Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part 1

Next to the mountain path, there was a young camellia tree. Risuke the cow herder tied his cow to it.

Kaizo the rickshaw puller also placed his rickshaw at the base of the camellia tree. The rickshaw was not a cow, so there was no need to tie it up.

So Risuke and Kaizo went into the mountains to drink water. About a hundred meters off the road into the foothills, there was always a clear cold spring welling up. The two took turns kneeling at the spring's edge among the ferns and bracken, lying prone with their hands planted on the vegetation as they sniffed the cold water's scent and drank like deer. They drank until their bellies gurgled.

In the mountains, the spring cicadas were already singing.

“Ah, those cicadas have started singing already,” said Kaizo under his round straw hat. “Hearin’ ’em just makes ya feel hotter.”

Mr. Kaizo said as he wore his round straw hat.

“Guess we’ll just keep havin’ to ask to drink this spring every time we come ‘n’ go, huh.” Having drunk water and broken into a sweat, Risuke said while wiping his face with a hand towel. “If only it were a bit closer to the road.” Kaizo said. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Risuke replied. After drinking from this spring, it had become customary for everyone to exchange such words like a greeting.

When the two men returned to the camellia tree, a man was standing there with his bicycle parked. At that time, bicycles had only just been introduced to Japan, and in the countryside, those who owned them were almost exclusively landowners. “Who could that be?” Risuke said nervously. “Might be the district head.”

Kaizo said. When they drew near, they realized it was the elderly landowner from town who owned land in this area. And another thing they realized was that the Landowner was absolutely furious. “Hey! Whose cow is this?” When the Landowner saw the two men, he barked. That cow was Risuke’s. “It’s my cow, I tell ya.” “Your cow? “Look at this!” “It’s eaten every last camellia leaf and stripped the tree bare!”

When the two men looked at the camellia tree where the cow had been tied, it was exactly as the Landowner with the bicycle had said. The young camellia tree’s tender leaves had been stripped completely bare, leaving only a pitiful stick-like thing standing there.

Risuke, realizing what had happened, turned bright red as he frantically untied the rope from the tree. By way of apology, he sharply struck the cow's neck with the reins. Yet such measures were insufficient to earn the Landowner's forgiveness. The Landowner berated grown man Risuke like a scolded child, delivering a thorough dressing-down. Slapping the bicycle saddle repeatedly, he barked:

“Now, I don’t care how—put every last leaf back on that tree exactly as it was!”

This was an impossible demand. Then Mr. Kaizo the rickshaw puller also removed his round straw hat and apologized on Risuke’s behalf. “Now now—I’ll let it slide just this time,” he said. “Risuke didn’t know that damned cow would eat up every last camellia leaf when he tied it there.”

At last, the Landowner’s anger subsided. However, having shouted so vehemently that his body appeared to tremble, he failed to mount the bicycle two or three times before finally succeeding and riding away.

Risuke and Kaizo started walking toward the village. But they no longer spoke. Thinking how wretched it must feel for a grown man to be berated like that by another adult, Mr. Kaizo the rickshaw puller tried to understand Mr. Risuke's feelings. "If only that spring were a bit closer to the road, I tell ya."

And at last, Mr. Kaizo said.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Risuke replied.

Part Two

When Mr. Kaizo came to the rickshaw pullers’ gathering spot, Shingoro the well-digger was there. To call it a rickshaw pullers’ gathering spot was just to say it was a cheap candy shop along the village highway. There, Shingoro the well-digger was loudly talking about trivial matters while munching on fried dough sticks. Shingoro’s voice had grown loud from having to speak up from the bottom of wells to those outside.

“So about wells – how much’d it cost to dig one, Shin-san?” Kaizo asked while plucking a fried dough stick from the candy box himself.

Shingoro 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, for a regular well, thirty yen should do it.”

“First off, for a regular well, thirty yen should do it,” Shingoro said. “Huh… Thirty yen.” At this, Kaizo’s eyes widened. Then he kept crunching on the fried dough stick for some time before asking, “If someone digs where Shintanomune slopes down, d’you think water’d come up?”

he asked. That was near the camellia tree where Mr. Risuke had tied his cow. “Hmm, if it’s there—water’d come up sure enough, what with the spring bubbling in the mountain ahead. Dig below that and you’d get water alright. But what’s the use putting a well in such a spot?” Shingoro asked. “Yeah, there’s a bit of a reason behind it.”

With that answer, Kaizo offered no further explanation. Kaizo was pulling his empty rickshaw home when,

"Thirty yen... Thirty yen, huh." he muttered this over and over again.

