The Gate

  On the surface neither husband nor wife showed signs of being the worrying kind. That in fact they were not could be inferred from their attitude toward Koroku’s situation. Predictably, it was Oyone who suggested once or twice: “Isn’t Yasu-san back yet? Why don’t you go over to Banchō next Sunday and see”; to which Sōsuke replied: “Sure, why not.” But when the designated Sunday came around he appeared to have blithely forgotten all about it. While noticing this dereliction, Oyone made no attempt to admonish him. If the weather was fair she would say, “Why don’t you take a stroll?”; if it was raining, “Well, it’s a good thing it’s Sunday.”

  Fortunately Koroku had not descended on them again. A young man of a compulsive and excitable temperament, he would pursue unremittingly whatever was uppermost in his mind, a trait that had been apparent in the Sōsuke of distant schooldays. On the other hand, when Koroku’s mood changed he became a different person, with a good-natured look on his face, as if the cares of yesterday were totally forgotten. Here too the brothers’ common blood showed: Sōsuke had been just like this long ago. Koroku had a relatively lucid mind and, while it was not clear whether it was a case of pouring passion onto his reason or cloaking his emotions in rational trappings, he was at any rate never satisfied with a proposition until he could discern its underlying logic; once he had done so, he would zealously push it to its conclusion. His will, moreover, was far stronger than his physical constitution might suggest, and his youthful impetuosity made him capable of almost anything.

  Whenever Sōsuke saw Koroku he was struck by a sensation of watching his old self resurrected and in motion. At times this made him nervous. On other occasions it even made him feel bitter—a bitterness caused by the thought that fate may have deliberately thrust Koroku before his eyes in order to summon up as often as possible harsh memories of how obsessively he himself had behaved before. This thought in turn became terrifying; he would tremble at the prospect that by virtue of his birth his brother was bound to succumb to the same fate that had befallen himself. Depending on the moment, however, this prospect created not so much concern as irritation.

  And yet to this day Sōsuke had never criticized Koroku for his behavior, nor for that matter had he offered him any advice for the future. His treatment of his brother was thoroughly conventional and unexceptionable. The life he now led appeared so subdued as to be completely at odds with his previous existence. Thus in his dealings with Koroku it was hard to detect anything of the experienced elder brother that suggested he even had what might be called “a past.”

  Two other boys had been born between the brothers but had died in infancy; Sōsuke and Koroku themselves were ten years apart. While still in his first year as a university student Sōsuke had for certain reasons transferred to Kyoto;[13] his daily life under the same roof with his brother thus came to an end when Koroku was only about twelve. Koroku’s defiant, mischievous ways at that age were fresh in Sōsuke’s memory. Their father was still alive then, and the family’s circumstances were comfortable enough to afford a full-time rickshaw man, who had been provided with a modest dwelling on the property. The rickshaw man had a son, younger by three years than Koroku, who was the latter’s constant playmate. One midsummer day Sōsuke found the two of them under a large persimmon tree, rigging up a cicada trap with a bag of sweets dangling from a long pole. “Kenbō, out in this heat bareheaded you’ll get sunstroke,” he had said and produced an old summer hat of Koroku’s for the boy to wear. Koroku flew into a rage at his brother for having given away something that belonged to him without permission. Swiping the hat from Kenbō’s hand, he threw it to the ground and with the motion of one bounding uphill repeatedly stomped on it until the straw hat was pulverized. Sōsuke jumped down from the veranda in his bare feet and smacked Koroku on the head. From that time on he retained in his mind’s eye an image of Koroku as a spiteful brat.

  In his second year at university Sōsuke had had to withdraw; his situation also made it impossible for him to return to Tokyo. Soon after that he moved from Kyoto to Hiroshima, where he had been living for about six months when his father died. His mother had died six years earlier. The only immediate family ties left to him consisted of his father’s twenty-five-year-old mistress and Koroku, who was then fifteen.

  On receiving news of his father’s death in a telegram from the Saekis, Sōsuke had returned to Tokyo after his long absence. Once the funeral was over and he had begun looking into his family’s finances in order to settle the estate, he not only found the assets on hand to be less than expected but was shocked to discover extensive debts he had known nothing about. After consulting with his uncle he was persuaded that he really had no choice but to sell the family house. He decided to hand over an appropriate sum to the mistress and let her go without further ado. And for the time being he entrusted the care and lodging of Koroku to his uncle. The pressing matter of the real estate sale could not, however, be resolved on the spot. To get it off his hands right away, his only recourse was to rely, at least temporarily, on his uncle’s good offices. Saeki was an entrepreneur and something of a speculator who had tried his hand at assorted ventures, all of them inevitably failures. When Sōsuke was still living in Tokyo, his uncle often extracted money from his father with proposals couched in glowing terms. The total amount poured into his uncle’s ventures on the basis of these blandishments, doubtless abetted by a measure of greed on his father’s part, was no small sum.

