Pathway to Japanese Literature

Letters

Kyōzō returned after his usual post-dinner walk around the village.

It had been over a month since his homecoming. With both nights being as hot as days and mosquitoes swarming thickly, he couldn’t manage any of the studying he’d long planned. Having not a single friend for conversation, he endured day after day of monotonous tedium. His daily occupations consisted of napping, swimming once in the sea, writing letters to friends scattered across their various hometowns, and these evening strolls around the village after supper. He scarcely missed performing any of these rituals on any given day. Above all else, he never failed to write letters or take walks. He wrote in rotation to friends dispersed here and there. Most were mere postcards. To each and every one he lamented the lonely monotony of rural existence. He recorded each day’s happenings no matter how trifling - even counting snails clinging to a neighbor’s bamboo fence became grist for his correspondence. When utterly bereft of material, he’d sometimes dispatch postcards bearing nothing but two- or three-character idioms. This served partly to distract from his dreary routine, but more than anything he craved daily replies from his friends. Though messages arrived nearly every day from them too, sometimes three or even five days would pass without word. At such times loneliness gripped him unbearably. Since mail came only once daily around eight in the evening, he’d usually find it already delivered upon returning from his walk. He’d meander through the cramped village - pausing here, dawdling there - stretching his circuit as long as possible. And when turning homeward, it became his custom to nurture - indeed cling fiercely to - that peculiar anticipation: how fine if a letter awaited from someone; nay, how certain it was that one must have come.

Tonight was no different.

The family members seemed to have just gotten into the mosquito net. A Western-style oil lamp had been turned down low at the entrance to the storehouse. “Have you already gone to bed?” “We’re not asleep—we’re just standing by!” quipped his younger brother Asashichi. “If we stay up, the mosquitoes attack, so there’s nothing for it but to sleep,” said Mother from inside the mosquito net, flapping her fan vigorously as she let out a big yawn.

Kyōzō was about to go to his room when,

“Did any letters or anything arrive?” he asked. “Yeah, they’re here,” Kyōzō’s father answered in a stuffy-nosed voice. He had helped with the ridgepole raising of Sasuya’s storehouse today and was quite drunk.

Kyōzō’s heart leapt when he heard letters had arrived. “What?! Where?!” He blurted out, then immediately followed with, “Where are they?” making an effort to sound composed. “They didn’t come for you.” “Oh…” Suddenly, all tension drained away, and Kyōzō stood dazedly in the hall. After a brief pause, “Did they come to the house?” “Yeah.” “Where from?”

“From Yae at the main house and Mr. Seizaemon’s younger brother,” my brother cut in to answer. “Read it for me, will you? Though I suppose there’s nothing urgent,” Father said gently. “Asashichi, didn’t you read it?”

Kyōzō said discontentedly.

“Hmm, I ain’t reading any of it.” “What’s all this hemming and hawing? If Asashichi already saw it, there’s no need to make you read it! Wouldn’t it be fine to just read it plain?”

Father’s tone turned harsh. Kyōzō started. He thought matters had taken an unexpected turn. But given this awkward situation, he found himself unable to read them straight. And so, “Where are they?” he asked pointedly, though he already knew roughly where they’d be. Father didn’t answer.

“They’re on the hearth edge.” “Since they came after Asashichi had gotten into the mosquito net, he didn’t read them.” “Even if it’s a bother, just read them for me,” Mother said gently. Kyōzō brightened the lamp and went to the kitchen. On the corner of the hearth edge lay a postcard and a letter. Kyōzō took them while remaining on one knee. The tepid scent of ash clung to his nose. Two or three mosquitoes whined near his ear. Kyōzō grew agitated. His breathing grew hurried, and his chest felt constricted. Sweat broke out under his arms.

He first read the postcard. It was a summer greeting from Yae, a daughter of the main house who had gone to Kyoto. The letter had come from the second son of a kimono merchant named Seizaemon in Tomogi Town, located over one ri from the village, who had just recently gone as an adopted son to a certain kimono merchant in Nanao. He was a man who had come to this village daily as a kimono peddler before being adopted out, and when one spoke of Younger Brother, he had frequented this village so extensively that practically everyone knew who was meant. As he had been on intimate terms with Kyōzō’s family, he used this house as his lodging, storing his merchandise here daily, then returning each morning to shoulder his wares and peddle them about. It was a thank-you letter regarding the long-standing trouble caused by his recent adoption to Nanao.