Kaizo lived with just his elderly mother in a small thatched house with a thicket behind it. The two of them did farming work, and in their spare time, Kaizo would go out to pull a rickshaw. At dinnertime, the two of them found pleasure in talking together about what had happened that day. The elderly mother talked about how the neighbor’s chicken had laid its first egg today—one that was oddly small—and how bees seemed intent on building a nest on the holly tree by the back door, having come to inspect the spot both yesterday and today. If they built a hive there, she said, it would be dangerously troublesome when fetching miso from the storage room.

Kaizo told her how Risuke’s cow had eaten all the camellia leaves while he was away getting water, “If only there were a well by that roadside, I tell ya.” “Well, if it were by the roadside, that’d be a help to everyone.”

With that, Mother began listing off the people passing through that road under the blazing midday sun. She enumerated them all: oil sellers hauling carts from Ōno Town, couriers passing between Handa and Ōno, Mr. Tomi the bamboo pipe seller heading from the village to Handa, and many others—cart pullers, oxcart drivers, rickshaw pullers, pilgrims, beggars, schoolchildren. The throats of all these people would inevitably go dry right around Shintanomune.

“But if there were a well by the roadside, what a help that’d be to everyone.” With that, Mother concluded her talk.

Mr. Kaizo mentioned that the well could be dug for about thirty yen.

“For poor folks like us, thirty yen’s enough to make our heads spin—but for nouveau riche like Risuke’s sort, thirty yen’s nothing at all.”

said Mother. Kaizo recalled hearing that Risuke had made a considerable sum of money from mountain lumber not long ago. After bathing, Kaizo set out for the house of Risuke the oxcart driver. In the back mountains an owl hooted ho-hoo-hoo while at Ninzaemon’s house atop the cliff—where there seemed to be a Buddhist prayer gathering—light glowed through paper screens and wooden fish beats spilled down to the road below. It was already night. When he arrived he found diligent Risuke still rustling about doing something in his cowshed’s darkness.

“You’re really puttin’ in the work there.” Kaizo said.

“Nah, after that I had to make two trips to Handa—just runnin’ a bit behind, is all.” While saying this, Mr. Risuke emerged from under the cow’s belly.

When the two sat down on the edge of the veranda, Kaizo began, "Well, 'bout that Shintanomune business today, is all." "If someone dug a well by that roadside, I reckon it'd help everyone, is all," he proposed. "Well, that'd be a help, is all," Risuke responded. "We didn't realize 'til the cow ate all them camellia leaves 'cause the spring's too far from the road, is all."

“That’s how it is, is all.” “If there’s thirty yen, a well could be dug there, is all.” “Huh. Thirty yen, is all.” “Ah, if there were thirty yen, that’d be enough, is all.” “Thirty yen’s all it takes, is all.”

Even after speaking in this manner, with Risuke still failing to grasp his intentions, Kaizo decided to state it plainly. “Risuke, can’t you just chip in that much? I hear you’ve made quite a profit from the mountain forests.”

Risuke had been talking smoothly up until now, but he suddenly fell silent. Then he pinched his own cheek. “How ’bout it, Risuke?”

And after some time, Mr. Kaizo urged for an answer. Even so, Mr. Risuke remained silent like a stone. Apparently, this sort of talk held little interest for Mr. Risuke. “They say it can be done with thirty yen, is all.”

And again, Mr. Kaizo said.

“Why the hell should I pay that thirty yen? If I were the only one drinking that water, I’d get it. But why should I pay for a well that everyone else’ll drink from too? That part just don’t sit right with me, is all.” After a while, Mr. Risuke said.

Mr. Kaizo explained at length how it was for everyone's sake, but Mr. Risuke simply couldn't "swallow" the idea.

In the end, Mr. Risuke acted as if he’d had enough of this talk, “Woman, get dinner ready. I’m starvin’ here,” he shouted into the house.

Mr. Kaizo stood up. He realized that Mr. Risuke’s diligent work late into the night was solely for his own benefit.

As he walked alone along the night road, Mr. Kaizo thought—this relying on others wouldn’t do; he’d have to do it himself.

III

Travelers and those heading to town saw something resembling an offerings box hanging on the camellia tree beneath Shintanomune. It had a tag attached with the following written on it. “I plan to dig a well here for travelers to drink from.” “Those with goodwill, please give alms—even one sen or five rin.” This was Mr. Kaizo’s doing. As proof of this, five or six days later, Mr. Kaizo lay prone atop the cliff facing the camellia tree, his head alone protruding from beneath the ferns, watching how people gave alms.

Before long, an old woman came pushing a baby carriage from the direction of Handa town. She must have been returning from selling flowers. The old woman fixed her eyes on the box and gazed at the tag for some time. However, she hadn’t actually read the characters—this became clear when she muttered to herself: “Even though there’s no Jizo or anything here, why in the world would there be an offerings box in a place like this?” And with that, the old woman went away.

