Pathway to Japanese Literature

*Upper*

Ōba Shinzō, a company employee who lived in Tokyo's suburbs and commuted to an office near Kyōbashi Ward, would walk over half a ri to the tram stop every morning without fail, claiming it provided just the right amount of exercise. Because of his gentle nature, he was well-liked at the company too.

The family consisted of an exceptionally robust elderly mother of sixty-seven or sixty-eight, a twenty-nine-year-old wife, the wife's younger sister Okiyo, a seven-year-old daughter named Rei-chan, and a maid called O-Toku who had been with them for five or six years—making five members in total. Adding the master of the house, Shinzō, the household numbered six.

The wife was in poor health and thus had little involvement in household matters.
The kitchen affairs were chiefly handled by Okiyo and O-Toku, with the diligent elderly mother assisting them.
Particularly the maid O-Toku, though only twenty-three years old, wielded considerable authority through her fervent declaration of “I will serve this household for life”—there were even times when the elderly mother had to heed this maid’s words.
There were times when Okiyo would voice complaints if O-Toku became too self-willed, but given that O-Toku’s wholehearted dedication prioritized the household’s well-being, matters ultimately concluded with O-Toku’s victory.

Separated by a single hedge stood a shed that might as well have been a storage room.
There lived the gardener couple.
The husband was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his wife around the same age as O-Toku—these two neighboring women chattered at each other with equal vigor.

When the gardener couple first moved in, they came requesting permission from the Ōba household to draw water since they had no well.
The Ōba household deemed this reasonable and consented.
About two months later, they returned asking that a three-foot section of hedge be opened so they could avoid detouring to the main gate.
This drew strong objections from the Ōba household—O-Toku particularly argued it amounted to building a thieves' entrance.
Yet Master Shinzō’s characteristically kind nature led him to grant permission.
The condition required constructing a sturdy gate with secure latches, but the gardener instead cut green bamboo from nearby thickets, mixed cedar leaves into it, and built a crude gate.
When O-Toku saw the completed structure,

“Is this supposed to be a gate? Where’s the latch?”
“A gate like this might as well not exist at all!” she said loudly.
Gardener’s Wife Ogen, hearing this,

“That’s more than enough! It’s not like we could ever build a proper gate like a carpenter would with our meager skills,” she said while scrubbing the bottom of a pot by the well.

“Then you should just hire a carpenter,” retorted O-Toku, her words laced with irritation as she deliberately referenced the gardener couple’s poverty.

“If you’re going to make demands, I might make some myself,” Ogen said airily.

“Ask away—they might even come,” O-Toku layered on another barb.

Being stubborn by nature, Ogen stiffened at this retort, but aware of O-Toku’s standing in the Ōba household, she choked down her anger knowing confrontation would only backfire.

“Oh, just let it go at that.”
“Since I’m practically the only one coming through, as long as I’m careful about opening and closing it, there won’t be any trouble.”
“If they’re real thieves, they’ll climb over the hedge or even the main gate anyway—a gate like this is useless anyway.”

With that half-conceding remark of hers—O-Toku

“Well, if you put it that way...”
“So if you just make sure to open and close it properly, that’d be one thing—but you know how this neighborhood’s crawling with sneaky thieves and shady scrap dealers. There’s no room for carelessness or last-minute slip-ups.”
“You know how there’s that military gentleman—Mr. Kawai—next to the new bakery that opened recently?”
“At their household, just two or three days ago, a large newly bought copper basin got swiped right out from under them, I hear.”

“My goodness,” Ogen said, pausing her hands drawing water as she turned around.

“It was left by the well—while the maid was out back hanging dried fish for just a moment—that’s when it got stolen,” she said.
“The gate had been left slightly ajar after all.”

“My, one truly can’t afford carelessness.”
“I’ll take care with it—but Miss O-Toku, you shouldn’t leave stealable things outside even briefly.”

“Well, I don’t intend to do such things myself—but even so, one does tend to forget sometimes. You’d better keep an eye out for scrap dealers too.”
“If they come through the gate, they’ll have to pass right by your house, you know.”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.”
“If anything gets stolen—even a single stick of firewood or a piece of charcoal—it’d be utterly ridiculous, you know.”

