Pathway to Japanese Literature

I “Hey old man, where are you?” inquired Sokei, who had the bearing of an artisan, addressing the elderly rickshaw puller beside him. The elderly rickshaw puller was already over fifty years old and was thought to be not far from sixty. A feeble voice, weakened by hunger and quavering from the cold, “I humbly beg your pardon—I’ll be more careful from now on.” “Yes, yes!” He flustered and panicked. “Don’t panic, old man.” “Look, I ain’t no police officer.” “Hey, you look pitifully flustered. Honestly, you’re way too timid.” “They ain’t sayin’ they’ll tie you up or nothin’, so quit bein’ so damn jittery.” “I was listenin’ from the side and got so damn irritated I couldn’t stand it.” “Hey old man, I heard they chewed you out over your shabby getup, but even so, that’s one hell of a scolding. What’d you do—screw up somethin’ else? Huh, old man?”

When questioned, the elderly rickshaw puller let out a sigh, “Yes, I was truly startled.” “This was the first time this old man has ever been reprimanded by the Officer—I beg your pardon—I was beside myself, not knowing what would become of me.” “Though I may lack spirit, I’ve never done anything underhanded in return.” “There was no particular disturbance just now—but my loincloth has torn, exposing my legs below the knees, so you say it’s unsightly and reprimand me so harshly. I beg your pardon—it’s not that I’m unaware of the rules—but I simply couldn’t mend it in time, and then you suddenly shout ‘Hey!’ at me—” “I was so startled when you shouted that my heart still pounds.”

Sokei nodded repeatedly. “Hmm, that’s right.” “Timid pre-Restoration folks are the sort who tend to fear police officers, you know.” “What’s this? Just ’cause someone ain’t got a loincloth, they shouldn’t go scoldin’ ’em so damn much.” “It’s not some master’s private carriage—hah! Meddlin’ where you ain’t needed, eh old man? Even if they don’t say it outright, folks’d wanna wear loincloths themselves in this cold! But when your own circumstances won’t let you wear ’em, you just can’t wear ’em.” “It ain’t like he’s sayin’ you’re wearin’ nothin’ at all.” “And it’s a pitch-black night where you can’t see beyond your lantern, ain’t it? There’s no room for manners or trivialities here!” “Even if you’re freezin’ your ass off in your line of work, you ain’t gotta take it out on the people!” “Hmph!” “Damn winter crow!” “You don’t see many bastards like that—in a quiet area, they’d overlook a bit of loitering even in broad daylight. Infuriating!” “I ain’t one to wrestle with another man’s loincloth, but this ain’t work for some young’un—he’s just a pitiful, totterin’ old man.” “Look, don’t get so worked up—honestly, pullin’ a rickshaw in this state ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.” “Tch, you damn fool! If you didn’t have that saber, I’d give you a thrashing! Quit flaunting your authority already!” “Hmph! If you were by the moat over there, you’d be done for! One wrong move and I’d hoist you up and treat you like a damn fool!”

Cursing vehemently at the patrolman who had already left, venting his fury while absentmindedly rubbing his arms, Sokei found himself overwhelmed with pity when he saw the elderly rickshaw puller—now refilling the candle in his soot-stained lantern marked "Yotsuya Association" and weakly lifting the handlebar—and asked, "So old man, is it just you? No grandchildren either?"

Spoken to kindly, the elderly rickshaw puller teared up. “Thank you kindly—no, truly, I’ve been fortunate to have one dutiful son who worked hard to provide for us. You see, sir, on nights like this, I’d be unworthy to sleep hugging a foot warmer—but my son, sir, was conscripted this autumn. Now my daughter-in-law and two grandchildren look after me, but we can’t make ends meet. Like father, like son—my old man also did this trade, so even at my age, I know the ropes enough to pull his rickshaw like this. But what with the competition from those who’ve got all three qualities—skilled, clean, and cheap—no one will ride a rickshaw like mine unless they’re tea connoisseurs or customers with great mercy. They say poverty can’t catch up to hard work, but no matter how much I earn, we barely scrape by each day. I can’t afford proper clothes, so I end up troubling the Officer like this.”

