wherever she goes.” “What could that be?”

Mine’s eyebrows remained tightly knit. Did Kanko carry some invisible toxin like bodily odor? The day after Chie’s visit, Kanko hurried back with restless footsteps. Then—as if struck by some thought she wanted to hide from Mine’s gaze—she began working diligently. She washed and starched clothes, altering kimonos. She tended to tabi socks and undergarments. She busily tidied her belongings. Kanko, whose blood pressure had risen since that incident, constantly wore a flushed face.

“Don’t push yourself so hard.” “Take it easy.” When Mine showed concern, she indeed softened her expression, yet her tone carried a certain resolve as she—

“I’m thinking of going to Kobe.”

Mine, startled, pulled her knees closer. “For fun?” “No, as a housemaid.” Deliberately saying this, she took out a letter from the sewing box drawer to show. It was a letter from her sister in Kobe—a reply to Kanko’s letter. *Though called a housemaid, it’s truly domestic—they say they’ll entrust everything to you in a family-like manner.* *After all, there’s no husband, and the wife runs a business in Kobe.* *There are two daughters attending school and one maid who cooks meals.* *The store is separate, so the wife commutes there daily.* *The lifestyle is quite lavish, so you might be startled, Kanko—but I think that could make it more interesting.* In any case, it said they wanted someone to act as a housewife in ways a maid couldn’t—and as Mine read on, she felt her spirits gradually lighten. *Though called a substitute housewife, there’s little work since they have a maid; they’ll give you a four-and-a-half tatami room; with a sewing machine available, you can do side work if you find time—* such conditions, all likely to appeal to Kanko in her current state, were listed. Kanko seemed to love sewing machine work dearly.

“Did you send the reply?” “Not yet, but I was thinking of leaving around tomorrow.”

“Well then, let’s have a farewell party today.”

She promptly told Masako to prepare mixed sushi and had her buy black-market sugar to add to the sweet red bean soup. With that, Kanko’s mood improved completely, and she sang schoolgirl-like songs in two-part harmony with Mine and Masako. When the time came for departure, Mine and Masako saw her off as far as the ticket window at Tokyo Station. Wearing monpe and carrying a rucksack on her back, Kanko set out.

“I’ve been nothing but selfish toward you, Sis. I’m sorry.” “I intend to repay your kindness somehow, but please wait for me a little longer.” “Take care too, Masako.” “I don’t know when we’ll meet again.” Mine nodded with a “hmm” to each word. All three were on the verge of tears. While ascending the wide stairs to the Tokaido Line platform, Kanko looked back many times and mourned the parting. Thinking that Kanko always became kindest at the moment of parting, Mine too waved her hand. Even after the rucksack disappeared from sight, Mine remained standing for a while. It was because she thought Kanko might have remembered something she’d left behind and come back. However, Kanko did not return. Mine held hands with Masako and silently turned back. Kanko’s figure with the rucksack flickered. The rucksack that had been hauled all over, continuing its journey alongside Kanko. The rucksack that accompanied her both in marriage and in domestic service—when would it be emptied, folded flat, and rendered useless? When would such a time come upon her?

Though they had parted in this manner, Kanko appeared before Mine just four days later. Without even washing her face blackened by the night train’s soot, Kanko said angrily,

“Who do they think I am? I’d never help the likes of them!” At that house in Kobe, they had apparently been lying in wait for Kanko’s arrival and threw a welcoming dance party. The beautifully made-up mother and child looked like sisters, apparently resembling actresses straight out of a movie. Everyone wore beautiful Western clothes, acting all spoiled and playful with each other—it was nasty just to watch, Kanko said disgustedly.

“I’d rather die than be ordered around by people like that.” But when they tried to involve Kanko in work connected to Mine’s principles and hopes, she shook her head in refusal. Mine had hoped that working within a unified circle might allow one to better oneself, but Kanko declared she wanted nothing to do with anything involving Mine. Since Mine understood those feelings, she didn’t press the matter—yet Kanko couldn’t return to the countryside either. While considering all this, Kanko—through her own unique intuition—sensed Mine silently nodding to her words, and suddenly burst into tears.

“What should I do—there’s no place for me anywhere—”

Her large body collapsed heavily onto the tatami mats as she sobbed violently.

Five

Damp-looking black soil lay speckled with patches of green. The autumn-sown peas that had endured through winter remained exactly as they were—shriveled, their green color still subdued in that state. The surface of the lingering spring chill still held frost columns, and even the sparrows appeared to be hunching their necks. Their chests rounded out—there were two. Whether mates or parent and child, one would hop ahead with quick little steps while another followed in the same bobbing manner. One moment they dug in the soil with backs turned; next they lined up face-to-face as if exchanging whispers; then they fluttered up to vanish into garden thickets. It was a morning so quiet that only the sparrows seemed alive with movement. The sparrows had multiplied to five now, flitting over the home vegetable garden where peas grew. Yet Mine's face watching through sunlit veranda glass—observing these innocent sparrows harmonizing like infants—betrayed a weariness unbefitting dawn's freshness. She had stayed up late the night before.

“Go wash your face.” Yukichi approached with a freshly cleansed face still glowing from his morning routine—a face radiating vigor. His tone carried concern for his wife who had labored through the night with scant sleep.

“Yeah.”

Mine kept watching the sparrows. She wondered whether there had always been this many sparrows each morning. She pondered if they were scattering soil with their beaks because there might be food beneath. On the seemingly barren black earth where only pea sprouts showed blue, the sparrows paid no heed to the plants. Mine suddenly remembered Yamamoto Yasue, that New Theater actress who long ago played "O-Kichi the Foreigner." In her mind's eye, she saw Yasue's O-Kichi scattering rice scraps for sparrows. There had indeed been women who walked such paths, she reflected - women like O-Kichi, made sacrificial lambs of Bakumatsu diplomacy, her beauty bartered like merchandise, her unconscious rebellion against power leaving her utterly alone. They said in her twilight years, O-Kichi entrusted her heart only to the sparrows visiting her eaves each dawn. One might call it the cruel fate beauty begets upon women, Mine thought bitterly. Yet even so, those sparrows had been O-Kichi's sole comfort - how pitifully meager that solace must have been. Drawing parallels, Mine considered how Kanko too, withdrawing into solitary confinement of the soul, might find similar refuge in plants and trees as O-Kichi had with sparrows. The peas Kanko had sown amidst soul-wrenching anguish - never forgetting the seasons even in torment - now sprouted orderly green leaves at precise intervals, perfectly mirroring her meticulous nature. Mine felt peculiar poignancy at how sparrows and pea pods in women's lives compelled this comparison between O-Kichi and Kanko. Just as sparrows ignored peas, Kanko and O-Kichi stood worlds apart - yet both remained women shackled by misfortune.