“Exactly.”
“You say ‘a piece of charcoal,’ but have you considered how exorbitant charcoal prices have become these days?”
“That Sakura charcoal costs 85 sen per bale,” said O-Toku, pointing to one of the charcoal bales lined beneath the eaves stretching from the well to the kitchen entrance. “How many pieces do you think are even in there?”
“How many sen do you think a single piece actually amounts to?”
“It’s practically like burning money in a brazier, I tell ya.”
“Whether it’s earthen stoves or hard charcoal—everything’s practically double last year’s prices,” O-Toku said with a sigh. “It’s truly unbearable.”

“And with your household being so large, your needs must be great indeed.”
“At my place, there’s just two of us—we don’t need nearly that much.”
“Yet even so, buying measured charcoal for three sen, five sen almost daily—it’s completely unbearable!”

“It’s such a hassle,” O-Toku said gently.

When their conversation turned to charcoal talk, the two women no longer mentioned the initial gate matter, and before long had returned to being simply O-Toku and Ogen again—chattering away amiably without resolution.

As it was the end of November when daylight grew scarce, Master Ōba Shinzō had returned from his company as twilight deepened. Upon hearing of the gate’s completion, still clad in Western attire with clogs slipped on his feet, he made his way to the kitchen garden. There he stood for some time gazing at it with a faint smile—until O-Toku, nearby,

“Master, what a wretched gate this is,” she remarked.

“Did the gardener make this?”

“Indeed he did.”

“It’s quite a strange gate, but for a gardener, it’s well made,” he said, placing his hand on it and giving it a shake.

“It looks surprisingly sturdy.”
“Well, this’ll have to do—better than nothing at all.”
“We’ll have a carpenter make a proper one soon enough,” he said, then laughed—“A gate’s still a gate, even if it’s bamboo—ha, hahaha!”—as he went inside.

Ogen, hearing this from her own house, giggled to herself. Truly a master who understands things well.
First of all, someone with such a gentle disposition is hardly ever seen.
Their household had Madam who was so kindhearted, and the retired mistress fussed about busily yet remained thoroughly good-natured, and Miss Okiyo—though being a divorcee made her a bit persistent—still had a gentle disposition. Then abruptly she recalled O-Toku’s sarcasm from earlier that day: If it weren’t for fetching water, I wouldn’t even speak to that country bumpkin from Bōshū—acting all high and mighty just ’cause they’re being tolerated! Remembering O-Toku’s recent words—What a terrible gate this is—she thought with vindictive satisfaction. Serves her right for trying to nitpick when even the Master didn’t take her seriously.
What a ridiculous display, she mentally scoffed, then shifted her tone—But I must say, it’s rather admirable.
Her looks aren’t bad, and if she’s the same age as me, she could still marry any time—yet there she was, working herself to the bone in service.
Truly, an ordinary woman couldn’t imitate that.
And since she’s frighteningly honest, even Master Ōba couldn’t go wrong leaving things in her hands…

While thinking these thoughts, Ogen lit the lamp and tried to pour charcoal into the brazier, only to find not a single piece remained. Clicking her tongue in frustration, she touched the battered iron kettle—relieved to find the water still hot inside—and thought he had better return soon while it stayed warm.
But if he didn't bring an advance today, there'd be no fire tonight or tomorrow either.
"We could manage flames by gathering leaves," she sighed weakly now, her tongue-clicking replaced by a listless breath, "but there's no rice for tomorrow's meal."
With disheveled hair and bloodless face, huddled dejectedly in the dim lamplight's glow—Ogen's figure at that moment presented a truly pitiful sight.

The one who lumbered back to that place was her husband Isokichi.
Ogen asked about the money advance.
Isokichi silently took out the wallet from his work apron and handed it to Ogen.
She checked its contents.

“Just two yen?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the use of just two yen? If you’re getting an advance anyway, you should’ve brought five yen.”

