Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

His name was Irenkatom.

In the sense of "fair judgment," it was the kind of name that, since ancient times, had been bestowed upon children of those with considerable authority within the tribe.

Therefore, when he received this name, he was also bequeathed a not insignificant amount of hereditary property. And it was his responsibility to pass down these assets—however modestly increased through his efforts—to the next generation without fail. Irenkatom, a pure Ainu with no admixture, felt no disharmony toward the customs passed down from his ancestors. Toward the responsibility imposed upon himself, he possessed nothing but obedience.

However, unfortunately, Irenkatom had not a single child. While fretting over this, his wife too passed away, leaving him alone in his advanced years as anxiety began gnawing at him. Should he allow the property passed down from his ancestors to be ruined in his own generation, it would be an unpardonable disgrace without words to atone. The thought that there would be no means to bequeath the treasures his great-grandfather, grandfather, and father had guarded through generations—precisely when he himself faced death—began tormenting Irenkatom year after year.

So he thought of various things. And after thinking it through, as anyone would do, relying on connections, he adopted a certain mainlander boy.

The story that they had been samurai of distinguished lineage up until his grandfather's generation—along with his sturdy build and keen eyes beneath a scab-covered head—caught Irenkatom's attention. At that time, the boy who was barely six years old—with a head like an overturned porridge pot beneath which shone splendid eyes, not shedding a single tear—was brought by his extremely aged new father. For Irenkatom, who until then had sat solitary by the large hearth day and night with no one to talk to but the face of a lone black dog, this small newcomer became nothing less than radiant light.

He seemed to have found renewed hope by securely making a child—one meant to live by his side for his sake throughout life—into “my own boy.” Using a small pot hung over the fire to boil yellow catalpa bark while tending to Toyo-boy’s scabs, he would tell old tales and chant ancient songs to him. From the massive root base, flames swayed upward, casting shadows large and small that laughed and chanted with half their faces crimson-lit—their forms projected onto the rough wall behind like silhouettes of Buddhist monks.

Kuro, having noticed this, growled. Then, Toyo-boy rowdily shouted while pressing the burning branch toward Kuro’s nose. Then— Yelp! Declaring how comical the sight of yelping and leaping sideways to flee was, Toyo-boy rolled about laughing. "What’s so funny, you fool?" Irenkatom chided even as his own laughter spilled out in bursts of "Ha ha ha!"

Whether day or night, there was never a time when little Toyo wasn’t darting about by the old man’s side. Even when he went out to the wide fields, nearby were surely accompanying him both the child and Kuro. The sun rose and set, rose and set again—and with each cycle, Toyo-boy’s stature stretched taller bit by bit. As he grew older—his scabs healed away—and with glossy hair now crowning large beautiful eyes set in healthy copper skin before him—Irenkatom found himself utterly enchanted by this Toyo-boy.

Due to the backlash from his lonely life and his innate doting nature, Irenkatom—who doted on Toyo in a manner more womanly than even a woman—became nearly absolutely obedient to him. That Toyo was stubborn felt more reassuring than if he were spineless; that he was eloquent and wild somehow seemed enjoyable—as if he weren’t one meant to lead an ordinary life. Toyo, who had instinctively come to know these thoughts of his, felt not the slightest reservation toward Irenkatom.

Year after year, as his emotions developed, he would sometimes unconsciously, sometimes deliberately commit bold pranks—their results only serving to stoke Irenkatom’s affection all the more deeply. When that innate recklessness and a certain cunning, combined with his vivid expressions and resounding voice, acted upon Irenkatom, there existed a kind of charm that could not help but stir his heart.

The seed that had been sown unbeknownst to them germinated at the same pace as physical growth. Whenever he tried to make him help in the fields, “Old man! We ain’t gonna be no damn farmers! You bet—I’m gonna become somethin’ way greater!” While declaring this, he glared sidelong at his father’s mud-smeared face with scornful eyes. Then Irenkatom formed an ambiguous smile, “Then what’ll you become?”

he asked. Toyo smirked like a grown-up.

And then, “How’d you know when I ain’t even tried becomin’ nothin’ yet?” “You’re such a damn fool, old man!” With that parting shot, he went tearing off somewhere, kicking down the painstakingly built ridges and scattering everything in his path.

Swinging the stick about like a locust, growing ever smaller until he vanished into the distant hill’s grove—Irenkatom continued to watch Toyo-boy’s figure with the keen eyesight he took pride in for as long as it remained visible. And with a heart muddled half with disappointment and half with hope, he continued digging the soil steadily.

II Toyo, who grew up dashing through fields and mountains without distinction, chasing horses and birds, became a son as fierce as a spirit of the wild.