“Hey, why don’t you wash up and have some breakfast?”

While urging her again, Yukichi turned over each piece of morning mail one by one. This was unusual. Normally before breakfast, Yukichi would assert his ill humor like a man’s prerogative. Mine’s nerves would tense up in response, and they would clash with equal intensity—but when exhausted from work, they both grew more subdued. “You must be tired.” “Not really.”

“You look terrible.” “You were snoring like crazy.” “Oh… was I?” Flustered, Mine’s voice grew small,

“I’m sorry,” she said.

The snoring habit Mine hadn’t had before developed after she began writing novels and such. There should have been no connection to her work, but for Mine—who had started her writing career at a relatively late age—wielding a pen required considerable labor. That this fatigue became the root of the snoring habit she developed nearing forty was, in Mine’s case, an indisputable fact. Yet it was only after Mine received Nomura’s letter stating Kanko had that same habit that she grew self-conscious about her own snoring. When she read that letter, Mine shuddered as if doused with icy water. It was a chill that pierced her heart. Kanko snored— Nomura’s letter read: “Until now I’ve refrained from saying more than that I couldn’t love her, but truthfully, I’m afraid of Ms. Kanko. There were not just one or two nights when I lay awake without sleeping a wink, pressing down on my futon while listening to Ms. Kanko’s snoring. Though you are sisters, perhaps there are things only someone of the opposite sex could understand—differences in our personalities, most likely.” It had been written in such terms. At that moment, Mine quietly asked Masako, who always slept beside her in the same room.

“Do you snore, Auntie?” “Yeah, sometimes. But I hardly do it anymore these days.” “Really?” “It’s true, I wouldn’t lie.”

“Hmm.”

Mine fell into thought. Now that she thought about it, when Kanko had still been at Nomura’s house—going out to buy ointment every time her shoulders stiffened—she would even snore in her sleep during the daytime. She remembered even Masako saying, “Auntie, you must be tired,” attributing it to exhaustion. When on earth had Kanko developed this habit of snoring? Had her marriage to Nomura been the trigger? Or had it been there all along? After all, was her family’s view of snoring merely compassion wrapped in love? When Mine snored, that snoring became a pretext for Masako and Yukichi’s concern,

“You were snoring. I thought you were finally having a stroke.” Masako, worried, would listen intently to Mine’s snoring by her pillow until she awoke. And at such times, parent and child grew remarkably close. Yet that same snoring, when it came to Kanko, brought forth talk of incompatible personalities and ended up being cited as one of the usual reasons for divorce. The reason Nomura had written that letter ultimately lay with Mine herself. When Ikawa, Nomura’s friend who had been the publicly recognized matchmaker for Kanko, came to Mine’s house to inquire about the situation, Kanko happened to be out, so Mine told Ikawa about Kanko’s foolish words and actions since then. And finally, she said.

“I’m quite troubled myself. Though I know perfectly well this situation can’t possibly be resolved no matter what I do, whenever I see Kanko, she turns so... conventional.” “And then there are letters coming from the children, you understand.”

That was Nomura’s response to Ikawa’s attempt to intervene. In that letter, Nomura further wrote: “Ikawa and I spent the entire day sitting together deliberating, but since I see no prospect of making Ms. Kanko happy, I frankly declined even to Ikawa.” He continued: “I heard from Ikawa about stories like the children being attached to her, but these too are somewhat inaccurate, so I believe it best not to exaggerate matters if we are to avoid prolonging Ms. Kanko’s suffering.” Mine received these words like a stinging slap across the cheekbones. It seemed Nomura believed Mine had exaggerated when speaking to Ikawa. Mine—who never probed beyond surface appearances—could only state facts as they presented themselves. If Mine’s view of Kanko was clouded by familial bias, then Nomura himself likely remained unaware of the contents of the letters the children were sending Kanko. He added in a postscript: “Furthermore, he himself has visited twice since then, and various letters have arrived addressed both to me and the children.” “I will not recount the details of those two visits.” “However, as the children are now trembling with fear, I earnestly ask that you show forgiveness and let this matter rest here.”

Mine felt she wanted to flee somewhere. She recalled that day when Kanko—who had charged forth with desperate resolve—returned utterly dejected, moaning in a hollow voice that there had been no opening to slip through. That day, in that moment, Kanko must have fought by laying bare her own disgrace as a woman. It must have reached such depths of repugnance that Nomura had been compelled to write, "I will not recount the details." Kanko must have grown foolish enough to chill Nomura's heart further still. She must have transformed into such a demon that she made the children tremble. In the end, she must have had to flee like a stray dog doused with water. One of Nomura's acquaintances had remarked about his former household. They said Nomura's family displayed truly united genius when it came to fortifying themselves against outsiders. If this were true, then perhaps on that day Kanko had been unable to breach their barbed-wire defenses and had howled like a rabid dog instead. By this point, even the children who had once wept over their parting that night now saw Kanko only as their father's shared enemy. The flaws they'd perceived during their two months together might have festered in their hearts, each imperfection swelling unchecked. Among these flaws, Kanko's snoring must have echoed with particular resonance. Poor Kanko. Yet if one believed Masako's claim that Kanko no longer snored—and if comparing this to Mine's own situation—couldn't it be said that life in Nomura's household had done nothing but compound Kanko's exhaustion? This might seem far-fetched. Yet perhaps not entirely baseless. For who could deny that her abrupt transition from solitary quietude to harried housewife might have contributed to the snoring's origins? For women, this is humiliation that withers the soul. If possible, they'd rather not snore at all. Were snoring solvable through surgery like tonsillectomy, Mine thought she too would undergo it.

Even snoring that was tenderly regarded by a husband and daughter, as in Mine’s case, led one to think this way. Women unconsciously tried to take responsibility even for snoring in their sleep. But there was something that didn’t sit right about a woman’s position when even her snoring during sleep got written about and made an issue of. Was there any woman who would return home because she was frightened by her husband’s snoring? There might be some, but Mine didn’t think there were. Were there any men who divorced their wives because they snored? She didn’t know. However, if it had been known from the start that she was a woman who snored, the marriage arrangement would likely have fallen through. What about men? Such things probably didn’t exist. Was snoring a man’s privilege? Even men would do better not to snore. Nomura must have been a man not prone to snoring. But what if it had been his former wife, not Kanko, who was snoring? While muttering “For a woman…,” he must have felt some tenderness toward his wife. There must have been something to compensate for the snoring. For Kanko, it was that she did not have that. That must have been far, far more loathsome than if a housemaid had been snoring. A woman who snores—ah, a woman who snores—what caused snoring to exist? The snoring of an unfortunate woman.

