Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

It was a cloudy day.

From Tachimachi Misaki to Shiokubi Misaki, across a seven-ri stretch of desolate sand beach that embraced the sea with outstretched arms, the rough scent of the shore swelled unabashedly in Hokkaido’s strong northern air.
Spreading a sullen face across the entire sky, beneath gray clouds that pressed heavily upon the earth’s surface far below, the primordial blue sea—as if refusing to endure such oppression—heaved waves of unfathomable turmoil from its depths.
As far as one could see to either side, salt-laden coarse sand stretched endlessly, left to the washing of cold waves. Here there were no shells worth gathering, nor any trace of young girls in vibrant red skirts clinging to bare feet as they collected shells.
The heavily sodden corpses of seaweed, cast ashore by midnight’s high tide, lay scattered here and there, trailing limply as though drained of all strength.

It was now mid-May.
Though May was said to be a month when even here in Hokkaido’s coves the days grew warm, winds softened, and spring rains fell; when plum, peach, and cherry trees burst into simultaneous bloom, leaving no branch unadorned; when all people—those at home and those donning fine clothes to stroll beneath blossoms—young and old alike became intoxicated by floral fragrances, a time universally deemed joyous under heaven—who could imagine such days existing amidst this desolate shore’s solitude? Only the ceaseless crash of white waves, shaking even the soul’s foundations, endlessly disrupted this forsaken cove.
Those who came to Hakodate and saw only the forest of masts in its harbors or the bustling streets lined with elegant shops could scarcely imagine that Omori Beach—even if called a “back beach”—would be this devoid of human presence.
Though separated by a mere five blocks, not even the frenzied uproar of a hundred thousand citizens scrambling for sustenance in grime—their very selves forgotten—managed to reach this place, perhaps drowned out by the waves' roar.
Yet this might not have been something to wonder at—when one considered how human voices faltered, swallowed whole by nature’s overwhelming roar.

At the water’s edge, three men sat.
Behind them lay a gently sloping sand dune like a mantle of rotted elephant hide, sprawled without sensation as though declaring, “Whether I live or die—no one knows, nor do I myself.”
The waves bared white teeth and bit unyielding at the insensate base of the sand dune cast before them.
However many times they bit, the sand dune neither cried out in pain nor stirred.
Without crying out or moving, the waves persisted undaunted, biting without yielding.
Between a sand dune that had known no “life” since primordial times and a tide-roaring sea endlessly awake in eternal wakefulness, there existed three men—three men who were born and died.
A man wearing an inverness coat and holding a pale gray bowler hat in his left hand crouched like a grasshopper, while another who had undone all the buttons of his dusty old Western suit sat cross-legged like a toad—the two positioned some distance apart, both facing the sea.
The third man, clad in a creased Oshima-dyed lined kimono, lay on his back between them in rude abandon—hands pillowed behind his head, legs stretched toward the sea.

Blowing from thousands of miles across the open sea, the sea wind that strikes impartially at these three men—each distinct in attire and posture—held neither hue nor intent.
The wind blew as it willed.
Humans were humans; they thought self-serving thoughts.
Though all human and buffeted by the same wind, these three men—each to their own—gazed upon self-serving vistas and harbored self-serving thoughts.

The man lying on his back silently gazed at the unmoving gray clouds that filled the entire sky.
The man crouching like a grasshopper lowered his flat face and with the index finger of his right hand wrote letters in the sand—the characters spelling “Tadashi.”
He wrote then erased, erased only to write the same name again.
Tadashi was this man’s name.
He erased it time and again, wrote it time and again.
Men like minor officials or company clerks—the sort who killed time with idle tasks—generally possessed rigid thinking.
Those without springs in their minds walked with legs that lacked driving force.
And they wanted to be liked by every woman there was.
When they stood before women, they put on affected airs without hesitation.
Their hearts would melt instantly—so much so that even their manner of blowing cigarette smoke grew excessively earnest.
They loved delicious food above all else and maintained healthy complexions.
Tadashi—who evidently enjoyed good food—had a healthy glow on his flat face.

