Pathway to Japanese Literature

The form of those summer clouds—plump with moisture, sharply outlined, glowing white—could no longer be seen. Thinly clouded and misshapen forms frayed wildly, gathering here and there in the clear blue sky. It had become undeniably clear that the year was growing old. He had been gazing vacantly at that scene for a long time since earlier.

“We’ll be there soon.”

Father said this right beside him. In the leather-bound pocket notebook sent as a year-end gift from the bank, moistening the tip of his slender pencil with his tongue, he was meticulously inscribing something. Father slumped his chest so deeply that the collar of his Scotch tweed travel coat pulled away from his neck—the sort of father who, even while single-mindedly absorbed in thought, would hurriedly offer such reminders.

At the station were waiting the farm supervisor and five or six elderly tenant farmers to greet them. All wore old hand towels hanging at their waists alongside tobacco pouches and carrying ropes. The abbreviated day had swung fully westward; about him lingered only Hokkaido’s wild mountain scents.

With the supervisor leading the way, they formed a single file from father to him and from him to the tenant farmers, walking silently along the railway tracks; but from behind, he watched with a sense of novelty as his broad-shouldered, short-statured father moved with unexpectedly steady steps. The scent of decaying matter had settled thickly in the air’s depths, while the light had faded so completely that the crimson leaves of climbing lacquer vines—reaching high into the treetops—now appeared ink-black. The broad leaves of itadori, swayed by the Shiribeshi River’s ancient currents, rustled down into the grass despite the absence of wind.

After following five or six hundred meters of worn railway tracks and climbing a modest cliff, they found themselves within the farm’s boundaries. Even soybean fields not yet harvested stood with nothing but dried stalks remaining. Except for patches where stubborn weeds grew in scattered clumps, the entire surface lay exposed—bare earth tinged purplish-black. And in one spot, smoke from burning crop husks rose thickly while dark shadows of one or two farmers still toiled on. Each time he passed a tenant hut, he carefully peered inside. In none of the huts were lamps lit; only the hearth fires beneath pots burned faintly red, true to the expression. Around each hearth, two or three children invariably sat crouched in a circle, staring vacantly at the flames without making a sound. Such huts stood desolately scattered about like heaps of stacked grass.

To reach the farm office required climbing a steep red clay slope roughly a hundred meters long. His father, now exactly seventy-two, upon reaching it seemed to finally lose his breath, stopping around the sixth station marker and turning to look back. He who had been following blindly behind nearly collided his face into his father’s chest. Father cast him a sidelong glance brimming with bitter resentment. Being a man of combative spirit, there could be no doubt this was the very moment his fraying nerves were irritated by his own physical decline. Moreover, the son’s reckless impropriety—this young man who seemed to dwell solely on matters utterly divorced from his own concerns—grated on his nerves.

“Hey, Hayata.” Father surveyed a section of his territory spread below his eyes while calling out to the supervisor without turning. “How many households are here?” “Isn’t thinning windbreaks left on those cliffs due to illegal logging?” “Which area marks where we swapped land with the railway?”

“Which one is Fujita’s hut?” “Are those here fully paying tenant fees?” “How much in tenant fees will come from here?” In response to this rapid-fire questioning, Hayata, the young supervisor, answered in a calm tone without particular flattery, but whenever his words strayed slightly from the point, Father immediately rebuked him. Father appeared poised to pounce on any ambiguity lingering at the edges of the supervisor’s words. The determination not to bare white teeth churned disconcertingly across his small, worldly-wise face that had grown taut.

He could understand his father’s attitude in such moments. The farm belonged to Father, but since all reclamation work had been contracted out to a civil engineering contractor named Yabe, Hayata essentially served as a supervisor brought in through Yabe’s influence. And now that the farm had finally been fully reclaimed this year, Yabe was scheduled to come to the farm tomorrow to settle all accounts. Until tomorrow’s transaction was completed, Father harbored in his heart the conviction that even Hayata—a man he had grown accustomed to over many years—must be regarded, in matters of business, as an agent of his competitor. He found himself unable not to marvel at—while feeling inexplicably repelled by—Father’s mentality that laid bare what one might call the distinction between public and private matters with such starkness.

The group began walking again. After that, there were not many slopes left, and they soon emerged onto a broad plateau. From there, the farm spread all the way to the foothills of Mt. Makkari Nupuri. Beyond the gently undulating fields, Mt. Makkari Nupuri stood bleakly solitary with its orderly contours; only its western face near the summit faintly reflected the sunlight, glimmering red. Before he knew it, in the lofty heights of a sky cleared of even a single wisp of cloud, a slender crescent moon shone with a clarity like forgotten light. The group fell silent and quickened their pace. It was an internal thoroughfare grandiosely named Base Line Road, though it amounted to little more than a crudely widened ridge path. Between stones tossed out from the fields, winter cherry fruits hung reddening, while butterbur leaves caught in wagon ruts tore into dull black shreds smeared with mud. He followed behind his father, pulling out stems of wild-grown timothy grass and chewing on the soft sweetness at their roots. And he listened attentively to the murmured conversations of the tenant farmers coming from behind him.

“With the summer crops being like that and the autumn crops turning out this bad, we’re in real trouble.” “With these never-ending bad harvests, we just can’t take it anymore.” “That’s right.” Though the voice was a mumbling soliloquy, he knew it had been deliberately calculated to catch his attention. Those words could never have been risked being spoken directly to Father. Yet they knew he would hear them and stay silent—knew full well this muted protest would ultimately cost them nothing. He found the tenant farmers’ attitude as distasteful as Father’s own. The vague irritation that had simmered in his heart since leaving Tokyo now burned more sharply. And once again, he despised himself for being unable to voice all that churned within him.

