Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The group climbed panting heavily from the densely overgrown wooded area up the rocky, steeply sloped winding fern-covered path.
A short man nicknamed Chibi stood at the very front, followed by Jōkō, Seikō, and one-eyed Hirakō. There were women too—one bearing a child on her back, another gasping for breath as she climbed while clinging to tree roots.
There were elders and there were young ones.
The entire group numbered fifteen or sixteen people, everyone burdened with heavy loads and using broken tree branches as walking sticks.

By early October, frost had already settled in the mountains.
The wind was cold too.
Yesterday morning, the temperature suddenly dropped; in the mountain depths, white snow was visible, and the bucket water drawn from the valley froze thinly.
Their breaths appeared white here and there through the morning air.
They thought of how they had crossed from mountain to mountain over a long period.

They came together here and there.
They were not a large group from the start.
One month prior, one-eyed Hirakō, his wife Hibuki, and Jōkō had been walking together.
During the day, they blended in seamlessly with ordinary villagers to sell sazara trays, unfinished wooden bowls, and beehives.
“Care for some sazara trays?” they would say as they walked from farmhouse to farmhouse.
These were mostly villages nestled against mountains or overlooking valleys, and they rarely ventured to towns or cities even just one or two ri away.
Farmhouses where elders kept watch over empty homes, villages where the clucking of chickens and barking of dogs carried softly—when their goods ran out, they unhesitatingly turned to begging.
Stealing a bucket of potatoes or a bundle of sweet potatoes now and then was something they didn’t think twice about.

“Those damn Sanka are back again.”

The villagers, being constantly accustomed to their presence and familiar with them, showed no particular suspicion.

Saws, hatchets, planes, small knives, scissors—every one of them carried such tools.
These weren’t the large tools village carpenters used, but flexible ones that nonetheless kept an exceptionally sharp edge.
When they ran out of things to sell—be it government forest or private—they paid no mind to such distinctions. They would fell whatever timber suited their needs, take only what they required, then swiftly move on from mountain to mountain.

They knew well where materials could be found. In valleys splendidly covered with bamboo, in valleys where beautiful trees grew thick and verdant—in such places they would spend three or four days. In mountains near certain villages, while the men remained at their campsite preparing wooden bases and crafting sazara trays, two or three women would gather, take those items, and go around selling them in nearby villages.

In places they passed through, there were households with small lathes set up beside their shops, their occupants ceaselessly occupied with crafting bowls and trays from dawn till dusk, and others bearing geta-maker signboards where the master diligently plied his plane in the workshop.

“This here’s too pricey!”

“You call this expensive? We’re breakin’ our backs haulin’ these over mountain slopes. Just go ’long with it—same as last time, yeah?”

“Your lot’s got no costs—how’s hagglin’ lower even work?!”

When they said this with a laugh,

“What’re ya on about? These days—authorities’re breathin’ down our necks! Can’t do squat! If folks don’t pay cost price now, there ain’t a splinter left to sell!”
“It’s a cursed time!”

“Lies! Bullshit!”

“Well then, let’s leave it at that.”
“Then I ain’t buyin’.”
“We’ll have ya sell to us next year again.”
“Ain’t buyin’. So…”

“Call it square and leave it.”

“Square? That’s downright harsh! Pull that trick an’ you’ll catch hell for it.”

“From who? You lot?”

He laughed as he jabbed back, “You still holed up in them mountains?”

“Ain’t nothin’ left there no more.”

“Even drenched in dew, you wait in the mountains!”
“Even drenched in dew, you wait in the mountains! I wonder.”

“Ridiculous.”

The woman laughed as she said this.
Though wearing grimy disguises, some among them had fair complexions and thick hair.
At times there came those who would dig relentlessly into their ways and homeland.
“Is that so?”
“Your folk been at this since your ancestors’ time?”
“That many of you really exist?”
“A thousand comrades? Two thousand?”
“Hmph... That many?”
“And you straddle mountains clear across Japan?”
“How fascinating.”
“Hmph... You go all the way to Aizu?”
“So where’s this homeland then?”

However, whether men or women, their group rarely spoke of their lifestyle, homeland, or ancestors. When questioned, they would only offer thin, uneasy smiles. Moreover, the legends surrounding them further widened the divide between ordinary folk and their kind. The villagers said: “Those people are best left alone, mark my words.” “Pry into their affairs in your lifetime—or try joining their lot—and you’ll meet a terrible fate, mark my words.” “Their comrades’ve had an ironclad pact since olden times—anyone who breathes a word ’bout their ways to outsiders gets done in, mark my words. Even you villagers—get too familiar with ’em, who knows what curse’ll find ya.” “Just leave ’em be, mark my words.” “That’s the only way.”

II

Hirakō and Hibuki spent about ten days in a certain valley.
It was just as summer was ending, when insect chirps could be heard faintly.
Day after day the rain fell, and from their thin small tent came the lonely patter of dripping water.
Having worked diligently through February and March selling woodenware and trays in villages, they had stored enough provisions that neither money nor rice troubled them.
Hirakō set up a makeshift workspace in a corner of the cramped tent, spending each long day cutting and carving wood.
Even after gathering armfuls of leaves and branches to pile atop the tent, still the rain dripped through—pitter-patter.
Hirakō's hair hung half-damp.

“Damn rain... no way around it.”