The man sitting cross-legged like a toad was leisurely blowing tobacco smoke and quietly gazing out at the sea.
His shadowless eyes gleamed from deep within sunken sockets, his undeniably masculine features suggesting a man of twenty-six or twenty-seven.
There was not the slightest frivolity in him, yet neither did he bear any oppressive anxiety in his heart. His composure—calmly gazing across the sea’s vast expanse—resembled a cedar tree that, though exposed to rain, battered by snow, and assailed by winds from all directions, grows tall and unbent, never warping like shore-pines shaped by storms.
Beyond the sea, the Tsugaru mountains floated on the horizon. From their left to Shiokubi Misaki, the Pacific Ocean—veiled in a gray sky—held a single intense hue.
That small black speck floating near the indistinct boundary of sea and sky was probably a steamship.
Of course it was moving, but from here, it was merely a small black speck—impossible to tell whether it was advancing or stationary, heading south or north.
The moment you thought “Don’t come this way,” it appeared to be approaching.
The moment you thought “Don’t go that way,” it appeared to be heading there.
From which port had it departed how many days ago, and to which port would it arrive in how many days?
When it departed, it must have sounded a whistle—one that released without restraint that vast, heavy sorrow from the depths of its broad chest, unhesitating toward anyone.
That valiant roar had split the sky directly above, fallen to shake the four surrounding mountains, and instead bowed countless heads as its booming waves of sound overflowed east and swelled west, pressing down on roof tiles and trembling trees…………………………The weakened remnants of its cry, now transformed into invisible light, might still wander some corner of the world. As this thought took hold, the small black steamship on the horizon seemed to shift slightly.
Whether it had shifted right or drifted left—of course there was no way to tell—but a steamship floating on the sea could not possibly remain still.
He fixed his gaze, certain it must be moving.
The black speck remained a black speck—no matter how long he looked, it stubbornly stayed in the same spot.
Once again, he wondered from which port and how many days prior it had departed, and to which port that ship was bound.
It was undoubtedly a ship that had raised anchor from its port, set off with a whistle, and now pointed its bow toward the destination harbor of those aboard.

“The steamship you boarded yesterday,” the man said without turning his gaze from the open sea.
“What was its name, I wonder?”

“A ship that departed Aomori at three a.m. and cast its rusted anchor into Hakodate Port’s muddy waters after six hours,” replied the man lying on his back.

“The name though...”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Hmph.”

“It’s the name of the ship you boarded,” said Tadashi, raising his flat face to look reproachfully at the man lying on his back.

“So there you have it.”

“You’re always like this,” he made a bitter face but continued, “That’s the Mutsu-maru.”
“It’s a rather filthy ship,” he explained to the cross-legged man.

“Ah, the Mutsu? I’ve ridden that once before.”
“It was quite some time ago, but………………………”

“The crew—you know—seems to be all men. I wonder what’s going on with that,” said the man lying on his back as he sat up.

The cross-legged man took his eyes off the steamship on the horizon and twisted his torso slightly.
“……………That’s how it is, I suppose.”
“In maritime life, they don’t need women, do they?”
“After all, they can sail freely in every direction upon the vast womb of their great lover, the sea.”

“The sea—that great lover!”
“Is that so?” he said, lying back again.
The gray clouds were neither moving nor still.
Pressing down on the men’s faces from afar and blocking all sunlight, the atmosphere bore an oppressive heaviness that made it impossible to discern whether it was morning or afternoon.

The cross-legged man took a cigarette that had been tossed onto the sand, struck a match briefly, but an unseen wind’s tongue flicked over it, extinguishing it immediately.
He struck it again, but it went out again.
On the third try, he struck about ten together.
He transferred the flame where it blazed up vigorously to his cigarette with swift precision, then exhaled the smoke—inhaled deeply with cheeks hollowed—through his nose little by little.
The emitted smoke scattered in the sea wind and vanished no sooner than it had appeared.

