Pathway to Japanese Literature

I “Manzō! Shōsaku! It’s bright as noon outside!” “Come on, come on, get up now, get up now!” “Over there and next door, they’ve likely finished another task’s worth by now.” “What’re you lazing abed for on such fine weather?” “Shōsaku! Shōsaku! Come on, come on!”

While noisily opening the storm shutters of the front tatami room, the notoriously strict sister was shouting. Shōsaku rubbed his sleepy eyes and jerked his head up with a start, only to have it thud back against the pillow. To make his sister think he was awake, he kept his head on the pillow while muttering incessantly under his breath.

The sound of the lower room’s door clattering open with force echoed through the house, soon followed by the rattling noise of two or three storm shutters in the yard being slid open all at once. The honest Manzō, having been scolded by their sister, was likely sliding open the storm shutters half-naked as usual, without properly fastening his sash. “Good morning, Mother. The weather’s turned out better than expected.”

It was Manzō’s voice.

“Manzō, since we’re drying unhulled rice this morning, sweep the yard right away.”

Their sister had already given out the work assignments. Manzō was still without even washing his face or changing clothes—that’s exactly why people gave him an earful, Shōsaku thought. Faced with this situation, he could no longer afford to delay getting up even five more minutes. Shōsaku too needed to rise soon, yet still fidgeted restlessly beneath the covers. He had every intention of rising immediately, yet simply couldn't manage to get up right away. His shoulders ached, his lower back ached; every joint in his hands and feet prickled with pain. He must be completely worn out. "Once I get up, I'll feel better," Shōsaku muttered to himself, as if scolding his own body, and made a vigorous attempt to rise—but couldn't manage it. Once more for a while, he lay with his forehead pressed against the pillow, flung facedown and struggling.

Truly, Shōsaku was thoroughly exhausted. During yesterday’s rice harvesting, he had been tormented even by the women until his body gave out completely from the strain. “Being a farmer’s such a drag...” This is ridiculous—my back hurts too much to even get up. “Aaaah...”

Shōsaku, still unable to rise, lay listening intently to the household’s movements. Manzō swept the garden while Sister swept the tatami room from corner to corner with a palm broom, making swish-swish sounds. Sister was truly a hard worker. Sister always bustled about no matter what she did. Even when walking through the tatami room, she moved without any particular grace. She walked with heavy, stomping steps. Even had she not woken him, staying asleep would have been impossible. When Shōsaku still hadn’t risen after Sister woke him twice, she grew slightly miffed and swept the tatami room more roughly. In the kitchen area, the servant girl began lighting the fire. The burning bean stalks crackled and popped vigorously. The chickens had already come down and were flapping their wings. The hen clucked loudly. Shōsaku was thinking he finally had to get up when—

“What’s this, Shōsaku… Shōsaku… Even after they’ve opened the shutters, you’re still lying here?” “This exhaustion nonsense! Since when does a young man sleep in claiming work fatigue?!” With her older daughter present, Mother deliberately sharpened her tone. “You don’t need to shout—I’m getting up right now.” “As if you would.” “Who sleeps this late?” “Utterly hopeless.” “With that attitude, you wouldn’t last a day as anyone’s son-in-law!”

“Here we go again.” “If I went as a son-in-law, I wouldn’t feel like one.” “Don’t spout such unnecessary retorts.” Though he talked back whenever persistently scolded, Shōsaku wasn’t so foolish as to be unaware of his mother’s struggles. If Shōsaku acted selfishly, Mother would worry all the more about maintaining appearances before the rest of the household. Faced with his mother’s loving reproaches, even Shōsaku couldn’t bring himself to act underhandedly.

“When you first start working, everyone goes through that once. “What do you mean, sick? “Once you put on your work clothes and your body tightens up, the pain’ll go away.” Even as she said this, Mother seemed to wonder if something might actually be wrong, for she circled around to Shōsaku’s back and looked him up and down; though his elbows and wrists did appear slightly swollen, she concluded it must indeed be exhaustion. “I wonder... I don’t know why, but my back’s killing me. “This farming life’s so absurd.”

“If farming’s so absurd, what exactly does a farmer’s child intend to do by not farming?” “Look at Fujikichi and Goro-suke.” “They said farming was worthless and ran off—but look at the state they’re in now!”

Shōsaku protested that this was going too far—it was outrageous to lump him together with that bastard Fujikichi and Goro-suke—but without paying any heed to his words, she went off toward the kitchen.

Coming into contact with the chilly air and washing his face in the cold well water, Shōsaku finally regained some vitality. His body had regained some strength, but it still ached. He hadn’t realized while lying down, but when he got up and tried walking, his groin area throbbed terribly. He couldn’t walk upright. Shōsaku finally managed—shuffling with his back bent—to reach the edge of the well. The servant girl Ohama watched him sidelong and stifled a laugh.

“You lazybones, hurry up and figure out how to serve breakfast already…”

“What’s the use of me getting worked up just ’cause you’re sore from harvest labor? Hahahaha!” “Shut it—none of your business…!” Shōsaku’s whole body creaked so badly he doubted he could harvest rice that day, but since even the servant girl mocked him, though he’d grumbled to Mother, he’d never mention the pain to anyone else.

Shōsaku was nineteen that year. For his age, his spirit remained youthful, yet his physique already exceeded that of ordinary people. Even if he had voiced his weakness, it would have only invited empty ridicule, with not a single soul offering sympathy. When put that way—that everyone was like that—there was nothing more to say.

By now, Shōsaku had come to feel it was nothing much. In today's rice harvesting, even if he had to crawl into the fields, he steeled himself against any talk of hardship. Shōsaku stood by the well for a while, steeling his resolve. East of the well, about two ken away, lay a bamboo thicket bordered by a token lattice fence that served more as formality than function. In the thicket, a bush warbler sang in a soft voice. Beneath the fence, liriope grew so thickly there were no gaps between them, its exquisitely beautiful blue berries—indescribably lovely—clustered among dark foliage. The liriope berries were truly exquisitely beautiful in color. Beyond compare. Should one say they possessed a vivid luster? A holly tree leaning out from the thicket was laden with red berries. The astringent vermilion hue held an elegant color devoid of garishness, evoking nostalgic warmth. Associating the berries with Otoyo-san, Shōsaku recalled her, a faint smile creeping across his serene face.

"There is... There is one. Otoyo-san is that one." Shōsaku muttered this to himself and plucked three or four liriope berries. Placing them on his palm, he gazed intently at their beauty.

“Otoyo-san is such a kind person.” He muttered another word and gazed at the berries. Shōsaku had a large build, but having just finished middle school this spring and being new to farming this year, he was clumsy in everything he did. Yesterday’s rice harvesting had been a thoroughly miserable affair. He couldn’t keep up with anyone. He had nearly lost even to fourteen-year-old Ohama. In truth, he lost.

“Shō-san, it’s harvest competition time!”

He was goaded into action by fourteen-year-old Ohama’s rallying cries. “Damn… Like I’d ever lose to the likes of you!” Shōsaku threw himself into the work and managed to harvest an average amount during daylight hours, but by two or three in the afternoon, his hands simply wouldn’t cooperate. Ohama smiled while gazing at Shōsaku’s hands, “Shō-san, if you lose to me, what’ll you give me…?” “If I lose to you, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You better keep your word!” “Don’t worry—I’ve no intention of losing.”