“They wouldn’t lend more.”

“That may be true, but if you’d asked properly, the boss would’ve lent five yen.”
She showed him the empty charcoal basket. “Look at this—this is all we have.”
“If we buy rice tonight, there’ll be nothing left...”

Isokichi had been silently smoking his tobacco pipe when he gave the pipe a sharp tap, pulled the meal tray toward him, and began scooping rice into his mouth with his hands. He poured hot water over it and shoveled it down ravenously, yet somehow made it look utterly delicious.

Ogen watched her husband’s behavior in stunned silence as he devoured five or six heaping bowls and showed no sign of stopping, leaving her torn between exasperation and reluctant amusement.

“Are you really that hungry?”

Isokichi served himself another bowl and said, “I haven’t eaten half a meal today.”

“Why?”

“When I went to work at the usual time today, the boss made a sour face and snapped, ‘Why’d you come so late when we’re this busy?’ So I explained about the bamboo gate matter—how it was this and that—but he just dismissed it with ‘That’s your own damn business.’ Pissed me right off, so I threw myself into the work like mad. When past two o’clock rolled around, they brought out rice with tea, but I didn’t so much as glance at it.”
“The maid came and said, ‘There’s delicious norimaki today, so come eat quickly,’ but I didn’t go and kept working.”
“With all that going on, I really didn’t want to bring up the advance with the boss, but I had no choice, so when I asked him for five yen on my way out, he said, ‘Slacking off and asking for advances—I can’t stand your nerve,’ and handed over two yen, saying, ‘This’ll have to do.’”
“It can’t be helped,” Isokichi said, explaining all at once both why he was hungry and why he couldn’t get more than two yen as an advance.
And when he had finished speaking, he finally set down his chopsticks.

Isokichi was generally a taciturn man who spoke awkwardly, but at times he would make spirited declarations like this one—something Ogen found deeply reassuring.
Yet even after nearly three years of marriage, she still couldn’t decide whether he was fundamentally lazy or hardworking.
To flighty Tokyo women like herself, this ambiguity sufficed: he might skip work for three or four days—sometimes even ten—but when pressed, they knew their Mr. Iso would labor thrice as hard as others, so they trusted he’d manage when truly needed.
But Ogen had never pondered how dire circumstances must become before that “pressing” occurred.
She took comfort in believing him capable of extraordinary boldness when required—the sort of daring ordinary people couldn’t muster.
Yet doubts sometimes surfaced.
There were moments—especially when destitute—when she wondered if he might be unexpectedly weak-willed, but such thoughts only bred despair, so she diligently suppressed them.

In truth, Isokichi was what people called an “unpredictable man,” and the Ōba women had always found him somewhat eerie.
So even O-Toku showed an air of hesitation toward Iso.
This was an inexpressible point of pride for Ogen, and whenever O-Toku displayed this hesitation or when Okiyo used polite language toward Iso, a surge of joy would well up within her.

And so, having endured unrelenting poverty—being in his prime yet without a proper household, always living in places like storage sheds or corners of old storehouses—it followed that Ogen, too, had gradually come to be regarded by the gardeners’ wives as an incomprehensible woman; in short, a fool.

After Isokichi finished his meal, Ogen grabbed a basket and rushed out. She soon returned with a measure of charcoal and, while lighting the fire, prattled on about her argument with O-Toku over the gate that day and the words the master had said upon seeing it. But Iso didn’t even respond with a “I see.”

Before long, Iso let out a sleepy yawn, so Ogen laid out one grimy, crackers-thin futon and covered them with another, the two huddling together like a single body as they curled their necks and fell asleep.
The cold night wind blew in through gaps in the walls and under the floorboards, so the two curled their limbs as tightly as they could, yet half of Iso’s back remained exposed.