On Tadashi’s face—which had been silently observing this scene—the unpleasant thoughts in his chest seemed to manifest of their own accord; a bitter shadow welled up, and the flesh between his eyebrows twitched intermittently. As if trying to say something, he twitched his mouth two or three times, glanced at the man lying on his back, then dropped his gaze to the sand. “Though I seem to keep repeating myself, I’m truly at a loss regarding Hajime’s behavior.” “Call it indifference or willful blindness—you talk about being ‘open and aboveboard’ or ‘barefaced honest,’ but to put it bluntly, it’s just reckless disregard for consequences.” “If this were a world where that attitude worked, you could keep getting away with selfishness forever.” “Even that would be manageable if it were only you.” “That elderly aunt of yours... You’ve never given her a single day’s peace of mind, not even until now.” “Isn’t she your own mother? What on earth do you plan to do from now on?” “Last night too—Mother said such things to me.” “After you went to Mr. Kusuno’s place—‘Hajime’s twenty-three now, not a child anymore, but your mother worries herself sick over him—it’s truly troubling.’” “She said.” “It’s truly troubling.” “Even if you claim it was thrilling for yourself, well, no one would sympathize with someone who gets themselves fired.” “Even so, coming here—” “If only you’d sent a letter ahead or something—it would’ve made finding a job more convenient.” “Yesterday really surprised me!” “When I came back from work completely unaware—there was Hajime waiting.” “When I asked why you came—though you didn’t know why yourself—my sister said you were napping in the back room. You should’ve seen her wide eyes!”

“If she widened her eyes that much, they’d take up her whole face.”

“You always turn people’s words into jokes,” Tadashi said with bitter exasperation.
“You’re forever like this—anyway, I’m fundamentally incompatible with you.”
“I know it’s pointless no matter how often I say it, but it’s precisely because I think of Aunt… your mother that I end up voicing unnecessary things and making needless worries.”
“Mother said it too—truthfully, there are scarcely any as different in nature as you and me.”

“Even if we’re incompatible, I’m still your cousin.”

“So, it’s truly a wonder that someone like you exists among my cousins.”
“I’d been thinking that long before you ever did.”

“It’s truly strange………………….”

“It’s a miracle of the ages,” Mr. Kusuno interjected from his old Western suit as he lay down.
Resting his head on the palm planted in sand through his propped elbow, he gazed steadily at an angle toward approaching wave crests whose undulations grew ever more captivating.
They rose and vanished like dancers in a motion picture—overtaking and being overtaken—drawing nearer until they seemed ready to engulf him, when suddenly an emerald hillock resembling a cow’s back creased into ripples and thrust forth a snowy-white tongue.
The instant it emerged, this tongue collapsed with a thunderous roar—churning up silvery gears as it surged ferociously shoreward.
No sooner had they braced for ambush than their imagined foe withdrew in a flash.
Where they retreated came hissing sea breath through sand pores—crystalline whispers scattering brine’s unbearable pungency.

“Mr. Hajime and I never got along, even as children,” Tadashi resumed in an irritated tone.
“Your recklessness might be innate, you know.”
“Look—we were still back in our hometown then, in elementary school.”
“I was in fourth grade and you were in third, I think—on our way home from school, we snuck into the liquor store’s apple orchard.”
“There must have been seven or eight of us……………….”

“Hmm, that’s right—I remember too.”
“The organizer was you, and the executive committee member was me.”
“Everyone said we should wait until night, but I wasn’t having any of that—I was first to break through the fence.”
“Then everyone piled in, but you stayed outside the fence to keep watch, right?”
“The crimson one’s branch looked ready to split—I climbed up first, and just as my hand finally reached the apple—‘Who’s there?’”
“The one who came shuffling out was that field watchman Rokusuke-jii.”
“The guys under the tree all fled, but I had no choice but to stay silent.”
“The old man tried to scare me—‘I’ll fetch a pole and knock you down!’”
“So I shot back—‘Do that and I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine!’”
“Then I grabbed every apple within reach and started pelting him.”
“The old man panicked—‘I won’t get the pole! Come down quick! If master comes, I’ll catch hell!’”
“‘Fine—I’ll come down. But bring a pole afterward, and I’ll stone you!’”
“With that I slid down in a scramble.”
“After gathering five or six big apples I’d thrown, I came out—and found nobody left.”
“Wondering how far they’d bolted—what cowards—I ate them all myself.”
“Truly delicious.”

“It’s a problem you’re still like that at twenty-three.”