Now that she thought about it, Takagi Chieko had snored in a boisterous, man-like way when exhausted. Mine wondered what Chieko’s husband thought of that. Sadako’s had been a much quieter, distinctly feminine snoring. Did snoring affect full-figured women like Chieko, Mine, and Kanko more significantly? The snoring of Kanko—which Nomura and Ikawa had reportedly spent the entire day debating knee-to-knee—must have been extraordinary indeed, given that it had prevented Nomura from sleeping. Mine felt an indescribable repulsion. That this repulsion extended not just toward Nomura but also toward Kanko and herself was heartbreaking.

“Maybe I’ll write a novel called ‘The Woman Who Snores.’”

She said in a self-deprecating tone and slid the letter toward Yukichi. While Yukichi read, she flipped through the Jien dictionary on the desk. Snoring 〔鼾〕 (n.) The sound of breathing through the nose during sleep.

There was an explanation of snoring in small print. Mine suddenly burst out laughing and said teasingly.

“So it’s about rough nasal breathing. “Getting frightened by a woman’s breath—how petty of you.”

A few days later, a letter also arrived from Ikawa. Ikawa, not being directly involved, did not use harsh words like Nomura had; Kanko got along well with the children and was not disliked as a housewife, but they simply could not get along. Ikawa even suggested that if she lived as carefreely as if she were a housemaid hired for six months or a year, perhaps some path might open up—but Nomura seemed utterly terrified by this. One could only think that he remained shut away within the framework of his previous marriage; within that shell, he had withdrawn so tightly that there was no room for anything new to enter. Though Nomura himself was likely unaware of it, it felt as though he was constantly comparing everything to his past marriage on a subconscious level. This may be my biased thinking, but given that, he had written asking her to consider it as if a tree had fallen in the street and caused a disaster, and to start anew. Mine silently placed them together with Nomura’s letter on Kanko’s sewing box. It was a feeling like dealing the final blow. Kanko said nothing about that. She just seemed to withdraw darkly and gloomily into herself.

No sooner had the frost melted and the soil turned a whitish parched color than the pea shoots began sprouting vigorously. The new leaves were fresh and large, their color the pale green hue of spring. The slender stems swayed in the gentle breeze yet stretched upright toward the sky. They were Kanko’s prized large silky-podded peas. Those seeds were ones Kanko had taken from her hometown field. For the peas she had sown separately from Nomura’s house, Kanko had set up bamboo and made a trellis. Mine, worried that something might happen, deliberately tried to regard Kanko’s appearance as ordinary.

“The peas have grown quite a bit.”

Kanko said. The movement of her neck was utterly stiff. “That’s right.” “I’m looking forward to it.”

Mine answered. "I thought I should have at least split them half and half." "I sowed two-thirds of them over there." "What a waste."

“It’s fine. They have many mouths to feed over there.” Mine slipped her shoulder free and entered her room. When she peeked later, Kanko was silently fastening bamboo supports. After finishing, she called out from beyond Mine’s shoji screen. Perched on the damp veranda edge and brushing dust from her work pants’ knees, “Should I go pull up those peas I planted?”

She said it with surprising nonchalance, but Mine felt a sudden jolt. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Is that wrong?” “It’s not about whether you can or can’t. You’ll be laughed at.” “But I thought the peas I sowed would look unsettling.” “Then go ahead and pull them out if you want.” “I see.” Kanko poked out her tongue. That gesture made Mine intensely happy. It felt like new flesh swelling over a wound. And though she secretly felt relieved, two or three days later Kanko entered Mine’s room again.

“Hey, if they’re flower bulbs, don’t you think I could go get them?”

She had even gotten ready to go. “Stop that. At least leaving the flowers wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

"But they're flowers I've cherished and nurtured all this time. I'd hate it if they were thrown away." "Then I'll ask Ms. Takeko to have them returned. That would be best."

Seemingly resigned to the situation, Kanko gave up. Seeing the buds of wintering peonies, tree peonies, lilies, and daffodils splitting through the soil with their natural green and vivid red hues, Kanko must have been remembering. Nomura had written disparagingly in his diary about Kanko, who loved flowers, and Kanko was furious about it. Kanko said that if it was a woman he disliked, even loving flowers would become something he couldn’t stand. Those flowers were ones Kanko had specially brought from her hometown and transplanted into her new life with Nomura. And so Kanko left, and only the flowers took root in Nomura’s house garden. It was not that Kanko felt no emotion, but Mine was opposed to her going to retrieve them. And then one day passed without informing Takeko, and a letter arrived from Nomura.

I noticed unfamiliar plants sprouting up all over the garden, and then they began blooming. I realized they were flowers Ms. Kanko had planted, and now I bow to them every day— It was a letter that seemed to deeply convey Nomura’s inherent kindness. Mine read that part over and over again. Since that time, I’ve felt so ashamed that meeting people has become daunting, and today I add that I’ve stopped attending gatherings altogether.

Come to think of it, Nomura hadn’t been spotted at any study group gatherings lately. The issue with Kanko must have left a bitter aftertaste, making him reluctant to appear in public—even in this, one could sense Nomura’s timidity. Since he had his own reasons for ending things, it would have been better if he’d presented himself publicly with dignity—but didn’t Nomura exhibit far too much hesitation and vacillation? Exasperated by this very trait of his, Chieko Takagi had once remarked,

“When it came to becoming a committee member for the Writers’ Alliance, he even had to consult his wife before he could decide.” This was from when his former wife was still alive. One could not entirely swallow Chieko’s harsh criticism of everyone, but Mine did think Nomura truly possessed that passive aspect. She no longer showed that letter to Kanko. If he was going to bow to the flowers and act like he still had lingering feelings for the woman he’d separated from, she couldn’t bear it. After that, Kanko no longer spoke about the flowers either. She must have given up. But Kanko seemed to be gradually turning into a spiteful woman. And Mine grew increasingly irritated. And then one day, Mine suddenly fainted in the bathroom and took to her bed permanently. The official diagnosis was cerebral anemia, but lately she started frequently flushing bright red in the face. The extreme imbalance between surges and drops in blood pressure began affecting her emotional state, causing her to frequently flush red over minor excitements or turn pale with anger. Her dissatisfaction with Kanko led her to take it out on Yukichi and Masako.

By the bedside of the sleeping Mine, Yukichi and Masako were talking. “Mom’s been getting worked up so often lately.”

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it? At least it was cerebral anemia, but if it had been a hemorrhage, she’d have had a stroke by now. Oh, how terrifying!” “Let’s try not to let her get worked up as much as possible. And let’s have Masako stay by her side as much as possible.”

