Pathway to Japanese Literature

It was a story from several years ago, from the time when I was living in the dormitory of the First Higher School.

It was a certain evening.
At that time, it had become customary for dorm mates to gather in the bedroom with their foreheads pressed together—ostensibly for what they called “candlelit cramming,” burning candles late into the night to study (though in reality they were just chattering away)—but on that evening too, long after the electric lights had been turned off, three or four of them remained huddled together in the candlelight, continuing their idle talk.

At that moment, it remains unclear how our conversation veered into that territory, but I recall us—as was typical for youths our age—indulging in wild speculations about matters of romance.
Then, as a natural progression, the topic turned to human crime, and words like murder, fraud, and theft began to spill from everyone’s lips.
“Of all crimes, the one we’re most likely to commit is murder.”

The one who said that was a man named Higuchi—the son of a certain doctor.

“No matter what happens, becoming thieves is something we could never do.”
“—After all, they’re truly beyond redemption.”
“You can keep ordinary people as friends, but thieves—they feel like an entirely different species altogether.”

Higuchi darkened his naturally handsome face, unpleasantly knitting his brows into deep furrows.
This expression paradoxically accentuated his refined features.

“Now that you mention it—is it true there have been frequent thefts in the dormitory lately?”

“...,” said a man named Hirata this time.
Having said that, Hirata turned to another man named Nakamura and said, “Hey, you.”

“Yeah, it seems to be true. They say the thief isn’t an outsider but definitely a dorm student.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well… I don’t know the specifics,” Nakamura continued in a hushed, hesitant tone, “but they say since the thefts keep happening so often, it can’t be someone from outside the dorm.”

“No, that’s not all there is to it,” said Higuchi.

“There’s someone who confirmed it was definitely a dorm student. Just the other day—in broad daylight, they say—a guy from North Dorm Room Seven had some business to attend to in his bedroom. When he tried to enter, someone inside suddenly flung open the door, smacked him square in the face without warning, then clattered down the hallway to escape.”

“The man who was hit immediately gave chase, but when he went down the staircase, he lost sight of him.”

“When they later went into the bedroom and looked around, they found things like trunks and bookcases scattered about—so that guy must’ve been the thief.”

“So did that man see the thief’s face?”

“He was struck suddenly so didn’t see the face, but from clothing and such they’re certain it was a dorm student.”
“When fleeing down the corridor he yanked the haori clear over his head as he ran—all they could tell was it bore the descending wisteria crest.”

“Descending wisteria crest?
“That’s not much of a clue.”

The one who said that was Hirata.
Whether it was my imagination or not, Hirata seemed to glance furtively at my expression.
And then, I too seem to have involuntarily made an unpleasant face at that moment.
The reason was that my family’s crest was the descending wisteria, and although I had not worn that crested haori that evening, I did occasionally take it out to wear when going about.

“If it’s a dorm student, there is no way he would be caught easily.
It’s unpleasant to think there’s such a person among us, and besides, everyone’s being careless.”

Feeling ashamed even by myself of that brief moment of unpleasantness, I said this in a tone that briskly dismissed it.

“But there’s something that will surely lead to him being caught within two or three days.—”

Higuchi emphasized the ends of his words, his eyes gleaming, and said in a hoarse voice:

“This is confidential,” he said, “but because thefts occur most frequently in the bathhouse changing room, committee members have been secretly keeping watch there since two or three days ago.”
“Apparently, they’ve snuck into the ceiling and are peeking through a small hole to monitor the situation.”

“Oh? Who did you hear that from?”

The one who had posed this question was Nakamura.

“I heard it from one of the committee members, but I beg you not to speak of it too much.”

"But you—if you know about it, even the thief might have already noticed something like that."

Having said that, Hirata made a bitter face.

Let me pause here to note that while this man Hirata and I had not been particularly close before, due to a certain incident at some point our feelings had been wounded, and as of late we had been interacting with mutual discomfort. Though we say "mutual," it was not I who initiated this—rather, it was Hirata who came to intensely dislike me. I once heard from a friend that Hirata had savagely berated me on some occasion: "Suzuki isn't the upstanding man you all think he is. Through a certain matter, I've seen clear through to the bottom of that bastard's gut."

