Pathway to Japanese Literature

I “Mitsuzou! Seisaku! It’s broad daylight outside!” “Come on, get up! Get up!” “Over there and next door, they’ve probably already finished another task by now.” “In this fine weather, sleeping in—what do you think you’re doing?” “Seisaku! Seisaku! Come on, come on!” While noisily opening the storm shutters of the front room, the strict sister was shouting. Seisaku rubbed his bleary eyes and jerked his head up, only to have it thud back against the pillow again. To make the 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 swinging open with force rang out, soon followed by the clattering noise of storm shutters in the courtyard being shoved open two or three at a time. The honest Mitsuzou, having been yelled at by the sister, was likely opening the storm shutters half-naked as usual without even fastening his sash.

“Mother, good morning.” “The weather has turned out unexpectedly fine.” It was Mitsuzou’s voice. “Mitsuzou, today we’re drying the unhulled rice in the morning, so sweep the garden right away.” The elder sister was already assigning tasks. Mitsuzou had not yet washed his face or changed clothes—that’s why people didn’t often speak of him—or so Seisaku found himself thinking. In this situation, he couldn’t afford to delay getting up even five more minutes. Seisaku also needed to get up soon, yet he kept fidgeting under the bedding. He fully intended to rise immediately, but actually rising proved far from immediate. Shoulders ached, hips ached; every joint in hands and feet prickled with pain. I must be terribly exhausted. ‘If I just get up, I’ll feel better,’ Seisaku muttered to himself, scolding his own weakness as he tried with all his might to rise—yet still couldn’t manage it. Once more he lay face down, forehead pressed against the pillow, thrashing about for some time.

Truly, Seisaku was utterly exhausted. During yesterday’s rice harvesting, he had been tormented even by the women and suffered so terribly that he became utterly exhausted to the point where his body wouldn’t obey him. Being a farmer is just… How absurd—my hips hurt so much I can’t get up. Ugh...

Seisaku, still unable to rise, listened intently to the household's activities. Mitsuzou swept the garden; Elder Sister swished a palm-bark broom across every corner of the tatami room. She was truly a tireless worker. Whatever task she undertook became a hurried affair. Even when crossing the tatami rooms, she never walked with grace. Her footsteps thudded heavily. Staying abed grew impossible even without further prodding. Having roused Seisaku twice to no avail, Elder Sister swept with rougher strokes in visible irritation. In the kitchen, the maid kindled the hearth fire. Bean stalks crackled loudly as they burned. Chickens fluttered down unnoticed, beating their wings. A hen clucked insistently. As Seisaku lay contemplating whether he must finally rise,

“What on earth, Seisaku... Seisaku! Even after they’ve opened the shutters, you’re still lying here? What’s this about being exhausted? Since when does a young man sleep in just because he’s tired from work?”

Mother spoke even more harshly because of Sister’s presence. “You don’t have to wake me so harshly—I’ll get up right away.” “There’s no such thing as ‘right away’ when getting up.” “Who in the world sleeps in this late?” “What a nuisance you are.” “With that attitude, you’ll never last as a son-in-law anywhere!”

"It’s starting again." “Even if I went as a son-in-law, I doubt I’d feel like one.”

“Don’t give me any backtalk now.” Even when persistently nagged with scoldings, Seisaku wasn’t foolish enough to remain blind to his mother’s hardships. Should he act willfully, Mother would only grow more anxious about maintaining face before the household. Confronted by her rebukes steeped in maternal care, he found himself unable to evade responsibility. “Everyone struggles like this when they first start working.” “What sickness could you possibly have?” “Once you don your work clothes and your body firms up, the pain will vanish—that’s how it goes.”

Even as she said this, Mother seemed to wonder if there might be something genuinely wrong, circling around to Seisaku’s back to scrutinize him from all angles; and indeed, though his elbows and wrists appeared slightly swollen, she concluded it must simply be exhaustion after all. “Is that so? I don’t know why, but my hips hurt something terrible.” “Being a farmer is just absurd.” “You call farming absurd—what exactly does a farmer’s child plan to do if not farm?” “Look at Fujikichi and Gorōsuke.” “They ran off calling farming trivial, but look at the state they’re in now!”

Seisaku objected that this was going too far—it was cruel to group him with that scoundrel Fujikichi and Gorōsuke—but she ignored his protests and disappeared into the kitchen. The chill of the air and the cold well water on his face finally revived Seisaku’s spirits. Though his body had grown somewhat sturdier, the pain remained relentless. While lying down he hadn’t noticed, but standing revealed an intense throbbing at the base of his thighs. Walking upright proved impossible. Bent nearly double, Seisaku could only hobble his way to the wellside. The maid Ohama peeked sideways at him and snorted back a laugh.

“You little brat, hurry up and figure out how to feed me already…” “Even if you’re all worn out from harvesting and your body aches, getting mad at me won’t fix a thing, hahahaha!” “You idiot… I’ve got no business with you…” Seisaku’s entire body creaked and groaned so much he wondered if he could even harvest rice today, but since even the maid was laughing at him, he’d only complained of the pain to Mother—to everyone else, he never uttered a word about it.

Seisaku was nineteen this year. Though his spirit remained youthful for his age, his body had already grown beyond ordinary measure. Even if he voiced weakness, it would only invite empty ridicule without a single soul offering sympathy. When told everyone endured the same, there remained nothing more to say. Seisaku now found himself thinking it hardly mattered. For today’s rice harvest—even if he had to crawl through the fields—he’d steel himself against whatever hardships arose. He stood awhile by the well regaining his composure. East of the well lay a bamboo grove some twelve feet away, encircled by a token lattice fence. Within the thicket a bush warbler trilled softly. Liriope grew thickly at the fence’s base, its inexpressibly beautiful blue berries strung among dark lush leaves. The liriope berries held truly wondrous hues. Beyond compare. One might call it a vivid dewy radiance. A winterberry tree leaning from the thicket bore clusters of red fruit. Their subdued vermilion—an unpretentiously elegant shade—stirred nostalgia.

Seisaku, associating from the berries, recalled Otoyo-san, his calm face breaking into a faint smile.

There was one—there was one person. Otoyo-san was that one person. Seisaku muttered this to himself and plucked three or four liriope berries. He placed them on his palm and gazed deeply, entranced by their beauty. Otoyo-san was truly a kind person. He murmured once more and kept looking at the berries.

Seisaku had a large build, but having just finished middle school that spring and being new to farming this year, he remained clumsy in all his tasks. Yesterday’s rice harvesting had been a thoroughly miserable affair. He couldn’t keep up with anyone. He had nearly lost to fourteen-year-old Ohama. In truth, he had lost. “Seisaku-san, let’s have a cutting race!” Seisaku found himself spurred on by the fourteen-year-old Ohama’s rallying cries. “Damn... You think I’d lose to the likes of you?” Seisaku, straining with all his might, had somehow managed to cut as much as anyone during the day, but by two or three in the afternoon, his hands simply wouldn’t obey. Ohama smiled as she watched Seisaku’s hands at work,

“Seisaku-san, if you lose to me, what will you give me…” “If I lose to you, I’ll give you anything you want.” “I’m sure you will!”

