Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Hayashi Fumiko Even if I stand in the desolate field and try to whistle, Never again will the maidens of fantasy come. Wearing melton trousers stained with tears, I walk like a day laborer. Ah—no hope remains, no honor, no future. And nothing but irrevocable regrets— ran off like field mice.

Though the poet Hagiwara Sakutarō was no longer in this world, poems like these remained. Senzou walked slowly beneath the ginkgo trees on the university grounds, turning the pages of this poet’s book titled *Destiny*.

The appointed time had passed by ten minutes, but there was no sign of Gorou. Thick with foliage, the great ginkgo trees formed a veritable green tunnel. The branches from both sides overlapped, allowing a richly fragrant cool breeze to drift through.

These days, Senzou hadn’t had anything resembling a proper meal—so much so that he hadn’t even considered the state of his stomach. His rent payments were chronically overdue. As for those two or three jobs he’d tried through friends—all reports said they’d shut their doors. On top of that, being saddled with a troublesome child like Gorou left him feeling exactly like a discarded boat adrift on the water. Yet even those few friends were, in this current world, barely managing to keep their own heads above water.

“Sir!” Senzou recoiled abruptly—a sweaty man had pressed right up against him.

The university grounds during its vacation period were hushed at midday, with scarcely any passersby moving through the stillness.

“Sir!”

“Are you talking to me?!” “How about it? Care for some cigarettes?” He hurriedly fastened the button on his chest. Before his eyes slid two orange boxes of *Hikari*. Senzou flushed crimson and asked, “How much?” “Thirteen yen.”

“Well… I don’t even have enough for one box.” “Well, how about five sticks?” He was already starting to open the box. The man’s little fingernail was ridiculously long. His head was gravel-bald, and when lined up, he seemed oddly short.

Rummaging through his pockets, he produced six yen and fifty sen in crumpled bills, whereupon five chalk-white sticks appeared like tiny beacons. The man then walked straight toward the main gate.

What was Gorou hesitating about? He checked his watch again. On the watch’s grimy glass, the green of ginkgo leaves glistened. I wonder if that kid’ll come back completely wilted.

Ah, the suffering called living... Senzou thought of his perpetually gurgling stomach—that noisy pest—with irritation. He suddenly halted. “Senzou…” Gorou came running up, swinging both arms like a rickshaw puller.

“How’d it go?” “He was there. He said he’d just gotten back…” “I see. Did he give you anything?” “He gave me a letter.”

From beneath his soiled piqué cap, he produced a crude manila envelope. The boy's bright, grape-like eyes darted animatedly. When he tore open the envelope, five ten-yen bills came out. "So you don't have to sell that book anymore, right?" "Maybe next time." Please suspend your tutoring services for the time being. The letter contained only those brief words. "Did you tell them Mr. Fujisaki was unwell?" "Yeah, I told 'em. She said it's annoying how often that guy comes into the back room."

“Was it Mother?” “Yeah.” Fool, fool—thou art but a feeble tutor. Senzou crumpled the letter and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Shall we go to Asakusa?” “Yeah.” “Can you walk?” “I’m okay…”

Gorou grinned slyly and raised one leg high to demonstrate. Senzou took out a cigarette and clamped it between his lips. But he had no matches. “Incredible…” “I just bought five sticks here.” “They have tobacco sellers even in a place like this?” “Sure there are.” Though they didn’t eat properly, their youth showed no sign of fading. “Bridging Well Thanks… We’re more or less in the upper echelon here.” “What’s so great about that?”

Though one wouldn’t think the world so merciless, upon actually holding fifty yen in his hand—for a poor man, in that moment at least—Senzou suddenly perked up, grinning from ear to ear. But if they were to set aside some train fare from this amount and eat something in Asakusa, fifty yen became money as ephemeral as foam—leaving nothing to spare. This was like ritual rice cakes for the gods—Senzou grew gloomy. “Now that we’re here… might as well sell this book too…”

“Why?”

“You don’t need to worry.” “But, Big bro, didn’t you say we’d sell the book next time?” First, the two of them exited the main gate and walked along the row of bookstores.

The radio music, melancholic like a mountain stream’s flow, evoked water’s shimmering hues. Gorou, thoroughly worn out from walking, felt pain pierce the core of his head. The heat pressed down, and his throat parched dry.

He entered a small bookstore and exchanged Sakutaro’s *Destiny* for a pittance. Truly a selling price that barely qualified as money—when Senzou let go of the book, his chest throbbed. Confronting this world’s cruelty that would wrest even a single book from a poor student, he began humming his habitual strange tune: “In the capital, skeletons gather—when might dogs and cats devour them…”

“Mr. Senzou.” “What?” “I... think my eyes are goin’ blurry...”

"Huh?! "Are you okay—hey?!"