“Honestly…I wonder if it’ll ever stop.” The young Hibuki who spoke these words also had hair that was wet and glistening with raindrops.
Hirakō had been single until last year.
Each year he lived either alone or with a companion or two, wandering from mountain to mountain while working.
Hirakō recalled returning to the homeland at the beginning of last winter.
Once a year, it was customary for members of their race to gather from across the nation in their homeland for marriages.

The people of their race, scattered here and there—such people would invariably make the long journey back to their homeland from distant places to celebrate the marriages of those who had come of age. Last winter, Hirakō had taken Hibuki as his wife there.

“Winter’ll be here soon.”
“Honestly…”
“Can’t keep dawdlin’ in this damn rain forever.”
“Even so, I sure wish the weather’d clear up soon.”

With one pot and two buckets, they managed everything—drawing water, cooking meals, washing things. In the hearth dug into the earth, a pot hung from wisteria vines. The wet wood did not burn easily. The smoke welled up and crept low along the ground.

“Smoky.”

"But it's soaked through—won't catch."

Pressing her face to the hearth, young Hibuki blew.
Before long, the fire burst into flames.

"What’re you cooking there?"

"Taters, is all."

With a look of understanding, Hirakō resumed his work.
That was taro they had quietly taken two or three days earlier from a mountain field located about a ri down toward the village.
The rain that had been pouring heavily for a time soon eased to a drizzle, but now a fog rose so dense you couldn't see even a few feet ahead, leaving the surroundings blanketed in white haze.
Somewhere, the cooing of a mountain dove could be heard.

The young Hibuki removed the pot lid, poked at it with chopsticks to check, then carried it over to Hirakō. She brought out a pinch of salt from the bag.

“Ain’t you gonna eat?”

“Yeah…”

“This ain’t half bad, I tell ya.”

“Ain’t wrong there.”

Hirakō picked up one piece, sprinkled salt on it, and munched away.

“Village stuff tastes great, I tell ya.”

“Ain’t wrong there.”

The young Hibuki also ate two or three pieces, but upon seeing patches of the thick fog begin to clear, she said, “Looks promising—might clear up.”

“Ain’t wrong there.”

Having said this, he added, “Best fetch water while it’s like this.”
“And if it starts again, we’ll be in trouble.”

“You’re right.”

Young Hibuki lingered for a time, but soon hung two buckets on a wooden pole serving as a carrying yoke, wrapped a hand towel around her cheeks, and plunged into the fog.
The rain still fell sporadically.

Young Hibuki knew well that a few hundred meters ahead in the valley flowed clean water. Even before becoming Hirakō’s wife, she had come to stay at this place two or three times—sometimes accompanied by her parents, other times by female companions. One early summer when they came, they passed through a plateau where wildflowers bloomed splendidly from there, carried bamboo baskets, and went out toward the village in a large group.

Passing through dew-heavy grass and descending a short slope where the ground turned cliff-like, they heard the gurgling sound of flowing water and saw white foam beginning to appear where it broke against rocks downstream. Before long, young Hibuki—having descended to the riverbank—placed the buckets between the rocks and rapids and waited for them to fill with water.

She lifted one and placed another in its place.

Suddenly hearing something rustling through the grass with force—maybe a wild boar or deer, though bears wouldn’t be out yet—she kept her gaze fixed on the sound’s origin.
She had a sharp sickle tucked at her waist.

Suddenly, a human figure emerged from the grass.

“Oh.”

“Well now—”

Exchanging glances, the two cried out together.
“If it ain’t Jô-san! Thought it was somebody else—figured you for a bear.”

“Hey there, Man-san.”

Having said this, the man called Jō approached and said, “Good timing meeting you here. Is Hira-san with you?”

“He’s right here.”

“Good timing meeting you here… Had a bite in the village.” “I hightailed it outta there, but damn, got myself in a real mess.”

“That so?”

Jōkō was also carrying buckets and a pot. He wore a tung oil coat over his shoulders as a substitute for a tent, but having no hat, his hair was thoroughly soaked and clung to his forehead.

Carrying water-filled buckets, she walked alongside Jōkô,

“What’s happened to ya?”

“Got myself in a real mess back in the village... Well, leastways I can finally breathe easy now.”

“Did you do somethin’?”

“Yeah…”

Without another word, the two came to where the tent was pitched. Hirakō, who had been working, stopped his hands upon hearing voices and looked that way in puzzlement, but seeing a man wearing a tung oil coat approaching with Hibuki, he stood up at once and went outside.

“Well, Jōkō! Now that’s a rare sight.”

“Just ran into him back there… I got quite a start,” young Hibuki said as she set down the buckets at the tent entrance.

“What’s wrong, Jō?”

“Whatever happened—hell—I got myself in a real mess.”

“So you were here after all?”

“Went to the village, y’know.”

“So you went to the village.”
“Ah… get inside.”

And Jôkô unloaded the baggage he had carried and entered the tent as he was.

“Damn cold out there.”

“More’n the cold—got poured on proper,” he said. “Had no notion you’d be here… When’d you come?”

“It’s already been ten days, Ah.”

“Got any decent work lined up?”

“Nah.”