“Don’t worry, there’s no chance I’ll lose.” In this manner, between jesting exchanges and genuine efforts, Seisaku had become utterly exhausted. While Ohama was looking away, Otoyo-san swiftly transferred thirty of Seisaku’s straw bundles into her own pile and helped him, so he had managed to avoid losing to Ohama on the surface—though in truth, precisely because of this intervention, he had fallen short by exactly thirty bundles. Seisaku, knowing he’d be summoned immediately if he kept dawdling here, was trying to avoid the family’s gaze for a while longer when Ohama came to fetch water.

“Seisaku-san, I’ll definitely beat you today!” “Don’t be ridiculous! Even with one hand, I wouldn’t lose to the likes of you.” “Then let’s make it a race!” “Yeah, let’s do it.” Ohama laughed with a “Ha ha ha!” and drew water. “Ohama… If anyone calls for me, tell them I’m in the bathroom.” “No—tell them I’m standing in the back field.” “You little brat!” Seisaku employed his usual bathroom ruse and slipped out to the mulberry field behind the house, evading summons for a while. True enough, his brother kept calling, but thanks to Ohama’s deft handling, he managed to rest his weary body another twenty minutes.

The mulberry thicket dripped with morning dew; beyond lay vegetable fields and radish patches gaining fresh bluish vitality, rows of yellowed rice stretching across spacious paddies, distant mountains tinged with autumn hues. From the foothill village, pale blue morning smoke drifted far into the distance while the sky deepened into lapis lazuli clarity—all things thriving vibrantly, each expressing their innate nature while harmonizing within nature’s unity. Seisaku felt himself joining nature’s elements, assimilated into its great force—a fragment of that power coursing through both flesh and spirit as though revived with new life. The thought of working today alongside Otoyo-san, Ohama, and those cheerful people without a hint of malice made him feel somehow happy and eager for the rice harvesting ahead.

The sun had yet to appear over the horizon, but already some from the neighboring village were coming leading horses. There were also those pulling carts. Some tied cloth bundles to balance poles and carried them over their shoulders, others walked light-footed with hands tucked in sleeves, still others passed by engaged in boisterous, lively conversations—all seeming like undulations of a great rotation, until at last he felt something welling up within his own chest.

Seisaku had completely forgotten the aches in his legs and back, his entire body brimming with vigor as he emerged to the front where everyone was working.

II

“Seisaku, you’re sharpening the sickles. You’d better have four sharpened before daybreak. Where were you when I called earlier? Stomach troubles... If you throw yourself properly into work, most things will sort themselves out. What do you think you’ll achieve lazing about like this first thing during our busiest season?” “Seisaku’s bathroom breaks drag on too long sometimes. When you’re first learning the work, it’s rough for everyone—can’t be helped. Next year he won’t lose to anyone anymore.”

The brother and his wife muttered complaints even as their hands and feet never rested for a moment. If they had any inkling how grueling it was to learn this work, he thought they might show some consideration—yet he couldn't talk back to his brother or sister. If he spoke to them as he did to his mother, all hell would break loose. It might not hold true for every household, but parents and children, brothers and sisters—these relationships carried profoundly different weights. The elder brother, having a wife and being older himself, made things increasingly difficult. Seisaku's household had long maintained complicated family customs.

Seisaku silently began preparing to sharpen the sickles. While muttering his habitual complaints, the elder brother vigorously carried unhulled rice from the storehouse to the courtyard with a large winnowing basket. Afterwards, the elder sister went around spreading out the unhulled rice. Mitsuzou spread straw chaff from corner to corner across the garden, then laid out straw mats atop them. They would dry the unhulled rice on this. The garden, where approximately sixty mats had been laid out, already had about sixty percent of its area covered with unhulled rice. Seisaku brought water to the hand basin and, sitting on the entrance sill with one shoulder bared, vigorously sharpened the sickles with scrub-scrub-scrub motions. Seisaku was a farmer’s son, yet a man of peculiar tastes.

The morning sun streamed in through the shade of the forest trees. At first, a faint, soft shadow fell upon the shoji paper. The shapes of the shadows remained indistinct. Yet the color in between was most beautiful. It was a color like transparent gold. It had strength and radiance and hue. The color was so vibrantly alive it seemed visible to the eye, not fixed in the slightest. It shone intensely once, then gradually faded. When the shapes of leaves and small birds began to cast clear shadows, the scene took on an exceedingly calm and quiet elegance.

Seisaku was captivated by the fascinating spectacle, losing himself in observation. The hands sharpening the sickle seemed to move mechanically. Ohama worked in the kitchen while singing a folk song in a truly carefree voice. The brother and his wife along with Mitsuzou were moving almost like living machines, with orderly precision. In Seisaku’s eyes, the family members appeared to be working in perfect sync with the sunlight’s rhythm, its rays inching forward step by step across the sky. Seisaku was now purely, utterly delighted.

Those Tokyo writers of reference books who go on about "country life" this and that seemed to imagine rural areas as nothing but idyllic places where people lived in utter leisure, but the reality bore no resemblance to what city dwellers envisioned. For lazy folk who wouldn’t know—the autumn of truly committed farmers was an extraordinarily busy and grueling affair. If one lazed about, even women would despise them. Neither love nor money could be obtained unless one was a hard worker. Even within a single household, the presence of just one idler was enough to nearly shatter the family’s peace. On the other hand, when the whole family worked together, even quite intense labor didn’t seem as painful. Mornings and evenings were hectic—rising at first light when the sluice gate paled and laboring until Orion’s Belt dipped westward—work that naturally strained the bones. Yet within this toil lay many unspoken joys.

Of course, each had their favorite topics to discuss; they sang songs and cracked jokes as well. Whether rumored love or true love—within household walls, there inevitably lingered some restraint, but when laboring outdoors, neither hesitation nor inhibition remained. Even when separated by three or four hundred meters across the same rice field, working while catching distant glimpses of a cherished person’s figure, they would spend days in a joy invisible to outsiders, finding even backbreaking labor not the least bit arduous. Moreover, when working shoulder to shoulder with someone not disliked, there remained not the slightest hardship in toil. Even setting aside romantic feelings aside, when the entire household worked in unison, they found mutual comfort—and that peculiar delight born of so-called family harmony proved to be a pleasure of remarkably refined depth.

When Seisaku bared one shoulder and began vigorously sharpening the sickles, the sternness disappeared from his elder brother and sister-in-law's faces, giving way to cheerful conversation. Even Mother came out to the edge and joined in everyone's talk. If only Seisaku worked diligently, Mother could hold her head high among the household members and remain cheerful at all times. Being filial to loving parents was no difficult matter. "If we harvest hard today and tomorrow, we'll finish up early the day after tomorrow." "What should we have for the completion celebration? You'd naturally want rice cakes, right Seisaku?"

That was just how Brother was.

Seisaku continued smiling without saying a word, “Let’s have sushi instead of rice cakes. We already did rice cakes last time—this one’s got to be sushi. Come on Seisaku—you join Team Sushi too!” “I don’t mind either…” “Seisaku, you mustn’t say such things. Brother and Mitsuzou always side with rice cakes, so we need you to be on Team Sushi. Since it’s me and Ohama on Team Sushi versus two on Team Rice Cakes, if you join us we’ll have three—a clear majority—so sushi wins by numbers…”

Seisaku continued smiling and would not commit to either side. Mitsuzou claimed Grandmother supported rice cakes. The sister claimed that since Grandmother was someone who didn't participate in rice cutting, her opinion shouldn't be counted in the vote.