While declaring he would become someone great, he took four or five years just to finish the third year of elementary school and, growing impatient, quit school starting the following spring. And so, according to his opinion, carriage driving—the shortcut to success—was chosen as his profession at thirteen. Irenkatom, simply rejoicing that his son could soon become a full-fledged breadwinner, rather willingly agreed. While spreading word in his characteristically modest manner that Toyo-boy would finally become a splendid young man this time—a carriage driver—Irenkatom could not help but beam with quiet delight. No matter how stubborn or mischievous he might be called, it made him feel proud—as if to say, “Do your thirteen-year-old sons possess the skills of a carriage driver?” In his overwhelming joy, he spent the unprecedented sum of three yen as allowance and had him live at a carriage house three *ri* west of the village.

Toyo was to live at the carriage house and make daily round trips carrying passengers from that town through Irenkatom’s village to another distant town. Every single morning, the moment he awoke, scarcely eating his meals, he would rush out to the highway in anticipation of Toyo-boy’s gallant figure—until one morning, he discovered that the carriage rounding the distant mountain carried a different driver than usual.

Irenkatom crossed his arms over his chest, which throbbed with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years, and stared intently—there was no mistake— The driver was unmistakably Toyo-boy. With an undeniably dashing air—whirling a tanned leather whip in his right hand while turned sideways, talking to the passenger beside him—Toyo’s Western-clad figure must have stirred immeasurable emotion in beloved Irenkatom’s heart. White teeth that sparkled each time he laughed; the brilliance of his eyes, keen and lively beneath a small round hat.

As he watched, the carriage drew gradually closer. By then, from where he stood, it was no more than one or two chō away. Then Toyo—who until now had kept his face turned aside—no sooner swiftly swung his face back than he suddenly lifted his body as if rising,

“Giddyup!”

Letting out a shout, he struck the horse's back with full force. The horse, caught off guard, couldn’t withstand it. Kicking up dirt as it leaped, it began to run in a frantic gallop. The sound of wheels bouncing and rolling along the pebble-strewn highway. The clatter of horse tack.

Amidst the spark-scattering hoofbeats and roaring mass of noise flying over swirling dust vortices, Toyo-boy came flying in at the peak of his triumph. He came! He came! He came!! And in an instant, the carriage had passed right before Irenkatom’s eyes. Through the choking dust cloud toward the small round hat of Toyo-boy still speeding away, Irenkatom involuntarily— “Guh... ugh!”

With a guttural cry, he clenched his fist and stomped his feet in a wide-legged stance. Then, with eyes brimming with unshed tears, he slowly stroked down his long beard.

In this way, for the time being, Irenkatom was a contented elder. In but a short span of time, Toyo-boy's attire became strikingly refined, and his horsemanship grew ever more skillful. With his body rapidly expanding and bearing an indefinable adult-like maturity about him, Toyo became the sole idol in the heart of Irenkatom, who lived apart from him. Indeed, this bold and artless youth who retained his wildness possessed a peculiar charm in both countenance and bearing. Certainly he was not uncomely.

His bright red lips twisted slightly to the left with a spiteful look as he spoke ill in a clear voice. His big eyes always cast sharp sidelong glances, treating everyone with disdain. Those features—perfectly harmonized with his vivid country-style Western clothes—blazed brilliantly atop the narrow driver’s seat. As his handling of horses grew more skillful, Toyo learned how to hold cigarettes and drink sake. Before long, he grew accustomed to skimming carriage fares. While Irenkatom worked the black soil—scattering seeds here and there and harvesting them—Toyo’s life transformed in ways beyond his imagination.

Even toward the motley world that had suddenly unfolded before Toyo—who until yesterday had been a child—he remained the son who charged forth brandishing his whip. Into the places he went, boldly and cheerfully invading—nothing could harm his courage. For him, who possessed neither the morality to judge his own actions nor any cowardice, being paraded about while perched like a king on a palanquin of incitement was by no means an unamusing affair.

With flattery that didn’t come free, the seventeen-year-old—who harbored excessive confidence in his appearance, skills, and the like—indulged wantonly to his heart’s content, emboldened by the reassurance of having someone at hand to repay his debts in his stead.

Toyo would sometimes go to his employer and ask him to advance him twenty or thirty yen. The employer, too, would readily lend him the money because Irenkatom was there. Then, with that money, he promptly bought a gold ring with carvings and threw it into the midst of the women, intending to give it to whoever caught it.

And as they shrieked and screamed, scratching, tumbling over each other, and grappling for it, he watched them with his trademark sidelong glance, “What a pathetic sight! You idiots! Want it that bad? Ha ha ha ha ha!”

With a hearty laugh, he looked thoroughly pleased with himself. This was he. No longer was he the Toyo-boy who had his hair tended with yellow corkwood. He had fully become the profligate Mr. Toyo of Inadayu—generous in vice. Even separated by three ri, there was no chance Irenkatom remained unaware of this. Every condemnation aimed at Toyo had gathered at his threshold.

