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Chapitre 8

My grandmother was so pitiful. She was buried in the void, the desolation, and the darkness of the earth, surrounded by emptiness.

My father and mother were buried in the same way, and perhaps they turned into skeletons in their unease. And once they became skeletons, the gaps widened even further. Why were my uncle and aunt so careless?

In comparison, that girl was perfect. The size of the suitcase was just right, with not a single piece wasted.

It was impressively full. The fit between her body and the box was perfect. Although there was still a gap between her shoulders and head and face, it was unavoidable. If that area were filled in, her beautiful face would be hidden, and she wouldn't be able to talk to him. It was a bit of a shame, but please bear with it.

Ah... I'm so envious of that man. I want his suitcase, and I want that girl.

She felt a strong romantic feeling, but at the same time, she regretted not chasing after the man.

The vulgar chanting began. She bowed her head, feigned tears, and left the venue.

There are still four days left on my vacation. There's still time. It shouldn't be too late, right?

He quickly packed his bags and left home. After all, with so many people coming and going at the vigil feast, the absence of one relative would probably go unnoticed.

The train heading north is about to arrive at the station. Get off at the next station. Then, start looking for the girl with the suitcase.

(The following is omitted)

The earliest part—the date the right wrist was discovered. I think it was probably August 29th.

The day after my feet emerged from the ground was August 20th, a date I will never forget.

If you ask me, who is usually forgetful, why I can remember the date so clearly, it's because that day left such a deep impression on me.

It lacks the vibrancy of summer, yet shows no signs of autumn.

That day was like that; I only remember that the weather was extremely hot.

At that time, I was still affected by the sad events that happened at the maternity hospital in Zashiya in early July, and I was unable to recover for a long time.

About two weeks after the incident, a publishing house invited me to write a piece. After much hesitation, I finally decided to accept. I took the job, but couldn't write a single thing. For the first week, I just sat there in a daze. The hot weather made it even harder for me, as I'm naturally sensitive to heat, to write. Finally, I started writing in August, and surprisingly, it was as if my inner demons had been banished—progress was rapid. I, who am usually slow, surprisingly finished the piece just before the deadline.

My editor, Ms. Koizumi, seemed quite surprised.

Titled "Dizziness," it is a work of about a hundred pages.

The journal, *Modern Literature*, was a monthly publication, released on the 30th of each month.

In other words, August 30th was the release date of the October issue of "Modern Literature" which featured my work. Strictly speaking, the release date and the sales date are not the same, but the book itself was of course printed several days in advance and was usually sent by mail or delivered in person by the editor in charge; in any case, it would be delivered to the writer in advance.

But at that time there was no news at all.

Koizumi didn't call until the day before the release date.

"Mr. Sekiguchi, I'm so sorry for not being able to contact you sooner. It's been so hot lately, I hope you don't get heatstroke?"

The voice sounded very cheerful, which surprised me a bit, as I had initially thought it was an announcement of the cancellation of the publication. The call was to inform me that there was something to discuss and that they wanted me to come to the publishing house in person. Since I had nothing else to do, I readily agreed.

"It is both proper and logical for me to visit him; I am truly terrified."

Ms. Koizumi spoke in a rare, very polite tone.

The day was a beautiful, clear day. The appointed time was 11:00 AM, and I got up earlier than usual, leaving before 10:00. On my way to Nakano Station on the Chuo Line, sweat poured down my face like a waterfall. My whole body felt like it had been soaked in water. Perhaps because the House of Representatives had been temporarily dissolved the day before (Note: In 1952, Japanese Prime Minister Shigeru Yoshida, seeing his previously ousted political rival Ichiro Hatoyama's growing influence in politics, unexpectedly dissolved the House of Representatives on August 28th in an attempt to undermine his power; hence, this dissolution of the House of Representatives is commonly referred to as a "surprise dissolution"), the area in front of the station was noisy and disruptive.

The publisher of "Modern Literature" was a publishing house located in Xitanshe.

