Pathway to Japanese Literature

In the outskirts of Naha City, Ryukyu, there was a special settlement called △△ Residence. The residents here were descendants of Chinese people, but many of them—or rather, it would be fair to say almost all—were poor and engaged in low-status occupations. They would go out to the rice fields under the name of Atapīsuguyā—catch frogs, peel their skins, take them to the market, and sell them. Frogs were counted as one of the delicious supplementary foods among the people of Naha and Shuri. Then, they were engaged in occupations such as Tāiyutōyā (crucian carp catching), Sabatsukuyā (straw sandal making), hat weaving… and so forth. They were engaged in these so-called low-status occupations (?) and scorned as △△ Residence people by those in other neighborhoods of Naha City, yet their daily lives were simple, communal, and thus carefree.

A settlement clustered in the shade of towering subtropical plants—banyans, Bingi trees, coral trees, Fukugi trees—thickly overgrown and intertwined. Around each house were living hedges of bamboo and rake. The houses had low thatched roofs, and their squalor went without saying. In the morning, when the men set out for the rice fields with poles and nets, the women would spread mats under cool tree shade and weave 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. Exchanging their catch for some money, they would buy side dishes and about one gō of awamori, then light torches to avoid habu snake bites as they made their way back. The men would happily welcome them, finish their meager dinner, then lie down and quietly sip awamori. Repeating such a life day after day, they did not consider their own existence miserable. The poor people pooled their moai contributions and made it their practice to help each other in times of misfortune. In this southern region, there were no winters harsh enough to trouble them. Thus they lived simply and peacefully.

But even for these people, that our Okuma Hyakusai had assumed the honorable position of policeman had to be not only a source of pride for the Okuma family but also an honor for the entire △△ Residence settlement. For they—descendants of Chinese people who were poor and engaged in low-status occupations—to become government officials was less a joy than an astonishment. When word spread that Okuma Hyakusai had applied to become a policeman, every person in the settlement rejoiced as if it were their own affair and prayed wholeheartedly for his success. His father urged him to take leave from work to study. His mother enlisted a priestess to visit sacred sites and pray for Hyakusai to pass the exam. On the eve of Hyakusai finally going to take his exam, his mother accompanied him to their ancestral grave and offered lengthy prayers.

And so, with the wishes of himself, his family, and the settlement residents being fulfilled, Hyakusai splendidly passed the exam. The pride felt by him, his family, and the settlement residents could well be imagined. They took half a day off work and held a celebratory feast for Hyakusai becoming a policeman. The men gathered in the square under the large banyan tree in front of his house, drinking awamori from midday onward, playing sanshin, and making merry. The young ones did things like imitating Kumiodori.

It was a certain day in May of an unspecified year of the Taishō era. It was when wearing bashōfu cloth garments no longer felt cold. The red flowers of the coral trees had begun to scatter, and from the grassy shade beneath them, white lilies were blooming here and there. On the hedges, under the strong southern sunlight, hibiscus flowers blazed vividly. Around the bare-chested men who sang, danced, and played sanshin, women had gathered and were watching with evident delight. Amidst the commotion, our Okuma Hyakusai sat on a chair—where had it come from?—like a triumphant general, wearing his policeman’s uniform and cap, his sword glinting. The girls stared at his transformed, dignified figure with gazes that seemed both yearning and awestruck.

And so this feast continued late into the night. In the quiet night forest of the settlement, the singing voices, the reverberation of sanshin, and the murmuring voices of people echoed on and on without ceasing.

After Officer Okuma completed his training, he began working alternate days. He was ordered to work at the main station due to his good performance. After that, he went to the police station every other day, and when he was at home, he mostly read books. The family was happy that he would come and go from home wearing his uniform and cap. And whenever they heard the people who occasionally visited their home speak with apparent wonder about how Hyakusai had been walking here and there in his uniform and cap, they could not conceal their joyful expressions. Such people would joyfully talk as if the mere act of encountering him was an extraordinary event. And among them, there were even those who said that their children must also become policemen in the future.