“That night—who was it that secretly went alone with a large basket, stole about thirty of them, brought them back, and gave me three? Hmm—Tadashi-kun?”

Tadashi-kun made a bitter face and turned away.

“Admittedly, I think Tadashi-kun’s approach makes more logical sense.”
“Theft has always been work best done secretly in darkness, you know.”
“Ha ha ha.”

“That’s absurd.”

“That’s why I contend:”
“Today’s society is a gathering of rat-like thieves, and what they call morality is nothing but rules those vermin maintain through shadowy secrecy to preserve their covert ways.”
“To keep these thieving rats from overstepping their bounds, there exists a net called law.”
“Utterly absurd—they forge the very ropes that bind them.”
“Having discovered how sunlight’s glare—hundreds of times harsher than candlelight—pains human eyes, they huddle in cramped dimness whenever possible.”
“Yet civilization struts about boasting of this ‘progress’ made day by day and month by month.”
“Historians preach that history means evolution.”
“Ah ha ha!”

“Every school without exception is a breeding ground for rat-like thieves—educators won’t even drink their favorite sake except in secret,” he continued.
“Here’s something I saw myself: a certain woman teacher told her students, ‘You mustn’t laugh before others even if something amusing occurs.’”
“If you don’t laugh when things are funny,” I sneered at her afterward, “does that mean you visit the privy when hunger strikes?”
“………………Though come to think of it, religious types do seem slightly different.”
“Buddhists go about bareheaded, shamelessly exposing their bumpy scalps to sunlight, while Christians won’t offer loud prayers unless packed in churches.”
“That much at least holds true.”
“Even picking fights loses its thrill without a proper audience.”
“Ahaha.”

“Ahahaha,” Mr. Kusuno laughed loudly, harmonizing.

“Now then—” Hajime sat up and reached for the cigarette on the sand with his right hand, only to immediately toss it aside.
“In this sort of society, when boldly honest folks with childlike hearts and booming voices appear—those rat-thieves throw a fit.”
“Since such loudmouths can’t join the rat pack skulking into apple orchards at night with giant baskets—folks like me end up homeless under heaven—no, better say we make the whole world our home.”
“People hear ‘ronin’ and picture topknots and ragged haori coats—wrong! We’re drifters plain and simple.”
“Citizens of nowhere and everywhere—call us what you will—wandering stars stuck to this earth.”
“Or travelers walking roadless roads.”
“Might as well name us Cosmopolitans—”
“Ha ha ha!”

“Now then—if Gotō Hajime’s actions are reckless impulsiveness by nature, and if that recklessness truly causes trouble—then what about Tadashi-kun’s rat-like nature?”
“That too is innate—and, uh—and isn’t it quite troublesome?”
“Well?”
“Cousin, are you angry?”

“Getting angry won’t help anything,” Tadashi-kun said after a slight pause, turning sideways.

“‘There’s no helping it’ is beyond help.”
“Now that’s truly beyond help, isn’t it?”

“But—in reality.”
“Because there’s no helping it.”

“But you’re making quite a bitter face there.”
“That face simply won’t do. If you’re going to laugh, open your mouth wide enough to show your guts.”
“If you’re going to get angry, do it like a man—turn bright red.”
“It’s pitiful just watching that face from the side.”
“Look—it’s growing more bitter by the second.”
“Exactly like beer poured into a Western goblet two days ago.”
“That’s a face beyond help.”

“That’s absurd.”
“You can say what you like—there’s no helping it in reality.”

“Again with ‘There’s no helping it’?”
“Ha ha ha.”
“There’s just no helping it, huh.”

When the conversation broke off, the roaring sound of the waves suddenly grew louder.
Mr. Kusuno, neither actively listening to nor wholly ignoring the two’s quarrel, remained lying down as he exhaled cigarette smoke and surveyed the wave crests.
Smoke from his nostrils swirled into a small vortex mere inches away before scattering instantly in the sea breeze. The waves maintained their relentless advance from the open sea with the rhythmic cadence of a silent film’s dance sequence—coiling snow-white tongues like silver gears—before crashing thunderously and retreating swiftly. In their wake lingered a hissing whisper and the unbearably potent scent of brine.

