Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Beside the mountain path stood a young camellia tree. Mr. Rikisuke the cowherd tethered a cow to it. Mr. Kaizou the rickshaw puller also placed a rickshaw at the base of the camellia tree. Since a rickshaw wasn't a cow, there was no need to tether it. So Mr. Rikisuke and Mr. Kaizou went into the mountains to drink water. About one chō into the mountains from the road, a clear, cold spring always welled up.

The two took turns pressing their hands on the ferns and royal ferns at the spring's edge, lying prone, sniffing the cold water's scent as they drank like deer. They drank until their bellies sloshed noisily. In the mountains, the spring cicadas were already singing.

“Ah, they’ve already started singing. Hearing them makes you feel hotter,” Mr. Kaizou said as he settled his round straw hat on his head.

“From now on, we’ll have to drink from this spring every time we come and go.”

Having drunk the water, Mr. Rikisuke broke into a sweat and said while wiping it off with a hand towel. “If only it were a bit closer to the road.” said Mr. Kaizou. “That’s the truth of it.” Mr. Rikisuke replied. After drinking the water there, it was customary for everyone to exchange such remarks as greetings.

When the two returned to the camellia tree, a man stood there with a bicycle parked beside him. At that time, bicycles had only just been introduced to Japan, and in the countryside, it was invariably the gentry who owned them.

“Who could that be?” “Who could that be?” said Mr. Rikisuke nervously. “It might be the district headman,” said Mr. Kaizou. When they drew near，they realized it was the elderly landowner from town who owned this area’s land. And there was one more thing they realized—the landowner was absolutely furious.

“Hey, you! Whose cow is this?”

When the landowner saw the two, he yelled at them. That cow was Mr. Rikisuke’s cow. “It’s my cow.” “Your cow? “Look at this!” “Your cow’s eaten every last leaf and made it bald as an egg!” When the two looked at the camellia tree where the cow had been tethered, it was exactly as the landowner with the bicycle had said. The young camellia’s tender leaves had been completely stripped away, leaving only a wretched staff-like thing standing there.

Mr. Rikisuke, thinking things had taken a terrible turn, turned bright red as he hurriedly untied the rope from the tree. By way of apology, he struck his cow sharply on the head with the reins. However, even this wasn’t enough to make the Landowner forgive him. The Landowner berated Mr. Rikisuke—a grown man—mercilessly, as if scolding a child. Pounding the bicycle’s saddle, he said:

“Now then – I don’t care how you do it! Make that tree grow back its leaves!” This was an impossible demand. So Mr. Kaizou the rickshaw puller took off his round straw hat and apologized for Mr. Rikisuke. “Now now, let’s let it pass just this once,” he said. “Rikisuke here never dreamed the cow would eat up the camellia when he tied it there, you see.” At last the Landowner’s rage subsided. But having shouted himself hoarse till his body shook, he failed two or three times to mount his bicycle before finally succeeding and riding away.

Mr. Rikisuke and Mr. Kaizou started walking toward the village. But they did not speak anymore. The rickshaw puller Kaizou sympathized with Rikisuke’s feelings, thinking how pitiful it must be for a grown man to be berated by another adult. “If only that spring were a bit closer to the road.” Finally, Mr. Kaizou said. “That’s the truth of it.” Mr. Rikisuke replied.

Two

When Kaizou came to the rickshaw pullers’ gathering spot, Shingorou the well-digger was there. To call it a rickshaw pullers’ gathering spot—it was really just a cheap candy store along the village’s main road. There, Shingorou the well-digger was munching on oil cakes and talking loudly about idle chatter. His voice had grown loud from years of calling up to people outside while working at the bottom of wells.

