Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Wataro-san, the ox driver, had an excellent ox, everyone said. But it was a decrepit old ox, its hindquarters sagging with wasted flesh and ribs so pronounced you could count them. And even when pulling an empty cart, it would soon stick out its tongue and breathe laboriously. “What’s good about this ox? Wataro’s a fool.” “He should’ve sold it before it came to this and bought a younger, more vigorous one.”

And Mr. Jirozaemon would say. Mr. Jirozaemon was a man who in his youth had lived in Tokyo working as a newspaper deliveryman and a houseboy for foreign missionaries, and after enduring various hardships had come to favor logic over labor before returning to the village.

However, even though Mr. Jirozaemon said such things, Mr. Wataro’s decrepit ox was an excellent ox to him.

What could be the reason for this? Every person has their own habits. Wataro-san too had one bad habit—whenever someone mentioned it, he would scratch his head apologetically and then proceed to scratch an itchy spot on his back—and that habit was drinking alcohol. On the road from the village to the town, there stood a large pine tree by the wayside, and in its shade was a tea shop. The very convenience of having both a pine tree and a tea shop standing side by side proved unfortunate for Wataro-san. For pine trees were excellent for tethering oxen, and tea shops were excellent places for those fond of sake to take a quick drink—that was why.

And so, whenever Wataro-san passed by that spot, he would inevitably tie his ox to the pine tree and stagger into the tea shop to have a quick drink.

Intending to have just a quick drink, Wataro-san would enter the tea shop. But while drinking alcohol, human thoughts tend to change quite easily. Thinking, "Just a little more, just a little more," he would end up spending about an hour there before he knew it. Now, since it was just turning dusk, “Well, might as well wait till the moon comes up,” he’d think. “Better than going home on a dark road,” he’d settle back down again.

Truly, the moon would come out eventually. Whether it was the season when rapeseed blossoms bloomed across the fields or when rice seedlings had been planted, once the moon rose, everything would become bright and beautiful. Yet whether the moon appeared or not no longer mattered to Wataro-san. This was because by that time, he would be hopelessly drunk, unable to keep his eyes properly open. As proof of this, he could no longer distinguish his ox from the pine tree. Intending to search for the reins he had wound around the trunk, he would instead end up endlessly stroking the ox’s belly. With no other choice, Granny Oyoshi from the tea shop untied the reins for him. What’s more, she lit an Odawara lantern and hung it at the rear of the oxcart’s bed. After all, drinkers nonchalantly make others take care of them.

Wataro-san did not only make Granny Oyoshi take care of him. From now on, he would be taken care of by the ox. After walking two or three blocks, Wataro-san would begin to think, “Is the night road really this long?” Then, after hanging the reins on the ox’s horns, he climbed onto the cart. By doing this, no matter how long the night road might be, it wouldn’t matter to Wataro-san. However, he had to remember to loop the rope used for tying down cargo and hook it under his chin to avoid rolling off the cart while asleep.

When he woke up, Wataro-san found himself in his own home’s garden. The ox knew the way home and reliably brought him back. Such things happened often. Not once had the ox ever taken Wataro-san toward the sea or led him to unfamiliar villages. So for Wataro-san, this ox was a decrepit, shabby creature, but it was an exceedingly useful and good ox. If Wataro-san had followed Jirozaemon-san’s advice and sold this ox to replace it with a young, vigorous one, there would have been no telling where he would have woken up the next time he got drunk. He might have woken up in the middle of Nagoya’s streets forty kilometers away. Or he might have woken up on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea at the tip of this peninsula and found himself in a startling predicament. After all, a young ox is so energetic that it could walk forty kilometers in a single night.

“Wataro-san has a good ox,” everyone said. “It’s just like having a kind, obedient wife,” they said.

Two

Now, regarding Wataro-san’s wife. Wataro-san carried a sorrowful memory concerning his wife. When young himself, Wataro-san had taken a bride in the customary manner.

