Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The house’s second floor faced the river.
There, a family about to depart gathered and were waiting while the boat was being prepared.
July's scorching sunlight, slanting toward the bamboo thicket on the bank, glittered upon the flowing blue rapids below.

Below, the sight of five or six Japanese-style boats gathered and anchored in the cool tree shade appeared like a painting.
Some had their sails fully spread out to dry, while others were being loaded with cargo from shore with great effort.
The tiles, lumber, rice, wheat—all produced locally—were all transported to the capital via passing boats that plied up and down this river.
Beyond that, a prefectural road’s pontoon bridge connecting such-and-such town to another spanned the river, and where packhorses and carts passed, the clattering of the bridge’s planks resounded through the quiet morning air.

Just below the bridge five or six boatmen were diligently assembling a bamboo raft.

“Grandma don’t you need to relieve yourself? Once we’re on board it'll be troublesome,” said the nearly seventy-year-old bald old man to his sixty-five- or sixty-six-year-old wife sitting diminutively beside him her eyes tightly sealed by blindness.

“In that case, though it’s a bother, I’ll have you take me once more.”

The old woman was then led by the hand as the old man guided her quietly along the long veranda toward the lavatory.

“It’s remarkable he still tends to her like that.”

The other old man, sixty-five or sixty-six years old who had been observing this, now addressed the fifty-two- or fifty-three-year-old housewife beside him.

The housewife was overwhelmed with caring for the elderly and children.
She had to direct the cargo loading.
She had to attend to those who had come to see them off.
There were all manner of recollections and lingering attachments tied to leaving the land they had long inhabited.

“I certainly couldn’t manage that sort of thing.”

Having said this, she noticed the eleven-year-old younger brother running down toward the edge just then.

“Tadashi! Don’t go near the river—it’s dangerous!”

The boy in a white kasuri-patterned garment with a merino sash fastened about his waist paid no heed and hurried down toward the lower part of the river. There, the sixteen-year-old elder brother had already gone ahead. Moored to the bank was a single boat, aboard which items like a long brazier—once installed for years in the country house’s living room—and a tea cabinet had been loaded just as they were.

“That’s the boat!”

The elder brother said to the younger brother.
“Huh? Which one?”

“There’s the brazier!”

The boatman of that vessel was a middle-aged man with festering eyes, while his younger counterpart kept hauling cargo without pause. Ue-san, her hair bound tight, diligently stowed away reed mats and sailcloth.

This family had come from a former castle town of samurai lineage about one ri upstream. For both the elderly couple and the housewife alike, leaving behind land they’d inhabited for years and people they held dear brought keen sorrow.
“I’ll not become dirt under strange skies in Tokyo!”
So declared the blind old woman.
Decades of struggle had borne meager fruit—their son now drew a salary and summoned them northward, which should have brought joy. Yet Tokyo meant dwelling on stone where even a single night demanded rent paid.
“Better my own crumbling roof where I might stretch these legs!”
The housewife too had given voice to such thoughts when departure loomed. Still, leaving their salaried son alone in the capital gnawed at her conscience—as did her younger sons’ need for schooling in their formative years.

Relatives and acquaintances had been bidding them farewell for a full month prior—making udon, buying fish dishes, and inviting the old couple and housewife over for feasts.

One daughter had been married off last year to a certain weaver who had sought her hand.
Since around April of this year, she had shown signs of pregnancy and had been coming and going even before that, but when the decision to move to Tokyo was finally settled, she came crying, saying, “Are you leaving just me behind, Mom?”
The mother had tried to console and coax her with words like, “There, there—we’ll manage somehow. Just bear with it until the baby comes,” but even when they departed this morning, she had come to see them off at the town’s outskirts, her large belly pressed against a fence as she stood crying.

Because the blind old woman claimed that riding in carriages made her dizzy, she had gone to the trouble of preparing a lightweight horse like those used during daimyo transfers long ago and came clopping slowly through the town’s streets.
“Even though you’re blind, do your eyes still spin?” someone said.
The old man, who had known the boat agent since before the Meiji Restoration, had gone out since morning, his bald head glistening.

II

At last, the boat was ready.