Middle

When December began, the cold suddenly intensified: frost pillars formed, ice spread, and Tokyo’s suburbs abruptly displayed winter’s full character—astonishing those who, swept up in the fashionable suburban lifestyle, had moved to the outskirts for the first time.
However, Ōba Shinzō was accustomed to this; he commuted calmly in long boots and a heavy coat. But on the first Sunday, the sky cleared to a vivid blue, the sun blazed brilliantly, and with not a breeze stirring, it felt as though an Indian summer day had returned. So Shinzō and Okiyo stayed behind to mind the house, while the elderly mother and his wife took Rei-chan and O-Toku downtown for shopping.

For women unaccustomed to outings, preparing to go downtown—referred to as “going to Tokyo”—became quite an uproar.
Thus, after the elderly mother, his wife and daughter, and O-Toku had bustled about with changing clothes and other preparations, once they departed, the house suddenly turned into a forest, as though all human presence had vanished.

Shinzō lay in his sunlit study reading the newspaper, still wearing his meisen-patterned padded robe with a heko sash tied over it, but as noon approached he grew bored and wandered out to amble along the veranda.

“Brother-in-law,” Okiyo called out through the shoji screen.

“What is it?”

“Oh-hohoho! ‘What is it?’ you say. There’s absolutely nothing prepared for lunch.”

“Understood.”

“Oh-hohoho! ‘Understood,’ you say—but there’s truly nothing prepared at all!”

Thereupon, Shinzō opened the shoji to Okiyo’s room and found her inside, diligently engaged in needlework.

“You’re working quite diligently.”

“It’s Rei-chan’s coat. A lovely pattern, don’t you think?”

Shinzō did not respond to that and instead looked around the area,

“It would be better if you sewed in a room with a bit more sunlight.”
“And there’s no brazier either.”

“It’s not yet cold enough for hands to freeze.”
“Moreover, it’s been decided we must practice frugality this season.”

“What’s this frugality for?”

“Charcoal.”

“Charcoal has indeed become expensive, but there’s no need for us to suddenly start economizing on it to such an extent.”

Shinzō knew nothing about it because he had no involvement whatsoever in matters of clothing, food, or kitchen affairs.

“Why, Brother-in-law, even in November, the cost of charcoal for a single month far exceeds that of rice.”
“From December through February—three peak months for charcoal use—if we don’t economize thoroughly, it’ll be disastrous.”
“No wonder O-Toku grumbles from dawn till dusk about needing more charcoal and prices being exorbitant.”

“But economizing on fuel until we catch colds helps no one.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Still, today’s unseasonably warm.”
“Mother should fare well enough today,” he said, stretching his arms wide with an exaggerated yawn.

“I wonder what time it is.”

“It must be nearly twelve already. Shall we have lunch?”

“No, I’m not hungry at all yet. At the company, I do find myself looking forward to my lunchbox,” he said while leaving the room and peering from the kitchen area into the maids’ quarters.

He had never entered the maids’ quarters before, but upon seeing a high window left open about two shaku wide, he casually poked his head out—only to find Ogen right below him, their eyes meeting abruptly as she looked up in surprise.

Ogen’s face flushed bright red as she finally managed to let out a flustered voice.

“You use such high-quality charcoal here—it’s unbearable!” she said, holding a piece of Sakura charcoal in her hand before plucking it into her palm.
Beneath the window lay an area where straw charcoal bales sat gaping open, and whenever Ogen went from the gate to the wellside, she had no choice but to pass by this spot.

Shinzō too was momentarily flustered and found himself at a loss for a response, but

“We wouldn’t know anything about charcoal…” she replied with a faint smile before pulling her head back in.

Shinzō immediately returned to his study and pondered Ogen’s actions, but he could not easily reach a judgment.
The first conclusion one might reach was that Ogen had been in the act of stealing charcoal, but Shinzō could not bring himself to accept this outright.
She might have simply been looking at the charcoal; perhaps she had casually picked up a piece to examine while passing by and blushed without reason when someone suddenly looked down on her.
Moreover, since he had seen her, she might have been flustered. When he considered it, it wasn’t impossible to think so.
Shinzō wanted to postpone his judgment as much as possible, so he finally resolved in his heart not to speak of this matter to anyone for the time being.