The office already had a lamp glowing crimson, and the supervisor’s mother and Mrs. Hayata ran out through the door to greet them. Even to the mother’s greeting that bordered on prostration, Father maintained a stern attitude toward Mr. Hayata as well, then deliberately kicked off his shoes, passed through the tatami room he had designed, and sat properly in Western attire by the hearth’s edge. Without even removing his glasses, he pressed both hands to his face and vigorously rubbed upward from below toward his receding temples. That was Father’s gesture when exhausted, and also his gesture when something weighed on his mind. After helping carry the luggage into the tatami room, he took a seat before his father and felt uneasy about that gesture. He thought tonight’s bedtime would be exceedingly late.

When the two had finished bathing, Mrs. Hayata brought in the meal tray, and Mr. Hayata stationed himself formally at the room’s entrance to maintain conversation without sharing the meal. Father massaged his bath-flushed face with both hands and exhaled deeply. Mrs. Hayata appeared unable to keep still in her seat, her awkwardness palpable.

“You replaced the bathtub, didn’t you?” Before picking up the chopsticks, Father looked directly at the supervisor and said in a pressing tone: “It had become quite old, so just recently...” “Was the expense paid from office funds… Or was it charged to my account?” “It was recorded under office funds, but…” “Did you refuse Mr. Yabe?” The supervisor answered that he had not particularly refused. Father made no particular comment on that but remained silent while his eyes gleamed sharply. Then he cautioned Mrs. Hayata about the excessively lavish meal and instructed her that since mountain produce tastes sweeter than anything when in the mountains, she must absolutely refrain from shopping in town from tomorrow onward. Mrs. Hayata appeared utterly suffocated.

No sooner had the meal ended than Father ordered Mr. Hayata to bring the account books, without even time to let his cigarette smolder. He pointed out that Mr. Hayata had not even bathed, let alone eaten, but Father merely said “Hmm” and ignored him. Mr. Hayata came out carrying what looked like an armful of documents. There was a sense around the office that the tenant farmers, now seemingly in high spirits after exchanging farewells, were each making their way home as they pleased. Through the frozen stillness of an autumn night in the mountains, their footsteps gradually receded into the distance. While watching his father intently flipping through the pages of the account books, he listened to those footsteps—likely inaudible to his father—as they faded away. He imagined all too vividly what they had discussed on their way and what rumors they had shared with their families upon returning to their huts. None of this struck him as the least bit agreeable. He felt like a disinterested officer who had marched into conquered enemy territory. In stark contrast, Father remained utterly absorbed. While firing off questions at Mr. Hayata, he pointed out deficiencies in the account books and took up the papers himself to recalculate figures. Even when Mr. Hayata picked up the abacus and offered to calculate, Father ignored him and repeatedly recalculated large sums himself. As was Father’s habit when so absorbed, there were moments when even simple logic seemed beyond his grasp. Mr. Hayata had to explain again and again while being chided. He assisted in the explanations as calmly as possible. Then Father’s mood visibly grew hostile.

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” “That’s not what I’m asking about.” “It’s not that I’m trying to hear your reasoning.” “Isn’t it that Hayata keeps asking questions because he doesn’t grasp what I’m saying?” “You’d better listen properly to what I’m saying one more time.” Having said that, Father would explain the intent behind his questions in an exceedingly roundabout manner when heard from the sidelines—yet upon listening closely, one found he had struck at crucial points compelling enough to warrant a nod of agreement. The young supervisor also took his father’s questions as routine matters. The supervisor, when he could grasp their meaning, would abruptly find himself at a loss for answers. This stemmed not from any impropriety but rather from a lack of accounting knowledge and experience; nevertheless, Father relentlessly berated him as though he had uncovered some shady scheme.

He knew this well. But he refrained from taking reckless action. For whenever words meant to help Father better understand Mr. Hayata escaped his lips, Father would turn on him with a vehemence verging on malice. He focused solely on comprehending how the farm's administration had been managed until now. Having defied his father's will and stayed away from home for nearly five years, he found himself utterly unable to grasp how matters had developed. Faced with this situation now, he couldn't help reflecting on his father's struggles during those intervening years. He understood perfectly well that Father's determination to establish this large farm in Hokkaido's mountains had ultimately sprung from concern for his future. Contemplating this, he longed to sit silently pondering the nature of parent-child bonds.

“What about your dinner?”

Suddenly, Father asked. The supervisor replied in his usual voice that seemed devoid of expression,

“Oh, it’s nothing…” Hayata replied evasively. Father took a heavy-looking gold watch from the pouch fastened to the left corner of the futon and, narrowing his eyes, tried to read the time by holding it at a distance. Suddenly, from the direction of the office, a wall clock with a seemingly loosened spring struck ten. He too felt for his own watch tucked in his sash, but it showed half past ten.

“It’s half past ten. You still haven’t eaten.” He said this to the supervisor in a voice edged with defiance toward his father.

Despite this, Father remained unexpectedly unfazed.

“I see.” “Since that’s enough now, go and eat.” “When I was your age, I used to stay up late through the night, forgetting meals entirely.” “To truly work,” Father said gruffly as he turned toward Hayata’s retreating figure, “you must become so absorbed that you forget everything else—otherwise there’s no satisfaction nor will things go smoothly.” He paused briefly before adding: “…Still—tonight was hard on you.” “Before you go—one more thing I must tell you.”