A long gangplank was laid from the boat's edge to the shore.
The youngest brother bounded across it first and leapt down into the deep boat's hold.
The son-in-law weaver who had accompanied them this far followed next, carrying the blind old woman on his back.
Then came the old man, the housewife, and finally the neighboring old man—who had asked to board this passing vessel for Tokyo.

The inside of the boat had been neatly organized.
To keep out the heat, a section had been covered with a mat, and there the long brazier and tea cabinet had been placed.
In the charcoal compartment, charcoal had been placed.
It had been arranged so that tea could be prepared at any time.

The sake-loving old man had brought about one sho of premium sake in a flask, but to prevent the children from knocking it over, he pressed it into a corner of the tea cabinet.

“O-Sada, that’s sake… Make sure you don’t spill it.”
He also warned the housewife.
“With this here, well, we’ll keep boredom at bay, eh?”

The old man and the neighboring old man exchanged such remarks and laughed together.

The housewife had long endured hardships with her father-in-law's sake.
While her husband was alive, the two had often quarreled as parent and child over sake.
Whenever they were invited by relatives, he would inevitably get drunk and cause a scene.
Even after her husband's passing, there were times when he would get dead drunk at a town tavern, and she would receive a summons to go fetch him.
When she had first come as a bride, she had thought of going to some country where no alcohol existed.
The mother had often told the children such things.
However, having aged, he had now become much calmer.

The blind old woman, once her seat was settled, took a hand towel from her sleeve and folded it into its customary triangular shape before placing it on her head.
A carefree hum began to resonate in a low drone.

"What a carefree one."
"She’s already started humming."

The mother whispered to the second son who stood there.

On the shore stood those who had come to see them off in a line.
There were those too who had bid farewell at the gate.
There were those too who had announced their parting at the town entrance.
There were those too who had come to the town outskirts—Farewell!—and gone after saying it.
There were those too who had come and spoken their goodbyes.
Those who had come to that river's edge were their closest people.

A young man who had come to see off the second son gazed enviously after his friend departing for Tokyo in this manner.

When the boat began to move, everyone except the blind old woman lined their faces along the gunwale.
The people on the shore also uttered words of farewell.
The boat drifted quietly downstream.

III

At that time, trains were not as convenient as they are now.
Fares were also high.
Thus this family had come to travel to Tokyo by boat.
The small steamers coming daily from Tokyo showed their painted hulls crisply white at various wharves in the evening dusk of those days.

For these old men, nothing in their lived experience had been as abrupt as the transitions of the eras they had passed through.
These men had once stumbled along behind their lords' processions bearing their daishō.
During the clamorous conflicts between imperial loyalists and shogunate supporters, there had been times when they rushed day and night to lodge appeals at the Hamamachi Upper Residence.
At the time of the Meiji Restoration, they protected the rear after the young men departed for battle and secured guard posts here and there.

Samurai became the former samurai class, peasants became commoners, and society transformed with dizzying speed.
They had seen capable peasants and townspeople rise to prominence while former samurai who lost their stipends fell into pitiful decline.
They had also seen the grand mansions of Daimyō Alley gradually crumble over long years and turn into fields.
At the castle site where the palace had stood, grass grew thickly for no purpose.

The neighboring old man’s family lineage had been superior by several ranks to that of the family now preparing to relocate.
In former times, those above and below spear rank had belonged to such disparate classes that interaction was nearly impossible.
The neighboring old man came from a 200-koku household and had passed his days carefreely singing ballads.
By contrast, his counterpart had honed both martial and literary arts from lowly origins, rising so remarkably that he became known as a favorite of an Edo chamberlain and maintained a position of such influence.

However, these two households had not been close neighbors since ancient times.
After gathering his family following his son’s death, buying a house, and moving there with that bald old man, not even ten years had yet passed.

The old men often discussed the grandchildren.

“Since Tsune-san is reliable, your household must be fortunate.”

The old man of such lineage said.

