Pathway to Japanese Literature

On the outskirts of Naha City in Ryukyu lay a special settlement known as △△ Settlement. The residents here were descendants of Chinese people—indeed, one might say nearly all of them—poor and engaged in lowly occupations. They would go out to rice fields under the name Atapīsuguyā: catching frogs, skinning them, then taking them to market to sell. Frogs were counted among choice supplementary foods for Naha and Shuri residents. Others pursued occupations like taīyutōyā (crucian carp fishing), sabatsukuyā (straw sandal making), hat weaving—such trades as these. Though engaged in these so-called lowly occupations (?) and scorned by other Naha neighborhoods as △△ Settlement folk, their daily lives remained simple, communal, and thus carefree.

A settlement clustered under the shade of subtropical plants—banyan trees, Bingi trees, coral trees, Fukugi trees—that stood majestically and grew thickly together. Around each house were living fences of bamboo and reku plants. The house had a low thatched roof, and its squalor went without saying. In the morning, when the men set out for the rice fields with poles and nets, the women spread straw mats in the cool shade of trees and wove hats while singing leisurely yet melancholic Ryukyuan folk songs. They made straw sandals. When evening came and the men returned from the rice fields, their wives and daughters would go to the market to sell the frogs and crucian carp they had caught. After exchanging them for some money, they would buy side dishes and about one gō of awamori, then light torches to avoid habu snakes as they made their way home. The men would happily welcome them, finish their meager supper, then lie down and quietly sip awamori. They, repeating such a life, did not consider their own lives to be miserable. The poor people pooled their resources through a *moai* (mutual aid association) and made it a practice to support each other in times of misfortune. Being a southern region, there were no days where even winter proved truly harsh. Thus, they lived simply and peacefully.

However, even for such people, the fact that our Okuma Hyakusai had assumed the prestigious position of police officer was not only an honor for the Okuma family but had to be a glory for the entire △△ Settlement. For them—descendants of Chinese people, poor and engaged in lowly occupations—becoming a government official was not merely a joy but rather an astonishment. When it became widely known that Okuma Hyakusai had applied to become a police officer, the people of the settlement all rejoiced as if it were their own affair and sincerely prayed for his success. His father advised him to take time off work to study. His mother asked a shrine maiden, visited various sacred sites, and prayed that Hyakusai would pass the exam. The day before Hyakusai was finally to take the exam, his mother took him to their ancestors' grave and conducted a lengthy prayer.

And so, with the wishes of his own, his family, and the people of the settlement having been fulfilled, Hyakusai splendidly passed the exam. One could well imagine the pride felt by him, his family, and the settlement people. They took half a day off work and held a celebration feast for Hyakusai becoming a police officer. The men gathered in the square under the large banyan tree in front of his house, where from noon onward they drank awamori, played sanshin lutes, and celebrated noisily. The young people imitated kumiodori dances.

It was a day in May of Taishō △ year. It was now the season when wearing a bashōfu kimono no longer felt cold. The red flowers of the coral tree began to scatter, and from the grassy shade beneath the trees, white lilies bloomed here and there. By the fence, hibiscus flowers blazed brightly under the intense southern sunlight. Around where the men, with their sleeves rolled up, were singing, dancing, and playing sanshin, women had gathered and were watching with keen interest. Amidst the commotion, Okuma Hyakusai sat like a triumphant general—wearing his police uniform and cap, his sword gleaming—perched on a chair of unknown origin. The young women stared intently at his transformed, dignified figure with gazes that seemed both yearning and awestruck.

Thus, this feast lasted well into the night. In the quiet night woods of the settlement, songs, the resonance of sanshin lutes, and the murmurs of people conversing echoed endlessly.

After completing his training, Officer Okuma began working every other day. Due to his excellent performance, he was assigned to duty at headquarters. After that, he went to the police station every other day, and when at home, he mostly read books. His family was delighted that he would come and go from the house wearing his uniform and cap. And then, whenever they heard visitors speak with wonder of how Hyakusai had walked about here and there in his uniform and cap, they could not conceal their look of joy. Such people would speak joyfully as though the mere act of encountering him were itself an extraordinary event. And among them, there were even those who said their children must also become police officers in the future.

