Pathway to Japanese Literature

A Lump of Earth

The season when tea picking began was when Osumi’s son passed away.
Her son Nitarō had been bedridden, practically paralyzed, for a span of eight years.
For Osumi, who was called “virtuous in the afterlife,” the death of such a son was not solely a matter of sorrow.
When Osumi offered a stick of incense before Nitarō’s coffin, she felt as if she had finally managed to pass through something like the Asahina Cut-Through.

After Nitarō’s funeral was completed, the first issue that arose was O-Tami’s situation as his widow.
O-Tami had a son.
Moreover, she had taken on most of the field work in place of bedridden Nitarō.
If they were to send her away now, childcare would naturally become a problem, and their livelihood would hardly be sustainable.
Osumi had thought that once the 49th-Day Memorial was over, she would arrange a son-in-law for O-Tami and have her work just as she had when her son was alive.
She had even considered taking Yokichi, Nitarō’s cousin, as the son-in-law.

For this very reason, when O-Tami began tidying up her belongings on the morning after the Seventh-Day Memorial, Osumi’s shock was all the more profound.
Osumi was letting her grandson Hirotsugu play on the veranda of the back room at that time.
The toy she let him play with was a blooming cherry branch stolen from the school.

“Now, O-Tami, I know it’s wrong I kept quiet till today—but are you really fixin’ to leave this child and me behind?”

Osumi called out, her tone less accusatory than pleading.
But O-Tami didn’t even look her way, merely letting out a laugh. “What’re you sayin’, Grandmother?”
Even so, Osumi couldn’t tell just how relieved she was.

“That’s right, ain’t it? Ain’t no way you’d ever do such a thing…”

Osumi still persisted in repeating her complaint-laden pleas. At the same time, she herself began to grow sentimental over her own words. In the end, tears began to stream down her wrinkled cheeks in several streaks.

“Well, if you just take a liking to me, I’d stay in this house forever.—What with this child here and all, it’s not like I’d go off on my own whim.”

O-Tami too, at some point with tears welling in her eyes, lifted Hirotsugu onto her lap.
Hirotsugu looked oddly bashful, his attention fixed solely on the cherry branch that had been tossed onto the old tatami in the back room.……

―――――――――――――――――

O-Tami kept working no differently than she had when Nitarō was alive.
Yet settling the matter of taking a son-in-law proved harder than expected.
O-Tami appeared wholly uninterested in this talk.
Naturally, whenever opportunity arose, Osumi would attempt to subtly engage her or outright broach the subject.
But every time, O-Tami would only give an evasive answer: “Aye well—maybe come next year or such.”
To Osumi, this was at once worrisome and heartening.
Mindful of village opinion, she resolved to wait however long the daughter-in-law dictated—even if it meant waiting through another year’s turning.

However, even when the next year came, O-Tami still seemed to have no thoughts beyond going out to the fields.
Osumi once again brought up the matter of taking a son-in-law, this time with even greater earnestness than the previous year.
This was due in part to her distress over being scolded by relatives and enduring gossip from society.

“But look, O-Tami—at your age now, you can’t manage without a man.”

“Even if I can’t stay, there’s no help for it.”
“Try puttin’ even a stranger in here.”
“Hiro’d be pitiable, you’d feel awkward, and first off, if we’re talkin’ about my efforts goin’ to waste—it’s no small matter, I tell ya.”

“So then, just take Yokichi as your husband.”
“He’s also sayin’ he ain’t touched gamblin’ these days.”

“To you, Grandmother, he’s family—but to me, he’s still a stranger.”
“What, if even I just put up with it…”

“But that endurance—it ain’t just a year or two we’re talkin’ about.”

“Fine then.”
“It’s for Hiro’s sake.”
“If I endure hardship now, the fields of this house won’t be divided and’ll all pass into Hiro’s hands, ain’t that right?”

