"Sell them to a secondhand dealer."

"How much would they come to?"

Instead of replying, Sensei continued to talk hypothetically about his own death. He was firmly a.s.suming he would die before his wife.

Although she had initially treated the conversation lightly, it finally began to oppress her sensitive woman's heart. "You keep saying 'When I die, when I die.' That's enough talk about the next world, please. It's inauspicious. If you die, I'll do everything as you'd have wanted, rest a.s.sured. What more could you ask?"

Sensei looked out at the garden and smiled. But to avoid upsetting her further, he said no more on the subject.

I was overstaying my visit, so I hastily rose again to leave. Sensei and his wife saw me to the entrance hall.

"Take good care of your father," she said.

"See you in September," said Sensei.

I said my farewells and stepped out past the lattice gate. The bushy osmanthus between the entrance and the front gate spread its branches wide in the darkness as if to block my way. As I pushed the few steps past it, I imagined the scented flowers of the autumn to come, on those twigs where dark leaves now flourished. My mental image of Sensei's house had always been inseparable from this osmanthus bush.

As I paused there and turned back to look at the house, imagining the autumn day when I would cross that threshold again, the hall light that had been shining through the lattice front was suddenly extinguished. Sensei and his wife had evidently gone back inside. I made my way on alone through the darkness.

I did not go straight back to my lodgings. There were things I needed to buy before my journey, and besides, I had to ease my belly, which was crammed with fine food, so I set off to walk toward the bustling town. It was still full of the activity of early evening. Men and women were casually thronging the streets.

I ran into a friend who had just graduated with me, and he pulled me off to a bar, where I listened to his high-spirited chatter, frothy as the beer we drank. It was past midnight when I finally got home.

CHAPTER 36.

The following day I went out again, braving the heat to buy the various things I had been asked to get. It had not seemed much when I received the letter with the list of purchases, but when it came to the point, it proved extremely tiresome. Wiping my sweat as I sat in the streetcar, I cursed these country folk who never spared a sympathetic thought for the time and effort to which they were putting someone else.

I did not intend to spend my summer back at home idly. I had worked out a daily program to follow and set out to gather the books I needed to pursue my plan. I had decided to spend a good half day on the second floor of Maruzen bookshop, looking through the foreign books. I located the shelves particularly relevant to my field and went through them methodically, investigating every book.

The most troublesome item on the shopping list was some ladies' kimono collars. The shop a.s.sistant produced quite a few of them for me to look at, but when the time came for me to decide which ones to purchase, I could not. Another problem was that the prices seemed quite arbitrary. A collar that looked cheap turned out to be highly expensive, while others that I had pa.s.sed over as expensive-looking actually cost very little. For the life of me I could not tell what made one more valuable than another. The whole mission defeated me, and I regretted not having troubled Sensei's wife to come along and help me.

I bought a travel bag. It was, of course, only an inferior, locally made one, but its shiny metal fittings would look impressive enough to dazzle country folk. My mother had asked me in a letter to buy a travel bag, to carry all the gifts home, and she had specifically said a new bag. I'd laughed aloud when I read that. I appreciated her kindly intention, but the words somehow struck me as funny.

Three days later I set off on the train for home, as I had told Sensei and his wife I would on the night when I said my farewells. Sensei had been warning me about my father's illness since winter, and I had every reason to be concerned about it, but for some reason the question did not much bother me. I was more disturbed by the problem of how my poor mother would fare after his death.

Clearly, something in me had already accepted the fact that he must die. In a letter to my elder brother in Kyushu I had admitted as much, writing that our father could not possibly recover his health. Although no doubt he was tied up with work, I added, perhaps my brother should try to get back and see him over the summer. I rounded it off with an emotional plea that our two aged parents living together alone in the country must surely be lonely, which should lie heavily on the consciences of us children. I wrote those words simply as they occurred to me, but once they were out, I found myself feeling rather different.

In the train I pondered these contradictions, and I soon began to see myself as superficial and emotionally irresponsible. Gloomily, I thought again of Sensei and his wife and recalled our conversation of a few evenings earlier, when I had gone there for dinner.