II

After some time had passed, Tadashi-kun muttered under his breath—“And here it was such a rare Sunday…”—and took out his watch to check the time.
“Anyway, I’ll take my leave now,” he said, eyeing Mr. Kusuno’s expression as he brushed the sand from his Inverness coat and stood up.

The other man merely said “I see” without attempting to detain him further, so he—seeming somewhat relieved—turned slightly away from the sunless overcast sky and added: “It’s nearly twelve now, and since my father mentioned it this morning, I think I’ll go see that principal we discussed earlier.”
“Though mind you—in cities like this they’ll hire thoroughly unqualified women, but male substitute teachers? Their policy seems rather against employing them. So whether Mr. Hajime could actually get in there—well—that’s hard to say.”
“But generally speaking, that principal would accommodate us as requested.”
“It may sound odd to phrase it this way—but my father does have financial ties with him, you see.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is.”
“Please do give it your full efforts.”
“Since Mr. Gotō has come to Hakodate, we longtime residents naturally bear the obligation to do our utmost, you understand.”

“………Well, I suppose that’s true.”
“In any case, I’ll take my leave.”
“Mr. Hajime, do return by lunchtime.”
“Well then, I’ll be off.”

Tadashi hurried across the sand in quick strides, following the shoreline to the right.
The remaining two silently watched his receding figure.
As Tadashi grew more distant, squinting revealed his dark brown Inverness appearing to wear a pale gray bowler hat where he stood.

“That’s my cousin, you know,” said Hajime.
“He’s got a narrow mind, you know.”

Above Tadashi-kun’s head, Mount Hakodate loomed solemnly like a fortress from giants’ legends of old, its massive shoulders propping up the gray sky.
At the mountainside’s midslope, beneath a pitch-black pine forest, a single vivid brushstroke of spring painted a band of faint crimson mist where plum and cherry blossoms intermingled, the park’s flowers now at their fullest bloom.
Among the groves and above the blossoms, Western-style buildings appearing here and there showed an altogether different charm, conjuring visions of an exotic port never before seen.

Suddenly, Mr. Tadashi’s figure disappeared.
No sooner had this happened than three wagons began advancing toward them along the path where Mr. Tadashi had been walking.
The waves were surging back now, seeming about to swallow both horses and wagons.
Ah! Mr. Hajime widened his eyes in surprise.
The white foam of shattered waves coiled like silver gears, biting at the horses’ legs and submerging half the wagon wheels in moments.
Three small Noah’s Arks took shape.
The wave receded.
The horses advanced unperturbed across the wet sand.
The returning wave came again, this time attempting to bite up to the horses’ bellies.
Even so, the horses remained unperturbed.
They continued advancing steadily as ever.
Mr. Hajime opened his eyes wide in astonishment and gazed curiously at this spectacle.

“So what do you think—does Hakodate suit you?” said Mr. Kusuno, who had been holding a cigarette in his mouth before speaking up.

“Suppose so.”
“Having just arrived yesterday—one daytime nap, one night’s sleep, only three meals eaten—I still can’t say for sure. …But.”
“Now look there.”
“See? The returning wave’s coming.”
“Those horses’ll get swept away!”
“There… but they don’t get swept away.”
“They keep advancing unfazed.”
“I’ve suddenly grown fond of Hakodate.”
“Hah! You think you’d find even one horse this magnificent back on the mainland?”

“Ha ha ha!” Mr. Kusuno roared with laughter. “But you know, Hokkaido isn’t the free paradise people imagine when they’re back on the mainland. There may still be some places retaining a colonial, energetic atmosphere here and there, but as for Hakodate—well, it’s completely hopeless. Being closest to the mainland only makes it that much worse. Compared to the vulgar cities of the mainland, the only thing superior here—I suppose it’s just that the salaries are somewhat higher.” He laughed again. “Ha ha ha!”

“Then why did you stay here for three or four years?”

