Pathway to Japanese Literature

Warehouse.

Could there possibly be another as wretched as I in this world?

Were I to voice such thoughts, I would surely be scolded for speaking too extravagantly.
Yet truly, there exists no being as unfortunate as myself.

One who merely glanced at me would likely suspect there must be some spot to press that makes such lamentations resound.
My body glittered a brilliant gold, truly beautiful.
A small child would doubtless think me made of gold.
Those factory hands who knew me well would immediately recognize this as high-quality brass.
In truth, my body shone with radiant beauty.

I came into being at a certain factory, was packed into a crate alongside companions of similar form, and was forced to live in darkness for some time.
During that period, I drowsed in a half-awake state.
Being newly made, my body still ached in various places.
Until those pains subsided, I remained lost in slumber.

After dozens of days had passed, I emerged into the light after what felt like ages.

That place was inside a warehouse.
A portly middle-aged man—the warehouse manager—took hold of the tightly packed cardboard box containing us and opened its lid.

“You’re talking about this one. See? There it is, just like I said,” he continued as another young man peered in at us,

“Huh, it really is here.”
“I was sure there weren’t any more crates left...”
“Someone must’ve misplaced it and shoved it into a corner of the shelf.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely it.”
“So they’re leftover stock.”

While saying this, he thrust his finger into the crate and stirred us about.
Since I hadn’t moved in some time, being jostled by the young man’s finger felt wonderfully invigorating.

“Are you saying leftover stock can’t be put to use?”

The middle-aged man let out a voice tinged with irritation.

“No no, that’s not it at all.
“It’s a treasure find!
“Such a blessing! Such a blessing!
“This should cover what we need for now, you know.
“After all, delivery deadlines are so strict these days that even one crate of wood screws falling short would cause a huge uproar.”

The young man, his eyes shining with delight, closed the lid of the cardboard box.
Our room grew dark again.

“There, see?”
“You should be grateful after all, shouldn’t you?”
“You should properly thank Mr. Wood Screw yourself.”
“And don’t go calling them ‘leftover stock’ or anything like that.”
Outside the crate, the warehouse manager regained his good humor and spoke in a cheerful voice.

“I’ll take these then. I already put the invoice over there earlier.”
“Right here. It’s right here.”

Then we were roughly clutched by the young man’s hand and taken away to somewhere unknown.

Looking back now, even at this time I was burning with hope and my spirits were exceedingly bright.
Among ourselves, we vigorously discussed our boundless future—where we would go from here, what machine parts we would become and work as, and so on.

Destiny

From outside the crate came various sounds at intervals. Human voices too could be heard. Listening carefully to distinguish them proved intensely fascinating.

I felt our crate being placed onto what must have been a workbench with a heavy thud. It was a room where numerous large machines were turning.

“Yes, I’ve brought the wood screws. This is the last crate.”
It was the voice of that young man I’d just heard earlier.

“Hey, wait a second. I need to check the contents first.”

Another deep voice spoke.

“It’s fine. I checked them properly when receiving them at the warehouse.”

“Wait, wait. You’ve been so spacey lately and keep messing up—that’s why you’re not reliable. Besides, if there’s a mistake and replacements aren’t brought immediately, all this work we rushed through here will fall behind again. Haste makes waste. There’s such a thing as being thorough when it’s called for.”

“Tch. I checked them thoroughly enough though.”

“Now don’t get so angry. Well then, let’s open it up right here.”

The man with the deep voice brought us into the light.
We were scattered with a gritty clatter onto the icy cold steel plate.
Having been in darkness for some time, we were unbearably dazzled.
A large hand stroked us all over.

“Well now.”
“This is a high-grade product.”
“There were still some of this type left?”
“Hey, this’ll do. Thanks.”

We were praised here once again.
The one who praised us was Mr. Kida, a skilled finishing technician and industrial warrior.

“See here.”
“I haven’t been distracted at all lately!”
“Mr. Kida, if you say that again next time, I’ll challenge you to a bayonet tournament!”
The young man looked smug.