Beside young Hibuki, who was tending to the fire and other tasks, Jōkô dried his wet clothes.
And haltingly, he told them what he had been through.
Jōkô went with five or six companions, passing through the Kiso mountains toward Haginoki.
Nothing ever went right.
In places close to villages, the police were strict, there was no timber, and they couldn’t work.
However, deep in the mountains, even if you did find good trees, it was inconvenient to haul them all the way to the villages.
With no other choice, they bought saltpeter to gather beehives from holes and went down to the river to catch char and sculpin, but none of it proved satisfactory.
At Haginoki, he parted ways with the others and went alone down to the village.
In one town, he begged.
In one village, he stole from the fields and was chased for over a mile.
After that, in one place, he went to work as a laborer in a mountain where limestone was quarried and worked there for about a month.

“Why’d you get chewed out?”

Even when pressed like this, Jôkô kept hemming and hawing,

“D’you get tangled up with some girl?”

“……”

“Get involved with a girl, and they’ll chew you out in the village.”

“Ah, well, I couldn’t help it either,” Jô said. “Can’t stay in the village nohow.”
“I was thinkin’ of headin’ straight for the mountains, see.”
“Just a spur-of-the-moment thing, see.”

“Were you working as a laborer?”

“Nah—after that I did all sorts of things.”
“Worked as a laborer for a month then went back to beggin’, roamed around causin’ trouble in town—just four-five days back made it down to this village here.”
“Sick to death of villages already.”
“Was thinkin’ whether t’come up today or make a dash tomorrow.”
“There was this train station see.”
“Comin’ out toward th’mountain from there—girl workin’ alone in a field.”
“Pretty little thing!”
A reckless itch took hold of him.
“Can’t blame me though—ain’t touched woman-flesh once this whole damn year.” Jō let out a bark of laughter.

“So, did you get her?”

“Yeah.
“Pulled it off.
“But then that got found out.
“Yesterday, I got chased around all day in that rain, then barely managed to make my way here.”

“Did the cops come after you too, huh?”

“They came out, but it’s not like…”

“That’s bad news.”
“Ain’t they made it this far yet?”

“With this rain, they ain’t comin’ this far.”

“Can’t say for sure.”

Hirakō adopted a somewhat uneasy demeanor and said, “Messing with girls ain’t safe.”
“That’s why I been tellin’ you lot to move up higher already.” He rubbed his chin, muttering, “Safe enough?... They ain’t showed yet? Still too close to village here.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Can’t shake this unease though.”
“Cross them peaks yonder—that’d be safe enough.”

Suddenly Hirakō’s disquiet deepened.
He caught himself glancing over his shoulder—had some bastard slipped past their watch?
The woodsman scanned the brightening sky where sunlight still clung to afternoon’s edge.
Thankfully their camp held little unfinished work—four days back, he and Hibuki had traded freshly carved bowls for rice and coin down in the village.

“Weather’s lookin’ to clear up—should we head all the way over?”
“Now?”

The young Hibuki widened her eyes.

“But if we stay here, it’s dangerous.”

“Well then, should we head out on our own?” With that, Jôkô stood up.

“If you go off alone and the cops come here, that’d be bad news.”
“It’s fine.”
“Let’s go, let’s go.”
“We’ve got no reason to stay here anymore,” she declared resolutely. “Anyway—it’s just a little over two ri.”
“Go now—we can reach the other side while there’s still daylight.”

With that, Hirakō hurriedly began preparing for departure.
The life of these wanderers drifting from mountain to mountain was fundamentally simple.
Pots, buckets, hatchets, axes, saws—when packed into boxes, such things became small bundles.
Untying the tent fastened to the tree and folding it compactly, Hirakō and young Hibuki divided and shouldered their shares evenly.

“That was rough on you all.”

Jōkô said this over and over again.
“Anyway, we’d already figured on headin’ over there tomorrow or the next day.”

The rain began falling again, lightly.
Yet they showed no particular concern about it.
Where they had stood remained wood shavings, a hearthstone, and traces of a campfire.
Felled trees lay scattered haphazardly about.

As they moved from the plateau's grasslands onto the winding slope path, the rain had cleared, and white or gray clouds swirled like whirlwinds from peak to peak.
Between the clouds, great mountains of deep violet appeared and vanished.
An unnamed bird cried from the depths of forests clinging to distant mountain bases.

III

After staying there about three days, the three then moved on to another place.
Even so, Jōkô still had some money saved from working resourcefully, so he handed over cash and received a share of rice from Hirakō.

Still, unless near a village, they couldn’t work and have their goods bought.
And so they came to the base of a mountain directly opposite the previous one, where they spread tung oil and lived five or six days.
Autumn had arrived before they knew it.
In the mountains grew early autumn mushrooms—hatsutake, matsutake, shimeji, maitake.
But these too soon vanished, and as days alternated between sun and rain, mornings and evenings turned cold enough that even their worn clothes proved insufficient.
Hirakō and his wife would leave Jōkô in the mountains and set out for villages bearing bamboo crafts and wooden goods.

One day—perhaps due to a major festival—the village had national flags hung from school eaves, government offices, and private homes, while people with drink-reddened faces wandered about. At one woodworker's shop, Hirakō and his wife were treated to sake and soba noodles. When they earned enough money, they would buy a flask of local sake in Shiratori and carry it back to the mountains.

Jōkô always applied tung oil between the trees alone. He preferred catching bees and char over woodworking; he'd skewer the char on roasting sticks and take them down to the village.

“Winter’s nearly here.
Returnin’ to the homeland’s gonna be soon enough.”