I pondered the question that had arisen between them then: Which will die first? Which will die first? Who could give a confident answer to that question? I thought. And suppose the answer were clear. What would Sensei do? What would his wife do? Surely the only thing either could do was continue just as they were-just as I too was helpless in the face of my father's approaching death back at home. A sense of human fragility swept over me, of the hopeless frailty of our innately superficial nature. Who could give a confident answer to that question? I thought. And suppose the answer were clear. What would Sensei do? What would his wife do? Surely the only thing either could do was continue just as they were-just as I too was helpless in the face of my father's approaching death back at home. A sense of human fragility swept over me, of the hopeless frailty of our innately superficial nature.

PART II.

MY PARENTS AND I.

CHAPTER 37.

When I arrived home, I was surprised to see that my father's health seemed remarkably unchanged.

"So you're home, eh?" he greeted me. "Well, well. Still, it's a fine thing you've graduated. Wait a moment, I'll just go and wash my face."

He had been engaged in some task out in the garden, and now he went around to the well at the back of the house. As he walked, the grubby handkerchief he had fixed to the back of his old straw hat to keep off the sun flapped behind him.

I considered graduation a perfectly normal achievement, and my father's unexpected degree of pleasure in it was gratifying.

"A fine thing you've graduated"-he repeated these words again and again. In my heart, I compared my father's joy with Sensei's reaction at the dinner table after the graduation ceremony. He had said "Congratulations," but his private disdain was evident in his face. Sensei, I thought, was more cultured and admirable than my father, with his unashamed delight. In the final a.n.a.lysis, what I felt was displeasure at the reek of country boorishness in my father's innocence.

"There's nothing particularly fine in graduating from the university," I found myself responding testily. "Hundreds of people do it every year, you know."

My father's expression changed. "I'm not just talking about the graduation. That's a fine thing, to be sure, but what I'm saying has a bit more to it. If only you'd understand what I'm getting at . . ."

I asked him what he meant. He seemed disinclined to talk about it at first but finally said, "What I mean is, it's fine for me personally. You know about this illness of mine. When I saw you in the winter, at the end of last year, I had a feeling I might not last more than three or four more months. And here I am, still doing so well. It's wonderful. I can still get around without any trouble. And now you've graduated as well. That's why I'm happy, see?

"You must realize how it pleases me that this son of mine, whom I raised with such love and care, should graduate while I'm still alive and well to witness it. Having someone make such a fuss about a mere graduation must seem boring to you, with all your aspirations-I can see that. But stand in my shoes, and you'll see it a bit differently. What I'm saying is, it's a fine thing for me, if not for you, don't you see?"

Speechless, I hung my head, overwhelmed by shame that no apology could express. I saw that my father had calmly been preparing to die and had decided it would probably happen before my graduation. I had been a complete fool not to think of how my graduation would make him feel.

I took the diploma from my bag and spread it out carefully for my parents to see. Something had crushed it, and it was no longer quite the shape it had been.

My father smoothed it tenderly. "You should have carried such a precious thing home by hand, rolled up," he said.

"You'd have done better to wrap it around something solid," my mother chipped in from beside him.

After gazing at it for a while, my father rose to his feet and carried it over to the alcove, where he arranged it so that anyone who entered would immediately catch sight of it. Normally I would have made some remonstrance, but just now I was a very different person than usual. I felt not the slightest inclination to contradict my parents. I sat silently and let my father do as he would.

The warp in the thick, elegant paper refused to respond to his attempts to straighten it. No sooner had he managed to smooth it flat and stand it where he wanted than it would spring back of its own accord and threaten to tip over.

CHAPTER 38.

I called my mother aside and asked about his health. "Is it really all right for him to be going out in the garden like this and being so active?"

"There's nothing wrong with him. He seems on the whole to have recovered."

She seemed oddly calm. Typically for a woman who had spent her life among fields and woods far from the city, she was completely innocent in such matters. Yet her calmness struck me as peculiar, considering how disconcerted and worried she had been earlier, when my father had fainted. "But back then the doctor's diagnosis was that it was a very problematic illness, wasn't it?"