On the 25th of the month, Hyakusai returned home with his salary in his pocket. His heart trembled with the joy of holding his salary for the first time. While gripping the salary pouch in his right pocket tightly, he walked briskly. When he arrived home, he forced himself to compose himself; after stepping into the sitting room, he took out the salary pouch with feigned nonchalance and handed it to his mother. “Oh!”

With apparent delight, she gratefully accepted it and inspected its contents. And then counted the banknotes,

“Ah, one thousand one hundred fifty kan (twenty-three yen) it is!”

she said. She had heard that the salary was that much, but when she saw the actual cash, she seemed astonished all over again.

Thus, two or three months passed peacefully.

But his family gradually began to feel his heart moving away from them. He had also stopped associating with the young people of the settlement. Then, the people of the settlement too gradually grew indifferent toward him. Now within his heart there remained nothing but the determination to admirably fulfill his duties as a police officer and to use his current position as a stepping stone to climb even higher.

Moreover, he gradually grew more difficult. Whenever he returned home, he would constantly say, "The house is filthy! Filthy!" And for that reason, he would often harshly scold his sister. Especially after a colleague visited him, he became even more concerned about the state of the house. When he flew into a rage, his mother would watch him scold his sister with wide eyes and bated breath, wondering how her once-gentle son could have changed so completely.

When this escalated, he even began interfering in the lives of the settlement’s people. One day during a festival, when the people of the settlement had gathered in the square, he stepped before the crowd and began to speak—as if he had been eagerly awaiting such an opportunity. When they saw this, they anticipated that Hyakusai would bring some sort of blessing for the settlement. For they had anticipated that by sending one of their own settlement people—Okuma Hyakusai—to become a police officer, they would through Hyakusai obtain some practical benefit from the government in their daily lives. —things like having their taxes reduced, having the roads cleaned for them, receiving free medical treatment… They had vaguely imagined such kinds of things.

However, his speech completely betrayed their expectations. He said: “You must clean the sewers diligently every day.” “In summer, there are many who nonchalantly go about naked during the daytime, but that is one of the punishable offenses under police jurisdiction.” “If a police officer catches you, you will be fined.” “I am also a police officer.” “Henceforth, I will show no leniency simply because you are settlement people.” “We officials prize what is called ‘fairness’ above all else.” “Therefore, whether that person be family or relatives, we cannot overlook anyone who has done wrong.”

Such kinds of things—matters that until now had been carried out nonchalantly among them—he enumerated many and sternly admonished. And finally, he said something to the effect of: "Furthermore, drinking alcohol and singing songs late into the night is also prohibited. Refrain from drinking alcohol, work more diligently, save money, and you must strive to attain more respectable occupations than you currently have."

As he grew increasingly heated, raising his voice and continuing to say such things, the settlement people watched with looks of displeasure. They could not help but feel that he now occupied a position separate from their own. Even after the festival had ended and the banquet had begun, no one offered him a cup of sake. Whenever his colleagues visited, Hyakusai would often bring out awamori and serve them. A considerable number of colleagues came to his house to visit. Among them were those who would come as early as noon, drink awamori, and make a ruckus. Every last one of them was a sturdy young man, and their manner of speech was brash. Instead of playing the sanshin or singing Ryukyuan songs like the people of this area, they would bang on tea bowls and plates, sing unintelligible Kagoshima songs, recite poetry, suddenly stand up, and brandish wooden sticks in sword dances.

Hyakusai’s gentle family felt nothing but terror toward such guests with their rowdy antics and could not feel the slightest familiarity with them. And so, they came to feel alienated from Hyakusai, who would make merry with such guests.

The people of the settlement had long harbored an unconscious fear of police officers. At first, they had rejoiced when Hyakusai became an officer, but seeing his attitude change completely from before left them displeased. Moreover, they grew resentful of how other police officers now frequently visited his house. These officers would stagger home while shouting at settlement people working naked. As these incidents piled up, they even came to curse the very existence of Hyakusai’s house. The settlement people stopped approaching his house almost entirely.