With this, Hirakō went to check on Jōkô’s tung oil.
This winter, he pressed him earnest-like to bring Hibuki along.
“There’s a world o’ difference ’tween goin’ out solo to work and havin’ two folks,” he said.
“No matter what, two makes for better cheer.”
“This winter—find yourself a right good ’un and hold the blessin’ quick.” But then—“Me though—I ain’t got no joys comin’ this winter.”
“Back when I had no Hibuki—returnin’ home once a year was my greatest gladness, I tell ya.”

“But meetin’ all them folks means there ain’t no lack of troubles, I tell ya.”

“That may be so, but...”

The annual gathering of their own people, the crowds that assembled there, the rare delicacies brought from all directions—the joy of those banquet nights defied description in words.
The many young women—on that day and night, they could be led anywhere without objection.
Numerous tung oil huts hung among the trees, buckets filled to the brim with wine, elders and youths alike joining together to sing boisterously and dance.

Spending five days there, three days here in such fashion, they gradually drew nearer to the homeland as they wandered onward. Peak after peak, valley after valley, forest after forest—moving through these, they encountered their first fellow travelers at one lodging site: a trio of their own kind. An old woman and a young couple—the latter bringing their two-year-old child. Jōkô was the first to discover that group. “I wonder… could there be tung oil over there?” “Where…?”

“There, in the woods on the shadowed side of that mountain.”

“That the one over there?”

Hibuki, Hirakō’s young wife, had not truly believed it at first when she said this, but gradually came to understand that it was a group of their own tribe. And so when they went from this side, others came from that side too. The group had initially numbered fifteen; they had entered from the distant mountains of Aizu toward the south the year before last, but last year they ultimately couldn’t return to their homeland, instead seeing in the new year deep in Nikko before gradually making their way out from Joshu toward Shinshu. They seemed to have faced many hardships, having parted ways with certain groups in Aizu, then in Nanbu, and finally in Joshu.

“This year, no matter what… I’ve got to return to the homeland once.” So said the old woman.

The old woman carried a single Buddhist mortuary tablet close to her body at all times.
It was the mortuary tablet of her only son, who had left the homeland alongside her the year before last only to die along the way.
The old woman tearfully told that story.
“He was on the way from Aizu to Nanbu.”
“Suddenly, he fell ill—vomiting and retching—and without even time to see a village doctor, he ended up passing away.”
“He’d always been so healthy—I never dreamed such a thing could happen. I just went numb for a time.”
“Still, everyone took pity and helped me tremendously.” In the old woman’s eyes now appeared vivid reflections—the temple surrounded by woods descending from a mountain, its main hall, a kindly-looking elderly monk counting prayer beads, and that night’s cremation on the mountaintop.

“This has his bones inside, you see.”
Having said this, the old woman showed the small bottle she was holding to Hirakō and Jōkô.

No matter how far into the mountains they died, they never buried their corpses in foreign lands. When they encountered such misfortune, they would gather wood on a mountaintop, cremate the remains, and always bring the bones back to their distant homeland to bury them. There their ancestors dwelled. There stood their temple, bearing ancient lineage and history.

“Still young, ain’t ya?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“Still no wife yet?”

“Once we get back this time, I was thinkin’ of gettin’ myself someone like Hibuki.”

“We did somethin’ pitiful there.”

The old woman shed tears.
It had been an expedition rich in gains, yet equally fraught with hardships.
The old woman spoke of mountains thick with trees, mountains abundant in produce, villages with honest customs—but also treacherous cliffs, fearsome beasts, and terrifying landslide surges.
In that region, what inspired fear was not constables but nature itself.
In Nikko’s deep mountains lay timber beyond exhaustion—no matter how much they felled.
There too lay a hot spring where rivers ran scalding; one from the group that had parted ways in Joshu fell from its precipice yet saw their wounds healed within days.
They often encountered bears and boars besides.

Yet they never found such long expeditions hard.
The habit formed since childhood—of being led by parents and accompanied by comrades, passing days unfazed with grass for a pillow and dew for a quilt—had thoroughly accustomed them to the primal natural world.
Moreover, in their blood flowed the long history of their nomadic lineage.

“Once we’ve come this far, it’s as good as being back in the homeland.”

The young couple also remarked things like that.
The couple had saved up a considerable amount of money.
They too had been looking forward to the winter gathering.
They had been thinking that if they could meet their parents, they could also meet their fellow tribespeople.
Perhaps due to their familiarity, they remarked that compared to the steep mountains of Nanbu, this area was like flatland.

They stayed there for about a week.
In contrast to Hirakō and Hibuki’s daily treks down to the villages, those who had come from afar mostly spent their days idling in the mountains.

While Hirakō and Hibuki were away in the villages, one day, two men who appeared to be villagers came to where they were staying.
At that time, they left without saying anything, but the next day, men in white clothes with swords at their waists came wearing straw sandals—two or three of them.

“Where did you lot come from?”

“…………”

“The ones who did bad things on the other side of the mountain and around here—that would be you lot, wouldn’t it?”

“…………”

They feared such people the most.
And such people invariably asked them about their registered domicile.
However, they had no such documents anywhere.
When pressed harshly with questioning, they would produce copies of old woodworker certificates provided by their leader.
These bore resplendent names and official seals of bureaucrats from an administrative office that had supposedly granted permission seven or eight hundred years prior.
Written there were statements declaring that trees in all the nation's mountain forests could be felled without restriction.