“Ahahaha!”
“I’ve heard all about your enthusiasm for bayonet drills.”
“I’ll take you on anytime, but enough with the slacking—get over there now!”

“Tch.”
“Mr.Kida, you’re acting way too high-handed!”
“I haven’t slacked off one bit, I tell you!”

The young man went off toward the other side while whistling.

Then Mr.Kida continued stroking us admiringly for a while longer, but soon scooped us up in both hands and took us to another large machine table.
Beside it, many large, glittering wireless device panels were lined up.
This machinery seemed to be for international broadcasting.

Mr.Kida called out to his comrades who were there.

“Hey, the Wood Screws are here.
“Quickly embed them into the remaining holes.”

Mr.Kida himself grabbed us with his hand and put us into his pocket.
Then he gripped a screwdriver in his right hand, plucked us one by one from his pocket, aligned the holes of the small aluminum frame—lined with terminals on the panel’s rear—with those of the device’s frame to attach it, embedded us into place, then twisted us in with the screwdriver, round and round.

Our companions were steadily leaving the pocket.
When the pocket became empty, Mr.Kida once again grabbed a handful of us and put us into the pocket.
I too was among that group.

I waited impatiently for my turn to come, any moment now.

Before long, a thick, warm finger tightly gripped my midsection.
At last, my turn came.
My heart leaped.
As a component of the international broadcast device, I would now be permanently installed.
The machine would soon be installed at a transmission station and begin emitting radio waves across the world.
The valiant cry of Japan fighting the Greater East Asia War would be scattered across the world.
Ah, the star player of the international propaganda war!
Mr.Kida had already aligned the holes of the small aluminum frame’s device frame with his left hand.
The moment I was picked up by the fingers of his right hand and was about to be inserted into that hole,

“Oh—” came Mr. Kida’s strange voice.

“What’s this Wood Screw… This thing’s defective.”
“Why was this included here?”
“Someone’s been slacking off here.”
With that, Mr.Kida set me upright on the machine table.
I jolted.

“What’s got you so worked up, Mr.Kida?”

From the side came a shrill voice.

“No—I’d trusted it because it was a high-grade wood screw.”
“But then this defective piece had to go and get mixed in.”
“It looks fine on the surface, but the spiral grooves are completely messed up.”
“How did something like this even get made?”

“Let me see.”

Then, the man with the shrill voice picked me up between his fingertips and brought me close to his eyes.
Hot breath blew up at me from below.

“Hmm, this is a strange Wood Screw.”
“It’s definitely defective.”
“Even so, how on earth did they manage to make something like this?”
“This is that case.”
“The lathe’s center must have gone out of alignment due to some mishap.”
“So these parts here and here have been cut deeper than they should be.”
“Even if the threads match up, they’re too thin—if you insert it, it’ll eventually come loose.”
“Oh, and look how badly the head is chipped!”
“If you apply the screwdriver and try to force it in, the screwdriver slips off the screw’s head.”
“They’ve gone and mixed in a terrible one here.”
“In any case, this one’s no good.”

With that, he set me back upright on the machine table, head downward.

My wretched fate became clear in that very instant.

My spirals had been cut deeper than they should be.
And part of my head was chipped.
Ah, what a cursed form had I been born into!

My vision suddenly went dark.
I trembled upon the table and lamented bitterly.
After all my efforts to become a proper component of the international broadcast device—after believing I might serve unseen in fulfilling the Greater East Asia War—and yet.

If only I had wings—I would flutter off this table and leap into that hole...

Fortune

Having lost all hope, I trembled ceaselessly on the machine table, grieving in sorrow.

Before long, I was abruptly plucked up.
I was stunned.
When I came to my senses and opened my eyes wide, I found myself held aloft in an unfamiliar young man’s fingers.

That young man was deep in conversation with another about some rather unsavory matters.

“Cut it out—don’t talk so loud. If Mr.Kida hears you, he’ll get angry.”