“So ’bout wells—how much’d it cost to dig one, Mr. Shingorou the well-digger?” Mr. Kaizou took an oil cake from the cheap sweets box and asked. Mr. Shingorou the well-digger explained in detail: so much for laborers, so much for the earthen pipes to line the well, so much for the cement to fill the pipe joints—

“First off, if it’s a regular well, thirty yen should do it,” said Mr. Shingorou the well-digger. “Oh, thirty yen,” Mr. Kaizou said, his eyes widening in surprise. He crunched on an oil cake for a while before asking, “If we dig at the spot below Shinta no Mune, do you think water’ll come out?” That was near the camellia tree where Mr. Rikisuke had tied his cow. “Hmm, water should come out there—what with the spring up in the mountain ahead—so sure, water’d flow under that spot. But what’s the point of diggin’ a well in such a place?”

“What’s the point of diggin’ a well there?” Mr. Shingorou asked. “Hmm, there’s a bit of a reason for it, I tell ya.” With that answer, Mr. Kaizou did not explain the reason.

Mr. Kaizou was pulling an empty rickshaw as he headed home, “Thirty yen… …Thirty yen, huh.”

And he muttered this over and over again.

Mr. Kaizou lived alone with the elderly mother in a small thatched hut set against a thicket. The two of them did farm work, and during their free time, Mr. Kaizou would go out to pull a rickshaw.

At dinner, the two of them took pleasure in discussing the day’s events. The elderly mother talked about how the neighbor’s chicken had laid its first egg today—though it was strangely small—and that bees seemed intent on building a nest on the holly tree by the back door; they had come to inspect it yesterday and today as well. But if they built a hive there, she worried it would be terribly dangerous when going to fetch miso from the miso storage room.

Kaizou recounted how Rikisuke’s cow had devoured the camellia tree’s leaves while its owner was away drinking water, “If there were a well by that roadside now, wouldn’t that be something,” he said. “That’d be a godsend for everyone passing through,” the elderly mother replied, then began enumerating all those who traveled that sun-scorched road at high noon. She listed oil merchants hauling carts from Ōno Town, couriers shuttling between Handa and Ōno Towns, Mr. Tomi the bamboo-pipe seller making his way from village to town—not to mention carters, ox-drivers, rickshaw men, pilgrims, beggars, and schoolchildren. Every last one of them would find their throats parched right around Shinta no Mune.

“So I tell ya, if there were a well by the roadside, how much it’d help everyone.” With that, the elderly mother concluded her talk. Mr. Kaizou mentioned that the well could be dug for about thirty yen. “For poor folks like us, thirty yen’s such a huge sum it makes your head spin—but for a nouveau riche like Mr. Rikisuke’s lot, thirty yen’s nothing at all.” said the elderly mother. Mr. Kaizou recalled hearing that Mr. Rikisuke had made a considerable amount of money in the mountain forests.

After taking a bath, Mr. Kaizou went to the house of Mr. Rikisuke, the oxcart puller.

Behind the mountain, an owl hooted—hoo-hoo—and at Mr. Ninzaemon’s house atop the cliff, perhaps a nenbutsu service was being held; light shone through the paper screens, and the sound of the wooden fish spilled all the way down to the road below the bluff.

It was already night. When he went to check, the hardworking Mr. Rikisuke was still rustling around doing something in the darkness of the cowshed. "You're really puttin' in the work, I tell ya."

“You’re really puttin’ in the work, I tell ya,” said Mr. Kaizou. “Nothin’ much—had to make two trips to Handa after that, so I’m runnin’ a bit behind, I tell ya.”

While saying this, Mr. Rikisuke crawled under the cow’s belly and came out.

When the two sat down on the edge of the veranda, Mr. Kaizou— “Well, it’s about today’s Shinta no Mune matter, I tell ya.”

he began to talk. “If we dig a well by that roadside, I reckon it’d help everyone, I tell ya.” And Mr. Kaizou broached the idea.

“That’d be a big help, I tell ya.” Mr. Rikisuke responded. “The reason no one realized until the cow ate all the camellia leaves was that the spring water was too far from the road, I tell ya.” “That’s right, I tell ya.” “With thirty yen, a well could be dug there, I tell ya.” “Whoa, thirty yen, I tell ya.” “Ah, if we just had thirty yen, I tell ya.” “Thirty yen, I tell ya.” Even as he spoke this way, with Mr. Rikisuke making no effort to grasp his intent, Mr. Kaizou decided to state it plainly.

