Pathway to Japanese Literature

初期形一〕

〔ここまで原稿なし〕

And then across the Milky Way where no blue olive forest could be seen—on its far side—something glimmered tearfully as it gradually receded into darkness; even those strange instrumental sounds flowing from there had now been worn thin by the train’s clatter and wind’s roar until they were no longer audible.

“That must be the Forest Harp Inn.”
“I’m sure there’s a splendid princess standing in that forest playing a harp, with attendants holding up blue peacock feathers behind her.”

The girl who was next to Campanella said.

Strangely, everyone seemed to share that feeling.
First of all, he thought that what flickered bluish-white now and then over that forest—which had grown so small it now resembled a green shell button—must surely be reflections from those peacock feathers.
But when Giovanni noticed Campanella still gazing entranced in that direction, he felt indescribably sad and nearly blurted out, “Campanella, let’s get off here and go play.”
But just then, Giovanni saw something strange far out in the river.
It was certainly something black, sleek, and slender that leapt onto the water of the invisible Milky Way, arced like a bow, then seemed to vanish beneath the surface.
Finding this odd, when he looked more carefully again, this time it seemed the same thing had occurred much closer.
Before long, more and more of those black, sleek creatures began appearing here and there—leaping from the water, flying in arcs, then diving headfirst back down.
They all seemed to swim upstream like fish.
“My, what could that be.”
“Taa-chan.”
“Look here.”
“My, there are so many!”
“What could that be?”

The boy, who had been rubbing his eyes sleepily, stood up as if startled.
“What’s that?”

The Young Man also stood up.

“My, what a peculiar fish! What could that be?”

“They’re dolphins,” Campanella answered while looking that way.

“Dolphins? This is my first time seeing them. But this isn’t the sea, is it?”

“Dolphins aren’t confined to the sea.” That strange low voice sounded again from somewhere.

Truly, the dolphins’ forms were so peculiar—their two fins held down like both hands in a motionless pose—as they leapt from the water, then reverently lowered their heads and dove back in while maintaining that same rigid posture. The water of the invisible Milky Way also rippled at that moment, swaying like blue flames.

“Are dolphins fish?” the girl addressed Campanella.

The boy was slumped against his seat, fast asleep as though utterly exhausted.
"They’re not fish.
They’re mammals like whales."
Campanella answered.
"Have you ever seen a whale?"
"I have.
Whales—only their heads and black tails are visible.
When they blow their spouts, they look exactly like they do in books."
"Whales are so big."
"Whales are large.
There are some about as big as dolphins."
"That’s right—I saw it in *Arabian Nights*."
Her older sister, fiddling with a slender silver ring, listened to their conversation with apparent interest from across the way.

(Campanella, I'm getting out of here.) Giovanni bit his lip hard, barely containing his unbearable irritation as he stared out the window. Outside, even the dolphins' forms had vanished, and the river forked into two branches. In the center of that pitch-black island stood a towering watchtower, atop which a man in loose clothes and a red cap held red and blue flags while signaling to the sky. As Giovanni watched, the man waved a red flag vigorously before suddenly lowering it behind him and raising a blue flag high, swinging it fiercely like an orchestra conductor.

A sound like rushing rain filled the air as countless dark masses flew bullet-like toward the opposite bank. Giovanni instinctively leaned halfway out the window to look up. Beneath a vast, bellflower-blue sky, tens of thousands of small birds passed in endless groups, each chirping busily.

"The birds are flying away," Giovanni said by the window.

"There!" Campanella looked up too.

At that moment, the man on the watchtower suddenly raised a red flag and waved it madly. The birds abruptly stopped passing, replaced by a splat-like crushed sound downstream followed by silence.

Then the red-capped signalman waved a blue flag and shouted again: "Now is the time, migratory birds! Now is the time!" His voice rang clear as tens of thousands of bird flocks streaked across the sky.

From the middle window where two faces leaned out, the girl emerged gazing upward, her beautiful cheeks aglow.

“My goodness, there are so many birds! Oh, how beautiful the sky is!”
The girl had spoken to Giovanni, but he—thinking her manner too forward and irritating—kept his mouth firmly shut as he continued gazing upward at the sky.
The girl released a small sigh before wordlessly returning to her seat.
Campanella withdrew his face from the window with a pitying expression and turned his attention to the map.

