This had the effect of distracting me so much that I found it impossible to concentrate anymore. The conviction seized me that he had something up his sleeve and had come to discuss things with me. I was driven to lay down my journal and rise.

"Finished?" K serenely inquired, seeing me begin to get to my feet.

"It's not important," I answered. I returned the journal, and we left the library together.

We had no particular destination in mind, so we walked through Tatsuoka-ch to Ikenohata and on into Ueno Park. There K suddenly broached the subject that lay between us. All things considered, it seemed obvious that he had invited me out for a walk for this purpose. But he still showed no evidence of moving toward a plan of action. "What do you think?" he asked. What he wanted to know was how I saw him, knowing the depths of love to which he had succ.u.mbed. He was, in other words, seeking a critical evaluation of his present state.

I could tell from this how unlike his usual self he was. Let me remind you that he had none of that weakness of character that makes most people concerned with what others are thinking. He had the kind of daring and courage that would simply press ahead once he'd decided something. I had all too vivid memories of this characteristic from the time of his family troubles, so the difference in his present behavior was quite clear to me.

Why was my opinion so important now? I asked him. The fact was, he was ashamed of his weakness, he replied in an unusually dejected voice. He was at a loss, no longer had a clear sense of things, so all he could do was seek a fair a.s.sessment from me. I cut in with a question-what did he mean by "at a loss"? He didn't know whether to proceed or retreat, he explained. I pressed in another step, and asked whether he thought himself capable of retreat, if that was what he decided. Words now failed him. "It's agony" was all he managed. And indeed he looked racked. If the person at issue had not been Ojsan, I could have poured such a balm of soothing rea.s.surances upon those poor tortured features. I flatter myself that I was born with a compa.s.sionate sympathy for others. Just then, however, I was a different person.

CHAPTER 95.

I watched K's every move, vigilant as a man pitting himself against someone trained in a different school of combat. My eyes, my heart, my body, every atom of my being, was focused on him with unwavering intent. In his innocence, K was completely unwary. He was not so much poorly defended as utterly vulnerable. It was as if I could lift from his very hands the map of a fortress that was in his charge and take all the time I wanted to examine it as he watched.

Now I understood that he had lost his way in a labyrinth between his ideals and reality, I felt with conviction that I could knock him down with a single blow. My eyes fixed on this purpose, I stepped straight into the breach. I grew instantly solemn. It was part of my strategy, but in fact I was tense enough for it to feel perfectly natural, so I was in no position to notice that I was behaving shamefully, even comically.

I began by tossing back at him the statement "anyone without spiritual aspirations is a fool," the words he had used against me on our journey around Bsh I threw them at him in precisely the tone he had used to me then. I didn't do it vindictively, however. I confess that I had a crueler aim than mere revenge. I wanted with these words to block K's way to love.

K had been born into the Pure Land sect, which encourages its priests to marry, but once he reached his teenage years, he developed beliefs that were somewhat different. I am poorly qualified to speak on this, I know, as I lack much understanding of sectarian differences, but I was certainly aware of how he felt about relations between the s.e.xes. K had always loved the expression "spiritual austerity," which I understood to contain the idea of control over the pa.s.sions.

Later I had discovered that those words held a still more rigorous meaning for him. His prime article of faith was the necessity to sacrifice everything in pursuit of "the true Way." Following the path was not only a question of self-denial and abstinence-even selfless love, beyond the realms of desire, was conceived as a stumbling block. I had often heard him declaim about this in the days when he was self-supporting. I was already in love with Ojsan back then, so naturally I threw myself into defending the realms of desire. He had looked at me pityingly, with much more contempt than sympathy in his eyes.

Now, with all that lay between us, the words I had just thrown back at K would certainly have struck home painfully. But as I have said, I was not using them to strike at the philosophy he had so rigorously cultivated. I wanted instead for him to stay true to his old convictions. Whether he attained his spiritual aspirations was beside the point-he could reach enlightenment itself, for all I cared. My single fear was that he would change the direction he had chosen for his life and thereby come into conflict with my own interests. In other words, blatant self-interest lay behind my words.

"Anyone without spiritual aspirations is a fool," I repeated, watching to see what effect these words would have on K.

"A fool," K responded at length. "I'm a fool."

He came to an instantaneous halt and stood rooted to the spot, staring at the ground. This startled me. He seemed to me like a cornered thief who will suddenly turn threatening. Then I realized that he presented no danger; all the power had left his voice. I longed to read his eyes, but they remained averted. Then, slowly, he set off walking once more.

CHAPTER 96.

I walked along beside him, ready, or perhaps better to say lying in wait, for what he would say next. I felt quite prepared to spring an underhanded attack on him if need be. But I also had the conscience that education had instilled in me. If someone had appeared at my side and whispered "Coward!" I would surely have come to myself with a start. And if that man had been K, I would have blushed before him. But K was far too honest to reproach me, far too pure-hearted, too good. In the blind urgency of the moment, however, I failed to honor this in him. Instead I struck home. I used his own virtue to defeat him.