Each person worked their assigned tasks without letting up; laughing and chatting as they labored, the work progressed steadily amid the lively atmosphere. By the time Seisaku had finished sharpening the four sickles, the drying of the unhulled rice had also come to a pause. Ohama came to announce that the meal was ready.

Yesterday, three from our side went to harvest the neighbor’s rice. Today, three neighbors came to harvest our rice. Young people prefer working in large, lively groups, so this mutual assistance during harvests remains common practice among close acquaintances. Three from the neighbors and five from our household made eight in total, but since Brother was assigned to hauling the rice, there remained seven harvesters. At five hundred sheaves per person, this should yield three thousand five hundred. Yet Seisaku and Ohama still couldn’t manage a full share. The two were ordered to cut four hundred sheaves each. The sister said it was pitiful for a six-foot-tall man like Seisaku to be paired with Ohama. Then she sneered, “Then go ahead and cut five hundred or even six hundred.” Ohama declared that if Seisaku-san cut five hundred sheaves, she’d cut five hundred herself. Ohama vowed that no matter what, she would defeat Seisaku-san today and have him buy her something.

“If I lose to Ohama, I’ll buy you anything, but what will you do if you lose to me?” “If I lose, I’ll definitely give you something too, so please decide what you want from me, Seisaku-san.” “Well then, if I lose, I’ll give you some crack ointment.” “Oh! You’re mocking me... Then if I lose, I’ll give you some cheap ointment, Seisaku-san.” “Ha ha ha!” Even work clothes held their own sense of style for the young people. Seisaku remained indifferent, his white merino heko obi being only slightly new, while Ohama—though wearing a secondhand jacket—had a half-collar and obi of merino yuzen that looked freshly tailored, completing the ensemble with an egg-colored tasuki draped across her shoulders. Slender in stature and fair-skinned, she was quite a striking girl. The figure from behind with a white hand towel draped over her head—truly worthy of becoming the talk of the entire village. The way she didn’t even regard Mitsuzou as worthy of consideration was remarkably reassuring. Though she seemed almost pleased to be teased by Seisaku, when it came time to work, her earnest efforts to outdo him were wonderfully innocent and endearing.

Otoyo-san came along a bit later with Kiyoshi-san and his mother. Otoyo-san would never walk alongside Kiyoshi-san. Morning greetings were exchanged among everyone, while murmurs about yesterday's events and comments on the fine weather passed between them, until the atmosphere grew lively enough to lift everyone's spirits. Otoyo-san had reached the edge of the garden moments earlier with a clouded expression, but after exchanging a few words with the others, she swiftly regained her usual clear and healthy color.

Otoyo-san’s appearance perfectly reflected her inner self; everything about her was neatly composed, so much so that she was refreshing to behold. Ohama worshipped Otoyo-san without a second thought and imitated her in every way. Ohama, upon seeing Otoyo-san arrive, went out to the garden to greet her, scrutinized Otoyo-san from head to toe, and then proceeded to ask about each item she carried—"What's this?" "Why's that?"—inquiring about every single thing. Though said to be nineteen, her strong-willed nature made Otoyo-san look nothing like a woman under twenty. As a woman, her body was perhaps too sturdy, yet it was never harshly angular. By her fair complexion as a woman, her face appeared naturally tinged with rosy color. Her lips always looked as though they’d been brushed with rouge. Her abundant black hair was luxuriantly styled in a ginkgo-leaf coiffure, her obi and half-collar both more vibrant than yesterday. No matter how one looked at it, Otoyo-san was far too good to be Kiyoshi-san’s wife. When one realized that Otoyo-san’s despondent expression stemmed from precisely this circumstance, it became impossible not to feel pity for her.

“Seisaku, no matter how unaccustomed you are to farm work, a strapping lad like you shouldn’t get out-reaped by some girl.” “If you keep working with that ‘whatever happens’ attitude, you’ll never toughen up properly.” Mother encouraged Seisaku out of concern. Seisaku answered with his usual faint smile. Soon the eight of them finished preparations and set out for the fields. Otoyo-san and Ohama’s appearances indeed drew eyes. Some praised it as splendid rice harvesting, while others sneered about them putting on airs. Comments like “That Ohama brat’s sweet on Seisaku—how ridiculous” drifted through the air. Ohama shot a sharp look toward where the jab had come from but couldn’t pinpoint the speaker. Otoyo-san walked silently with downcast eyes, her unreadable expression never wavering from the path ahead.

Elder Sister suddenly—

“Otoyo-san, thanks to you, we’ll finish harvesting at our place the day after tomorrow. “At your place, when…” “At my place too, the day after tomorrow…” “At our place, what was supposed to be mochi has finally been changed to sushi. “And what about at your place, Otoyo-san?” “At my place, it’s mochi, I hear.” “I hate mochi.” “In that case, Otoyo-san, please come to our house the day after tomorrow.”

“Then Seisaku-san can go next door for mochi and Otoyo-san can come here for sushi—voilà!”

This was just like Ohama. “All you do is talk about eating from the crack of dawn!” With that remark, her husband shifted the load of sugai straw from his right shoulder to his left. The neighbor’s mother and Mitsuzou were engaged in some amusing conversation and kept laughing uproariously. Kiyoshi-san blew his nose with a sniff-sniff and scurried along. Otoyo-san was looking askance with a displeased expression.

This year's rice crop marked the best yield in three or four years. In a consolidated one-chō field yielding thirty bales, they had cultivated a stand of late-ripening rice. The stalks grew so thick that a single clump defied grasping in one hand. Bent at mid-section under their heavy ears, the plants lay uniformly prostrate. The brother and his wife stood at the levee, gazing out with evident satisfaction. Since the west wind had bent the rice eastward, they began cutting from the western edge.

Ohama had desperately wanted to reap alongside Seisaku, but hindered by the tactless Mitsuzou, she wedged herself between her elder sister and Mitsuzou with a sullen expression. Otoyo-san adamantly refused to stand beside her own husband and instead positioned herself next to Seisaku. In this setting, Seisaku naturally became the central figure. Though typically mild-mannered, once he began cutting alongside her, Seisaku found the prospect of losing unbearable and worked furiously, his face flushed crimson with effort. Mitsuzou had already started singing alone. Otoyo-san demonstrated exceptional skill in all farming tasks. Smiling serenely as she worked, her hands remaining spotless and her brow dry, she reaped with effortless efficiency—harvesting five bundles for every four of his. Even when Seisaku ground his teeth and strained to compete, he remained hopelessly outmatched by Otoyo-san. With subtle smiles, she wordlessly communicated her intentions, discreetly cutting ten or twenty stalks ahead in Seisaku's row. Ohama remained oblivious to these gestures—after all, she was merely a fourteen-year-old girl. Mitsuzou eventually tired of his solitary singing.

“Ohama, sing!” “Otoyo, how about singing today?”

No one sang. With only the swish-swish of cutting sickles reaching their ears, there was little conversation. Kiyoshi-san was chattering away in hushed tones with the neighbor’s mother. Mitsuzou yawned while,

“It’s no good because everyone’s got their minds on romance.” “If Seisaku-san’s around, neither Otoyo-san nor Ohama will sing a single note.”