Until then, Wataro-san had lived a lonely life with just his elderly one-eyed mother, but when the young bride came, his household became as bright and lively as a festival every day. The bride was beautiful and diligent in her work, so both Wataro-san and his elderly one-eyed mother were delighted.

However, one day, Wataro-san noticed something odd. It was that whenever the three household members ate meals together, the bride would always turn her face sideways toward the wall. Wataro-san had watched this in silence for ten days. The bride kept turning her face toward the wall while eating her meals.

Finally, Wataro-san could no longer endure and asked. “You—if you don’t keep craning your neck like that, can’t you get your food down? Or is there something unusual about the wall in our house?”

Then the bride, without answering a word, kept her chopstick-holding hand on her lap and bowed her head.

Later, when they were alone, the bride told Wataro-san in a small voice. “I feel sick whenever I see your mother’s ruined eye.” “It’s crushed—you can see the red flesh there.” “If I look at that, I can’t swallow my food. That’s why I turn away.” “I see. But my mother didn’t lose her eye from fooling around.” “She was weeding the fields when a rice leaf’s tip struck her—that’s what took her eye.”

Watarō-san said. "I don't know why," she continued softly - though her voice carried like wind through bamboo groves - "but whenever I see that ruined eye's raw red flesh... It makes my stomach turn."

the bride said again.

“But Mother had her eye crushed by rice plants, I tell you.” “She went through all that to raise me, I tell you.” “But if I have to look at that ruined eye, I can’t get my food down.”

When Wataro-san was alone with Mother, he spoke to her. “Ochiyo says that when she looks at your ruined eye, she feels sick and can’t get her food down.” When she heard this, the elderly Mother stopped pounding beans and wore a sorrowful expression for a while.

And she said: “That’s only natural.” “It can’t be pleasant for young folks to have to look at someone like me.” “I’ve been thinking all along—once the bride came, I’d go into service somewhere so I wouldn’t be in your way.” “Then I’ll go into service at Mr. Masuhan’s place starting tomorrow.” “Because they’re looking for an old woman to cook rice there.”

The next day, the elderly mother packed her few belongings into a cloth bundle and left home under the midday sun, a collapsible parasol in hand. She passed through the flaming azaleas blooming riotously at the gate and was gone.

While mending the field fence, Wataro-san watched his mother leave. When Mother vanished from sight, the azaleas' crimson burned his eyes. Wataro-san started weeping. Was it right to send this aged mother into servitude at another household now? The mother who had toiled tirelessly, borne endless hardships, and raised her only son Wataro-san.

Wataro-san, still holding the piece of rope, rushed over, grabbed Mother’s hand, and without a word began dragging her back home. “Hey, hey, Ochiyo,” called out Wataro-san. The bride came out from the kitchen while wiping her hands. “You’d mentioned wanting to visit your hometown soon for some business.” “Yes.”

“Then go today. Right now.” The bride was overjoyed because she could return to her childhood home for the first time in ages. She promptly changed into a fine kimono. “In your hometown, there were no bamboo shoots. Take bamboo shoots with you. Take plenty of butterbur too.” Wataro-san said. The bride gathered up a great many souvenirs and exited through the doorway.

“Well then, I’ll be going.” “Ah, get going,” Wataro-san said. “And then—you needn’t ever come back here again, I tell you.”

The bride was shocked. But no matter how shocked the bride was, Wataro-san’s mind was already made up.

Thus, Wataro-san and the bride parted ways.

After that, there were offers of brides from various places, but Wataro-san took no more. At times, he would think about taking another bride, but whenever he looked at the wall, his mind would change with a “No, better not.”

However, Wataro-san, who did not take a bride, had one regret. It was that he had no children.

Mother was growing old, gradually becoming smaller. Wataro-san was now in his prime, but he too would eventually become an old man. The ox too would in time grow even skinnier in the hindquarters, its ribs jutting out like fence posts, until finally it would die. Then Wataro-san’s household would perish. Wataro-san would often think that he didn’t need a wife, but he did want a child.