However, he thought that if by any chance she had been stealing, leaving it unaddressed might lead to trouble later—but since he reasoned that once discovered, she would likely be unable to continue her misdeeds, he became all the more convinced that keeping this matter to himself was truly prudent.

In any case, he reflected, just as O-Toku had warned, permitting the gardener to construct that bamboo gate there had indeed been an ill-considered decision.

After three o’clock, the group that had gone downtown came trooping back home.
The entire household gathered in the tearoom and began noisily recounting today’s experiences all over again.
Of course Okiyo—and Shinzō as well—had to be drawn in to listen and chime in.
Rei-chan had pestered them for a large doll at the Kanekōba in Shinbashi; a drunkard on the train had tormented everyone; the wife had bought Shinzō an expensive imported shirt at Daitoku because her “lord and master” was so sensitive to the cold; going downtown always ended up costing more than anticipated—and on and on it went without end.
And those doing the talking seemed far more animated than those merely listening.

First, when this commotion subsided for a moment, O-Toku suddenly stood up as if remembering something and went out through the kitchen door, but after a short while returned with an oddly serious expression, her eyes wide open.
“Goodness me!” she said in a low voice, darting her eyes around at everyone’s faces.
Everyone looked at O-Toku’s face, wondering what had happened.

“Goodness me!” she said again, then asked, “Miss Okiyo, you didn’t take any charcoal from outside today, did you?”

“No, I only use charcoal from the basket.”

“I’ve got it figured out! For days now, I’d thought the way the charcoal kept disappearing was strange—no matter how much the charcoal dealer schemes to thicken the bottom layer, it shouldn’t vanish this quick.”
“So since I had my suspicions, yesterday when Ogen was out, I peeked inside through a tear in the shoji paper.”
“And what do you think I found?” she continued, lowering her voice further. “There in that broken brazier—two pieces of Sakura Charcoal buried neat under ashes.”
“When I saw that, I was certain it must be true and nearly decided to tell the Elderly Mistress first. But then I thought to set a trap and test it ourselves—so today I went and did just that,” O-Toku smirked.

“What kind of trap did you set?” Okiyo asked worriedly.

“Before leaving today, I marked each piece of charcoal arranged on top with a symbol.”
“And what do you think? When I checked just now, all four marked Sakura charcoal pieces have vanished without a trace.”
“Then I placed two large ones on top of the earthen stove and marked them—but those are gone too.”

“Well, what on earth could this mean?”
Okiyo stood utterly dumbfounded.

The Elderly Mother and the Wife exchanged glances and remained silent.
Shinzō thought the moment had truly come, yet he still held back from revealing what he had witnessed that day.
In other words, Shinzō found it unbearable to go that far.

“Therefore, we’ve already identified who the charcoal thief is.”
“What should we do?” asked O-Toku in a slightly deflated tone—she had expected everyone to erupt in shock over this major incident and begin heated discussions, but aside from Okiyo speaking up, the master and others stayed silent.
For a while, no one spoke,

“What do you mean, ‘what should we do’?” retorted Okiyo. O-Toku grew somewhat impatient,

“The charcoal,” O-Toku pressed on. “If we leave it like this, they’ll keep stealing endlessly.”

“What about under the kitchen veranda?” said Shinzō, who knew Ogen couldn’t easily steal from there anymore but couldn’t reveal his reason—leaving him no choice but to make this hollow suggestion.

“It’s already full,” O-Toku flatly refused.

“I see.”
Shinzō fell silent.

“Then how about this?”
“We could clear out the space under O-Toku’s cupboard and store the charcoal there temporarily.”
“And move her belongings to the inner room’s cupboard,” proposed the Wife.

“Well then, let’s do that,” O-Toku immediately agreed.

“It’s a bit hard on O-Toku, but…” the Wife added.

“On the contrary, if I may be allowed to have my clothes placed in the cupboard of the inner room, that would be even more splendid.”

“Well then, having settled on that—the reason this situation arose is because Shinzō has been dragging his feet about building the storage shed quickly, even though we’ve been urging him to.”

“If only we had a storage shed, none of this would have happened,” the Elderly Mother finally spoke up—only to launch into complaints about the shed itself.