Mitsuzou was shamelessly saying such things while giving a lewd chuckle. Indeed, as Mitsuzou had said, Otoyo-san did not speak unreservedly when Seisaku was present. Seisaku had never been good at conversation to begin with, so even after working side by side for half a day, he barely spoke a word; contrary to what they’d expected about today’s rice harvesting being quite lively, it ended up being rather subdued. However, while outwardly unremarkable, within the hearts of Otoyo-san and Ohama there stirred such an inner commotion that they hardly noticed time passing.

Of course, Seisaku still hadn't noticed that Otoyo-san held feelings for him, but to eyes experienced in such matters, one couldn't help observing how Otoyo-san—who normally showed little reserve around others—kept trying to approach Seisaku while keeping her feelings in check and saying nothing. It was only natural to find it strange that she would go out of her way to act so reserved toward someone she needn't treat with such formality. The act of helping with the rice cutting could be interpreted as stemming from affectionate intent or not, but her manner couldn't be mistaken for that of someone offering casual assistance.

The afternoon passed in much the same manner. The brother and his wife were beaming over the rice crop’s splendid growth and paid no heed to the young people’s commotion. By dusk, even that vast one-chō field had been neatly harvested, its rice plants stacked along the ridges like sections of the Great Wall. Thanks to Otoyo-san’s help, Seisaku avoided both utter exhaustion and disgrace. Had Ohama noticed Otoyo-san’s gestures, there would have been an uproar—yet she remained oblivious. Not just Ohama; it seemed no one had noticed at all.

"If he can reap this much today, even Seisaku has become a proper worker." This much could be understood from the sister's words of praise too. Even sluggish Seisaku, moved by Otoyo-san's kindness, thought from his heart's core that she was truly admirable. Had Otoyo-san not been another's wife, he might have taken her kindness for romantic affection—but Seisaku, who had never loved even an unmarried girl, still lacked the experience to notice her subtle mannerisms. Originally, this autumn's joint harvesting between two households had already been a stratagem born from Otoyo-san's fondness for Seisaku. Otoyo-san was—for her age—a woman of exceptional generosity and capability, steadfast in character; precisely the sort one would deem unlikely to engage in reckless conduct.

When considered this way, it was merely that Otoyo-san had achieved her objective, and today’s rice harvesting had no cohesion. While rice harvesting should suffice as long as one cuts however much rice they intend, when considering what makes the work engaging, there ought to be an appeal beyond mere labor when two households work together—yet this harvest was sorely lacking that very element. Kiyoshi-san merely followed others’ work in a thoroughly bored manner, while Mitsuzou, Ohama, and Kiyoshi’s mother all found it rather dreary. The brother and his wife—who thought only of household matters and strove solely to make everyone work even harder—were of entirely different sentiment. They gave no thought to whether anyone found the work enjoyable. Thus they didn’t even consider such matters tedious. It was simply that with so many young people eager to work together, they refrained from raising objections. The others were not so inclined. They had believed working in large numbers would make the rice harvesting enjoyable, but somehow everyone’s hearts seemed scattered in different directions, making it far from particularly amusing. Therefore by day’s end today, Kiyoshi-san, Mitsuzou, and Ohama had all complained—without mutual consultation—that it had been dull.

It was only natural. It was as though 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. No one realized they were being made fools of by Otoyo-san, but since that was indeed the reality, there had been no enjoyment in it. Of course, Otoyo-san had not acted out of any malicious intent to belittle others; rather, it was simply that she, unconcerned with everyone's spirited efforts, had been wholly preoccupied with her own secret, and thus failed to achieve unity with the group. Otoyo-san, who always sang in an exceptionally fine voice and served as the focal point for each group wherever she went, today—for some reason—had barely sung at all, thus causing the lack of unity among everyone. Kiyoshi-san and his mother were in a sour mood again—though this was hardly anything out of the ordinary—and thus paid it no mind. In this rice harvesting, had Otoyo-san not been present, the others might have actually achieved unity. Such an Otoyo-san might sound like an exceedingly self-centered woman, but those with the power to unify people inevitably end up doing things that disrupt that very unity.

Seisaku, who remained 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 wooden puppet by Otoyo-san until dusk fell.

Three

Today was supposed to be the day they finished harvesting, but from morning onward there was torrential rain. There was no question of working in the fields. Even the usually diligent brother and his wife seemed to have taken it somewhat easy this morning, as the storm shutters weren’t opened with their usual vigor. Seisaku was left to sleep until Mother came to wake him. When Seisaku awoke, the rhythmic thud-thud of rice being pounded in the earthen floor area—likely by Mitsuzou—echoed steadily. If staying home due to the rain meant having to twist straw ropes or the like, Seisaku—thinking inwardly that this was a favorable turn of events—cheerfully got up.

Seisaku wanted to take the day off today, but between fearing what would happen if he rested during peak harvest and thinking of his mother’s concern that “if Seisaku works hard, my meals taste better when I stay home,” he found himself no longer wanting to rest. “Brother, what will you do today?” “Well—can’t be helped. Twist straw ropes.” “Brother—what will you do? If we’re twisting ropes, let’s wet the straw together.” “I’ll weave straw bags. Have Ohama twist the ropes.”

Seisaku dampened about ten bundles of straw for his share and Ohama’s, then beat them before breakfast. Ohama was washing dishes in the kitchen while humming a folk song in her usual effortless voice. The Elder Sister declared she couldn’t properly clean the house except on days like this, making a clattering noise as she thoroughly wiped every corner with a cloth. A diligent person puts effort even into cleaning. Breakfast was finished. Mitsuzou was pounding rice; Elder Brother was weaving straw bags; Seisaku and Ohama were twisting ropes; Elder Sister, with Mother, appeared to be mending rags. Compared to rice harvesting, this was practically a rest. Sei-kou from across the way also came shouldering straw.

“Please allow me to join your group as just one more person." “Oh, Ohama-san’s twisting ropes too… This is a godsend.” “I came here wanting to twist ropes where I could at least see you, Ohama-san, but…”

“Ah, Sei-san, come in here.” “Well then, Ohama, since you were so eager to come here…” “Oh my, how mean!”

Ohama abruptly stood up and moved to Seisaku’s right side. Sei-san smiled and took a seat to Seisaku’s left. “Yesterday’s rice harvesting was quite lively, wasn’t it? I’ve fallen for Ohama-san! Ha ha ha ha ha!” Sei-san was a skilled storyteller who excelled at adapting his tales perfectly to suit any occasion. He skillfully blended jokes and sincerity to draw people into his stories. Sei-san would occasionally glance at Ohama’s face and praise Otoyo-san. “I know it’s a bit rude to praise another woman in front of you, but ah well—Ohama-san, you’re partial to Otoyo-san yourself, aren’t you?”

Ohama looked to the side and did not engage.

Sei-san tailored his words to suit everyone he spoke to. Outside, the autumn rain fell softly; there must have been those walking unable to bear the loneliness of this sorrowful rain, and those who stayed sheltered. In the garden of a harmonious household, something like autumn's pathos was no concern at all.