“So I tell ya, Rikisuke—can’t you chip in for that much? From what I hear, you made quite a profit in the mountain forests.” Rikisuke had been chatting away smoothly until now, but he suddenly fell silent. And he was pinching his own cheek. “How about it, Rikisuke? I tell ya.”

After a while, Mr. Kaizou urged for an answer. Even so, Mr. Rikisuke remained silent like a rock. Apparently, this sort of talk did not seem interesting to Mr. Rikisuke. “It can be done with thirty yen, I tell ya.”

“Why the hell should I be the one to cough up that thirty yen? I tell ya,” said Mr. Kaizou again. “If it was just me drinkin’ that water, I’d get it—but why the hell should I pay for a well everyone else’ll use too? That part don’t sit right with me, I tell ya.” Eventually, Mr. Rikisuke spoke.

Mr. Kaizou explained in various ways that it was for everyone’s sake, but Mr. Rikisuke simply couldn’t “digest” it. In the end, Mr. Rikisuke, as if to say he’d had enough of this kind of talk,

“Woman, get dinner ready.” “I’m starvin’ here, I tell ya.” he shouted into the house. Mr. Kaizou got to his feet. He had come to understand well that the reason Mr. Rikisuke worked so diligently late into the night was solely for his own benefit.

Walking alone along the night path, Mr. Kaizou thought. “Can’t rely on others—gotta do this myself,” he resolved.

III

Travelers and townsfolk saw something like a donation box hanging from the camellia tree beneath Shinta no Mune. On it was attached a tag, which read as follows.

"I intend to dig a well here for travelers to drink from." "Those with goodwill—please donate even a single sen or half-sen."

This was Mr. Kaizou’s doing. As proof, five or six days later, Mr. Kaizou lay belly-down on the cliff facing the camellia tree, poking just his head out from under the ferns to watch how people donated. Before long, an old woman came pushing a baby carriage from Handa town. She must’ve been returning from selling flowers. The old woman fixed her eyes on the box and stared at the tag for a good while. But it turned out she hadn’t actually read the writing. Why? Because she muttered this to herself: “Why’s there an offering box here when there ain’t even a Jizo statue or nothin’?” And off the old woman went.

“There’s not even a Jizo statue here, so why’s there an offering box in a place like this?” And the old woman went on her way. Mr. Kaizou shifted his chin from resting on his right hand to his left.

This time, a bowlegged old man with hunched hips came from the direction of the village. “That’s Mr. Shohei’s grandfather.” “Even being from the old days, that old man ought to be able to read,” Mr. Kaizou murmured.

The old man fixed his eyes on the box. And muttering “What’s this?” he straightened his back and began reading the tag. After finishing reading，he muttered， “Ah，I see… Hmm，yes，I see…” with deep admiration. And when he began rummaging through his pocket—thinking this must be for a donation—what he pulled out was an old tobacco pouch. The old man took a smoke break at the base of the camellia tree and went on his way.

Mr. Kaizou got up and slid down toward the camellia tree.

He took the box in hand and shook it. There was no response at all. Disappointed, Mr. Kaizou let out a sigh. "In the end, I realized people can't be relied on. Now that it's come to this, I'll get it done through my own strength alone." Muttering this to himself, Mr. Kaizou climbed up Shinta no Mune.

IV

The next day, after Mr. Kaizou had taken a passenger to Ōno Town, he entered the village teahouse. That place had become a spot where the village rickshaw pullers would come after finishing a job to rest while waiting for their next customer. That day too, three rickshaw pullers were already resting inside the teahouse when Mr. Kaizou arrived. Upon entering the shop, Mr. Kaizou lay down on his back behind the counter lined with snack boxes as usual and absentmindedly picked up a piece of fried pastry. The rickshaw pullers, while waiting for customers with nothing to do, had developed a habit of automatically opening the snack box lids to nibble on fried pastries, rock-hard candies called genkotsu, crunchy peppermints known as pekoshān, grilled squid strips, and bean paste buns. Mr. Kaizou had once been no different.

However, Mr. Kaizou now ended up putting the fried pastry he had picked up back into its original box.