Kyōzō had finished reading both, but from a sudden impulse of his heart, he became strangely awkwardly out of sync; even though it was nothing significant, he found himself feeling unable to gently explain and convey it. He lit a cigarette, prepared to respond if addressed. The mosquitoes pressed their attack relentlessly. Kyōzō exaggeratedly, “Cruel mosquitoes!” he exclaimed, striking his leg.

“If there weren’t any mosquitoes, this’d be paradise indeed,” Mother said her nightly refrain. Since Kyōzō remained silent indefinitely, Father asked, “Did you read them?” “Yes, I read them,” he answered clearly. “What did they say?”

“There’s nothing in particular. Yae’s is a summer greeting, and Younger Brother’s is a letter of thanks.”

“Is that all?” “Yeah, that’s all there is.”

“Hmm...”

Kyōzō's curt reply seemed to have deeply wounded his father's feelings. Moreover, tonight the sake was compounding it. Even so, he didn't speak for some time. At length came another drawn-out "Hmm..." Then, as if muttering to himself, he said with resentful discontent, "I see. So that's all there was to it."

Kyōzō discerned his father’s state of mind. He felt it was inexcusable, but there was simply nothing he could say. “That’s enough, enough! I won’t have you read anything from now on…” “Hmph. What’s this?” “It’s too much…” Kyōzō made a deliberate effort to keep his composure, “What are you going on about, Father? “There really isn’t anything else besides that.”

Father flared crimson with rage. “Don’t talk nonsense!” “Then even if I have you read it for me, this old man already knows every blasted word!” “But one’s just a summer greeting, and the other’s a thank-you note for all that long-standing trouble we caused them. You see?” “There’s simply no other way to put it, is there?” “If that’s all there is, I’d know it even if these eyes were stone blind!” “When the mail came earlier, I asked the postman where it was from. Then he said it was from Yae’s place and Younger Brother’s place, so I figured there wasn’t any particular business. Hah! If it’s from Yae, it’s just seasonal greetings, and if it’s from Younger Brother, it’s some thank-you letter – that much I know without being told!” “If I need you to tell me such things, then I won’t ask you to read anything anymore!”

“But...”

“Enough, enough I say! I’ll have Asashichi look at it tomorrow morning then. Off to bed with you—what a tremendous service you’ve done us.” He said sarcastically. When told this, Kyōzō was troubled. He couldn’t simply stay silent and go to sleep, nor was he composed enough to meekly submit. He knew perfectly well that if he were to shift his attitude here—offer a curt “My apologies” and explain the letters in detail—everything would be resolved without incident. Yet putting this into practice seemed exceedingly difficult. Caught in this awkward predicament, he fidgeted restlessly while mosquitoes bit at him.

“Then what should I have said?” he uttered resignedly, throwing out the words. “How should I know? Ask your own heart!”

The mother, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up at this moment. “Don’t keep engaging with him now—the mosquitoes are biting something fierce. Hurry up and get under the net.” “Father’s drunk again, so his usual grumblin’s started up somethin’ fierce.”

“What?!” “Me drunk?” “Where’m I drunk? Huh?”

“Ain’t that just it now? You sir—y’re drunk as can be and complainin’ away, ain’t y’?”

“When’ve I been complainin’?” “This count as complainin’?” “Where in the blasted world d’they read letters like that for folks?” “Ain’t that plain enough? Quit yer naggin’!” “I’ll hurl it at ya! You too…!” Father roared, face twisted in fury. As if meaning to chuck a pillow—Asashichi,

“Father, what are you doing? That’s dangerous! …And Mother here’s gone quiet again, hasn’t she?” he said in a mediating tone.