When Elder Brother’s overly earnest talk finally concluded, Mitsuzou told some foolish story that provoked a round of laughter. The conversation turned back to Otoyo-san. Sei-san’s expression grew solemn,

“Otoyo-san is truly pitiable, you know. “I simply can’t fathom why Otoyo-san stays with that Kiyoshiro. “Though it may sound like I’m badmouthing him too much, Kiyoshiro’s a bit too dim-witted. “Just look at how his father and mother are disgracing themselves. “On top of all that, Kiyoshiro gambles too. “Otoyo-san is also to be pitied. “They say her dowry’s considered only half what it should be from her family’s side... “Why, Otoyo-san would never want to stay next door.”

“Even if you say such things, there’s no way to know where she’d be better off.” “As long as that hardworking Otoyo-san stays here, we won’t have any troubles.” Elder Brother was saying something dull. “Moreover, it seems the whole household is desperately trying to mediate and keep Otoyo-san.” “Even so, they say these days they still can’t fully appease her.” “It’s far more unreasonable for them to think they can make her stay.”

Ohama suddenly spoke in a choked-up voice— “If Otoyo-san were to disappear, what would I do?” “Otoyo-san isn’t going anywhere. What’s there to disappear? It’s just talk.”

“Do you really think so?” The way Elder Brother praised Otoyo-san was amusing. “Ah, I tell ya, I’m mighty fond of Otoyo-san.” "That woman’s an excellent model for the village’s young women." “Otoyo-san’s workin’ appearance be splendid—that’s precisely what makes ’er splendid.” “I tell ya, I can’t stand folks who lounge ’round in long kimono an’ haori jackets no more.” "The way she works with such sharp efficiency in that getup—indigo-dyed kasuri kimono tight-fastened with a lavish Yuzen obi—truly lifts yer spirits just watchin’." “After all, work’s what matters most—young ’uns puttin’ on airs ’bout their work’s downright shameful.” “I tell ya, I can’t stand folks messin’ ’round makin’ useless junk on holidays. Ohama-boy here’s sweet on Otoyo-san too, ain’t he?” “Imitate ’er, imitate ’er!” “Yer work’s gotta be as skilled as Otoyo-san’s too.”

“Oh now, that’s quite something our master’s gone and said!” “Ohama-san gets the master to buy her anything and everything—whether it’s obi sashes or kimono—lavishly, you know.”

Seisaku could only join in the laughter and couldn't engage in conversation at all. Mitsuzou finished pounding another bale of rice. Elder Brother wove four bales of rice. Seisaku's rope-making was indeed paired with Ohama's work, and neither could cut through two bundles of straw. If the whole household worked together with all hands, Elder Brother would be in good spirits. "Ohama-boy, no need to suddenly start hustling so hard. When weather's fair we work ourselves raw, but days like these are for resting our bones. That's what makes it proper. Even lazing about ain't much fun anyway. Ohama—go boil us some sweet potatoes."

Ohama went to the kitchen.

Seisaku thought. I had always considered Elder Brother someone who only spoke of trivial matters concerning family first and diligence second, but today’s conversation revealed he actually understood things quite well. Indeed, this was what made it splendid. This was what made it interesting. Working together like this with everyone finding joy in their labor must be what made it splendid. Even if they called it rural life, treating farmers’ toil as a spectacle and idly wandering about to gaze at what farmers had produced—that wasn’t true appreciation of rural life. Indeed, I too would become a farmer. I had always thought farming meant nothing but grueling labor and thus never seriously intended to become one, but upon reflection, Elder Brother’s words rang true. I will become a farmer. I will become a farmer. When I considered it that way, I realized Otoyo-san truly was an admirable woman. Though we were the same age, our circumstances differed entirely from us greenhorns. That’s why Otoyo-san was genuinely kind-hearted. Seisaku grew lost in thought and recalled Otoyo-san’s demeanor from the previous day. What Sei-san said was also true. Otoyo-san being married into the neighboring household was pitiable. Indeed, just as Sei-san said, she might not remain next door anymore. At that thought, Otoyo-san became strangely dear to him, and he found himself wishing they wouldn’t part.

“Seisaku-san, let’s have a little chat.” “You’re thinking about something, aren’t you?” “Ha ha ha ha!” Seisaku was startled but turned toward Sei-san with his usual gentle smile. Sei-san laughed cheerfully and finished braiding three ropes. Before Seisaku had finished two, Sei-san had deftly made three. Mitsuzou 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 on the hearth. After that, he would ask Grandmother and start braiding ropes again.

Mitsuzou put an appropriate amount of rice into the mortar, returned the bale to its original storehouse, and while sitting on the mortar listening to people’s talk for a while, let out an off-key voice, “Today’s the day I’m having Seisaku-san treat me, ain’t it? “I tell ya, I saw solid proof.” At Mitsuzou’s unexpected story, the people perked up with interest and greeted his tale with unified laughter. “If Seisaku-san isn’t treating us, there must be some reason—this is amusing.” “Mitsuzou, hurry up and spill it.” “If Seisaku-san’s treating us too, then we’ll make sure to get things ready proper for that.”

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

“Otoyo-san’s fallen for Seisaku-san.” “Well now, this is getting downright interesting! What evidence did you see, Mitsuzou-san? Seisaku-san’s gotta treat us too now that it’s come to this!” The talkative Sei-san chimed in with great amusement.

“Mitsuzou, what nonsense are you spouting?” Though he said this, Seisaku felt his face grow strangely hot. Mitsuzou wore an expression suggesting he realized he’d said something outrageous and was now in trouble, “During yesterday’s rice harvest, Otoyo-san secretly set aside a bundle of your rice sheaves. “I saw it clear as day. “Otoyo-san won’t leave your side. “She’s in love with you—ain’t no doubt about it!” Ohama stared wide-eyed at Mitsuzou. Seisaku’s face had already turned crimson,

“Lies! Lies!” “Sure, it’s true Otoyo-san helped me secretly because I was hopeless at rice harvesting, but that was just her kindness.” “There’s nothing about her being in love or anything like that.” “You idiot, Mitsu! What nonsense are you spouting?!”

Although Seisaku had desperately defended himself, he somehow felt ill at ease. Not only that, but the thought that perhaps Otoyo-san harbored such feelings made his face burn even hotter and his heart pound all the more. Mitsuzou, no longer in a position to say anything further, hurriedly began pounding the rice. Sei-san grew increasingly excited, “This is beyond me. If Mitsuzou-san saw that much, anyway Seisaku-san oughta treat us—that’s only proper. Whether she’s someone’s wife or whatever—having a woman fall for you ain’t cheap, Seisaku-san...”

The elder brother surely couldn't join in such talk—he made a stern face. Sei-san, noticing the elder brother's expression, began to retract the story he had started.

Suddenly, the sliding door by the hearth opened and Mother showed her face.

“Mitsuzou.” “Yes.”

“You just mentioned Otoyo-san, didn’t you?” “Y-yes.” Mitsuzou turned pale, his eyes already moistening as if realizing the gravity of his situation. “Whatever you think you saw—Otoyo-san’s your neighbor’s wife, isn’t she? Our Seisaku’s meant to be married into another family soon enough. You’ve no shortage of foolish talk, but that doesn’t mean you should go staining people’s good names. I’m begging you—don’t speak of this again.” “Y-yes.”