The Ketan-sha Publishing House had been consistently publishing the *Ketan Monthly* since before the war. Judging from the title alone, one might assume its content was frivolous. However, it was actually a very serious magazine. Its sales seemed quite good. After the war, they also launched literary and women's magazines. Last spring, my friend Kyogoku-do—the younger sister of Chuzenji Akihiko—took a job in the editorial department of the *Ketan Monthly*. Coincidentally, at that time, I had also decided to quit my job and focus on making a living through writing. However, I had no connections in the literary world or publishing houses, and just when I was at a loss, I heard about this and felt a glimmer of hope. I asked her to introduce me to the editorial department of *Modern Literature*. Looking back, it was summer then too.

At that time, Atsuko introduced me to my current editor, Tamayo Koizumi. This editor talked about Kabuki to me on our first meeting. Unfortunately, I've never been interested in Kabuki and didn't know how to respond, so I just stammered and brushed it off. Thinking I probably wouldn't get another chance, I quietly left, but to my surprise, two or three days later I received a work assignment, which really took me by surprise. After that, I only published my work in "Modern Literature," and you could say I was the magazine's exclusive writer.

Although—in other words, this also means that other literary magazines are not interested in me, frankly speaking, they are nothing special.

About half of the first floor of the publishing house was piled up like a warehouse, while the editorial office of "Modern Literature" was located on the second floor.

I arrived about ten minutes early and, unable to bear the heat outside, pushed open the door and went inside. Upon opening it, I saw the entire editorial department in a flurry of activity, and I just stood there, frozen in the doorway. As I was considering whether to call out to someone, the sharp-eyed Ms. Koizumi noticed my arrival and said:

"Teacher, it must be tiring for you to come all this way in this hot weather. Please wait here for a moment."

I was led to the reception room by the window.

After Ms. Koizumi brought me some ice-cold tea and a newly printed magazine, she sat down next to me.

"Teacher, the others will be here soon, please wait a moment."

"Ms. Koizumi, what do you mean by 'there's something important to discuss'? And who are the other people you mentioned who are coming?"

Before Koizumi could answer my question, the answer itself came closer. It turned out to be Yamazaki Takataka, the editor-in-chief of "Modern Literature," and another man I had never met before. Yamazaki was over six feet tall (about 180 centimeters), with neatly combed white hair, and he was always smiling.

"Oh, please sit down, please sit down, don't be shy, just relax." Yamazaki stopped me from getting up to greet him.

"This is Terauchi, who is in charge of book matters for our company, and this is Mr. Sekiguchi."

The temple staff seemed used to it, handing out business cards very quickly. I, on the other hand, was completely unaccustomed to it and didn't know what to do. In the end, I accepted it with extreme formality, like receiving a graduation certificate. Of course, I didn't have a business card to reciprocate, which made me feel even more embarrassed.

Yamazaki was more of a massive man than a tall one; when he sat down, most chairs looked cramped. The sofas used for guests were no exception, appearing much smaller.

"Oh, teacher, 'Dizziness' is really well written. It has received very high praise from the editorial department."

Yamazaki said with a broad smile.

He usually has a smile on his face, but now he was practically laughing out loud.

As for me, I rarely receive praise for my work and I don't know how to react.

"Uh, thank you for thinking so highly of me."

"Please don't be so polite. Reading your work is like viewing a surreal painting; it's incredibly novel."

Is that so?

I was even more confused; the author of this assessment couldn't have imagined it. I glanced at Koizumi beside me; she was all smiles, and Terauchi seemed to have a smile on his face as well. I couldn't help but wonder if they were playing a trick on me. Terauchi regained his serious expression and asked:

"Classified as fantasy novel... no, more like avant-garde novel, right?"

"Well."

I've never actually thought about something like this.

Because for me, all my novels are personal novels (note: novels written based on my own experiences).

"Editor-in-chief, it seems that Mr. Sekiguchi is not yet aware of the situation. It would be quicker to get straight to the point."

Koizumi said. Indeed, my comprehension is poor. I'm notorious for not understanding indirect language, but such a direct criticism makes me feel ashamed. Yamazaki nodded, smiling even more broadly, and said:

“That makes sense. Let’s get straight to the point. Teacher, what do you think? How about we compile these pieces into a single volume?”

Which ones?

"Oh, of course I'm talking about the teacher's work."