“Is that man signaling to the birds?”
The girl quietly inquired of Campanella.
“He’s directing the migratory birds.”
“It must be so a beacon fire can be lit from Sagittarius’s position.”
Campanella answered with tentative uncertainty.
Then silence settled over the railcar.
Giovanni had wanted to withdraw his head too, but exposing his face to the bright light felt unbearable—he remained standing there instead, enduring in silence while whistling through clenched teeth.

Why am I so sad? I must hold my heart more purely and expansively. Far across on the opposite shore, there was a small blue flame like smoke. It was so quiet and cold. (I'll calm my heart by watching that closely.) Giovanni pressed his burning, throbbing head with both hands and looked toward it. (Ah, will there truly never be anyone who goes with me anywhere and everywhere?) (Even Campanella's over there chatting happily with that girl... And here I am, truly miserable.) Tears once again filled Giovanni's eyes for no reason he could name.

At that moment, the train gradually began passing through elevated terrain separated from the river by a cliff. On the opposite shore too, dark-hued cliffs along the riverbank grew progressively taller as they descended downstream. They caught a fleeting glimpse of a large corn plant. Its leaves curled tightly into spirals, beneath which already lay magnificent green bracts sprouting crimson threads, with pearl-like kernels glimpsed here and there.

The corn plants had multiplied until they now stood in ranks between the cliff and railway tracks. When Giovanni inadvertently withdrew his face from the window and looked across to the opposite side, great corn stalks stretched across the sky-field all the way to the horizon, planted so densely they seemed to blanket the earth. They rustled softly in the wind, their splendid curled leaves tipped with dewdrops that clung like diamonds saturated with midday sun, blazing crimson and emerald as they glittered.

Campanella said to Giovanni, "That's corn over there, isn't it?" But with Giovanni's mood remaining unimproved, he merely kept staring at the field curtly and replied, "I suppose so."

At that moment, the train gradually quieted, passed several signals and switch mechanism lights, and came to rest at a small station.

The bluish-white clock directly ahead showed exactly two o'clock, and its pendulum—in the windless stillness where the train had ceased moving—continued to mark time with precise tick-tock strokes through the quiet, quiet field.

And truly, from between the sounds of that pendulum, a faint, faint music came flowing like a thread from the far, far end of the field.
"That's the New World Symphony."
The older sister in the opposite seat said softly, as if speaking to herself while looking this way.
Indeed, inside the train car now, even that tall young man in black clothes—everyone—was having gentle dreams.
(In such a quiet place like this, why can't I feel any happier?)
Why am I so terribly alone?
But Campanella's just too cruel—riding the train with me yet only talking to that girl the whole time.
(I'm truly miserable,) Giovanni once again covered half his face with both hands and stared out the opposite window, his throbbing head churning through one thought after another.
A crystal-clear flute sounded like glass, and the train began moving quietly while Campanella too whistled a lonesome stargazing tune.

“Yes, yes, this area’s already a harsh plateau.”
From behind came the voice of someone who seemed elderly—now awake yet half-dreaming—speaking briskly.
“Even corn won’t sprout unless you drill two-foot holes with a stick and plant seeds there.”

“Is that so? Would it be quite a distance to the river?”
“Yes, yes. To the river, it’s two thousand to six thousand feet.”
“It’s already become completely a harsh canyon.”
Ah yes—wasn’t this supposed to be the Colorado Plateau? Giovanni found himself thinking involuntarily.
Across the way—what was she pondering?—the oldest sister had her younger sister nestled against her chest, lulling her to sleep as she gazed dreamily with dark eyes, lost in thought without looking at anything; Campanella was still whistling a lonesome tune by himself; and the second girl, her face like a silk-wrapped apple, was looking in the direction Giovanni faced.

Suddenly, the corn vanished, and a vast black field stretched out endlessly. The New World Symphony welled up from beyond the horizon as a lone Indian—white bird feathers crowning his head, arms and chest adorned with numerous stones, arrow nocked to a small bow—came sprinting headlong after the train.

“Oh! An Indian! An Indian! Older Sister, look!”

The young man in black clothes stirred awake. Giovanni and Campanella both rose to their feet.

“He’s running this way! Oh, he’s really running this way!”
“He must be chasing us.”
“No, he’s not chasing the train.”
“He’s either hunting or dancing.”
The Young Man said, standing with his hands in his pockets as if he’d forgotten where he was.