Three

When humans receive care from other humans, they express their gratitude. But when receiving care from cows or horses, they rarely reciprocate. This is because cows and horses do not voice any particular complaints even if no gratitude is shown. But this was an unfair and unacceptable way of doing things, Wataro-san had been thinking. He had been thinking that he wanted to do something that would greatly please the decrepit ox as thanks for its daily care.

Then came such fine sediment.

Villages comprised entirely of farmers are sometimes blessed with truly peaceful, golden evening glows—and this was one such spring evening. The soft light of the setting sun flowed gently over the fully grown barley ears that concealed the goat shed’s window.

Wataro-san was on his way to town, having the decrepit ox pull the cart. Wataro-san was always cheerful, but today his face was even more radiant. It was because he had been transporting sake casks. He had been asked to deliver sake casks from the sake shop in the neighboring village to the vinegar shop in town. Inside them was packed the sediment of sake. Sediment refers to the milky, cloudy substance that accumulates at the bottom of casks during sake production.

Each time the sake casks swayed, they made a heavy *glug-glug* sound. And in the quiet farming village at dusk, they scattered the scent of sake as they went.

Wataro-san was thinking how he wished he could always be entrusted with cargo like this—how just listening to the sound made him forget the hardships of worldly life—when suddenly there came a thud. Looking, he saw that one cask’s lid had flown off, and as the cart happened to be on a slope and tilted, white sediment was cascading out like a waterfall. “Whoa, whoa!” Wataro-san exclaimed, but there was nothing to be done. The sediment spilled onto the ground, pooled in a hollow, and emitted an even headier fragrance.

Drawn by the smell，the sake-loving farmers and elders began to gather. The fact that even Granny Toki—who lived on the village outskirts—had come showed that the scent of the sediment must have wafted five blocks away. By the time everyone had gathered，Wataro-san was pacing restlessly around the cart. “This ain’t my fault. “Sediment’s the kinda stuff that multiplies when you shake it. “It multiplied from being jolted and jostled in the ox-cart all the way here. “And what with this warm weather，it multiplied even more.”

And so Wataro-san directed the excuses meant for the master toward the villagers. “That’s right, that’s right.”

The villagers nodded in agreement as they gazed at the large amount of sediment pooled on the road, their throats making gulping sounds.

“Well now, what’s to be done about this? If we leave it be, the soil’ll soak it up, but...” said an old farmer, dipping a straw into the sediment and sucking on it. Truly, if left alone, the soil would soak it up—everyone thought. At that moment, Wataro-san hit upon a good idea.

Wataro-san released the ox from its yoke. And led it to where the sediment had spilled. “There, lick it up.” The ox lowered its head over the sediment and remained perfectly still for a while. It seemed to be sniffing the scent and judging whether this was something delicious or foul. The watching villagers also held their breath, wondering whether the ox would drink the sake or not. The ox stuck out its tongue and gave it a quick lick. And then it remained still again for a moment. It must have been carefully savoring the flavor in its mouth.

The watching villagers had been holding their breath so much that their chests grew painful. The ox gave it another quick lick. Then it began licking away in earnest, and with the added snorts through its nose, the ox became quite busy. “Well now, oxen do seem to be creatures partial to sake, don’t they?”

“Well now, oxen do seem to be creatures partial to sake, don’t they?” said one of the villagers with a sigh.

The others felt terribly disappointed that they themselves were not oxen.

Wataro-san watched with delight as the ox eagerly licked up the sediment. “Hey there.” “Eat up, eat up.” “I’ve always been in your care, so I figured I’d have to show my thanks.” “But I didn’t know you were a sake lover.”

When the ox had finished licking the sediment before it, it took a step forward and licked the sediment beyond.

“Even an ox can be a heavy drinker, eh?” said one of the villagers dismissively, like a child who hadn’t gotten what they wanted. “Eat as much as you want,” said Wataro-san, stroking the ox’s back. “Eat your fill. You can rest here—today I’ll take care of you. Today’s the day—my once-in-a-lifetime chance to repay your kindness.” Finally, the ox licked up all the sediment, leaving only soil behind. By now, the surroundings had grown dim. Wataro-san reattached the ox to the yoke.