Those words were clearly meant to exclude Kanko. Mine kept up her pretense of sleeping beneath the futon. The realization that nobody worried this much about Kanko made her unbearably pitiful. Kanko stood alone in the kitchen, likely preparing food for appetite-less Mine. When Mine praised the meals, relief washed over Kanko's face; when she refused to eat, raw anxiety surged through her - yet Kanko never gave these feelings voice. What spilled from her lips instead were only sarcastic barbs and self-deprecations that rattled Mine's heart.

“I can’t help feeling like I’m the root of your illness.” “I should leave somewhere out of guilt, but you’d be troubled if I went now.” “I’ll stay as a stand-in maid until you recover.”

She would say this, her lips trembling. How bitterly sad and frustrating that must have been—Mine too felt her heart ache.

Mine, who was vulnerable to the heat, had been ill all summer, and the time she finally rose from bed was when the cool breeze had just begun to seep into her skin.

After Mine’s house—which had become their regular meeting place—was moved to Sadako’s home and elsewhere due to her illness，Mine，who had been spending her days without seeing anyone，went out for the first time to Sadako’s house for November’s meeting.Her hands and feet were pale，almost translucent.As she sat before the mirror stand in the room adjoining the parlor，she absentmindedly lifted the mirror cover and stared at how much her white hair had multiplied.It was inherited from her mother，but even so，it was excessive.She felt she had aged seven years in just one.She looked so worn that one wanted to console her with，“You’ve been through so much.”When she heard the entrance open，Nomura entered and settled into the circle in the parlor.He sat directly across from her.A year had passed.Exactly one year.Nomura’s face too bore signs of aging.He gave Mine a friendly nod.She returned a warm smile.Pushing aside lingering awkwardness，Mine struck up conversation with him.Nomura asked after her health.They appeared mutually considerate while maintaining an air of nonchalance for those around them.“From here，” she resolved，“they must go back.”Mine thought.Sadako seemed attuned to this sentiment too，subtly weaving her attentiveness into mending their fractured friendship’s bridge.The first sign of this was their decision—Mine，her husband，and Sadako—to visit Nomura’s home together come New Year’s.

The visit took place under the guise of Nomura’s invitation. Because Yukichi had a prior engagement, Mine went out with just Sadako. Without telling Kanko their destination, they assumed the manner of making New Year’s calls. Nomura had bought beef heaped like a mountain and waited. It truly rose in mountainous piles on bamboo sheaths. Tofu, vegetables, and other provisions were plentiful. The extravagance seemed enough to entertain ten guests. Mine became aware she was staring at that beef mountain with a certain malice. Yet that feeling did not quickly dissipate. Mine remembered the words Kanko had spoken.

“I was supposed to stay two nights but came back after just one.” “That time, they’d bought fifty momme of beef for sukiyaki.” “I’d brought back a hundred momme as a souvenir and combined it with theirs, but it shocked me.” “I’d never bought less than a hundred momme before.” “Was buying a hundred momme of beef extravagant?” “Maybe they disliked even that.”

Even voicing such things, Kanko blamed herself. Why had they bought only fifty momme of beef during her absence when she didn’t even like it? Was this the consideration of the daughter left in charge of the kitchen during her absence, or was it Nomura’s arrangement? That remained unclear. What struck Kanko’s heart was the very extravagance of having been told he hated stinginess and thus buying a hundred momme of meat without fail every third day. A hundred momme of beef was an extravagant daily expense that an ordinary housewife could not buy without considering her purse strings, but Nomura’s financial situation was supposed to differ from that of salaried workers or petty bourgeois. But how had Nomura actually thought about it? Nomura, who had once told Sadako that Kanko was exceptionally skilled at managing finances—did “skilled” here imply frugality? If so, what did the fifty momme signify? And now, did this mountain of beef have nothing to do with any of that? Nomura had said before bonding with Kanko that he hated stinginess. Mine considered stinginess alongside frugality. Both Nomura and Mine were children of poor laborers. Having endured the hardships of working to survive and continuing even now, their lives were hardly extravagant. Even if pressed about hating stinginess, Kanko might have been nervous. How had it been perceived? And for Nomura, was this truly “skilled financial management,” or sarcasm about extravagance? The mountain of meat and fifty momme even caused conflicting feelings to well up in Mine’s heart. Was it spiteful of Mine to think Nomura had rebelled against his own stinginess by unconsciously seeking its opposite in Kanko? Mine thought that among sisters, Kanko lacked young Chie’s adventurous spirit—how Chie would unstitch kimonos in frustration over daily struggles to create eye-opening extravagance that astonished her family. Yet Kanko too had possessed boldness to live lavishly with whatever she had.

How that boldness connected with Nomura's financial management remained completely unclear. However, Mine believed that while it had left Kanko with a lingering sense of unease, it hadn't been a major reason for their divorce.

Nomura kept standing up and sitting down repeatedly with an air of good cheer. Mine suddenly wondered if the daughters weren't helping out due to lingering resentment toward Nomura and herself. Despite it being New Year's, the daughters seemed to be staying cooped up indoors. Each time they moved about, they peered through narrow gaps in the slightly open sliding doors. The meal commenced in Nomura's study. Transparent kasutori liquor had been poured into white cups patterned with orchids, but neither Sadako nor Mine drank any. Feeling sorry for Nomura's sake that Yukichi wasn't present, Mine ate her sukiyaki in silence. Sadako kept replenishing the pot. With things not progressing smoothly, the meat and vegetables had boiled down to mush in the pot. Using a ginkgo-leaf-shaped sake carafe with a flared base, Nomura drank alone with practiced motions. He looked pleased. Mine recalled how Kanko had detested heavy drinkers en masse and wondered if Nomura had felt constrained in that regard too. This isn't why I came - to feel like this, she thought painfully, yet Mine's observations never slackened. Most of the beef remained uneaten on bamboo sheaths. It laid bare the very image of a household without its mistress. Had this been Sadako's home, she would have arranged everything beautifully to whet appetites, but this male-dominated household's disorder offered only quantitative abundance. A widower's wretched existence seemed to permeate every corner of the room. Mine secretly concluded things couldn't improve this way. Yet strangely, no impulse arose to reconnect Kanko here. Kanko's shadow could no longer be found in any corner - if pressed, one might say an unpleasant aftertaste lingered only in the daughters' gloomy expressions.

When leaving, the daughters, urged by Nomura, came out to the entrance in unison. What beauty there was. The eldest daughter, who should have turned nineteen, had a face radiant with youth. Her fair face, as if wrapped in downy hair, had the soft skin tone of a camellia blossom, but the innocence from when she had first come to welcome Kanko was gone, her long eyelashes lying gloomily lowered. Only the youngest daughter was laughing innocently.

Kanko had been unable to become these girls' mother. Even though they were all such dear girls— Mine felt an inexpressible sorrow.

“Mom, let’s sleep together.” That innocent little girl who had said this and laid out Kanko’s futon near their own—those children who seemed to have welcomed Kanko not as their father’s wife but as their mother—what thoughts must have carried them through that wretched day?