The Indian did seem half-dancing.
Even when running full tilt, his footwork lacked efficiency and true urgency.
Suddenly his stark white feathers pitched forward as he stopped dead, loosing an arrow skyward.
From that arc fell a crane, caught mid-stride in the Indian’s outstretched hands.
The Indian laughed joyously as he stood.
Already his figure dwindled in the distance while insulators along telegraph poles sparkled—two in particular flaring bright—and looking out this side’s window, the train raced along a towering cliff with the river still flowing broad and luminous through the valley below.

“Yes, we’re beginning our descent here.”
“After all, we’re dropping all at once down to that water level—no easy feat.”
“With this steep grade, trains from the opposite direction can’t possibly come this way.”
“There—we’re already picking up speed, see?”
The same elderly voice from before declared.

The train plunged downward faster and faster.

When the railway spanned the edge of the cliff, the river could be seen brightly below.
Giovanni’s spirits gradually grew brighter.
When the train passed in front of a small hut and a lone child stood dejectedly there looking this way, he nearly cried out in spite of himself.

The train raced onward relentlessly.
The passengers in the carriage leaned back as if about to fall while clinging tightly.
Giovanni instinctively exchanged glances with Campanella and laughed.
Now the Milky Way flowed slowly right alongside the train, glowing exactly as before.
Pale red dianthus flowers bloomed scattered across the riverbank.
The train moved slowly at last, as if it had finally settled into its course.

On both the opposite and this bank stood flags marked with star shapes and pickaxes.

“What kind of flags are those, I wonder.”
Giovanni asked Campanella.
“Hmm, I don’t know either. It’s not on the map.”
“There’s an iron boat left there, you know.”
“Ah.”

“Wouldn’t this be where they’re building a bridge?” said the girl.
“Ah, those are engineer flags, aren’t they,”
“They’re conducting a bridging drill.”
“But I don’t see any soldiers around.”

At that moment, in an area slightly downstream near the opposite bank, the invisible waters of the Milky Way flared with a glare, shot up pillar-like into the heights, and a thunderous roar erupted.
“Blasting! It’s blasting!”
Campanella leaped for joy.

The pillar-like water vanished, and large salmon and trout, their bellies glittering white, were hurled into the air, tracing circular arcs before plunging back into the water.
Giovanni had now become so cheerful he wanted to dance out and said,
“It’s the sky’s engineer battalion!
“How about that! The trout and such were all flung up like this!”
I’ve never had such a joyful trip.
“That’s nice.”
“If you were to see that trout up close, it’d be about this big. There really are a lot of fish in this water.”

“Are there small fish too?”
The girl asked hesitantly after being drawn into their exchange.

“There must be,”
“Since big ones exist, small ones should too.”
“Though we couldn’t spot any from this distance just now.”
Giovanni answered her with an amused laugh now that his good humor had fully returned.

At that moment, the opposite bank of the river suddenly turned red.
The poplar trees and such stood silhouetted jet-black against the glow, while invisible waves of the Milky Way flickered intermittently, their red glints sharp as needles.
Truly across that riverbank field blazed an immense crimson fire, its black smoke rising so high it seemed to scorch the bellflower-blue sky that arched cold and clear above.
The flames burned with a red more piercing than rubies, more beautiful than lithium—a drunken conflagration raging against the night.

“What kind of fire is that, I wonder? I’ve never seen such a red glowing fire before,” Giovanni said.
“That’s the Scorpion’s Fire,” Campanella replied, once again poring over the map.
“Oh, if it’s about the Scorpion’s Fire, I know all about that.”
“What’s the Scorpion’s Fire?” Giovanni asked.
“The scorpion burned to death, you know. That fire’s still burning now—I heard that from my father over and over.”
“A scorpion is a kind of insect, right?”
“Yeah, a scorpion is an insect. But it’s a good insect, you know.”
“Scorpions aren’t good insects. I saw one preserved in alcohol at the museum. It has a stinger like this on its tail, and the teacher said if you’re stung by it, you’ll die.”
“That’s right. But it’s a good insect, you know—my father said so. Long ago in Balldra’s Field, there was a scorpion that killed and ate small insects and such to survive, they say. Then one day, it was spotted by weasels and nearly eaten, they say. The scorpion ran and ran for its life, but in the end, the weasels had it cornered. Then suddenly there was a well ahead—it fell right in and couldn’t climb out no matter what, and began to drown.”