On the 25th of the month, Hyakusai returned home with his salary in his pocket. He trembled with the joy of holding his salary for the first time. Clutching the salary envelope in his right pocket tightly, he walked briskly. When he arrived home, he forced himself to calm down, went up to the sitting room, and with an air of nonchalance took out the salary envelope and handed it to his mother.

“Oh my!”

With a delighted expression, she reverently accepted it and inspected the contents. And then she counted the bills, “Ah, 1,150 *kan* (23 yen) it is indeed.”

she said. She had heard the salary was that much, but upon seeing the actual cash, she seemed surprised as if it were only now.

Two or three months passed peacefully like this. But the family gradually began to feel his heart distancing itself from them. He also stopped engaging with the young people of the settlement. And so, before anyone realized it, the people of the settlement also grew indifferent toward him. Now, within his heart, there was nothing but the splendid fulfillment of his duties as a policeman and the ambition to use his current position as a stepping stone to rise even higher.

On top of that, he had gradually become more cranky. Whenever he came home, he would keep saying how filthy the house was. And because of that, he frequently scolded his younger sister harshly. Particularly after his colleague visited once, he became even more particular about the state of the house. When he would fly into a rage, Mother would stare wide-eyed, wondering how her once so gentle son could have changed so much, and watch with bated breath as he scolded his younger sister.

When that escalated, he began interfering even in the lives of the settlement residents. One day during a festival, when the settlement people had gathered in the square, he stepped before the crowd and began speaking as if he had been impatiently awaiting such an opportunity. When they saw this, they anticipated that Hyakusai would bring some sort of blessing for the settlement. For they had expected that by having sent Okuma Hyakusai—one of their own settlement residents—to become a policeman, they would obtain some convenience in their daily lives through Hyakusai’s position with “the authorities.” —things like getting their taxes reduced, having the roads improved, receiving free medical treatment… They had vaguely imagined such matters.

However, his speech completely betrayed their expectations. He said as follows: “You must clean the drainage ditches every day without fail.” “In summer, there are many who go about naked in broad daylight without a care, but that has become one of the acts punishable by law.” “If you are caught by a policeman, you will be fined.” “I am also a policeman.” “From now on, I will not show leniency just because you are settlement residents.” “We officials value ‘impartiality’ above all else.” “Therefore, whether they are my own family or relatives, I cannot overlook anyone who does wrong.”

He listed many such examples—things that had long been casually practiced among them—and sternly admonished them. And finally, he said something to the effect of:

“Moreover, drinking alcohol and singing songs late into the night is also prohibited.” “Refrain from drinking alcohol, work more diligently, save your money, and you must strive to obtain a more respectable occupation than you have now.” As he grew increasingly heated, raising his voice while continuing to say such things, the settlement residents watched with displeased expressions. They could not help but feel that he occupied a different position from them. Even after the festival ended and the banquet began, no one offered him a drink.

When his colleagues occasionally visited, Hyakusai would often serve them awamori. A considerable number of colleagues came to visit his home. Among them were those who would come as early as noon, drink awamori, and make a racket there. Every single one of them was a sturdy young man, and their way of speaking was rough. Instead of playing the sanshin or singing Ryukyu songs like the people of this area, they would bang on tea bowls and plates, sing incomprehensible Kagoshima songs, recite poetry, suddenly stand up, and swing sticks around in sword dances.

Hyakusai’s gentle family felt nothing but fear toward these guests with their rowdy revelry and could feel no familiarity with them at all. And so, they felt alienated from Hyakusai, who made merry with such guests. The people of the settlement had subconsciously held a fear of policemen for a long time. At first, they had been delighted that Hyakusai had become a policeman, but when they saw how completely his attitude had changed from before, they grew displeased. On top of that, they found the frequent comings and goings of other policemen to his house bothersome. The policemen staggered home while yelling at the settlement residents working naked. When such things happened repeatedly, they even came to curse the very existence of Hyakusai’s house. The settlement residents had stopped visiting his house much.