“But look, O-Tami,” (Osumi always lowered her voice gravely when they reached this point) “people’s talk is so noisy, ain’t it?”
“Don’t go lettin’ others hear what you just said in front of me, word for word.……”

Such exchanges between the two occurred countless times.
However, O-Tami's resolve seemed only to strengthen for it, never to weaken.
Indeed, O-Tami, without borrowing any male labor, planted potatoes, reaped wheat, and threw herself into her work even more diligently than before.
Not only did she keep a cow in summer, but she also went out to cut grass even on rainy days.
This fierce work ethic was in itself a powerful rebuttal against bringing in outsiders.
Osumi finally gave up on the matter of taking a son-in-law.
To be sure, giving up was not necessarily unpleasant for her.

―――――――――――――――――

O-Tami continued supporting the household through a woman's labor alone.
This was undoubtedly driven by her single-minded resolve of "for Hiro's sake."
Yet another factor lay in the hereditary force that had taken deep root within her.
O-Tami came from those called "migrants" who had moved from barren highlands to this region.
"Your O-Tami's got strength what don't match her pretty face, eh."
"Just t'other day she went by carryin' four big bundles of upland rice at once, didn't she?"—such remarks reached Osumi repeatedly from the neighbor's old woman.

Osumi again tried to express her gratitude toward O-Tami through her work.
Entertaining her grandson, tending the cow, cooking meals, doing laundry, fetching water from the neighbors—there was no shortage of work within the house.
However, Osumi worked bent over, seemingly cheerful about everything.

One evening as autumn was drawing to a close, O-Tami finally returned home, clutching a bundle of pine needles.
Osumi, still carrying Hirotsugu on her back, was tending the fire beneath the bath bucket in a cramped corner of the dirt-floored area.

“It’s freezin’, ain’t it? Evenin’s come on quick.”

“I’ve been doin’ more work’n usual today, that’s why.”

O-Tami threw the bundle of pine needles down by the sink, then climbed onto the large hearthside without even removing her mud-caked straw sandals.
In the hearth, a single oak root glowed red, stirring the flames.
Osumi tried to stand up at once.
But her hips carrying Hirotsugu could not be easily lifted unless she held onto the edge of the bath bucket.

“Don’t go straight to the bath.”

“I’m hungrier’n wantin’ a bath. Here, let’s eat some sweet potatoes first.—They’re boiled, aren’t they? Grandmother.”

Osumi toddled unsteadily to the sink area and returned hanging the pot of simmered sweet potatoes by the hearth.

“I’ve had these boiled and waitin’ for ages, but—looks like they’ve gone cold after all.”

The two of them skewered the sweet potatoes on bamboo sticks and held them out together to the hearth fire.

“Hiro’s sleepin’ sound. You should just roll him into the bed.”

“Nah, it’s too damn cold today—won’t sleep a wink down there.”

Even amidst this exchange, O-Tami began stuffing her cheeks with smoldering sweet potatoes.
It was a way of eating known only to farmers exhausted from a day’s labor.
The sweet potatoes were pulled off the bamboo skewer one by one and promptly crammed into O-Tami’s mouth.
Osumi, feeling the weight of Hirotsugu as he snored softly, kept diligently roasting the sweet potatoes.

“After all, workin’ like you do, it’s no wonder you get hungrier than most.”

Osumi occasionally directed a gaze filled with admiration at her daughter-in-law’s face.
However, O-Tami remained silent, voraciously stuffing her cheeks with sweet potatoes in the sooty glow of the twig fire.

―――――――――――――――――

O-Tami spared no effort, continuing to take over men’s work.
At times, even at night, she would go around uprooting vegetables by lantern light.
Osumi always felt respect for such a daughter-in-law who surpassed men in strength.
No—rather than respect, she always felt something closer to dread.
O-Tami pushed everything outside field and mountain work entirely onto Osumi.
By now, even her own underskirt was seldom washed.
Despite this, Osumi worked hard without complaint, stretching her bent back repeatedly as she labored.
Not only that, but whenever she met even a neighbor’s old woman, she would earnestly praise her daughter-in-law: “Well, since O-Tami’s like that—why, even if I were to die right now, this house won’t see hardship.”