"I've exhausted all love and hate for that bastard."

"I'll keep up appearances out of pity for the wretch, but I'll never truly open my heart to him," he was also said to have declared. But he only ever spoke ill of me behind my back, never once bringing it up to my face. The fact that he not only terribly detested me but even seemed to hold me in contempt was clearly visible in his demeanor. When the other party maintained such an attitude, by my very nature I couldn't bring myself to proactively seek an explanation.

"If I have faults, it's only natural to advise me; if they lack even the kindness to do so—or perhaps if they think I'm not worth advising—then I too shall not consider that bastard a friend." Though I did feel some measure of loneliness upon thinking this, I wasn't particularly deeply tormented by it.

Hirata was a robustly built man—a so-called model "Kōryō athlete" embodying masculinity—while I was a scrawny, pale-skinned neurotic. Given that our personalities were fundamentally incompatible and we inhabited entirely separate worlds, I had resigned myself to the inevitability of it. However, Hirata was a third-degree judo practitioner of considerable strength who had a habit of flaunting his arm power with threats like "Grumble too much and I'll beat you senseless," so some might have considered it cowardly for me to remain meekly compliant—and indeed, I cannot deny that privately I feared those very arms—but fortunately, I happened to be remarkably indifferent to such petty stubbornness or sense of honor.

"No matter how much others may despise me, as long as I believe in myself, that is enough—there is no need to resent them in the slightest." Having steeled myself with this resolve, I always responded to Hirata's arrogant attitude with calm magnanimity.

"It can't be helped that Hirata doesn't understand me, but on my part, I do recognize his merits." I had even said as much to third parties on occasion and had genuinely thought so. Without feeling myself cowardly, I even grew conceited, regarding myself—who could praise Hirata from the bottom of my heart—as a noble-minded person of virtue.

“Descending wisteria crest?”

That indescribably unpleasant look Hirata had shot me earlier when he glanced my way after uttering those words—strangely enough—pierced my nerves that evening.
What on earth could that look mean?
Had he made that face knowing full well my crest bore descending wisteria?
Or was this merely my own resentment coloring perception?―――Yet if he harbored even a shred of suspicion toward me, what course remained open now?

“Then suspicion would fall on me too, since my crest is also the descending wisteria.”

Should I have laughed this off with complete openness? Yet if I did say it—if the three here had laughed along pleasantly with me—all would be well. But what if one among them—Hirata alone—remained unsmiling, his expression growing ever more sour? Imagining that scene left me unable to casually voice the thought.

It may have been absurd to dwell on such matters, but in that moment I found myself compelled to ponder various things. In a situation such as I now found myself in, how much difference could there truly be between the psychological processes of the true culprit and those who were not? As I followed this line of thought, it seemed I now tasted the same anguish and loneliness as the actual criminal. Until mere moments ago, I had indeed counted myself among these three friends—one of those elite students at the First Higher School envied by scholars across the land. Yet now, at least in my own heart, I no longer belonged to their trio. Though it might seem trivial, I bore anxieties I could not share with them. Toward Hirata—who by rights should have been my equal—I found myself guarded against his every smile and frown.

“When it comes to thieves, I can’t help but feel they’re a different breed altogether.”

Higuchi’s words had undoubtedly been spoken casually, but now they struck my chest with tremendous force.
“Thieves are a different breed”—Thief!
Ah, what a detestable name—I suppose the reason a thief differs from ordinary people lies not in the criminal act itself, but in the mental effort to somehow conceal it or even try to forget it oneself—the ceaseless anxiety that can never be confided to others. Unbeknownst to him, this must lead him into shadowy states of mind.
Now, I certainly possess a part of that darkness.
I am trying not to believe—even myself—that I am under suspicion of a crime.
And because of that, I feel an anxiety I cannot confide in even my closest friends.
Higuchi must have leaked the bathhouse matter he heard from the committee members precisely because he trusted me.

“I beg you not to speak of it too much.”
When he said that, I felt somehow pleased.
But at the same time, it was also true that this very pleasure darkened my heart even further.
"Why am I pleased by such a thing?"
"Could it be that Higuchi has been suspecting me from the very start?"
When I thought that, I felt a sort of guilt about Higuchi’s innermost thoughts.