Outside was already dark. Sadako and Mine walked in silence, but when they exited the alleyway, Sadako—

“Mr. Nomura, you’ve aged, haven’t you?”

With a grimace, she tilted her face sideways and pressed a hand to it as if to hold back.

“Yes, he’s got quite a lot of white hair now.” On their way, they stopped by Kawahara’s house where Sumiko, his sister from the countryside, was alone keeping watch. It seemed the couple had taken turns going back home. Sumiko too was a poet who had lived in Tokyo until before the war, when they used to visit each other. It had been years. Having come this far, they finally found the composure to laugh aloud, both Mine and Sadako relaxing enough to untie their obi. True to form, Sumiko skillfully made them laugh while having them undo their sashes. Now thoroughly rustic, she spoke in country dialect about local matrons and girls. Sumiko’s storytelling made them lose track of time until Mine’s group missed the final train. The two women ended up having Kawahara’s family lay out futons in their sleeping room, lying down side by side.

“I might snore. If I do, I’m sorry.” Mine first offered an apology and got into the futon. Her heart felt heavy. Even though there was no chance of returning home until tomorrow morning anyway, she resented feeling beholden to Yukichi for staying over. When she returned tomorrow, she would complain while hiding her fatigue—her own attitude was all too visible. Sadako was free from all these feelings—. Mine spoke to Sadako.

"I'm envious of you right now." "Yes." Sadako nodded calmly.

“But if you remain alone like this from now on, I’d feel lonely.”

Then Sadako replied again in a light tone, "True enough," she said with a hearty laugh. Sadako, who had cast off the role of wife with her own hands, appeared to be thriving. Moreover, she showed not a trace of the androgynous qualities often seen in unmarried women—instead, she remained imbued with the gentle fullness of someone who had been both a man's wife and a child's mother. Even if the confidence borne from having children granted her this stability, what was it about leaving her husband that allowed a woman to flourish so freely? Her economic independence was likely the main reason, and her strong personality must have heightened her radiance as a woman. What showed outwardly was not forcefulness or grandeur, but simply a woman's richness. Mine found herself deeply envious of Sadako in that moment. Still, she had no intention of following Sadako's example herself—nor any desire to try—but she couldn't help admiring the courage it took to abandon wifely duties after losing all patience with them.

"You know, anyone would envy you." "Yes." "If all women had your rebellious spirit, men would be brought to their knees—and it would be amusing—but things don’t work out that way, do they?" "Hmm, hmm."

With a smile that seemed to invite her to speak her mind, Sadako beamed.

“Economic power and strong will alone aren’t enough. There must be mountains of men who’d think ‘Good riddance’ if women left them—and that’s galling too—but it’s not like all men are bad either.” “Ha ha.”

At that response, Mine burst out laughing too. From behind the sliding door, Sumiko called out.

“That sounds fun.” “That’s right—after all, there are three women under this roof.” In a lively voice, Mine said, “Ms. Sumiko, you should come over here too.” However, Sumiko modestly declined. Mine suddenly remembered that Sumiko was the same age as Kanko. Sumiko too was a woman who, in her youth, had entered a marriage that did not suit her heart—or rather, had been forced into one—and ultimately fled her marital home. According to the story, Sumiko had had a romantic partner at that time. That must have been why Sumiko took the leap, but when she did, she found the man had already married another woman. And so for twenty years since then, Sumiko had remained alone. Mine had, on several occasions in the past, been told that love story of Sumiko’s directly from Sumiko herself. It was said that Sumiko’s romance had first taken root in a city in Hokuriku. The description—of how Sumiko and that high school student, who was said to have been Kawahara’s friend, climbed a nearby hill one Sunday, spent all day avoiding prying eyes, and finally risen to begin their return journey only to find the setting sun casting their shadows long and far across the slope behind them, so that as they walked, their slender silhouettes too descended the mountain in pairs with trudging steps—had engraved an unforgettable impression upon Mine’s heart. It was said that whenever she—unable to find peace in her marital home—returned to her parents’ house in a daze of desperation, her mother, upon seeing her, would already begin preparing gifts for the marital household even before she had stepped over the threshold. She would recount with seventy percent humor and thirty percent self-deprecation—in the tone of describing a movie heroine—her own frenzied figure running desperately toward her parents’ home, at times shielding herself from the sun with black potato leaves like a fox’s umbrella, yet her expression when finishing the tale was always filled with sorrow. Despite rebelling to the point of breaking free, Japanese women ended up being made to stamp their feet in frustration—and yet, what a woman Sumiko was, living out such an old-fashioned romance! And that was now the innocence and stubbornness that had become ingrained as Sumiko’s own unique quality. What could have shaped this mold? And could it be that Kanko too, in her own way, was forging a mold from which she could not escape? Even as women equally broken by domestic life, what a striking difference there was between them and Sadako.

Mine lay awake for hours. As if triggered by the beef invitation, Nomura and Mine had begun meeting frequently. Nomura came to Mine’s house with an unperturbed expression, and Mine in turn made even greater efforts to attend gatherings at Nomura’s place. There was an expectation that by meeting Nomura as often as possible, they might liberate each other from the unpleasant feelings they had incurred. And indeed, that expectation had truly taken root in Mine’s heart.

“Mr. Nomura looked very happy, didn’t he? He had that face like he’s fallen in love or something.”

That remark had come from Mine's lips without any hesitation. This was because at Sadako's gathering, she had heard Nomura's voice—unusually vibrant with energy—and seen his rare, beaming smile. And Mine, who stayed behind afterward, said this to Sadako.

“Was that so? Now that you mention it, I suppose he did.” Sadako replied as if looking back to verify. “That’s right—something good must be happening.” Even as she said this, Mine felt slightly embarrassed, as though she alone had been particularly observing Nomura. However, Nomura had indeed been in high spirits. That even reminded her of Nomura when his engagement to Kanko had first been settled. Still, seeing that the perceptive Sadako hadn’t sensed it, Mine thought it strange she herself kept dwelling on this—perhaps she was imagining things—but sure enough, news resembling her premonition soon came from Sadako. There was word that the elderly writer Yamanaka Keiji was looking into finding a marriage partner for Nomura. When she heard this, Mine—half in pride—