However, O-Tami’s “work compulsion” showed no signs of abating.
After another year passed, she began talking of expanding her efforts to the mulberry fields across the river.
By her own reckoning, leasing out that nearly five-tanbu field for a paltry ten yen in tenant fees was sheer idiocy no matter how one looked at it.
Instead, she insisted that growing mulberries there and dabbling in sericulture would net them a solid hundred fifty yen annually—provided cocoon prices held steady.
But even if she craved the money, Osumi couldn’t stomach taking on more work.
The very notion of time-devouring ventures like sericulture pushed past all reason.
At last, Osumi pushed back with a grievance-laden protest.

“Listen here, O-Tami.”
“I’m not tryin’ to run away.”
“I ain’t tryin’ to run, but with no man’s help an’ a cryin’ child, the load’s too heavy as it is.”
“You can’t even manage that—how’re we supposed to do sericulture?”
“Can’t you try thinkin’ ’bout us just a little?”

Even when faced with her mother-in-law’s tears, O-Tami hadn’t been compelled by duty to comply.
However, though she’d abandoned sericulture, she stubbornly insisted on creating the mulberry fields alone.
“Fine then. I’ll just go out to the fields by myself anyway.” —O-Tami muttered this jab while glaring at Osumi with a dissatisfied look.

Osumi once again began considering the matter of taking a son-in-law from this time onward.
In the past too, she had often considered taking a son-in-law out of worries about their livelihood and concerns for social appearances.
But this time, she began thinking of taking a son-in-law out of a desire to escape even momentarily the hardship of being the household caretaker.
That very reason made her present desire to take a son-in-law immeasurably more acute compared to before.

Around the time when the mandarin orange orchard out back was in full bloom, Osumi—stationed before the lamp and peering through her large night-work glasses—tentatively broached the subject.
However, O-Tami—sitting cross-legged by the hearth and chewing salted peas—showed no sign of engaging. “Son-in-law talk again? I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that,” she said.
If this had been the Osumi of old, she would have given up at this point.
But precisely because it was this time, Osumi too began doggedly pressing her case.

“But still—you can’t keep sayin’ nothin’ but that.”
“At tomorrow’s Miyashita funeral—well, this time our house has been assigned the grave-digging duty.”
“At times like this, when there’s no man’s help…”

“Fine then. I’ll do the digging myself.”

“You can’t be serious—a woman like you, of all people—”

Osumi deliberately tried to laugh.
But upon seeing O-Tami’s face, she realized that laughing carelessly would be unwise.

“Grandmother, you’re not thinking of retiring or something, are you?”

O-Tami sat cross-legged with her knees hugged to her chest, coldly driving the point home.
Suddenly struck in a vital spot, Osumi involuntarily removed her large glasses.
However, even she herself didn’t know why she had removed them.

“What nonsense—you sayin’ such things!”

“Have you forgotten what you yourself said when Hiro’s father died?
‘If we split this house’s fields in two, we couldn’t face our ancestors...’”

“Well... I did say that.”
“But still—if you’d just think—”
“Times change, they say.”
“This just ain’t no way to manage...”

Osumi continued arguing earnestly for bringing male help into the household.
Yet even to her own ears, Osumi’s arguments lacked a convincing ring.
This stemmed chiefly from her inability to voice her true motive—the desire for personal ease.
O-Tami seized this weakness and began berating her mother-in-law sharply while chewing salty peas as always.
Moreover, O-Tami’s natural eloquence—unknown even to Osumi—lent force to her words.