Mr. Kaizo shifted his chin from his right hand to his left.

This time, from the village direction came a bowlegged old man with a hunched back. "That's Shōhei-san's grandfather. That old-timer's from the earlier generation—he oughta know his letters," Mr. Kaizo murmured. The old man fixed his eyes on the box. Muttering "What's this now?", he straightened his back and began reading the tag. When he finished, he gave a knowing grunt—"Ah, makes sense... Hmm, right enough"—and started rummaging in his pocket. Kaizo thought he might donate something, but out came a worn tobacco pouch instead. The old man took a smoke at the camellia tree's roots before shuffling off.

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

He took the box in hand and shook it. There was no resistance at all. Dejectedly, Mr. Kaizo let out a sigh.

In the end, he’d realized people couldn’t be relied on. "Now that it’s come to this, I’ll get it done through my own efforts alone." While saying this, Mr. Kaizo climbed up Shintanomune.

IV

The next day, Mr. Kaizo entered the village tea shop after taking a passenger to Ōno Town. This had become the place where village rickshaw pullers rested after finishing jobs while waiting for their next customers. That day too, three rickshaw pullers were already resting inside when Mr. Kaizo arrived. Upon entering the shop, Mr. Kaizo lay on his back behind the counter lined with cheap snack boxes as usual and absentmindedly picked up a fried snack. The rickshaw pullers had developed a habit during customer waits of opening snack box lids to nibble on fried dough sticks, rock-hard rice crackers, crackly sugar candies, grilled squid strips, and bean paste sweets. Mr. Kaizo had been no different.

However, Mr. Kaizo now put the fried snack he had picked back into its original box.

Gen-san, his fellow rickshaw puller who had been watching, “What’s wrong, Kaizo? That fried snack got splashed with rat’s piss or somethin’?” said Gen-san. Mr. Kaizo’s face turned red, “Nah, it ain’t like that. Just don’t feel like eatin’ much today, though.” he replied. “Heh heh. You don’t look the least bit pale though—so what’s ailin’ ya then?” said Gen-san. After a moment, Gen-san grabbed a handful of konpeitō from the glass jar, then with a flick, tossed one up and snapped it into his mouth. And then,

“How ’bout it, Kaizo? Givin’ this a go?” Gen said. Until just yesterday, Kaizo had often done this with Gen. The two would compete—whoever missed fewer catches would make the other buy different sweets. And Mr. Kaizo had never lost to any other rickshaw puller at this trick.

However, today Mr. Kaizo said, "Since this mornin', my back tooth's been actin' up—can't eat sweet stuff." "I see. Well then, Yoshi—let's do it."

With that, Gen-san and Yoshi-san began. The two tossed multicolored konpeitō candies toward the ceiling trying to catch them in their mouths—sometimes succeeding neatly, other times hitting their noses or letting them fall into the tobacco tray’s ashes. Mr. Kaizo watched while thinking that if he were doing it, he wouldn’t miss a single one. When Gen-san and Yoshi-san kept dropping them too often, he nearly stepped forward to show them how it was done—but restrained himself. This was excruciating.

"If only customers would come soon," Mr. Kaizo thought, squinting his eyes as he gazed down the sunlit road. However before any passengers arrived, the teashop mistress appeared bearing freshly baked large bean paste rolls still steaming hot from the oven.

The rickshaw pullers took one each with great delight. Mr. Kaizo could no longer resist—his hand began to twitch slightly—but he managed to hold back at the last moment. “Kaizo, what’s gotten into ya? You ain’t spendin’ a single sen, hoardin’ it all away—plannin’ to build yourself a big storehouse or somethin’?” said Gen-san. Mr. Kaizo forced a pained smile and stepped outside. Then, at the edge of the ditch, he broke off a stalk of grass and fished for frogs.

In Mr. Kaizo's chest was a determination as hard as a clenched fist. He resolved to save from then on the money he had spent on snacks, using it instead to dig a well for everyone beneath the camellia tree's shade. Mr. Kaizo's stomach didn't ache, nor did his teeth. He wanted sweets so badly his throat seemed to reach out grasping hands. Yet to build the well, he had changed his old ways.

Five

Two years passed.

On a day during that season when even the camellia tree—whose leaves had been devoured by the cow—bore three or four blossoms, Mr. Kaizo went to the house of the Landowner living in Handa Town. Mr. Kaizo had been visiting this house frequently for about two months now. The money for digging the well had mostly been secured, but when it came down to it, the Landowner would not consent to having a well dug there—which was why he had come to plead so many times. This Landowner was none other than that old man who had harshly scolded Mr. Risuke for tethering his cow to the camellia tree.