The white-clad men too could do nothing with their elusive tribe.
To their tribe—who seemed to know nothing whatsoever of the Tokugawa shogunate's collapse, the Meiji Restoration's establishment, the capital's relocation from Kyoto to Tokyo, the First Sino-Japanese War's occurrence, the Russo-Japanese War's outbreak, warships' creation, or airplanes' invention—no amount of explanation made any difference.
In the end, even the police officers became overwhelmed and focused solely on expelling them from their jurisdiction as quickly as possible.

“Leave at once.”

“…………”

“You got that?”

“…………”

The next day, they left that place and moved to another.
Once a spell of rain had passed, beautiful autumn days continued one after another.
The overlapping mountains carved sharp lines against the azure sky; their ridges stretching like storm-tossed waves appeared to spread vast and far into the distance.
The leaves turned crimson; the morning and evening sun bathed them in golden light, while moonlight cast a silver glow across the land.
The whisper-like murmur of the mountain stream grew fainter as it echoed from below.

The deer's call echoed like a flute.

It was a broad, plateau-like expanse. Thickets, woods, and larch trees stretched far and wide, with dwarf bamboo growing thickly across the expanse.

One day, as the setting sun sank behind the western mountains, Hirakō suddenly spotted five or six figures crossing the vast field toward him. The loads carried on their backs, the staffs, and the tung oil all made one think they indeed belonged to the same tribe.

“Heeey!”

“Heeey!”

The voices calling and answering echoed through the mountains.

IV

The group grew lively.
Tents were pitched here and there, and young women and children, buckets in hand, went down toward the mountain stream to fetch water.
The latecoming group had traveled along the great western mountain range by scaling cliffs and crossing valleys.

There was one well-known old man among their tribe, joined by his granddaughters, sons, and companions. The old man knew by heart the locations of campsites and water sources, along with the distances of routes. He had lived his entire life in the mountains since childhood—venturing deep into Nanbu and journeying as far as Kyushu’s remotest reaches. Often gathering youths around him, he would recount tales of distant peaks and perilous encounters from places where travelers had met disaster.

He had two granddaughters.
They called the elder sister Aguri and the younger sister Kogiku.
Aguri was twenty, Kogiku eighteen; both were supposed to take suitable husbands this winter and be made into full-fledged mountain workers.
The girls' spirited laughter constantly spilled from the distant tents at the mountain's foot.

Hirakô said to Jôkô,
“What d’ya think? That girl over there?”

“Hmm…”

Jōkô was grinning slyly.

Hibuki, who stood beside Hirakô, cut in: “I reckon the younger one’d be better.”
“She’s got looks an’ a sweet temper too.”
“Plus she’s nice an’ plump.”

“Ahaha!”

Both Hirakō and Jōkō burst out laughing.

“But hey—might be fancier catches ’round the bend,” Jōkô countered.

“Honestly…” Hibuki sighed.

“Y’gotta pick while y’can,” he pressed on.
“Get too choosy an’ y’end up empty-handed.”
“Hell—even my Hibuki here’d make a decent wife if y’gave ’er half a chance.”

“Well, we’ll see once we get there.”
“There’ll be good ones coming to the homeland.”

Jōkô said such things.
He had resolved that this winter—without fail—he must secure an excellent partner to his liking.

On paths descending to the village, Jōkô would sometimes find himself walking with those granddaughters. Both sisters wore tattered clothes, baskets and scrub brushes strapped to their backs, hips lifted high from the path’s edge as they alternated between leading and trailing along the rocky trail.

“Ain’t Gramps tired yet?”

The sisters shook their heads laughing.

“If y’ain’t tired, don’t go showin’ up at our place.”

“…………”

“Not comin’?”

Putting on deliberate teasing airs, he said, “C’mon over—I’ll carry your thorns or whatever. I’ll work my ass off for three years. I’ll take you down to Nanbu!”

“Should I become one too?”

With that, the elder sister laughed.

“You say that, but I’ve got a good one waitin’, I tell ya—made proper arrangements beforehand, I tell ya—she’s waitin’ for me to come back, I tell ya.”
“Might not be so, y’know.”
“Wanna put it to the test?”
“Let’s see you try.”

While saying such things, the three of them walked in a tangle.
The girls talked about how one or two companions who’d gone to town together had been lured away and gone missing.
“Where’d they go? No matter how much we search, we can’t figure it out.”
“They say they probably made up some man and ran off with him.”

“Might’ve been sold to some brothel.”

“Maybe I’ll become a brothel girl too.”
“They’re so pretty, those brothel girls—” She turned to her sister. “Dressed in fine kimonos. Just seein’ ’em shocked me, I tell ya.”
“They give you money, they say you can have any man you want—how much better’s that than mountain work?”

“That’s the truth.”

“You don’t get soaked by rain ’n’ don’t gotta work neither.”

Jōkô said.
“But hey—nothin’ good comes from leavin’ the mountains.”

The sisters could not help recalling the stories of girls who had gone to town. Among them were those who had once left the mountains, apologized to the mountains, and returned again. In the town there were good things and many frightening things. The girls remembered how one of their former companions had been sold from place to place while leading a life of hardship, and how they had unexpectedly encountered her somewhere. "After all, mountains are best." Both sisters walked with this thought.