Then another thought of this sort occurred to me.
If every good person possesses some degree of criminality, then perhaps I was not alone in entertaining imaginings of “What if I were the true culprit—”.
The unpleasantness and joy I was feeling might have also been felt, if only faintly, by the three here.
If that were so, then Higuchi—who had been specially entrusted with a secret by the committee members—ought to have been feeling the most smug of us all.
He was trusted by the committee members more than anyone among the four of us.
He was the breed most distant from thieves.
And if the reason he had earned that trust ultimately lay in his refined features—in being the scion of a wealthy family and a doctor’s son—then I could not help but envy him for such circumstances.
Just as his material superiority elevated his character, so too did my awareness of material inferiority—that I was the son of an impoverished peasant from S Prefecture, a pauper scholar barely subsisting on a former feudal lord’s scholarship—debase mine.
The timidity I felt when facing him remained unchanged whether I were thief or not.
He and I were indeed of different breeds.
The more he believed in me with that frank and open-hearted attitude, the more acutely I felt myself withdrawing from him.
The harder I tried to grow closer—joking and chatting with surface-level camaraderie—the more keenly I became aware of the chasm widening between us.
This feeling—even I myself could do nothing about it.………

The “descending wisteria crest” had been a source of constant anxiety for me since that evening.
I agonized over whether I had actually worn it outside.
Suppose I were to wear it nonchalantly—if everyone simply observed it calmly, that would be acceptable—but imagine them giving me looks like “Ah! He’s wearing that,” prompting some to suspect me outright, others to find mere suspicion inadequate, and still others to pity me as a suspect.
My discomfort and timidity extended beyond Hirata and Higuchi to all my classmates; each time revulsion overcame me and I put away my haori, its absence only heightened the peculiarity.
What I truly feared wasn’t criminal suspicion itself but the vile emotions it stirred in others.
I became the first to doubt myself—thereby planting doubts in others—and introduced awkward reservations among friends who had once mingled freely.
Even were I truly the thief, its tangible harm paled against these clinging miasmas of unease.
None wished to deem me criminal; until proven conclusively guilty, they’d surely prefer maintaining our bond without entertaining such notions even subconsciously.
Our friendship demanded at least this pretense.
If damaging trust outweighed stealing possessions morally—then whether thief or not—I couldn’t merely scatter seeds of suspicion.
This betrayal surpassed theft itself.
Were I an astute thief—no, let me rephrase—were I a thief retaining shreds of compassion and conscience,I should preserve our friendship while opening my heart fully,treating them with God-fearing sincerity even as I stole stealthily.
“Brazen thief” must denote this very paradox,yet adopting a thief’s mentality revealed it as honesty stripped bare.
“Both theft and friendship hold truth,” he’d likely declare.
“Their simultaneous genuineness defines thieves—proof we’re different stock,” he’d add.Beginning such thoughts,I felt my mind tilt irrevocably thieflike,growing ever conscious of chasms widening between friends.
I realized I’d unwittingly become a full-fledged thief.

One day, I resolved to wear my descending wisteria crest and had this conversation with Nakamura as we walked around the grounds.

“Now that you mention it—the thief still hasn’t been caught, has he?”

“Ah.”

With that, Nakamura suddenly looked down.

“What’s happening? I wonder if waiting in the bathhouse isn’t effective after all.”

“They’ve abandoned the bathhouse plan, but thefts still keep occurring everywhere.”
“Because their bathhouse strategy got leaked—Higuchi was summoned by the committee and reprimanded recently—or so I hear.”

I turned pale.

“What? Higuchi?”

“Ah, Higuchi—Higuchi—Suzuki-kun, I beg you to forgive me.”

Nakamura shed tears in scattered drops along with a pained sigh.

“I’ve kept this hidden from you until now, but at this point, staying silent feels even more inexcusable.”
“You must find this unpleasant, but the truth is, the committee members actually suspect you.”
“But you—though it’s repugnant to even mention this—I absolutely do not suspect you.”
“Even now, I still believe in you.”
“Precisely because I believed in you, keeping silent became so painful and agonizing I couldn’t bear it.”
“Please do not think ill of me.”

“Thank you. You’ve spoken well. I am grateful to you.”