In this manner, with all the banter and seriousness, Shōsaku became completely worn out. While Ohama was looking away, Otoyo-san swiftly moved thirty bundles of Shōsaku’s rice straw into her own pile to help him, so he barely managed to avoid losing to Ohama on the surface—but precisely because of that, he had actually fallen short by exactly thirty bundles.

Shōsaku lingered there where he would soon be summoned away, trying to avoid the household’s gaze for a while longer when Ohama came to fetch water. “Shō-san, I’ll beat you today for sure.” “Don’t be ridiculous—I wouldn’t lose to the likes of you even one-handed!” “Then let’s make it a race!” “Yeah, bring it on.” Ohama laughed with a “Ha ha ha!” and drew water. “Hama... If anyone calls for me, tell them I’m in the restroom.”

“Nah, just tell ’em I’m standing in the back field.” “You little sweetie.” Shōsaku, employing his usual restroom-excuse tactic, slipped out to the mulberry field behind the house and evaded summons for a while. True enough, his elder brother called repeatedly, but thanks to Hama-kun skillfully handling the situation, he managed to rest his bones for another twenty minutes or so.

The mulberry field dripped with morning dew, its thickets glistening; neighboring vegetable plots and radish fields gained fresh verdancy through rustling vitality; expansive rice paddy rows stood yellowed in uniform lines; distant mountains showed faint autumn tints; at the foothill village, pale blue morning smoke drifted far across the sky deepening into lapis lazuli clarity—all things thrived vibrant, each exerting their innate nature while harmonizing perfectly within nature’s unity. Shōsaku felt as though he himself joined the ranks of nature’s elements, assimilated into its great power, with a portion of that force coursing through both his flesh and spirit as if reborn into new life. The thought of working alongside Otoyo-san, Ohama, and those cheerful, lively people without an ounce of malice in today’s rice harvesting had somehow grown joyful and pleasant.

The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, but already there were those from the neighboring village leading horses over. Some were pulling carts. Some tied wrapped cloths to both ends of their carrying poles and slung them over shoulders; others walked lightly with hands tucked in sleeves; still others passed by engaged in loud, spirited conversations—all seeming like eddies in a great rotational wave, until at last he felt something within his own chest begin to surge and well up. Shōsaku had completely forgotten the fatigue in his legs and waist, vitality coursing through his entire body as he came out to the front where everyone was working.

II

“Shōsaku, you’re on sickle duty. “Should’ve sharpened four blades before daybreak. “Where’d you disappear to when I kept calling? “Stomach trouble my foot... Throw yourself proper into work and it’ll sort itself out. “What good’s lollygagging from dawn during harvest crunch?”

“Shōsaku’s restroom visits are sometimes so long it’s a problem. The start of learning this work is terribly hard for anyone—that’s just how it goes. By next year he won’t lose to anyone.” The elder brother and his wife kept grumbling complaints even as their hands never stopped working. If they’d had any inkling how grueling it was to begin learning this labor—if they could’ve shown even a shred of consideration—he thought, yet he couldn’t answer back to his brother and sister-in-law; answering them like he did his mother would’ve brought real trouble down. This wasn’t necessarily true of every household, but the feel between parents and children differed entirely from that between siblings. With his brother being both married and older, matters grew all the more difficult. What’s more, Shōsaku’s family had long followed complicated domestic customs.

Shōsaku silently began preparing to sharpen the sickles. The elder brother, true to his habitual grumbling, vigorously transported unhulled rice from the storehouse to the yard using a large winnowing basket. Following after, his sister-in-law spread out the unhulled rice around. Manzō spread straw chaff from one corner of the yard to the other, then laid out straw mats atop it. The unhulled rice would be dried on these. The yard where about sixty mats had been laid had already been spread with unhulled rice to about sixty percent. Shōsaku brought water to the hand basin and, sitting on the threshold with one sleeve removed, began sharpening his sickle with vigorous grating scrubs. Even though Shōsaku was a farmer’s son, he was a man with peculiar tastes.

The morning sun streamed in through the forest shade. At first, an ethereal shadow barely grazed the shoji paper. The forms of object shadows remained indistinct. Yet the color of that transitional moment was most beautiful. It resembled transparent gold. It possessed strength, radiance, and hue. That color lived so vividly it seemed almost visible, never fixed. Once blazing intensely, it gradually paled. When leaf shapes and bird forms became clearly defined, everything settled into profoundly calm elegance.

Shōsaku stood entranced, utterly absorbed in observing this fascinating spectacle. His sickle-sharpening hands moved with purely mechanical precision. Ohama worked in the kitchen singing a folk song in truly carefree tones. The elder brother and his wife along with Manzō moved almost like living machinery, operating with perfect order. To Shōsaku's eyes, the family members seemed to work in rhythm nearly identical to sunlight's incremental advance—each movement matching those measured steps of radiance. Shōsaku felt nothing now but pure delight.

The writers in Tokyo who composed manuals and such, going on about 'rural life' and whatnot, seemed to imagine the countryside as nothing but carefree idleness where people lived at an exceedingly leisurely pace—but the actuality was nothing like what urbanites imagined. If you were a slacker, you wouldn’t know—but when it came to autumn for serious, dedicated farmers, it was an extremely busy and intense affair. If you idled around, even women would despise you. Love and money alike could not be gained without diligent labor. Even in a household, if there was one lazy person, they would almost destroy the family’s peace because of it. On the other hand, when the entire family worked together in full force, even quite intense labor did not feel as painful as it might appear. Mornings and evenings were hectic—rising as the sluice gates grew pale and laboring until the Three Stars dipped westward was certainly bone-wearying, yet within that toil lay many unspoken pleasures.

Of course they chatted about their own interests, sang songs, and cracked jokes. Rumored loves and true loves—within the household, there is indeed some restraint, but when working outside, neither restraint nor hesitation is needed. Even when separated by three or four chō within the same rice field, working while catching distant glimpses of someone sharing mutual affection allowed them to spend days in joys imperceptible to outsiders; even backbreaking labor felt no hardship. Moreover, when working side by side with someone you don't dislike, the labor holds no hardship whatsoever. Setting aside romantic sentiments, when the entire household works in unison, they find mutual comfort; moreover, the peculiar pleasure arising from what's called family harmony proves profoundly satisfying in its own right.

When Shōsaku bared one shoulder and began vigorously sharpening the sickles, all traces of sternness vanished from his elder brother and sister-in-law’s faces, and lively conversation emerged. Even Mother came out to the edge and joined in everyone’s conversation. If Shōsaku worked diligently, Mother could hold her head high among the household and was always cheerful. Being filial to a loving parent requires no particular effort. “If we harvest diligently today and tomorrow, we’ll finish early the day after. For the harvest celebration, what should we have? You’d no doubt want rice cakes, Shōsaku.”

That’s just how Elder Brother was. Shōsaku kept smiling ambiguously without saying anything, “We’ll have sushi rather than rice cakes. “We just had rice cakes last time—this time it has to be sushi.” “Come on, Shōsaku—you join the sushi side too!” “I don’t mind either…” “Shōsaku, you mustn’t say things like that. “Since Elder Brother and Manzō always go for rice cakes, we need you to join the sushi side.” “With me and Ohama for sushi and two people on the rice cake side, if you join sushi we’ll be three here—so sushi gets decided…”

Shōsaku continued to smile and would not commit to either side. Manzō said that Grandmother agreed with having rice cakes. Sister-in-law argued that since Grandmother was someone who didn’t harvest rice, she couldn’t be included in the decision count. While never slackening their efforts at their assigned tasks, they laughed and enjoyed their conversations; amid the liveliness, the work progressed steadily onward. By the time Shōsaku had finished sharpening four sickles, the unhulled rice drying had also reached a stage of completion. Ohama came to announce that the meal was ready.