  At the time of his father’s death his uncle’s circumstances seemed to be more or less as they had always been. Nevertheless, in addition to a sense of duty toward the deceased, as is the way with such men when the chips are down, he showed himself to be of a generous spirit and did not hesitate to assume responsibility for what were Sōsuke’s affairs. As part of the arrangement, however, Sōsuke gave his uncle total control over the sale of the real estate. In short, in return for a quick solution to his need for ready cash, he in effect presented his uncle with the house and grounds.

  “Anyway, with a property like this, if you don’t deal directly with the buyer, you’ll take a beating,” his uncle had said.

  In a similar vein, Sōsuke simply accepted an estimated valuation of the furniture, with those items of no appreciable value to be disposed of as a wholesale lot. When it came to half a dozen scroll paintings and a dozen or so antiques, he again deferred to his uncle’s view that they should wait for particularly eager buyers, in the meantime entrusting everything to his care. Excluding these various set-asides, the legacy Sōsuke was left with came to a total of approximately two thousand yen, some portion of which, he recognized, had to be spent on Koroku’s tuition. But he also realized that in his present, far from stable position, it would be risky for him to take charge of the monthly tuition payments, and so, gritting his teeth, he handed over half of the legacy to his uncle, with the request that he kindly assume this responsibility, too. Having stumbled badly along the way himself, it was Sōsuke’s primary concern here to support Koroku on the path to success. As for what would happen when the thousand yen ran out, he could worry about that later; and there was always the lingering prospect, by no means certain, that his uncle might come up with something more—so he had told himself as he left Tokyo to return to Hiroshima.

  Halfa year later a letter arrived from his uncle, written in his own hand, stating that the house had been sold, and now he could set his mind to rest on that score. But as no mention was made of how much it had sold for, Sōsuke wrote by return mail asking for clarification. Two weeks later his uncle wrote to the effect that inasmuch as the proceeds had fortunately been sufficient to cover expenses already incurred, Sōsuke need have no further worries about the matter. Sōsuke was far from satisfied with this response, in which his uncle had added that a discussion of further particulars could be deferred to such a time as he might have the pleasure of a visit from his nephew, et cetera, et cetera.

  When he had read this Sōsuke felt like leaving for Tokyo immediately, and he expl
ained things to his wife, tacitly seeking her advice. Oyone looked pained as she listened, but answered with her characteristic smile, “But you can’t go, so there’s really nothing to be done about it.” Looking very much like a man who had for the first time had a sentence pronounced on him by his wife, he pondered awhile, arms folded against his chest. No matter how he looked at it, his hands were tied; he was a prisoner of circumstances he could not control. Thus things had reached an impasse.

  With no other recourse, Sōsuke continued his correspondence, exchanging three or four more letters with his uncle. But the answer was always the same, as though etched in stone: “When I have the pleasure of a visit . . .”

  “This is a total waste of time,” he said to Oyone, the anger written on his face.

  Three months later he finally had an opportunity to travel to Tokyo with Oyone and was all set to leave when he caught a cold and took to his bed, after which his cold developed into intestinal typhus. He was bedridden for more than two months, and for still another month he was too weak to do much work.

  Not long after his recovery, new developments necessitated a move farther west, from Hiroshima to Fukuoka. Sōsuke was searching for a good opportunity to make a quick trip to Tokyo before the move when another set of constraints cropped up, so that in the end he had to cancel his plans yet again and instead entrust his fate to a train bound in the opposite direction. It was around this time that the money he had pocketed upon vacating the property in Tokyo ran out. During the ensuing two years, roughly corresponding to their stay in Fukuoka, it was a struggle living from day to day. Sōsuke often thought back to his student days in Kyoto, to those distant times when he would find various pretexts, for instance “special supplemental tuition fees,” for extracting from his father large sums that he would then spend freely on whatever he wanted. Comparing that life to his present predicament, he trembled at the inexorable workings of karmic retribution. On occasion he reminisced about the springtime that had stealthily passed him by, and he acknowledged to himself, as if opening his eyes for the first time to gaze back into those far-off mists, that it had been his one moment of glory.

  Things went from bad to worse for them, and Sōsuke now said to his wife, “I’ve let it go for a long time, but I think it’s time to go to Tokyo and have a talk with him.”

  Oyone did not argue with him, of course. She simply looked down and responded forlornly, “It won’t do any good. Your uncle has absolutely no trust in us.”

  “Well, maybe not, but we have no trust in him, either,” Sōsuke retorted defiantly, but he had only to look at Oyone’s downcast eyes and his pluck would evaporate. After the matter had first been broached, it came up in discussions of this sort once or twice a month, then once every other month, and eventually once in three, until finally Sōsuke broke down and said to his wife, “All right, then, just so long as he manages to do something for Koroku. As for the other business, I guess it can wait till I get to Tokyo and meet with him face-to-face. What do you think, Oyone, isn’t that the best way to handle it?”

  “Yes, that is definitely the best approach,” Oyone replied.

  With that, Sōsuke at last dropped the subject of the Saekis. Given his past conduct toward his father, he realized that he could not simply ask his uncle for a handout, and had never so much as hinted at such a request in their correspondence. Letters arrived intermittently from Koroku, but most of them were short and stilted. Picturing only the Koroku he had last seen shortly after their father’s death, Sōsuke still saw him as a guileless boy whom he would not dream of using as an intermediary in negotiations with their uncle.