Such sentiments from those around him gradually came to be felt by Hyakusai as well. Once that happened, even when at home, he was constantly restless. Moreover, whenever he sensed coldness in the eyes of settlement people he encountered along the way, he became aware of hostility sprouting within his own heart. He found himself powerless to contain the resentment of those who had been vaguely ostracized, welling up here and there. Moreover, he often felt that his colleagues ridiculed him for being from this settlement.

“△△ Settlement people.” Whenever he heard such words slipping from his colleagues’ lips with frequency, he felt his face grow hot. To Hyakusai, being born in this settlement and continuing to reside there had become loathsome. Thereupon, he broached the idea of relocating to his family, but they refused. For the family, abandoning this settlement they had dwelled in for so long was nothing less than anguish. This pain extended beyond mere sentiment—it spelled practical disadvantage too, particularly regarding their mutual aid associations and other economic bonds.

When that happened, Hyakusai could find no way to handle the hostility he had come to feel toward the settlement. He was lonely. That said, he could not find true friendship among his colleagues. His colleagues were largely natives of Kagoshima, Saga, and Miyazaki Prefectures, differing greatly from him both in temperament and in their previous living environments. With such people, he could drink awamori and make merry, but he could never engage in heartfelt conversation. Even as he conversed at the station, he would often find himself mentally addressing his colleagues.

"They are foreigners." And so, he would mutter such things to himself. He began to sense that they, too, regarded him as a foreigner. He could not help but feel lonely.

Nevertheless, there was no change in his colleagues coming to his house, drinking awamori, and making a ruckus.

That summer was quite hot. A prolonged drought persisted. Every day, the blazing sunlight of the unclouded southern climes overflowed to fill the sky. The scent of parched earth and grass rose up through the bone-dry air. The reflection from the town’s red roofs struck both eyes and skin with intensity. The color of Naha’s roof tiles was red. The grass that had grown atop the high stone walls built around the houses withered and parched dry. No sooner had the silvery skin of a lizard emerged from within that stone wall than it swiftly retreated back into a crevice within it. The midday streets were steeped in stagnant light like a desert. They held soundless light, infinitely deep.

Amidst this, whenever people saw cloud peaks swelling up in one part of the sky, glittering like layers of mica, they wished those clouds would bring rain. When afternoon came and the setting sun flared up against those stratified clouds, its light reflecting off blue forests and hills, it was anticipated that rain might come tomorrow. The children’s singing voices, echoing through the quiet sky as evening brightened into dusk, drifted listlessly, like a dream.

Akanā Yāya Yakitan Dō Hākuga Yanmuchi

Kōtī

Tackwā Shī It was a song that, whenever there was a sunset, the children would sing with delight in a way they didn’t understand the meaning of. However, once the sun had completely set, those layers of clouds vanished somewhere, and stars like silver sand grains could be seen shining brightly, as if the sky had drawn near to the earth.

Days like these dragged on, and Hyakusai became as listless and dispirited as withered plants. Not even his official duties held anything capable of rousing his nerves. Without quite realizing he was perceiving it, he felt an unbearable weariness with existence itself—as though living had grown intolerably tedious.

One evening when he had grown utterly weary of such feelings, he was invited by a colleague born in Kagoshima and went out for a walk along the coast.

The nighttime scenery of this coral-reef island’s coast struck even long-time residents with its beauty. Rocks jutted up here and there, their wave-gnawed hollows sinking into pitch-black shadows. The crests of waves rushing onto the shore appeared faintly white under the blue moonlight as they crashed thunderously. Voices of courtesans singing plaintive love songs near some hill or rocky shore flowed like water. That voice coquettishly tempted his heart. The cool wind blowing from the sea’s surface clung to his skin. Before where he sat, faces of courtesans clad in light striped kimonos occasionally drifted past—dimly white shapes swimming through the pallid moonlight.

That night, on his way back from a walk, Hyakusai was invited by his friend and went for the first time to Tsuji—the red-light district of this city.

Two-story houses surrounded by high stone walls stretched on and on. From within emanated the sound of the sanshin, the reverberation of drums, and the shrill voices of young women. When they passed through the linteled gate of a certain house, his friend rapped twice on the door as a signal. Then before long, “Who might this be?” A woman’s voice was heard, and the door opened. The woman, upon seeing his friend’s face, gave a faint smile. “Please do come in.”