However，Irenkatom had never once called Toyo a bad person，nor had he ever thought of him as such．He simply kept saying that he was such a handful and that he wished the boy would come to his senses soon．

Moreover, in reality, Irenkatom was optimistic to an extent that surprised other people. Given that Toyo was proud and no fool—he would surely grow tired of such wanton amusements before long; then once allowed to marry a woman he liked—he’d certainly work off that trifling debt. This was Irenkatom’s thinking. He was certain that it would turn out that way. However, when at the end of that year, he had to part with as many as seven prized horses due to Toyo’s debts, even Irenkatom could not help but feel anguish in his heart. But he,

“You ought to stop this now, Toyo-boy.” “I’m the one suffering here…” was all he could say.

III

All the neighbors said that the old man had taken on quite a burden. There were also those who said he was a youth possessed by demons—utterly impossible to handle. That Toyo was not at all a praiseworthy young man—this much Irenkatom knew. He found Toyo impossible to handle and believed him such a handful. Yet try as he might, he simply could not think of him as anything more than that. No matter what others said or what Toyo did, not a shred of his affection faded. What exactly made him so endearing? Even when everyone unanimously spoke ill of him, it was I alone who felt all the more affection welling up within me.

That this “shiftless youth” with no true blood ties should be so dear was both a puzzle to those around them and indeed a profound mystery to Irenkatom himself. At times, he found himself pondering the mysterious bond that connected him to Toyo. Though met with naught but worry and loss, he could not help contemplating this inexplicable love that refused to fade.

Why on earth is Toyo-boy so endearing…?

He began to think. Yet his contemplation was neither theoretical nor scientific. The fantastic fantasies—a legacy from his ancestors—began to stir with astonishing force, centering around Toyo and himself. Each time he thought of the name Toyo, another name would surely rise in Irenkatom’s heart. That was his wife Pekeremato (meaning "the woman who shines brightly"), who had died young. Pekeremato, who had died lamenting her childlessness until her final breath... He was beginning to feel that there must surely be some connection between her and Toyo—something beyond his own power to comprehend.

Perhaps Toyo was meant to be born from her but, having died too soon, she instead borrowed another woman’s womb to bring him to me.

To him, it seemed that Toyo had come to him through Pekeremato’s dying wish—he simply couldn’t think otherwise. And so, the love between myself—still living—and Pekeremato, who had become a spirit, converged solely upon him, and thus Toyo was born so beautifully. Is he not one bestowed by the gods to grant us robust descendants? It must certainly be so. But if that’s how it is, why did the gods make him such a hedonist?

Irenkatom, too, found himself troubled by this. But how could one say that Nitsnekamui—the demon who always interferes with the gods' work—wouldn't play such pranks? After all, this was the very demon who had tried to swallow the sun to interfere even as the gods created heaven and earth—would such a being not grow jealous upon seeing a child sent to him being too beautiful, too splendid? And the more he thought about it, the clearer it became—the one who was so endearing could only be Toyo.

When viewed this way, his love for Toyo became thoroughly intertwined with his love for his deceased wife, the unseen gods, and the unseen descendants hidden in Toyo’s shadow. He blamed all his misfortunes on demons while also entertaining a mindset of resignation. But he did not think this far. He settled all matters between gods and demons.

Irenkatom, harboring such sentiments, also possessed a heart that could not help but chant of the pain and love he earnestly suffered and worried over regarding Toyo.

At times when he worked all alone in the vast cultivated fields... All around, there was no sound. In the utter silence, only these small sounds resonated faintly around his body as he moved: the crunching of earth being turned, the faint collapse of mud, and the rhythm of his breath keeping time with each hoe stroke. "It’s so quiet," he thought. And then, feeling somehow nostalgic, he raised his head and wiped his brow while gazing around.

As he wiped his brow and looked up, the endlessly high sky—turning a sun as beautiful as an ornament at its center—was as clear as lapis lazuli glass. Blinking rapidly while continuing to gaze, he finally spotted three kites flying at the edge of his vision. The toy-like kites, crafted from paper or some such material, spiraled through the air as though children of the gods dwelling in heaven’s depths were whirling them about. They flew in perfect circles, brushing past and overtaking one another in narrow spaces.

Now rising… now falling… now darting right… now darting left… As he thought how fascinating it was, the rhythm entering through his eyes gradually began to stir his chest—his very thoughts. And before he knew it, whispers turned to murmurs and murmurs to chants until upon Irenkatom’s lips bloomed a flower of kindled spirit—radiant in splendor.

When, carried on waves of irrepressible rapture, he closed his eyes, clapped his hands, and chanted beneath the open sky—heedless of self or others—O Irenkatom! What radiance suffused your forehead!

He chanted the sun. He praised the azure sky. O Pekeremato, as radiant as this azure firmament and as deft as clouds in your embroiderer’s hands!

O my valiant son, like a kingly young hawk newly fledged from the nest!

Standing on this land that my father and his father before him tilled, these words of this aged father calling out to you all,

O my wife! O my child! Please listen! When each vowel-rich word, transformed into brief syllabic measures, was chanted afar in antiquated melodies, he would invariably dissolve into that resplendent archaic language. Whether he went to the fields or the mountains, whenever inspiration struck, he would burst into chant regardless of place. When he was sad, when he was happy, when memories of the past became unbearable, he knew only to chant.