After a while K spoke my name and turned to look at me. This time it was I who stopped in my tracks. K halted too. At last I was able to I look him directly in the eye. His superior height forced me to look up at him, but I did so with the heart of a wolf crouching before an innocent lamb.

"Let's not talk about it anymore," he said. There was a strange grief both in his voice and in the expression in his eyes. I could say nothing in reply. "Please stop," he said again, pleading now.

My answer was cruel. I leaped like a wolf upon the lamb's throat. "I wasn't the one who brought it up, you know. You began it. If you want to stop, that's fine by me. But there's no point in just shutting up. You have to resolve to put a stop to it in your heart as well. What about all those fine principles of yours? Where's your moral fiber?"

At these words, his tall frame seemed to shrink and dwindle before my eyes. He was, as I have said, incredibly obstinate and headstrong, yet he was also far too honest to be able to shrug it off if his own inconsistency was forcefully brought home to him. Seeing him cowed, I at last breathed a sigh of relief. Then he said suddenly, "Resolve?" Before I could respond, he went on, "Resolve-well, I'm not without resolve." He spoke as if to himself, or as if in a trance.

Our conversation came to a halt, and we turned toward home. It was a fairly warm and windless day, but nevertheless it was winter, and the leafless park felt desolate. I turned once to look back at the russet shapes of the frost-burned cedars, their tips neatly aligned against the gloomy sky, and felt the cold sink its teeth into my back. We hurried on in the dusk over Hong Hill and dipped into the valley below Koishikawa. Only now did I at last feel the beginnings of a glow of warmth inside my overcoat.

We barely spoke on our way home, though our haste might explain this silence. When we were back and seated at the dinner table, Okusan asked why we had been late. I replied that K had invited me out, and we had gone to Ueno. On such a cold day? said Okusan in surprise. Ojsan wondered what had taken us there. Nothing, I replied simply, we had just gone for a walk. Always taciturn, K now spoke even less than usual. He failed to make the slightest response to Okusan's cajolings and Ojsan's smiles. He gulped down his food, and retired to his room while I was still at the table.

CHAPTER 97.

These were the days before "the new awakening" or "the new way of life," as modern slogans have it. But if K failed to toss away his old self and throw himself into becoming a new man, it was not for want of such concepts. Rather, it was because he could not bear to reject a self and a past that had been so n.o.ble and exalted. One might even say that it had been his reason for living. So his failure to rush headlong in pursuit of love must not be read as proof that his love was lukewarm. No matter how fierce was the pa.s.sion that gripped him, the fact is he was paralyzed, transfixed by the contemplation of his own past. Only something so momentous as to drive from his consciousness all thoughts of before and after could have propelled him forward. And with his eyes fixed on the past, he had no choice but to continue along its trajectory. Also, there was in K a kind of obduracy and power of endurance lacking in modern men. In this respect I was confident that I knew him well.

For me, that evening was relatively peaceful. I followed K to his room, settled myself beside his desk, and deliberately chattered on for a while about nothing in particular. He looked annoyed. No doubt a light of victory glinted in my eye, and my voice held a note of triumph. After I'd spent some time warming my hands over his brazier, I returned to my room. Just for that moment I felt that, though K was in every way superior to me, for once I had nothing to fear from him.

Soon I drifted into a calm sleep. But I was awakened by the sudden sound of my name. Turning to look, I saw that the sliding doors were partly open, and K's dark shape was standing there. The desk lamp still glowed in the room beyond. Stunned by the sudden change in my world, for a long moment I could only lie there, speechless and staring.

"Are you in bed already?" K asked. He always stayed up late.

"What is it?" I said, addressing K's shadowy phantom shape.

"Nothing really," he replied. "I just dropped in on my way back from the bathroom to check if you were asleep yet." With the lamplight behind him, I could make out nothing of his expression. His voice, however, was if anything calmer than usual.

After a moment he slid the doors carefully closed. Darkness instantly returned to my room. I closed my eyes again, to shut out the blackness and dream in peace. I remember nothing more. But the next morning when I recalled the incident, it struck me as somehow strange. Had I perhaps dreamed it? I wondered.

Over breakfast I asked him about it. Yes, he said, he had opened the doors and called my name.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, but he gave only a vague reply.

We lapsed into silence. Then he abruptly asked if I was sleeping well lately. The question struck me as rather odd.

That day our lectures would begin at the same time, so we set off together. The previous night's incident had been bothering me all morning, and I brought up the subject again as we walked. He still gave no satisfactory answer, however. "Did you want to continue our earlier conversation?" I asked.