Yesterday, three from our side went and harvested the neighbor’s rice. Today, three people from the neighboring household came to harvest our rice. Young people prefer working in large, lively groups, so this practice is often conducted among close acquaintances.

With three from the neighbors and five from the household totaling eight—though since Elder Brother would be assigned to rice hauling, leaving seven harvesters—if each cut five hundred bundles, they should manage three thousand five hundred. Yet Shōsaku and Ohama still couldn’t cut a full share. The two were ordered to cut four hundred bundles each. Shōsaku grumbled that it was pitiful for a six-foot man to be paired with Ohama. “Then cut five hundred or even six hundred bundles,” sneered the sister-in-law. “If Shō-sama cuts five hundred, I’ll cut five hundred too,” declared Ohama. “No matter what,” Ohama proclaimed, “today I’ll beat Shō-sama and make him buy me something.”

“If I lose to Ohama, I’ll buy you anything, but what’ll you do if you lose to me?” “If I lose, I’ll definitely give you something too, so please decide what you want beforehand, Shō-sama.” “Well then—if I lose, I’ll give you some crack ointment.”

“Oh! You’re mocking me…… Well then, if I lose, I’ll give Shō-sama a single-coin’s worth of ointment. Ha ha ha ha!”

Though they were work clothes, each of the young people had their own sense of style. Shōsaku was nonchalant, his white merino sash being only slightly new, while Ohama—though her jacket was secondhand—wore an egg-colored work cord over what appeared to be newly tailored half-collar and sash of yuzen-patterned merino that was far from shoddy. With a slender stature and fair complexion, she was quite a striking young woman. The figure of her back with a white hand towel tied around her head—she was the sort to become the talk of the entire village. The way she completely disregarded someone like Manzō made her all the more impressive. Though being teased by Shōsaku seemed to bring her some secret delight, when work began in earnest, her wholehearted attempts to outdo him carried an innocence that was rather endearing.

Otoyo-san arrived a little later with Kiyoshi-san and his mother. Otoyo-san would never do something like walk together with Kiyoshi-san. Morning greetings were exchanged among everyone, followed by murmured exchanges about yesterday’s events and the fine weather, until the atmosphere became lively enough to lift their spirits. Otoyo-san had reached the garden’s edge just now with a clouded expression, but after exchanging a few words with everyone, she immediately regained her usual clear and healthy glow.

Otoyo-san’s appearance perfectly mirrored her inner self—everything about her being so firmly ordered and crisp that it refreshed those who saw her. Ohama worshipped Otoyo-san unreservedly and copied her in every particular. The moment Ohama noticed Otoyo-san’s arrival, she rushed out to the garden to greet her, scrutinized her attire from head to toe, then proceeded to inquire about each item—what this was, why that was so—one by one. Though said to be nineteen, Otoyo-san’s spirited nature made her seem nothing like a girl still in her teens. Her physique might have been too sturdy for a woman’s, yet carried no harshness in its lines. Her fair complexion naturally held a rosy tint, as if painted with rouge. Lips perpetually appeared freshly stained from sipping crimson pigment. She wore her abundant black hair in a luxuriant ginkgo-leaf twist hairstyle, while both obi sash and half-collar had changed since yesterday into something splendidly ornate. However one considered it, Otoyo-san stood far beyond what someone like Kiyoshi-san next door deserved as a wife. When realizing this very disparity caused Otoyo-san’s despondent expression, pity welled up unbidden.

“Shōsaku, no matter how unaccustomed you are to this work, there’s no excuse for a man of your size to lose to a woman in harvesting.” “If you keep at it with a ‘who cares’ attitude, you’ll never get better at this work—no matter how long you keep at it.”

Mother showed concern and encouraged Shōsaku. Shōsaku responded with his usual strained smile. Soon the eight of them finished preparing and set out for their destination. Otoyo-san and Ohama's appearance indeed drew people's eyes. Some praised their neat harvesting work, while others sneered that they were putting on airs. Comments like "That Ohama has feelings for Shōsaku-san—how absurd!" could be heard too. Ohama glared sharply toward where the insults came from but couldn't identify the speaker. Otoyo-san kept walking silently with bowed head for reasons unknown, never glancing sideways.

Sister-in-law suddenly—

“Otoyo-san, thanks to you, we’ll finish harvesting at our house the day after tomorrow. “And when will your place…” “At my place too, the day after tomorrow…” “At our place—after much back-and-forth—we’ve finally settled on making sushi instead of mochi. “What about your place?” “At my place, it seems we’re having mochi. “I dislike mochi.” “In that case, Otoyo-san, please come to our house the day after tomorrow.” “Then Shō-sama can go eat mochi at the neighbors’ and Otoyo-san will come eat sushi at our house—problem solved!”

This sort of remark was Ohama.

“You lot going on about nothing but eating first thing in the damn morning.”

Having said that, Elder Brother shifted the bundled rice straw he carried from his right shoulder to his left. The neighbor’s mother and Manzō told some amusing story and laughed uproariously. Kiyoshi-san snorted sharply into his hand and scurried along. Otoyo-san looked sidelong with a displeased expression.

This year’s rice yield was the best harvest in three to four years. A single thirty-bale field consolidated into one town block had been planted with a uniform stand of late-ripening rice. The plants had grown into such large clumps that a single stalk couldn’t be grasped in one hand. Bent under the weight of their ears, they lay uniformly prostrate in their mid-growth phase. Elder brother and his wife stood at the levee, looking thoroughly content as they gazed out. Because the west wind had the rice stalks leaning eastward, they began cutting from the western edge. Ohama had very much wanted to cut alongside Shōsaku, but the inconsiderate Manzō prevented this, forcing her into the space between her sister and Manzō with a sullen expression. Otoyo-san absolutely refused to work alongside her husband and instead lined up with Shōsaku. When it came down to it, Shōsaku was the star performer in this setting. Even Shōsaku, normally calm in all matters, found himself burning with competitive spirit once they began cutting side by side—his face flushed crimson as he harvested with desperate intensity. Manzō was already singing alone. Otoyo-san proved skilled and strong at every aspect of farm work. Smiling without dirtying her hands or breaking a sweat, she cut effortlessly yet harvested four bundles for every five of his. Even when Shōsaku gnashed his teeth and strained to compete, compared to Otoyo-san he remained practically a child. Otoyo-san conveyed her intent with a smile, discreetly cutting ten or twenty stalks from Shōsaku’s bundled rice straw at a time to aid him. Ohama was, after all, just a fourteen-year-old girl. She did not notice Otoyo-san’s gestures in the slightest. Manzō, having grown tired of singing alone,

“Ohama~, sing!” “Otoyo-sa~an, not singing today either?”

No one sang. The swishing sound of sickles cutting through stalks dominated the air; there was little conversation. Kiyoshi-san whispered busily with Mother. Manzō yawned,

“Everyone’s got romantic notions—that’s the problem. If Shōsaku-san’s around, neither Otoyo-san nor Hama-kō will sing a note.”