“Just like a madman,” Mother said in a slightly lowered voice. From the direction of the inner room, the cat meowed and shambled over. Seeing this, the father appeared to grow even more irritated,

“Eat shit!” he bellowed. Mother and brother burst out laughing together. Kyōzō remained silent. The cat paused briefly before Kyōzō, meowed once more with a plaintive cry, then ambled down into the garden. The father said as if talking to himself, “This old man’s an uneducated fool, so maybe this is just grumbling, but I don’t reckon letters are supposed to be like that.” “Even the same summer greeting could be written in all sorts of ways, I tell you.” “It’s grown terribly hot here, but how are things there? I’m keeping well myself.” “The letter likely says somethin’ like ‘Take care in this heat,’ eh? But if y’just call it ‘summer greetings’ or ‘thank-you note,’ d’ya think that fills a listener’s belly?” “For sighted folk like you lot, that might do—but this blind fool needs every word read proper.” He spoke these last words in a markedly gentler tone of reproach.

Kyōzō had already resolved not to argue any further, but—

“But Father, these are just full of set phrases like ‘Dear Sir’ and ‘Yours sincerely’! No matter how long they’re written out, there’s nothing of substance here. That’s why I said what I did—I thought explaining every last one of these formalities still wouldn’t make sense to you.” “If I was out of line, I apologize.” “That’s why I’m askin’, ain’t I?” “You say that, but that’s just stubborn pride. Fancy matters might be beyond the likes of us, but if you’d just read through every bit proper-like—‘Here it says this,’ ‘There it says that,’ like you’re chantin’ some ballad—then I’d be right grateful.” “When someone asks you a favor, d’you think that’s decent? Just ponder that.” “Unlettered folk don’t grasp a blessed thing—that’s why they go beggin’ after every scrap o’ detail, ain’t they?” “Even if they don’t fathom it, folks rest easier hearin’ every word read out proper, I tell you.” He softened his tone slightly. “The letters from your place got nothin’ but ‘Send coin’ scribbled across ’em—still, I make Asashichi read through ’em all from start to finish.” “Hearin’ that does this old man and Mother here a world o’ good, I tell you.”

"But my letters are written in plain speech so anyone could understand just by listening—" he began, but before he could finish, "Enough!!" Father snapped sharply. And afterward, he said nothing more.

Kyōzō was overcome by an indescribably strange feeling and remained standing for some time longer, but eventually went silently to his room.

Festival Revelry

“Father, isn’t he back yet?” Asashichi called out as he came in from outside. The inside of the house was dark. In the hearth, green pine needles for repelling mosquitoes were smoldering. “Not yet,” the mother answered nonchalantly while slicing pickles. “What’s taking him so long? Everyone else has already come back.”

“There’s not much time left now, I suppose,” Kyōzō said, pressing down the smoldering pine needles with fire tongs. The smoke had filled the room. The lamp’s light glimmered dimly through the haze. “I just can’t tell,” Mother said. “He must’ve been dragged off by that Shichikai crowd and made to drink.” “This year they bought a mikoshi in Shichikai for its debut at the Tomiki Festival—I bet they’ve got Father drinking over there too.”

Asashichi took two or three pine needles from the hearth, aligning and trimming them with his nails while speaking. “It’d be best if he came home soon enough, but truth is once he starts drinking he loses all sense of himself—that’s the trouble... Well then… No point waiting around. You all should just go ahead and eat.” “Who knows when he’ll be back,” Mother said as she started laying out the meal trays.

“Well, let’s wait a little longer,” Kyōzō said, coughing two or three times as he choked on the smoke. “Has Rokuhei and the others come back yet?” Asashichi asked. “Rokuhei hasn’t returned either—someone went out earlier looking for him, but neither’s back.” “They’ve got plenty of children with them, so they’ll be fine I suppose—but it’s so late now I went off worrying they might’ve left the young’uns behind again to go drinking about.” “That old baldy Rokuhei’s a proper soak, I tell ya.” “Remember when we went to see that Sake Mi Festival before? They’d gone and perched that Jōbō right on the horse’s neck, and next thing you know he’s tumbled straight into the rice paddy!” Asashichi said to Kyōzō.

While they were having this conversation，someone came in from outside saying，“Any treats to be had?” “Who might that be?” Kyōzō’s mother asked，standing up to peer toward the garden. “Yours truly! Holy smokes! What kinda smoke-filled mess is this? It’s clogging up my throat!” “Hmm，Mrs. Gonroku. “It’s already more than just mosquitoes we’re dealing with.” “How’s it over at your place?” “Still here causing trouble，I tell ya.”