He vehemently denied it. This firm response seemed like a curt reminder that he had said he wouldn't talk about it anymore. He always had a fierce pride in his own consistency, I reminded myself. Then I found myself recalling how he had spoken of "resolve." Suddenly this simple word, until that moment quite insignificant, began strangely to oppress me.

CHAPTER 98.

I was well aware that K usually acted decisively, but I could also see perfectly well why he was being so astonishingly irresolute now. I proudly believed, in other words, that my knowledge of the norm gave me a clear grasp of the present exception. But as I slowly digested this word resolve, resolve, my confident pride teetered and finally began to crumble. Perhaps he was not behaving so out of character after all. Perhaps, in fact, he held carefully tucked away within his breast the means by which to solve at a stroke all his doubts, anguish, and torment. When I considered the word my confident pride teetered and finally began to crumble. Perhaps he was not behaving so out of character after all. Perhaps, in fact, he held carefully tucked away within his breast the means by which to solve at a stroke all his doubts, anguish, and torment. When I considered the word resolve resolve in this fresh light, a shock ran through me. I would probably have been wiser to turn this astonishment to good account and coolly reconsider just what this resolve might const.i.tute. Sadly, however, I was blinded by my own single-minded preoccupation. The only interpretation I could imagine was that he was resolved to act in relation to Ojsan. I leaped to the conclusion that his decisiveness would be exercised in the pursuit of love. in this fresh light, a shock ran through me. I would probably have been wiser to turn this astonishment to good account and coolly reconsider just what this resolve might const.i.tute. Sadly, however, I was blinded by my own single-minded preoccupation. The only interpretation I could imagine was that he was resolved to act in relation to Ojsan. I leaped to the conclusion that his decisiveness would be exercised in the pursuit of love.

A voice whispered in my ear that it was time for me too to be decisive, and I unhesitatingly complied. I gathered my courage for a final resolve. I must act before K did, and without his knowledge, I decided. Silently I awaited my chance. Two or three days pa.s.sed, however, and no opportunity presented itself. I was waiting for a time when K was out and Ojsan had also left the house, when I could approach Okusan in private. But day after day either he or she was always there to stymie my plan. The longed-for moment never arrived. I seethed with impatience.

A week later I could finally wait no longer, and I faked illness to attain my end. I lay in bed until around ten, grunting a vague response when Okusan, Ojsan, and K himself told me it was time to get up. When K and Ojsan had both left and a hush had fallen on the house, I finally left my bed. "What's the matter?" Okusan asked when she saw me appear. She urged me to go back to bed and said she would bring me something to eat. But I was in no mood to sleep further, being in fact perfectly well. I washed my face and ate in the sitting room as usual, while Okusan served me from the other side of the brazier. As I sat there, bowl in hand, eating what could be either breakfast or lunch, I was agonizing over how to broach the subject of Ojsan, so no doubt I looked every bit the part of a suffering invalid.

I finished the meal and lit a cigarette. Okusan could not leave until I rose, so she sat on beside the brazier. The maid was called in to remove the dishes, while Okusan kept me company, busying herself with topping up the kettle or wiping the rim of the brazier as she sat there.

"Is there something you ought to be doing?" I asked.

"No," she said, then inquired why I wanted to know.

"Actually," I replied, "I have something I'd like to discuss."

"What is it?" she said casually, her eyes on my face. She was treating the moment lightly, apparently unreceptive to my mood, and I faltered over how to proceed. After beating about the bush for a while, I finally asked whether K had recently said anything to her.

"What about?" she asked, startled. Then, before I could answer, she said, "Did he say something to you?"

CHAPTER 99.

"No," I replied, having no intention of telling Okusan what K had confessed to me. But the lie immediately made me unhappy. I awkwardly backed away from it by saying that K hadn't asked me to say anything on his behalf that I could recall, and my present business had nothing to do with him.

"I see," she said, and waited for more.

There was nothing for it but to broach the subject at last. "Okusan," I said abruptly, "I wish to marry Ojsan."

She took this more calmly than I had antic.i.p.ated, although she stared at me in silence, apparently at a loss how to respond.

But I had gone too far now to let her gaze disconcert me. "Please, Okusan. Please let me marry her," I said. "Let me make her my wife."

Okusan's mature years lent her far greater calm than I could muster. "That's all very well," she replied, "but isn't this rather hasty?"

"It's now I want to marry her," I said, which made her laugh.

"Have you thought this through properly?" she went on.

I earnestly a.s.sured her that although the request was sudden, the impulse behind it was anything but.

A few more questions followed, which I have forgotten. Okusan had quite a masculine clarity and directness that made her far easier to talk to than the usual woman in this kind of situation.

"Very good," she finally said. "You may have her. Or rather," she corrected herself, "since I'm not in a position to speak so patronizingly, let me say, 'Please take her for your wife.' As you know, the poor girl has no father to give her away."