Thus, spring and summer passed by.

IV

When autumn came, Toyo—who hadn’t shown his face for some time—flitted by and declared he wanted money to go start a business in Tokyo. “What?” “Where are you going?” “Where exactly are you going?”

And after asking again and again, when he realized that "Tokyo" was not a trick of his ears, Irenkatom became truly bewildered.

While thinking all at once of such a distant place, such a fearsome place—a place one might never return from alive—he spoke in a voice that seemed to hold its breath, “Toyo-boy, do you even know what sort of place Tokyo is?”

he peered at his son’s face. “What d’you mean ‘what kinda place’? Old man.” “Tokyo’s just where folks live.” “This ain’t no joke!”

With those words, Irenkatom fell silent. Sitting cross-legged with his thin shins spread apart, his entire body slumped as if devoid of strength while occasionally fiddling with the smoldering hearth made of broken branches, he abruptly raised his bowed head after a short while and— “You must stop this now, Toyo.” he said. Lying on his side with his elbow as a pillow, puffing leisurely on his cigarette, Toyo inadvertently stopped mid-exhale and looked at his father’s face—so mournful was Irenkatom’s voice that it held a tone almost half a sob. Even Toyo, faced with this, momentarily wore a look tinged with sorrow, but the moment he shifted his posture, he shook off that gloomy mood completely and resumed speaking in an even more cheerful, willful tone than before.

“I ain’t stoppin’.” “I’ve already decided!” he declared. “What’ll you do there in Tokyo?” “Business.” “Business? There’s all sorts—what kinda work exactly?” “I don’t know.” “I’ll do whatever I can!” “Anyway, I’m goin’.” “……”

“……” “I don’t have money.” “There ain’t no way there’s none, old man.” “If you sell off the fields around here where you’re barely growing any soybeans as it is, there ain’t no point—” “There ain’t no way there’s none!” Toyo spat into the hearth like a self-destructive act. “It’s you who’s gotta sell, old man! You’re the one who’ll feel guilty toward your own son—oh, uh, er, see—so (I don’t wanna sell from my heart) you gotta sell it for me!”

"Hmph—if Grandfather were here, he’d have scolded you, old man."

“Right? It’s fine—you should just do it!” At his son’s bold declaration, Irenkatom—flustered—had no time to say yes or no before Toyo bolted outside.

Not only in words—he had now truly resolved to sell the approximately two-and-a-half *chō* of fields surrounding the house that his father cultivated with his own hands.

He had already, three months prior, formulated a plan that if he sold those fields, eight or nine hundred yen would come in without needing persuasion—money he would take to live with a certain woman in T Port. He had no intention of going to Tokyo or anything like that. However, all he had done was slightly increase the distance—merely to add a bit more justification for wresting that amount of farmland from the hands of his father, who would not let go.

From Toyo’s perspective, even if he went to T Port, it wasn’t as though he intended to endure there long-term and establish himself. Having spent so long in the same cramped town, seeing nothing but the same human faces and indulging in the same dissipations—it all led nowhere. If he changed locations, he would likely encounter different interesting experiences. His primary motive for wanting to go was this alone. However, his feelings could not be satisfied simply by accomplishing that alone.

He could not be satisfied unless some form of pain substantiating his grand indulgences, some sacrifice, was offered. Only amidst the thick of envy and jealousy from his timid peers—repeatedly brushing off his clinging father with one hand while escorting a woman with the other, jingling money wrested in exchange for fields as he swaggered with nonchalance—did his life feel worthwhile. In short, his visit to Irenkatom’s place had not been for discussion. It had been akin to delivering a verdict. He went about daily with a cheerful, handsome face, humming while hunting for land buyers.

Of course, when viewed against all the land Irenkatom owned, two *chō* of fields were not such a significant portion. He was already old, and farming himself was rather painful; had it been a matter of leasing to others, he might have agreed.

But to part with it permanently was unbearable. Rooted in the land from birth, he valued "land" above all else. But there was no helping it. "For the sake of his beloved Toyo, he would have endured even that." But! Him going to Tokyo or anywhere like that—that’s absolutely never going to happen! That must never happen!

I am already so old. I don’t know when I’ll die. If I were to die without meeting my end and have everything I should pass on to him swindled away by those no-good Wajin from who-knows-where—what in the world am I supposed to do? Just don’t go to Tokyo! Despite Toyo declaring—even while alive—that he wants to sell his land, he feared that when he died, he would be unable to pass on his property.

When he arrived at the fear that he might become unable to pass on his property when he died, Irenkatom’s mind had no room left to consider Toyo’s character. He did not consider how Toyo would sell off all their land with such a carefree, cheerful expression. He did not consider how much more alluring, to Toyo’s heart, were those who glittered in gold and silver, clinked with merriment, radiated lively bustle, and wielded formidable power—compared to land that remained silent year-round, dark and demanding care yet yielding not a single potato.