With that preamble, Father began instructing on Hayata’s position and duties as supervisor for tomorrow’s meeting with Yabe. It was not so much thorough as it was tediously long. The supervisor had to listen for another half hour or so to Father’s instructions in silence.

When the supervisor politely bowed and withdrew from the room, Father and he faced each other with a palpable awkwardness. Father’s cheeks were flushed faintly red with excitement—uncharacteristic for his age—showing no trace of fatigue from the long journey. Yet even so, he remained not at all cheerful. He maintained a demeanor somehow reserved toward his supposed successor and cast an awkward silence akin to that following a severe reprimand meant to chastise. He did not attempt to look directly at his face. At this point, he found himself utterly paralyzed. He possessed not a shred of tact to take the initiative in striking up a cheerful conversation or lightening the other’s mood with jokes or such.

There was nothing as awkward as estrangement between those once intimate. He sank into a gloom so profound it verged on melancholy. Nor were there any sounds or colors to distract them. The wall held only two framed items: a stone tablet bearing the final teachings of the Kurozumi sect's founder, and an enlarged photograph of Father in full ceremonial dress, his posture rigid with formality. The room had fallen utterly silent. It felt like being sealed beneath a cornerstone. When he strained his ears, only the distant monotony of a waterwheel grinding potatoes reached him.

Father remained silent, perhaps deep in thought, continuously smoking Shikishima cigarettes, unaware of the ash that had fallen onto his lap. He had no choice but to fiddle restlessly with the local edition of the Tokyo Newspaper that the supervisor had brought. All except for the Hokkaido articles were things he had already read to weariness on the train to Aomori, without exception.

“Did you manage to grasp most of the farm’s affairs through Mr. Hayata’s explanation today?”

After a brief pause, Father uttered only this in an affected manner and looked directly at him for the first time. The reason Father had made Hayata deliver such tedious reports now seemed clear to him. “I mostly understand.” Hearing that answer, Father shot a suspicious glance and then glared sharply at him once more. “It must be quite a hassle for you—getting a handle on even this much work.”

“Well… I suppose so.”

He reluctantly answered in this way. Father seemed to immediately detect the unpleasant tone of his reply. And once again, the loathsome silence fell. He understood his father’s feelings perfectly well indeed. To lecture his son—nearing thirty—anew about the hardships he himself had endured thus far seemed childish, yet Father was tormented by old age’s characteristic fragility and dissatisfaction, bitter that not only did his son’s enthusiasm for the farm burn pitifully faint, but no particular stirring of gratitude toward him appeared visible either. And he even felt a pitying sentiment toward this temperament that refrained from stating anything outright, instead quietly harboring everything alone within his chest. He felt those emotions flowing directly from his father into his own heart. He too was frustrated and uncomfortable. Yet when he considered how the chasm between Father and him had grown too vast, he found himself unwilling to voice careless words. Because ultimately, it would only drive them further apart beyond any hope of mending. And he himself had not yet developed the confidence to remain unfazed even if he were to subject his elderly father to such an ordeal. So truth be told, he had to feel this unpleasantness toward himself more than toward anyone else. And that had increasingly turned him into a withdrawn man who appeared to take no interest in anything.

He finally resolved not to say anything tonight. Even if Father himself remained unaware of it, he also considered how Father's body must actually be quite exhausted.

“Won’t you retire for the night? Mr. Yabe is also scheduled to arrive here early tomorrow.” He wasn’t unaware that this sounded like nonchalant talk to Father. Father seemed to think oil had been poured onto the smoldering discord within. “If you want to sleep, then go to bed.”

He answered immediately yet continued speaking right away, “Very well—then I’ll turn in too.” He said brusquely and stood up at once to go to the lavatory. His legs must have gone numb from sitting, for as he watched Father’s retreating figure stagger slightly while walking away, he was suddenly struck by a profound loneliness.

Father seemed unable to fall asleep for a long time. A man who would normally begin snoring the moment his head touched the pillow remained quiet instead and repeatedly rose to visit the lavatory. That night became one where he too found sleep impossible. And until Father slept, he had resolved not to sleep himself.

Around what must have been past two and nearing three o'clock, faint snoring began escaping from Father’s bedding. He listened intently before quietly rising to visit the lavatory. The night had turned bitterly cold—so frigid that the engawa boards seemed to cling like suction cups to the soles of his feet. Peering through the transparent glass storm shutters positioned high on the wall, he saw panes so intensely chilled they might shatter with a crack at the merest brush of a fingertip.

He, uncertain of how his future work and life would unfold, found himself submerged in the depths of this intensely cold autumn night, assailed by an indescribable loneliness.

When he woke with a start at some noise, Father was already sipping tea in the next room. That morning too was clear.

When he got up and stepped out onto the veranda, the mistress emerged as if she had been waiting for that moment and busily flung open all the surrounding storm shutters. Along with the fresh morning air, the vibrant smell characteristic of the countryside filled every corner of the room. Father, troubled where to discard it, forcefully threw the ume seed he had been holding in his mouth into the gooseberry thicket.

Although Supervisor Hayata had gone out to greet Yabe and was absent, a great many account books and documents were already haphazardly spread open at Father’s side.

It did not take long before a man named Yabe arrived at the office. It was the first time he had seen that person. Contrary to what he had imagined, the man was in his forties—portly and squint-eyed. He was brisk and businesslike yet not superficial; where he grasped something, he did so with agreeable clarity—a man who understood things readily when he understood them at all. Contrary to when Father had faced him earlier, he was now uncharacteristically cheerful toward the man. The air in the room had completely changed from the previous night.

