Pathway to Japanese Literature

Low City

Because the wind was cold, Ryo chose to walk on the sunlit side of the street.
She walked, aiming for the smallest houses she could find.
Because it was around noon, she searched for a house where she could get a cup of tea.
Following the eaves and turning around a wooden fence that resembled a construction site, when she peered into the depths where rusted iron materials were piled up, there was a small hut with a fire crackling and popping behind glass doors.
A man who had come up behind her on a bicycle put one foot on the ground and asked, “Where’s Katsushika Ward Office?”
Since Ryo didn’t know, she said, “I’m just a passerby myself, so I don’t know either,” whereupon the man on the bicycle went over to the hut and asked loudly where the ward office might be.
The glass door opened, and a craftsman-like man wearing a headband stuck his face out.
“If you go out to Yotsugi Street and head straight along Shindo toward the station, you’ll find it,” he instructed.
Ryo, thinking the man with the headband seemed like a good-natured person, let the bicycle pass and then timidly approached him. “Would you care for some Shizuoka tea…?” she asked in a small voice.
In the dim earthen-floored area, firewood burned in a charcoal brazier, and atop an iron rod rack sat a large kettle.
“Tea?”
“Yes, it’s Shizuoka tea…”
Ryo smiled and briskly began lowering the rucksack.
The man with the headband didn’t say anything and went to the stool in the earthen-floored area.
Wanting to warm herself even briefly by the vigorously burning fire, Ryo timidly ventured, “I’ve walked quite far, and it’s terribly cold… Might I trouble you to let me warm myself for just a little while?”
“Sure thing—close that door there and warm yourself up.”
The man had wedged a small stool between his legs, but he pushed that stool toward Ryo and sat down on a wobbly cargo box instead.

Ryo lowered her rucksack to a corner of the earthen-floored area and crouched hesitantly, holding her hands toward the fire. "Why don't you sit on that stool?" the man said with a jerk of his chin, watching Ryo's flushed face across the flames.
Though her appearance was plain and unkempt, she was unexpectedly fair-skinned and comely, so he asked, "You peddle goods door-to-door?"

The kettle's water began whistling sharply.

A conspicuously large household shrine clung to the soot-blackened ceiling, fresh green sakaki branches laid before it. Beneath the window hung a blackboard, while a pair of rubber boots riddled with holes sat at the wall's edge.
"I heard this area was good territory, so I came early this morning—but only made one sale. I'd nearly decided to head back when I thought maybe someone might let me eat my bento somewhere... So I've been searching for such a place..."
"You can eat your bento right here... Business depends on the day's luck, see? If you try busier neighborhoods, might find better sales unexpected-like."
The man pulled a yellowish grease-stained newspaper bundle from a shelf resembling a warped bookcase and produced salmon slices. He lowered the kettle onto the iron rod rack.

A savory aroma rose.

"C'mon—sit on that stool and take your time with your bento..."
Ryo stood up, took out the cloth-wrapped bento box from her rucksack, and settled onto the seat.
"No trade comes easy—how much they pay per hundred momme for this Shizuoka tea?"
The man flipped the salmon with his fingers.

"The selling price runs 120 to 130 yen per hundred momme, but there's waste to account for—set it higher and it won't sell at all..."
"Figures—households with elders might buy some, but young folks' places? Tough sell." Ryo opened her bento.

Jet-black barley rice held two grilled horse mackerel and pickled miso.

"So—where's your home?"
"Inaricho in Shitaya—but I only just came to Tokyo. Still don't know east from west."
"Oh—renting a room somewhere?"
"No—just staying with someone temporary-like..."

The man took out a large anodized aluminum bento box from a soiled woolen bag and removed the lid.
The potato rice was packed so tightly it seemed on the verge of being crushed.
He grabbed the grilled salmon with his hand and placed it on the lid, then set the kettle back and stuffed small pieces of firewood into the charcoal brazier.
Ryo placed her half-eaten bento on the stool, pulled out a merchant-grade tea bag from her rucksack, and tore off a small portion onto a tissue paper. “Would you mind putting this in the kettle?” she asked.
The man waved his hand as if embarrassed. “Ain’t this too fancy for me?” he said with a grin.
His large white teeth looked youthful.
Ryo lifted the kettle’s lid and swiftly released the tea into the rising steam.