Manzō shamelessly said such things with a coarse laugh. Indeed, as Manzō had said, Otoyo-san never spoke unreservedly wherever Shōsaku was present. Shōsaku was fundamentally poor at conversation, so given how he barely exchanged words even after working side by side with others for half a day, today’s rice harvesting—contrary to expectations of being tremendously lively—proved remarkably lackluster. Though outwardly not lively, within their hearts Otoyo-san and Ohama were experiencing such commotion that they scarcely noticed time passing.

Of course, Shōsaku had not yet realized that Otoyo-san held feelings for him, but to eyes with some experience in such matters, it was impossible not to notice how Otoyo-san—ordinarily not one to shrink from others—seemed drawn to approach him yet restrained her heart from speaking. It was undeniably strange for someone without particular thoughts weighing on their mind to go out of their way to act aloof toward a person they needn’t treat with such reserve. The act of cutting rice stalks to assist could be interpreted as either intentional or incidental, yet her manner of doing so could not be mistaken for mere happenstance.

The afternoon passed in much the same manner. Elder brother and his wife were smugly pleased with the rice yield and paid no mind to the young ones' commotion. By evening, even that vast single-block field was neatly harvested, the rice stalks arranged in long rows along the levees like the Great Wall. Thanks to Otoyo-san, Shōsaku managed to avoid both crawling-level exhaustion and public disgrace. Had Ohama known about Otoyo-san's gestures, there would have been quite a commotion, but in the end, she remained unaware of them. Not just Ohama—it seemed no one noticed.

“If you keep cutting like you did today, Shōsaku, you’ll be a full-fledged farmer soon enough.”

This could be seen even through his sister-in-law’s words of praise. Even the lumbering lad Shōsaku, moved by Otoyo-san’s kindness, thought from the depths of his heart that she was a splendid person. Had Otoyo-san not been another man's wife, Shōsaku might have interpreted her kindness as romantic affection—but this lad who had never even loved an unmarried maiden still lacked the experience to perceive the subtlety of her gestures.

Originally, that the two households had conducted their rice harvesting together this autumn was itself a scheme already hatched from Otoyo-san's affection for Shōsaku. Otoyo-san, being a woman of exceptional generosity and competence fitting for her age and one of deep resolve, could hardly have been said to be someone likely to engage in reckless behavior.

When considered this way, it was merely that Otoyo-san had achieved her purpose, while today’s rice harvesting lacked any cohesion. Rice harvesting need only involve cutting as much rice as one desires, but when considering what makes the work engaging, the act of two households working together should inherently contain interests beyond mere labor—yet this year’s harvest sorely lacked that element. Kiyoshi-san worked along with others looking thoroughly bored, while Manzō, Ohama, and even Kiyoshi’s mother all somehow found it uninteresting.

Elder brother and his wife, who thought only of their own interests and strove solely to make everyone work even a little harder, existed in an entirely separate emotional realm. They never considered whether others found the work enjoyable. Thus they felt no dissatisfaction with this state of affairs. They merely refrained from objecting because the young people wanted to work together in numbers.

The others were not like this. They had thought that working together as two households with many people would make it enjoyable, but somehow everyone’s hearts seemed scattered in different directions, making it not particularly fun at all. Thus by day's end, Kiyoshi-san, Manzō, and Ohama alike had all muttered about how dull it was without ever discussing it.

That was only natural. It was as if everyone had been made to fuss solely for Otoyo-san's sake—in other words, they had all been made fools of by Otoyo-san. Though none realized they were being made fools of by Otoyo-san, the fact remained that this was why they found no enjoyment. Of course, Otoyo-san hadn’t acted out of any malicious intent to belittle others; rather, precisely because she remained solely preoccupied with her own secret—paying no heed to everyone’s shared fervor—she had failed to achieve unity with them. Otoyo-san, who always sang in that remarkably fine voice and served as each group’s focal point, today for some reason barely sang at all—and thus their cohesion was lost. Kiyoshi-san and his mother were in poor spirits for some reason too, but since this wasn’t particularly unusual, no one paid it much mind. In this rice harvest, had Otoyo-san not been present, the others might well have achieved unity themselves. Such an Otoyo-san might sound like an utterly self-absorbed woman, but those who possess the power to unify people inevitably end up disrupting that very unity.

Shōsaku, completely unaware of Otoyo-san’s secret, found himself unable to comprehend his own state that day; he simply felt as though he had been led around like a marionette by Otoyo-san until dusk settled in.

III

Today was meant to be the harvest completion day, but from morning there came a heavy downpour. Field work was naturally out of the question. Even the typically diligent elder brother and his wife appeared somewhat leisurely this morning, their way of opening the storm shutters less vigorous than usual. Shōsaku too had been left to sleep until his mother came to rouse him. When Shōsaku awoke, the rhythmic thudding of rice-pounding—likely Manzō at work in the earthen-floored area—echoed steadily through the house. With rain confining them indoors meaning little more than rope-braiding for chores, Shōsaku sprang up energetically, privately considering this a most agreeable arrangement.

Shōsaku had wanted to take the day off, but between fearing what might happen if he rested during harvest season and recalling his mother’s consideration—that if he worked diligently, she could stay home to make tastier meals—he found himself no longer wishing to rest. “Brother, what will we do today?” “Well, no help for it. We’ll braid ropes then.” “Brother, what will you do? If we’re braiding ropes, let’s dampen the straw together.” “I’ll weave straw bags. Have Hama-kun braid ropes too.”

Shōsaku wet about ten bundles of straw for his share and Hama-kun’s, then beat it before breakfast. Ohama was washing dishes in the kitchen while singing a ditty in her usual effortless voice. His elder sister declared she couldn’t properly clean the house except on days like this, making a clattering noise as she wiped every corner of the house with a rag. Conscientious people put effort even into cleaning.

Breakfast was finished. Manzō was pounding rice; Elder Brother was weaving straw bags; Shōsaku and Ohama were braiding ropes; elder sister seemed to be mending rags with Mother. Compared to rice harvesting, this was practically a rest. Sei-kō from across the way also came shouldering rice straw.

“Please let me join you all. “Oh, Ohama-san’s braiding ropes too… This is a godsend.” “I came here wanting to do rope-braiding where I could at least see Ohama-san’s figure, and yet…”

“Ah, Sei-san, come in here. “Well now, Hama-kun, since you’ve come here so eagerly…” “Oh, how mean!”

Ohama abruptly stood up and moved to Shōsaku’s right side. Sei-san, smiling, took a seat to Shōsaku’s left.

“Yesterday’s harvest was quite lively, wasn’t it? I’ve gone and fallen for Ohama-san.” “Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Sei-san was a skilled conversationalist who excelled at tailoring his stories to suit the occasion. He skillfully blended banter and seriousness to draw people into conversation. Sei-san would occasionally glance at Ohama’s face and praise Otoyo-san. “It’s a bit rude to praise another woman in front of you, but ah well—Ohama-san, Ohama-san here’s partial to Otoyo-san herself.” Ohama looked to the side and did not engage. Sei-san tailored his words to connect with everyone he spoke to.