I finally understand what's going on. It turns out they called me here today to get my consent to publish my collection of short stories.

"Fortunately, all of the teacher's works are serialized in our magazine, which saved a lot of trouble!"

"That's what they say inside the temple."

Two years and a few months have passed since I started making a living by writing. From my debut work, "Scorning the Teacher," to my latest work, "Dizziness," I've written eight short stories. Eight stories in two years means four a year, which isn't slow writing, but it's not fast either. And as Terauchi said, all eight of these stories were published in "Modern Literature," so unlike other popular writers, I haven't had any disputes with other publishers over copyright issues.

However—judging from the responses when it was published in the magazine—my work was not universally well-received.

Of course, it wasn't entirely without response; it's just that most comments were that my work was difficult to understand, my style was incomplete, and so on—I'm not sure whether to call it hitting the nail on the head or a huge misunderstanding. However, although I'm easily hurt, deep down I harbor a proud sense of self-respect, and despite the numerous criticisms, I stubbornly continue writing in the same style. Therefore—

"I think—no one will buy my work."

I truly believe so.

In fact, the idea of publishing a standalone book was mentioned at the end of last year, but given the mixed responses from readers and differing opinions within the editorial department, the majority ultimately agreed that it was too early. Of course, I had no objection to this, as it was indeed the case. Furthermore, although I make a living by writing novels, I had never even considered publishing a book before the editorial department brought it up, and this mindset remains unchanged.

Yamazaki's eyes widened instantly.

"No, that's not true! I think we'll get a response in the October issue. Well, to be honest, I've already had several big critics read it beforehand, and I asked them to comment freely without holding back. The general feedback has been very good, so there shouldn't be any problems."

Yamazaki said.

"You mean that article 'Dizziness'—which received great acclaim?"

My feelings are complicated.

"Yes. Editor-in-Chief Yamazaki and the others love it very much, and I like it very much myself."

Koizumi said.

The story of "Dazzling" is roughly as follows:

There exists a man and a woman, each possessing two souls. One pair of souls are in love with each other, while the other pair fears one another. The man and woman meet on the coast in a painting and in the deep sea in a book, and then escape from each other in a multi-layered building.

Needless to say, this work vividly reflects the tragic events of July, but it fails to elevate them into a true creative work. If the deadline hadn't been so close, I probably would have stopped writing long ago, but time was simply too short; there wasn't enough time to develop the events into a novel.

Therefore, even when the number of pages is almost used up, the story still cannot be concluded.

As a result, they had no choice but to introduce a male character modeled after their friend Kyogoku-do, dressed in black and wearing gauntlets, who claimed to be an assassin, and have him kill the female protagonist. They couldn't end it without doing this, so it should be considered a poor work. Now, it's unexpectedly receiving positive reviews, which I really can't understand. Perhaps the author's intention was never meant to be conveyed to the reader, but to this extent seems a bit too exaggerated.

"If the teacher has no objections, I'd like to name the book 'Dazzling'."

"It seems the discussion continued while I was lost in thought," the temple staff said.

"This—no, about this point—"

I was confused, after all, the face of the woman who died in that incident was still vividly etched in my mind.

"Could you—give me some time to think about it?"

"Ah, of course, of course. From Changshe's perspective, we would naturally like to include all your works, but we need to discuss the order of inclusion with you before we can decide. We also need to consider the binding, and yes, there are also issues such as additions or corrections."

"No, that's not what I meant. It's that—"

What I really meant was that I wanted to consider whether or not to publish it, but the other party didn't seem to understand that, and all three of them were smiling. Just as I was struggling to find the right words and didn't know how to explain, an editor I had seen before but didn't know by name came running over.

The editor bowed and whispered something in Yamazaki's ear.

"Ah, yes, yes, good."

After Yamazaki finished speaking, he turned around and faced backward.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kubo."

A young man was standing at the entrance.

“Perfect timing, Sekiguchi-sensei. Let me introduce you. Terauchi, let’s decide on this matter.”

Yamazaki abruptly ended the discussion.

"Then, Professor Sekiguchi, I'll contact you again another day. I hope you will not hesitate to give me your guidance then."

After finishing his speech with great enthusiasm, he left the temple.