Getting drenched by rain and trudging up mountain slopes was grueling, but even so, the mountains held moments of unexpected joy and wonder. Bracken, mountain burdock, mountain udo—in spring, mist hung thick across the slopes as bush warblers and cuckoos sang sweetly. In the valleys flowed clear water; on the mountains bloomed beautiful flowers. The girls kept revisiting in their minds the fascination of wandering through those uninhabited mountains from place to place—a newborn child on their backs, just the two of them with a gentle yet sturdy husband.

Young people often went to visit the old man’s tent.
Beside the old man diligently crafting wooden bases at his workbench, the young people engaged in various conversations with the girls.
One night when the elder sister awoke, there came a sense of someone approaching outside the tent.
A rustling parted the grass—then a muffled thud.
The elder sister held perfectly still.
Suddenly her younger sister Kogiku rose quietly and slipped out through the tent flap.
Stars glittered cold and bright across the sky.

The next day, the elder sister Aguri asked.

“Where’d you go last night?”

The younger sister made a surprised face but said, “Why’re you askin’?”

“But you did go, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t go anywhere.
“I was!
“I was right there sleepin’ beside you, Sis.”

“Is that so, Sis.”

“Why’re you askin’ such a thing, I tell ya?”

“Is that so, Sis? Then maybe it was a dream after all.” With that, the elder sister fell silent.
After that, the elder sister said nothing.

“Gramps. I wanna go back to the homeland soon.” With that, the elder sister shed tears.

“This grandchild—well now, what’s got into ya?”
“Wantin’ to go back to the homeland already…”
“Like it or not, we’re goin’ back this winter.”
“And this year, I’ll get ya a proper husband, mark my words.”
“Keep workin’ steady now—you’re a good ’un.”

“…………”

“It won’t be long now! Ten days here, three there, seven over yonder—cross that big mountain ahead, an’ the homeland’ll come right into view, I tell ya.”

The old man consoled her with such words.

The mountain weather was growing colder daily.
Fallen leaves rustled and flew in the wind.
The larch trees turned yellow, and the frost-covered undergrowth all appeared withered.
The deep mountains were already cloaked in white snow.

One day, a fierce north wind blew so violently it seemed to shake the very mountains.
The leaves had all scattered away, the grass lay mowed down, and the mountain stream roared like a beast.
The towering, overlapping mountains bore no clouds, and the yellow light of approaching winter cast a lonely glow across the broad plateau.
The elder sister Aguri, alone and lonely, descended the rocky mountain path leading to the village through this howling north wind, carrying on her back the wooden items her grandfather had crafted.

V

On their way from one place to another, the group encountered another band of people who had emerged from the mountains ahead. The old leader of the band stood at a bend in the path and spoke with their old man.

“Hey, safe and sound?”

“And you’re whole too, eh?”

The old man surveyed the group trailing along behind him and said, “That’s quite a crowd.”

“Oh, we’ve grown into quite a crowd now,”
“We met up with Saku’s group and Masa’s group over yonder…”
“Where’d you come from?” he said, but upon spotting among them an old woman who’d gone south last year and never returned, added, “Oh! You’ve come back too! Last year you didn’t return—no word at all—we were worried somethin’ happened.”

He looked around again,
“What about your son?”
“He’s dead.”
Tears streamed down from the old woman’s eyes.

The old leader from the newly arrived band and the old woman stood talking for a long time. From where we were, we could see him nodding and blinking his eyes. "Ah... That's a cruel thing you've endured," he said. "Such a fine young lad he was... And what became of the others?"

"We parted ways in Kōzuke, but they must've reached here by now."

"Is that so?"

The two still stood talking.

This band had merged with two or three groups scattered here and there, so there were now many sons and daughters, married couples, and children. Everyone carried pots, tools, and buckets on their backs, using tree-branch walking sticks.

“Well, glad you’re safe.”

“And you all too.”

“Well now, saved up plenty, have we?”

“What’s all this then?”

Such conversations sprang up here and there.

Jōkō and Hirakō’s close friends were also among that group.
A man called Teikô said, “Had a hell of a time, I tell ya.
“Bears one moment, gendarmes the next!”
“In one place, it was already a done deal—I was about to get thrown in the slammer by ’em gendarmes!” he recounted.
“Moms! Hungry! Hungry!” the children pleaded with their mothers.
Nevertheless, the mothers calmly sat on tree roots at the corner of the path and talked.

“Moms! Moms! Hungry! Hungry!”

“Quiet, you brats!”

Yet even as she said this，one of the mothers took out a boiled sweet potato and gave it to a child.
From both far and near，small hands—five or six of them—reached out and clung on persistently.
Among them were those who had their sweet potatoes taken away and pouted.
Some burst into tears.

“Here!”

The mother tossed five or six sweet potatoes there.

Here and there，people sat down to rest.
Some rested at tree roots，others in thickets or by stream banks—among them were those who sprawled with legs outstretched，and others pressing their mouths to river water to quench their thirst.
The girls all wore red leggings.

The afternoon sun cast vivid light over the gathered band.
Sunburned faces, earth-stained clothes, chapped lips, disheveled hair, long-grown beards—such things were everywhere.
The young girls and young men went deep into the grove of trees in the rear forest.