Such a mood from those around him gradually came to be felt by Hyakusai. As a result, even when at home, he remained constantly restless. Moreover, sensing coldness in the eyes of settlement residents he encountered along the way, he became aware of hostility welling up within his own heart. He could do nothing about the resentment of those who had somehow been excluded—resentment that surged sporadically. Moreover, he often felt mocked by his colleagues for being from this settlement.

“People of △△ Residence”

When he heard such words frequently escaping his colleagues' lips, he felt his face grow hot. For Hyakusai, being born in this settlement and continuing to live there had become detestable. Thereupon he consulted his family about relocating, but they would not consent. For the family, leaving this settlement they had long inhabited amounted to nothing less than agony. This held true not just emotionally but practically - particularly regarding mutual aid associations and other economic ties that made relocation disadvantageous.

When that happened, Hyakusai could not find any way to deal with the hostility he had begun to feel toward the settlement. He was lonely. Yet, he could not find true friendship among his colleagues. His colleagues were mostly from Kagoshima, Saga, and Miyazaki prefectures, and there were significant differences between them both emotionally and in terms of their past living environments. With such people, he could drink awamori and make merry, but he couldn’t engage in heart-to-heart conversations. Even as he spoke inside the station, he would often, toward his colleagues,

“They are foreigners.” There were times when he would mutter such things inwardly. He began to sense that they, too, saw him as a foreigner. He could not help but feel lonely.

Even so, there was no change in his colleagues coming to his house, drinking awamori, and making a racket.

That summer was quite hot. For a long time, the drought continued.

Every day, the dazzling sunlight of unclouded southern skies filled the heavens. The scent of parched earth and withered grass seethed in bone-dry air. The reflection from the town's red roofs struck both eyes and skin with intensity. The roof tiles of Naha's streets were red. The grass that had grown on high stone walls encircling houses stood withered and parched. No sooner had a lizard's silver-glowing skin darted from between stones than it slipped back into a wall crevice. Midday streets lay stagnant with light like a desert. Soundless light held infinite depth.

Amidst this drought-parched world, whenever people saw cloud peaks swelling up in some corner of the sky—glittering like stratified mica—they thought how fine it would be if those clouds brought rain. When afternoon came and they watched the setting sun flare against that layered mass, its light reflecting off blue-tinged forests and hills, there arose an anticipation that tomorrow might finally bring showers. Through the quiet air of evening’s bright decline echoed children’s voices singing—a melody languid as dreams.

Akanaa Yaaya YAKITAN DŌ Hākuga Yanmuchi Kōtī Tackwā Shī

When sunsets colored the sky, it became a song that children would sing with innocent delight, never grasping its meaning. But once darkness fell completely, those cloud layers vanished into nothingness, leaving stars like powdered silver shining large and bright as if heaven had descended to earth. Such days and nights stretched on endlessly until Hyakusai himself grew as withered as parched vegetation, his spirit utterly drained. Not even police duties could stir his numbed nerves anymore. He moved through life bearing an unarticulated weight—a vague yet crushing sense that existence itself had become unbearably languid.

One evening, utterly weary of such feelings, he was invited by one of his Kagoshima-born colleagues and went out for a walk along the coast.

The night view of this island's coast, formed from coral reefs, was beautiful even to those who had long lived there. Rocks stood sharply hewn here and there, but the deep hollows gnawed by waves lay shrouded in utter darkness. The crests of waves rushing onto the shore appeared faintly white under the pale blue moonlight as they crashed thunderously. From somewhere around the hills or the rocky shore, voices of courtesans singing love songs imbued with a plaintive melody flowed like water. That voice seductively enticed him. The cool wind blowing from the sea’s surface clung to his skin. In front of where he sat, from time to time in the pale moonlight, the face of a courtesan clad in a light, patterned kimono drifted past, dimly white.

That night, on his way back from a walk, Hyakusai was invited by his friend and went to the red-light district called “Tsuji” in this city for the first time. Two-story houses surrounded by high stone walls stretched on in a long line. From within came the sound of the sanshin, the reverberation of drums, and the shrill voices of young women. When they passed through the gate of a certain house, his friend knocked on the door with a ton-ton as a signal. Then, before long, “Who’s there?”