After saying this, she peered into the house and saw Kyōzō and Asashichi there. “Oh... You all didn’t go see it?”

“What?” said Asashichi.

“They didn’t go to last night’s festival, you see, and now they’ve got to attend the sumo tomorrow.” “That’s right—young master’s household’s already got their own strapping lads to handle things, you see.” “Why don’t you come up then?” “Nah, we can’t keep sitting around like this. "There’s just a little something I wanted to ask about, see," she said with her usual air of ceremonious preamble. "Has the master of this house returned yet?" “Not yet—we’re still talking about that very thing right now.”

“I see,” she said. “Our old man hasn’t come back yet either—it’s so late I came here thinking something might’ve gone wrong.” “Well I’ll be!” Asashichi exclaimed. “Your husband went along too? What in blazes is this all about?” Kyōzō’s mother spoke with genuine astonishment.

“Truly now, with his health like that—he knew better! What ever came over him to go out like that, I wonder.” “He’s probably drinking with Mr. Kyō from Hitsuzen-ya,” Asashichi interjected. “That might be the case,” said Gonroku’s Wife, shifting the subject slightly. “They say this year’s festival was terribly lively—apparently twenty-one portable shrines and thirty large banners came out.” “That’s right—it’s the best harvest we’ve had in years, after all.”

“Well now—sayin’ just that—our old man went out draggin’ his feet too, I tell ya. They should be comin’ home any minute now, I tell ya.” “Still, no matter how much the master of that house drinks, ’tis good he doesn’t turn spineless like our house’s master after all.” “Well, ’tis not exactly like that… Let’s just wait a little longer then.”

With these words, Gonroku's wife left.

Then, after some time had passed, their neighbor Rokuhei returned home with the children. It turned out that the wife who had gone out earlier to meet him had taken a different path and missed him. “Poor dear, why didn’t you come by the beach road this time either?” Kyōzō’s mother expressed sympathy to the wife. “I thought so too, but since I went to check on Sannō Woods, it was hard doubling back to the beach after that, and with night falling besides, I ended up taking the Uchiura Road instead,” she explained with a flustered air.

“By the way, didn’t you meet our old man?” “Well now, when the honorable portable shrines had all gathered throughout town, he was with Mr. Gonroku’s father at Hida-ya’s shop—but I don’t know anything after that.” Rokuhei turned back to go fetch his wife, so he asked them to look after the children for a while and left. The three children entered Kyōzō’s house and began eating souvenir buns by the hearth. The six-year-old girl picked up the sweet bean paste that had spilled into the hearth ashes and ate it. Kyōzō pretended not to see and turned away.

About thirty minutes later, Rokubei returned home with his wife. Kyōzō’s father still had not returned. However, it became clear from his [Rokubei]'s wife’s account that he [Kyōzō’s father] had come as far as the village entrance together with Rokubei’s wife.

When Rokuhei’s wife had come to beneath Kogama Woods about eight blocks from Tomiku Town, Kyōzō’s father was walking alone in the darkness singing a song. By this hour, those who had gone to see the festival had mostly returned home, and along the one-ri beach road, she had encountered no one from the village. Having found neither her husband nor children, she worried what might have happened while enduring her loneliness until she came to Kogama Woods. This place had been famous since olden times for foxes appearing. As Rokuhei’s wife walked on, feeling utterly forlorn, she started when singing came from ahead. And because that figure turned out to be Kyōzō’s father, she startled all the more. Kyōzō's father was so drunk his footing had become unsteady. When he spotted Rokuhei’s Wife, he suddenly roared, “What’re you doing here?”—making her jolt upright in shock. When she said she had come to fetch the children, he barked, "You idiot! What're you still doing out this late? They went home ages ago. “There’s no one from the village left in Tomiku either, so go back! Go back!” he said.