The family of superior lineage had also lost their son early and had no choice but to depend on their grandson.
The eldest child was a daughter who had turned twenty-two that year.
A rare beauty by country standards, she had been noticed while staying in Ashikaga by a Kagoshima-born man teaching at the local middle school, and after his persistent entreaties, reluctantly married him.
Once or twice the son-in-law came with his wife to stay at the old, grimy thatched house behind the brushwood fence.
At that time the neighborhood buzzed with talk of their having acquired such an impressive son-in-law.
The man sported a handsome handlebar mustache and made a perfect match for his tall wife with her round chignon tied in red silk.
The neighboring second son had sometimes seen this son-in-law at dawn by the weedy wellside, glasses removed, scrubbing his head vigorously with a brass basin.

However, one year later, after leaving his pregnant wife at her parents' home, the son-in-law went off to Tokyo and never returned.
The promised remittance was never sent.
Afterwards, the letters came back with notes still attached.

If they went to Tokyo, there would be plenty of ways to search for him.
Among them were some who had even told them where he was.
Yet that household was so impoverished they couldn't muster the travel fare to go.
The beautiful daughter, though nearly five months along with child, worked diligently at her loom with disheveled hair.
There, just as a neighboring family was departing for Tokyo—they rejoiced at being able to beg free passage aboard.

IV

“Since Tsune-san is reliable, your household has nothing to worry about.”

The neighboring old man said this to the housewife.

“What are you saying… We might just be going to Tokyo to struggle.”
“With elders and children to support, only Tsune can be our pillar.” The housewife paused briefly before adding, “Though it would be better if that salary of his were more substantial...”

“Things can’t go smoothly from the start…” he said with a laugh, “but Tadashi-kun has grown capable, and Sada-kun shows academic promise. You’ve nothing left to fret about, O-Tei-san.”
“From now on, you’ll be able to take it easy.”

“What are you talking about?”

The housewife said this.
However when she thought that going to Tokyo would let her share caring for elderly relatives and children—a burden she had carried alone for years—with their adult heir apparent she felt an inexplicable lightness as though weights were sliding from her shoulders.
Living alongside their heir brought its own quiet joy.

“Even so, what about yours?… Do you know where he’s gone?”

“We mostly know where he is… but it’s quite inconvenient and troubling, I’m afraid.”

“How worrying that must be for you.”

Thus, the housewife sympathized.

The boatman bent his pole like a bow and paced back and forth along the long gunwale.
The undergarment that came into contact with the pole was torn here and there.
With each thrust of the pole, the boat gradually descended downstream.

In this vicinity, bamboo thickets were abundant.
In this season of abundant water, there were places where swirling eddies formed as it flowed.
Ferry sheds became visible from deep within reed beds, and sometimes two or three ships with sails fully billowed could be seen ascending in a line.
Occupying a quiet, secluded spot where even the occasional bird calls from the bamboo thickets had ceased, someone with a large-brimmed straw hat had lowered two or three long fishing rods into the water and was nonchalantly fishing for char.

By the riverside, there was also a woman who had taken out a red waistcloth and was washing things.

The two boys, finding everything around them novel, did not sit idly below.
The elder brother in indigo kasuri and the younger brother in white kasuri sat side by side, paying no heed to the scorching sunlight beating down from above, and gazed intently at the ceaselessly transforming river.
“If you get heatstroke or something, it’ll be serious!”

The housewife stuck her head out from below and called out occasionally.

As the elder brother took out his notebook and began writing something down, the neighboring old man came over beside him,

“Hey, Sada-kun… Have you come up with anything?” he asked.
In the notebook, only the concluding couplet of a seven-character quatrain was written.

The utensils had mostly been wrapped in straw mat bundles.
Only a single large tray had been set out.
For lunch, everyone gathered around it and ate.
They brought things like dried goods that wouldn’t spoil even on hot days and salted salmon cuts, using them as side dishes.

“In Edo, it’s now the height of bonito season, isn’t it?”

“Back when I was stationed there—hearing those vigorous vendor calls through my window as I’d hand out a plate to buy supper—those days come rushing back now.”

As they drank a little sake, the old men exchanged these remarks.

In the afternoon, the housewife—as if utterly exhausted from days of fatigue—used her familiar black persimmon tobacco box as a pillow, draped a hand towel over her face, and napped peacefully.
A cool river wind blew through the gaps in the reed mats.