As blue evening shadows flowed along the path where only the white wild strawberry flowers in the hedges floated pale, the ox with its full belly and Wataro-san—who felt he had repaid his lifelong debt of gratitude—plodded slowly onward, both savoring their contentment.

IV

Now then, Wataro-san had resolved that just for today, he would abstain from drinking alcohol himself. In Wataro-san’s view, for the ox to drink and then the ox driver to drink as well was a lack of discipline. However, if that were the case, Wataro-san should not have taken the route home that passed by the lone pine tree and the tea shop. It was a slight detour, but he should have taken the lonely path toward the crematory. But Wataro-san thought, Ah, well, today would be fine. "Even I have some sense of propriety," he muttered to himself. And he passed by the lone pine tree and the tea shop.

A drinker’s resolve is a thing that often changes when near liquor. Wataro-san, too, when he reached the front of the tea shop, felt his resolve—once hard as stone—crumbling away as fragilely as tofu. In truth, even as Wataro-san had let the ox lick up the sake sediment, he himself had been suppressing an almost visceral urge to drink—so intense it felt like hands might claw from his throat. That desire now reared its head before the tea shop.

“Well, a quick drink should be fine.” Wataro-san said as he wrapped the reins around the thick trunk of the pine tree. The ox was behaving obediently as usual.

And Wataro-san, rubbing his hands together, entered the tea shop. It was the same as usual. As he kept saying, “Just a little more, just a little more,” time slipped by. The number of sake bottles kept increasing.

The tea shop’s Oyoshi taking care of various things for Wataro-san—such as untying the reins from the pine tree and lighting the Odawara lantern—was also the same as usual.

However, the only thing that was different from usual was that the ox lay sprawled on the ground. Oyoshi, unaware of this, nearly tripped over the ox.

Wataro-san said, “Boy, get up.” The ox merely responded with a thick, long snort and made no effort to rise. “Boy, got a bellyache? Get up,” he said as he yanked the reins hard.

The ox sluggishly, listlessly moved its body and first raised its hindquarters. The front legs remained folded at the knees, planted on the ground for a while, all the while continuing to let out great snorts.

“Oh my goodness! This ox—puffing away like a blacksmith’s bellows!” said Oyoshi. “Just like a drunkard,” added someone from the crowd. At those words, Wataro-san finally remembered how much the ox had drunk too. He found this so absurd that he burst out laughing. “Ain’t far from truth!” he roared. When the ox finally heaved its front legs upright, Wataro-san began his journey homeward at last.

The tea shop’s Oyoshi would always hear the clattering sound of Wataro-san’s cart wheels on the rope-handled path for quite some time after his departure. But on that day, it quickly faded away. Though she thought it strange, the old woman didn’t pay it much mind. After all, with both the ox driver and the ox thoroughly drunk, there was no telling where they might go or what they might do.

V

Wataro-san’s elderly mother spun her whirring spinning wheel while glancing up at the pillar clock with her one good eye, waiting late into the night. Before long, the aged, soot-stained pillar clock wheezed like an asthmatic old man for some time before finally striking eleven o’clock after a long interval.

By the time eleven o’clock struck, the sound of the cart would always come from outside. "What’s happened tonight?" Mother wondered. Ten minutes had passed. The sound of the cart still hadn’t reached her ears. Mother grew worried and, brushing cotton fluff from her lap, went out to the entrance to check.

It was a fine moonlit night; the roof tiles of the silent houses glistened wetly. The road loomed faintly white, visible far into the distance. But in the distance, there was no sign of Wataro-san’s cart.

When it came to nights Wataro-san hadn’t returned home, until now there had been only a handful of times. Mother remembered clearly on what occasions Wataro-san had stayed out overnight elsewhere. When Wataro-san was in grade school, there were two nights during a school trip to the Ise Pilgrimage; then when he was among the village youths, five nights during a group excursion to Mount Yoshino; and again in his youth, one night a year when he kept watch over the festival floats during the village festival. Other than that, there had never once been even a single instance when Wataro-san had left the house to stay elsewhere. At this, Mother began to grow worried.