Mitsuzou was already overwhelmed and couldn’t offer an apology. Honest Mitsuzou’s regret at having truly blurted out something outrageous showed plainly on his face. Mitsuzou’s honest, wordless apology left even Mother unable to rebuke him further, yet Mother still pressed Mitsuzou firmly, ensuring her warning would resonate with Sei-san as well. “Now, Mitsuzou—if even the slightest rumor like that gets started, it’ll cause real trouble for Otoyo-san and Seisaku, you understand?” “Don’t you dare say such things, even if you forget.” “Enough!”

“Y-yes.” The matter turned grave, and the conversation died out like extinguished fire. Speak of the devil—Otoyo-san’s voice could be heard. From the kitchen’s back door, “Pardon me from the back door.” When her usual cheerful voice, clear as a bell, was heard, Otoyo-san soon appeared in the courtyard. Otoyo-san smiled warmly,

“My, what a lively gathering… It’s such oppressive weather we’re having.” “Is that you, Grandmother?” “Oh? Is that so? Thank you kindly.”

The very person who had been the sole subject of concern until now had suddenly entered, leaving everyone exchanging glances in utter bewilderment. Even Sei-san couldn’t bring himself to mention having been discussing the rumors about her until now, and was pretending to twist straw ropes with intense focus. Otoyo-san exchanged pleasantries with everyone and went up to where Sister was. She seemed to have come to borrow some loom tools.

Before long, as the potatoes were done cooking, Sister came down together with Otoyo-san. They formed a large circle and ate potatoes. A woman of slightly superior bearing must possess some mysterious aura, for when Otoyo-san came here even briefly, she became the center of attention. Unknowingly, all eyes gathered upon Otoyo-san. Otoyo-san’s face, richly lustrous around the jaw, carried an indescribable weight. Even someone as talkative as Masa-san, who would make all sorts of teasing remarks behind closed doors, became completely bashful when face-to-face and couldn’t utter a single jest. Ohama, having previously heard that Otoyo-san had feelings for Seisaku, felt as though she herself had grown closer to Otoyo-san, and now snuggled up against her knees while gazing up at her face. Seisaku deliberately stood apart from the circle, eating his potatoes. Masa-san kept stealing glances at Otoyo-san, striving to detect something in her actions toward Seisaku, but she was not so shallow an Otoyo-san as to be noticed by the likes of him. Otoyo-san showed no sign of even glancing toward Seisaku. Before long, Otoyo-san told everyone, starting with Mother, that the bath would be ready early tonight and they should come over, then left.

The rain showed no sign of letting up even past noon. Mitsuzou finished pounding six bushels of rice and went out to play. After that, Kiyoshi-san also came bringing straw to the same place as before noon. When Kiyoshi-san arrived and saw this, they could no longer spread rumors about Otoyo-san. Sei-san chattered about trivial matters with Ohama, enlivening the atmosphere. Seisaku tried not to dwell on it, yet he couldn't stop himself from thinking. Fearing others might notice his preoccupation, he forced himself to interject in their idle talk—his heart sinking even as his words floated lightly—but such behavior was ill-suited to Seisaku's nature, making him appear painfully awkward to any observer.

Otoyo-san has feelings for me—could that be true? But Otoyo-san has a husband; such a thing couldn’t possibly be. Otoyo-san is a thoroughly proper person in every way. She’s far more mature than someone like me, after all. The idea that she cares for 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 a shameless woman despite her proper appearance. No—such a thing could never exist. It's a lie. The more he insisted in his heart It’s a lie—it’s all lies—the more evidence to the contrary surfaced. Otoyo-san’s kindness toward me wasn’t limited to just this rice harvesting season. When I’d thought about it during the Narita Festival, it had seemed strange. The other evening at dusk, she had stealthily slipped figs into his sleeve. Come to think of it—back during the previous rice harvest too, when I’d cut my hand with the sickle, Otoyo-san had torn off the hand towel she’d been wearing on her head without hesitation and bandaged it for me. She might truly have feelings.

Once I start thinking about it, there’s no end.

Seisaku's heart raced, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. The moment he feared others might notice, he could no longer remain composed. Seisaku went to the toilet he didn't even want to visit. Even after going to the toilet, he found himself still thinking. In that case, Otoyo-san might truly have feelings for me. If that were true, then Otoyo-san would be a woman of ill repute. A married woman yet shameless—that's what she was. That's shameless. Seisaku certainly thought so on one level, but that was ultimately just a dutiful consideration—a small, fragile voice whimpering in the deepest recesses of his gut. A terrifying, eerie feeling—in this feeble, shabby manner—he hypocritically insisted through forced bravado that Otoyo was shameless. No matter how tightly Seisaku shut his eyes, Otoyo's face remained vividly before him—thick eyebrows, jet-black hair glistening with vitality. A woman thorough in every regard, and a model young woman even her own brother praised. No matter how much he tried to despise her, it was like pounding a nail into bran—there was no resistance whatsoever. Overturning all hypocritical vanity, from the depths of his heart, thoughts of Otoyo-san's joy swelled upward. No matter how much he turned it over in his mind, ultimately he couldn't bring himself to hate Otoyo-san. If Otoyo-san doesn't have feelings for me after all, then what should I do? Surely not a married woman... What could Otoyo-san possibly be thinking? No way, no way! No matter how splendid a woman Otoyo-san might be—a married woman, another man's wife—no way, no way! Seisaku finally emerged from the toilet muttering No way, no way under his breath—yet if he were to meet Otoyo-san face-to-face, if she were to speak anything with that resolute expression of hers, those No way, no ways he now whispered in his throat would likely scatter lighter than dust blown from a palm. Seisaku unknowingly let out a sigh.

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

“Ohama, any potatoes left? I want potatoes.” “There are.” “Then go get ’em.” Afterward—without properly coiling any straw ropes—Seisaku ate potatoes, chased the cat around, paced pointlessly about the house, barely quelling the restless itch in his heart.

IV

When dinner ended, Grandmother took to her bed, citing a chill. Rain whispered through Sedoyama's bamboo grove. The soft patter of droplets lingered in the air. Through that screen of bamboo came the neighbor's mother's voice.

“The bath is ready, Master next door.” “Haaah—” Ohama answered from the kitchen. The brother and his wife were summoned to bathe and went. Seisaku entered the small sitting room and looked at today’s newspaper. He managed to read the novels and miscellaneous reports in some 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. Seisaku lay sprawled on his back, still holding the book as he stared at the ceiling boards. The ceiling boards weren’t visible; instead, Otoyo-san was.

Maybe I shouldn't go to the bath tonight. Right—I won't go. I won't go. What's the point in going anyway? No—no, I won't go. Better not. The Seisaku who declared "I won't go" belonged to moral conscience—while the Seisaku that chanted "I want to go" might we call him the Seisaku of carnal desire? One side claimed it was better not to go—yet the other burned with urges that seethed uncontrollably: go, go, go. What if Otoyo-san were to secretly come to the bath area and say something? Thinking this filled him with creeping dread and terror—his stomach churned restlessly. Seisaku's ears grew hot again. I'd better not go. Ah, I won't go, I won't go. He tried murmuring this under his breath. The yearning heart conversely never rose to his lips' edge—he absolutely never voiced any "I want to go"—yet that force clung to his gut's depths like stone mortar glue, refusing to loosen no matter what he did. In the end, worn out, he grew exhausted and slipped into a dazed mood,

“Seisaku, Seisaku! The bath’s ready!” “Go take your bath now.” “They’re waiting next door too.”