Having listened to the exceedingly lengthy complaint without finding it tedious, Sokei was deeply moved, “Old man, no—no need to say that. Hmm, quite right.” “From what I hear, your only son’s become a soldier—he’ll likely be sent to war. So if that’s the case, don’t stay quiet—press ’em hard! Make up for every lost chance by wringin’ out some booze money from ’em!” “Oh, you’re too kind—but though I mentioned that matter purely by way of apology, they wouldn’t show any understanding at all.”

Sokei grew increasingly indignant and even more pitying, “What a bullheaded fool—but no use cussin’ that merciless winter crow.” “C’mon old man, I ain’t gonna waste your time—let’s walk together up yonder.” “We’ll have five gō with a crotch brazier.” “Quit bein’ shy—got somethin’ to discuss.” “Awright then.” “You ain’t cut out for this trade.” “Bastard—grabbin’ some shriveled old coot and screamin’ like that! What’re you playin’ at? Try touchin’ one hair on him now—I’m his damn guardian!”

Where the gaze filled with indignation, contempt, and resentment fell—around the earthen wall of the British Embassy in Kōjimachi Ichibanchō, glimpsed intermittently through willow groves—a corner lantern moved southward. Its light resembled a beast’s eye in the dark night.

II The beast prowling near the embassy was Police Officer Yuta Yoshiyuki. He had departed from a certain town’s police box at noon on December 10, 1894, and set out on his one-hour alternating patrol route. His gait—as if governed by a fixed law unique to this patrolman—advanced steadily along the road, neither lagging nor hastening. His body stood rigidly erect, not leaning an inch to either side, while his resolute and composed attitude exuded an inviolable dignity.

Beneath the visor of his service cap, the ferociously concealed glare shone with an uncanny glow—a blend of alertness, sharpness, and severity. When he looked left and right or gazed upward and downward, he did not move his face or turn his head even slightly; yet his pupils rotated freely, fulfilling their purpose at will. Thus every trivial matter along the road—the faintly white traces upon the embankment’s grassy expanse resembling slithering snakes, imprinted by trampling feet; the reddish-black glow of lamplight cast across a second-floor window of the British Embassy; the two gas lamps before its gate slightly dimmer than the previous night; the single frozen straw sandal abandoned mid-street, rigid with frost; the withered willows lining the roadside rustling sharply under a gust of northern wind before bending uniformly southward; the wisp of smoke rising from the distant chimney of the Electric Light Bureau—none of these minutiae could escape the patrolman’s gaze.

Moreover, he had not once looked back since leaving the police box—having reprimanded an old rickshaw puller on the street—until arriving at this spot. He focused ahead with sharp, meticulous, and severe scrutiny, while behind him he appeared completely detached, as if in a trance. For he had already inspected what lay behind with his own eyes once, deemed there to be no irregularities, and thus dismissed it from his mind. Were someone—a violent assailant—to brandish a blade and attempt to stab him from behind, the patrolman would remain oblivious to any presence at his back until his last breath. Simply put, he believed that once his eyes had completed their observation of a place, not even a speck of concern remained—not so much as could pass through the eye of a lotus thread.

Therefore, he maintained his composure and dignity, free of ulterior motives or concern, and could calmly direct his will solely toward the path ahead.

As those boots—echoing through the empty valley in the frost-laden deep of night with their distant footsteps—advanced ever onward to a point just shy of Ichibanchō’s bend, there crouched an object beneath a gate with a horizontal beam to the right, which stirred at his footsteps; he saw it fixedly with those characteristic eyes of his. Patrolman Yuta Yoshiyuki fixed his gaze and saw that this was an utterly emaciated woman. Holding an infant, perhaps letting her guard down in the depth of night when no eyes were upon her, she had loosened her obi to press the child against her bare skin and used the ragged quilted garment she wore as a blanket, striving to impart what little warmth she could—what must have been the state of the mother’s heart? Even if one were to bestow not a single coin of charity upon that mother and child, who would not think it pitiful?

Yet the patrolman stomped two or three times at the woman’s bedside, “Hey! Get up, get up!”

[He] uttered [this] in a deep, yet forceful voice.

The woman scrambled to her feet in a fluster and hurriedly straightened her posture. Her teeth chattered too violently to form the word "Yes," and she buried her face in the dirt.