“Oh, not at all—I’m not tired in the least. This sort of thing is a common occurrence for me.” After finishing breakfast, the man immediately began preparing. And under Mr. Hayata’s guidance, he toured the farm. “This is actually my first time viewing this place firsthand, as I left everything to the office and had them handle matters… Though rest assured, I did ensure all reports were thoroughly prepared, so I trust there’s been nothing to displease you. But truth be told, once I try extending my involvement even slightly, I find even multiple bodies wouldn’t suffice.”

With that, Yabe laughed cheerfully and loudly, basking in the direct sunlight. When he heard those words, Father looked at the man’s face with an air of surprise. And a look of anxiety flickered through his eyes.

Merely touring the entire farm took a good half-day. A little past noon, the group returned to the office pleasantly fatigued. “First, these are considerable results indeed. I believe my efforts have borne some fruit—what do you think?” Yabe, perhaps because he was portly, sat down on the raised edge while beads of sweat formed on his forehead and, as if fatigue had suddenly overtaken him, said this. Father, too, appeared to have no particular objection to those words.

However, he could not take Yabe’s words at face value. How much had the over sixty tenant farmers’ huts improved since they received the loans? Only five or six houses had stables, hadn’t they? Could it truly be said that results had been achieved just by digging up and cultivating vast swathes of land? Surrounded by corn husks and piled wheat straw, inside the cramped makeshift huts—where floors were absent, planks laid out with mats served as bedding, and in every household, pumpkin stewed in large pots became their sustenance three times a day—he could not help feeling a pang of guilt upon seeing how life had remained unchanged since the reclamation era. Yet he wondered: how did Yabe perceive all this? However, he said nothing about it.

“In any case, I would now like to request an examination of the account books...” As was his habit, Yabe rarely brought his words to a conclusion. That struck him as precisely the manner of a seasoned merchant. When he turned to the account books, Father’s expression abruptly tightened, becoming identical to how he looked when dealing with the supervisor. Because he said he would call when needed, the supervisor was dismissed to the office. Meticulously sitting in formal seiza, Father took out his usual leather-bound pocket notebook and began interrogating him about long-held points of suspicion in a convoluted manner of speaking. In this situation, he found himself in the uncomfortable position of standing with his hands tucked into his sleeves, observing the negotiations between the two men. Instead, for the first time in his life, he found himself encountering a scene where Father engaged in business negotiations. After a long career as a government official, Father had entered the business world and primarily served as an auditor for banks and companies. And he had gained a reputation as a renowned auditor.

He truly hadn’t been able to discern whether auditors held merely nominal roles or wielded actual authority over profit-driven enterprises. Moreover, he couldn’t determine whether Father’s reputation stemmed from business operators or shareholders. If originating from shareholders—but if circulating among operators—it would amount to Father being certified as incompetent in his role. Though he held no particular interest in plumbing these relationships, he now found himself by chance positioned to witness them firsthand. A curiosity to glimpse Father’s unseen aspect wasn’t entirely absent. Yet imagining the unpleasant scenes about to unfold left his heart tending toward darkness.

Yabe began answering Father’s questions with casual ease. Most of the questions seemed to Yabe like trivial matters not even worth tallying, “I see. If that’s the case, then proceeding accordingly will pose no issue whatsoever on our part…” he would deflect lightly and move on. Father, seemingly intent on striking at vital points with his probing questions, often found himself metaphorically thrown in a judo hold yet kept pressing insistently,

“Ah, I see.” “In that case, I take it this matter is settled here.” Father added with finality—making clear he’d allow no later revisions—but Yabe showed no trace of faltering and remained unperturbed. Even from his vantage point, there were moments when Father’s proposals seemed to dwell excessively on trivialities, risking exposure of his petty nitpicking to the other party. At such times, he found himself unwittingly holding his breath. Father’s character—ever scrupulous and meticulous, yet strangely oblivious to merchant-like scheming—appeared poised to be laid bare before this consummate businessman in a spectacle both dangerous and pitiful to witness.

However, Father pressed on relentlessly, wielding his innate diligence and tenacity as weapons. Even Yabe—a man seemingly forged through mercantile rigor—appeared to think this was a tactic he had yet to encounter, with occasional moments where he abruptly hit an impasse and adopted a contemplative expression.

“I have generally come to understand the progress of the project. Now then—” Father took out the contract he had exchanged with Yabe when commissioning the reclamation from a large document pouch labeled “Crucial Documents” in red ink, “According to this contract, upon the post-reclamation transfer, one-third of the total land area is to be granted to you as compensation… which amounts to the documented 127 chō and 4 tanbu here… This area being what it is—that’s correct, isn’t it?”

With his short, rough-wrinkled yet well-shaped fingertips, he indicated the numbers. “Yes, exactly as stated…” “Indeed.” “Yes—127 chō, 4 tan, 2 se, and 1 bu.” “Yet even if you were to hold this amount of land in these mountains, it would prove thoroughly inconvenient… This is merely my own opinion, but—”

“Exactly as stated.” “That’s why I too, for some time now…” “For some time now…” “Indeed, for some time now, I had thought it best to forgo receiving land on this occasion and that it would suffice if we could settle matters with money… However, this is, after all, rather a selfish request… and I understand you may have your own circumstances…” When Father echoed back “for some time now,” there was an involuntary sense of him leaning forward—but he lacked the readiness to immediately rein it in.