What was recounted again and again were the hardships of their long journey, the toils endured, and the unusual tales from each occasion. The joy of meeting and the sorrow of parting were also present among these bands of wanderers. Moreover, the group that had joined later had crossed a great mountain range and gone all the way near the sea, so they possessed a wealth of unusual tales.

The two old men had moved a little away from such crowds and were sitting on a sloping thicket of grass, talking. Their conversation centered mainly on those who had parted ways here and there.

“They must’ve come near these parts by now, I’d reckon.”

“No doubt they’re here.”

“Well, nothin’ for it.”
“We’ll go over there an’ wait a day or two.”
“Best if just Naru joins us comin’ back...”

“Aye...”

“What’s become of Monjūrō’s lot?”
“Didn’t cross paths with ’em anywhere... How ’bout you?”

“Dunno neither.”

“Gone off somewhere far?”

“Could be… Not sure.”

After about an hour, the group began preparing to depart.
As they coordinated, the entire group gathered from here and there.
Everyone shouldered their loads.
Even children up to seven or eight years old were made to carry small bundles.

The group had now grown to nearly thirty people.
There were those who went ahead and those who followed after.
Some dragged their weary legs while others strode ahead briskly.
The path entered the forest from the plateau and emerged from the grove back onto the plateau.

These places were already far removed from any villages. Even village woodcutters had no paths leading this far. The sound of the mountain stream seemed to sob somewhere in the distance.

At the rear of the group, Jōkō and his younger sister walked side by side. When they reached a mountain slope, Jōkō began pushing his sister from behind. They walked at a distance where they could barely discern the group's figures—if at all.

"Let's rest a spell."

Having said this, they sat down on a roadside tree root.

"Sis... you cried. I shouldn't have made you..."

"You're one to talk—me of all people..."

"But Sis... you ended up all alone."
"That's what cuts deepest..."

“Did you say somethin’?”

“I ain’t said nothin’.”

“But you know it, don’t you?”

“Of course I know…”

“But it can’t be helped—this is how things turned out…”
“It’s just… On-san’s scary.”

“…………”

After a while, he said, “Bad news if we get separated from everyone—we should get goin’.”

“It’s okay.”

“But…”

“I know the way, so it’s okay.”
“We’ll go after them.”

“But it’s lonesome.”

“Lonely? Not a chance—I’m right here.”

As the man yanked her close in a forceful embrace,

"No... no..."

“What’s there to fuss about? … I came last night too, didn’t I?”

“But… no...”

Jōkō held her tight regardless, as if she were a bundle, and said: “Next year—we’ll earn loads, right? Together we’ll go from Aizu all the way to Nanbu. Save up plenty of money and come back. Cute little thing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The girl forced a thin smile.

“Let’s go already…”

“C’mon.”

They stood up. Ahead lay their group emerging from the woods onto a slope, winding along serpentine paths as clear as if held in one’s palm. The mountain rose vivid and beautiful against the clear afternoon sky.

VI

Even as they drew near their homeland, the group showed no signs of haste.
Spending a day here, a day there in such a manner, they set up their tents and lingered before moving on.

Those who had saved up money spent days idling in the mountains, but most people went where materials were available to cut bamboo or wood and work.
And they set out for villages located two or three miles away.

Once their numbers grew, a scene so lively one might wonder if such a thing could exist in these mountains continued night after night.
Every heart brimmed with joyous anticipation as they neared their homeland.
Not just Jōkō—all the young people turned over thoughts of the impending marriage season in their minds.
The tents stretched from tree branch to tree branch resembled nothing so much as townhouses with their eaves aligned.
Girls carrying buckets to fetch water, children dashing about playfully in the area, and those returning from the village mostly brought back large sake bottles filled to the brim.

Migratory birds had already formed flocks and were arriving from mountain to mountain.
To catch them, the elders took the nets they had prepared beforehand up to the mountain peaks and set them up.
There, the young people would occasionally come to visit.

“Can you catch any, On-san?”

The old man silently pointed to the basket with a net that lay there.
Thrushes were packed in great numbers inside it.
As they watched, one or two at a time flew in and were caught.

In one valley, they discovered two or three deer.
Unfortunately, since no one in the group had a shotgun, they brandished machetes and grabbed tree roots as they chased after them.
The children came scrambling after them from behind.
The women all emerged from inside the tents.
A resounding cry of “Waaai!” echoed through the valley for a time.

The women surrounded the man running over from afar and asked, “Did you get it?”

“Got it! Got it! It’s huge!”

Five or six young men soon came carrying a large deer tied to a tree root, talking boisterously all the while.

“Indeed, it’s huge.”
“This one’s huge,” said one of the elders who had approached.
Soon, the knife was taken by a young man.
The deer that had been laid there was soon split open from the belly, and many women and children had gathered around to watch.

The meat was distributed to every last tent.
In the tent where the leader resided, a merry and lively banquet soon commenced with it as their feast.
They gathered kerosene from here and there, lit small three-bu lamps, and in a large pot, the meat was boiled.
The sake, poured splashingly into bowls until they overflowed—though it was local brew, it was more than enough to get them drunk.
Eventually, the traditional mountain songs passed down through generations were sung.