“And then, they say the scorpion prayed like this:”

“Oh, I don’t know how many lives I’ve taken until now. Yet when I was about to be taken by the weasels this time, I ran for my life so desperately.
“And still I ended up like this.
“Oh, how utterly unreliable I am.
“Why didn’t I just silently offer my body to the weasels?
“Then they could have survived another day.
“Please, O God.
“Look upon my heart.
“Without vainly discarding my life like this, please use my body next time for everyone’s true happiness.”
...they say it prayed like that.
And then one day, they say the scorpion saw its own body transformed into a bright crimson fire, burning and illuminating the night’s darkness.
“Father said it’s still burning even now.
“That fire truly is it, you know.”

“That’s right. Look there. Those triangulation markers are arranged exactly in the shape of a scorpion.”

Giovanni indeed saw that on the far side of the great fire, three triangulation markers were arranged exactly like the scorpion’s arms, while on this side, five triangulation markers were aligned like its tail and hook.
And indeed, that bright red beautiful scorpion’s fire burned soundlessly, brightly, brightly.

As the fire gradually receded into the distance,

everyone heard—without being able to put it into words—the bustling sounds of various instruments, something like the scent of flowers, whistles, and the rustling murmur of people’s voices.
It felt as though there must already be a town or something nearby where a festival was taking place.

“Let Centaur’s dew fall!”
Suddenly, the boy who had been sleeping beside Giovanni until now shouted while looking out the opposite window.

Ah, there stood a deep blue fir or maple tree like a Christmas tree, within which countless tiny electric lights clung as if a thousand fireflies had gathered.

“Ah, that’s right—tonight’s the Centaur Festival.”
“Ah, this is the Centaur’s village.”
Campanella said immediately.
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“If it’s throwing a ball, I’ll never miss.”

The boy declared boastfully.

“We’ll be at Southern Cross shortly.”
“Please prepare to disembark.”
The young man said to everyone.

“I’m staying on the train a bit longer too,”
the boy said.
The girl next to Campanella stood up unsteadily and began preparing, yet still appeared reluctant to part with Giovanni and the others.

“Your mother is waiting for you,”
the young man said tightly pursing his lips as he looked down at the boy.

“No way! I’m ridin’ this train a bit longer before I go!”

Giovanni could no longer contain himself and said.
“Come ride along with us.”
“We’ve got a ticket that can take us anywhere.”
“But we have to get off here, you know.”
“This is where you go to heaven, you know.”

“We don’t have to go to any heaven!”
“We’ve got tickets to an even better place.”
“Someone said heaven isn’t some place you just go and stay forever.”
“But you can’t do that!”
“Your mother’s waiting there too.”
The girl truly seemed reluctant to part, her face appearing slightly pale.

“Are your preparations complete? We’ll be at the Southern Cross shortly.”

Ah, it was then.
In the middle of the invisible Milky Way, a cross adorned in blues and oranges stood shining as if it were a single tree rising from the river, while above it, a bluish-white cloud formed a perfect ring.
The train car buzzed with commotion.
Everyone, just as they had during the Northern Cross, stood straight and began to pray.
Everywhere—here and there—nothing could be heard but voices of joy like children pouncing on melons and the sound of deep, indescribably solemn sighs.
And gradually, the cross came to face directly opposite the window, and that bluish-white ring-shaped cloud—resembling the flesh of an apple—could be seen slowly, slowly circling around.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah.”
The bright and cheerful voices of everyone echoed; from the cold distant reaches of that sky—from its faraway depths—they heard a clear and refreshing trumpet sound beyond description.
And through numerous signals and electric lights’ glow within them all did that train gradually slow until at last it came fully to rest directly facing that cross.

“It’s time to disembark now.”
The Young Man took the boy’s hand while the sisters adjusted each other’s collars and shoulders, then they began walking gradually toward the exit ahead.
“Well then, goodbye.”
The girl turned around and said to the two of them.
“Goodbye.”
Giovanni spoke brusquely, as if suppressing tears through forced anger.
The girl—looking genuinely anguished—widened her eyes, glanced back once toward them, then left without another word.
The train car had now emptied by more than half, suddenly turning desolate and lonely as wind gusted fiercely through it.

And as he watched, everyone formed a humble line and knelt upon the heavenly shore before that cross. And the two saw a single divine figure in white robes crossing the water of the invisible Milky Way river, reaching out their hand and coming toward them. But by then, the glass whistle had already been blown, and just as the train began to move, a silver mist came flowing up from downstream until soon that direction was completely obscured. Only many walnut trees stood in that mist, their leaves glittering brilliantly, with golden-haloed electric squirrels cutely peeking their faces out here and there.