“That would certainly be convenient for us as well. But what sort of agreement can we reach regarding the monetary amount? When I spoke with Hayata last night and inquired about it, I found that the buying and selling of land in this area is surprisingly inexpensive.” Father took out that familiar notebook and was about to present the prices of recently traded land plots when Yabe, as if seizing his words, brought up the general market rates himself. He had heard the conversation between Father and the supervisor last night, but what Yabe was saying—despite having claimed he was always in Sapporo and that this was his first time coming to this land—was by no means unreasonable. Father seemed taken aback by this, but he too was somewhat startled. He suddenly wondered if Yabe and the supervisor had perhaps properly discussed something between them. It was only natural that Father would suspect as much. He immediately turned his attention to Father. Those eyes clearly held a glint of suspicion, sharply fixed directly on Yabe’s own.

He thought it had become the final hand-to-hand combat.

Dinnertime had long since passed, but Father, driven by his unyielding obstinacy, paid it no heed. He thought a temporary truce might ease the suffocating tension enveloping them, so,

“Since it’s grown quite late, how about we have dinner?”

he ventured. When he heard this, Father’s anger flared across his face like ignited fire. “Don’t spout nonsense.” “How could you suggest something so disrespectful before we’ve settled this crucial matter?”

Father fiercely reprimanded him in front of Yabe. It was Father’s nature to disregard propriety when seized by excitement, but now—being addressed so harshly before Yabe—he too flared up involuntarily, indignant at the thought of a general who would berate his own trusted aides before the enemy. But he merely remained silent and looked down. And he found himself frustrated by his own weak character.

“If it concerns myself, I must humbly decline to accept anything at present… For this matter truly requires securing your full understanding first… However, should your preparations be complete…” “No—even if you have it prepared, it’s of no concern whatsoever.” Father responded curtly to Yabe’s conciliatory demeanor. Father immediately returned to the original issue.

“That may be what you heard from Hayata, but the price you mentioned was settled with a bidder for Matsuzawa Farm—it doesn’t set the standard for the entire village area.” “Well, the average per *tanbu* would be around twenty yen, I suppose?” Yabe, adopting an attitude that seemed to detect humor in Father’s excessive naivety, showed a cheerful face while saying, “Well… But at that rate, it wouldn’t even cover the interest on the reclamation costs.” Yabe said, but Father cut in hurriedly,

“But as things stand now, those are the terms under which sales are being conducted.” “You mentioned reclamation costs just now—here, you there, try calculating it with the abacus.”

As if to make amends for his earlier harsh words, Father softened his expression slightly and looked toward him. But he, like Father, knew nothing of abacus calculation whatsoever. Seeing him blush faintly as he picked up the scattered blank papers and pencils, Father appeared to regret having once again exposed his child’s incompetence in financial management. But the son’s incompetence was also present in Father. Father had been involved in financial affairs for the nation and company banks for many years, but when it came to manual calculations, he was exceedingly inept. For that reason, even when examining household accounts at home, Father would sometimes spend half a day mulling over trivial calculations. So him blushing while picking up the paper and pencil was itself a crude portrait of Father. Father glared irritably over his glasses at his hands. And he made him present the approximate reclamation costs required per *tanbu*.

“If you convert that to 127 chō, 4 tan, and 2 se of land, how much does it come to?” Father, still not taking his eyes off his clumsy hands, pressed on with this command. At that point, he had already faltered. He felt his own foolishness being exposed before Yabe’s eyes, yet haltingly began converting 127 chō into tan and adding four tan to it. However, his awareness of the two men peering at him with apparent impatience threw his composure into disarray, to the point where even simple multiplication tables refused to surface in his mind.

“That’s not seven—it’s four!” Father had been cutting in like this, but as his words grew increasingly rough-edged, he suddenly barked “Ee!” and snatched the paper from him.

“What good are you if you can’t even manage this much?” It was unmistakably a roar of anger. He stood stunned, his eyes involuntarily darting to Father’s face. Father’s gaze—a bitter tangle of thwarted laughter and rage—burned into him with equal intensity. Then, brimming with utter contempt, he pivoted from him toward Yabe,

“I have a request for you—bring me the abacus.”

Father said in a voice that sounded almost brimming with goodwill. Yabe promptly provided the required answer with an unperturbed expression. He thought this was no longer a place where he belonged. And then he abruptly stood up and, without a second thought, went off toward the office.

In contrast to the guest room, around the now completely darkened hearth, Hayata was speaking in a low voice to the tenant farmers who had gathered. The mistress, worried that the food on the tray meant for the guest room would grow cold, kept returning the contents of the bowls back to their original pot. When he went out there, in an instant the group’s demeanor changed, and an unpleasant awkwardness filled the air. The tenant farmers hurriedly stood up, pulled their straw-sandaled feet from the hearthside down to the earthen floor, and bowed respectfully toward him.

“You’ve been through quite the hardship this time, Young Master.”

Among them, a tall half-gray-haired man who seemed accustomed to such matters spoke on behalf of the group as follows. “The real hardship lies with us.” It seemed to him that behind those words lay precisely that implication. Having been doused with unpleasant cold water, he was now subjected anew to an unpleasant tepid bath. Nevertheless, he wished to interact with the tenant farmers as openly as possible. It was simply because he wanted to escape from the unbearable feelings of that situation. That he and the tenant farmers could interact with truly human feelings, sharing their thoughts openly—he could not even dream of such a thing. Even he could not deceive himself to such an extent.