Irenkatom even thought that rather than sending his son to Tokyo—a place that seemed to him like a den of thieves and murderers—he would have been far more fortunate to have died much sooner. He spent his nights without peaceful sleep, offering prayers to the household guardian deities and all the gods of heaven and earth, presenting fresh inau (wooden ritual sticks), and wishing that if any demon had taken possession of his son’s spirit, they would drive it out.

Five However, Toyo finally defeated Irenkatom—or perhaps the mischievous demon prevailed over the prayers—and succeeded in every aspect. He sold the land, pocketed all the proceeds, and jingling them, departed exactly as he had envisioned.

Irenkatom, shedding tears, upon receiving word that his son had set out saying he would go as far as he could go, immediately went to the home of Mr. Yamamoto, who had long kindly looked after their livestock and land. And he said, “Since I wish to withdraw to Mt. S, please make the necessary arrangements accordingly.” Mt. S was a place very close to the coast, and he owned land there as well.

Despite Mr. Yamamoto’s son and the schoolteacher lodging at his house trying to dissuade him—arguing that holing up alone in such a desolate place would only deepen his solitude—Irenkatom refused to yield, insisting, “You must permit this.” Thus it was finally settled that his former home would become a rental property, with a new hut constructed on Mt. S. Built wholly in the ancient Ainu manner, the hut stood where northern and eastern thickets of mixed-growth trees stretched unbroken. To the east lay Y Cape—sixteen or seventeen *chō* distant—thrusting its beauty seaward, while westward rolled foothills descending toward human settlements and the distant mountains’ trailing skirts.

And to the south ran a small clear stream that supplied his drinking water, rustling and whispering as it flowed. There was nothing else besides that. Amidst this desolation, the new hut enclosed by reed thatch on all sides welcomed Irenkatom and second-generation Kuro like a cherished nest. Each time the notion came to him, he would stand at the hut's doorway gazing at the path packed firm by footprints. At other times he would climb a distant hillock to watch the thoroughfare passing far below.

Sometimes, many packhorses would pass through.

At times, vigorous bicycles would dart by like little swallows, their wheels sparkling. Or there were children chasing after carriages, whirling their whips just as Toyo did four or five years ago.

People passed by, carts passed by, dogs dashed…. But what he waited for was nowhere to be seen. Indeed, day and night, Irenkatom waited and waited at the path of the western hill for that sole young, beautiful figure to appear abruptly—jutting forward as if thrust from the earth itself. “Does ‘fly away’ always mean they must return to where they began?” Yet Irenkatom kept waiting. He clung to the belief that those who depart must surely return. When would he return? That he could not know. And so without cease, he waited and hoped.

Upon hearing nothing but rumors of Toyo being spotted in T Port, the time came when Irenkatom’s hut was buried under snow. The road, which was already arduous enough under normal circumstances, became utterly impassable when sealed by snow. Completely isolated from the human world, it was only when he went down once every twenty days—or once a month—to buy miso and salt that he would faintly hear human voices.

How desolate that winter must have been for him.

Being truly alone with no distractions, his thoughts had to ceaselessly cling to the same problem. The more he thought, the more his heart plummeted into despair, until it became utterly unmanageable. Thus, Irenkatom—who had developed the habit of drinking a little sake and sleeping sprawled out by the hearth out of sheer necessity—found himself forced to stay wide awake when night fell and others slept.

In the gloomy hut illuminated by the pale snowlight seeping through window cracks with a faint glow, he was oppressed and tormented by a deathly solemn silence and an ever-growing anguish of displacement, his mind gradually sinking into an inexplicable state of agitation.

Throughout the hut, no matter where he went, something permeated every corner—a sensation of rejection or resistance bearing down on him—and Irenkatom could not settle in one place. Unconsciously muttering under his breath, he paced to and fro.

And while pacing about without sleeping, he came to think that he himself, doing such things, was not normal.

"Why has it come to this?" He would stir up the hearth fire to brighten it, or pat his ears as if swatting something away. Yet his unease only deepened. Something wasn't right. At that moment, a primal terror of night—legendary night—awoke within him. When monstrous birds circled hunting human souls, when corpses stirred back to motion, when evil spirits and wraiths ran rampant—this was the conception of darkness that had seeped into his bones since childhood.

He who had been told time and again that walking outside on dark nights would bring encounters with monsters who’d kill him before he could flee still harbored a profound terror and awe toward the night beyond that single enclosure—toward the darkness itself. When this hereditary terror welled up, he became unable to endure it and offered prayers to the gods. He desperately sang chants. He playfully teased the dog. And when the faint light of dawn began to seep in, he would finally succumb to exhausted sleep.

In this manner, having spent an excessively lonely winter on Mt. S, he had completely lost his mind. His body also deteriorated. However, Irenkatom did not think his relocation had been a failure. He had not breathed a word of this to anyone, but he knew that if he were to fall ill, the neighbors in the settlement would quickly catch wind of it and might try to steal various things. But being here, he could entrust everything to Mr. Yamamoto without informing others and thus feel far more secure, he had thought.