The patrolman spoke in a grave tone, “That’s not a proper ‘yes.’ You can’t be sleeping in a place like this. Get moving. What a disgraceful sight,” he declared in a sharp tone. The woman was ashamed and spoke under her breath. “I deeply apologize, sir.” Just as she offered this abject apology, the infant—awoken from dreams—remembered the hunger and cold forgotten in sleep, but its subsequent wails came out hoarse from exhaustion. The mother, less ashamed of being seen than of others’ eyes, hurriedly put her breast into its mouth while—

“It’s late at night, so please show us mercy, sir. Please see us with your generous eyes.” The patrolman coldly declared: “Rules do not distinguish between night and day. You cannot sleep here—under the eaves.” Just then, a fierce gust of wind reached its coldest peak, threatening to tear and shred the exposed skin of the woman’s bare hands and feet. She trembled violently, curled up like a ball: “I can’t bear this—please sir, I beg of you! Let us stay here just a while longer! If we go out into this cold...onto that exposed embankment...th-this child...it would be pitiful! We’ve met with such misfortunes...as sudden beggars we don’t know how...” Her voice broke into a sob.

If she were to request this from the owner of these eaves, his approval or denial would still have been difficult to predict. Yet the police officer did not consent.

“No good! Once I’ve said no good, no amount of begging will change that.” “Even if you were Kannon-sama’s divine incarnation, you can’t sleep here! Hey, I said move!”

III

“You’re being reckless, Uncle.” From the direction of Hanzo Gate they came, and just as they were about to turn onto the embankment, a young beauty of tender years cautioned her elderly companion against his staggering drunken gait. In her left hand clad in knitted gloves, she carried a braided lantern. With one hand guiding the old man while... The old man referred to as Uncle steadied his unsteady feet, “Nah, I’m fine. “You think I’d get completely soused on just that measly bit of booze? “What time is it by now anyway?”

The night deepened. The sky hung leaden; no wind stirred. The thoroughfare along the embankment ended once at Miyakezaka, then connected to a stretch of trees and brick buildings that bounded this fragment of Tokyo—a small, silent world where only the stars shone with icy clarity. The beauty looked back as if seeking someone. A hundred paces away stood a dark figure, approaching slowly with echoing footsteps. “Oh, Mr. Patrolman has come.” The man called Uncle, upon looking back and recognizing the shadow of the corner lantern, immediately took on an unpleasant tone,

“What about the patrolman? You seem rather pleased with yourself.”

He looked at the woman’s face—one eye sightless, the other piercing. The woman appeared startled. “It’s terribly lonely out here—might it be past one o’clock already?” “Yeah, maybe so. Can’t see a single rickshaw around.” “It must be quite late now—we’re already so close.” They proceeded in relative silence. His drunken feet made no progress, yet the footsteps were already drawing near. The old man said loudly, “Oka, how was tonight’s wedding?” he asked with a slight smile.

The woman replied lightly, “It was truly splendid.” “No—it wasn’t just splendid. What did you think when you saw that?” The woman looked at the old man’s face. “What do you mean?” “You must have been so envious,” he jeered. The woman did not answer. She appeared deeply pained by this single cold remark. The old man struck a pose that seemed to say, “It must indeed be so,” and—

“Well? You must have been so envious.” “Hey, Oka, do you know why I took you to their wedding tonight?” “Huh? I said yes—” “No—that’s not it.” “Do you even know what this was about?” The woman remained silent. She did not lower her head. The uncle grew even more strident.

“You wouldn’t understand—no, you probably wouldn’t understand.” “It wasn’t to have you learn anything from the ceremony, nor did I want to treat you to a feast.” “Just to make you envious—make you feel wretched—and see that face crying in your heart... That’s all I wanted.” He exhaled alcohol-laden breath too foul to face; she turned aside despondently. The old man placed his hand on her shoulder: “How about it? That bridal beauty makes this a once-in-a-lifetime ceremony.” “Three layers of white and red robes—that shy way she sits? A woman’s grandest moment.” “Lovely she may be—but you fall nine points short.” “The groom’s respectable enough... still beneath that patrolman.” “Imagine if this were you and him.” “What a rude awakening!” “If only I’d agreed when he came begging for you—we’d have made others envy us instead!” “A man you’d stake your life on... What glory that could’ve been!” “But this floating world never bends to our whims.” “With me blocking your path—I refused them outright!” “Made him look a proper fool.” “Should’ve known his place from the start... Yuta’s got no foresight!” “Idiot patrolman!”