But it was all too much.

The tenant farmers,

“Come now, do stay a while.” “Since it’s clear today, it’s gotten bitterly cold.” Despite Hayata’s interjections, they remained in the dark corners as if making veiled jabs. With a faintly resigned air, he sat down by the hearth’s edge, paying no mind to those around him. The mistress carried the lamp to the guest room and, upon returning, conveyed Father’s instructions to him. It was a task Father had ordered him to perform last night before bed—a role requiring him to summon each tenant farmer individually and document from their own mouths any grievances against the supervisor and hopes regarding the farm’s regulations. That was precisely why tenant farmers were streaming into the office one after another.

A dim light was lit in the office. The scent of smoked fish and smoke from smoldering firewood lingered in the gloomily cavernous hall and earthen floor—like a temple’s dimly lit back chambers—until it seemed to seep even into his mind. An indescribable disgust filled him with nothing but restless impatience. He dashed out and stood rigidly in the vast field expanse, desperate to breathe deeply. Was farm management truly so convoluted that one had to unearth these petty lawsuit-like disputes? The supervisor had remained since his father’s time—not only steady and honest but having resigned himself to being ordinary, content to maintain farm operations alone. Though this wasn’t a path he could walk himself, he couldn’t help feeling warmth toward such a man. He found it utterly impossible to ostracize that man while calmly listening to others spread rumors about him.

In any case, he asked the supervisor to light a fire in the office and summoned each tenant farmer there one by one. And he decided to listen only to their hopes regarding the farm’s management. Before even five or six people had come in, he had already been forced to realize the futility of such an endeavor. The dull-witted ones did not possess even a shred of hope worth presenting, and the shrewd ones never breathed a word about anything significant. Though they had so plainly hinted at their hardships—poor harvests both last year and this year leaving them unable to pay fees—not a single one attempted to voice even such obvious grievances when faced alone. He endured through fourteen or fifteen of them even so, but having utterly despaired by then, he no longer summoned any tenant farmers. And leaning over the brazier, he sank into solitary thought. For no particular reason, his rebellious feelings toward Father kept surging up no matter how much he tried to suppress them, and he was powerless to stop it.

After some time had passed, the mistress timidly approached and came to say that dinner was ready. His appetite had strangely vanished, but he had no choice but to return to Father’s room. The room had been completely tidied up, with Yabe sitting formally in seiza, while Father and the supervisor formed a triangular seating arrangement, awaiting his arrival. He took his seat in silence, but the moment he entered the room, he couldn’t help but sense the indescribably awkward air hanging there. Until just moments ago, Yabe had been steering the conversation with complete freedom and no reservations, yet now he wore the most petty look. The assumption that they had been waiting for his arrival before picking up their chopsticks appeared to have been mistaken.

When Yabe saw him enter the room, his expression darkened even further. And finally, as if unable to endure any longer, he glared at Father with his squinting eye, “While I deeply appreciate your kind invitation, I shall nevertheless take my leave without partaking of your hospitality and return to Sapporo.” “Well, if you were to send me back a night early, you’d gain just one extra night’s work, wouldn’t you… I may appear a greenhorn to your eyes, but I’ve been hardened in business since childhood… Yet never before have I suffered such baseless suspicions and been made to lower myself as I have tonight.” “In any case, business has its own code of conduct.” “Though I am unworthy, I believe I have exhausted every avenue of that code. But if you cannot trust even that, then there can be no fruitful discussion.” “Well then, Mr. Hayata—I’ve already fully explained your situation [to him]. From now on, please join our side and handle matters with firmness.” “I... must take my leave now.”

He declared briskly and took his leave. To him, this was truly an unexpected statement. Father had been listening in silence, fixedly, to words like firecrackers detonated all at once—yet his tone had taken on an unexpectedly calm, almost conciliatory quality for him. “It’s not that I distrust you so much—but since business remains business through and through, I must clarify matters to satisfy myself.” “Since it’s late, please stay tonight.”

“Thank you for your kindness, but I must take my leave.” “I see. In that case, I have no choice but to accept your decision. Then, regarding our discussion—it remains as previously agreed, I trust?” “There’s no need for your concern.” “If you would kindly handle matters as you see fit, then that will suffice.”

Yabe, as though he had no desire to speak further, offered a curt greeting and stood up. He and the supervisor escorted Yabe out to the office, but when Yabe saw the supervisor hurriedly trying to put on his shoes, he made a gesture as if to push him back, “Mr. Hayata, it would trouble me if you were to see me off.” “Please have someone carry the luggage.” “Even without that, Master already harbors needless suspicions about our dealings.” “However, I have already spoken thoroughly about you… Until everything is settled, please keep your distance from me.” “And don’t you dare come to see me off.”

Then Yabe started to say something to him but, seeming to feel displeasure even toward him, turned toward the supervisor. “After six years of slaving away unpaid, to have my guts probed over nothing—that’s a first.” “Tonight of all nights, I’ve gone and lost my temper proper.” “Once we’ve wrapped things up here, come see me in Sapporo.” “I’ll take care of everything on my end when the time comes.” “Goodbye.”

Leaving behind only a “Goodbye” to him, Yabe dashed out into the pitch-dark front where only the stars were twinkling. He remained standing there, imagining the circumstances that had led to this outcome as he listened to the fading sound of footsteps moving away. That evening, Father regained a smile he seemed to have left behind when departing Tokyo and sipped his nightcap. When he arrived, finding the inflexible supervisor unsatisfactory company, Father tried to draw him into conversation, but he, filled with resentment toward Father, did not even want to glance his way. Even so, Father was not offended. And with no other choice, he turned back to the supervisor and began reminiscing about stories from when his own father was alive, amusing himself alone.