The tea had come to a gurgling boil.
The man took a teacup and a dirty cup from the shelf and placed them on the new cargo box by the wall.
"You there—what's your husband do for work?"
The man said this as he tore off half the salmon with his hand and offered it onto Ryo's rice.
Ryo accepted the salmon with bewildered gratitude.
"My husband's in Siberia—since he still hasn't returned, I've no choice but to do this kind of work."
The man looked up sharply. "Siberia? Whereabouts there?" he asked.

From a place called Suchin near Baikal, there had been word; autumn passed, and he had barely survived this winter as well.
Ryo had grown accustomed to waking each morning with that sinking feeling of despair.
Because the distance was too vast, she had no tangible sense of it—but by now she had grown accustomed even to this absence of sensation.
It was said that a song called “The Hill of a Foreign Land” had become popular, so Ryo had Tomekichi sing it for her, but as she listened to the song, a deep loneliness began to well up within her.
It seemed to her that the wartime atmosphere still lingered only around her own surroundings.
In the haze of receding memories, only her own place seemed left behind from peaceful hues.
There’s no such thing as God.
Ryo would say as a matter of habit.
In the hot season, each day became unbearable with restless longing, and as the sweltering climate gradually faded away, the coming of winter would press down on her with loneliness.
There was a limit to human endurance, Ryo fumed alone.
The image of Takatsugu, who had now endured four winters in Siberia, came to be imagined growing thinner and thinner, like a ghost.

In the six years since Takatsugu had gone off to war, Ryo had not once experienced a happiness that lifted her heart.

Time flowed without emotional resonance beyond the boundaries of Ryo's existence.
Nowadays nobody spoke of the war anymore, and on rare occasions when she told someone her husband remained in Siberia, they would offer only the sort of casual sympathy one might give a messenger who hadn't returned from an errand.
Though she couldn't grasp what sort of place Siberia truly was, Ryo could envision it only as an endless desert of snow.

“It’s a place called Suchin near Baikal, but he still hasn’t been able to return…”
“I’m a repatriate from Siberia myself—got stuck doing logging near the Amur River in Muruchi for about two years. Life’s all about luck, y’know? Your husband’s got it rough, but you waiting all this time—that’s no small thing either…”
Removing his headband, the man wiped the teacup and cup with the headband cloth before pouring the boiling tea.
“Oh!
“So you’re also a demobilized soldier?
“But it’s remarkable you stayed healthy enough to make it back?”
“Somehow managed not to die and made it back to Japan, I guess…”
Ryo put away her bento box while studying the man’s face.
Precisely because he seemed like an ordinary man, Ryo found it easy to talk to him and felt at ease.
“Do you have any children?”
“Yes, I have an eight-year-old boy, but right now we’re tangled up with transferring schools and such matters.
“Since the ration procedures are delayed, I have to start with those first, and my child can’t even attend school—truly, on top of being busy with work, running around to the ward office every day about these formalities has me completely worn out.”

The man took a cup and was drinking the hot tea， blowing on it to cool it down.
“This tea’s good.”
“Oh， is that so? There is better tea available， but this is second flush， costing around 800 yen per kan.”
“But they say it’s surprisingly tasty.”
Ryo also took the teacup in both hands， blowing on the hot tea as she drank.

At some point, the wind shifted direction—a western wind began blowing fiercely—making the tin roof clatter noisily.
Ryo felt uneasy about going outside and wanted to stay by the fire as long as possible.
“I think I’ll buy about two hundred *monme*…”
The man said this and took out three hundred yen from his work clothes pocket.
“Oh! You don’t have to buy it—I can give you about two hundred *monme*.”
Ryo hurriedly took out two hundred-monme bags and placed them on the cargo box.
“Ah now—business is business.”
“Can’t just take it for free.—Come by again when you’re around these parts.”
“Oh yes! I’ll certainly come again… You don’t live here though?”
Ryo looked around the cramped hut.
The man put away his bento box and peeled off a thin splintered piece of wood from a crack before saying while using it as a toothpick: “I live right here.”
“Job’s watchman and transporter for these iron materials—just get my meals sent over from my sister’s place nearby…”
Having said that, he opened the door beneath the household shrine.
In a closet-like space stood a makeshift bed with Yamada Isuzu’s picture postcard tacked to the plank wall.
“My!”
“How cleverly arranged!”
“Must be comfortable…”
Ryo wondered how old this man might be.