  The couple lived in seclusion, each utterly dependent on the other in their daily life, clinging together for warmth in a cold, sunless world. Whenever things turned especially harsh Oyone would say only, “Oh well, it can’t be helped.” And Sōsuke would respond, “That’s right, we’ll get by somehow.”

  They kept on together by force of a steadfast mixture of resignation and forbearance, seemingly without the balm of hope or any prospect for a better future. As for the past, they rarely spoke of it. Indeed at times they appeared to shun even the mere mention of bygone days, as if by tacit agreement.

  Occasionally Oyone would offer her husband words of encouragement: “Things are bound to get better soon,” or “Bad times like this can’t last forever.” To Sōsuke, however, those words sounded like the spiteful tongue of fate—a fate that had so twisted him around its finger—conveyed through the mouth of his pure-hearted wife. He could only grimace, offer a forced smile, and say nothing in reply. If on these occasions Oyone unwittingly went on in the same optimistic vein, he would cut her short and declare, “But then, people like us don’t have the right to expect very much, do they?” At which she would finally get the point and fall silent. As they continued to sit facing each other in mutual silence, they would eventually slide back into the dark hole of the past they had dug for themselves.

  In accordance with the principle of As Ye Sow, So Shall Ye Reap, the couple had erased any prospects for the future. That no resplendent vistas would open up on the path that lay ahead for them was something to which they were simply reconciled, and they contented themselves instead with making their way together hand in hand. As for the land and various rental properties that the uncle had sold off, from the outset they had not expected any huge profit. “But still,” Sōsuke would say after it had all been settled, as though the thought had just occurred to him, “with prices at the level they’ve reached lately, he must have gotten twice the amount he raised back then to cover debts, even if he just dumped it on the market. I mean, it’s outrageous!”

  “Back to the property sale, are we?” Oyone would answer with a wan smile. “You just can’t get it off your mind, can you? But weren’t you the one who said to your uncle, ‘Please, sir, be so kind as to take care of everything’?”

  “Yes, but I had no choice. At the time there was nothing else I could do about it.”

  “Well then, don’t you think it’s possible that in your uncle’s mind, instead of any money he’d at least inherited property from his brother?” said Oyone.

  Listening to Oyone, Sōsuke could see that there might be some basis for his uncle to have taken such a view of things, but he launched a spirited defense. “Maybe that was his intention, but it doesn’t mean he’s right.”

  And yet, after each revisiting of the issue it receded further and further into the background.

  For two years the couple continued their life of warm intimacy surrounded by desolation, at the end of which Sōsuke had an unexpected meeting with a former classmate named Sugihara, who had been a close friend during his university days. After graduation, Sugihara, who already held a post at a certain ministry, passed the advanced civil service examination, which led to his being dispatched from Tokyo to Fukuoka and then to Saga on special assignment. From an announcement in the local newspaper Sōsuke was well aware of the time of Sugihara’s arrival and where he was to stay. But aside from the pitiful figure he imagined himself cutting—a complete failure groveling before a highly successful colleague—he had good reason to avoid meeting any friend from those days and would not in any event have dreamed of visiting him at his inn.

  In the meantime, however, through a chance connection, Sugihara had found out for himself that Sōsuke was languishing hereabouts and insisted on a meeting. Sōsuke felt obliged to assent. It was entirely thanks to this Sugihara that it then became possible for him to move back to Tokyo. The day the letter arrived from Sugihara confirming the final arrangements, Sōsuke had set down his chopsticks and said, “Oyone. At last we can go to Tokyo.”

  “My, what good news!” she replied, gazing at her husband’s face.

  For the first two or three weeks after their arrival in Tokyo the days went by in a dizzying blur. Along with the predictably hectic business of setting up a new household and settling into a new job, they were nearly overwhelmed by the concussive stimuli that, day and nig
ht, filled the air of the bustling metropolis. They lacked the time to think about anything at leisure and the composure to weigh their options with any care.

  The long-deferred reunion with his aunt and uncle finally occurred when their train arrived at Shimbashi terminal. It may have been simply the effect of the weak light in the station, but in Sōsuke’s eyes neither of the two radiated much good cheer. An accident along the way had resulted in a rare thirty-minute delay, and there was in the weary impatience betrayed by the couple a suggestion that this had somehow been Sōsuke’s fault.

  The only thing his aunt had said to him on this occasion was, “Gracious, Sō-san, it hasn’t been that long since I last saw you, but how you’ve aged!” Not having met Oyone before, she glanced at her nephew and said somewhat hesitantly, “And this is, uh . . . ?” Oyone, at a loss for a proper greeting, merely bowed her head in silence.

  Koroku had of course accompanied his uncle and aunt to greet the couple. Sōsuke took one look at him and was astonished to see that in his absence his brother had grown to a height that rivaled his own. He had just finished middle school and was preparing to enter secondary school. On coming face-to-face with Sōsuke, Koroku barely managed an awkward greeting to his brother. He did not say “Welcome home!” nor did he address him as “Nii-san.”[14]