Eternal Gallery
When Kanzaki first met him, the image of him that remained in his memory was of him standing by the window.
With the strong afternoon sunlight at his back, only his tall, slender silhouette was illuminated; for a moment, Kanzaki briefly mistook it for her own shadow.
Perhaps because it was daytime, the hallway lights were off. The surroundings were dim, and the white plaster walls on either side were tinged with gray. What he remembered most vividly was how the glossy, black-sheened wooden floor stood out strangely amidst the gloom. He walked further down the hall until he reached a thick, heavy wooden door that matched the color of the corridor itself. He slowly turned the brass doorknob. At that instant, a dazzling light struck his eyes, causing Kanzaki to flinch.
In stark contrast to the corridor outside, the room was bathed in sunlight streaming through a massive window that spanned the entire wall.
As Kanzaki squinted and his eyes gradually adjusted to the brightness, the figure he had initially mistaken for his own shadow turned out to be a slender young man clad entirely in a black suit. Moreover, a closer look revealed that the skin beneath his slightly long hair was dark-complexioned; Kanzaki’s initial impression of him as a "shadow" had not been entirely off the mark.
However, the person who had come to see him in this room back then was not the man standing before him now. It was supposed to have been an elderly man. Kanzaki knew that old man only from published photographs. Although he had rarely seen recent images, the figure—usually captured in black and white—was memorable for an oblong face that was slightly full, a large nose, and a gentle gaze.
Kanzaki hurriedly scanned the room. He was stunned the moment he saw the man in the flesh.
His background flashed through Kanzaki’s mind; as he recalled, the man was just over seventy. Yet, the elderly man before him was so frail and emaciated that he appeared far older. His small frame made the semi-double bed—already large by standard measures—seem even more vast. While his gentle gaze and slightly long white hair still faintly evoked the man he had been in his healthier days, the arms extending from his gray gown clearly revealed the stark outline of bone beneath the skin.
All traces of the person he had once known were gone. Stunned by how vastly the reality differed from the photograph, Kanzaki simply stood there, frozen.
As if to look away from Kanzaki’s gaze—which betrayed his bewilderment—the old man introduced him to the young man standing by the window.
"This is Yuji Kanzaki, a student of Professor Kitagawa."
The young man extended his right hand in a welcoming gesture.
"Please, come inside—there is no need to stay out there."
His voice was calm and unhurried—a tone that seemed almost too composed for someone so young.
"I'm sorry."
Kanzaki offered an instinctive, aimless apology; still clutching the doorknob, he bowed awkwardly and stepped forward.
He approached the man, the sound of the door slowly closing behind him. He found himself captivated by the man's striking features. Though a man would naturally wear no makeup, his facial structure was so refined that—had his skin been fairer and his lips touched with rouge—he could easily have passed for a woman.
Perhaps noticing Kanzaki’s bewilderment, the old man spoke with a teasing tone.
"I’m afraid he’s a man. And older than you, too."
"Sir!"
Kanzaki blushed as he looked at the old man, then turned his gaze back to the man in question to study him more closely.
He appeared to be somewhere between his late twenties and early thirties. Kanzaki, who had played football in his student days, possessed a physique far more imposing than the average man’s—making a direct comparison difficult—yet upon closer inspection, the man before him stood at roughly the same height. However, perhaps due to his slender build, he seemed slightly taller than Kanzaki.
With a smile in his eyes, the man took a gold business card case from his inner pocket and introduced himself.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Yuji Hayari."
Upon accepting the business card offered to him, Kanzaki found himself instinctively peering at it.
Hayari’s gallery
Representative
Yuji Hayari （代表 流行右司）
That was what was written on the business card in hand.
"Yuji... You use an unusual Kanji for that name."
Kanzaki murmured the words before he knew it.
Kanji was one of several writing systems used in the Japanese language.
Most kanji characters are composed of radicals and other component parts.
The name "Yuji" itself was nothing particularly unusual; in fact, Kanzaki’s own name was Yuji（佑司）. However, it was surely rare to use the kanji for "right" (右) in a name while having it pronounced "Yu."
佑司and右司.
The difference is whether or not it has the "person"（人） radical.
Yuji—without the "person" radical.
—One who presides over that which is not human—
At that moment, Kanzaki found himself entertaining a truly preposterous notion.
"If you're going to Kanazawa, you should go and meet Kazan Kashiwagi."
Those were the words spoken to him by Professor Shirakawa—a professor at his alma mater—when he visited his office to report on his employment.
It was true that Kanzaki himself had never been really imagined—when he entered the oil painting program at an art college in Tokyo—that the Hokuriku region would be his destination four years later. He had aspired to become a junior high school teacher and applied to any region where there was a potential opening; the result was his hiring as a part-time instructor in Kanazawa City, Ishikawa Prefecture. Before taking the exam, Kanzaki had recognized Kanazawa as a tourist destination, but otherwise, his impression of it was simply that of a small, provincial city.
"That’s a fine city. The food is excellent."
The elderly professor—sporting a white beard and already past sixty, with his retirement just two years away—began to speak with a look of nostalgia as he sat in his chair.
"I see..."
For Kanzaki, standing beside the professor, the topic held no particular interest. Perhaps sensing this lack of enthusiasm, the professor steered the conversation back to the main point.
"You know Kazan Kashiwagi, don't you?"
"Yes, the oil painter, Kashiwagi."
Kanzaki’s mind flashed back to paintings he had seen on display at various art museums he had visited in the past.
Kazan Kashiwagi.