“You’d be fine even so.
“You’ll be the one to die first.
“But listen, Grandmother—if you were in my shoes, you couldn’t just say that and give up in a huff.
“It ain’t like I’m stayin’ a widow outta pride or showin’ off, y’know.
“On nights when my joints ache so bad I can’t sleep—can’t help but think stubborn pride ain’t no use at all, y’know.
“That ain’t how it is, but y’know…
“All this—it’s all for the house, for Hiro’s sake—I keep tellin’ myself that, and still I’m doin’ it through tears.……”

Osumi could only stare vacantly at her daughter-in-law’s face.
Before long, her heart clearly seized upon a certain fact.
It was a fact that no matter how much one struggled, one could not find peace until closing one’s eyes for good.
After the daughter-in-law’s chatter subsided, Osumi put her large glasses back on.
Then, as if muttering to herself, she brought the discussion to a close.

“But, O-Tami, matters from past lives can’t be settled by logic alone. You should think it over proper-like too.”
“I can’t say another word about it.”

Twenty minutes later, a young man from the village passed quietly in front of the house, singing in a steady voice:
“Young auntie’s cutting grass today.
Grass, bow down.
Sickle, cut sharp!”
When the song had faded into the distance, Osumi peered over her glasses and stole a glance at O-Tami’s face.
But O-Tami merely let out a half-yawn, her legs stretched out long across from the lamp.

“Go to bed.
We’ve got an early morning.”

No sooner had O-Tami said this than she grabbed a handful of salted peas and wearily rose from the hearthside.……

―――――――――――――――――

Osumi endured her hardships in silence for three or four years thereafter.
It was akin to the suffering of an old horse forced to bear the same yoke as one in its prime.
O-Tami remained as ever diligent in her fieldwork outside the home.
To outward appearances, Osumi too continued dutifully keeping house.
Yet the shadow of an invisible whip ceaselessly loomed over her.
Whether for neglecting to heat the bath, forgetting to dry rice husks, or letting the cow wander loose—Osumi found herself frequently subjected to barbed remarks and scoldings from strong-willed O-Tami.
Still, she offered no retort, enduring it all in silence.
This stemmed partly from a spirit long accustomed to patient submission.
But more crucially, her grandson Hirotsugu had grown far more attached to her—his grandmother—than to his own mother.

In reality, Osumi had hardly changed in outward appearance from before. If there was any change at all, it was only that she no longer praised her daughter-in-law as she used to. However, such minor changes did not particularly attract attention. At least to the old woman next door, Osumi had always been "the pious one ensuring a good afterlife."

One blazing midday in summer, Osumi was talking with the old woman next door under the shade of the grape arbor covering the storehouse front.
Apart from the buzzing of flies from the cowshed, no other sounds reached them.
The old woman next door smoked short hand-rolled cigarettes as they spoke.
These were made from cigarette butts her son had meticulously collected.

“O-Tami? Hmm, out cuttin’ hay? For someone so young, my goodness, she does everythin’.”

“Oh, for a woman,’stead o’ goin’ outside, indoor work’s best way.”

“Naw, lovin’ fieldwork’s the best thing there is.”
“As for my daughter-in-law—why, ever since the weddin’, seven years now—she ain’t set foot in the fields, let alone done any weedin’, not even a single day.”
“Washin’ the children’s clothes an’ mendin’ her own things—she spends every day draggin’ on an’ on.”

“That way’s better.”
“Fixing up children’s looks and keeping yourself all prim—that’s just worldly vanity.”

“But y’know, young folks these days just ain’t fond of fieldwork at all.”
“Hmm? What’s that—that sound just now?”

“That sound just now? Why, that’s a cow’s fart, you know.”

“Why, a cow’s fart?
“Goodness gracious.—Though I suppose baking your back under the blazing sun, weeding millet fields and such—that’s hard on young folks, ain’t it.”

The two old women would generally converse peacefully in this manner.