Outside, the autumn rain fell steadily—some must have been walking through this mournful shower unable to bear its loneliness, while others remained shut indoors. In a courtyard filled with familial harmony, such melancholy autumn sentiments held no significance. When Elder Brother finished his earnest discourse, Manzō told some nonsensical tale that drew laughter. The conversation returned to Otoyo-san’s circumstances. Sei-san’s expression turned solemn, “Otoyo-san is truly pitiable.” “I simply can’t fathom why she stays with that Kiyoshiroku.” “Though it sounds harsh to say, Kiyoshiroku’s rather dull-witted.” “Just look at how her father- and mother-in-law carry themselves.” “And to top it off, Kiyoshiroku gambles.” “Poor Otoyo-san.” “They say her dowry’s reckoned as only half its proper worth from her family’s side too.” “Why, I doubt Otoyo-san has any wish to remain in that household.”

“Even if you say such things, there’s no way to know where she’s better off. As long as that hardworking Otoyo-san stays here, we won’t have any problems.” Elder Brother was making matter-of-fact remarks. “Though it seems the entire household is desperately mediating to keep Otoyo-san. Even so, they say Otoyo-san’s mood remains unappeased these days. It’s far more unreasonable to think of keeping her here.”

Ohama’s voice suddenly choked up—

“If Otoyo-san were gone, what would I do?” “Otoyo-san isn’t going anywhere.” “What nonsense about her disappearing?” “It’s just talk.” “Is that so?” Elder Brother’s praising of Otoyo-san was amusing.

“Ah now, I’m mighty fond of Otoyo-san.” “She’s the very model for all young women in this village.” “What makes Otoyo-san’s work clothes fine is that they’re truly fine.” “I can’t abide folks lazing about in long robes with haori draped over ’em.” “That figure of hers—in deep-dyed indigo kasuri and a Yuzen obi tied tight without fuss—working with such sharp hands, why it cheers a body just to watch.” “Work’s what matters most in this world—young ’uns putting on airs about their labor’s downright shameful.” “Hate seeing folk clutter up holidays making worthless trinkets. Hama-kun here dotes on Otoyo-san too, don’tcha?” “Copy her! Copy her proper!” “Your work needs matching hers in skill, hear?”

“Well now, master here’s gone and said something splendid!” “Ohama-san gets the master to buy her all sorts of things—obis, kimonos, whatever she wants—lavishly.”

Shōsaku was merely one of the laughing companions now and couldn’t engage in conversation at all. Manzō had already finished pounding another bale of rice. Elder Brother wove four bales. Shōsaku’s rope-making remained with Ohama’s group—neither could cut two bundles of straw. Elder brother stayed in good spirits as long as the whole household worked together with all hands on deck. “Hama-kun, no need to suddenly push yourself so hard. When the weather’s fair, we work ourselves to the bone—days like this are for resting ours. This here’s how it oughta be done. Even lazing about ain’t much fun anyway. Hama, go boil up some sweet potatoes or such.”

Ohama went to the hearth area. Shōsaku thought. Until now, he had thought his elder brother was simply an incomprehensible man who only spoke of petty difficulties—first family circumstances, second earnest effort—but today’s conversation showed he understood things quite well. Indeed, this was the proper way. This was what made it truly satisfying. Everyone working together like this in such an engaging manner must be the proper way.

Even if they called it rural life, making a spectacle of farmers’ toil and idly strolling around to gaze at what farmers had produced—that wasn’t true pastoral appreciation. Indeed, I too would become a farmer. I had only ever thought farming was backbreaking work and had never seriously intended to become one, but upon reflection, my elder brother’s words rang true. I’d become a farmer—become a farmer. When I thought about it this way, Otoyo-san truly was an admirable woman. Though we were the same age, our circumstances differed entirely from us pampered types. That was why Otoyo-san was truly kind-hearted. Lost in solitary thought, I recalled Otoyo-san’s demeanor from the previous day. What Sei-san had said was also true—it was truly pitiable that Otoyo-san had ended up married into the neighboring household. Indeed, just as Sei-san had said, she might not remain next door. The thought made me feel strangely nostalgic for her—found myself unwilling to part ways.

“Shōsaku-san, let’s have a little chat. “You’re thinking about something, aren’t you?” “Ha ha ha ha!”

Shōsaku was startled but turned toward Sei-san with his usual gentle smile. Sei-san laughed cheerfully and finished weaving three ropes. Before Shōsaku had even finished two, Sei-san had already effortlessly completed three. Manzō brought out the second bale of rice from the storehouse and put it into the mortar. Ohama filled a pot with sweet potatoes and placed it over the hearth. After entrusting the rest to Grandmother, he would resume rope-making.

Manzō measured out rice into the mortar, returned the emptied bale to the storehouse, and perched on the mortar’s edge. After listening awhile to the others’ chatter, he let out a discordant voice: “Today’s when we’re having Shōsaku-san treat us all, right?” “I saw concrete evidence.”

The group, intrigued by Manzō’s unexpected revelation, greeted his story with unified laughter. “If Shōsaku-san ain’t treatin’ us, there’s gotta be some reason—this’s gettin’ mighty interestin’!” “Manzō-kun, out with it already!” “If Shōsaku-san’s treatin’ us too, then we’ll need to make proper preparations for that as well.”

Urged by Sei-san, Manzō reluctantly began to speak.

“Otoyo-san’s in love with Shōsaku-san.”

“Well now, this’s gettin’ mighty interestin’!” “What evidence’d ya see, Manzō-san?” “Now that it’s come to this, Shōsaku-san’s gotta treat us all!”

The ever-talkative Sei-san chimed in with apparent amusement.

“Manzō, what nonsense are you spouting?” Shōsaku had retorted, yet found his face growing strangely hot. Manzō wore an expression that suggested he regretted bringing up such an outrageous thing, “During yesterday’s rice harvesting, Otoyo-san secretly transferred a bundle of Shōsaku-san’s sugai straw.” “I saw it plain as day, I tell you.” “Otoyo-san won’t leave Shōsaku-san’s side, I tell you.” “She’s definitely in love with you, I tell you.” Ohama glared at Manzō with wide eyes. Shōsaku’s face had already turned bright red,

“Lies! All lies! It’s true that Otoyo-san secretly helped me because I’m so terrible at rice harvesting, but that’s just her kindness. There’s nothing like her being in love or anything of the sort. You idiot Manzō! What nonsense are you spouting?!”

Though Shōsaku had desperately defended himself, he couldn't help feeling somehow awkward. Not only that, but now that he found himself wondering whether Otoyo-san might indeed harbor such feelings, his face burned even hotter and his heart began to pound. Manzō, having no further capacity to speak, hurriedly began pounding the rice. Sei-san grew increasingly excited, “This is beyond me. “There’s no helpin’ it bein’ seen that clear by Manzō-san—anyhow, Shōsaku-san oughta treat us all proper-like.” “Well whether she’s someone’s wife or whatnot, bein’ loved by a woman ain’t no simple matter, Shōsaku-san…”

Elder Brother would never join in such talk, his face wore a stern expression. Sei-san noticed Elder Brother's expression and started to retract the story he had begun.

Suddenly, the sliding door by the hearth opened, and Mother’s face appeared.

“Manzō.” “Yes, ma’am.” “You just mentioned Otoyo-san, didn’t you?” “Yes, ma’am.” Manzō, perhaps thinking he’d gotten into serious trouble, turned pale, his eyes already moistening. “Whatever nonsense you saw—Otoyo-san is your neighbor’s wife, isn’t she? Even our Shōsaku here is about to be married off. Must you resort to such idle talk? You shouldn’t go around saying things that could stain someone’s reputation. I’m asking you—don’t speak of such things again.”