Shinzō scratched his head and laughed.

“No, this situation arose precisely because of the bamboo gate—which is why I said that permitting that opening was practically laying out a welcome mat for thieves.”
“Now it’s become thieves letting thieves carve their own passage!” O-Toku exclaimed in her natural loud voice, making the Elderly Mother abruptly—

“Quiet, quiet! What if they hear such shouting?”
“I too disliked allowing that opening, but now that it’s done, there’s nothing to be done about it suddenly.”
“If we block it now abruptly, it would cause friction and sour relations.”
“The gardeners won’t stay forever in that storage-shed of a dwelling either—they’ll likely relocate or such eventually.”
“Once they move, we’ll seal it then. For now, we’ll say nothing and feign ignorance—and you absolutely mustn’t mention the charcoal matter to Ogen.”
“We haven’t actually witnessed any theft, and even if some trifling charcoal was taken, making a scene and earning their grudge would only compound our losses.”
“Truly,” the Elderly Mother expounded with her particular concerns.

“That’s truly how it is.
“O-Toku might end up making sarcastic remarks, but if Ms. Ogen were to do such a thing, it could lead to real trouble—on the contrary, they might turn it around and accuse us of something, and who knows what we’d suffer then. I find that husband of hers, Isokichi, downright unsettling.”
“He’s such a strangely unsettling man.”
“It’s precisely that sort who’d lash out recklessly at people without a second thought,” said Okiyo, sharing the Elderly Mother’s concern.
The Elderly Mother, too, never spoke of Isokichi, though she certainly harbored the same concerns in her heart.

“What’s so special about that man? He’s just an ordinary fellow,” said Shinzō as he rose to his feet. “Still, best not to get involved for now.”

Shinzō withdrew to his study, and with the charcoal matter temporarily settled, O-Toku and Okiyo rushed to prepare dinner.

O-Toku had been waiting privately to see what expression Ogen might wear when she appeared, but found it strange that even at this hour when she normally came without fail to draw water, there was no sign of her.

After night had fallen and an hour passed, Isokichi came to draw water.

Below.

Ogen believed she had managed to deceive Shinzō even if he had seen her. Just as Shinzō was looking down from the window， she had placed earthen stove charcoal into the sleeve， wrapped Sakura Charcoal in the apron pressed down with her left hand， and was about to take another piece—but since the master was by nature good-natured and not given to baseless suspicion， she believed he probably hadn’t noticed. But when evening came， she simply couldn’t bring herself to go fetch water.

So before Isokichi returned from work, she covered herself with the futon and went to sleep.
Even lying down brought no sleep.
The grimy futon—thin as rice crackers—could fend off winter’s chill when shared with Isokichi at night through their combined warmth, but alone it left her stiff as a board, twice as cold as staying awake without it.
Trembling violently enough to shake apart, she curled into herself so tightly that anyone glimpsing her form would scarcely recognize a sleeping human.

As her thoughts wandered, revulsion crept through her.
Poverty had long been her companion, but thievery still chafed at Ogen’s conscience.
Though the charcoal she’d pilfered piecemeal until now amounted to little, this marked her first venture into stealing other goods—a threshold whose crossing now filled her with unprecedented dread.
Within this anxiety coiled both terror and shame.

Vividly, the events of today rose before her eyes—the master’s face looking down at her materialized clearly, and when she recalled furtively taking the charcoal, her face burned as if on fire.

"What in the world have I done?" Ogen cried out involuntarily.
Gradually, she began growing agitated.
"What if someone finds out?"
"There’s no way he’d find out. That master’s too soft-hearted for that."
"A kind nature isn’t something to count on."
"A kind nature is mere foolishness," she pressed through gritted teeth in her frantic self-debate, but—

“Dull-witted, dull-witted, utterly dull-witted!” she cried out again involuntarily, adding, “Hmph, as if anyone would find out.”

And when she poked her head out from the futon, she saw that day had ended and moonlight was streaming through the entrance’s shōji door.
But she didn’t even try to get up and light the lamp; she immediately pulled her head back in and curled up again.
At that moment, Isokichi returned.