“Back in my day, even round these parts, we had deer and boars aplenty like this.”
“Nowadays, you scarce see ’em at all.”
“Rare to catch one this big anymore.”
“All ’count o’ the mountains bein’ cleared.”
“Even the good timber’s gone from these parts now.”
“When I think on it, times were better then.”
“Do what you liked without folks hasslin’ you—birds an’ beasts thick as fleas, an’ no Saberu-types scarin’ you when you went down to the villages...”
“Ain’t nothin’ good left in the near mountains these days.” The old men said this and spoke of mountains past.

Emerging from that valley onto the plateau and crossing yet another mountain range, the group had finally reached a place not too far removed from their homeland. In some stretches, three days of unrelenting rain forced them to spend desolate hours crouched inside their tents. There they encountered another band who had braved the downpour to join them.

At times dusk fell mid-journey, compelling them to traverse a formidable pass. From these heights between mountains, they glimpsed distant towns and villages dotting the plains below, with the sea shimmering beyond all. Gradually their path brought them nearer to populated areas. When they finally struggled up a treacherous slope to a high pass, they saw clusters of townhouse lights glowing far beneath them. Through a cleft between peaks shone one settlement whose illumination seemed particularly resplendent—until their eyes caught a serpentine trail of moving lights crawling across the darkened plain.

“A train!”

“There… the train’s moving…”

The group all looked in that direction.
Across the vast field, a serpentine train was slowly making its way.
“A train! A train.” Saying this, they all gazed in that direction.

After traveling about one ri from there, they reached their lodging site and hurriedly pitched their tents to sleep that night. But when dawn broke, having crossed mountains and fields, they saw a vast, hazy blue sea spread out before them like a painting. Beyond the chain of islands in the distance, white sails moved quietly like marionettes.

This was already a sign that their homeland was near. Three days' journey from their homeland—there they would always catch sight of this distant sea's gleam before plunging into the deep, deep, endless mountains.

“The sea… I see the sea…” In the hearts of those who had spoken these words, the soon-to-come annual homecoming feast was already taking shape in vivid and joyful detail.

The people could no longer settle to their work.
The young men, the young women, the couples—all together wished to return home at the earliest possible moment.

However, the group still had to wait there for one band that had fallen behind.
They were people who had entered the Kiso mountains, and having come this far, they had thought those people would already be there waiting, grumbling about their own lateness.
"What're they doin'?" everyone said.

“It ain’t too late yet—let’s take our time stayin’ here awhile.”
“Come this far, ’s same as bein’ home already, ain’t it.”

“Ain’t that right.”

The people had been in the distant mountains, dreaming countless times of this lodging site where the sea was visible.
The old woman who had gone to Nanbu and not returned for a year appeared to have remembered the son and was shedding tears as though she could bear it no longer.

At the spot where one would enter the mountains from that lodging site stood a single Jizō statue, looking lonely.
It was a place where those of them heading into the mountains would always pray for safe passage on the roads, and there, large and small stones were perpetually piled in offering.
The old woman’s son had also offered stones here the year before last.

“I just can’t accept it.”

“That’s how it is, ain’t it.” Hirakō’s young wife Hibuki said as though overwhelmed with sympathy.

“I should’ve died with ’im back then.”

“But when we get t’homeland, there’ll be young women ’n relatives… Ain’t no use dwellin’ on the dead now.”

“What’m I s’posed t’do?” The old woman kept on cryin’.

It was after five in the afternoon on the third day.
The mountains stood completely clear but for a lone white cloud clinging to distant peaks behind them; every fold named a fold, every valley called a valley lay revealed in a single encompassing vista.

Suddenly, a man shouted.

“They’re here!
“They’re here!”

Three or four more shouted. “They’re here! They’re here! The Kiso group has come!”

The shouts spread from one to the next in the blink of an eye. “They’re here! They’re here!” All the people began dancing as if singing, keeping time.

The serpentine path clinging to the mountain folds—there, fifteen or sixteen comrades clad in tung oil descended in a line, clearly visible against the evening sun. Hiding in groves, emerging at rocky outcrops, vanishing and reappearing again as they drew ever nearer, descending toward them. The leaves of the forest at the mountain’s base had already fallen, and the bear bamboo grass rustled noisily.

With the youths leading the way, the elders went to greet them at the edge of the forest.

“All safe and sound?”

“You all safe?”

Such words passed between the leaders.

“When’d you get here?”
“Meant to come sooner, but we had a patient.”

“Ah, that’s why you were late.”
“Who was it?”
“How’s the patient?”

“Lad from the Homeland.”

“That’s rough.”
“He better now?”

“Outta danger.”

Since it was finally decided they would depart tomorrow, that night feasts began here and there.
The young men and young women walked about playing here and there.
The tents enlivened the forest at the mountain's base.

The pleasant three-day journey without stays soon began the following day.
The first day brought rain; the next dawned crisply clear yet with a cold so unforeseen that the mountain snow had already drawn near to their path.

However, there was nothing that could cloud their joyful hearts.
Even the children climbed the steep mountain path with eager determination, hearing they would return to the homeland tomorrow.

On the afternoon of the third day, the group drew near to a mountain pass from which their settlement came into view.
Those with nimble feet raced ahead along the mountain path, scrambling up to the pass in a rush.
Three, four, five people raising their hands and shouting could be seen from below looking up.
No one could stay still any longer.
The women and children, and the elders too, all raced up in a rush.
A chorus of cheers momentarily shook the air of the mountain pass.
Beneath their eyes, white tents were spread out across the expanse from grove to grove.