The Setting Sun

And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household.

He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.

And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me.

He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.

Outbreak of hostilities.

If because of love I were to swear to obey without fail these teachings of Jesus, to the very letter, I wonder if He would condemn me. Why is physical love bad and spiritual love good? I don’t understand. I can’t help feeling that they are the same. I would like to boast that I am she who could destroy her body and soul in Gehenna for the sake of a love, for the sake of a passion she could not understand, or for the sake of the sorrow they engendered.

My uncle arranged for the cremation in Izu and the observances in Tokyo. Naoji and I then began our life together, on terms so bad that even when we met face to face we did not speak. Naoji sold all of Mother’s jewelry, styling it “capital” for his publishing venture. When he had exhausted himself in drinking in Tokyo, he would come staggering back, his face deathly pale, like a patient in the last stages of some terrible disease.

One afternoon he turned up with a girl, who looked like a dancer. This made things even more awkward than was usual, and I suggested, “Would it be all right if I went to Tokyo today? I’d like to visit a friend I haven’t seen in years. I’ll spend two or three nights with her. You won’t mind looking after the house, will you? You can have the girl cook for you.”

I did not hesitate a moment to take advantage of Naoji’s weakness. Thus, quite naturally, displaying the wisdom of the serpent, I stuffed my bag with cosmetics and food and left for Tokyo to see my lover.

Naoji had once told me after a casual inquiry on my part that Mr. Uehara’s new house was about twenty minutes’ walk from the north exit of the Ogikubo Station on the Tokyo Suburban Line. A blustery autumn wind was blowing that day. It was already growing dark when I got off at Ogikubo Station. I stopped a passerby to ask where Mr. Uehara’s house was, but even after being informed I wandered aimlessly for close to an hour through the dark alleys. I felt so forlorn that the tears came. All of a sudden I tripped over a stone in the street, and the strap of my sandals snapped. As I stood there helplessly, wondering what to do, I noticed the name-plate on one of a row of houses to my right, a whitish blob in the dark. I intuitively felt certain that the name Uehara would be written on it. I hobbled over to the entrance, one foot without a sandal. I peered at the plate. Sure enough, it was inscribed “Uehara Jiro,” but the interior of the house was dark.

I stood motionless for another moment, at a loss what to do. At length, with a kind of wild desperation, I pressed myself against the door as if about to collapse over it.

“Excuse me,” I called, stroking the frame of the window panes with the finger tips of both hands. “Mr. Uehara,” I whispered.

/> There was an answer. But it was a woman’s voice.

The entrance door was opened from the inside, and a woman with a thin face, some three or four years older than I and wearing an old-fashioned scent, appeared in the dark hall. There was the flash of a smile as she asked, “Who is it please?” I could detect no malice or threat in her tone.

“Oh, excuse me, I—” But I had missed the chance to say my name. She might have found my love dishonorable. Timidly, almost with servility, I asked, “Is Mr. Uehara at home?”

“No.” She looked at my face with an expression of pity, adding, “But he usually goes….”

“Far from here?”

“No.” She put one hand to her mouth as if amused. “It’s in Ogikubo. If you go to the Shiraishi lunch stand in front of the station, they generally know where he is.”

I could have leaped with excitement.

“Oh, what is the matter with your sandal?” She invited me inside. I went into the hall and sat on a bench. Mrs. Uehara gave me a leather strap which I used to replace the broken one. While I busied myself repairing the sandal, she lighted a candle and brought it into the hall. “I’m sorry, but both of our electric bulbs have burned out. It’s shocking, isn’t it, how terribly dear bulbs have become nowadays and how quickly they burn out? If my husband were at home I could get him to buy another one, but he hasn’t come home for two nights running, and my daughter and I have been going to bed early without a penny in our pockets!”

She spoke with a genuinely un-self-conscious smile. Behind her stood a thin little girl of about twelve with big eyes and a manner which suggested that she did not often take to people. I did not actually consider them my enemies, but I could be quite sure that one day this woman and child would think of me in those terms and hate me. At this thought I felt as if my love had all of a sudden chilled. I finished changing the strap on my sandal, stood up, and clapped my hands together to brush off the dirt. An unbearably intense foretaste of misery crowded in on me at that moment. I considered rushing into the darkness of the sitting-room to clutch Mrs. Uehara’s hand in mine and weep with her. I trembled violently at the thought, only to give it up in sudden dismay when I realized the hypocritical, indescribably unattractive figure I should later make.

“I’m most grateful to you,” I said, and, making a preposterously polite bow, fled outside. The wind lacerated me. Outbreak of hostilities. I love him, I long for him. I really love him, yes, I really want him. I love him so much I can’t help it. I want him so much I can’t help it. Yes. I am quite aware that his wife is an unusually sweet person and his little girl is lovely, but I have been stood on God’s platform of judgment, and I haven’t a trace of guilty conscience. Man was born for love and revolution. There is no reason for God to punish me. I am not in the least wicked. I really love him and there’s nothing I won’t do to be with him. I’ll spend two, three nights sleeping in the fields if necessary. Yes, I will.

I had no trouble finding the Shiraishi lunch stand in front of the station. He was not there.

“He’s at Asagaya, I’m sure of it. You head straight for the north exit of the Asagaya Station and, let’s see, you go about one hundred fifty yards, I guess. There you’ll find a hardware shop, and you go right from there, fifty yards or so, and you’ll find a little restaurant called the Willow. Mr. Uehara is having an affair with one of the waitresses, and he spends all his time there. That’s where he’s taken his business now.”

I went to the station, bought a ticket, and boarded a Toyko-bound train. I got off at Asagaya, left by the north exit, and followed directions until I reached the Willow. It was completely deserted.

“He just left in a great crowd of people. They said they were going to spend the night drinking at the Chidori in Nishiogi.” The waitress was younger than I, self-possessed, refined, and friendly. I wondered if she was the girl with whom he was having his “affair.”

“The Chidori? Where in Nishiogi is that?” I felt discouraged and on the verge of tears. I wondered suddenly if I had not gone quite insane.

“I don’t know exactly, but I think it’s somewhere near the station, to the left. In any case I’m sure you can find out if you ask at the police box. But he’s not the kind of man to be satisfied with just one place, and he may be trapped somewhere on the way to the Chidori.”

“I’ll go to the Chidori and see. Good-bye.”

Again the train, this time in the opposite direction. I got off at Nishiogi and wandered about in the gale until I found the police box. They told me the way to the Chidori, and I hurried along the dark streets, almost running. I spied the blue lantern of the Chidori and without hesitation slid open the door. In a small smoke-filled room, ten or so people were sitting around a large table, carrying on a rowdy drinking party. Three of them were girls, somewhat younger than I, drinking and smoking like the men.