“If you put it that way, I’ve got no ground to stand on… In the end, I’m far more spineless than you are. …We talked about it last night too—if I were to expose the inner workings of my school, it’s truly pitiful.”
“It’s already been going on three years since I joined, you know.”
“Speaking of girls’ schools—you know, it’s a place where they teach young women.”
“Young women grow older, become wives, become mothers—what you might call the queen of the household, I suppose.”
“That’s precisely it, you see.”
“That’s where I started from.”
“The current society must be destroyed after all.”
“It must be destroyed, but even if one or two of us raise our voices and shout as loud as we can, it’s still futile, you know.”
“Rather than that, I thought young women are relatively easy to influence—that girls’ schools teaching them are precisely the first castles we should occupy.”
“We must reform young women.”
“Reformed women become wives and mothers.”
“They become queens of their households.”
“…They will become so. Without fail.”
“In other words, saving a single woman means reforming her household, thereby enabling some degree of reform in the society to which that household belongs.”
“That’s what I thought, which is why I eagerly became a girls’ school teacher receiving thirty-five yen in monthly salary.”

“Then when you look at it, schools are like matchboxes.”
“As for schools—”

“Matchbox!”
“Exactly—it’s a matchbox through and through.”
“Cramped beyond measure—so cramped you can’t move a muscle.”
“Not even a flea could hop freely there.”
“Nothing but rigid sticks of fixed length jammed tight.”
“Someone like me—I’ve lost count how many rebellions I’ve plotted.”
“Though my rebellions never amount to your grand gestures—just clean exits.”
“Yet even I hold some sway with students. Leave, and who knows what stirs?”
“That’s private schools’ fatal flaw.”
“So they stonewall every demand.”
“Plead all manner of excuses to keep me.”
“Strange how their pleas make me consider staying.”
“Thus I’ve frittered three years away—achieving precisely nothing.”
“At first they noticed me—the ex-reporter novelty.”
“But wallow in mediocrity unseen, and you’re already dead.”
“Each dawn brings hope when I leave my lodgings.”
“Hope that dies at the faculty room door.”
“Cross that threshold—discomfort rises thick and choking.”

“No matter whose face I look at, aren’t they all just stiff, angular faces devoid of softness—gloomy, vulgar, weary-looking, what you might call teacher-stamped faces?”
“When I see their faces, this strange rebelliousness wells up inside me, and I get this urge to mock everything I see and hear from the get-go.”
“Mock?”

“Hmph—I can’t even muster the energy to get serious and yell.”
“That’s why I mock them to my heart’s content.”
“Especially when it comes to female teachers—they’re utterly impossible to deal with.”
“Whether they’re dogs or cats, sparrows or crows… Be that as it may, the fact remains they’re no longer women.”
“Since they’re no longer women, they aren’t even human.”
“They’re nothing more than what you might call abominable mutated creatures. …And as for the students—it’s pitiful, you know. Even fourteen- or fifteen-year-old girls who should be like white lotus buds have already been tainted by the ways of the world, growing accustomed to falsifying themselves without a second thought.”
“I sometimes wanted to cry.”

“Hmph, I know, I know.”

“But what was it? In your letters since taking up teaching in your hometown, I found tremendous encouragement.”
“That you—who once styled yourself Napoleon—became an eight-yen substitute teacher alone taught me a lesson.”
“And when you wrote of finding satisfaction in devoting yourself to the children from predawn readings until past eleven at night—why, it felt as though my lifelong ideals were being realized through you.”
“That was last autumn’s letter, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve memorized every word: ‘I teach reading, penmanship, arithmetic—give moral lessons too—yet I can’t help feeling these aren’t what I truly teach.’”
“‘What am I teaching? Even I don’t clearly know.’”
“‘But know this—I am teaching something.’”
“‘From morning’s first waking until night when my head meets the pillow—through it all, I strive to teach that something.’ You wrote that.”
“That’s it! Precisely!”
“Exactly—that something!”

“Ah, you—I’m reminded of so many things. …But what can I say? Since I was in the countryside, I suppose I could get away with some selfishness, but in a city-like place like this, it probably wouldn’t work.”
“There wouldn’t be a principal who’d cower from a single glare of mine, you know.”

“It’s no good—truly no good.”
“So my so-called reformist gradualism might just be too sluggish and ineffective.”
“I too sometimes think that way.”
“When I read your postcard that said, ‘At eight o’clock tomorrow morning, I shall execute the strike with full resolve to bear all responsibility,’ I jumped up.”
“Reform is useless.”
“Destruction is the only way.”
“In the scorched fields left after destruction—you—vigorous new grass will surely sprout.”
“As for me,”
“As if I’d launched a revolution myself, I swaggered to the post office and sent that telegram—‘Proceed with the slope.’”