"Well, it seems to me there's no knowing what the human body's capable of. The doctor sounded very grim, and yet look at your father today, still so hale and hearty. I was worried for a while and tried all I could to stop him from doing things. But that's just who he is, isn't it? He takes care of himself, but he's stubborn. Once he gets it into his head that he's well, he'll ignore me if I try to tell him otherwise."

I recalled the way my father had looked and acted on my previous visit, when he had made such an effort to be out of bed and shaved. Your mother shouldn't go exaggerating things, Your mother shouldn't go exaggerating things, he had said, but I couldn't entirely blame her. I was about to suggest that she should at least keep an eye on him but thought better of it. I just told her everything I knew about his disease, although most of it was only what I had learned from Sensei and his wife. he had said, but I couldn't entirely blame her. I was about to suggest that she should at least keep an eye on him but thought better of it. I just told her everything I knew about his disease, although most of it was only what I had learned from Sensei and his wife.

My mother did not seem particularly affected as she listened. She merely remarked, "Well, well, the same illness, eh? Poor thing. What age was she when she died?"

I gave up pursuing the matter with her any further and went directly to my father.

He listened to my warnings with more attention. "Absolutely. Just as you say," he responded. "But after all, my body's my own, you know, and naturally I know best how to look after it, with all my years of experience."

When I repeated this remark to my mother, she smiled grimly. "There you are, I told you so."

"But he's thoroughly aware of the problem. That's exactly why he was so overjoyed to see me after I graduated. He told me so. He said he'd thought before that he might not be alive, so he was happy he'd survived in good health till I could bring back the diploma for him to see."

"Well, he's just saying that, you know. In his heart of hearts he's convinced he's still fine."

"You really think so?"

"He plans to live another ten or twenty years. Mind you, he does talk rather mournfully sometimes. 'I may not have much longer to go,' he'll say. 'What will you do when I die? Will you stay on here alone?' "

I found myself imagining this big old country house with my mother left alone here after my father's death. Would she be able to keep it going on her own? What would my brother do? What would she say? And in the face of this knowledge, could I turn my back on the situation and go back to my carefree life in Tokyo? Now, with my mother before me, Sensei's warning sprang into my mind-that I must make sure the property division was seen to while my father was still well.

"But there you are," she continued. "People can carry on about dying and never show any sign of actually doing it, you know. That's how your father is; he'll talk of death like this, but who knows how long he'll go on living? So don't worry. There's actually more cause to worry with someone who seems healthy and never talks like that."

I listened in silence to these trite sentiments, unsure whether they sprang from mere speculation or hard facts.

CHAPTER 39.

My parents discussed together the idea of inviting guests over for a special celebratory meal in my honor. I had had a gloomy premonition that this might happen ever since I arrived.

I was quick to reject the idea, begging them not to go making an unnecessary fuss.

I disliked the kind of guests you got in the provinces. They came over with the sole intention of eating and drinking, happy for any excuse to get together. Since childhood I had suffered at having to be present at the table with these people-I could well imagine how much more painful it would be if I was the cause of the gathering. But I couldn't very well tell my parents not to invite such vulgar people over for a noisy get-together, so I contented myself with stressing that I didn't want all this fuss about nothing.

"But it's far from nothing," my mother responded. "It's a once-in-a-lifetime event. It's only natural that we should have a party to celebrate. Don't be so modest." She seemed to be taking my graduation as seriously as she would a marriage.

"We don't have to invite them," my father put in, "but if we don't, there'll be talk." He was concerned about what would be said behind his back. And true enough, these people were inclined to gossip and criticize at the slightest provocation if things weren't done as they believed they should be in such situations.

"It's not like Tokyo, you know," he went on. "Here in the country people make demands."

"Your father's reputation is at stake too," my mother added.

I couldn't press my own position. I decided simply to go along with whatever suited them.

"I was just asking you not to do it for my sake. If you feel there'd be unpleasant talk behind your back, that's a different matter. There's no point in insisting on having my way if it's going to cause problems for you."

"You're making things difficult with that argument," my father said unhappily.

