I spent several days in this state. Needless to say, my breast was heavy the whole while with anxiousness toward K. I knew full well that I must, somehow, make things right with him. To make matters worse, Okusan's manner and the daughter's comportment were a constant prod at my conscience. There was no telling when Okusan, who lacked the reserve typical of women, might spill all to K at the dinner table. It was also quite possible that the daughter's bearing and behavior, which now to me seemed noticeably changed, could serve to sow seeds of suspicion in K's mind. I had to disclose to K, somehow, my new relationship to this family. This struck me, however, in light of my own moral shortcomings, as the hardest thing in the world.
I thought about asking Okusan to find some occasion to tell him. This would, of course, be in my absence. The facts of the matter, though, even if conveyed indirectly rather than directly, were no less shameful. At the same time, if I concocted some rationalization, then Okusan was unlikely to convey it without due explanation. If I came clean, in order to secure her assistance, it would mean exposing my own shortcomings to my loved one as well as my future mother-in-law. In my mind, I saw this as an indelible stain on my future credibility. The prospect of losing even an iota of trust in the eyes of my bride, before we were yet wed, was utterly abhorrent.
In short, I was a wretch who'd set out on the narrow path of virtue, lost his footing, and fallen into the mire. Either that, or I was an underhanded schemer. This knowledge, though, to this point, was a secret shared by myself and heaven alone. I stood in predicament. The only way to regain my footing and retake the narrow path was through confession of my misdeeds to those around me. I was loath to confess. At the same time, I couldn't remain in the mire. I was paralyzed, wedged between a rock and a hard place.