From that day on, Ryo began coming to Yotsugi to peddle her wares and started stopping by this small hut at the iron materials storage yard. She learned that the man’s name was Tsurushi Yoshio. Tsurushi rejoiced at Ryo’s visits and would sometimes buy sweets while waiting for her. Alongside gaining the pleasure of visiting Tsurushi’s place, regular customers who gradually bought tea from her emerged, making her peddling business around the area easier. On the fifth day, Ryo took Tomekichi and went to Tsurushi’s small hut in Yotsugi. When Tsurushi saw Tomekichi, he became overjoyed and took him out somewhere, but after a short while, Tomekichi returned carrying two large brown sugar sponge cakes still hot from being made. “The kid here puffed these up himself…” Tsurushi said this while patting Tomekichi’s head and having him sit on a stool. Ryo had begun wondering whether Tsurushi had a wife. Though it wasn’t particularly significant, seeing Tsurushi doting on Tomekichi made her suddenly think so. Until turning thirty that very day, Ryo had never considered anything beyond matters concerning her husband, but as she came to understand Tsurushi’s easygoing nature, she began feeling her own emotions toward him were gradually changing in an odd way. Lately, Ryo had started paying more attention to her appearance and throwing herself into her business as she made her rounds. In addition to tea, she began receiving dried mackerel and sardine flakes from relatives in Shizuoka and tried selling those alongside—at times, rather than the tea, the dried fish would surprisingly sell better.

It must have been about seven or eight days since Ryo had started visiting Tsurushi’s place. Tsurushi, having a day off, suggested taking Ryo and Tomekichi—who had mentioned never having seen Asakusa—to show them around. Though it was still too early for cherry blossoms, he proposed that if they had time they might also stroll through Ueno Park. So on the appointed day, Ryo stood waiting with Tomekichi in front of the travel information office inside Ueno Station, exactly as Tsurushi had instructed.

It was a partly sunny yet overcast day, but had it not been for the rain, it would have been quite calm instead.
After about ten minutes, Tsurushi arrived in a gray, shabby suit frayed from long use.

Ryo wore a blue wave-patterned dress made from kimono fabric with a thinly padded beige suit jacket over it, had dressed up somewhat despite herself, and was leading Tomekichi by the hand.
She looked younger than usual, and standing beside the exceptionally tall Tsurushi, Ryo appeared short—whether from her Western-style clothing or not—like a schoolgirl in comparison.

“If only it doesn’t rain...”
Tsurushi walked through the crowd, casually scooping up Tomekichi to carry him along.
Ryo carried a large shopping bag containing bread, nori rolls, and summer citrus.
They took the subway to Asakusa’s terminal station, walked from beside Matsuya toward Nitenmon, and entered Nakamise.

Ryo found Asakusa more provincial than she had imagined. The small vermilion hall gave her pause—could this really be the famed Asakusa Kannon? Tsurushi had explained how people once had to crane their necks to see its towering form, but she couldn’t conjure any real sense of that vanished grandeur. There was only this endless tide of bodies. People jostled around the diminutive red-lacquered hall. In the distance, trumpets and saxophones wove a melancholic, beckoning melody. Trees in the park’s scorched square rustled their budding branches, leaves whispering noisily as they struggled against the buffeting wind.

When they passed under the arch of the used clothing market, makeshift food stalls stood densely packed around the pond.
The smell of scorching oil and the steam from large oden pots filled the surroundings.
Tomekichi walked while licking the yellow cotton candy piled on his chopsticks—bought for him by Tsurushi at a stall. Though their encounter was fleeting, Ryo felt as if she had been with Tsurushi for ten years, and it made her feel strong.
She wasn’t tired at all.
Movie theaters and revue houses lined the street.
Through the valley of large buildings where American-style billboards all seemed to groan and press in, the three of them strolled.
“It’s started to rain.”
When Tsurushi raised a hand, Ryo too looked up at the sky.
Large raindrops began to fall.
While thinking their much-anticipated outing was ruined, Ryo and the others entered a small café where a merry-go-round and glass lanterns were displayed.
The artificial cherry blossoms hanging unexpectedly from the ceiling appeared surprisingly bleak.
Taking the tea, Ryo brought out nori rolls and bread and had Tsurushi and Tomekichi eat them.
Since Tsurushi didn’t smoke, the meal was surprisingly quick to finish, but the rain grew heavier, and before they knew it, customers seeking shelter packed in tightly.