As I said this, I too found myself tearing up; but at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling something like, *It’s finally come*.
It was a terrible fact, but I had privately foreseen that this day would come.

“Why don’t we stop this talk now? I’ll feel better having gotten it off my chest.”

Nakamura said comfortingly.

“But we can’t just set this matter aside because it’s loathsome to speak of.”
“I appreciate your kindness, but I’ve not only been clearly disgraced—I’ve dragged even you, my friend, through this shame.”
“The mere fact of being suspected has already stripped me of any right to call myself your friend.”
“Either way, my disgrace can never be erased.”
“Tell me—isn’t that so? Even still…you won’t cast me aside, will you?”

“I swear I won’t abandon you. I don’t think you’ve disgraced me at all.”

Nakamura, seeing my uncharacteristically agitated state, grew flustered,

“Higuchi too—Higuchi said he defended you as much as he could before the committee. He even declared, ‘I would sooner doubt myself than question my best friend’s character.’”

“So the committee members still suspect me?—There’s no need to hold back—tell me everything you know. That would actually make me feel better.”

When I said that, Nakamura spoke as though it pained him.

“Apparently there are people sending anonymous letters to the committee from all over and coming to tattle.”
“Moreover, the fact that after Higuchi’s unnecessary blabbing that night, the thefts in the bathhouse stopped has apparently become another basis for suspicion.”

But I’m not the only one who heard about the bathhouse plan—though I didn’t voice these words, the thought immediately rose in my heart.
And this left me feeling even lonelier and more wretched.

“But how did the committee members find out that Higuchi talked?”
“That night only we four were there. If we assume no one outside those four knew—and if Higuchi and you believe in me—”

“Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it but to leave the rest to your conjecture.” With that, Nakamura cast an imploring look.
“I know that person.”
“That person has misunderstood you.”
“But I don’t want to speak of that person from my own lips.”

It’s Hirata—when that thought struck me, I shuddered.
I felt as though Hirata’s eyes were persistently boring into me.

“Did you discuss something about me with that person?”

“We did discuss it, but… Please understand—I’m your friend as well as theirs, which makes this excruciating for me.”
“To be honest, Higuchi and I quarreled with that person last night.”
“And now they say they’re leaving the dormitory today.”
“When I realize I’m losing one friend to keep another, I can’t bear how wretched this situation has become.”

“Ah, you and Higuchi were thinking of me that much? I’m sorry, so sorry—”

I took Nakamura’s hand and gripped it firmly. Tears streamed ceaselessly from my eyes. Nakamura, of course, also cried. For the first time in my life, I felt I had truly tasted the warmth of human kindness. The unbearable loneliness that had been tormenting me all this time—what I had ceaselessly sought was indeed this. Even if I were any kind of thief, I could never bring myself to steal from this person.………

“You—I’ll be honest—”

And after standing there for a while, I said.

“I’m not the sort of person who’d make you all worry like that.”
“I cannot simply stand by and watch you all lose such fine friends on account of someone like me.”
“That man may suspect me, but I still respect him.”
“That man is far greater than I am.”
“I recognize that man’s worth more than anyone.”
“So if that man is leaving the dormitory over this, shouldn’t I be the one to leave instead?”
“Hey, I beg you—please let me do this. And you all, live harmoniously with that man.”
“Even if I end up alone, I’d still prefer it that way.”

“That’s not the case—there’s no reason for you to leave.”

Nakamura, kind-hearted as he was, declared in a deeply moved tone.

“I too recognize that man’s character.”
“But in this situation, you’re the one being unjustly wronged.”
“I cannot take that man’s side and unjustly support his faction.”
“If they would expel you, then we will leave.”
“As you know, that man has an extremely strong sense of pride and doesn’t easily yield, so if he says he’ll leave, he’ll surely do it.”
“So why don’t we just let him have his way?”
“And we need only wait until he realizes his mistake and comes to apologize.”
“And it probably won’t be long anyway.”

“But given how stubborn that man is, he probably won’t come to apologize on his own.”
“He’ll probably go on hating me forever.”

Nakamura seemed to interpret my words as if I bore a grudge against Hirata and had let slip part of it.