“Oh, Uncle!”

With a trembling voice, she turned around cautiously lest the patrolman behind hear—and there, reflected in her eyes, was a figure unmistakable even through night’s obscurity.

"Oh!" escaped her lips unbidden, leaving her aghast. Officer Yuta stood as though struck by a bolt of electric light.

IV

The old man neither noticed this opportunity that had been staged in the heat of the moment nor showed any sign of concern, “Well, Oka—you must resent me as a merciless bastard.” “I’ve always wanted you to resent me.” “Resent me all you want.” “Anyway, given how stubborn I am, I probably won’t die a noble death—but that’s something I’ve been prepared for from the start.” The manner in which he spoke with a serious face did not seem like the effect of alcohol. The woman finally opened her mouth,

“Uncle, what are you saying out here in public? Let’s hurry back, shall we?” As she dragged the old man’s sleeve to hurry away and avoid the patrolman—intent on keeping her uncle’s unbearable words from reaching his ears—the uncle paid no heed, speaking calmly, even deliberately loud enough to be heard. “Now that patrolman—they likely think I refused because I was holding out for some high-ranking official or wealthy man who’d make his eight-yen monthly salary look like chicken feed. But that’s not my wretched reasoning.” “If it were someone you hate—someone who’d suck your lifeblood if you were together—like a leper, a loan shark, or a repeat thief, I’d gladly hand you over.” “If it were a beggar you fancied, I’d become a beggar myself, surrender all my property to that wretch, and let you marry him.” “Hey, Oka—I’d relish watching you suffer like that.” “But that patrolman was the man you truly loved, wasn’t he?” “A man you’re so fixated on that life holds no meaning without him.” “Because I grasped that perfectly, I refused them outright.” “What a paragon of selflessness!” “Once I’ve refused something, ordinary folk would tell you to abandon all hope—but I’m not like that.” “If Uncle here forbade it, and you meekly gave up without reason—thinking ‘Well, there’s no helping it’—my grand design would dissolve like soap bubbles.” “Love isn’t some trifling thing.” “When bold souls face danger, they grow bolder still. Throw obstacles their way, and their passion burns fiercer. Knowing they can never relinquish it—that’s where the amusement lies.” “Well then—can you let go? Hmm, Oka—have you forgotten that man yet?”

The woman remained silent for a short while, “N-no… I haven’t,” she answered in fragmented bursts. The old man laughed loudly and contentedly,

“Hmm, that’s only natural.” “If you could give up that easily, my stubborn cruelty would’ve been for nothing.” “Now, don’t you go giving up here—this is for my sake in the afterlife.” “Still not enough—I want you to yearn for that patrolman even more.”

The woman could no longer contain herself and lifted her face,

“Uncle, what could possibly displease you so that you’d say such pitiful things? I…” Her voice choked back.

The old man sneered mockingly, “What now? What could possibly displease me?” “Don’t say such things—it’s too good for you.” “What nonsense—there’s likely none who’ve pleased me as much as you.” “First off—your looks are good, your disposition’s good, you’re gentle. Everything about you, down to the way you eat your meals, pleases me.” “But what does that matter? There’s no logic in treating a patrolman this way or that.” “Even if you were to save my life someday—even if I saw you as my very savior—I’d never hand you over to a patrolman.” “If you were a hateful woman, I wouldn’t interfere at all—but since you’re adorable, that’s why I do this.” “Whether you like it or not—don’t you dare say such nonsense!”

The woman bristled slightly, “In that case, you—is there something wrong with that person?”

Having said this, she turned around. The patrolman was steadily walking at a distance where even whispers could be heard. The old man shook his head sharply, “W-well, I’ve always liked that guy. It’s absurd how he treasures his eight-yen salary and puts on airs as if there’s no one in the world as great as a patrolman. The way he takes his duties so seriously—ignoring how everyone criticizes him as cruel and heartless—not overlooking a single transgression… I’m absurdly fond of that very mercilessness of his. Well, that eight-yen salary is certainly worth it. Eight yen isn’t too high a price—can’t call him a salary thief. Truly, a splendid Lord Eight Yen!”