When his sister called, Seisaku unconsciously stood up. Without thinking anything through, he ran through the rainy darkness of the backdoor bamboo grove to the neighbor’s house.

The bath stood installed beneath the eaves of the hearth room at the back exit. Though enveloped in utter darkness, this being a household whose layout he knew intimately, there would be no particular difficulty in feeling his way forward. When he neared the bath's front area, the fire in the iron kettle burned low and steady, finally allowing him to discern the back entrance too. Since the door stood slightly ajar, Seisaku murmured "Pardon me" as he slipped inside. In the formal sitting room ahead, three or four elders conversed with raucous laughter. They remained oblivious to Seisaku's arrival. Circling round to the garden entranceway, Seisaku found firelight casting upon soot-reddened shoji screens a murky crimson glow like light strained through oiled paper. From beyond the shoji screens, Seisaku called out,

“Good evening. I’ve come for the bath.”

“Oh, Seisaku-san?” “Come on in for a bit.” “We’re in the middle of a good story right now.” This was Kiyoshi-san’s mother. Old Lady Kihē was also there. Old Lady Gorōbē was also there. Old Man Shichibē was also there. Everyone had apparently finished bathing and were deep in conversation. Someone opened the shoji screen, and they all greeted Seisaku. Kiyoshi-san lay sprawled by the hearth. Otoyo-san alone was nowhere to be seen, nor was her voice heard. A sense of relief and something like disappointment welled up simultaneously within him. Following the mother’s assurance that the bath was ready, Seisaku went to the bathhouse. The fire under the bath kettle simmered low with a faint hissing sound. When he lifted the straw mat cover, the water smelled strongly of human grime. It appeared many people had bathed there already. Seisaku cautiously entered. Once inside, he found the odor less offensive than expected, and with the temperature just right, soaking for a while left him pleasantly dazed and empty-headed. He even forgot about Otoyo-san momentarily.

Perhaps the rain grew slightly stronger—the sound pattering on chinquapin leaves reached his ears, each droplet’s fall echoing lonesomely through the darkness. The voices from the sitting room became clearly audible. Seisaku rested the back of his head against the edge of the bucket, closed his eyes to soak in the warmth, and strained his ears toward the conversation in the sitting room. Even now, somewhere in his mind, that persistent urge to discern Otoyo-san’s voice within the clamor of conversation still stirred. The voice was unmistakably Old Lady Gorōbē’s.

“See here, Kanekō’s old lady—she pulled off quite the spectacle yesterday, ain’t it?”

“Where—a marital spat with Kinkō? Now that’s a rare sight, ain’t it?” “But yesterday’s was downright hilarious, I tell you!” “At the temple of that boss Sadakō from Tsube, you see. “In the thicket at Ochiai, they pulled off a huge gambling match.” “Even Kinkō from Yosebae joined them.” “Then someone told his wife about it, so she came blazing in like wildfire.”

“Yeah, back to the gambling den.” “That’s right, granny. The wife had every reason to blow her top.” “They say it’s a bountiful harvest this year.” “When all the harvested rice he brings in amounts to just two bales for both stipend and pocket money, yet he goes drinking and even runs with gambling crowds—no wonder the wife blows her top.” “Well that’s all fine and good, but what happened next?” “Well, the wife…” “She rushed in where it was pitch dark.” “You damn beast! Even though there ain’t no rice for supper, you go gamblin’ like it’s nothin’! The yellin’ was one thing, but since it was pitch dark, she latched onto who she thought was her old man—turned out to be that boss Sadakō himself.” Before long, the old man had slipped outside and fled. “When everyone tried to hush her down with ‘Quiet, woman!’, but when she saw it was a stranger, even the wife got all flustered.” “Even so, granny, you’ve got to admire those bosses.” “No—the wife ain’t being unreasonable.” “Kinkō’s the one at fault.” “They kept calling ‘Kinkō! Kinkō! What’s happened to Kinkō?’ till he sheepishly returned to his spot—well now, that whole affair was quite the sight to see.”

“Now that was something funny!”

Everyone laughed in unison.

“And there’s more to this comedy.” “Kinkō couldn’t just shamelessly head home together with his wife like that.” “When Kinkō made a quick apology to Boss Sadakō, then gave his wife a couple of whacks to the head, she made a face like something had flown off her—but then the boss hollered, ‘What’s this, Kinkō? You ain’t got no business hittin’ your woman in front of me!’ So there they were, slinking away—now that was a right strange scene, I tell you.”

“Huh, is that right? Even so, when I stopped by yesterday at dusk—since they’d finished harvesting and were pounding mochi—those two were hemming and hawing about whether to come eat or not.”

“Yeah, that wife’s always like that.” “They’re birds of a feather, you know.” “Hahahaha!”

Then it seemed another story was about to emerge, making things quite lively. As Seisaku found himself unwittingly drawn in and chuckled to himself, a pale woman’s face suddenly appeared through the narrowly opened door panels. Before Seisaku could even gasp, Otoyo-san had already reached the bathhouse entrance and whispered, “Good evening.” Before he could catch his breath enough to respond, her voice came softly— “Is the water too lukewarm?” “Yes.”

“Let me stoke it a bit.”

Otoyo-san squatted before the bath and lit the fire. As flames leapt up, her newly styled ginkgo-leaf coiffure shimmered with liquid brilliance. Seisaku found himself trembling too violently to form words.

"Otoyo-san had already finished her bath," he thought. Even as the words formed in his mouth, they made no sound. Otoyo-san stood up. "Brr, it's freezing—my hands are ice."

With that, she plunged both her pale white hands into the bathwater. Even if Seisaku were to touch Otoyo-san’s hand, he wouldn’t think it particularly significant, yet somehow he felt a fearful dread and pulled his body backward. “Seisaku-san, shall I rinse you?” “Yeah.”

“Seisaku-san, could you please lend me the hand towel for a moment?” Because Otoyo-san spoke in a hushed voice, Seisaku grew increasingly terrified. Though he called it terror, it held no other meaning. This was the kind of terror that anyone with experience knew all too well. After lending the hand towel to Otoyo-san, Seisaku sank his body into the bathwater. As Otoyo-san slightly hunched over and placed both hands in the bathwater, Seisaku’s face and hers were only about a foot and a half apart. Otoyo-san appeared to have applied a touch of makeup, and an indescribably pleasant fragrance emanated from her. Her usually pale face—whether from being seen in dim lamplight or some other reason—appeared so beautiful it seemed like solidified fragrance itself. When Seisaku faintly discerned the sound of Otoyo-san’s breathing, something suddenly seared through his chest as if a branding iron had been thrust into his abdomen.

Indeed, the thoughts that had arisen in Seisaku’s chest moments ago—of her being a shameless woman or an utterly detestable person—had vanished without a trace, leaving neither shadow nor form. Seisaku could now do nothing but gaze at Otoyo-san in a daze. He could no longer hear people’s voices or the sound of rain, slipping into a dreamlike, intoxicated, utterly defenseless state of mind—all of his heart, or rather his entire body, had been seized by Otoyo-san. No matter what Otoyo-san did to him now, Seisaku had lost any power to resist her will—it seemed he could only yield to her every whim. Women are indeed terrifying creatures.