“Haa...” Manzō was already thoroughly cowed, unable to offer any excuse. The honest Manzō’s regret for having truly blurted out something outrageous appeared undisguised on his face. Faced with Manzō’s silent apology brimming with honesty, Mother found herself unable to rebuke him further; nevertheless, she pressed him strongly so that her warning would resonate with Sei-san as well. “Now listen here, Manzō—if even the slightest rumor like that gets started, it’ll truly cause trouble for Otoyo-san and Shōsaku.” “Even if you forget everything else, don’t you dare say such things.” “You hear?”

“Haa...”

The matter turned serious, and the conversation died out like a spent fire.

And as if summoned by their gossip, Otoyo-san’s voice could indeed be heard.

From the kitchen’s back door, “Pardon my intrusion from the back door.” When her usual clear voice—like the chime of a bell—rang out, Otoyo-san soon appeared in the courtyard. Beaming, “My, what a lively gathering... Though this dreary weather we’re having.” “Grandmother?” “Oh, is that so? Thank you ever so much.”

The very person who had been the sole topic of discussion suddenly entered, leaving everyone exchanging glances in dumbfounded dismay. Even Sei-san couldn't bring himself to mention they'd been gossiping about you until now, instead pretending intense focus on twisting rope. Otoyo-san exchanged pleasantries with everyone and went upstairs where her sister waited. She appeared to have come to borrow some loom tools.

Before long, as the potatoes were done boiling, sister came down together with Otoyo-san. They formed a large circle and ate potatoes. Women of slightly superior standing seemed to possess some mysterious radiance, for when Otoyo-san came here even briefly, she became the center of attention during that brief time. Unconsciously, everyone’s eyes were drawn to Otoyo-san.

Otoyo-san’s face, richly glossy around the jawline, carried an indefinable gravitas. Even the notoriously chatty Sei-san—though he might spout all manner of gossipy remarks behind people’s backs—became utterly bashful when face-to-face with her, unable to utter a single jest. Ohama, having earlier heard that Otoyo-san had feelings for Shōsaku, felt as though she herself had grown closer to her, and now snuggled up against Otoyo-san’s knees while gazing up at her face. Shōsaku deliberately stepped out of the circle and stood eating his potato. Sei-san kept stealing glances toward Otoyo-san, trying to detect something significant in her actions toward Shōsaku, but Otoyo-san was not so careless as to let herself be noticed by someone like him. Otoyo-san showed not the slightest sign of casting a glance toward Shōsaku. Before long, Otoyo-san told Grandmother and everyone else that since the bath would be ready early tonight they should come by to bathe, then left.

The rain showed no sign of letting up even past noon. Manzō finished milling six to of rice and went out. Afterwards, Kiyoshi-san too came bringing straw to the same spot as before noon. With Kiyoshi-san present now, they could no longer gossip about Otoyo-san. Sei-san kept chattering about trifles with Ohama, trying to liven things up. Shōsaku tried not to dwell on it, yet found himself unable to stop thinking. If people noticed him brooding, that would spell real trouble—so he forced himself to join the idle talk, his heart heavy even as his words floated lightly—but such behavior was so unlike Shōsaku that any observer would find it downright peculiar.

Otoyo-san is thinking of me—could it be true? Otoyo-san, who has a husband—such a thing couldn’t possibly be. Otoyo-san was a thoroughly proper person. She’s far more of an adult than someone like me. That she’s thinking of me—it’s a lie. It's a lie. It must be a lie. First of all, if it were true, Otoyo-san would be an unscrupulous hussy contrary to her proper appearance. No such thing could exist. It's a lie. The more I insisted "It’s a lie" in my heart, the more things came to mind that made sense. Otoyo-san’s kindness toward me wasn’t limited to this rice harvest season. When I thought back to the Naritō Festival, that too had been strange. The other evening at dusk too, she had stealthily slipped a fig into my sleeve. Oh right—back during the recent rice harvest too, when I cut my hand with the sickle, Otoyo-san tore off the hand towel she’d been wearing on her head without hesitation and bandaged it for me. She might indeed have feelings.

Once he began thinking, there was no end. Shōsaku's heart pounded until he flushed crimson. The moment he feared others might notice something amiss, composure became impossible. He visited the toilet though needing nothing. Even there, his thoughts churned relentlessly. Then perhaps Otoyo-san did harbor feelings for me. In which case she wasn't virtuous. A married woman being so improper. How utterly wanton. Though part of him insisted on this proper judgment, it rang hollow—a frail voice whimpering from his gut's darkest corner. That terrifying yet pitiful conviction feebly denounced her impropriety through clenched teeth. However tightly he squeezed his eyes shut, her face burned behind his lids—thick brows framing glossy black hair. The model wife his brother had praised for her thorough competence. However he tried reviling her, it proved futile as hammering nails into chaff. Beneath all hypocritical pretense, joy at her affection swelled vigorously from his heart's core. However he wrestled internally, he couldn't despise her. If she truly did care for me—what then? Surely not another man's wife... What could she possibly intend? No no—admirable though she be—a married woman—someone's spouse—unthinkable! Emerging at last while muttering"No no", Shōsaku knew those whispered denials would scatter like palm-blown dust should she confront him with her forceful gaze.

Shōsaku unconsciously let out a sigh.

When Shōsaku returned to his seat, Ohama stared intently at his face as if wanting to say something. Shōsaku flusteredly,

“Hama-kō, any potatoes left? I want to eat potatoes.” “There are some.” “Then go get them.” After that, Shōsaku—without even properly making straw ropes—ate potatoes, chased the cat around, and wandered aimlessly about the house, barely managing to distract himself from his distraught state of mind.

Four

When dinner ended, Grandmother went to bed complaining of a chill. Rain whispered through Sedoyama’s bamboo grove. Droplets pattered softly in counterpoint. Through this aqueous curtain came their neighbor’s mother’s voice.

“The bath is ready, Master next door!” “Yeees—”

Ohama answered from the kitchen. Elder Brother and his wife went when summoned to the bath.

Shōsaku entered the small tatami room and looked at today's newspaper. He managed to read through the fiction and miscellaneous reports after a fashion. Then he read The Tale of Genji, but precisely because he could read it, he couldn't grasp the meaning of a single line. Shōsaku lay sprawled on his back, still holding the book, and gazed up at the ceiling boards. The ceiling boards remained unseen - instead, Otoyo-san appeared vividly before him.

Maybe it was better not to go to the bath tonight. That's right—he wouldn't go. He wouldn't go—that's what he'd do. What good would going do anyway? No, no—he wouldn't go. Better not go. The "won't go" was Shōsaku of moral conscience; was the "want to go want to go" what you'd call Shōsaku of carnal desire? On one hand, [moral Shōsaku] said it was better not to go; yet on the other, [carnal Shōsaku] couldn't suppress this seething urge to go—to keep going. What if Otoyo-san came stealthily to the bath area and said something? Thinking this made him feel eerie and terrified, his stomach churning. Shōsaku's ears began burning hot again. Better not go, naah. Ahh he wouldn't go wouldn't go. He muttered this under his breath. The desiring heart conversely never rose to speech's surface—he'd never say "want to go"—yet its force clung to his belly's pit like indestructible paste glue, refusing to loosen no matter what. When finally exhausted and sinking into dazedness,

“Shōsaku, Shōsaku—the bath’s ready. Come get some. The neighbors are waiting too.”