At that moment, the fog began to clear swiftly.
There was a street that resembled a thoroughfare leading somewhere, lined with a row of small electric lights.
It ran along the railroad tracks for a while.
And whenever the two passed by that marker, the small bean-colored flame would flicker out as if greeting them, only to reignite once they had passed.
When he looked back, the cross had already grown so small—so very small—that it seemed it could truly be hung around one’s neck. Whether the girl and the young man were still kneeling on that white shore before it or had already departed to some unknowable corner of heaven, he could no longer tell through the haze.

Giovanni let out a deep "Ah..." as he sighed.

“Campanella, we’re alone again now, aren’t we? Let’s go on together, anywhere and everywhere.”
“If it’s truly for everyone’s happiness like that scorpion—and if it’s for your happiness—I wouldn’t mind burning this body of mine a hundred times over.”

“Yeah.”
“I feel the same.”
Beautiful tears welled in Campanella’s eyes.
“But what exactly is true happiness?”
Giovanni said.
“I don’t know.”
Though Campanella had said this, he drew a deep breath as if new strength surged through his chest.

“Let’s stay strong, okay?”
Giovanni said.

“Ah, there’s the Coal Sack Nebula.”
“That’s a hole in the sky.”
Campanella pointed to a spot in the Milky Way while slightly averting his gaze.
Giovanni looked and jolted upright.
Within the Milky Way’s expanse gaped an immense pitch-black void.
How deep did it plunge? What lurked in its depths? He rubbed his eyes until they ached, but saw only endless darkness—his vision throbbing dully.
Giovanni spoke.

“I’m not scared of even that vast darkness anymore. I’ll go search for everyone’s true happiness. Let’s advance together anywhere and everywhere.”
“Ah, I’ll go for sure.”
Though Campanella had said this, Giovanni couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t spring from genuine resolve, leaving him indescribably lonely.

When Giovanni looked out the window, two telegraph poles stood on the opposite bank, their red crossarms aligned like interlocked arms.
“Campanella, let’s go together, okay?”
Overcome with loneliness, Giovanni turned—but Campanella had vanished from his seat, leaving only black velvet gleaming where he’d been.
Giovanni sprang up like a fired bullet.
He struck his chest fiercely and shouted:
“There—I’m truly alone after all!
I’m going now!
I’ll definitely discover what true happiness is!”
At that moment, a bluish-white signal flare shot up from beyond the dark horizon as if it were noon, flooding the train with light.
The flare soared high and blazed steadily in the sky.

“Ah, the Magellanic Clouds.”
“Now I will surely search for true, true happiness—for myself, for my mother, for Campanella, and for everyone.”
Giovanni stood biting his lip and gazed at the Magellanic Clouds.
Countless pieces of ice flowed through the Milky Way, emitting beautiful phosphorescence as they collided with one another, crackling like fireworks, while ahead shone Canis Major’s dazzling triangulation markers.

“Now, hold firmly to your ticket.”
“You must no longer stride through the dream railway, but stride straight through the fire and fierce waves of the true world.”
“You must never lose that single true ticket within the Milky Way.”

The moment he thought he heard that cello-like voice, Giovanni saw the Milky Way recede far into the distance as wind blew and found himself standing upright on a grassy hill; then, from afar, he heard the sound of Dr. Burukaniro’s footsteps drawing near.

“Thank you.”
“I conducted an excellent experiment.”
“Earlier, I had been wanting to conduct an experiment transmitting my thoughts from afar in such a quiet place as this.”
“All words you spoke have been recorded in my notebook.”
“Now go home and rest.”
“You may proceed straight ahead as resolved in your dream.”
“And henceforth, please come consult me anytime about anything.”

“I will proceed straight ahead.
I will surely seek true happiness.”
“Ah, well then, goodbye.”

The moment Dr. Burukaniro touched Giovanni’s chest, he had already vanished beyond the Pillar of Weather Rings.
Giovanni ran straight down the hill.
Then he noticed his pocket was terribly heavy and clinking.
When he stopped in the woods to examine it, he found two large gold coins.

“Thank you, Dr. Burukaniro. Mom,”
“I’ll bring the milk right away.”
Giovanni shouted and started running again.
All sorts of things gathered in Giovanni’s chest at once, filling him with an indescribable feeling that was both sorrowful and somehow new.

The Lyre Star had shifted far to the west and was stretching out its stalks like a mushroom.