Senzou panicked, scooped Gorou up in his arms, and hurried into the ice shop down the bookstore alleyway. “A glass of water, please!” A young woman wearing an indigo-dyed kasuri-patterned work coat brought two cups filled to the brim with water for them. It was an unexpected kindness. Gorou, his face ashen, gulped down the water in one go.

By 4:30 AM, she had already woken up and opened the storm shutters.

A southerly wind blew, making it unbearably hot. Yet the skies were clear all around. When she lit the gas, nothing but a roaring stench of wind howled through—the gas company was economizing again this morning... Sadako propped an old hand mirror with a crimson rim against the faintly lit lattice window and fixed her hair.

I wonder what Gorou’s doing right now. I wonder if Mr. Fujisaki is taking good care of him… Though the Sakata Grandmother had declared Tokyo to be like a dump for human scraps, Sadako still held to her conviction that Tokyo was better than the countryside. Sokkyo—being a place formed by gatherings of country people—was just as free and relaxed as Shanghai.

Sadako had never once thought coming to this house was difficult. When night fell, drunkards would wander past the house's alley entrance, and some would peek in as if wondering whether it wasn't some strange place—this street, lively all day long, seemed somehow interesting to Sadako. “Hasn’t the tea boiled yet?”

Obasan’s voice came from her bedding.

“Um, the gas still isn’t coming on.” “Since you can’t smell a thing, Sadako-chan, try pressing your nose right up to the gas.” “I pressed my nose right against it.”

Grumbling something incomprehensibly, Obasan fell silent.

Sadako took the laundry she had washed the night before to the second-floor drying area. The drying area—a sea of wind from all directions—looked out over vast burned ruins that had become wildernesses of overgrown grass, makeshift fields, mountains of scrap iron—all undulating through the downtown district in their own way—a boundless wilderness stretching into the distance. Amidst this stood somber-hued buildings and a forest of smokeless chimneys.

Whenever she came to this drying area, Sadako felt like singing something. The Apple Song... Mineko’s school anthems.

When she hurried downstairs, the dim kitchen reeked terribly of gas. She immediately lit the fire and put the kettle on. She brewed tea and carried it to Obasan’s bedside where she lay,

“You know there’s firewood rationing at eight-thirty, right? One bundle’s seven yen fifty sen.” “Yes, I understand.” “Shall we make suiton this morning?”

“Yes, let’s do that.” “If the gas comes on, you should steam the bread for lunch too.” “Yes, I understand.” If they used baking powder, ten yen would only last three days, so they made do with bread as hard as rice cakes—this was their daily reality. The old man Yoshikichi had gone to Fukushima on a two-day business trip and was away.

At six o'clock, the sound of storm shutters opening upstairs signaled Masako’s waking. “Last night, I had such a dreadful dream, you know. “A cow’s udder was dangling straight down from heaven… “No legs at all—just an enormous cow.” From halfway down the ladder-like stairs, Masako descended while uttering these things. Perhaps from having slept soundly, her eyes were clear. Deep down, Masako must have been fully confident about the beauty of her own eyes.

They sat down at the breakfast table at eight. The surroundings were growing hot as if feverish. "What on earth are people eating these days…"

Sadako suddenly uttered these words. “They’re doing what they can within their means…” Masako, disliking *suiton*, placed a frying pan on the electric stove and fried batter. “Sadako-chan, when it comes to things from the past, what do you miss the most?” “About the past? Oh, well... I always wondered why Mother had to die…” “No, it’s not about your mother. I mean things like where you lived or the food you ate—that sort of thing. Let’s see… like Shinbashi’s sushi or Ponchiken’s cutlets in Shitaya…”

“Ugh—talking about food again first thing in the morning… Hurry up and finish your meal—go to Okubo and settle things.” “Once midday hits and it gets hot, it’ll be harder to go out again.”

Obasan had tucked up the sleeves of her yukata like a student lodger and was smoking tobacco with a long pipe. “Hey, Sadako-chan, Shanghai’s dumplings were delicious too, weren’t they?” “I often had pan-fried dumplings too.” “Why did Shanghai have to have so many delicious things…” “I should’ve eaten until I was sick of them back then… Ah, how dull.” “Ugh, it’s so dull with nothing around.” “There was this Chinese man I had a one-sided crush on… I wonder what he’s up to now… Ah, how dull.”

Masako stretched her well-shaped legs under the dining table and was fanning herself furiously.

Because the gas was still on, Sadako stood up to reheat last night's meat broth but suddenly found herself wanting to see Mineko.

The three siblings were scattered, and she found their current life lonely. If I had a bit more income, I’d rent a room and have the three of us live together without interference...

In the living room, Masako was still chattering away about something. “Sadako-chan, today is Sunday, isn’t it? “Won’t you come to Okubo with me? “It’s no fun going alone…”

Soon came the sound of a wardrobe being opened. Sadako, now just one breath away from overflowing tears, suppressed a sob and hummed "Ringo no Uta" in a whisper.