“No way—that’s unthinkable. Once he states his position, insisting on his view to the end is both his strength and his weakness. But if he ever thinks he was wrong, he’ll come to apologize cleanly.”
“That’s precisely that man’s admirable trait.”
“That would be fine if it happens, but—”

"And," I said while deep in thought.

“Even if that man returns to your side, I feel there will never come a time when he reconciles with me.”
Ah—that man is truly a man worthy of love.
"I too want to be loved by that man."

Nakamura placed his hand on my shoulder and, while shielding this pitiful friend as if to protect him, stretched his legs out on the grass.
At dusk, a thin mist hung over the four sides of the grounds, spreading out like the sea.
Along the path ahead, a few students would occasionally pass by in groups, casting fleeting glances in my direction as they went.

"They already knew. Everyone was ostracizing me."

When I thought this, a loneliness beyond words bore down viscerally upon my chest.

That evening, Hirata, who was supposed to leave the dormitory, showed no signs of doing so—perhaps he had reconsidered something.
And of course, he didn’t exchange a single word with me—nor with Higuchi or Nakamura—remaining utterly silent.
Given how matters had developed to this point, I thought it was only natural that I should leave the dormitory—yet going against the goodwill of two friends weighed heavily on me. Moreover, from my perspective, leaving under these circumstances might itself be taken as evidence of guilt, serving only to deepen suspicion further. Thus, I found myself unable to take that course of action.
Even if I were to leave, I must wait a bit longer for an opportunity—or so I thought.

“You shouldn’t worry so much—once they catch the culprit, things will naturally resolve themselves.”

The two friends had been saying this to me all along.
But even after about a week had passed, not only was the culprit not caught, but thefts continued to occur frequently.
Eventually, even in my room, Higuchi and Nakamura had money from their wallets and two or three Western books stolen.

“So both of them have finally been hit, huh? I suppose the remaining two are safe from theft... though...”

At that moment, I remembered Hirata making a strange face, grinning as he uttered this sarcastic remark.

Since it was customary for Higuchi and Nakamura to go study at the library at night, Hirata and I naturally found ourselves alone together in the room more and more often.
Finding this unbearable, I too would either go to the library or take walks, trying my best not to remain in the room at night.

Then one evening around half past nine, when I returned from my walk and opened the study room door, not only was Hirata—who should have been there alone as usual—nowhere to be seen, but it appeared the other two had not yet returned either.
"Perhaps the bedroom?" I thought and went upstairs to check, but again found no one.
I returned once more to the study room and approached Hirata's desk.
Then quietly opening that drawer, I retrieved the registered mail envelope that had arrived from his hometown two or three days prior.
Inside lay three ten-yen postal money orders.
With deliberate calmness I extracted one and slipped it into my breast pocket, restored the drawer precisely to its former state, then walked out into the corridor with perfect composure.
Descending from the corridor into the garden, crossing the tennis court, I moved toward the dim hollow choked with overgrown grass where I always buried stolen goods—

“Thief!”

“Thief!” someone shouted, then suddenly leaped at me from behind and slapped my cheek with such force that it was unbearable.
That was Hirata.
“Take it out! Show me what you just put in your pocket!”
“Hey, hey, don’t make such a loud noise.”

“And,” I said calmly with a laugh. “I stole your money order without a doubt. If you tell me to return it, I’ll return it—if you tell me to come along, I’ll go anywhere. Since we both understand how things stand now, isn’t this good enough?”

Hirata seemed to flinch momentarily, but he immediately steeled himself and struck my cheekbone again and again.
The pain came intertwined with an odd sense of relief.
I felt as though the weight I’d carried all this time had slipped from my shoulders in one swift motion.

“Hitting me like that won’t solve anything. I deliberately walked into your trap.”
“It was because you were acting so high and mighty that I thought, ‘What the hell! There’s no way I can’t steal his stuff!’—and that’s what caused my blunder.”
“But well, since you’ve figured it out, this should be fine.”
“Now let’s talk this through with a laugh.”

Having said that, I tried to take Hirata’s hand in a friendly manner, but he violently grabbed me by the collar and dragged me into the room.
The only time Hirata ever seemed trivial in my eyes was at this moment.

“Hey you all, I’ve caught the thief! I don’t need to apologize for some false charge.”