A woman’s voice said, and the door opened. When the woman saw the friend’s face, she gave a faint smile. “Come on in.” The two were led to the “Uraza.” There was a six-tatami room where a scroll inscribed with a Chinese poem hung in the alcove, and beside it stood a black-lacquered koto. In front of one wall was placed a lacquered account chest, and its brass fittings were shining anew. Beside it stood a low dining shelf; this too appeared still new, the scent of lacquer not yet faded. On the opposite side stood a six-panel folding screen, but upon it was painted a scene of a white parrot perched on a branch of a coral tree with red flowers in riotous bloom.

To Hyakusai’s eyes, everything appeared beautiful and new. Before long, the women brought food and drink served on red-lacquered trays. While the two were toasting each other, the women played the sanshin and sang songs. A beautiful courtesan who appeared to be fourteen or fifteen came out wearing a vivid red-patterned kimono, danced holding a fan, and performed with a naginata. Hyakusai was shy at first, but as the awamori’s intoxication took hold, he began to frolic with an energy even he found surprising. Finally, he told jokes to make the women laugh and struck the drum there with peculiar hand movements.

That night, Hyakusai bought a woman for the first time. The courtesan who became his regular was one called Kamaru-ko—a girl of about seventeen, still with the shoulder tucks in her kimono, her doll-like face round and smooth. There was something indefinably childlike and sweetly clinging about her way of speaking that attracted him. But when the banquet came to an end and he was finally led to the courtesan’s *uraza*, he—true to form—sobered up and felt an indescribable anxiety welling up within him. He leaned against the edge of the hearth’s cat board and pretended not to watch as the woman hung a blue mosquito net and changed her clothes. When changing clothes, the line of her plump, pale shoulders came into contact with his gaze. The supple movement of her long arms sent a tremor through his eyes.

The woman, having changed into a thin nightgown, approached his side while leaving three sides of the mosquito net's hanging loops fastened. He silently poured water from the earthenware pot into a bowl and drank. The woman picked up the 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 inside the blue mosquito net. He felt a mix of mild shock, shame, and joy welling up from beneath his diaphragm. However, after the woman woke up, he felt even more awkward. Hyakusai was seen off by the woman as far as Nakamae, “Please come again tomorrow.” When he was told this, he felt as if pursued by something and hurriedly left the place, taking a little-traveled path home. That day, even being seen by his family made him feel awkward. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but no matter what, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something wrong.

He resolved never to go again, but since he had been introduced by a friend and bought the woman’s services, he still hadn’t given her any money. Thinking he had to at least bring that payment, on the evening he received that month’s salary, he quietly went alone to the brothel where she resided. He entered her “uraza” and, without proper conversation, gulped down two or three cups of tea in quick succession—(Ryukyuans drank Chinese tea abundantly)—then awkwardly took out a five-yen note from his wallet and handed it to her. She didn’t even take it in hand but perceived his attempt to leave and detained him. Just then, a fellow courtesan who had entered there too,

“Come on, stay and play!” Saying this together, they restrained him. In the end, he drank awamori there that night as well and stayed in the woman’s “uraza.” 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. And then he explained to his mother in considerable detail what postal savings entailed. Mother accepted it in silence. After that, Hyakusai went to the woman’s place two or three times without any real intention of doing so. As their meetings grew more frequent, he felt something indefinable about her that drew him in powerfully. It remained unclear to him whether it was her soft, beautiful body; her kind, gentle nature; or the pleasant, vibrant atmosphere of the brothel where she lived. He had come to feel with increasing clarity that he was being drawn to her like a magnet.

The woman—Kamaru-ko—had been the daughter of a family that owned considerable farmland in the countryside. However, after her father’s death, her rather dim-witted brother, deceived by unscrupulous people and ruined by dabbling in various failed ventures, not only squandered the family’s wealth but also saddled them with substantial debt. Due to the household’s financial struggles and the need to settle those debts, she had fallen into her current circumstances. When she spoke of such things, her tone—unlike when he had first seen her—held an indefinable melancholy, but this very quality made Hyakusai feel a strong attachment to her.