If he—the only one—were to take to his bed, who would run errands for Mr. Yamamoto? Yet he had never considered that far ahead. As the snow thinned and the season arrived when tree buds swelled, he tilled a small patch of ground on the east side of his hut and sowed potatoes and peas there. With visitors beginning to call and work to divert his mind now available, Irenkatom—like the plants around him—gradually began regaining vitality.

Six

However, that spring, from the fog-prone nearby sea, an unusually dense mist began drifting in day after day. The fog surging from far offshore split into two streams upon reaching the coast. One stream surged straight up Y Cape, while the other took a long detour and began moving from the tip of L Point facing Y Cape. And the two streams met precisely above Mt. S before flowing deep into the interior. This was of course a natural consequence of the mountain's topography—embracing flatlands that stretched all the way to the sea—but where it intersected the tidal path proved unbearable.

Even when conditions weren’t so severe in the lower settlement, the fog flowing through the mountains appeared densely clotted in gray, with a force that seemed capable of producing sound.

Therefore, as soon as spring arrived, Irenkatom’s hut had to be besieged by fog so thick that not a glimpse of sunlight could be seen. Fog today, fog tomorrow. The moisture-laden, heavy and damp mist, filled with its distinctive odor, permeated even the rafters of the thatched hut, leaving everything moist. Plagued by an unpleasantness and unhealthiness reminiscent of the rainy season in his weakened state, Irenkatom was tormented by constant headaches. Whether awake or asleep, a ceaseless buzzing and droning sound filled his ears, as though insects had infested them.

Feeling as though all essence and vitality had drained from his body, he grew so hypersensitive that even the sight of his own dog could set him on edge.

At times, he would fly into terrible rages and do things like kicking Kuro—whom he normally cherished so deeply—for no reason at all. The members of Mr. Yamamoto’s household merely remarked that the old man seemed to have lost some weight lately, paid no particular attention either, and he himself was certainly not the sort to dwell on his nerves. And so the days passed on just like that.

One evening. It was a fine evening with a clear sky visible for the first time in a long while.

In the field, Irenkatom, who had been weeding, felt strangely dizzy and retreated to the hearthside to smoke tobacco. Then voices arose beside the doorway. They murmured in hushed consultation-like tones. A young woman's voice would utter a few words, then a young man's voice—vigorous yet forcibly softened—would answer. From their vocal resonance, they were speaking in Ainu.

What on earth were they talking about... Irenkatom waited for the two young people who would soon lift the entrance curtain and arrive.

He waited and waited—waited until he was thoroughly exhausted—yet still they did not enter. Thereupon he rose of his own accord and went out to greet them. He thought they must be feeling awkward about something.

When he went out to look, there in the corner of the hut stood a young woman with her head bowed, exactly as expected, and a short distance away was a man with folded arms. Not knowing who they were, he offered the Ainu-style greeting "Whoever comes may enter," then went inside to wait. They still did not come. Without entering, they continued talking. Talk and talk—though their voices maintained the same pitch—the man spoke at a remarkably fast pace. The woman spoke. And in the end, both became jumbled together saying something.

Irenkatom, thinking they were mocking him too much, became slightly angry,

“When I said enter, why on earth won’t you come in?”

As he said in Ainu while stepping out to the doorway once more... What was this? The two whose voices he’d heard until just moments before had now hidden themselves away, leaving not even a glimpse of their retreating figures. What the...! What was the meaning of this? He too felt deeply unsettled. No matter how much he thought about it, there was no denying he had indeed seen a young man and woman. Because he had even seen that the woman wore a purple sash and that on one of her fingers—among those layered above—there was a white ring…

That day ended with its share of peculiar occurrences.

However, it did not end with just that day. The next day and the day after that, he heard voices. At times it seemed like four or five people came; at other times, it sounded as though more than ten were gathered.

They spoke in Ainu and Japanese, their words gradually becoming clear enough to understand. Moreover, they never spoke politely. From somewhere far beyond Y Cape, they came chattering along with the wind. And while dashing around the hut’s perimeter and leaping about inside it, they berated, taunted, and mocked Irenkatom over his “gall-scorching” matters. When he was grilling fish, they would beg to eat them. When he cooked rice, they would demand to be given it.

And then, what had initially come only in the evenings began clinging to him from morning onward, and when he tried to sleep at night, they would resort to unthinkable mischief to keep him awake. They would try to strangle his throat or clamp his mouth shut until he couldn’t breathe, and if he shouted them down, they’d retreat a little only to begin anew. Even as they tormented him so, Irenkatom could do nothing but rage and roar against mere voices and raw fighting spirit.

If he tried to drive them away with logical arguments, they tenaciously refused to yield.

In this situation, even he could no longer remain passive. In his desperation, he began combing through the folktales he had only ever heard for anything related to monsters composed solely of voices. After much deliberation, he finally recalled the story his father had told him in childhood about dwarf-like beings called Koropokkuru.