The woman could no longer bear it and looked back, bending slightly at the waist as she raised one hand in a bow to the Soto Patrolman. How Oka must have endeavored to ensure her uncle would not notice this gesture. In an instant, she turned her head back again and did not know whether Yuta had responded to her with any gesture.

V “Well, Lord Eight Yen has no shortcomings, but I absolutely cannot hand you over.” “Had he been some fickle philanderer who’d get briefly distracted by a pretty face and say, ‘If you don’t like it, fine—I’ll try my luck elsewhere,’ I might’ve agreed to hand you over. But when I looked into it, this Yoshiyuki—that patrolman—isn’t that sort of man at all.” “He’s a man who can’t let go once he latches onto something—a quality just like yours, seems like he’d even want to kill himself over it.” “That’s what makes it so amusing there—hahahaha!” he sneered.

The woman’s voice trembled, “Then, Uncle—what on earth am I supposed to do?” she asked in a desperate tone.

The Uncle nonchalantly, “It’s absolutely impossible for you.” “No matter what you do, it’s impossible for you.” “It’s utterly impossible. Don’t say another word. Even if you plead endlessly, I’ll never consent. So Oka—just resign yourself to that.”

The woman burst into tears. She even forgot they were in the midst of it. The Uncle paid no heed at all,

“Listen well—I’ve meant to say this just once in my lifetime, never having hinted at it to you or anyone till now. But since the chance has come, I’ll make you hear it.” “Mark this—your mother who died,” he began.

The moment she heard the word “mother,” the woman suddenly pricked up her ears, “Huh? Mother…?” “Hmm, I was utterly smitten with your late mother.” “Oh my, Uncle!” “Hmph—no need to be shocked. Nor any call to doubt it.” “I was robbed of her—of that mother of yours—by your father.” “There—do you understand?” “Of course your mother had no inkling of what I was—and my brother didn’t know either.” “I’ve never spoken it aloud either—but in my heart—in my heart—Oka, you must have that sympathy by now.” “Because I know what a patrolman is.” “When I attended their wedding ceremony—day after day saw the affection between them—well—what do you think I felt?”

His voice grew hoarse as the drunken flush on his pockmarked, high-cheekboned aged face—with one blind eye now terrifyingly prominent—seemed to amplify his ferocity. Gathering force enough to crush bone, he seized Oka’s shoulder and shook it. “I still haven’t forgotten. “That resentment simply won’t fade away.” “Because of that, I’ve abandoned all my enterprises.” “I discarded my honor too.” “I abandoned my home.” “In other words, your mother robbed me of all my life’s happiness and hope.” “I’d lost all desire to live in this world—but I wanted revenge. Not by clutching a blade in bed, mind you. No—I endured this worthless life just to make your parents understand the agony of love’s betrayal. But how could I force that bitterness on two people so perfectly matched in their devotion?” “If they’d lived just a bit longer, I would’ve found a way to make them realize—but whether by misfortune or fortune, both of them died, leaving only you behind.” “Since I was your only kin left, I took you in—and made you into this proper woman—all through a three-generation curse of spite. In your parents’ place—listen, Oka—I wanted you to taste that bitterness.” “Fortunately, because Yuta—the man you love—has taken root in your heart, I can finally achieve my wish.” “So, given this twisted fate binding us, even if you offered me all the world’s riches, I’d never agree to what you want.” “Brace yourself!” “It’s hopeless after all.” “Ah—you’re covering your ears now, are you?”

Her eyes brimming with tears, Oka trembled uncontrollably as she pressed both sleeves to her ears, striving at least to avoid hearing the death sentence pronouncement—yet the old man cruelly pried them away.

“Hah!” he brought his mouth to her averted ear. “Well? Do you understand?” “I’ll do everything to make you feel even a sliver more of that disappointment’s agony.” “If you ever forget about the patrolman even slightly, I’ll parade weddings before you like tonight, force nauseating talks on you—do everything to torment you.” “Oh, Uncle—I—please—show mercy!” “Let go—oh, what shall I do?”

Unconsciously, she let out a cry.