“Do ya think I’ve been sittin’ round alone all this time for nothin’?” “Hmm, ’spite how I look, ain’t drunk a drop.” “This old man here—” “I made damn sure all them village rats had cleared out ’fore headin’ back—drunk or not, stayed put till now worryin’ ‘What if somethin’ happened to you lot?’” “Ain’t a soul left in Tomiku no more.” “C’mon, back we go, back we go.”

Rokuhei’s Wife followed behind him as they walked. Kyōzō’s father staggered over and over again. “Ahh, drunk as a skunk—on just five shō of sake…” “If I’d drunk a whole gō…………” He would start singing only to— “Hey! Woman! “Rokuhei’s snortin’ hag! “What’re you doing here?” he’d say, or “Hey now—Kogama fox! Red fox! “If I’m tricked, I’ll trick ’em right back!” “Hey, you lot… Idiot fox bastards—take that!” he spouted, saying whatever nonsense came to mind.

In this manner they reached the village entrance together, but from there he refused to comply, telling Rokuhei's wife to go on ahead. He joked that returning together would make people think they'd had an affair—utterly scandalous—but no matter how she pleaded, he wouldn't budge. While the two of them were arguing like this, Rokuhei arrived. Rokuhei also tried urging him in every way to come home together, but he remained seated atop the new road's bridge and wouldn't move no matter what. Everyone said he probably couldn't stand people thinking he'd needed fetching. When Asashichi lit a lantern and set out from the back door, Mother called out to stop him. After ten minutes had passed, Father returned.

“I’m home! Hey now—the master’s back in residence, sir!” he declared boisterously as he came through the back door.

“Welcome home.” Mother and Asashichi said in unison. Asashichi went down into the garden and drew water for washing feet. “Go on, wash them.” Father sat down on the step and lay back. Asashichi untied the sandal laces and had him put both feet into the basin. Mother hung the pot of cooled soup over the hearth and lit the fire. Kyōzō remained silent, resting his chin on his raised knee.

“Kyōzō! Why aren’t you washing my feet?!” Father bellowed. Kyōzō was taken aback but kept silent, maintaining a smile. “How can you not wash my feet when I’ve come home? With Asashichi washing them like this—go on, wash one foot each!” Kyōzō found himself unable to immediately obey his father’s command. Yet remaining silent wasn’t an option either. He didn’t believe Father truly meant these words seriously. But he thought that however drunk Father might be, he couldn’t simply laugh this off.

Kyōzō knew well that Father would only voice complaints and roundabout admonishments toward him when drunk. Kyōzō knew that Father too could not openly express his opinions to him—so heavily did Kyōzō’s age and education weigh in the balance. Therefore, there were times when he would voice indirect complaints under the guise of drunkenness. That was often out of obligation to Mother. Mother was not Kyōzō’s biological mother. Thus even in this situation—with his biological son Asashichi washing his feet like this—Father might have spoken from genuine sentiment that it would be an affront for Kyōzō to feign ignorance simply because he was the elder brother. There was no telling how much consideration Father had shown Mother solely on account of Kyōzō’s presence until now. Kyōzō had long been well aware of this. In such drunken states, Kyōzō had experienced many times how his father’s true feelings would instead overflow. He thought that perhaps it was born from a simple notion—taking advantage of drunkenness to make both sons wash his feet and thereby savor a peculiar satisfaction in that act. However, Kyōzō believed that no matter how drunk his father became, he never completely lost himself. Even if it appeared that way to others, to Kyōzō alone it could never seem so. Though he was but an uneducated fisherman, when drunk he would somehow utter words of profound sentiment. A father’s affection was never mere doting indulgence. Something lonely, something sorrowful, something pitiable—the father’s true emotions lay concealed behind those forceful words. Kyōzō had keenly perceived this. And likely there was none outside Kyōzō who knew this. Kyōzō always felt a certain poignant anguish when faced with his drunken father. Though Kyōzō thought Father had not truly intended to make him wash his feet when issuing that command moments ago, he found himself at a momentary loss for how to deftly navigate this situation.

“I asked my younger brother to handle it. “Asashichi—take my place here,” he said without deliberation.

Upon hearing this, Father appeared thoroughly satisfied.

“Well…if that’s how it is—then fine.”