“What shall we do?
“My, this rain has gotten quite heavy… It doesn’t look like it’ll let up anytime soon.”
“Hold on a bit—I’ll take you home once it lets up.”
She thought that when he said he’d take them home, he likely meant her house in Inaricho.
Even if he were to take her home, she couldn’t very well invite Tsurushi inside.
She had been allowed to stay by a hometown acquaintance until she could find a room.
At night, she slept in the two-tatami-mat space by the entrance, so she had no room of her own.
Ryo would rather have gone to Tsurushi’s place in Yotsugi than to Inaricho, but since there wasn’t even a proper seat in his small hut, she couldn’t very well settle in there properly.

Ryo checked the wallet inside her shopping bag so Tsurushi wouldn’t notice. Having about seven hundred yen, she wondered if there might be someplace like an inn where they could wait out the rain. “Isn’t there somewhere like an inn?” When asked this, Tsurushi made a strange face. Ryo spoke frankly about her living situation without reservation. “So... I don’t want to go back like this,” she said. “I’d like to watch a movie, and if there’s a small inn where we could rest, have some soba served to us, and say goodbye happily... Is that too extravagant?” It seemed Tsurushi had been thinking the same thing—he took off his jacket, draped it over Tomekichi’s head, then stepped out into the rain with Ryo and dashed under the eaves of a nearby movie theater. Since there were no chairs, they had to stand watching the film until they grew exhausted from both the stifling crowd and remaining upright, with Tomekichi eventually falling sound asleep on Tsurushi’s back. Thinking it better to find an inn quickly, they left after about an hour and walked through the driving rain that roared around them like bamboo leaves being beaten. Finally, near Taharamachi, they found a small inn.

At the far end of a creaking corridor riddled with knotholes was a narrow room, where Ryo and the others were led.
The clammy, damp tatami mats felt unpleasant.

Ryo took off her wet socks.
Tomekichi lay sprawled before the alcove.
Tsurushi fashioned a soiled floor cushion into a pillow for the boy.
Water swollen from missing gutters cascaded noisily under the eaves.
Tsurushi produced a yellowed handkerchief and wiped Ryo's hair.
Accepting this natural kindness without pretense, she let herself indulge.
Through the rain's drone flickered a wisp of happiness in Ryo's chest.
Why did this joy come...?
Her long-pent loneliness seemed to whistle through her like a bamboo flute.
"Do you think they'll bring food here?"
"I'll go ask..."
Ryo stepped into the corridor and inquired of the Western-uniformed maid returning with tea.
When told Chinese noodles were available, she ordered two portions.

While drinking tea, the two sat facing each other across the fireless box-shaped brazier for a time. Tsurushi stretched out his legs and lay down beside Tomekichi. Ryo watched the rain-darkened sky gradually deepening through the windowpane.
“Oriyo-san, how old are you?”
Suddenly Tsurushi posed this question.
Ryo turned her face toward him and chuckled softly.
“A woman’s age is hard to guess.”
“Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”
“Oh, I’m already an old woman.”
“Thirty.”
“Hoh—one year older than me...”
“My! You’re so young! I thought you were over thirty, Mr. Tsurushi.”
Ryo stared at Tsurushi’s face with fresh curiosity.
Tsurushi’s eyes—thick-browed as they were—flickered with a faint glow as he gazed at his own outstretched, soiled feet.
Tsurushi was taking off his socks too.

The rain showed no sign of letting up even as night fell.