Mr. Gen, his colleague who had been watching, “What’s up with you, Kaizou? “Did that fried pastry get splashed with rat’s piss or somethin’?” said Gen. Mr. Kaizou blushed deeply, “Nah, it’s not like that—just don’t feel much like eatin’ today.”

replied Mr. Kaizou. “Heh heh.” “You don’t look pale at all, so what’s wrong with you anyway?” said Gen.

After a moment, Gen took a handful of comet sugar candies from the glass jar, then tossed one high into the air and caught it neatly in his mouth. And then, “How about it, Mr. Kaizou?” “Wanna try this?” said Gen. Until just yesterday, Mr. Kaizou had often done that with Gen. They would compete against each other, and whoever missed fewer would make their opponent buy another snack. And Mr. Kaizou had never lost to any other rickshaw puller at this stunt.

However, today Mr. Kaizou said: “My back tooth’s been actin’ up since mornin’, so I don’t feel much like eatin’ sweets.” “Alright then, Yoshi, let’s do it.” With that, Mr. Gen and Mr. Yoshi began. The two of them tried tossing colorful comet sugar candies toward the ceiling and catching them in their mouths—sometimes succeeding neatly, other times hitting their noses or dropping them into the tobacco tray’s ashes.

Mr. Kaizou watched them, thinking that if he were to do it himself, he wouldn’t miss a single one. Whenever Mr. Gen and Mr. Yoshi kept dropping too many candies, he felt like stepping forward and saying, “Alright, I’ll show them how it’s done,” but he held himself back. This was an excruciating ordeal. “If only customers would come soon,” Mr. Kaizou thought, narrowing his eyes as he gazed down the bright road. However, before any customers arrived, the teahouse mistress appeared with freshly baked large bean-jam rolls still piping hot.

The rickshaw pullers took one each with great delight. Mr. Kaizou could no longer resist either; his hand began to move slightly—but with great effort, he managed to suppress it.

“What’s up with you, Kaizou? Hoarding every penny without spending a single one—you plannin’ to build yourself a grand warehouse or somethin’?” said Gen. Kaizou forced a pained smile and went outside. And there, by the ditch’s edge, he broke off a stalk of sedge grass and began fishing for frogs. In Kaizou’s chest was a resolve as hard as a clenched fist. He would save all the money he had previously spent on snacks, and with it dig a well for the people at the foot of Shinta no Mune.

Mr. Kaizou’s stomach wasn’t hurting, nor were his teeth. He wanted to eat the snacks so badly he could almost taste them. However, he had changed his old habits in order to build the well.

V Two years passed.

On a day when even the camellia tree whose leaves had been eaten by the cow bore three or four flowers, Mr. Kaizou went to the house of the landowner living in Handa Town. Mr. Kaizou had been visiting this house frequently for about two months now. The funds for digging the well had mostly been secured, but when it actually came to it, the landowner would not approve digging a well there, which was why he had come to plead so many times. That landowner was none other than the old man who had given Mr. Rikisuke a thorough scolding for tying his cow to the camellia tree.

When Mr. Kaizou entered the gate, a violent hiccup—"hic!"—came from inside the house. Upon inquiring, he learned that since the day before yesterday, the elderly landowner had been suffering from unceasing hiccups that left his body thoroughly weakened and confined him to bed. So Mr. Kaizou came to his bedside for a visit. The old man lay hiccuping, making the futon ripple like waves. Then, when he saw Mr. Kaizou’s face,

“No—no matter how many times you come begging, I won’t let you dig that well.” “If these hiccups keep up one more day, they say I’ll die—but even dead, I won’t allow it.” he said stubbornly. Mr. Kaizou, thinking there was no point in arguing with a man on death’s door, taught him a folk remedy for hiccups: placing a single chopstick on a teacup and downing the water in one gulp.

As he was about to leave through the gate, the landowner’s son came chasing after Mr. Kaizou,

“My father’s stubborn beyond help.” “Once it comes to my time soon enough, I’ll grant permission for your well to be dug.” said the son.