The old men, slightly drunk, eventually fell asleep.
By the time the elder brother disembarked from the boat, the blind old woman had also ceased her humming and lain down.
The bright sunlight glittered on the water's surface—now was the sweltering peak of heat.
The two boatmen, having even discarded their undergarments, bent their poles like bows as they moved along the gunwale—sweat streaming profusely from their hairy chests, heads lowered below their hips.
The boatman with the eye condition was producing copious eye discharge, his face having turned bright red.

The bamboo groves that had formed cool shadows and suchlike refuge no longer existed.

V

An evening shower was gathering.

The boatmen hurriedly thatched the reed mats.
Beneath them, the family had gathered in a circle as the fierce evening downpour raged on.
The boys watched from between the reed mats as silver-threaded rain made white beads dance upon the water.

“Now it’s cooled off.”

The old men said this.

When the evening shower had cleared, the color of dusk had already spread over the wide river.
The Watarase River, taking in the Omoi River, gradually approached the great confluence point of the Tone River.
As the wind had become somewhat favorable, the boatmen lowered the sail and smoked tobacco nonchalantly at the wet stern.
Beside them, Kamisan took out a pot filled with rice, drew water from the river, and diligently cooked it. Before long, thin purple smoke began drifting over the water like a painting.
The evening glow stained the river crimson.

The old men were drinking sake in the dim light.
The housewife heard the ill-tempered old man, gradually growing drunk, saying unnecessary things to the neighboring old man.

The neighboring old man had made no preparations.
He had been silently partaking of both sake and meals.
The housewife thought that was also because he was in trouble.

The old man also seemed to think he was being too soft-hearted about it.

“Grandfather, you shouldn’t have said such things—after we went through all the trouble to bring him along comfortably.”

After the neighboring old man had gone toward the bow, the housewife said quietly to the old man.

“Oh come on—it’s better I say a little something. He’s taking too much advantage.”

The old man who had said this was already quite drunk.

“But he’s in trouble.”

“Just because he’s in trouble doesn’t mean he can take advantage—if he’d brought even one gourd, no one would’ve complained… Not that I’m making a big fuss about it… But there’s such a thing as obligation.”

The elder brother, who had come down there, thought that Grandfather was starting up again with his usual habit.

By the time a single firefly drifted through the darkness, the boat had already emerged onto the vast expanse of the Tone River.
The flow of water under starlight appeared as dark rippling patterns.
The sound from the stern could be heard crossing over the water.

On the distant riverbank, scattered lights could be seen.

Around that time, the iron bridge at Kurihashi had only just been completed.
Not a few went out of their way from town to see that bridge.

The rumor reached the ears of the family members as well.

“Look there! That’s the iron bridge at Kurihashi.”

Thus the housewife pointed it out to the two boys.
The large iron bridge spanning the river clearly etched its outline in the dark of night.
The brothers' hearts, captivated by such novel sights, could not help but leap.

Soon, the boat drew near.
The sound of water striking the bridge piers rang out loudly.
As the boys, the old man, and the housewife passed beneath it, they all looked up and gazed at the large iron bridge through the darkness.
The brothers reached out to knock on the bridge piers as they passed.

VI

The brothers' hearts were utterly consumed by longing for Tokyo.

More than any other, the elder brother felt as though his years-long aspirations had now been fulfilled.
If only he could reach Tokyo, any goal could be achieved.
He could become someone truly prominent.
He could become an eminent personage like those who rode in carriages.
There, it even seemed that all good fortune and happiness had thrown open their gates to await him alone.

They did not know what things awaited them there.

The river was dark.
Lights on the shore were brightly lit here and there.
Someone raised a loud voice and passed along the embankment.

The sound from the stern resounded incessantly.

Since there were mosquitoes inside the boat as well, the housewife hung the prepared mosquito net from a corner of the awning, lowered it, and there they slept with heads and legs tangled together.
The three-wick oil lamp on the shelf dimly illuminated the pale blue mosquito net.
A cool river breeze blew through intermittently.

The elder brother, even after entering the mosquito net, could not easily fall asleep.
His eyes stayed stubbornly alert.
He went to the stern where the boatman was rowing and stood silently gazing at the dark water.