He was a leading figure among post-war oil painters. Anyone aspiring to be a painter would almost certainly have heard his name at some point. His work consisted entirely of landscapes, typically featuring mountain villages. His landscapes depicting wild birds were particularly sought after, commanding prices of hundreds of thousands of yen per *gō* (a standard unit of canvas size). Indeed, a dreamlike painting of wild birds flying through the forests of the Nasu Highlands was on display within the school itself.
The blue-green forest was striking.
However, it was news to Kanzaki that the artist was currently living in Kanazawa.
"Was the artist Kashiwagi born in Kanazawa?"
"No, he was born in Tokyo. After returning from France, he moved around a bit, but he settled there about ten years ago."
"It must have been a very comfortable place to live."
"Hmm..."
At Kanzaki’s candid remark, the old professor averted his gaze and hesitated slightly in his speech. Kanzaki immediately sensed that the situation was far more complex than that simple explanation suggested. Yet, as a mere student, he could not press the matter any further.
Sensing the atmosphere, the professor paused briefly before changing the subject.
"He probably doesn't have much time left. If I recall correctly, he’s suffering from liver cancer."
"..."
There was no way to respond to that.
"It’s not exactly a replacement for me, but you ought to go pay him a visit. I’ll let him know you’re coming. Once you get there and get settled, you should get in touch with him soon. It would be best for you, too, to see him while he’s still well enough."
That was what led Kanzaki to move to Kanazawa in April.
His new post was at a junior high school located in the city's historic central district. Colleagues told him he was lucky to have landed such a location for his first assignment. However, for the first month, Kanzaki was so preoccupied with adjusting to his entirely new surroundings that, to be honest, he hadn't even managed to do any sightseeing. Consequently, just as the professor's earlier words were beginning to slip his mind, he received an unexpected call—from the artist Kashiwagi himself.
"I’ve received a letter from Kitagawa," the artist said. "I still have the strength to see you, so feel free to come by whenever you like." Three days later, Kanzaki set out to meet him.
The address of the master painter that Professor Kitagawa had given Kanzaki was in Suehiro-cho, Kanazawa City. Although the address had conjured no particular image in Kanzaki’s mind back in Tokyo, upon actually arriving at the site, he realized for the first time that the painter’s home was situated in a rather inconvenient location. It lay halfway up Mount Utatsu, within the city limits of Kanazawa. While the elevation was not particularly high, the road leading up the mountain was steeply inclined and wound endlessly upward—hardly an ideal spot for a residential area.
A dislike of people.
That was Kanzaki’s intuition. It was a trait not uncommon among artists.
Many writers have established their creative bases in mountain villages rich in nature. Yet, in those cases, there are usually villagers or fellow artists living nearby—situations where communication remains possible.
"Suehiro-cho? It’s practically a mountain—I wonder if there are even any houses there."
That was the reply—delivered with a frown—from a fellow teacher when Kanzaki asked about the place shortly after his new assignment began; it conveyed the artist's true feelings.
He also recalled that the artist was in poor health. He likely wanted to live a quiet, undisturbed life.
It was out of consideration for this that Kanzaki had kept putting off the visit, day after day.
Three days after receiving word, a Sunday arrived. Mindful of the artist's health, Kanzaki decided to visit in the afternoon.
Driving his small white private car, Kanzaki navigated the narrow lanes lined with old *machiya*—traditional townhouses featuring the black-tiled roofs characteristic of the Hokuriku region—until he spotted a small bridge spanning the Asano River. Crossing it brought him to the foot of the mountain. A small side path branched off from the gently winding slope and led deeper inward; the artist’s house was supposed to be just ahead. As he drove carefully forward, a red roof enclosed by a wall came into view. Drawing closer, he caught sight of an ornamental window on the second floor, though an old wooden gatepost partially obscured the building. From what was visible above the gray wall, the structure appeared to be an old Western-style building.
He got out of the car and approached the gate. Patches of bare wood were visible on the gateposts—clear evidence of their long exposure to the elements—and an intercom was mounted right beside them.
After he stated his name, an elderly woman soon opened the gate.
Small in stature and round-faced, she exuded a gentle, unhurried air; her graying hair was tied back in a short bundle.
"Are you the artist's wife?"
He felt this not so much because the *tsumugi* silk kimono she wore was obviously expensive, but because, the moment he met her, he felt as though he already knew her.
"Yes, I am his wife, Yoko."
With those words, Mrs. Yoko gave a slight bow.
Kanzaki hurriedly bowed in return. Mrs. Yoko smiled faintly at the sight of the young man—fresh out of university—and then ushered him through the gate. Inside, the grounds were paved with stone and planted with deciduous trees; at this time of year, the cherry trees, having shed their blossoms, were lush with fresh green foliage. Further back stood a Western-style building dating from the Taisho era.
"We have a visitor right now, but please don't let that trouble you."
The woman spoke to Kanzaki as she opened the heavy oak entrance door and led the way down a dimly lit hallway.
"Oh, I don't mind at all. I’ve really just come to check on how the professor is doing."
That was precisely the case. Had there been no word, he might well have forgotten about the visit entirely.
To be honest, even though he had been introduced by a former mentor, he had hesitated to visit someone suffering from a serious illness—a person he had never even met.
Kanzaki was guided to the far end of the glossy black hallway, to a door identical in style to the one at the entrance.
"This is Kashiwagi's room. Please, come in."
With those words, the woman stepped into the room on the opposite side.
Kanzaki gave a light knock and opened the door.
At that moment, Hayari was standing there in the bright sunlight.