Seven

When Irenkatom compared this with the stories he had heard from his father, those targeting him appeared to be none other than the Koropokkuru—dwarf-like beings. For those dwarf-like beings knew various arts—visiting people as nothing but concealed voices, just as in the tales—and when he observed how they recalled names of his father’s old friends and officials, he understood they must have been beings existing since ancient times.

Moreover, riding the wind and flying there like that was by no means a feat that large-bodied beings could accomplish. Moreover, Irenkatom—who knew of the remains of a cave dwelling near Y Cape where Koropokkuru had once lived—felt that his judgment was by no means without reason.

When he began paying closer attention from that point onward—convinced they must be Koropokkuru—the voices duly started declaring themselves as the short-statured Koropokkuru. He had now fully settled on them being Koropokkuru and informed Mr. Yamamoto of this conclusion. Whatever the case, the countless male and female voices rampaged everywhere while chattering without pause, creating an unbearable din. Those who heard Irenkatom’s remarks—questions like “Were even my father’s generation’s Koropokkuru this uncontrollable?”—initially dismissed them entirely.

However, as people increasingly encountered him engaging in heated debates with those voices, they could not help but believe what he said while also being unable to deny that his mind had become unhinged. In the village, instead of the name Irenkatom, everyone came to call him "Koropokkuru’s old man."

Of course, it was a fact that he was not right in the head. However, he did not consider the appearance of Koropokkuru to him—hearing incomprehensible voices, hearing words—to be anything ordinary at all. There was no time when he did not think of somehow escaping from such things. That is why he visited doctors and took medicine. His feelings were such that even if he died or went mad—I don’t care about myself—he only wished to meet Toyo and hand over what needed to be passed on first.

Every time he met someone who knew Toyo even slightly, he would ask if there was any word from Toyo. He would ask if they knew where he was.

And at least once each day, while scolding the Koropokkuru that hovered around his head—walking and chattering—he would climb a distant hillock and gaze at the far-off thoroughfare. Day after day, carriages raced by, dogs barked, and bicycles glittered as they rolled away.

Irenkatom could find nothing else. However, one early morning, as he was cooking barley at the hearth—as usual—from far, far away came a *swish-swash, swish-swash* kind of noise...

Koropokkuru, Koropokkuru Koropokkuru, Anakune, Tumama, Takneppne Chanting this, a great many Koropokkuru came flying in on the wind. (The term Koropokkuru, it was said, meant that these beings had short waists.) And then, as always, the voices of men and women began chattering noisily. But instead of their usual insults and mimicry, they were now declaring that Yoshitsune’s ships had come attacking Y Cape in great numbers—urging him to hurry out and strike back.

“Yoshitsune is attacking?” “That’s impossible!” he retorted. Then the Koropokkuru said that if that was the case—since proof trumps arguments—why didn’t he just go down to the shore and see for himself?

Realizing this, Irenkatom took the bow and arrows he had stored away and rushed thuddingly toward Y Cape.

As Irenkatom rushed breathlessly through pathless woods and thickets, the Koropokkuru above his head chattered away incessantly about one thing and another. When he reached Y Cape and looked out, there indeed appeared something matching the description. Near the thinly mist-hazed seashore, five or six ships stood lined in a row—he could even make out figures clamoring about—leading Irenkatom to conclude this must indeed be the case. And when he reached the cape's very edge, swift as a flying bird to where one more step would plunge him into the sea, he began twanging his bowstring while shouting at the top of his voice, hurling curses upon them.

“Not only did you steal writings and records from our ancestors’ treasure vault, but you’ve come again to plot more wickedness! By the six bows and six arrows of the divine warriors—I swear I’ll never let you escape unscathed!”

Shouting such things, he waved his hands, leaped up, and challenged them to battle. However, Yoshitsune’s forces paid no attention whatsoever and briskly rowed out to the open sea. Because he felt his challenge had been insulted, Irenkatom flew into a rage. Disheveling his white hair and rampaging while striking his own chest… when suddenly, into his heated ears—

“Toyo…! Toyo…! Toyo-boy…” He heard a voice uttering something. Jerked to attention by the name he wished to forget yet could not, when he looked beside him—were not two acquaintances gripping the edge of his sash, bracing their feet as they pulled him back again and again!

Startled, Irenkatom asked what was happening, but they—the passersby—explained this was no minor incident: he had nearly drowned in the sea, recounting how they had struggled to restrain his thrashing form. When he heard this explanation, Irenkatom verged on tears, bitterly resenting having been tricked by those Koropokkuru wretches. In days past, he who had been a rugged youth said to let no beast escape his grasp—now to be mocked by Koropokkuru riffraff and made to exhibit such wretchedness—the depth of this anguish for him defied all measure.

Escorted home by two people, Irenkatom offered a lengthy prayer at the sacred inau ceremonial site where wooden ritual sticks were placed. Because such things had occurred, Irenkatom’s Koropokkuru became so notorious that none remained unaware of them. Among others, there were those who kindly brought exorcism charms along with grass roots and tree bark. There were even people who deliberately hunted down and brought bones of certain birds, claiming their efficacy. He did not dislike how everyone approached him with concern in various ways. Yet with something seeming to lurk behind it all, Irenkatom found no peace of mind.