“See? I told you so, didn’t I?” Mine smiled. Her mood had been completely carefree, but after parting with Sadako, she found herself worrying about Kanko after all. If word of this were to reach Kanko’s ears, would she not be able to keep her heart from being stirred? When she returned home thinking such thoughts, Kanko was squatting in her usual monpe outfit in the middle of the field, examining seeds for spring planting. Even though it was the second spring since separating from Nomura, she remained exactly as she had been the previous year—utterly unchanged. Her carefully tended plants were also peeking out red and green buds, just as they had last year, as if sensing the spring warmth. Kanko, silently gazing at those vegetables and plants, no longer repeated last year’s frenzy and had finally begun to turn her heart toward her rural hometown. Compared to the man’s rise, what a sad and pitiful figure the woman presented. Though the rural house was Kanko’s own property, because she had rented it out when marrying Nomura, if she returned, she would have to live uncomfortably as a co-tenant. Her misfortune did not end there—the shifting winds of the times had, within mere months, snatched away even the single tiny field she had worked to sustain herself, a plot no larger than a cat’s forehead, all under the pretext of absentee landlords. There was no dissatisfaction with the reform itself, but for the woman returning home with her life shattered, it had resulted in something far too tragic. Not a single tsubo of land awaited her now—she who loved tilling the soil. Kanko was returning to a hometown where there were neither siblings nor parents to prepare for her arrival and welcome her back. Though it was the countryside, its proximity to Osaka and Kobe meant living with urban-level prices; a woman with neither a single tsubo of land nor any savings would have to start working from the very day she returned. And before she could work, she had to think about food and fuel. Kanko said that returning thoughtlessly without regard for the season would only lead to tears. It was the land where she had been born and raised. Kanko outright rejected Mine’s optimistic belief—that if one approached others with a smile, they would surely smile back—dismissing such a thing as impossible from the very start. If she sealed herself shut like a turban shell and armored herself solid, who could cling to her?

Mine thought it was her duty to pry open the turban shell's lid. Without forcing it open, she had to make Kanko herself want to lift that lid within a sea brimming full. Mine decided to have Kanko take the sewing machine back and told her so. Kanko, whom Mine had expected to be pleased, rejected it with an irritated look. "No, something this precious would put me on edge."

Mine was surprised. Even as her sister, she was appalled. It seemed Kanko could only be tormenting herself. By doing this, Kanko seemed to declare that the blow she herself had received would not simply be nullified.

“But if you have a sewing machine, you could start working right from that day.”

“I can manage without it.” “It’d be nothing but trouble.”

When Mine smirked, Kanko’s face grew increasingly stern,

“It wouldn’t trouble me, but I just hate borrowing other people’s things.” “Do I have to say I’m giving it to you?”

Even Mine finally said irritably. The sewing machine had been sent by Yukichi’s brother in America just before the outbreak of the Pacific War—an excellent seven-drawer model. There had been an obligation that couldn’t properly be called a gift. Yet if she took it back and used it, couldn’t one assume they wouldn’t demand its return? To Mine’s mind, this sewing machine represented the utmost material support she could offer. Among all possessions in Mine’s household, it ranked supreme. Words that might have been spat at Nomura were now being hurled by Kanko toward Mine. When the divorce was settled and Nomura—through Sadako—inquired if she wanted compensation, Kanko had rejected it outright, declaring no amount of money could make amends. She wielded that same refusal against Mine now. But unlike Nomura, Mine couldn’t sever ties so cleanly. The next day Mine summoned a local haulier, had them swiftly crate the machine, and dispatched it to Kanko’s still-vacant country home so it would await her return. Kanko brightened at this and threw herself into departure preparations. She organized closets, laundered clothes, performed mending and alterations—devoting equal vigor to tasks benefiting Mine’s household. Bedding and floor cushions emerged starched crisp. New dustcloths multiplied. Not one soiled item remained.

When that was done, she next set out for the closets at Chie’s house in Saitama.

“What a practical woman.” “Utterly fixated on practicality.” “She believes grinding herself to dust through work is humanity’s true purpose.” “How utterly heartrending, isn’t it?”

“To feel relieved when she’s gone—what an unfortunate woman.” “It was like this at Nomura’s place too. You understand, don’t you?” “To work and still not be thought well of...”

Mine and the others discussed Kanko's absence forlornly. When Mine visited Sadako the next day, upon hearing her voice, Sadako came out saying, "Just in time." And then she informed Mine that Nomura’s marriage had finally been decided, and that Nomura was consulting them about whether he should invite Mine and the others to the celebration. “What do you think?” Sadako asked thoughtfully; Mine smiled and,

“In any case, if we’re invited, I can’t very well not go. I don’t consider myself that petty, you know. Or perhaps—is it odd to attend? Wouldn’t it be even odder not to go? That’s that, and this is this.”

“That’s right.”

Sadako looked relieved, “I’ll tell him that. Mr. Nomura will be pleased.”

“But wait—if he’s sending the invitation, I’d want it done through you.” “If it’s found out—well, you know what would happen.”

The matter was settled smoothly.

That day, she decided to go out without telling Kanko. Since there were no hem patterns or family crests to cut, it was simple. Though she had maintained such composure, the moment Mine left Sadako's house, her chest trembled. Passing houses fragrant with daphne odora, crossing a small stream's bridge and reaching the rice field path, Mine let out a muffled cry and wept. Along the deserted farm road as dusk deepened, Mine walked clutching her chest with bowed head. It's over, it's all over now, she repeated in her heart. What exactly was over? Though she hadn't particularly held hope for Kanko, tears flowed as if a lifeline had snapped. For Nomura this should be a joyous new beginning, and for Kanko too it should have brought clarity—so why these tears? Was she simply pitying Kanko after all?

When she passed through the rice fields, the road branched off among the houses on this hillside. Here too, the daphne drifted like evening mist. Walking along the hedge, Mine held back her tears. And as soon as she returned, she went to Yukichi’s room and knelt on her heels beside the brazier.

“News. Mr. Nomura is getting married, I hear.” “Hmm.” “This time, it’s a love match, apparently.”

“Huh.”

When Yukichi genuinely turned toward her, Mine involuntarily laughed. And then it suddenly occurred to her—that by that age, one could no longer easily fall in love and still had no choice but to have others find someone for them. The problem of snoring raced through Mine’s mind. “If only things could go this smoothly for women too.” Mine couldn’t help but sense something like the inherent disadvantage of a woman’s position when comparing Nomura’s buoyant demeanor to Kanko, who had completely submerged her gloom into the depths of her character. Just as Kanko had angrily said back then—men could walk away unburdened from such situations once they parted, while women had to drag that weight with them forever. Before a woman could attain the crisp clarity of changing into a fresh kimono, she must navigate back and forth through countless checkpoints of anguish. Worrying and fretting, crying and raging—and even when she could finally see the destination ahead, she could only trudge toward it with her head hung low. It had never occurred to her that it would become such a heavy burden. However, once one turned their gaze outward, the movements of real society flowed like a great river—torrentially swallowing all dust and debris as it surged toward its destined course. Conveying the course of that current, the daily newspapers continued to shake Mine’s heart. The awakening of workers came rushing in. The DEN-SAN strike, the All Communications Union’s twenty-four-hour strike directive, the movements of private railways—the momentum of these things, growing vigorously like a sapling, could be felt even by Mine, who remained still. What particularly captivated her was the Toho film studio labor dispute. The sense of kinship as fellow bearers of culture made her feel as though the hot breath of living, moving people was brushing against her cheeks. On the day of Nomura’s wedding reception, the private railways “Tōkyū” and “Odakyū”—which had scarcely operated until then—finally went into full sabotage, making one imagine Nomura’s predicament: he would have needed to use one of these two lines to reach Tokyo, yet now found himself unable to do so. However, that should not have been mere confusion. There was someone who found pleasure in having been outmaneuvered somehow, and the matter of the bride and groom-less reception felt strangely enjoyable and relieving.