The two were led to the "Uraza". It was a six-tatami mat room with a hanging scroll inscribed with a Chinese poem mounted in the tokonoma alcove, beside which stood a black-lacquered koto. Before one wall stood a lacquered chest of drawers, its brass fittings gleaming anew. Beside it stood a low serving shelf that also appeared still new, the scent of lacquer not yet faded. On the opposite side stood a six-panel folding screen depicting a painting of a coral tree branch laden with blooming red flowers and a white parrot perched upon it.

To Hyakusai’s eyes, everything appeared beautifully strange.

Before long, the women served sake and dishes on vermilion-lacquered trays and brought them in. While the two were exchanging drinks, the women played the sanshin and sang songs. A beautiful courtesan who appeared to be fourteen or fifteen came out wearing a red, gaudily patterned kimono, dancing with a fan and performing a naginata dance. Hyakusai was shy at first, but as the awamori’s intoxication took hold, he began to act up to a degree that even he found surprising. Finally, he told jokes to make the women laugh and struck the drum there with peculiar gestures.

That night, Hyakusai bought a woman for the first time. The one who became his designated courtesan was named Kamaru-ko—a seventeen-year-old girl whose kimono still had its shoulder tucks intact, with a round, smooth doll-like face. There was something childishly endearing in her manner of speech that captivated his heart. But when the banquet ended and he was finally led to the courtesan’s ‘Uraza’ back room, even he—now sober—felt an indescribable anxiety welling up within him. He leaned against the cat board of the brazier and pretended not to watch as the woman hung the blue mosquito net and changed her clothes. As she changed her kimono, the curve of her plump pale shoulder caught his eye. The supple movement of her long arm sent a tremor through his gaze.

The woman, having changed into a thin nightgown, approached his side with only three corners of the mosquito net still hung. He silently poured water from the earthenware teapot into the bowl and drank. The woman picked up the round fan but did not fan herself; instead, she leaned against the brazier again and gazed into its white ashes. From time to time, the sound of the woman exhaling deeply reached his ears.

The next morning, he found himself lying beside the woman within the blue mosquito net. He felt a mild shock, shame, and elation welling up from beneath his diaphragm all at once. However, once the woman awoke, he felt even more ill at ease. As far as Nakamae, he was seen off by the woman, “See you tomorrow, now. Do come again, alright?” When she said this, he felt as though driven by some unseen force. Hurriedly leaving that place, he took a path with few passersby and returned home. That day, even the thought of his family seeing his face filled him with discomfort. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t dispel the feeling that he himself had done something wrong.

He resolved never to go again, but since he had been introduced by a friend and purchased the woman’s services, he had yet to give her any money. Thinking he had to at least take that money to her, on the evening he received that month’s salary, he quietly went alone to the brothel where the woman resided. After entering the woman’s “Uraza” back room, he drank two or three cups of tea in quick succession without properly speaking—Ryukyuans often drank Chinese tea—then, looking awkward, took out a five-yen note from his wallet and handed it to her. The woman did not take it in her hand; perceiving that he seemed to want to leave, she detained him. Just then, the female colleague who had entered there also,

“Come on now, stay and play a while!”

and together detained him. In the end, he drank awamori there that night too and stayed in the woman’s “Uraza” back room. The next day, when Hyakusai returned home, he handed his mother the remaining eighteen yen from his salary and said he had deposited the remaining five yen in postal savings. He then explained to his mother in considerable detail what postal savings were and how they worked. Mother silently accepted it. After that, Hyakusai went to the woman’s place two or three times without any particular intention. As their meetings grew more frequent, he felt something—emanating from some indefinable aspect of her—that drew him with increasing intensity. Whether it was her soft, beautiful body; her kind, submissive nature; or the pleasant, splendid atmosphere of the brothel where she lived—he could not tell. He had come to distinctly feel—with growing clarity—the sensation of being drawn to her as if by a magnet.