Even as his sister called, Shōsaku unconsciously stood up. Without thinking anything through, he ran through the rain-darkened bamboo grove of Sedoyama and ended up going next door.

The bath was set under the eaves of the kitchen at the back door's exit. Though it was pitch dark all around, since this was a house he knew well, there was no issue feeling his way forward. When he came near the front of the bath, the fire in the kettle was burning dimly, allowing him to finally make out the back door's entrance. Because the door was slightly ajar, Shōsaku said "Excuse me" as he stepped inside. In the front tatami room, three or four elderly people were talking with boisterous laughter. They didn't know Shōsaku had just entered. When Shōsaku circled around to the entrance of the garden area, he saw firelight cast on the soot-stained red shoji—dimly crimson and bright like light filtering through oiled paper. From outside the shoji, Shōsaku—

“Good evening—I’ve come to fetch bathwater.”

“Well, if it isn’t Shōsaku-san. Do come in. There’s quite the lively conversation happening right now.”

This was Kiyoshi-san’s mother. Old Lady Kihee was there as well. Old Lady Gorōbei was also there. Old Man Shichibei was also there. Everyone had apparently finished bathing and were engrossed in conversation. Someone slid open the shoji screen, and everyone greeted Shōsaku. Kiyoshi-san was sprawled out by the hearth. Otoyo-san alone was nowhere to be seen or heard. A sense that things were going well and a feeling resembling disappointment arose simultaneously within him. Following the mother’s words that “The bath is ready,” Shōsaku headed to the bath area. The bath’s fire smoldered dimly, a faint sizzling sound issuing forth. When he lifted the mat cover, the stench of grime hit him. It seemed a considerable number of people had used it. Shōsaku tentatively entered. Upon entering, he found the odor not so bad after all, and with the temperature just right, soaking for a while left him entranced, his mind emptying. He even forgot about Otoyo-san for a moment. Perhaps the rain had grown stronger—the sound of it striking chinquapin leaves became audible, droplets falling to resonate lonesomely through the darkness. The voices from the tatami room became clearly audible. Shōsaku rested the back of his head against the tub’s rim, closed his eyes to soak in the warmth, and strained his ears toward the conversation in the tatami room. Even now, somewhere in his mind, that impulse to seek out Otoyo-san’s voice within the clamorous chatter was still at work.

The voice was unmistakably Old Lady Gorōbei’s.

“See here, Kin-kō’s wife—she caused quite the spectacle yesterday, didn’t she?”

“Where was this—a marital spat with Kin-kō? Now that’s uncommon!” “But yesterday’s was quite the spectacle, I tell you!” “At that temple of Sadakō’s—the boss from Tsube, you know. “In Ochiai’s thicket, they’d set up a proper gambling den. “And wouldn’t you know it—Kin-kō got himself mixed up in it too. “Then someone went and tipped off his missus, so she came charging in like a house afire, they say.” “Aye, back to the gambling pits with ’em!” “Exactly! Can’t blame the wife one bit, old dear. “It’s meant to be a bumper year, you know. “When all they’ve managed is two paltry bales for both keep and spending money—him drinking and gambling away what little they’ve got—no wonder she flew off the handle!”

“Well now, that’s all well and good—but what happened next?” “The wife, see... “She barged in blind-dark.” “‘You mangy cur! Gambling when there’s no supper rice?!’ She was hollering proper enough till then—but pitch-black it was, so when she latched onto who she thought was her man, turned out she’d grabbed Boss Sadakō himself!” “Meanwhile her husband had skedaddled out back.” “Folks tried shushing her—‘Pipe down!’—but when she saw it was some stranger, why, the wife near died of shame!” “Still though, granny—gotta respect a proper boss.” “Nay, can’t blame the missus.” “Kin-kō’s the louse here.” “Kin-kō this, Kin-kō that—with all the hollering over what became of him, he comes slinking back red as radish! That whole mess—why, ’twas a sight to behold!”

“Now that was funny!” Everyone laughed in unison.

“And then there's another funny thing. Kin-kō couldn’t just shamelessly return home together with his wife like that. Kin-kō gave a quick apology to Boss Sada, then whacked his wife’s head twice. The wife made this face like something had flown out of her, but then Boss Sada hollered, ‘What’s this, Kin-kō? You can’t go hitting your woman right in front of me!’ So the two of them slunk out looking mighty peculiar, I tell you.”

“Hmm, is that so?” “Even so, when I dropped by at dusk yesterday—since they’d pounded mochi for finishing the harvest—they were going ‘Hmm’ and ‘Well…’ about whether I should stay and eat.” “Hmm, that wife’s always like that.” “They’re truly a matched pair, you know.” “Ahahahaha!”

And then, as another story seemed about to emerge, the atmosphere grew quite lively. As Shōsaku found himself unwittingly drawn in and chuckled alone, a pale woman’s face slid out from between the narrowly opened door panels. Before Shōsaku could even gasp, Otoyo-san came before the bath and said in a low voice, “Good evening.” Shōsaku found himself momentarily breathless, unable to form a reply, when a faint voice— “The water isn’t too cool, is it?” “Yes.” “Let me stoke it a bit.”

Otoyo-san squatted before the bath and lit the fire. As the flames flared up, her freshly tied ginkgo-leaf hairstyle glistened beautifully. Shōsaku trembled so violently he couldn't utter a word. "Otoyo-san had already finished bathing." Even as his lips formed the words, no sound emerged.

Otoyo-san soon stood up. “Brr, it’s cold. My hands are freezing.” With that, she plunged her two pale hands into the hot water. Though Shōsaku didn’t particularly mind touching Otoyo-san’s hand, some instinctive dread made him pull his body backward. “Shall I wash your back, Shōsaku-san?” “Yes.” “Shōsaku-san, could you lend me your hand towel for a moment?” Because Otoyo-san spoke in a hushed voice, Shōsaku grew increasingly fearful. This fear wasn’t of some other kind. In times like these, it was the kind of dread known to anyone who’d been through it. Shōsaku handed over the towel and sank deeper into the bathwater. Otoyo-san had bent forward with both hands in the water, bringing their faces within fourteen inches of each other. She appeared to have applied subtle makeup, and a sweet fragrance drifted from her. Her ordinarily pale face—whether from the dim light or this concentration of scent—seemed so beautiful it might have materialized from the fragrance itself. When the faint sound of Otoyo-san’s breathing reached him, Shōsaku felt something like a heated iron rod pierce his abdomen, searing through to his chest.

Indeed, all those thoughts that had arisen in Shōsaku’s chest moments before—of her being some shameless woman or an utterly objectionable person—had vanished without trace, leaving neither shadow nor form. Shōsaku could now do nothing but gaze at Otoyo-san in entranced wonder. He could no longer hear the voices of others or the sound of rain, slipping into a dreamlike, intoxicated state where his entire being—heart rather than body—had been claimed by Otoyo-san. Shōsaku had reached a point where no matter what Otoyo-san might do to him, he possessed not the slightest power to resist—he could only yield to her will. Indeed, women were terrifying beings.