“It’s no use.” “It won’t do.”

Mine had exchanged such decisive words with Sadako, but Sadako too had shown greater interest in having been outmaneuvered. Around noon, a telegram arrived from Nomura stating his intent to cancel. Mine noticed there was instead a sense of relief. The lingering trace of shadow in her heart being erased in this manner felt like a blessing. And somehow thinking the Nomuras might now get along smoothly, her heart grew large with gratitude for this natural course of events. Oblivious to it all, Kanko returned from Chie’s house and made preparations to return home at any time.

It was the end of April.

The Nineteenth May Day, heralding remarkable advances in the cultural sphere, was poised to take place under the firm solidarity of workers and intellectuals. The Toho dispute and others must have been widely publicized. Mine could no longer stay still. And she went out carrying a boxed lunch together with Yukichi, Sadako, and the others. Though her still-pale complexion from incomplete recovery hinted at lingering unease, when she saw the ailing critic Haraguchi—who lived nearby—arrive in sprightly attire to invite them, Mine’s anxiety vanished completely. They all set out as cheerfully as elementary school students on an excursion. The gathering place for Mine’s literary society meeting that evening was in front of the Nichigeki Theatre. There, they would gather, form ranks, and proceed to People’s Plaza—that was the plan. By the time they arrived, four or five acquaintances had already gathered around small red flags and placards. Around the shuttered Nichigeki Theatre, other groups too seemed to have made this their meeting place for the day, with several small clusters of people having formed here and there. The reason it felt somehow familiar was perhaps because their purposes were aligned. Everyone waited with shining eyes for those who would gather afterward.

A woman came running up shouting "Oh!" with her whole face laughing. Mine and Sadako greeted her in the same way, saying "Oh!" It was Ogawa Reiko, the painter. Ogawa Reiko wore geta and crudely hand-sewn Western clothes, having aged considerably, yet her smile remained exactly as it had been in the old days, her voice unchanged. Exchanging smiles, they were comrades who could return to their shared past. A decade earlier, she had worked with Sadako and Mine to edit the magazine Hataraku Fujin. She had been responsible for illustrations. Like Sadako and Mine, her husband too had been imprisoned under the Peace Preservation Law. At that time Reiko had carried her second child while leading her four-year-old son through prison and courthouse gates. When nearing her due date, she walked with frog-like dignity in a specially tailored overcoat—an impressive sight. Mine recalled how medals of buttons covered the boy's sleeves and chest on his Western clothes. When he demanded buttons in absurd places, she complied without question and paraded him thus. Had this mother—forever dragging children along—used buttons as toy substitutes? In Ogawa Reiko's unchanged, unadorned expression—once that of a young painter—countless wrinkles were now etched.

“My boy’s grown so big, hasn’t he?” When Mine asked, Reiko broke into a proud grin, “He didn’t just grow up—he’s shot right past that and he’s this tall now.” With that, she jerked her head sideways and tilted it back to look up. She said he’d be starting university next year. As she spoke, she kept glancing around restlessly. She was probably looking for her fellow painters, but none were to be seen.

Before long, the time came, so Mine’s group finally set out.

“Please let me join in here!” Reiko clung like a child and started walking along with them. But upon spotting her painter friends along the way, she cried “Ah! There they are!” and ran toward them, the clatter of her geta growing louder. She was just like an eleven-year-old girl. The route of Mine’s group turned from the Nichigeki Theatre toward the Mainichi Shimbun building and wound its way through Mitsubishi Street toward the Horibata area. From both here and there in the narrow alleys between large buildings, several small groups advanced toward square after square, red flags at their forefront and songs on their lips. Wave upon wave of people pressed forward; in the building windows, faces overlapped one upon another. As they drew nearer, every street in all directions was filled with the flow of footsteps like rivers pouring into a vast sea. The singing voices filled both sky and earth to overflowing. From behind Mine’s group came pressing forward an Esperanto organization’s large green banner unfurled to full width, seeming to envelop their small contingent. Mine and the others melted into countless throngs gathering under vast skies. With forest at their back stood diagonal white lettering on red ground: “The 19th May Day.” Around it swarmed thousands of flags and placards amid innumerable crowds standing, sitting, jostling. To reach their cultural organizations’ designated spot required inching through gaps between people—toes seeking footholds with each step—apologizing “Excuse me” with every footfall pressed forward. No one looked annoyed. Their finally claimed space had uneven ground; grabbing pine trunks while bending bodies to dodge passersby. Clover underfoot lay trampled like boiled greens. They spread newspapers atop it waiting for time’s arrival. Looking around—there they were everywhere: Women’s groups, journalists’ unions, film-theater workers, educators, painters, writers, clusters wearing white-lined hats or square academic caps.

Several couples maintaining functional marriages like Mine's could be seen. Several mother-child pairs like Sadako's were also visible. There was a poet's family with small children in tow too. Some groups consisted of married couples and parent-child pairs who had split up to join separate organizations. When Yukichi poked her shoulder and she turned around, Nomura stood behind her. "That's his wife," Yukichi said. Mine was startled into flustered silence but quickly recovered to bow. Yukichi and Sadako's group had already exchanged greetings earlier. Nomura's wife lowered her head with a faint smile—a modest acknowledgment of being observed closely. She was a petite woman wearing a white wool sweater over black trousers, appearing roughly Nomura's age. Mine suddenly recalled Kanko's figure vividly. Kanko! She had departed Tokyo on last night's final train. Having fulfilled his social obligation with visible relief, Nomura blinked rapidly in his characteristic hurried manner and turned to Yukichi.

“You see, today my whole family’s all here together.”

When Mine noticed this, Nomura's eldest daughter was crouching behind Nomura's wife with her knees drawn up. Perhaps sensing she'd been noticed, the girl smiled and gave a slight bow, but Mine's heart lurched at the gloom etched in her expression. What a sorrowful face that was. What a face that concealed its thoughts within. It was a melancholy face resembling the new one Kanko had developed. A face wrapped in misfortune she couldn't pour out to anyone. An unpleasant face that couldn't be erased unless resolved by its owner. Even if one searched through each of the hundreds of thousands gathered in this square, this face might prove unique.