When the cold Chinese-style noodles finally arrived late, Ryo shook Tomekichi awake and had the drowsy boy sip the broth.
The two of them decided to stay the night.
It appeared Tsurushi had gone to the front desk and paid the lodging fee, as three unexpectedly tidy sets of bedding were brought in.
Ryo spread out the futons.
The room felt filled to capacity with futons.
She had Tomekichi take off only his jacket, took him to the toilet to relieve himself, and laid him down in the middle of the futon.
“They must think we’re a married couple.”
“That’s right. How pitiable of them…”
Perhaps seeing the futon, Ryo felt an inexplicable restlessness in her chest and a sense of guilt toward her husband.
Though she couldn’t grasp how things had come to this, she wanted to believe it had happened out of necessity because of the rain, and in her heart she kept making such excuses.

When midnight came and Ryo was dozing off in a pleasant mood, Tsurushi’s voice called out, “Oriyo-san, Oriyo-san.”
When Ryo abruptly raised her face from the pillow, Tsurushi whispered, “Oriyo-san, may I come over there?”
The rain had eased slightly, and the sound of water dripping from the eaves came intermittently.
“I can’t…”
“So it’s no good after all?”
“Yes… that’s a problem…”
Tsurushi let out a deep sigh.
“Mr. Tsurushi—I never asked before—what happened to your wife?”
“She’s not here now.”
“Was she here before?”
“Yeah.”
“What became of her…”
“When I came back from the army, she was living with another man.”
“Did you get angry?”
“Well… yeah, I got angry. But once she’d left, there was nothing to do about it…”
“That’s true… but you managed to accept it completely…”
Tsurushi stayed silent awhile longer.
“Should we talk about something?”
“Nah, nothin’ special to talk about. …That chūka soba was awful, huh.”
“…Yes… truly—a hundred yen for a bowl like that…”

“You both should have a proper room…”
“Yes… I wonder if there’s one near you… I want to move closer to you, Mr. Tsurushi…”
“Well, there aren’t any.”
“If there were any, I’d tell you right away.”
“Ms. Oriyo, you’re something else.”
“Oh, why?”
“You’re admirable.”
“It’s not that all women are irresponsible.”
Ryo fell silent.
She felt like embracing someone—holding each other close.
And…….
Ryo let out a painful sigh, bit by bit—as if tearing off and discarding pieces—so that Tsurushi wouldn’t notice.
Underarms grew hot.
Trucks rumbled past along the road, rattling the houses.
“War—that thing—turned humans into bugs, huh?”
“They were dead serious yet acting like madmen, you see.”
“I ended up a private second class, but I got beaten plenty, I tell you.”
“I’m sick of it happening twice already…”
“Mr. Tsurushi, what about your father and mother…”
“They’re in the countryside.”

“Where’s your hometown?”
“Fukuoka.”
“What does your sister do?”
“Like Ms. Oriyo here—raising two kids alone.”
“She’s got a sewing machine and does Western dressmaking.”
“Her husband died early in the war in Central China…”
Tsurushi, having perhaps regained some composure, spoke in a calmer voice.

Ryo could not endure how such nights faded into dawn.
When she thought Tsurushi had resigned himself for her sake, pity pricked at her.
Had they been utter strangers from the start, perhaps these things would have meant nothing.
Tsurushi never once tried to ask about her husband.

“Ah… Somehow my eyes are wide awake and I can’t sleep… Guess you shouldn’t do things you ain’t used to…”
“Oh, Mr. Tsurushi—have you never gone out for fun?”
“Well, I’m a man—there’ve been some.
“They were all pros.”
“Men are really something…”
Ryo had uttered “Men are really something…”, but before she could finish saying such things, Tsurushi abruptly rose up and leaned heavily over her.
Because it was from atop the futon, Ryo surrendered to the passion of being pressed down with the man’s full strength.
Ryo remained silent, eyes wide in the darkness; Tsurushi’s black head pressed painfully against her cheek.
A light flared—like a rainbow blooming behind her eyelids—and shot through.
Tsurushi’s clumsy, hot lips brushed against the edge of Ryo’s nostrils.

“No good...”
Ryo stiffened her legs beneath the futon.
A terrible ringing pierced her ears.
“I can’t… I’m thinking about Siberia.”
Ryo felt she had blurted out something irrevocably wrong.
Tsurushi stayed frozen atop the futon, his weight bearing down in an unnatural posture.
He hung his head low, motionless as if prostrating before a shrine’s deity.
For an instant, guilt pricked at Ryo’s chest.
After a moment, she threw her arms around Tsurushi’s feverish neck with desperate force.