“Well then, Sadako-chan, why don’t you go along too?” Obasan’s permission had been granted. Sprinkling plenty of pepper into the broth—Ah, if only there were laurel leaves here—Sadako found herself reminiscing about the Shanghai of old. “Mother, let me have a hundred yen or so.” “Tsk—saying such things… You took out plenty yesterday too. You’ve been acting strange lately…” “When I think of Shanghai, none of this matters.”

“This is Japan...” “Without money, I can’t bring myself to go out.” “You should get what you need in Okubo.”

Masako silently glared at her mother. Just as the broth came to a boil, the gas stopped—as if on cue. Masako stood there in a crisp yellowish linen dress, having perhaps managed to get ready despite everything, polishing her nails with flannel. “Sadako-chan, don’t worry about the rest. Hurry up and get ready.” Masako said in a gentle voice.

“How old’s your sister?” “Eighteen.” “She pretty?” “She’s pretty.” “Splendid. What’s her name?” Kunimune had launched into one of his seven notorious habits—the census-style interrogations. Having been given three hundred seventy-five grams of beef liver as a gift, Senzou had gone to Nakano Market for vegetables. On the charcoal brazier, offal simmered in the pot. At last, a savory smell began drifting up.

“Is Shanghai a nice place?” “It’s a good place…”

The books on the shelves had mostly been sold off, leaving a thin layer of dust gathered on the shelves. Kunimune was Fujisaki Senzou’s senior from middle school who, after graduating from Waseda University’s Department of Political Economy, had immediately enlisted in the military, been demobilized this April, and now worked at a small upstart pharmaceutical company. When Kunimune returned from demobilization, he found several friends already killed in action, others yet to be discharged from military service, and still more who had retreated to the countryside with their whereabouts unclear. In this way postwar human affairs were truly desolate—though he had managed through his own efforts to secure employment, the only companion he had to lament his loneliness to remained Fujisaki Senzou.

Senzou too had been drafted into the military, but upon arriving in Fukuoka, the war ended, and he immediately returned to Tokyo. He was still a student maintaining enrollment in the Imperial University’s English Literature Department.—With his family home in Kagoshima burned down and his allowance now limited to a hundred yen, Senzou eked out a living through tutoring and teaching English at a small private academy. “Ah, sorry I’m late…” Senzou returned, wiping away sweat. A single cabbage, surprisingly light for its size. With a naval knife, without even washing it, he roughly chopped the cabbage and tossed it into the pot, adding salt and a precious bit of margarine,

“Ah, with this, there’s nothing left to fear.”

Senzou wiped his hands with apparent satisfaction. “Hey, any good news?” “Nope…” “Isn’t there some outrageously profitable scheme out there?”

“Well, maybe Kunimune and I could form some kind of duo…” “A duo, huh… Well, that probably won’t last long either. —So Gorou’s sister’s a beauty, I hear.” “Yeah, she’s still a girl.” “What’s wrong with girls? “Girls are the jewels of our times.” “Girls and boys all over the world are just fine…”

Gorou was a sixth-year student at a national school. For the past month, he had been living with Senzou—a far brighter life than what he’d known in Kagoshima. Two years ago, after losing their father in Shanghai, they—their mother, older sister Sadako, and younger sister Mineko—immediately returned to their hometown of Kagoshima. But due to overwork and pulmonary tuberculosis, their mother passed away not long after their return.

The three young siblings must have had some assets, but Sakata Grandmother refused to relinquish them. Sadako had fled to Tokyo with Gorou at the end of last year without permission. Relying on the house of Masako, who was an acquaintance from their Shanghai days… The two young ones longed for this Tokyo soil born of their self-sacrificing passion... Adrift upon the moon; clouds—what wind?

The world does not bend to our will—ah, such is life. The vows we made are like a dream

All too soon had our vows turned to parting. On the torn uchiwa fan’s reverse—graffiti in elegant script. “This isn’t your doing, is it?”

“What?” “This line—it’s about heartbreak, no matter how you read it…” “It belongs to a certain esteemed person.” “A certain esteemed person’s work, you say…” After straining the pot’s contents and eating, they added water and rolled rationed flour into dumplings—the three organisms grew peaceful as sea cucumbers. These were reserve cigarettes—three university-branded ones from yesterday. At one yen thirty sen apiece, one couldn’t smoke them carelessly.—Kunimune too puffed reverently, but soon one of his seven ingrained habits resurfaced.