Having heard she had gone to bed with a splitting headache, Isokichi neither grew angry nor surprised; he lit the lamp himself, added charcoal to the brazier since the kettle held tepid water, and went to fetch more water.
While waiting for the water to boil, he puffed on his cigarette but

“How’s it hurting?”

Receiving no reply, Isokichi stared fixedly for a while at the rounded, bulging futon—

“Hey—how’s it hurt?”

When there remained no answer, Isokichi fell silent.
As the water within came to a boil, he poured hot water over ice-cold rice as usual, crunched on pickled radish with a *bari-bari*, and began eating hurriedly.

The sound of Ogen’s muffled sobbing beneath the futon could be heard, but Isokichi—distracted by the noise of crunching pickles, gulping rice, and his ravenous enjoyment of the meal—failed to notice; by the time he finished eating, the sobbing had ceased.

As soon as Iso began tapping rapidly on the edge of the brazier, the futon squirmed restlessly; before long, Ogen sat up there half-wrapped in the futon.
Even though her front hung open with knees slightly exposed, she made no move to adjust it—when he saw this flush spread across her face and eyes brimming with tears as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"What’s the matter with you?" Iso asked without showing any trace of surprise or panic true to his nature.

"Iso-san—I’ve had enough," Ogen began through tear-choked breaths.

“It’s been three years since we started living together—but in all that time there hasn’t been a single day where we truly had enough to eat. Not one day where I thought, ‘Today we’ll manage.’”
“I’m not saying I want an easy life or anything, but this is too much.”
“You—are we any better than beggars like this?”
“Don’t you think so?”

Iso remained silent.

“This way, we’re merely eating to stay alive—is that all there is?”
“People who starve to death aren’t common in this world, so if all we’re doing is eating to stay alive, anyone can manage that.”
“Then I think that’s just too pitiful.”
Wiping her tears with her sleeve, she said, “You’re a proper craftsman yourself, aren’t you? And it’s just the two of us living here.”
“But here’s the thing—this endless, grinding poverty isn’t just ordinary poverty.”
“We’ve never once lived in a proper house—always in some storage shed—”

“What’re you yappin’ on about at this hour?” Iso snapped, turning sharply away from Ogen and striking his pipe roughly.

“If you want to get angry, then get as angry as you want.”
“Tonight of all nights, I’ll say everything I have to say, no matter what,” Ogen said hurriedly.

“No one likes being poor.”

“Then why do you have to take ten days off every month without fail? You don’t drink, you’ve got no bad habits—if you’d just go to work properly like anyone else, we wouldn’t be stuck in this miserable poverty.—”

Iso stared at the ashes in the brazier and remained silent.

"So if you'd just put in a little more effort, we wouldn't be stuck in this wretched state where we can't even properly buy measured charcoal like this..."

Ogen collapsed onto the futon and burst into tears.
Isokichi abruptly rose, stepped down to the earthen floor, shoved his feet into straw sandals, and bolted outside.
The moon glared windlessly outdoors, but cold that bit to the marrow drove Isokichi to hurry down Shinkai Street. After walking seven or eight chō, he called on a companion named Kinji, played shogi past ten o'clock, then on his return asked to borrow one yen.
He was refused - told they could manage tomorrow but hadn't a penny tonight.

On the way home stood a charcoal shop.
This store sold sake, firewood, and measured charcoal; the Ōba household procured their charcoal and firewood here, and Ogen too came to this shop to purchase charcoal.
Since establishments in the Shinkai district closed early, this shop too had already shuttered its doors.
Isokichi loitered awhile before the storefront, but suddenly hefted one of the charcoal bales stacked beneath the eaves onto his shoulder and swiftly vanished into the bordering rice paddy path.

At the thud of a bale being dropped heavily onto the earthen floor as he hurriedly returned home, Ogen—who had fallen asleep crying—awoke but made no sound.
And she did not pay any attention to what that sound might have been.
Iso slipped into the futon after Ogen just as he was.