Hirata haughtily entered the room and, before the two friends who had returned there, violently threw me down and said.
At the room’s entrance, dormitory students who had heard the commotion were gathering moment by moment, clustering together.

“Hirata-kun is right. I was the thief.”

I got up from the floor and said to the two.
I had intended to speak in an utterly ordinary, overly familiar manner as always, but my face still seemed deathly pale.

“Do you think I’m hateful?”
“Or are you ashamed of me?”

“And,” I continued addressing the two.

“You are good people, but the blame of ignorance inevitably lies with you.”
“Haven’t I told you the truth repeatedly from the very beginning?”
“I am not the person of worth you all believe me to be.”
“Hirata-kun is indeed a reliable person.”
“‘That man would never apologize for a false charge’—didn’t you understand even after I stated it so clearly?”
“‘There may come a time when you reconcile with Hirata-kun, but there will never be one for me,’ I had also said.”
“I even declared, ‘I know better than anyone how great Hirata-kun is.’”
“Hey you, isn’t that right? I never uttered a single falsehood—not half a word.”
“You might ask why I didn’t state the truth plainly if I don’t lie.”
“You might still believe I deceived you all along.”
“But consider this from my perspective as a thief.”
“It pains me, but I simply cannot cease being a thief.”
“Yet I detested deceiving you all, so I expressed truths as indirectly as possible.”
“Since I won’t stop thieving, I can’t be more honest than that—thus your failure to realize it is your own fault.”
“If this sounds like twisted sarcasm, know I intend none of it. Please listen earnestly.”
“‘If you crave honesty so much, why not quit stealing?’ you’ll likely retort.”
“But answering that isn’t my burden.”
“The fact remains—I was born a thief.”
“So within those confines, I strove to engage with you all as sincerely as possible.”

“There’s no other course I could pursue, so it can’t be helped.”
“And yet precisely because I felt indebted to you all, didn’t I say, ‘If you meant to expel Hirata-kun, then expel me instead’?”
“That was no trickery—it came from genuine concern for your welfare.”
“It’s true I stole your belongings, but it’s equally true I hold friendship for you all.”
“That even a thief possesses such consideration—this I wish to plead through your camaraderie and have heard.”

Nakamura and Higuchi remained silent, doing nothing but blink their eyes in utter astonishment.

“Ah, you all think I’m a shameless wretch, don’t you.”
“So you still don’t understand my feelings after all.”
“That too can’t be helped—being of a different breed, I suppose.”

Having said that, disguising my anguish with a laugh, I added one more thing.

“However, since I still hold friendship for you all, I must advise you—this isn’t something that will end here, so do take care.”
“That you made friends with a thief is, no matter how you put it, due to your own lack of discernment.”
“If that’s how you are, I worry what will become of you when you enter society.”
“Your academic grades may be superior, but as human beings, Hirata-kun is the more accomplished one.”
“Hirata-kun cannot be deceived—this man is truly admirable!”

When I pointed at Hirata, he made a strange face and turned away.
For once, even this obstinate man seemed oddly ill at ease.

Several years had passed since then. I was subsequently put into dark places countless times, and had now fallen into the ranks of professional thieves, but those days remained unforgettable. What lingered most persistently was Hirata. I still recalled that man’s face every time I committed a misdeed. “How about it? There’s no mistake in what I suspected, right?” Even now, I could picture him strutting about triumphantly as he uttered those words. In any case, he had been steadfast—a man of promise. Yet the world proved strange indeed. My prophecy—“I worry about what will happen when you enter society”—had been utterly disproven. Young Master Higuchi, no doubt aided by his father’s influence, rose swiftly through the ranks—studying abroad, earning degrees, now occupying some directorship or bureau chief position at the Railway Agency—while not a whisper could be heard of what became of Hirata. This was precisely why it felt only natural for us to think, “The world remains a careless place anyway.”

Dear readers, the above stands as my unvarnished and truthful record.
I have not written a single dishonest word here.
And just as with Higuchi and Nakamura, I wish you dear readers to appreciate that even within a thief such as myself resides this measure of delicate feeling.

But dear readers, you too may still not believe me—though this may sound terribly rude—if there were even one among you of the same breed as myself, that person alone would surely believe me.

(Written in February 1921 [Taisho 10])