When Mr. Kaizo entered the gate, a sharp hiccuping sound—"Hic!"—came from inside the house. Upon inquiring, he learned that since two days prior, the Landowner had been unable to stop hiccuping, leaving his body thoroughly weakened and bedridden. So Mr. Kaizo came to his bedside. The Landowner lay making his futon heave with each hiccup. And when he saw Mr. Kaizo’s face,

“No—no matter how many times you come pleading, I won’t allow that well to be dug. “If these hiccups last another day, they say I’ll die—but even dead, I won’t permit that.” he said stubbornly. Mr. Kaizo, thinking it pointless to argue with a man on death’s doorstep, taught him a hiccup remedy: placing a single chopstick across a rice bowl and gulping down all the water in one breath.

As he was about to leave through the gate, the Landowner’s son came chasing after Kaizo, “My old man’s as stubborn as they come.” “In time, when it’s my turn, I’ll consent to digging your well.” said the Landowner’s son. Mr. Kaizo 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 have the well dug—he thought this was a smart move.

That evening during dinner, Mr. Kaizo said this to his aged mother: "If that stubborn old man kicks off, they say his boy'll let us dig the well." "But he'll croak in two-three days anyhow, so it'll sort itself out."

Then Mother said: "You've gone and turned wicked-hearted, thinkin' only 'bout your own work. It's wicked to be wishin' for someone's death like that."

Mr. Kaizo felt as though his chest had been seized. It was just as Mother had said.

Early the next morning, Mr. Kaizo set out once again for the Landowner’s house. When he entered the gate, he heard a spasmodic hiccupping sound—weaker than the day before. He realized the Landowner’s body had weakened considerably.

“You’ve come again.” “My old man’s still alive.” said the Landowner’s Son as he came out. “No, I must meet him while your father is still alive.” said Mr. Kaizo. The old man lay there emaciated. Mr. Kaizo placed both hands at the bedside, “I’ve come to apologize.” “Yesterday when I left here, your son told me that if you died he’d allow the well—and I turned wicked-hearted.” “I thought such a terrible thing so casually—that it’d be fine if you died soon.” “In other words, I’d become so fixated on my well that I ended up harboring a heart akin to a demon’s, wishing for your death.” “That’s why I’ve come to apologize.” “I won’t ask about the well anymore.” “I’ll try to find another place somewhere else.” “Therefore, please don’t die.”

he said. The Landowner remained silent as he listened. After that, he remained silent for a long while, looking up at Mr. Kaizo’s face.

“You are a most admirable one.”

Finally breaking his silence, the Landowner said, “You’re a good-hearted soul. In my long life, I’ve lived only for my own greed, never sparing a thought for others—but now, for the first time, I’ve been moved by your admirable spirit. People like you are rare these days. Then I’ll let you dig a well there. Dig any well you like. If you dig and no water comes out, I’ll let you dig wherever you like. That whole area’s my land. Yeah, and if the well-digging costs come up short, I’ll cover however much you need. Since I might die tomorrow, I’ll put this in my will for you.”

Mr. Kaizo, having heard these unexpected words, couldn’t find any way to respond. But before dying, the fact that this single greed-driven old man had come to possess a good heart was a happy thing for Mr. Kaizo as well.

VI

The fireworks that were launched from Shinta’s Ridge and exploded in the slightly clouded sky marked a day in late spring, nearing its end.

From the direction of the village, a procession came down Shinta's Ridge. At the head of the procession was a single soldier wearing a black uniform and a black-and-yellow cap. That was Mr. Kaizo.

At the foot of Shinta’s Ridge where they had descended, there stood a camellia tree by the roadside. Now the flowers had scattered, leaving soft, pale green young leaves in their place. On the other side, part of the cliff had been hollowed out, and there now stood a new well.

When they reached that point, the procession came to a halt. Because the leader, Mr. Kaizo, had stopped. Two small children on their way home from school were drawing water from the well, gurgling their throats as they drank the beautiful water. Mr. Kaizo watched this with a smile. “I’ll have a good drink too before I go.” When the children finished, Mr. Kaizo said this and went to the well.

When he peered inside, the new well was brimming with fresh spring water. Just as that water welled up, so too did joy well up within Mr. Kaizo’s heart.

Mr. Kaizo drew water and drank it with relish.

“I’ve got no regrets left now. It’s just a small job, but I managed to leave somethin’ behind that helps folks.”

Mr. Kaizo felt like grabbing anyone he could find to tell them. But he didn’t say any of that—just kept smiling as he walked up the slope toward town.

Japan and Russia had begun fighting across the sea. Mr. Kaizo crossed the sea and entered into that conflict.

VII

In the end, Mr. Kaizo did not return. He had valiantly fallen like a blossom in the Russo-Japanese War. Yet the work Mr. Kaizo left behind still lives on. 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.