That year, due to a prolonged drought, economic conditions were generally poor. Therefore, in this brothel district—and indeed in every establishment—customers grew scarce. Only two or three patrons still frequented Kamaru-ko’s quarters, but even these visitors gradually became less regular. Whenever he went to call on her, Hyakusai invariably found her waiting at Nakamae, barely containing her eagerness for his arrival. As she persisted in this manner, he felt his attachment intensifying by degrees, yet could summon no will to check its growth.

On the evening of the next month’s payday, Hyakusai went to the woman’s brothel and resolutely handed two ten-yen notes to Kamaru-ko. When the woman saw this, “If I take this much, you’ll be in trouble.” “One note’s enough.” With that, she made as if to push back the remaining note. Hyakusai, “Keep it.” “I ought to give more, but I’ll save the rest for next time.” With that, he pressed the note into her hand. The next day when returning home, he told his mother he’d lent this month’s salary to a colleague in dire need. But he said they’d surely return it next month. As he spoke, his face burned hot and he felt his voice trembling. Mother watched his face with doubtful eyes but said nothing.

On the afternoon of September 27th of that month, a cold wind began blowing. Hyakusai was working at the police station, wondering if rain might start falling, when a storm warning arrived from the observatory. "There is risk of violent winds; maintain vigilance along coastal areas."

It was reported that a low-pressure system had formed 160 nautical miles southeast of Ishigaki Island and was moving northwestward.

From evening, the wind began to blow fiercely. The branches of the large banyan tree in front of the police station swayed in the wind, clearly visible. Sparrow chicks flapped their wings hurriedly and flew about. Around where the pomegranate trees stood, yellow dragonflies formed an innumerable swarm and were swept away by the wind. Far above the town, the cries of sea crows seeking shelter sounded mournful as they faded into the distance. That evening, Hyakusai changed out of his police uniform into a kimono at the station and went to the woman’s brothel. The women, anxious about the approaching storm, became somehow restless. To prevent things there from being blown away, they brought everything inside the house.

Shortly after nightfall, along with the wind, a downpour began to fall with a roar. The doors rattled noisily, and at times the walls and pillars creaked as they shook. Since the electricity had gone out, they had lit candles, but in the dim candlelight, the woman’s face appeared pale. When the door began rattling loudly, the woman, as if frightened, “This is terrible! What should we do?” Saying this, she drew close to him. With a piercing shriek, the wind let out a shrill roar, and roof tiles went flying, struck the stone wall with a violent crash, and shattered.

The storm continued for three days and three nights. He took one day off in the middle and stayed there for three nights. Amidst the fierce sounds of wind and rain, as they faced each other and talked, the two felt an even stronger attachment than before. They felt they could no longer bear being apart even for a single day more. He brought up discussing whether there was any way for them to live together, but with nothing beyond his 23-yen salary, he had only realized it was ultimately impossible. He wanted money. He wanted money with single-minded intensity.

At that moment, he felt he could truly understand the feelings of a man who would commit crimes for a woman's sake. Even he—if given the chance now—the thought terrified him.

On the fourth day, when the wind and rain had ceased, he left the woman’s brothel around noon but, having no desire to return home, wandered aimlessly and ended up at the graveyard behind the brothel.

On a wide elevated plain, large stone-vaulted tombs in the Ryukyu style—constructed by stacking stones and coating them with white plaster—stood scattered here and there. The broad graveyard lay desolate under crystal-clear post-rain air, empty of human presence. He wandered aimlessly through the burial ground.

However, as he was about to cross in front of a gable-roofed open tomb, the shadow of something moving inside caught his eye. When he peered inside, it was a man. He suddenly leapt into the tomb and dragged the man out. In that instant, his earlier dissolute mood vanished without trace, wholly replaced by his professional policeman’s demeanor. “Sir!” “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!” “Was just hidin’ here, keepin’ outta sight.”