Twenty minutes had passed since eleven o'clock. Wataro-san still hadn’t returned. Mother finally made up her mind. She went to consult the police officer at the substation. Officer Shibata, thinking some incident had occurred, hurriedly pulled on his black trousers under the electric light and came downstairs while fastening his saber to his waist. However, after hearing her story, some of the urgency left Officer Shibata.

“That’s just Wataro-san having another drink, I suppose.” said Officer Shibata. “But something like this has never happened before.” “But no matter how much he lingers, he always comes home by eleven without fail, doesn’t he? I tell ya.” said Wataro-san’s mother. And she insisted that if he still hadn’t returned even twenty minutes past eleven, he must have been caught by a highwayman or something along the way.

Shibata-san informed her that in this peaceful reign, highwaymen were not running rampant. Shibata-san also said that since Wataro-san always came home dead drunk, being pulled by his ox, tonight the ox must have been delayed by twenty or thirty minutes for some reason—after all, oxen aren’t exactly precise timekeepers.

But Wataro’s mother persisted in asserting her own theory, so in the end, even Shibata-san had to relent,

“All right, let’s commence the search then.”

said Shibata.

Whenever an incident occurred, it was customary for the village Youth Group to assist the stationed police officer, so Shibata-san had the Youth Group members gather. Before long, the Youth Group members arrived, dressed in their uniforms with gaiters wrapped around their legs and carrying wooden sticks. Not only Youth Group members but also other adults and even elderly men with bent backs came. In truth, such incidents—where people vanished in the middle of the night—had not occurred in this village for decades. The previous time the Youth Group had assisted Shibata-san was when a grass-burning fire spread to a straw hut at the foot of Nishiyama—an incident that had been exceedingly straightforward. However, this incident was proving to be quite a difficult one. How on earth should they begin the search?

Then Mr. Tomitetsu—an old man with a large nose—recalled something useful. That was an incident from about forty years earlier when a village penny merchant, returning from buying oil cakes in Sakatani, had been tricked by a fox on Mount Rokkan and became lost. At that time, the villagers had rung bells and beaten drums as they combed through mountains and valleys until finally, at Izumi Valley’s spring, they found the penny merchant—shivering violently with workman’s leggings pulled over his head—muttering, “What fine hot water this is! Just right!” Old Man Tomitetsu knew this story intimately and explained it in detail—which stood to reason, for he himself had been the one deceived by the fox.

When they listened to Tomitetsu-san’s story, it seemed possible that one could indeed be tricked by a fox. Even now, fleeting glimpses of foxes darting past on Mount Rokkan could often be caught, and in the village itself, late on cold winter nights, the voices of raccoon dogs could be heard. Moreover, even if one wasn’t being tricked by foxes or raccoon dogs, those lingering about weren’t much different from those who were.

So everyone brought noisemakers. The bell was borrowed from the temple. It was that bell—the one struck when announcing funeral processions would depart. The drum was that lethargic-sounding one which the night watchman would strike with a "don" while calling out "Beware of fire!" Kamekiku-san, who had served many times as a guide for the Yoshino Pilgrimage in the past, took out a conch shell from the treasure storehouse, intending to sound it again after so long. However, when he gave it a blow, to his surprise, the conch shell only hissed and wheezed—it wouldn’t sound properly. “This must’ve cracked or something,” said Kamekiku-san, but when his son Kametoku-san blew it, the conch shell produced a clear sound. At this, Kamekiku-san clearly realized that he had aged. And he thought that growing old was a foolish thing. Mr. Rinpei, the trumpeter of the youth group, brought a fine trumpet that gleamed brilliantly even in the moonlight. This one could probably be heard three ri away, Rinpei-san thought proudly to himself.