―――――――――――――――――

For more than eight years after Nitarō’s death, O-Tami continued to sustain the household with only a woman’s hands.
At the same time, her name had gradually spread beyond the village.
O-Tami was no longer the young widow consumed by “earning sickness,” laboring through endless days and nights.
She was even less the “young auntie” spoken of by the village youths.
Instead, she became a model daughter-in-law.
She stood as a paragon of virtuous women for this age.
“Look at O-Tami across the marsh”—such words now fell as readily from lips as everyday grumbles.
Osumi did not voice her suffering even to the old woman next door.
Nor did she wish to.
Yet somewhere deep in her heart—though not clearly acknowledged—she had pinned her hopes on divine justice.
That hope too finally vanished like foam on water.
Now nothing remained for her to rely on except her grandson Hirotsugu.
Osumi poured desperate affection upon her twelve- or thirteen-year-old grandson.
Yet even this last hope teetered repeatedly toward collapse.

One clear autumn afternoon, grandson Hirotsugu came hurrying home from school, carrying a bundle of books.
Osumi was deftly wielding a kitchen knife in front of the storehouse, preparing Hachiya persimmons as dried fruit.
Hirotsugu nimbly leaped over a single mat drying millet husks and, with both feet neatly together, gave a slight salute to Grandmother.
Then, without any preamble, he asked in all seriousness.

“Grandma,”
“Is my mother really such an admirable person?”

“Why?”

Osumi stopped her knife and couldn’t help staring at her grandson’s face.

“But the teacher said that in ethics class!”
“Hirotsugu’s mother is an admirable person like no other in this vicinity,” he said.

“The teacher said that?”

“Yeah, the teacher did.”
“A lie, ain’t it?”

Osumi was at first flustered. Even her own grandson was being taught such outrageous lies by his schoolteacher—truly, for Osumi, there could be no greater shock than this. But after a moment of panic, Osumi—assailed by a fit of rage—began berating O-Tami as if she were a different person.

“Oh, it’s a lie—a lie through and through! That person you call your mother—she just works herself to the bone outside and puts on a grand show of being admirable in front of others, but deep down, she’s a wicked person through and through. She just keeps hounding your grandmother and forcing her will without any sense...”

Hirotsugu simply stared at his grandmother, who had changed color, with a look of surprise. Then, perhaps from the backlash, Osumi suddenly began to spill tears again.

“So listen—this grandmother here’s living relying on you alone, you hear? You mustn’t forget that now, you hear? When you turn seventeen, you’ll take a bride right away and let your grandmother breathe easy, you hear? Your mother spouts patience-testin’ talk ‘bout waitin’ ‘til conscription’s done—no way in hell I can wait that long! You hear? You’ve got to do double filial duty—for both your father and yourself—to Grandma, you hear? If you do that, Grandma won’t be treated badly either. I’ll give you anything you want, you hear?…”

“When these persimmons ripen, will you give ’em to me?”

Hirotsugu was already fiddling with the persimmons in the basket, looking like he wanted them.

“Oh, I will.”
“I won’t hold back.”
“Even if you’re not old yet, you understand everything well.”
“You mustn’t ever lose that resolve, you hear?”

Osumi shed tears endlessly and burst into laughter as if hiccuping.……

The evening after this minor incident occurred, Osumi ended up in a fierce quarrel with O-Tami over some trivial matter.
The trivial matter was nothing more than that Osumi had eaten the sweet potato O-Tami was to eat.
But as their words grew fiercer, O-Tami sneered, “If you’re tired of working, there’s nothin’ left but to die.”
Then Osumi, contrary to her usual self, roared out like a madwoman.
At that very moment, Hirotsugu, using his grandmother’s lap as a pillow, was already peacefully sound asleep.
But Osumi even shook her grandson awake, saying, “Hiro, come on, wake up!” and continued berating him endlessly.