The woman—Kamaru-ko—had been the daughter of a family that owned considerable farmland in the countryside. But after her father’s death, her rather dim-witted brother, deceived by unscrupulous men, ventured into ill-advised schemes that ended in failure. Having squandered the family estate and incurred considerable debt, she had fallen into her current circumstances due to both household hardships and the need to settle those obligations. When she spoke of such matters, her tone carried an indefinable solemnity unlike her initial demeanor—a quality that instead intensified Hyakusai’s attachment to her.

That year, due to a prolonged drought, the economy had grown stagnant throughout the region. Consequently, even in this red-light quarter, every brothel found its clientele dwindling. Kamaru-ko retained only two or three regular patrons, but even these visitors gradually ceased to appear. Whenever Hyakusai went to call on her, he invariably discovered her at Nakamae, barely able to contain her anticipation for his arrival. As she continued displaying such eagerness, he felt his attachment growing steadily more profound—yet no inclination stirred within him to curb its progression.

On the evening of the next month’s payday, when Hyakusai went to the woman’s brothel, he resolutely handed two ten-yen notes to Kamaru-ko. When the woman saw that,

“If I take this much, you must be in trouble.” “I only need one.”

With that, she tried to push back the other note. Hyakusai, “Keep it.” “I should be giving you more, but I’ll make it up next time.” With that, he pressed the notes into her hand. The next day upon returning home, he told his mother he’d lent this month’s salary to a colleague in dire need, adding that they’d surely repay it next month. As he spoke these words, his face burned and he felt his voice quaver. Mother watched his face with doubtful eyes but said nothing.

On the afternoon of September 27th that month, a cold wind began to blow. Hyakusai was working at the police station, thinking it might start raining any moment, when a storm warning arrived from the meteorological observatory. “Storm risk imminent. Coastal areas under caution.” It was reported that a low-pressure system had formed 160 nautical miles southeast of Ishigaki Island and was advancing northwest. By evening, the wind intensified violently. The large banyan tree before the police station thrashed its branches visibly in the gale. Sparrow chicks beat their wings wildly as they careened through the air. Near the pomegranate trees swarmed yellow dragonflies, their formation shredded by turbulent gusts. From far above town came mournful shrieks of seagulls desperate for shelter.

That evening, Hyakusai changed out of his uniform into Japanese clothes at the police station and went to the woman’s brothel. The women, uneasy before the approaching storm, became somehow restless. To prevent the things there from being blown away, they brought everything they could inside the house.

Shortly after sunset, along with the wind, a downpour began with a roar. The doors rattled violently, and at times the walls and pillars creaked and groaned. Since the electric light had gone out, they had lit a candle, but in its faint glow, the woman’s face appeared deathly pale. Whenever the door clattered violently with a loud bang, she would cower fearfully,

“What can I do… I’m so scared…”

With that, she pressed herself against him. The wind shrieked with a shrill whistle—then roof tiles went flying, crashed violently against the stone wall, and shattered.

The storm lasted three days and three nights.

He took one day off work and stayed there for three nights. Amidst the fierce storm's roar as they faced each other talking, the two felt a deeper attachment than ever before. They felt they couldn't bear being apart even one more day. He raised the idea of finding some way to live together, but with nothing beyond his twenty-three-yen salary, he had only come to realize it was ultimately impossible. He wanted money. He wanted money with single-minded intensity.

At that moment, he felt he came to fully understand the feelings of men who commit crimes for a woman’s sake. The thought that even he himself—if given such an opportunity in this situation—made him terrified of himself.

On the fourth day when the storm had ceased, he left the woman's brothel around noon; but having no desire to return home, he wandered aimlessly and went to the graveyard behind that red-light district.

On a wide elevated plateau, Ryukyuan-style tombs—large structures resembling stone chambers, built by stacking rocks and coated in white plaster—were scattered here and there. The wide graveyard, bathed in clear post-rain air, stood desolate with no human figures in sight. He walked aimlessly through the graveyard. However, as he was about to cross before a gabled open tomb, the shadow of something moving within caught his eye. When he peered inside carefully, it was a man. He suddenly leapt into the tomb and dragged the man out. In that instant, the wayward mood that had lingered until now vanished without trace, and the professional persona of a police officer wholly possessed him.