And so the question was settled, straightforwardly and without fuss. It would have taken no more than fifteen minutes from beginning to end. Okusan demanded no conditions. It would not be necessary to consult the relatives, she maintained. All she had to do was inform them of the decision. She even stated that there was no need to consult the wishes of Ojsan herself.

Here I balked-educated man though I was, I was apparently the more conventional in such matters. As for the relatives, I said, I would leave that up to her, but surely the right thing to do next was to gain the girl's consent.

"Please don't worry," Okusan replied. "I wouldn't make her marry anyone she didn't want to."

Once back in my room, I felt somewhat unnerved at how remarkably smoothly the discussion had gone. I even found myself almost doubting that it could all really be as safely settled as it seemed. At the same time, however, my whole being was swept with a sense of renewal at the thought that the future was now decided.

Around noon I went into the living room and asked Okusan when she planned to tell Ojsan the news of our conversation. Since she had already agreed, she said, it didn't matter when she told her daughter. I turned to go back to my room with the uncomfortable feeling that she was playing the male far better than I was in all this, but Okusan held me back. If I wished, she said, she would tell her daughter right away, as soon as she came back from her lessons that day.

That would be best, I agreed, and returned to my room. But the idea of sitting mutely at my desk listening as the two of them murmured together in the distance made me jittery. At length I put on my hat and went out.

And now once again, on the road below the house, I crossed paths with Ojsan coming up. Quite innocent of all that had happened, she looked surprised to see me.

"You're back, are you?" I said politely, raising my hat.

"Are you better now?" she asked in a rather puzzled tone.

"Yes, yes, much better, thanks," I replied, and stepped briskly around the corner toward Suid Bridge.

CHAPTER 100.

I walked through Sarugaku-ch, out onto the main street of Shinbch, and turned toward Ogawamachi. This was the route I usually took when I wanted to browse among the secondhand bookshops, but today I could not summon any interest in tattered old volumes. As I strode along, it was the house I had left that filled my thoughts. I thought of what Okusan had said that morning, and I imagined what would follow once Ojsan arrived back. My legs seemed propelled forward by these two thoughts. From time to time, I found myself halting in the middle of the road at the thought that Okusan would at this moment be talking to Ojsan. Then my feet would pause again when it struck me that by now the conversation would probably be over.

At length I crossed the Mansei Bridge, climbed the hill to Kanda Myjin Shrine, then from Hong Hill made my way down Kikusaka to the foot of the road leading up to Koishikawa. Throughout this long walk, in essence a kind of elliptical course through three city wards,1 I had scarcely thought once of K. Looking back now, I ask myself why, but there are no answers. I can only marvel that it was so. I could simply say that my heart was so intensely focused on the scene at home that it drove him from my mind, but it astonishes me to think that my conscience could let that happen. I had scarcely thought once of K. Looking back now, I ask myself why, but there are no answers. I can only marvel that it was so. I could simply say that my heart was so intensely focused on the scene at home that it drove him from my mind, but it astonishes me to think that my conscience could let that happen.

My conscience sprang to life again the moment I opened the lattice door at the entrance and stepped into the house, to follow my usual course through K's room into mine. He was, as always, seated at his desk reading. As always, he raised his eyes from the book and looked at me. But he did not say the habitual words, "Just back, are you?" Instead he said, "Are you better now? Have you been to the doctor?"

In that instant I had the urge to kneel before him and ask his pardon. Nor was this some mere feeble impulse. I believe that if K and I had been standing in the wilderness together just then, I would have followed the dictates of my conscience and begged his forgiveness. But there were others in the house. My natural instinct was quickly curbed. And to my sorrow, it never returned.

We saw each other again over the evening meal. Innocent of what had happened, K was merely subdued. He cast no suspicious glance my way. Okusan, of course, understood nothing of how things stood and was markedly cheerful. Only I knew everything. The food was lead in my mouth.

Ojsan did not join us at the table as she usually did. "I won't be long," she called from the next room when Okusan urged her to join us.

K looked surprised and finally asked Okusan what was wrong.

"She's probably feeling shy," replied Okusan, sending a glance in my direction.

"Why should she?" K persisted, increasingly puzzled.

Okusan looked at me again, with a little smile.

As soon as I came to the table, I had been able to guess from Okusan's face more or less what had transpired. But the thought of sitting there while everything was explained to K was intolerable. Okusan was the kind of person who could all too easily do this without a second thought, and I was cold with trepidation. Luckily, however, K sank back into silence, and Okusan, though more jovial than usual, did not after all move the conversation in the direction I dreaded. With a sigh of relief, I returned to my room.

But I was haunted with worry over how to deal with K. I prepared an a.r.s.enal of justifications for my defense, but none would hold up when I was face-to-face with him. Coward that I was, I had no stomach for the explanation I would have to give.