Just when Toyo was absent, taking advantage of how things had turned out, he couldn't help wondering if they were scheming something. Moreover, in reality, whether all ten people's kindness came from sincere hearts was questionable—thus his anxiety was by no means groundless.

Especially toward the attitude of a certain Wajin living closest to him, he found himself gripped by tremendous anxiety and wariness. When Irenkatom learned they had told Mr. Yamamoto to request his land in return for their multiple daily visits and words of comfort, he burned with bitter indignation.

He found both himself and others detestable. Everything had become a burden to him.

However… No matter what might happen, that alone—the need to protect the ancestral treasures meant to be handed down through generations until Toyo returned—was what sustained him. The treasures—gold-lacquered utensils, engraved sword scabbards, lacquered trays—painstakingly accumulated one by one through exchanges for bear pelts and other goods obtained at great peril by those distant forebears like his father, his father’s father, his grandfather’s father, were possessions that held equal, and at times greater, worth than land or livestock. And even now, just as other established Ainu lineages did, he too maintained profound reverence for these objects, dreading their loss or desecration.

Truly, it would have sufficed for Irenkatom to live steadfastly until Toyo’s return—until even the day the treasures passed into his hands—alongside the heirlooms meant to be handed down. But when even the Koropokkuru gradually began demanding the treasures, how greatly must Irenkatom’s heart have been thrown into disarray. The Koropokkuru demanded, “Give us the red tray! Hand over the engraved scabbard!” And if he was scolded for not complying, they would spew all manner of insults to humiliate him.

They would say things like calling him a miser and claiming everyone mocked him, or declaring, “Look—don’t you realize the entire village despises you for hiding a hoard of treasures all by yourself?”

Until Toyo comes. "I beg you—until I can hand them over to Toyo!" To prevent the treasures from being stolen, to avoid being deceived by others, he would not let himself be defeated by those tenacious Koropokkuru. "Please—truly please—until that Toyo-boy comes home!"

That was all there was to it. For that reason alone, Irenkatom went to plead with Mr. Yamamoto through tearful entreaties, begging him to teach a proper method for driving away the Koropokkuru.

Mr. Yamamoto was troubled. He didn't know what to do. Moreover, being entreated as the sole reliable person by someone toward whom he held goodwill made it all the more troubling. That being said, of course, he could not bear to leave it alone. Mr. Yamamoto could not help but think. Irenkatom was a man who seemed like a fragment of legend passed down through generations—this much Mr. Yamamoto knew. He was not the sort to let convoluted reasoning dominate his mind. After consulting various people and pondering deeply, Mr. Yamamoto finally recalled a method reportedly tested successfully by a certain monk.

Thereupon, when he summoned Irenkatom, Mr. Yamamoto adopted a stern demeanor and placed a packet of beans before him. And then spoke the following. “Inside this paper packet are beans.” “Got it? There are beans inside.”

“Now, when you go home today and the Koropokkuru come, first show them this and ask in a loud voice, ‘Do you know what this is?’” “Then those Koropokkuru bastards will undoubtedly say, ‘Beans!’” “Got it?” “Then this time, ask them, ‘Then how many are inside?’” “Don’t forget that.” “Then ask them again in a loud voice how many are inside, you hear?” “Then, look—since it’s properly wrapped in paper like this, the Koropokkuru won’t know how many are inside.”

“So they’ll surely stay silent. Then, this time too, put all your strength into it,” “‘If you can’t state the number, get lost!’” “then shout it at them! Got it?” “‘By doing so, those Koropokkuru bastards were certain to surrender. Don’t you forget to ask them how many there are. And don’t you dare count the beans yourself or peek inside them either!’ Got it?” “‘This is a precious charm, after all. Put all your strength into your gut and make sure you do it! The Koropokkuru will surely surrender, alright!’”

Upon hearing this, how heartened Irenkatom must have felt.

He had never before been taught a charm with such apparent confidence. Nor had he ever heard of such a thing. Now I can finally defeat the Koropokkuru! Just that alone gave him the feeling he had already won.

If I can even defeat the Koropokkuru, then no matter what else comes, they won’t be able to deceive me!

Irenkatom expressed deep words of gratitude while cupping both hands and performing a solemn Ainu-style bow.

However. As his hand, having stroked down his long beard, had barely withdrawn from its tip, a new kind of fear welled up in his heart.

No matter what, the swift Koropokkuru already knew about the beans of the charm, and from some corner nearby, he felt as though they might pounce at any moment. In the blink of an eye, he felt he might be snatched away—the sensation was unbearable. Irenkatom hurriedly stuffed the bean packet into his breast pocket, pressed down firmly on top of it with both hands, urged Kuro onward, and set off for home. To shake off the Koropokkuru, Irenkatom deliberately crashed through a pathless thicket of shrubs, while Kuro—head bowed as if rubbing his nose against his master’s heels—plodded along behind.