“He was a lively old man, I must say.” “When drunk, he’d always strip to the waist and put on a show of sumo wrestling while seated alone—but that blasted habit of pursing his lips and spraying saliva in a mist-like ‘pfft’ was downright mortifying.” Having made such exaggerated claims, Father bellowed with laughter. The supervisor too seemed stirred by nostalgia, a kindly smile playing at the corner of his mouth,

“That’s exactly how it was.”

[Hayata] offered a perfunctory nod of agreement. Before long, the night had thoroughly grown late. When the supervisor cleared away the meal trays, an awkward pair remained. However, Father showed not the slightest hint of awkwardness. He seemed to have completely forgotten how he had scolded Yabe as if reprimanding a child of eleven or twelve.

“It went smoothly.” “Since I’d long pegged Yabe as one shrewd operator, I went through hell preparing today’s strategy without anyone knowing.” “All that effort paid off—the other party finally lost their temper.” “In negotiations, if one gets angry, the angrier side loses.” “There were overdrafts too—truth be told, I was extra worried—but by deducting all that along with his fee, we got the whole farm for five thousand yen.” “With this, we can call this farm project successfully concluded.”

“I don’t see this as any kind of success at all…”

Even to say just this much, his voice trembled. However, unlike his usual silence, he had fallen into such a restless agitation that unless he said everything he wanted to say tonight—with this weight lodged in his chest—he wouldn’t be able to sleep for some time.

“When I walked around the farm today—remember when you and I first came here at the start of reclamation?—I was shocked to see that the tenant farmers’ living conditions remain exactly as they were back then.” “You may have succeeded in collecting tenant fees and keeping reclamation costs low—but as a farm, where exactly is the success?”

“Even if you say that—tenant farmers’ lives have always been more or less the same in every era.” “If they became wealthy, not a single one would remain to toil in the fields.” “Even so, that is utterly too cruel.” “You’re laughing at fifty steps when you’ve taken a hundred yourself.” “However, even in Hokkaido, there are many places that have consistently offered tenant farmers good terms.”

“If such places exist, go check their account books—they’re surely operating at a loss.”

“If you have to keep tenant farmers in such a wretched state to make profit, then this farm work is nothing but a lie.”

“Do you really think there’s such a thing as truth in this world?” Father turned away as if exasperated by his son’s inflexibility. “I don’t think that at all.” “However, I simply cannot endure living a life so thoroughly packed with lies as it is now.” “Regarding your attitude toward Mr. Yabe as well—if you were to consider it, even you would find it repugnant.” “It’s downright fraud, you know.” “The very notion of entering negotiations from the outset with the intent to provoke anger in the other party fills me with such disgust that it borders on absurdity.”

He boldly pressed this far.

“You’re feeling disgusted?”

“I’m feeling disgusted.” “I’m feeling just fine.” Father looked down at him with contempt, deliberately removed his glasses, then stroked his face upward against the grain with both hands. He was so enraged he felt he might burst.

“I hadn’t thought you were that kind of person.”

Suddenly, Father appeared to be overcome by genuine fury from the deepest recesses of his being.

“Do you think it’s acceptable to speak to your parent like that?” “What exactly is wrong with it?” “A halfwit like you wouldn’t grasp it.”

Their words came to an awkward halt.

He had steeled his resolve. Tonight, even if it takes staying up until dawn, I’ll settle things once and for all between Father and myself. Father seemed to struggle for some time with his own anger, but eventually began speaking in clipped, punctuated bursts while forcibly suppressing it.

“Listen—listen well and think! Yabe’s a merchant through and through. Business has an inherent nature—it can’t function without lies somewhere in its workings. Since ancient times we’ve had the four classes—samurai, farmers, artisans, merchants—but that hierarchy was established based on how each balances truth and deception in their work’s very nature! At first glance it may seem trivial, but there’s weight to our ancestors’ thinking you shouldn’t dismiss! Since I dealt with that merchant today—if I’d let him play to his strengths, I’d have made a blatant fool of myself right there! But since I can’t spin lies like some peddler, I’ve no choice but to clamp down hard on Yabe’s tactics—that’s just how it is!”

He thought to himself—as if he’d ever fall for such tricks.

“Then—in a sense—what class do landlords who deceive tenant farmers and monopolize profits belong to?” “That habit of yours—countering every statement with a retort—is a vile one. You ought to think more before speaking. What part of leasing land and collecting rent constitutes fraud?” “If that’s so, then merchants too take profits while ostensibly considering people’s convenience to some extent, don’t they?”

Whether cornered by reason or overwhelmed by fury, Father fell silent. His balding forehead flushed crimson up to the hairline, while the hand that fumbled for a cigarette and carried it toward the hearth fire shook uncontrollably. He had never witnessed Father in such towering rage. Father brought the cigarette halfway there before suddenly reconsidering and flinging it onto the tatami.

After a brief pause, Father resumed in an extremely composed manner, as if admonishing, “If you want to argue with your father so much, do so after you’ve secured a proper job and established yourself as a full-fledged adult.” “Trying to speak up without having accomplished a single thing—that’s sheer selfishness… You’ve been railing nonstop about my actions being lies, but have you ever once done anything truthful yourself?” “Once born human, living in this world means one can’t avoid lying—it’s a human covenant.” “Striving to tell as few lies as possible even within lies—that’s what constitutes virtue.” “Or will you create a world where you don’t have to tell lies right before my eyes?” “Then I’ll take off my helmet without hesitation.”