“Hiro, come on, wake up.”
“Hiro, come on, wake up and hear your mother’s talk.”
“Your mother’s tellin’ me to die!”
“Now listen good.”
“Under your mother’s time, money might’ve grown some—but every last one of them one chō three tan fields was cleared by Grandpa ’n’ Grandma.”
“How ’bout that?”
“Your mother’s sayin’ if I want comfort, I should croak!”
“O-Tami—I’ll die.”
“What’s there to fear ’bout dyin’?”
“No—I ain’t takin’ orders from you.”
“I’ll die.”
“No matter what—I’ll die.”
“Die ’n’ haunt you.……”

Osumi continued scolding at the top of her voice while embracing her grandson, who had burst into tears.
But O-Tami simply flopped back down by the hearth as before, doing nothing but pretend not to hear.

―――――――――――――――――

However, Osumi did not die.
Instead, the following year just before the end of the midsummer heat, O-Tami—who had always boasted of her robust health—contracted typhoid fever and died on the eighth day after falling ill.
Though at that time, it remained unclear how many typhoid patients had appeared even within this small village.
Moreover, before falling ill herself, O-Tami had attended the funeral of a blacksmith who had also succumbed to typhoid fever to perform grave-digging duty.
At the blacksmith’s, there still remained an apprentice boy who had been sent to the isolation hospital on the day of the funeral.
“It must’ve been passed on back then”—after the doctor left, Osumi insinuated this accusation to O-Tami, the patient whose face had flushed bright red.

The day of O-Tami’s funeral was rainy.
However, starting with the village head, not a single villager failed to attend the funeral.
The mourners all without exception mourned O-Tami’s untimely death and pitied Hirotsugu and Osumi for losing their main provider.
In particular, the village chief representative mentioned that the county had planned to formally commend O-Tami’s diligence soon.
Osumi could do nothing but bow her head at these words.
“Well, you’ve just got to accept it as fate,”
“We’ve been submitting petitions about O-Tami-san’s commendation to the county office since last year—the village head and I even spent train fares meeting the county mayor five times. Went through considerable trouble.”
“But seeing as we’re giving up too—you should just give up as well.” The kindhearted bald chief representative added this platitude.
The young elementary school teacher stared at this with evident distaste.

On the night O-Tami’s funeral was completed, Osumi entered a single mosquito net with Hirotsugu in the corner of the back room where the Buddhist altar stood.
Of course, normally both of them slept in pitch darkness.
But tonight, the lamp on the Buddhist altar still burned.
Moreover, a strange disinfectant smell seemed to have soaked into the old tatami mats.
Osumi, perhaps due to all this, found herself unable to fall asleep for a long time.
O-Tami’s death had indeed brought great happiness upon her.
She no longer had to work.
She no longer had to worry about being scolded.
Moreover, there were three thousand yen in savings and about one chō and three tan of fields.
From now on, she was free to eat rice with her grandson every day as she pleased.
She was also free to take her favorite salt-trout by the bale whenever she pleased.
Osumi had never in her life felt this much at ease.

Had she ever felt this relieved?—But her memory vividly recalled a certain night nine years ago. When she thought of how she had breathed easier that night too, it was scarcely any different than tonight. That was the night her own flesh-and-blood son’s funeral had ended.

And tonight?
Tonight too had only just seen the end of the funeral for the daughter-in-law who had borne a grandson.

Osumi involuntarily opened her eyes. Her grandson lay on his back beside her, his sleeping face devoid of warmth. As she looked at that face, Osumi gradually came to see herself as a pitiful creature. At the same time, she began viewing her son Nitarō and daughter-in-law O-Tami—those with whom she’d formed this ill-fated bond—as equally pitiful. This realization swept away nine years of hatred and rage in an instant. No—it washed away even the future happiness that had been consoling her until now. Parent and child alike, all three of them were wretched beings. But among them, she who had paraded her shame while still breathing was the most wretched of all. “O-Tami—why did you have to die?” The words escaped Osumi’s lips unbidden, directed at the newly departed soul. Then suddenly, tears began falling in relentless drops……

After hearing four o'clock, Osumi finally fell into exhausted sleep.

But by that time, the sky above this family’s thatched roof had also coldly ushered in the dawn.……

(Taishō 12, December)