One of the boatmen struck a match in the darkness, lit his large pipe, and began puffing away vigorously.
Occasionally there were boats brightly visible under reed awnings, and others burning fires like bonfires.

When people awoke in the morning, the boat was moored at a small pier.
From breaks in the morning mist appeared glimpses of a two-story house on the bank with its blue mosquito net hung out, while a woman washing things by the water's edge came into view.
There were also five or six boats moored there.
The smoke from morning cooking rose in thin purple wisps.

"The morning feels splendid... Don't you think so, Sada?"

Thus spoke the neighboring old man to the elder brother—the young man standing there gazing at the morning river.

Grandfather,

“Morning sake is a fine thing.”

After saying this, he offered a cup to the neighboring old man during breakfast.
The neighboring old man tried to refuse two or three times, but in the end accepted and drank four or five cups.

The neighboring old man’s wallet held no money whatsoever.
In his destitution—having only dared make this journey because they let him ride along free—he felt wretched about burdening others, yet couldn’t spare even enough to buy sake.
Purchasing daifuku rice cakes from boat vendors and sharing them with the younger brother and blind old woman marked the absolute limit of his social obligations.
Even when talk turned to grandchildren, their situations bore no resemblance to this Tokyo-bound family’s brimming optimism.
The neighboring old man perpetually diminished himself.
He felt with visceral clarity the bitterness of depending on others’ charity.

“Since Tsune-san is so reliable, it’s truly fortunate.”

He always said this to keep in step.

Had they gone by steamship, this distance could have been covered in a single day; but in a Japanese-style boat, they made no such swift progress.
When they said it was hot, they rested; when they said they needed to sleep, they anchored; and when they said they had to transfer cargo, they tied the rope to a small pier on the shore.
Depending on the type of cargo, there were times when they could not leave that shore for nearly two hours.

"If we keep getting delayed like this-it's no use-there's no way we'll reach Tokyo today! Well-for us-sleeping an extra night or two on board isn't bad-but Tsune must be waiting impatiently back home!" Both housewife and old man fretted relentlessly.The old man deliberately softened his voice into coaxing purr-"Boatman-isn't it about time we set out?"

At shallow stretches where heat pressed unbearable-boatmen swam naked through water; watching from gunwale-younger brother-as if unable resist-stripped clothes-plunged splash! into river."It's safe-we're here with you"-a boatman assured-turning toward worried housewife.

After days of clear weather, there were places here and there where the water had grown shallow.
The upstream small steamer made its white-painted hull glitter in the hot shade and passed right by where they were stuck in the shallows.
The steamship had transferred all its passengers to another boat, lightened its cargo, and with all crew members pitching in, was thrusting as many as five or six long poles against the shallow shoal.
Moreover, the steamship did not move easily.
From the chimney, white, thin smoke was pointlessly rising.

That day was also a hot day. Moreover, there was no wind. Not a single ship sailing upstream or downstream had its sails raised. Greasy sweat streamed from one boatman’s chest; rheum trickled from another boatman’s eyes. The people gradually grew weary of how slowly the shore’s houses and the embankment’s trees passed by. Moreover, inside the reed awning—scorched relentlessly from above—it was sweltering. The blind old woman, wearing only an undergarment, was pressing a hand towel—which had been wet and wrung for her—against the deeply wrinkled part of her chest.

They arrived at a place where a white-plastered storehouse stood facing the river that afternoon.
Here was a famous white mirin wholesaler.
Sake that could rival Nada sake was now being produced here.
The old man, having mostly finished drinking the sake he had brought, had been waiting for them to reach that shore while repeating since long before: “Boatman, when we get there, please pull over for a bit.”

“The white mirin here’s damn good!”

The boatmen also conversed in this manner.

“Shall I go buy some for you?” said one of the boatmen. “No need—I’ll go buy it myself; I have other errands anyway,” Grandfather refused—though in truth he secretly feared they’d drink his sake along the way.
The old man, carrying a sake flask, walked along the gangplank while his bald head glinted in the sun.

VII

When they came to a riverbank where Tokyo lay only three ri away by foot, the boatmen tied up the boat again.
Since reaching Tokyo today was impossible now, it being the boatmen's plan to rest here through the heat and set out once it cooled.