Patrolman Yuta Yoshiyuki, who had been patrolling at a slight distance, involuntarily took a step forward. He must have resolved not to pass through there. Nevertheless, he did not proceed. He came to a stop and, after a while, falteringly retreated backward. The patrolman had sought to avoid this place. Yet he did not retreat. In that fleeting moment, Patrolman Yuta Yoshiyuki stood like a wooden statue. With an even more chilling demeanor, he began walking forth with a steady pace, solemnly.

Ah, love is life. How excruciating it was for the patrolman to hear the old man’s words that sought to indirectly bring about his death. Had he once quickened his pace, Yuta might have swiftly passed them by; or had he deliberately slowed his step, he might have sent them beyond the bounds of his vision. Yet he maintained a strict set of regulations established during peacetime to uphold his official duties. After departing the police box and patrolling several winding roads, he would return to the police station only after completing approximately thirty-eight thousand nine hundred and sixty-two steps. To detour, sprint, slow his pace, or halt for sentiment was something he deemed unworthy against the responsibility to fulfill his duty.

Six

The old man still did not release his grip on the woman’s ear, walking as though bearing a burden upon his back, “Oka, even though I say all this—I don’t hate you. You look just like your dead mother and are unbearably cute.” “If someone’s hateful, there’s no point in me taking revenge.” “So whether it’s eating or clothing yourself, you can do whatever you like—even if I have no clothes myself, I’ll clothe you.” “I’ll indulge every one of your whims—but know this: I will never forgive *that*, no matter what.” “I’m getting on in years, and you might think things will go smoothly after I’m dead—but I won’t let that happen. When I die, you’re coming with me!”

As soon as Oka heard the old man’s final words uttered in that dreadful voice, she could endure no longer. Summoning all her strength, she shook free from the shoulder he gripped, stumbled away in a frantic run, and in the blink of an eye, leapt onto the embankment by the moat. She threw herself in! The old man panicked and lunged to pull her back, but his drunken eyes misjudged the footing; he slipped sideways on the frost and plunged into the water with a splash. At this moment, even before one could see Patrolman Yoshiyuki leaping forth swiftly for the rescue,

“Yoshi!” she called out breathlessly, burying her forehead in the patrolman’s chest as though forgetting both herself and all others, clinging to him with desperate force. The withered tree, still entwined with ivy, offered no response—cold and unfeeling. Standing rigidly atop the embankment, the patrolman raised his square lantern in one hand and stared fixedly at the water below. The cold defied description. Across the frost-whitened expanse, ink-black water seethed with violent bubbles where the old man must have sunk, thin ice cracking around the site.

Patrolman Yuta Yoshiyuki saw this and hesitated for a mere second, setting down the square lantern in his hand—only to find a single flower hairpin clinging to his chest like an insignia. Oka’s chest pressed flush against his own, her heartbeat so violent it seemed to tremble the air between them, making separation unthinkable. He quietly shook off both hands, “Step aside.” “Wh-what are you going to do?” Oka looked up at the patrolman’s face from below. “I’ll save him.” “Uncle?” “Who fell if not your uncle?”

“But you…” The patrolman stood rigidly solemn. “It’s my duty.” “But you—” “Duty,” he stated coldly. Oka suddenly regained her wits and turned even paler. “Oh—but you—you can’t swim at all!” “Duty.” “Even so—” “No use—it’s done! I’d kill that old man myself… Duty!” “Give up.”

clinging desperately to the hand thrusting her away,

“You mustn’t! You mustn’t!” “Oh! Someone, please come!” “Help! Help!” she cried out, but the earthen walls and stone embankments stood silent, and for ten blocks in every direction, not a single passerby remained.

Patrolman Yoshiyuki steeled his voice, “Let go!” When he resolutely shook her off—her strength failing as she released her grip—the patrolman instantly leapt forth and hurled himself as though discarding his very being. Oka gasped and collapsed. Pitiful Yuta—as a police officer striving to settle the debt society had placed upon him—sought to save this demon who would rather die than be killed; and amidst subzero cold in that frozen midnight hour, being one who knew not how to swim, cast away both life and love. In later days, society at large praised Patrolman Yoshiyuki as benevolent. Ah—was this truly benevolence? Yet how could none praise that very rigor with which he—cruel and harsh—had punished an old rickshaw puller deserving mercy and sternly reprimanded a pitiable mother and child?

(April 1895, “Bungei Kurabu”)