Otoyo-san said in a small voice, “Thank you,” as she handed him the hand towel, then uttered “Shōsaku-san” in an even fainter tone. Her voice was trembling after all. Shōsaku couldn’t even muster a response like “Ha…”, merely gazing up at Otoyo-san’s face when—from the direction of the tatami room— “Otoyo, Otoyo.” The voice calling out was Mother’s. Otoyo-san wordlessly slipped inside the doorway with a smooth sidestep. Once inside,

“Coming!” Otoyo-san gave a bright reply. “The bathwater isn’t too cool, is it? Check under the kettle for me.” “Yes.”

Otoyo-san came out again, this time in a crisp voice— “Shōsaku-san, the water must be getting lukewarm.” “Please take your time bathing.” “I’ll stoke it now…” Her voice carried no restraint before others. She fed two or three logs into the furnace and revived the flames. Shōsaku ignored this, stepping out of the bathwater to dress. “Shō-san, have you finished already?” “It was lukewarm, wasn’t it?”

Shōsaku was too timid to produce even a greeting, but dawdled conspicuously over tying his obi. Otoyo-san abruptly stood and drew near until her fragrant hair grazed his nose. Then in a hushed voice: “They sent Hachiya persimmons from my hometown recently—I’ll give you two or three, Shō-san.” Her chilled strands brushed Shōsaku’s face still flushed from bathing. He found himself regaining some composure. When her hair touched him, Otoyo-san suddenly appeared heartbreakingly fragile. She slipped persimmons into his sleeve and seized his hand with hers. Shōsaku—never having experienced such intimacy—left his hand captive while fidgeting nervously. Just as he felt increased pressure in their clasped hands, Otoyo-san withdrew hers and vanished through the doorway like a darting swallow. Shōsaku lingered in dreamlike suspension until awareness jolted through him—terrified to remain another instant, he hastened homeward.

Shōsaku simply could not sleep that night. Countless delusions of every sort seethed and churned turbulently within his constricted chest. No sooner would he feel an indescribable comfort—as though wrapped in soft, billowing white silk around a warm dream—than there would arise afterward a dreadful, sinful anguish so unbearable it made him sick. No matter how I considered it—Otoyo-san was another man’s wife—what madness to think of another’s spouse! Fool! Shameless fool! How could I entertain such thoughts? Ah, unbearable! Yet Otoyo-san wasn’t wicked by any measure—not a hateful woman—nowhere existed a woman as kind as Otoyo-san. Why did such a capable person reside among that neighboring house full of good-for-nothings? They said she’d been utterly deceived by the matchmaker—unfathomable! And despite this her relationship with Kiyoshi-san seemed anything but harmonious—Otoyo-san was a good person—a pitiable one—how could she become happy?

Merely continuing to harbor mutual feelings without acting on them might not pose any immediate problem—but could we truly find satisfaction in that? And even if we could have found it, wouldn't it all ultimately amount to something hollow? No matter how much I thought about it—when considering how things would end—there was nothing Otoyo-san and I could do no matter how deeply we cared for each other. Even indulging these futile longings over idle emotions carried equally profound sinfulness. If rumors ever spread through society someday, we'd both suffer identical calamities anyway. Ah! How trivial! How absurd! Right—I needed to properly convince Otoyo-san and make her abandon these pointless thoughts once and for all—that was our only way out! But would she even listen? What exactly was she thinking? Otoyo-san understood everything perfectly—so why did she keep doing such things while being another man's wife? This was so troubling... No matter how many times I reconsidered—Otoyo-san remained an admirable person...a beloved person... For Otoyo-san's sake—I'd gladly become a criminal! Become a hardened criminal even! If only she kept thinking this was alright... Ah—this was hopeless!

Shōsaku remained awake until the rooster crowed. No matter how many hundreds of times he thought about it—like a dog tethered to a stake circling endlessly, returning again and again to where it began—he kept revolving thoughts that amounted to utter futility. Like someone who cannot swim plunged into deep waters, Shōsaku found himself completely immobilized. In short, having become ensnared by Otoyo-san's affections, no amount of thrashing about on his own could change anything. This predicament could not be resolved through Shōsaku's heart alone.

Five

From then on, Otoyo-san was not someone suffering from unrequited love. Since they were neighbors, there were inevitably many opportunities for them to meet face-to-face. They conveyed their hearts through gestures and spoke their intentions through smiles, spending their days as though tracing a dream path. There came times later when Shōsaku, single-mindedly obsessed, grew heated enough to risk even danger—but here lay Otoyo-san’s steadfastness, skillfully dissuading him so that no act of immoral transgression might be committed.

Even if Otoyo-san's conduct were decried as the most contemptible licentious depravity conceivable in a woman, she could naturally offer no proper defense. Yet were one to truly venture into the depths of her heart's workings, one would discover much there worthy of compassion and pity.

Regarding Otoyo-san’s marriage into the neighboring household—she had been deceived by that matchmaker’s usual falsehoods. Otoyo-san’s parental home was that of a middle-class farmer or higher, while the neighboring household was practically equivalent to tenant farmers. Moreover, Kiyoshiro was neither particularly clever nor diligent. Otoyo-san too, soon after arriving, became aware of all the circumstances and temporarily returned to her parents’ home—but given that her father was a man who had painstakingly built considerable wealth through his own efforts alone, he did not particularly fret over the lack of assets. "If one works, wealth can be acquired," she was told—"Once married through fate, one cannot divorce based solely on the single reason of lacking wealth. Such heartless reasoning will not do"—and so Otoyo-san reluctantly returned. Just as her father had said—if only Kiyoshiro were somewhat more manly, then even with their lack of wealth, Otoyo-san would not be tormented like this. To these circumstances was added their proximity as neighbors—naturally leading Otoyo-san to frequent Shōsaku’s household. Shōsaku’s character, gentle yet principled, his education far surpassing someone like Kiyoshiro, along with a certain compatibility she shared with him—all this finally led Otoyo-san to fix her affections upon him. Even if she watched Shōsaku from the shadows, whenever Otoyo-san heard his voice, the gloom in her chest would always clear. Because of this, she spent six months idly in the neighboring household she had concluded was ultimately hopeless.

As that year too finally drew to a close, around mid-December, Shōsaku’s marriage negotiations abruptly came about. It had been nearly settled that he would become an adopted son-in-law to a certain household in the neighboring village. Through Ohama’s mediation, Shōsaku met with Otoyo-san at a particular location one day and brought closure to their relationship.

Had they spoken from the depths of their hearts, their mutual respect and affection would have swelled all the more—yet unable to defy the unyielding ways of the world, they had no choice but to become distant strangers. If it were between men, they could grow even closer in their bond, but between a man and a woman, such intimacy cannot be. The world is truly trivial. That one cannot govern one’s own body and mind as one wishes—when you consider it, humans are utterly absurd creatures. If being artificially bound through marital obligation to those whose very nature remains unknown—forced to transform oneself into machine-like automatons—is what they call morality, then morality is nothing but a tool to strangle humanity to death.

The two clasped each other’s hands, twisting threads from their tears, and vowed that should divine grace ever deliver them hereafter, they would knot together the ropes of tears they now held.

Two days after this event, Otoyo-san had returned to her parents' home. And in the end, she never returned to the neighboring house. Although Shōsaku had once entered the adoptive household, due to rumors arising about him and Otoyo-san, the engagement was ultimately annulled.

(January 1908)