The people, thoroughly wearied of the boat, all voiced complaints—but arriving in Tokyo at midnight would have been futile anyway.
They resigned themselves to waiting here.

And then, the neighboring old man,

“This is terribly rude of me…but the sun’s still high, and since it’d be more convenient to enter Tokyo today, I believe I’ll take my leave here and walk the rest of the way.”

the neighboring old man said this.
Being cared for weighed on his conscience, and being needled with Grandfather’s drunken remarks was unbearable.

No one tried to stop him, yet none felt entirely at ease.

“Sada, let’s meet again in Tokyo.”

Carrying his cloth-wrapped bundle, clutching an aged Western umbrella, wearing down-at-heel magnolia-wood sandals—the neighboring old man took his leave in shabby disarray.
On the embankment stood a great horse chestnut tree with outspread branches; beside it, four-o’clock sunlight fell upon a reed-mat shelter.
The elder brother watched until the neighboring old man—plodding up the embankment—vanished from sight.

“Just because he can walk from here now—after having us bring him all this way—it’s too selfish!” the housewife said.

“Not even having proper money, eating and drinking rice and sake on someone else’s borrowed boat, then getting off here now—what nerve to say such a thing,” Grandfather also said.

VIII

When it had cooled down, the boatmen began rowing out.
The sea was not particularly far anymore.
On the shore, reeds and algae grew thick, and the setting sun stained the water's edge crimson.

Then fortunately, an evening tailwind began to blow.
The boatmen hoisted the sail, made their oars creak, and contentedly puffed on tobacco.
Everyone's hearts raced toward Tokyo as swiftly as the boat itself.

By the time they passed beneath the high cliff said to be an ancient battlefield, a pale twilight gloom had already begun to spread across the entire breadth of the wide river.

The canal leading into Tokyo was located about a ri downstream from there.
This was Kawaguchi—a place that had been quite a bustling port during the days when transportation relied on Japanese-style boats.
There were two or three fairly renowned restaurants.
There, one could eat sea fish rarely found in the countryside.
There were also many women who tied red sashes about their waists and traded playful banter.
There had even been sons from respectable samurai families who, despite having wives back home, became notorious for consorting with such women here.
In those days, everyone bound for Tokyo would say, "If you go to Kawaguchi, you can eat shellfish soup," and they all looked forward to stopping here.

However, nowadays, no one went out of their way to stop here for meals anymore. The restaurants had gradually gone out of business, leaving only the lowest-class one remaining. The old man had long been acquainted with this house’s elderly couple. The family members disembarked from the boat and ate the raw fish and shellfish soup they had long heard about in a narrow, dirty room dimly lit by a lamp.

In the elder brother’s eyes, the place showed no trace of its former prosperity. In the dark rice fields, five or six thatched houses stood, from which only scattered lights could be seen.

Here too, the boatmen once again did not readily set out. Unable to wait any longer, the old man went to inquire about their whereabouts. Before long, he returned saying, “They’re over there drinking themselves drunk!”

By the time the boat departed, the late-rising moon already hung high. Along both sides of the narrow canal, various trees grew thickly, their branches sifting moonlight to cast shimmering sparks upon the water. The night lay perfectly still. From beneath reed covers on boats moored here and there, faint lights glimmered. Dogs' barks echoed sharply through all quarters.

Summer nights shed darkness quickly. When they reached stretches where houses lined both banks and bridges arched overhead, full daylight had already broken.

There were also boats that went about selling goods, their small sterns lightly handled.

“Look there… That’s how they go around selling clams early in the morning in Tokyo.”

The mother pointed it out to the elder brother.

“Is this Tokyo already, huh?”

When the younger brother asked this,

“This is Tokyo, you know. This is Fukagawa, you know.”

To the boys’ eyes, everything they saw appeared unfamiliar. White-walled storehouses, tin roofs—along the riverbank ran a clean road where people walked here and there.

The lapping morning tide, a high bridge that looked like it was from a painting, women in beautiful clothes crossing above, countless boats passing so close they seemed about to collide, small steamships appearing white against the river’s blue expanse like stamped impressions—the growing clamor of morning revealed the bustling city before the two boys.

(“Waseda Bungaku”
July 1910 issue)