Having said this, he began singing in a strange voice. Even after his feet had been washed, Father still did not come up for some time. “Alright now, let’s come up and settle down,” Mother said as she arranged the meal trays. Everyone moved to their meal trays. Yet however much they tried, Father would not take up his chopsticks.

“Kyōzō, had you been waiting for my return without even eating?” “Huh?” “Asashichi too?” “Aye, I was waitin’.” “I see. You’ve waited so patiently.” “Alright now, I’m gonna eat. You hear?”

“Come on now, why don’t we all eat together?” Mother said, taking the chopstick box in hand.

Father went “Hmm,” laughing, and still did not approach his meal tray. He sat facing the hearth, cross-legged with hands crossed on his knees and slightly bent forward, his congested nose snorting repeatedly. It was his habit that whenever he got drunk, his nose would become congested.

“Come on now, hurry up and eat,” Mother urged again. “I don’t wanna eat.” “You lot eat first.” “Don’t go saying such things—let’s all eat together now. This one here—everyone’s been waiting here starving, you know.” “Oh, is that so? Well, I’m much obliged.” “I’ll eat now!” he declared, yet he made no move to begin for quite some time. “Top hats are all the rage, A bald head’s mighty convenient, ain’t it? “Tra-la-la…”

Having sung this, he laughed boisterously: "Ha ha ha!"

Mother looked on impatiently.

“Why don’t you just go ahead and eat without him?” she said to Kyōzō. “Father, if you don’t eat something now, you’ll get hungry again tonight,” Kyōzō urged. Father turned just his head slightly and gazed piercingly at Kyōzō’s face. His bloodshot eyes were mostly half-closed. On the glistening forehead that shone with a reddish light, three or four large wrinkles—deeply etched as if carved—caught Kyōzō’s eye. “Come on now, hurry up—the soup’s getting cold.”

Mother said impatiently and took her chopsticks.

“Hmm…” Father nodded to himself and laughed again. “Today’s festival was a truly interesting one.”

“Could you tell us a bit about the festival?” Kyōzō said while scooping rice. “Alright, alright.” By the time Father began talking about the festival, everyone had already finished their meals. Even so, he still had not started eating. And he talked at length about all manner of festival matters. He said the same thing over and over.

“It’s truly remarkable that Shichiumi—such a tiny hamlet—bought a portable shrine and joined the Fukurai Festival’s ranks. What made me happiest above all was that. It’s not like I had any desire to see the festival or anything, but since they said Shichiumi’s portable shrine would be out, I went to see it. When I got there—you should’ve seen—the Shichiumi folks had set down their portable shrine in front of the post office for a rest, but soon as they spotted me, they went ‘Oh! Asajirō! You made it!’ So then Old Man Hashimoto comes lugging a three-shō cask to make me drink, you see? Then what happens but the drummers and flag bearers—every last one of ’em knows my face—they go ‘Oh! Asajirō’s here! Asajirō’s here!’ So then they brought over sake—like puttin’ me through a drinkin’ gauntlet, you see? The Shichiumi folks are somethin’ else, I tell ya—such a tiny village, yet thinkin’ they’ll mingle with the big towns from now on holdin’ festivals together! Puts me right at ease, it does. So I goes and donates two yen, and quick as ya please, they write up ‘Five Yen Received…’ in the register and slap it right on the shrine’s roof!” And so he went on, boasting with animated gestures about how his face was known wherever he went, how the Shichiumi villagers near treated him like their savior whenever he showed up.

Asashichi then skillfully drew out the threads of conversation.

He repeated again and again—the quarrels among young laborers, the teeming crowds, the grandeur when twenty-odd portable shrines stood aligned, how the setting sun’s glare made the decorative metal ornaments glint and shine beautifully. He recounted with evident pride how he’d pestered the policeman into dealing with him. Kyōzō too, putting on a look of feigned interest, occasionally matched his tone and even tried asking things likely to please Father.

Father was overjoyed. Seeing that Kyōzō and the others were all listening to his tale with such keen interest, he seemed thoroughly satisfied. Before anyone knew it, he lay down there and began snoring loudly. The three of them dragged him into the mosquito net as if hauling something, and he remained completely unaware of even that.

Mother muttered repeatedly about him not having eaten.

(Meiji 43)