And the men, each holding a lantern in hand, entered the mountains. Bells and drums were struck, and the conch shell was blown. Rinpei-san was perplexed about what melody to play on the trumpet. However, since none of these melodies seemed quite right for searching out a human and ox tricked by foxes, he ended up simply blowing "Puuu, puuu" without any tune at all. Then Kamekiku-san—who loved to criticize—said, “That sounds just like an elephant’s fart,” which upset Rinpei-san. Even as he said this, Kamekiku-san had never actually heard an elephant’s fart.

Everyone searched high and low, but they ended up descending into the same valley multiple times, entering the same thicket again and again, and circling the same pond over and over. Thinking to themselves that this made it seem like they were being tricked by a fox, everyone circled the same pond for the tenth time. They were thoroughly exhausted by now, and the conch shells and trumpets no longer sounded. Only the drum occasionally thudded with a drowsy sound.

And so, despite all their searching, Wataro-san and the ox remained unfound. To make matters worse, they discovered that two members of their own group had gone missing somewhere. What a mess. In this situation, not only would continuing the search indefinitely prove futile—it would only compound their losses.

By now, the pond’s surface glowed dully. At that moment, an aged bush warbler sang softly from the thicket across the water, and everyone thought, “Ah—morning’s come at last.” So they returned to the village.

VI

Having not slept all night and wandered through the mountains, the villagers returned to the village utterly exhausted. And so, having first arrived in front of the police station, but finding it too wearisome to remain standing, they spread grass by the roadside and all sat down.

Then, from the back road behind the school to the west, a single ox cart came into view. Are they off to work already? everyone watched with bleary eyes.

As the ox cart passed in front of the police station, the man riding it— “Hey, you all. You’re up early.” “Or are you lot doing roadwork today or something?” he said. Thinking it was a man they had seen before, when everyone looked closely, they saw that it was Wataro-san.

“What the hell? We’ve been walkin’ all night through them mountains lookin’ for you, I’ll have you know!” said Mr. Kamekiku. “Oh, re'lly? That must’ve been rough for you all, oooh.” With that, Wataro-san went off toward home without even getting down from the ox cart.

“What on earth?” The villagers stood there, mouths agape. If it had come to this, they needn’t have gone to all the trouble of making a commotion and searching through the mountains. The elders declared that they all had to give Wataro-san a proper scolding. ...because otherwise it would become a habit—or so they insisted. So everyone, rubbing their sleepy eyes, crowded into Wataro-san’s house.

Wataro-san was in the yard unhitching his decrepit ox from its yoke and drawing water into a basin to let it drink. “Hey there,Wataro,” called Jirozaemon-san,the village intellectual.“You’ve gone and caused the whole village no end of trouble—you know that much,dontcha? We villagers didn’t sleep a wink last night—scoured every mountain valley,farm field,and open plain searching for you—and you reckon it’s just fine sitting there mum about it all,dontcha now?”

This made it sound as if Jirozaemon-san had also joined the search party, but in truth, he had been sleeping at home until just moments before. When Wataro-san heard Jirozaemon-san’s words, he was startled. He felt terribly sorry toward the villagers, so he said “That was my bad” thirteen times over, each time scratching his head or his back. And then he explained that since both the ox and he had gotten drunk, things had turned out this way.

The villagers, being all good-natured people, soon calmed down. Then, this time, they began asking Wataro-san all sorts of questions. “Wataro-san, so where’ve you been wandering around all this time?” asked Mr. Kametoku.

Wataro-san tilted his head,

“I can’t say for sure where it was. All I remember is tiltin’ right and left, climbin’ up high places and goin’ down low ones—oooh,” he replied. “So you were walkin’ around without a light?”

“So you were walkin’ around without a light?” asked Officer Shibata. “Wasn’t without no light,” came the reply. “Take yourself a gander right here—got me an Odawara lantern hitched up proper!” With that declaration still hanging in the air like stale sake fumes, Wataro-san ducked his head clean under the ox cart.

However, only the upper half of the Odawara lantern remained. Apparently, having gotten soaked by water, the paper tore open, causing the spring-like coiled frame to droop limply; partway through, it must have snagged on something and ripped off entirely. “Got soaked by water, so it ended up like this.” Wataro-san then detached the torn-in-half Odawara lantern and showed it.