“It’s fine. Mr.Kida’s been called away to the supervisor’s office. Hey, what’s the plan? Are we going or not?”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“You idiot. You coward.”

As he said this, the young man inserted me into the hole.
I was so shocked by this unexpected turn of events that I thought it must be a dream, and my heart leaped with joy.
While Mr.Kida had gone off elsewhere, this ignorant young man inserted me into the device’s hole without even properly inspecting me.
Before long, a screwdriver was pressed against my head, firmly forced down, and twisted sharply to the right.
The screwdriver slipped slickly several times.
Each time, he had to start over.

But that young man, engrossed in conversation, redid it time and again without uttering a single complaint until he finally pressed me into the hole.

I remained dumbfounded for some time.

Should I rejoice, or should I grieve?

When I came to understand my wretched circumstances, I had to completely abandon the hope I’d initially cherished—that of being embraced by a grand machine.
Until this very moment, I had been resigning myself to that fate.

However, against all expectation, I was installed into the international broadcast device I had so longed for.
Could there ever be such joy again?

Toward this young man who had cast me into such unexpected, marvelous fortune, I thought that no amount of gratitude could ever suffice.

But regarding the sediment-like substance accumulating in the corner of my heart, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat concerned.
The reason being, I hadn’t leapt into this grand role with open arms and bold strides.

To put it simply, this came to pass because that young man was engrossed in trivial chatter.
It could never be called fair and square.
My body may be a single wood screw, but having been born in Japan, I still possess the Japanese spirit.
Therefore, even this hard-won fortune of mine, upon self-reflection, cannot deny that a somewhat dark shadow looms over it.

Is this really acceptable?

Since I couldn't voice my objections, I had no choice but to remain silent and let matters follow their course.
Fortune born of wretchedness!
A luck faintly tainted with guilt!

Could I indeed remain fortunate forever?

Tragedy

After that, I experienced no abnormalities.

The broadcast device I was installed in was moved around to various places thereafter.

A great deal of time was spent testing this device.
Once vacuum tubes had been installed in the device and it attained full splendor, electricity was finally conducted through it, setting the instrument needles in motion.

As testing progressed, the device grew increasingly hot.
I became so unbearably heated that I eventually broke into sweat.

Before long, the testing concluded and everything was packed away.

I was jostled in a truck, then jostled inside a freight car, and transported to a distant land where the broadcasting station stood. From there onward, I was loaded onto a truck again and transported through the cold countryside.

And finally, I arrived at the broadcasting station.
The machine I was attached to was taken out of the crate.
There, many engineers were waiting.

“Ah, thank goodness.”
“Now we can rest easy.”
“I was really worried whether we’d make it in time.”

The eldest among them said this and surveyed their faces.

After that, my machine was carried on many shoulders and taken to the second-floor machine room.

The foundation for installing this machine had already been properly prepared.
The machine was placed on top of it.
It seemed the bolts weren’t fitting properly, and the clanging sound of hammers rang out incessantly.

The vibrations harshly reverberated all the way to where I was.

"Oh no, this won’t do!"

I noticed.
A terrible thing was about to happen.
My body was on the verge of slipping out of the hole.

It was because they were clanging away too violently.
If only the foundation had been properly constructed according to specifications, they wouldn’t have had to swing their hammers so violently.
That was causing me completely unnecessary worry.
No—now it was no mere worry.
Each time the hammer clanged, my body would slip bit by bit out of the hole.

"Oh no, I'm coming loose!
Someone come and fasten me!"

I screamed with all my might in a voice no human could hear.

My fellow wood screws must have heard my cry.
But there was nothing they could do on their own.

Clang, clang, clang.

In an instant, I slipped entirely free from the hole.
With a faint clink, I rolled across the concrete floor.
The corner of my head struck the ground with sickening force.
Ah—all was truly lost!

I sank once more into the abyss of great sorrow.
The original hole in the machine was quite a distance above the floor; this wingless body couldn’t leap up from below.

Even in sorrow, I still clung to a faint hope.