When he roughly inspected the man’s body, he found that he had wrapped coins totaling 1 yen and 50 sen in his heko-obi. He presumed the man to be a target-cutting thief. Even when asked his address and name, the man never said a word. Only, “No wrongdoing, sir.” he kept repeating.

Dragging the man along, he hauled him off to the police station. He was engrossed both in his zeal to not let the man escape and in the pride of having arrested a criminal for the first time. After shoving the man into the interrogation room as if he were a dog or something, he went to report to the superintendent inspector. Hot sweat trickled down from his forehead to both cheeks. When he heard his report, the superintendent inspector laughed lightly, “Hmm, a fine debut achievement. You’ve worked hard.” “Oi, Inspector Watanabe.”

With that, he called over a police sergeant and ordered him to interrogate the man. Okuma Hyakusai stood by and listened while the sergeant conducted the interrogation. He was struck by how skillfully the sergeant handled the questioning. He hoped desperately that the man would prove to be an actual thief. If this man had committed no crime at all, it would lay bare his own ineptitude. Such fears kept flickering through his mind. Yet as the interrogation unfolded, it grew evident that the man had indeed stolen. At last, the man confessed to everything.

“I was the son of a landowner in △△ Village, but after meddling in various ventures and failing, I sold off my fields and paddies.” “I’m no born pauper or career thief.” “But when my family fell into ruin and life turned desperate after years of bad harvests, I came to Naha to sign on as a migrant laborer bound for Daitō Island. The doctor’s exam found some infectious disease in me—that’s why I got rejected.” (Probably tuberculosis. The man coughed repeatedly as he spoke.) “With no choice left, I tried finding work here in Naha till my money ran out and they threw me out of the inn.” “After that I wandered the streets with nowhere to go when the storm hit—that’s why I went looking for shelter and crawled into that open tomb.” “Got so hungry holed up there that this morning when the rain eased off some, I left the tomb and went into town.” “When I tried going into a liquor store to beg water, I saw banknotes lying on a sake barrel—before I knew what I was doing, I’d snatched them.” “But soon as I had those bills in hand, fear took me. Didn’t look back—just ran straight back to that tomb.” “I swear I’m no proper thief.” “My sister works Tsuji district as a proper courtesan.” “Could’ve gone to her for help sure enough, but my rags shamed me too much—couldn’t face what she might think.” “Never do this again—please sir, have mercy.”

As the man spoke these words in rural-accented Ryukyuan, his voice began to tremble, until finally tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Please forgive me, sir!” Having said that, the man pressed his forehead to the floor.

Inspector Watanabe saw this and let out a triumphant laugh. “What did I tell you, Officer Okuma?” “Exactly as you suspected.” “A fine case of being caught in the act.” “Ha ha ha!”

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

Inspector Watanabe asked in a harsh voice.

“So, what’s your name?” The man stubbornly refused to give his name. Okuma Hyakusai stared intently at the man’s face with an expression of extreme tension. As he steeled himself to act, the man’s face seemed to resemble that of the courtesan he was entangled with—Kamaru-ko, from whom he had just parted moments ago. When pressed by Inspector Watanabe, the man finally began to speak. “Ugh... I’m Gima Taru.”

Okuma Hyakusai flinched.

After the man said his name, he let out a breath, then proceeded to tell his age, his sister’s name, her age, and their address. And then, he pleaded again to be forgiven.

The man was indeed Kamaru-ko’s brother, just as Officer Okuma had anticipated. He was filled with remorse for having captured this man. He was filled with resentment toward his own actions. The proud self he had been when dragging this man here now filled him with loathing. At that moment, Inspector Watanabe turned toward him and said.

“Hey, Officer Okuma, we need to question his sister as a reference person. You go to that brothel and bring her back here.” When he heard this, Officer Okuma felt all the blood in his body surge to his head. For a brief moment, he stood transfixed, staring dazedly at Inspector Watanabe’s face. Soon, his eyes blazed with the terror and fury of a beast that had fallen into a snare.

(End)