“Now that you mention it, the ox cart, the ox, and even Wataro-san’s clothes are all drenched. This seems too severe for mere night dew,” someone remarked.

“Maybe you even went through some pond or somethin’?”

said Mr. Kametoku. “N-no way, th-there’s no such thing!”

Wataro-san hurriedly backtracked because his mother was nearby. He didn’t want to worry his mother. However, no matter how much Wataro-san tried to backtrack, it was futile. For from Wataro-san’s pocket had emerged a large crucian carp, a gen-gorō bug, and a baby turtle. These creatures are only found in ponds. This meant Wataro-san’s ox cart had passed through some pond.

“What’s this yellow flower?” Then someone else spoke. When they looked closer, they saw a cluster of yellow flowers caught in the cleft of the decrepit ox’s front hoof.

“It doesn’t seem to be forsythia flowers. It’s a flower you never see around these parts.”

said one person.

“That’s an Enishida flower,” “Enishida flowers are rarely found around here,” “Well now—head south about four ri and they say there’s a spot atop Rokkansan Mountain where these Enishida flowers cluster thick,” “And they say Rokkansan’s foxes pretend to pluck kokyū strings under moonlit shadows too,” said Yasu-san the gardener.

said Mr. Yasu the gardener.

Wataro-san had no choice but to say, “Ain’t proud to admit it, but reckon I did end up there too—oooh.” “There was this mighty fine room, see—tatami mats, slidin’ doors, even the ceilin’, all yellow as can be.” “Come to think of it, there was this tayu with ears stickin’ straight up—played that kokyū fiddle real sweet-like for us.” “So that there was a fox after all, huh?”

“Still, how in the world did that ox cart manage to climb up to the top of such a steep mountain?”

And the villagers were mystified.

“Anyway, I’m real sorry—both the ox and I were stuck there, y’see.”

And Wataro-san apologized.

Now, in the end, there was one thing that neither the villagers nor Wataro-san could understand.

It was that on top of the ox cart sat a small basket, and inside it were a bundle of flowers and a chubby baby boy.

As for where and how this basket had been placed, no matter how much Wataro-san tried to recall, it proved utterly futile. He had no recollection of it whatsoever.

“Wasn’t this bestowed from heaven?” said Mr. Kametoku. “Didn’t they hear Wataro-san’s plea up there—‘I want a child, no wife needed’—and grant it to him?” Wataro-san looked pleased that Mr. Kametoku had spoken favorably of him.

However, Jirozaemon-san,

“Such a story that defies logic couldn’t exist these days.” “A child needs parents.” said Jirozaemon-san.

Meanwhile, Shibata-san fiddled with his beard and,

“It must be an abandoned child. Bring it to the police box later. I’ll write up a report and submit it to the main station.”

said Shibata-san.

After that, Wataro-san waited for the baby’s parents to appear, but ultimately, no such people ever came.

And so, he gave the child the name Wasuke and made him his own. And whenever he was in high spirits after a drink—which was always—

“My Wasuke is a gift from heaven. On the night me and my ox got good and drunk, heaven saw fit to give him to us.”

said Wataro-san. Then, the shrewd Mr. Jirozaemon, “Such an illogical tale couldn’t exist nowadays.” “A child must have parents.” “If people could receive children from heaven just by wandering about, then there’d be no need for laws in this world.” said Mr. Jirozaemon, expounding convoluted logic.

However, Wataro-san did not concede and stated as follows.

“The world doesn’t run on logic. There’s all sorts of mysterious things out there.” Now, this child gifted by heaven, Wasuke-kun, gradually grew up after that. In elementary school, he was in the same grade as me—Wasuke-kun was always the class leader, while I was always at the bottom. But once school ended, Wasuke-kun followed in Wataro-san’s footsteps and became a splendid ox driver. And now, Wataro-san has become quite an old man, but he’s still healthy. Mother and the decrepit cow passed away the year before last.