“They’re flooding the black market with tobacco yet claim there’s none for rations—that’s the government’s most underhanded tactic.—Not a shred of scientific thinking in anything they do—just shrine pilgrimages and incense-waving theatrics. And when the people get riled up? They spray ’em down like bugs with insecticide.—Go days without distributing staple foods, then walk through town—potatoes piled mountain-high in every stall…”

Humanity ought to be cherished within nature’s embrace, yet in the wake of defeat, the common folk found no such bounty. "It’s simply that those who get favorable deals live favorable fifty-year lives," Kunimune was vigorously spouting his bluster behind closed doors and nonsensical arguments.

But the black market tobacco was surprisingly good.

Gorou collected tinplate and wood scraps, diligently assembling an electric bread toaster. “Think you can get it working?” Senzou looked on while using a torn uchiwa fan. “With this, if I can get a bit of wire, it’ll work.” “Alright, I’ll buy it for you. But baking powder’s pricey, huh.” “I’ll go get it from Sis.” “According to Sis, the Natsukawas are stingy too.” “But they must at least have baking powder.”

“Ah, I want to eat something insanely sweet.” “What’s become of sugar itself?” “Sugar, that stuff…”

Kunimune, settled into the bay window ledge, seemed to abruptly remember something sweet. Gorou recalled the snowy purity of sugar stored in glass jars. There had been that time at Sakata Grandmother’s house when he and Mineko filched and tasted her carefully hoarded white sugar. The sweetness unfurling luxuriously across his tongue remained unforgettable. That dense richness—like being swaddled in soft cotton batting... They would wrap scraps in paper to savor secretly with Mineko even beneath bedcovers. Under lamplight, those glinting grains shone like crushed crystal.

“No matter what you do, having nowhere to work is just wretched.” “Even over in Hongo, prospects look hopeless for now—I’m completely spent.”

Senzou tugged at his hair in a manner that spoke of utter exhaustion. “It’s not like a university student can just unload a rucksack by the roadside and set up shop.” “Yeah.” “How about this—what if I quit school and threw myself into job hunting for real…” “Living is truly a difficult thing, huh.”

“Even if you’re told to die, you can’t just drop dead right away, y’know…”

“Exactly. “The world doesn’t give a damn about students like us. “You could say there’s too many problems—and there probably are—but there’s got to be… No matter how you slice it, without five hundred yen, studying’s impossible.”

“Yeah.”

“Just how much salary are you pulling in these days?” “Well, probably equivalent to a section chief’s salary back in the day.” “That’s hardly anything worth mentioning.” “That’s just how it goes—when your life’s starved of food, first you lose your vitality, then your dreams vanish too. I can’t even tell anymore whether I’m young or old.” “Ten years of drifting in this haze—keep going like this and there’s no difference between us and beggars.” “This existence is no better than traveling through the underworld while still drawing breath.” “So carefree really means carefree…” “Without ambition for glory or social climbing, people can live surprisingly untroubled lives.” “Carry your briefcase to work each morning, come home at night with eggplants and tomatoes.” “Books cost too much, so you don’t buy any—just read the morning paper’s ads earnestly until you doze off.” “Wake up and grab that briefcase again… Nothing left but this rustling diagram of existence—like an ice seller’s reed screen where nothing ever resists you…”

Just beyond the scorched field, the national railway rumbled past. Below his window, in the narrow vacant lot, stood a dense growth of corn. The second-floor four-and-a-half-mat room remained—even so—an unmatched haven. Though the tatami mats lay reddish and frayed with exposed straw cores, their rent carried an exorbitant price. Each day he slept on torn tatami, having sold off all his books, until even the bookshelves seemed on the verge of being swallowed by those very mats. The absurd persistence of the crumbling room vexed Senzou in ways both strange and bitter. What one might call a meager existence—invisible to the eye—chimed coolly in the wind like a porch wind chime.

With this, if even Gorou weren’t here, he might spiral into bottomless ruin.

Occasionally, in visits as wondrously rare as the Milky Way itself, Sadako and Gorou would come to see him. For Senzou, this remained his sole consolation.

“It’s just so desolate like this…” “Why don’t you get yourself a wife?” “We can’t even eat properly—it’d be pitiful to keep some dried-up woman around.” With a ferocious glare, Kunimune readjusted his seating.

“Hey, Fujisaki-san! Your rations are here!”

The landlady downstairs was calling. "What’s being distributed?"

Senzou asked. “They say it’s grated yam and kelp…” “Oh…”

His deflated response sent both Kunimune and Gorou bursting into suppressed snickers. A debate seemed poised to erupt over whether grated yam and kelp were truly significant matters.

“I’ll go check.” “I wonder if they’re charging high prices again like last time.” “Ask Okami-san—if the price seems too steep, just come back without buying.” “It’s downright strange how exorbitant these ration prices are.—Hey, have you ever tried that substitute flour made from konnyaku powder?” “They say it’s eighty yen per kanme… Wonder what that’s like…” “Probably sticks to your ribs…”

Gorou took the pot and went downstairs.