“Please, sir! I ain’t done no wrong,” he pleaded. “I was just hidin’ here, that’s all.” When he roughly searched the man’s body, he found one yen and fifty sen in coins wrapped in the heko obi sash. He concluded the man was a wall-breaking thief. Even when asked his address and name, the man never spoke. However, “I ain’t done no wrong, sir,” was all he kept repeating. He dragged the man to the police station as if scraping him along.

He was consumed both by fervent determination not to let the man escape and by pride at having arrested a criminal for the first time. After shoving the man into the interrogation room as if he were a stray dog, he went to report to the superintendent inspector. Hot sweat streamed from his forehead down both cheeks. When the superintendent inspector heard his report, he laughed lightly and,

“Hmm, a maiden success for your first outing. You’ve worked hard.” “Hey, Section Chief Watanabe.”

With that, he called a police sergeant and ordered him to interrogate the man. Officer Okuma stood by and listened as the section chief conducted the interrogation. He was impressed by the section chief’s skillful interrogation methods. He hoped the man would prove to be a genuine thief. If this man had committed no crime, it would expose his own incompetence. Such anxieties occasionally swept through him. However, as the interrogation progressed, it became clear the man had indeed committed theft. The man finally confessed to these matters.

“I was the son of a wealthy family in △△ Village, but after meddlin’ in all sorts o’ ventures an’ failin’, I sold off my fields.” “I ain’t no born poor man nor thief.” “But after my family fell to ruin an’ life got hard from years o’ bad harvests, I came to Naha to work as a laborer on Daito Island. But when the doc checked me, they said I had some catchin’ sickness—so they failed me.” (Probably tuberculosis.) (Even as he spoke, he kept coughin’.) “So with no choice left, while tryin’ to find work in Naha, I used up all my money an’ got thrown outta the inn.” “After that, wanderin’ through town with nowhere to go—when that storm hit—I went lookin’ fer shelter an’ crawled into that open tomb.” “Got so starved in there that this mornin’, when the rain eased up, I left that tomb an’ went into town.” “When I tried gettin’ water at a liquor store, I saw bills on a sake barrel—then before I knew it, I snatched ’em.” “But once I had those bills, I got scared stiff an’ ran right back to that tomb without lookin’ back.” “I ain’t no born thief.” “My sister’s in Tsuji—a proper courtesan now.” “Could’ve gone to her place an’ found some way out, but my rags shamed me too much—feared what she’d think.” “I’ll never do it again—please forgive me!”

As the man spoke these words in rural-accented Ryukyuan, his voice gradually trembled, until finally tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please, sir! Forgive me, I beg ya!”

Having said that, the man pressed his head against the floor. When the section chief saw this, he laughed triumphantly. “Officer Okuma, what do you think? Exactly as you suspected. A splendid caught-in-the-act case, indeed. Ha ha ha!”

However, Officer Okuma could not laugh. A suffocating anxiety welled up in his chest like a solid mass.

The section chief asked in a harsh voice.

“So, what’s your name?”

The man stubbornly refused to give his name. Officer Okuma stared at the man’s face with an expression of extreme tension. Then—whether a trick of the mind or not—the man’s features seemed to resemble those of Kamaru-ko, the courtesan he resented, from whom he had parted mere hours before. When pressed by the section chief, the man finally opened his mouth. “Ugh... I’m Gima Taru.”

Officer Okuma flinched. After giving his name, the man let out a breath, then proceeded to state his age, his sister’s name and age, and their address. And then, he pleaded once more for forgiveness. The man was, as Officer Okuma had anticipated, none other than Kamaru-ko’s brother. He regretted having captured this man. He was filled with rage against his own actions. The self that had proudly dragged this man here moments ago now filled him with loathing. At that moment, the section chief turned toward him and said.

“Hey, Officer Okuma. We need to question that sister of his as a witness. You go to that brothel and bring her here.”

When he heard that, Officer Okuma felt all the blood in his body rush to his head. For a moment, he stood dazedly staring at the Section Chief's face. Soon, in his eyes burned the terror and fury of a beast that had fallen into a snare.

(End)