Hajime was looking down and remained silent for a while, but—

“A strike? Ahahaha!” he suddenly laughed loudly.
It was a loud voice, yet somehow forlorn.

“Last night after you left, I couldn’t sleep at all.”

Kusuno’s voice sank.
“Was there even one person among the villagers who understood your heart?”
“Miraculously, just one—the old deputy at the office I told you about.”

“That old stalwart who’s always spouting ‘blood and tears’?”

“Yes.”
“When I submitted my resignation at the beginning of April, it was he who, lamenting the future of village education, tearfully tried to stop me.”
“If that’s how it was, then he was also the first to agree to the conditions I had proposed.”
“When those conditions ultimately went unfulfilled, and from the time I sent out final notices to all parties—personally ordering all school students to take a leave of absence—until I was dismissed as planned and left my hometown’s mountains and rivers behind without a second thought, the one who consistently understood my heart throughout was truly none other than that old deputy alone.”
“A so-called kindred spirit, huh.”

“Hmph—that’s a kindred spirit for you. …A kindred spirit he may be, but still just the only one.”

“Why can’t there be two?”

“Hmph—”

“‘One becomes two, two become three, three become four—ah.’ Hajime lowered his fingers one by one as he counted, then gripped a handful of sand and barked, ‘You.’”

“I also have times when I cry,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Hmph—”

“We arrived in Aomori at nine in the evening and boarded the ship immediately, but they said we couldn’t depart until next morning.”
“I spent a dreadful night alone on deck.”

“……………………”

“It was profoundly moving. …The way a fragment of the moon occasionally peeked through the pitch-black clouds looked exactly like my haggard mother’s face.”
“……Even now, thinking of mother makes me want to weep. ……In the end, mountains, rivers, human faces—all jumbled together until my chest felt like fire and flood raging as one. …………… I cried all night, biting into the bundle of rigging rope I’d used as a pillow.”

“Hmph—”

“The sea’s water was black.”

“Was it black?”
“Ah…”
“Was it black?” said Kusuno as he let large tears fall onto the sand.
“That mustn’t be done.”
“Stop this, Gotō.”
“Suicide is what weaklings do. …Persist until you die.”
“No—until they kill you.…”

“That’s why I’m still alive, isn’t it?”

“Hmph—”

“Dying mustn’t be done, but merely crying may be permitted.”

“I cry too.”

“The taste of tears is bitter.”

“Hmm—”

“It’s truly bitter, isn’t it.”

“Hmm—”

“Would tears of love be sweet?”
“Hmm—”
“In this world, there are tears without taste, you know.”
“There certainly are.”

III

“When I look at your face—I don’t know why—my spirits sink.”
“It’s a strange thing.”
“When I’m surrounded by enemies, I’m full of vigor—but when it’s just us two allies alone, I end up wanting to cry.”

Hajime wore a gentle smile as he said this and peered into Kusuno’s face.

“I’m the same way.”
“Usually, I’m quite high-spirited, but ever since meeting you last night, I don’t know what’s come over me—I keep wanting to say such spineless things.”

“Who on earth first sounded that weak note?”
“Seems it wasn’t even you.”
“Seems it wasn’t even you.”

“So it was neither of us?”

“It’s neither.”
“Ha ha ha ha,” he laughed, “there are strings in our chests.”
“In you, and in me.”

“This is it,” said Kusuno, clapping his hands sharply.

“Exactly—we were blown by the same wind and began resonating together.”

The two men laughed heartily in unison.

“Anyway, let’s give it our all,” said Kusuno, puffing out his chest.

“Hmph—”
“I will.”

“I’ve given some thought to this matter.”
“Anyway, I suppose you’ll settle down here.”

“Let me stay here until I starve.”

“Let’s call your mother.”

“Hmph—”
“Call her.”

“She’ll come if you call.”

“What will you feed her once she comes?”
“There’s no need to worry.”
“It’s not entirely unnecessary.”
“My only concern in this entire world is that one thing.”
“With just eight yen, we could barely eat until now.”