She was not happy.

The first thing that struck Mine was that. Mine recalled the rumors—how Nomura’s wife had told the newspaper bill collector who came through the front door to go around to the kitchen with an air of authority, and how Nomura’s children had rebelled against their new mother’s attitude, resulting in discord—whether those stories were true or not, they had reached Mine as if seeking her attention. At that time, Mine had been displeased by what she heard. What did that have to do with her? But now Mine recalled it with different feelings, sensing Nomura’s complicated considerations. From the eldest daughter’s complexion—which held deeper sorrow than when they had met at Nomura’s house during New Year—Mine felt that Nomura’s life still hadn’t settled into a stable routine. How was Nomura managing that situation? Amidst the great crowd gathered in this square—forgetting their usual worries and chatting cheerfully—only Nomura’s wife and daughter remained silent. The wife wore an expression of modesty; the daughter, one of melancholy.

The neighboring group was a women's organization. Everyone had red flowers pinned to their chests. Since Mine was also a member of that group, an artificial red dahlia made its way into her hands. Mine in a kimono had been holding it, but on a sudden impulse, she gave it to Nomura’s eldest daughter. She gave a small, fleeting smile as she accepted it, and for a while twirled the stem between her fingers before finally pinning it to her chest. She looked happy. Mine felt relieved. And then she tried to scrub away from her heart the thoughts she had just entertained, as though erasing them with vigorous rubber strokes. She thought that Nomura was indeed doing a good thing. Even with all the complications, she thought Nomura's focus lay precisely in this—that he had nevertheless come here together with his wife and daughter. Nomura’s resolve—to take the first step here toward that distant path which would resolve the varied sorrows of various wives and daughters—had brought even the wife who would send bill collectors around to the kitchen to this place. But Kanko was not here. Mine struggled to eliminate the smoldering smoke that kept billowing out no matter how much she tried to suppress it. Kanko, who hadn’t even been accompanied by her husband on her homecoming visit; Kanko, who within a mere two months had been forced to lay bare all the flaws of a woman’s lifetime—the bitterness of her misfortune was recalled with the visceral tang of biting into an unripe persimmon. In what form had Nomura borne half of the responsibility for that matter? In the Nomura couple’s journey that had brought them to this point, Kanko’s misfortune existed only in the form of something discarded and forgotten. It wasn’t that Nomura alone was to blame, nor could there have been the slightest connection to the new wife. Moreover, that only Kanko bore such a harsh burden was unbearably painful. I want to quickly remove the astringency from this unripe persimmon. The smoldering smoke must be made to flare up.

At that moment, the young man before Mine made a gesture as if leaping up with his upper body, “Whoa!” he let out a strange cry. Then the two or three men around him burst out laughing—"Wah-ha! Wah-ha!"— When someone peered over to see what was happening, the man was opening a bamboo-leaf-wrapped lunchbox while giving an embarrassed laugh. The lunchbox wrap was completely flattened and crushed. Surrounded by giggling onlookers, the man peeled off the bamboo sheath as if steeling himself. All at once, laughter burst out. Several rice balls had transformed the pickled plums inside into a floral pattern, becoming one flat rice cracker. The man had forgotten about his lunchbox and had been sitting on it, they said. He unapologetically began tearing off pieces of the rice cracker and eating them. Then once more, everyone found it amusing. As Mine was suppressing her laughter along with them, the man in the group who had met her gaze—

“Even this, you know, is a lunchbox made by my newlywed wife.” “He’s got his wife under his backside—clear proof, wouldn’t you say?”

As she listened, Mine could no longer contain herself and doubled over, bursting into laughter. The laughter just wouldn't subside. When she told Yukichi about it, Yukichi also laughed in a silly way. Amidst the crowd’s laughter, the man leisurely finished eating, then looked at Mine’s face and said with a smile: “You probably don’t know me, but I know you.” “The other day at our district’s reading group, your novel became a topic of discussion, you see.”

He said in a slow tone.

“Oh, is that so?” Mine was gradually regaining herself from the laughter.

“Didn’t you bring your wife?”

Then he made a slightly embarrassed face, “Well, you see, it’s because of this,” he gestured with one hand to indicate a swollen abdomen.

A chorus could be heard. It was a youthful voice. When she heard this, Sadako stood on tiptoe and looked toward the stage. Sadako’s son should have been part of the chorus as well. On the distant stage, about twenty men and women stood linking arms, swaying their bodies from side to side as they sang. The singing voices from the speakers were right by their ears, but they couldn't make out the singers' faces. Thinking the tallest one there must be her son, Sadako kept straining on tiptoe to see. At that moment, young women from Nippon Type involved in the labor dispute appeared carrying fund collection boxes. They wore red headbands and had lively faces. When they moved through the crowd holding fund boxes like pigeon nesting boxes against their chests, each person had opened their purses and was waiting. As they approached, hands eagerly stretched toward the box. Amidst this, greetings from labor unions and party representatives were being broadcast one after another through loudspeakers. Soon, the procession began. Split into several groups, the cultural organizations took the route toward Shiba Park. Without knowing which organization led the procession or what union formed its rear, they simply continued waiting for their turn in line. For some reason, a group from the construction union had stationed themselves near Mine and the others. About twenty women with sunburned faces were mixed in. There were also women wearing cloth head coverings. They were the work-chanting women. Women who likely had both children and husbands—these work-chanting women—had come here.

They stood lined up with Sadako and Mine, who wrote novels. Mine watched intently with deep emotion. There was an elderly woman who seemed to be participating for the first time that year, her face unable to fully immerse in this atmosphere. There were women in their prime. Everyone, each in their own way, was trying to fill their lungs with this era's air.

When they exited the venue, the Puuk people had set up a small stage by the roadside and were manipulating finger puppets. When they went a little further, the red Platoque chorus was singing while watching the procession. Joining in, Mine and the others sang. The roadside was crowded with people, and there were women waving their hands from building windows. By waving their hands, they were connecting their hearts as one. The procession set off along the streetcar avenue near the broadcasting station. Countless footsteps—within those footsteps, everyone was present. There were husbands; there were wives. There were men who had been husbands; there were women who had been wives. There were a great many young people who would become husbands and wives. There were big women and small women. There were gentle women and there were harsh women. Combining various worries, various agonies, various lamentations, and various joys, people of all entangled personalities had gathered here. Moreover, they were keeping pace within a single current. But there was a woman who had boarded a train alone, as though fleeing this great current. What must Kanko have been feeling as she experienced this "now"? Even along the roadside, singing voices must have been resounding.

(August 1947; February–April and July 1949)