Father’s words cleaved through the very center of his heart. In truth, he thought he felt something like an icy blade’s chill somewhere within his body. And he found himself feeling guilty as he realized how he had been hunching his shoulders stiffly in excitement.

Father continued speaking further. “To make even this small farm what it is—you must have seen how much I struggled.” “You might think I’m just worrying needlessly, but even with all that preparation, worldly affairs are like water—they’ll find cracks to seep through.” “That’s something someone like you, with your logic-obsessed mind, will never grasp—” Indeed, those words cut him like a blade. Whenever pushed this far before, he had always fallen silent, unable to voice anything. But tonight, I will pierce through that. And he steeled himself to make Father truly comprehend his essence.

“You may not understand.” “In truth, seeing how you’ve been fixated solely on this matter ever since before leaving Tokyo—though it may be rude—I even felt pity for you.” “...I am indeed that sort of idealist.” “A person who does nothing but dream.” “...But please consider my feelings too.” “I haven’t accomplished a single thing so far.” “I myself don’t even know what I should be doing—haven’t discerned that much.” “Perhaps I’ll spend my whole life just thinking like this, but I instinctively detest—utterly detest—a world where one can’t survive without lies.” “Wait a moment.” “Let me speak a little more. ...It’s not just the world that tells lies.” “I myself am like a lump of lies.” “Yet this desire not to be so relentlessly torments me.” “So when I see people I trust or am close to calmly telling lies before me, before I realize it, I grow angry while shelving my own faults.” “I suppose even this can’t be helped, but...”

“Must be nice—idling around with food on your table, letting such fancies sprout as you please.”

As if demanding, *How dare you utter such carefree nonsense?* Father spoke with venomous sarcasm. "At the very least, even those who can eat without working must utter such things—otherwise they'd incur divine punishment."

He too found himself speaking sarcastically. It was precisely because Father supported me that I had to endure such humiliation. What a weak self I was. Even while voicing sarcasm, he had to thoroughly confront his own inadequacy. Simultaneously, he felt he’d glimpsed how their parent-child relationship had caught on some hidden nail. Loneliness assailed him—the realization that even parent and child became mere strangers when confronting each other’s true natures. "I’ll become a beggar or something," he fleetingly thought in that moment. He reflected that relying on Father’s patient provision of food and clothing for his essential nature—at nearly thirty years old—amounted to outrageous presumption.

Perhaps Father had keenly sensed his inner turmoil, for he let out a sigh unlike his previous anger—one that even took himself by surprise. He involuntarily looked up at Father. Father stared fixedly at an area about the size of a single tatami mat in front of him, as though contemplating something distant.

“It’s strange that I’ve ended up fussing around like this into old age...”

Father’s voice changed, becoming quiet and almost soliloquizing in tone. “Just now, you said something about being an idealist.” “That’s it.” “I am exactly the man you see before you.” “Born into a peasant-like impoverished samurai household, I’ve been accustomed to poverty since the moment I was born.” “By the time I became aware of things, my father had been exiled, leaving me to live solely with my mother. So at twelve, I underwent my coming-of-age ceremony and wrote rice ledgers at the storehouse to keep my mother and me—just the two of us—from starving.” “Moreover, I have no real indulgences to speak of—one could even say I’ve achieved a success almost too grand just for keeping a family alive.” “This kind of luxury is actually excessive for someone like me.” “But once you have five children starting with you, a parent’s heart becomes a strange thing—it can’t help worrying far beyond what’s necessary. …And you—whether it’s my poor upbringing or your born nature—with this ‘idealist’ talk of yours, you’re utterly indifferent to practical matters.” “For example, even if you were to secure a job that allows you to get by, there’s no telling what kind of ruffians your younger brothers and sisters might become or what misfortunes might arise.” “The idea that in such cases they could at least scrape by if they got into this farm and scratched at the soil—that was my intention in starting this troublesome work.” “...As the eldest son in Japan, above all else, the burden of caring for your younger siblings will fall on you...”

Father’s words gradually grew truly calm and somber. “I have always been utterly inept when it comes to money matters—I must exert myself twice as much as others just to arrive at ordinary ideas.” “From your perspective, you might think that at my age I’m only fixated on money, but the truth is, what others conceive in half a day takes me an entire day just to catch up to…”

Having said that, Father forced a laugh.

“In today’s world, once you fall, society won’t even glance back… Well, if you want to act according to your ideals, go ahead and try.” “No matter what you think, I intend to do what I must do. ...‘If it does not align with that principle, not a single thing shall be accepted.’” “‘If it does not align with that principle, not a single thing shall be given’—there’s a saying.” “In today’s world, it seems there is no way to live without lies other than this approach.”

Having said this, Father abruptly fell silent.

He became unable to say anything at all. He felt the determination—"Alright, I'll see this through"—sink to the depths of his chest like an iron bullet. A strange emotion—one that seemed born solely from blood ties, a hot yet simultaneously desolate emotion—threatened to squeeze tears from his eyes.

While seeing off his father’s elderly figure standing at the toilet, he too rose to his feet. He stepped out onto the veranda and gazed outside through the storm shutters. The night in the depths of Hokkaido’s mountains quietly deepened into the late hours. The vast form of nature spread out distantly before his eyes.