“It’ll be fine.”
“That’s not an issue.”

“Is that so.”

“Well, leave it to me.”

“Hmph—I’ll leave it to you.”

“Even if Tadashi’s proposal fails, we’ll certainly find something.”

“Right.”

“You’re supposed to be good at English, aren’t you?”

“In theory I should be—but these days I’m not so sure.”

“Well, that’s passable.”
“For now, we’ll just have to endure whatever keeps us fed.”

“Since I’ve left it to you, you’ll manage things somehow.”

“Endure until autumn.”
“Then something will surely work out—don’t you agree?”

“Hmph—”
“I will,” said Hajime, lying back once more.

When their conversation broke off, the waves’ roar abruptly intensified.
Kusuno—as if suddenly remembering something—pulled out his pocket watch for a brief glance.

“Ah, twelve o’clock has finally passed,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “how about we drink a bit tonight?”

“Alcohol?”

“I know the taste of alcohol at least!”

“So you don’t go to church anymore, do you.”

“Of course… I’ve liberated myself.”

“Faith from the church?”

“The self—from all falsehoods.”

“The self!”
“Hmm… Can that self truly be liberated from society?”

“From society?”

“Yes, I’m resigning from society.”

“Hmm… Do you truly yearn for death so much? …But regardless, let’s drink tonight.”

“Hmph.”
“Let’s drink.”

“How many cups can you drink?”

“I can drink any number of cups, but three will turn me bright red.”

“You’re weak.”

“Hey you—are there geisha in Hakodate too?”

“Of course there are.”

“I suppose they also call them *kuroboji*, don’t they?”

“What exactly is *kuroboji*?”

“Hah! So you don’t know the appeal of *kuroboji*, do you.”

“What’s that *kuroboji*?”

“It’s the leftover little toothpick.”

“What do you mean about the little toothpick?”

“They say they present it as *kuroboji*.”

“A little toothpick?”

“Right—you’re such a tedious man.”

“But how am I supposed to know?”

“I know—geisha put out what they call *kuroboji* toothpicks before customers.”

“So then—where’s the appeal in that?”

“The toothpick case is apparently something like brocade—a plain yet beautiful thing,” he said. “Pulling it out from between the obi, pinching a corner with two fingers and giving it a quick twist—then the toothpicks line up their tips in a fan shape at the mouth of the case, they say. And those toothpicks, you see, are apparently about twice as long as regular ones.”

“They call it *kuroboji* when they present it, right?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s an interesting thing to say.”
“I bet it is.”
“Where did you learn that?”

“I heard it from the town hall clerk.”

“Hah—regardless, let’s drink tonight.”

IV

“Well then, let’s head back slowly,” said Kusuno as he pulled closer the wrapping cloth that had been tossed beside him.
From the wrapping cloth, a large summer mandarin tumbled out.

“Ah—there was still one left.”

“I’m not going back yet.”
“You go on ahead, please.”

“Let’s go together.”
“If you go alone, you probably won’t find the way.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“But hasn’t it already past twelve?”

“When I get hungry, I’ll head back.”

“I see,” said Kusuno, though he still somehow looked apprehensive.

“I told you I’ll be fine… I’ll just take a leisurely nap here, so don’t worry about me and go on back.”

“Then please go back before it gets too late.”
“I’ll come by to pick you up tonight.”

The retreating figure of Kusuno in his old Western clothes gradually grew distant along the same stretch of surf where Tadashi had walked earlier. Hajime stood up and stared fixedly at his friend’s retreating figure. Enveloped by the roar of waves and the scent of the seashore, he found himself in an indescribable state—lonely yet liberated—and before he knew it, tears welled up in his eyes. Suddenly, he recalled the three pack horses from earlier, but now not a trace of them remained. Since he hadn’t noticed they’d come this far, they had probably left the surf line and entered the town. The crescent-shaped beach lay desolate; the roaring waves mercilessly tore at the human heart. Even the black speck that was Kusuno grew more distant the longer he watched. Hajime’s head hung low. As if to prevent that lowered head from rising, the gray clouds pressed down heavily.