"Your father wasn't saying he's doing it for your sake," my mother broke in. "But surely you must be aware yourself of your social obligations." Woman that she was, my mother's reasoning grew rather incoherent at such times, though when it came to talking, she could easily outdo my father and me combined.

All my father said was "It's a shame that an education just gives people the means to chop logic." But in this simple comment I read all my father's dissatisfaction with me. Unaware of my own stiff and chilly tone, I thought only of how unfairly he was seeing me.

His mood improved that evening, and he asked me when it would suit me to invite the guests. No time was more suitable than any other for me, since I was just hanging around the old house doing nothing but sleeping and waking, so I took this as an indication that my father was being conciliatory. Seeing him so mild and gentle, I could only bow my head in acquiescence. We discussed the question and came up with a date for the invitations.

But before the day arrived, something important occurred: it was announced that Emperor Meiji was ill. The word spread quickly around j.a.pan via the newspapers.

The plans for the celebratory party had already upset our provincial household. Now, just when the matter seemed settled, this news came to scatter those plans like so much dust upon the wind.

"Under the circ.u.mstances I think we'd better call it off." So said my father as he sat, bespectacled, reading the newspaper. He seemed to be silently thinking also of his own illness.

For my part, I recalled the sight of the emperor when he had so recently come to the university, as was the custom, for our graduation ceremony.

CHAPTER 40.

A hush fell over our big old echoing house and its few inhabitants. I unpacked my wicker trunk and tried to read, but for some reason I felt restless. I had been far more happily focused and able to study back in my second-floor room in hectic Tokyo, turning the pages as the distant streetcars rattled in my ears.

Now as I read, I was inclined to drop my head onto the desk and nap; sometimes I brought out a pillow and indulged in a real sleep. I would awaken to the pounding song of cicadas. That sound, which seemed like a continuation of my dreams, suddenly tormented my ears with painful intensity. As I lay motionless, listening, sad thoughts would sometimes settle over me.

Abandoning reading for my writing brush, I wrote brief post-cards or long letters to various friends. Some had stayed on in Tokyo, while others had returned to distant homes. Some replied; from others I heard nothing. Needless to say, I did not neglect Sensei-I sent him three closely written pages describing all that had happened since my return. As I sealed the envelope, I wondered whether he was still in Tokyo.

Customarily, whenever Sensei and his wife went away, a woman in her fifties with a plain widow's haircut came and looked after the house. I once asked him what relation she was to them, to which he replied, "What do you think?" I had had the mistaken impression that she was a relative of his. "I have no relatives," he responded, when I told him this. He had absolutely no communication with anyone related to him back in his hometown. The woman who looked after the house turned out to be someone from his wife's family.

As I slipped my letter into the post, an image of this woman, her narrow obi obi informally knotted at her back, rose unbidden in my mind. If this letter arrived after Sensei and his wife had left for their summer retreat, would she have the good sense and kindness to send it straight on to him? I wondered. I was well aware that the letter did not contain anything of real importance; it was just that I was lonely and antic.i.p.ating his reply. But nothing came. informally knotted at her back, rose unbidden in my mind. If this letter arrived after Sensei and his wife had left for their summer retreat, would she have the good sense and kindness to send it straight on to him? I wondered. I was well aware that the letter did not contain anything of real importance; it was just that I was lonely and antic.i.p.ating his reply. But nothing came.

My father was not as keen on playing shgi shgi as he had been the previous winter. The dust-covered as he had been the previous winter. The dust-covered shgi shgi board had been set aside in a corner of the alcove. Since the news of the emperor's illness reached us, he had grown thoughtful and preoccupied. He waited each day for the newspaper to be delivered and was the first to read it. Once done he would bring its pages over for me, wherever I happened to be. board had been set aside in a corner of the alcove. Since the news of the emperor's illness reached us, he had grown thoughtful and preoccupied. He waited each day for the newspaper to be delivered and was the first to read it. Once done he would bring its pages over for me, wherever I happened to be.

"Here, look at this. More details on His Majesty's condition." This was how he always referred to the emperor. "It's a presumptuous thing to say, but His Majesty's illness is a little like my own."