That would be if someone passing by my side noticed that I was lying there.
"Oh, there's a screw lying here."
If only that person would say, "I wonder which screw came loose here?" and kindly search for the original hole I should be in, I would be able to become truly happy.
Please, won’t some engineer find me?

However, in reality, there was not a single person who would find me.
When luck runs out, misfortunes pile up. About thirty minutes later, one of the engineers came clomping toward where I lay, his shoes echoing on the floor—but then his toe struck my body and sent me flying with a kick.

Given my lightweight frame, I went clattering across the floor until finally burrowing beneath a pile of broken wooden boxes stacked in the corner.
Ah, there was no escaping this fate now.
It had been decided—I could never return to that glorious machine's hole.

Transience

The story from this point onward is one I don’t much want to tell.

I spent twenty days under a broken wooden box.

Eventually, the cleanup of the construction site began, and the wooden boxes were carried from the room to the outside.
After that, I remained alongside concrete debris and rope fragments.
My body was now caked in dust, and the golden luster it once had when the warehouse manager lavished me with praise was nowhere to be seen, no matter how hard you looked.
My whole body lost its luster and turned an odd yellow.

Along with the dust, I was swept out.
And I was taken to the garbage dump dug in the broadcasting station's backyard.
Amidst all sorts of filthy things, inside a damp hole, I came to spend my days in misery.
My body gradually rusted.
Blue verdigris erupted across it.
I grew tired of looking at my own body.

When I thought about it, there was no being as unfortunate as I. Could there possibly exist another in this world born into such misfortune? I resented the humans who had made me. If only they had used the lathe more carefully.

Yet even I had once tasted a sliver of happiness along my path. It was because that young worker, absorbed in idle chatter, had fastened me into the broadcast device's hole. From that moment onward, after arriving at this broadcasting station and until the testing commenced, I could truly say I had been happy.

But now that I think about it, that was a mistaken happiness.
Originally, that young worker had mistakenly fastened me into the broadcast device.
Therefore, it had been clear from the very beginning that I would inevitably fall into my current wretched state.
I, who had rejoiced in mistaken happiness—what a fool I had been!

One day, three or four children from the dormitory came to play at this garbage dump.
It was a filthy place, but to the children, it seemed to be a playground of great interest.
The children were all girls.
As they played by climbing up and down the garbage heap, a sniffling child of about seven suddenly noticed me and picked me up onto her small palm.

“I found something good! This is dirty, but it’s a screw, isn’t it? I’ll take it home and give it to Mother! Mother said she wanted a nail to hang a picture frame.”

I was being held in the child's small hand.
And then the body grew pleasantly warm.

“Let me see that.”

Another child came over.
My owner opened her small palm.
Then the other child raised her voice loudly.

“Oh, what a dirty screw.”
“That blue stuff is poisonous.”
“If you keep holding that thing, your hand will rot! Throw it away!”

“Oh…”

I was flung away.
There on an internal pathway within the facility grounds—paved for rainy days—I burned with shame.
I wouldn’t think about anything anymore.

I shut my eyes and lay like something dead.
But at last, I was picked up by a splendid person.
It was the director of this broadcasting station.
How had someone so small as me been noticed?
The Director paused in a sunlit spot, plucked me up, and examined me intently.

“Ahh, poor Wood Screw… You were defective from birth.”
“Before being discarded here, you must have suffered terribly.”
“Hey, Mr. Wood Screw.”
“If you stay like this, you’ll never rise in the world.”
“So you must be reborn.”
“As brass scrap, return once more to the smelting plant and melt your body in the crucible alongside your fellow scraps.”
“And next time, be reborn as a splendid Wood Screw.”

At the Director's kind words, my chest tightened and I cried and cried until I couldn't bear it.
Indeed, here was a Director who had known technical hardships.
Through this compassionate Director's words—someone who considered the life of a defective wood screw like me—I forgot all at once the excruciating pain that had been cutting through my very being until now.
What a relief.

Eventually, the Director entered the building and plopped me into a wooden box.
On that box hung a label reading "Scrap Metal Container."