Mr. Kaizou was pleased. Given his condition, that old man would surely die within two or three days. If that happened, that son would succeed him and let them dig the well—this was clever, he thought.

That evening, during dinner, Mr. Kaizou spoke these words to his elderly mother.

“If that stubborn old man dies, I hear the son’ll let us dig the well, but...” “But he’ll die in two or three days anyhow, so it’s fine.”

Then Mother said. “You’ve been thinking only about your own work and let your heart turn wicked, haven’t you.” “It’s wrong to be waiting and hoping for someone to die, you know.” Mr. Kaizou felt as though something had pierced his chest. Mother was right.

Early the next morning, Mr. Kaizou set out for the landowner’s house once more. When he passed through the gate, he heard hiccups—weaker than yesterday’s, strained and convulsive—coming from within. It became clear that the landowner’s body had weakened considerably. “You’ve come again. The old man is still alive,” said the son who had come out.

“No, I came because I wanted to meet your father while he’s still alive,” said Mr. Kaizou. The old man was lying there, emaciated. Mr. Kaizou placed both hands at the bedside, “I have come to apologize. Yesterday, when I was leaving here, I heard from your son that if you were to die, he would permit the well, and I harbored wicked thoughts. I calmly thought such a terrible thing as ‘It’s fine because you’ll die soon anyway.’ In other words, I became so single-mindedly focused on my own well that I ended up harboring a heart as cruel as a demon’s, wishing for your death. That is why I have come to apologize. I won’t ask about the well anymore. I will look for some other place instead. Therefore, please don’t die.”

he said.

The old man listened silently. Then, for a long while, he silently gazed up at Mr. Kaizou’s face.

“You are an admirable person.” At last breaking his silence, the old man said: “You have a good heart. All through my long life I’ve lived for nothing but my own greed, never giving a thought to others—but now your noble spirit has moved me for the first time.” “Someone like you is rare nowadays.” “Very well—I’ll let you dig the well there.” “Dig whatever sort you please.” “If you strike no water there, I’ll let you dig wherever you like.” “That whole stretch is my land.” “Aye, and if the digging costs run short, I’ll cover whatever’s needed.” “Since I might die come tomorrow, I’ll set this down in my will for you.”

Mr. Kaizou, having heard these unexpected words, found himself at a loss for how to respond. But before dying, this single greedy old man’s change of heart was also a source of joy for Mr. Kaizou.

VI

A firework launched from Shinta no Mune exploded in the slightly clouded sky—it was midday near the end of spring.

From the direction of the village, a procession came down Shinta no Mune. At the head of the procession was a soldier wearing a black uniform and a black-and-yellow cap. That was Mr. Kaizou.

At the base of Shinta no Mune stood a camellia tree by the roadside. Its blossoms had all scattered now, leaving soft pale-green young leaves in their place. On the opposite side, where they had slightly hollowed out the cliff face, a new well had been built. When they reached that spot, the procession came to an abrupt halt—because Mr. Kaizou at the front had stopped moving. Two small children returning from school were drawing water from the well, gulping down the clear water noisily as they drank. Mr. Kaizou stood watching them with a quiet smile.

“I should drink my fill before I go.” When the children finished, Mr. Kaizou said that and went to the well. When he peered inside, fresh spring water was abundantly welling up in the new well. Just as that water flowed, joy welled up inside Mr. Kaizou’s heart too. Mr. Kaizou drew some and drank it with relish.

“I’ve got no regrets left now.” “It may be a small task, but I was able to leave behind something that benefits others.” Mr. Kaizou felt like stopping anyone he could to tell them this. But he didn’t say a word of it. Instead, he simply smiled and began climbing the slope toward town. Japan and Russia had begun fighting across the sea. Mr. Kaizou crossed over that sea and entered into the conflict.

VII

In the end, Mr. Kaizou did not return. He gallantly fell like a flower in the Russo-Japanese War. However, the work Mr. Kaizou left behind lives on even now. In the shade of the camellia tree, the spring water still gushes forth abundantly, and travelers wearied by the road moisten their throats, regain their strength, and continue on their way.