Otoyo-san whispered, “Thank you,” while handing him the hand towel, then in an even fainter voice called, “Seisaku-san.” That voice was indeed trembling. Seisaku couldn’t even muster a “Ha—” in response; as he simply kept gazing up at Otoyo-san’s face, from the direction of the sitting room,

“Otoyo! Otoyo!”

It was Mother’s voice calling out. Otoyo-san wordlessly slipped inside through the door. After entering, “Yes, coming!” Otoyo-san gave a clear response.

“Isn’t the bath too cool?” “Check under the bath furnace for me.” “Yes.”

Otoyo-san came out again, this time in a clear voice, “Seisaku-san，the bath isn’t too cool，is it? “Please take your time getting in.” “I’ll stoke it now…” Her voice carried no restraint. She put two or three logs into the furnace and stoked the fire. Seisaku，paying no heed，exited the bath and began putting on his clothes. “Have you already gotten out，Sei-san? “It was lukewarm，wasn’t it?” Seisaku lacked even the courage to return a greeting，fumbling awkwardly with his obi fastening. Otoyo-san abruptly stood and drew near until her hair’s fragrance reached his nose. Then，lowering her voice，

“Since they sent some Hachiya persimmons from my family’s village recently, I’ll give two or three to you.”

Otoyo-san brushed her cold hair against Seisaku’s bath-flushed face. Seisaku had now regained some composure. When her hair touched his face, Otoyo-san suddenly seemed pitiful. Otoyo-san placed the persimmons into Seisaku's sleeve and, with that same hand, took hold of his hand. Seisaku, experiencing such a situation for the first time, did not attempt to retrieve his hand from Otoyo-san’s grasp and remained flustered while she held it. Just as he felt increased pressure in his captured hand, Otoyo-san abruptly pulled it away, twirling her body like a swallow before vanishing through the doorway. Seisaku remained in a dreamlike state for some time, but when he suddenly came to his senses, he felt terrified to stay there even a moment longer and hurried home. Seisaku could not sleep at all this night. All manner of delusions seethed and churned turbulently within his constricted chest. Just as he would feel an indescribable sensation—like being wrapped in soft, fluffy white silk around a warm dream—there would immediately follow a sinful terror, an unbearable torment that made him recoil in disgust. No matter how I thought about it, Otoyo-san was someone else’s wife, a woman with a husband—what was I doing yearning for another man’s wife? Fool! *Shameless*! How could I do such a thing? Ah, no—but Otoyo-san wasn’t a bad person by any means. She wasn’t hateful—far from it. Where else could I find a woman like Otoyo-san who was so kind? Why on earth was someone as capable as her stuck in a place full of good-for-nothings like the neighboring household? I’d heard she’d been completely deceived by the matchmaker, but I couldn’t fathom it. And yet, despite her relationship with Kiyoshi-san clearly being far from harmonious, Otoyo-san was such a fine person—a pitiable one at that. What could I possibly do?

Merely continuing to harbor mutual feelings without acting might pose no immediate problem—but could we truly find satisfaction in that? Even if we could, it would ultimately amount to something meaningless. No matter how much I considered it, when thinking of the final outcome, even if Otoyo-san and I cared deeply for each other, there was nothing we could do. Indulging in empty emotions over futile yearnings would still amount to the same depth of sin. Should rumors spread through society, we would both suffer equal calamity. Ah, how utterly pointless and absurd! Right—I must properly admonish Otoyo-san and make her abandon these foolish thoughts. That settles it. But would she even listen to me? What could she possibly be thinking? Otoyo-san understands everything yet acts this way as another's wife—how truly troubling. No matter how I reconsidered, she remained a good person—a beloved person. For Otoyo-san's sake, I'd become a criminal—so be it. Become an outright criminal—so be it. As long as she approves. Ah, this torment.

Seisaku remained sleepless until the rooster crowed. No matter how many hundreds of times he thought about it—like a dog tethered to a stake circling endlessly—he kept returning to where he began, pointlessly churning through inconsequential matters. Like someone who cannot swim plunging into deep water, Seisaku found himself utterly immobilized. In short, having been ensnared by Otoyo-san's affections, his solitary struggles amounted to nothing. This matter could not be resolved by Seisaku's heart alone.

Five

From then on, Otoyo-san was no longer someone pining unrequited.

Since they were neighbors after all, there were inevitably many opportunities for their paths to cross. They spent their days tracing a dreamlike course, their hearts connecting through gestures and their smiles conveying unspoken sentiments.

There were times later when Seisaku became so single-mindedly obsessed that he might have even courted danger, but here lay Otoyo-san’s steadfastness—she skillfully dissuaded him with earnest care, never allowing him to commit any immoral transgression. Even if Otoyo-san’s actions were denounced as the most despicable amorous misconduct a woman could commit, she naturally could not offer a proper defense. However, if one were to truly delve into her inner feelings, one would find much that was pitiable and worthy of sympathy. Regarding Otoyo-san's marriage into the neighboring household, she had been misled by the aforementioned matchmaker's falsehoods. Otoyo-san’s family home belonged to middle-tier farmers or higher, while the neighboring household was practically tenant farmers. Moreover, Kiyoshiro was neither particularly astute nor diligent. Otoyo-san too had returned temporarily to her family home after soon learning the full circumstances upon arrival; but her father—a man who had painstakingly built considerable wealth through his own efforts alone—did not particularly fret over the lack of assets. "If you work, wealth will follow," he had said. "Once you’ve married through fate, you can’t divorce someone over lacking assets alone—that would be heartless." Thus admonished, Otoyo-san reluctantly returned. Just as her father claimed—had Kiyoshiro shown even modest masculine competence—Otoyo-san might not have found herself so tormented. Amidst such circumstances—and being neighbors—she naturally came and went between her home and Seisaku’s household. With Seisaku’s character being gentle yet steadfast, his education far surpassing Kiyoshiro’s, and their shared compatibility in other regards, Otoyo-san finally found herself drawn to him. Whenever she glimpsed Seisaku from the shadows or heard his voice, the gloom in Otoyo-san’s heart would lift. Thus she spent half a year listlessly in the neighboring household she believed ultimately hopeless.

As that year finally drew to a close, around mid-December, a marriage proposal for Seisaku suddenly arose. It had been nearly decided that he would become an adopted son-in-law to a certain family in a neighboring village. Through Ohama’s arrangement, Seisaku met with Otoyo-san at a certain location one day and resolved their existing relationship. If they were to speak the depths of their hearts, their mutual respect and affection would only swell all the more—yet unable to defy the world’s unyielding ways, they had no choice but to become distant strangers. If this were between men, their bond could grow increasingly intimate—yet between a man and a woman, such closeness cannot proceed. What a truly trivial world this is. That I cannot entrust my own body and mind to my own thoughts—when you think about it, human beings are utterly absurd. If morality means being artificially bound through marital obligation to someone whose true nature I cannot know, then forced to make myself machine-like—then morality is a tool that strangles humanity. The two of them took each other's hands and twisted together strands of tears, promising that if divine grace were ever to save them in days to come, they would tie together the cords of tears they held.

Two days after this occurred, Otoyo-san returned to her hometown. And thus she never returned to the neighboring household. Seisaku had once gone to the adoptive household, but due to rumors arising about him and Otoyo-san, the adoption was ultimately annulled.

(Meiji 41, January)