The next morning, Ogen noticed the charcoal bale and was astonished.

"Iso-san, what's this? This charcoal bale—?"

"I bought it," Iso answered from under the futon.
Until breakfast was ready, Iso would not leave the futon.

"Which store did you buy it from?"

"What does it matter where?"

"What's wrong with asking?"

“It’s a shop in Hatsukō’s neighborhood.”

“Why on earth did you buy it from somewhere so far away? … Oh dear, you’ve gone and spent all the money for today’s rice, haven’t you?”

Isokichi sat up. “You kept nagging me about buying measured charcoal, so last night I went to Kinnosuke’s house to borrow money, but there wasn’t any! Then I went straight to Hatsukō’s house. When I said I needed to buy charcoal and asked to borrow a little, he grandly said, ‘If it’s just one bale, you can get it from my family’s sake shop,’ so I immediately went to that house and brought it under Hatsukō’s name. That much should last four or five days.”

“Oh, I see,” said Ogen, rejoicing.
“I wanted to open it right away, but thinking better of it, I busied myself with breakfast prep and said, ‘Why, four or five days? At home, this’d last us ten!’”

After Isokichi had rushed out last night, Ogen agonized over various thoughts until she arrived at this conclusion: since she was the one urging her husband to work harder, moping in bed would achieve nothing. Moreover, avoiding the neighbors would only invite suspicion.

So she had Isokichi take a lunchbox as usual and sent him off, then after eating her own meal and finishing tidying up, she took a bucket and opened the gate.

Okiyo and O-Toku were out.
Okiyo looked at Ogen.

“Ogen, you look terribly pale. What happened?”

“I’ve had a bit of a cold since yesterday…”

“Be careful now—that won’t do.”

O-Toku gave a curt "Good morning" and said nothing more, then smirked upon seeing Ogen notice the missing charcoal bales, her expression changing as her eyes darted about nervously.
Ogen had already noticed this and glared at O-Toku.
When O-Toku found herself glared at like this, it was practically a fight—she wanted to hurl some vicious sarcasm, but with Okiyo nearby, she restrained herself. Just then, Masuya’s errand boy, about eighteen or nineteen, came in through the gate.
Masuya was the store from which Isokichi had stolen charcoal the previous night.

“Good morning,” he greeted, then noticing one fewer charcoal bale than had been lined up outside until yesterday, added, “Oh—where did you store the charcoal?”

O-Toku answered in a tone that suggested she’d been anticipating this moment:

“Oh, we’ve moved every last piece inside.
“It’s too dangerous leaving it outdoors.”
“How absurd it’d be,” she continued, locking eyes with Ogen, “to let even a sliver of this pricey charcoal get stolen now.” Okiyo shot O-Toku a warning glare. Ogen—who had just drawn water—took two or three faltering steps forward.

“It’s truly alarming! At my shop last night, an entire bale was stolen.”

“Why?” Okiyo asked.

“Because we left it piled outside and unattended during normal times.”

“What charcoal was stolen?” O-Toku asked while staring intently at Ogen.

“High-quality Sakura charcoal.”

Ogen listened to this exchange while clenching her teeth, then staggered out through the gate.

As soon as she entered the earthen-floored room, she dropped the bucket as if hurling it aside and hastily opened the mouth of the charcoal bale.

“Oh! It’s Sakura charcoal!” she exclaimed involuntarily.

O-Toku was sternly reprimanded by both the elderly mother and the wife.
When evening came with no sign of Ogen, Okiyo grew concerned and visited her under the combined pretext of making amends and checking on her cold.
The interior felt unnervingly still as she called out, “Ogen? Ogen?”
Receiving no reply, she fearfully slid open the shoji door to find Ogen—apparently using a charcoal bale as a step—hanging dead from a narrow sash tied to the central beam of the earthen-floored room.

Two days later, the bamboo gate was destroyed. And the hedge was restored to its former state. When two months had passed, Isokichi took a wife—a woman Ogen’s age—and came to live in Shibuya Village, but their home remained little better than a pigsty.