Two days later, Ryo took Tomekichi and hurriedly set out for Tsurushi’s place in Yotsugi.
At the usual time, there was no sign of Tsurushi at the glass door of the small hut where he always stood wearing his headband.
Ryo felt a strange sensation and had Tomekichi run ahead first.
“There’s a stranger here!”
Tomekichi said that and came running back.
Ryo felt a flutter of unease.
When she went to the entrance and peered inside the small hut, there were two young men tidying up Tsurushi’s bed in the closet.
“What is it, Auntie…”
The small-eyed man turned around and asked.
“Is Mr. Tsurushi here?”
“Mr. Tsurushi died last night.”
“Oh!”
Ryo exclaimed “Oh!”
After that, she could make no more sound.
She had thought it strange that offerings were placed on the soot-blackened household shrine, but she never imagined it was because Tsurushi had died.

They told her that Tsurushi, riding a truck loaded with iron materials on his way back from Omiya, had plunged headlong into a river from a certain bridge along with the driver.Today, the company people and Tsurushi’s sister were preparing his remains for burial in Omiya, and it was said they would return tomorrow morning.Ryo was stunned.As she watched dazedly while the two men tidied up, there on the shelf stood two tea bags she had received on her first day.One of them had its bag folded about halfway.“Auntie, did you know Mr.Tsurushi?”“Yes,I knew him a little…”“He was a good man…No need for him to go all that way to Omiya.”“Got invited and ended up headin’ out after noon.”“Went through demobilizin’ just to come back and play the damn fool…”The plump man removed Yamada Isuzu’s picture postcard and blew dust off it with a puff.Ryo stood numb.The charcoal brazier,kettle,and rain boots remained untouched;nothing about the place had changed.When her eyes fell on the blackboard,there it was—clumsy red chalk letters:“Ms.Ryo—waited till two.”Ryo took Tomekichi’s hand and turned past the wooden fence,jostling her heavy rucksack when suddenly scalding tears flooded up,numbing her sinuses.“Did Uncle die?”“Yeah…”“Where?”“They said he went into the river…”Ryo cried as she walked.

Tears gushed forth and she cried until her eyes hurt.

Ryo and Tomekichi had gone out to Asakusa around two o'clock.
They emerged where Komagata Bridge came into view and walked along the riverbank toward Shirahige.
As Ryo walked while gazing at the bluish-black water that resembled a sea—thinking this must be the Sumida River—she recalled how she'd once said she'd be in trouble if she ended up with a child, to which Tsurushi had replied he'd take full responsibility and told her not to worry. On that morning when they parted, he'd also asked her to show him the child at least once a month for about 2,000 yen each time.
He had licked his pencil while writing down Ryo's Inaricho address in a small notebook.
At their farewell, Tsurushi had bought Tomekichi a baseball cap with his name embroidered at a Western goods store in Taharamachi.
After the rain stopped, they finally found a milk hall along the muddy tram tracks and each ordered a bottle of milk to drink.

Ryo wandered along the riverbank, buffeted by the wind, as she remembered.
Near Shirahige, waterbirds clustered faintly.
Across the bluish-black current, cargo boats of all kinds came and went.
Tsurushi’s features rose clearer—more vivid in hue—than those of her husband in Siberia.

“Mom, buy me a comic!”
“I’ll buy it for you later.”
“Earlier, we passed by a shop full of books, didn’t we…”
“Is that so?”
“Didn’t you see it?”
Ryo turned back again.
She couldn’t make sense of where to walk.
She thought she would never meet such a man again.
“Mom, let’s eat something.”
Ryo suddenly found Tomekichi’s endless pestering irritating.
The red name on the white baseball cap looked endearing.
She had nowhere to go.
Ryo gazed at the shuttered-shop-style barracks along the riverbank and envied those who had homes.
Noticing a futon airing on the second floor, Ryo opened the house’s lattice door.
“This is Shizuoka tea—a fragrant blend. Would you care for some?” she called out cheerfully.
When no one answered, Ryo called again. A brusque young woman’s voice came from the top of the front staircase: “Don’t need it!”
Ryo opened the neighboring house’s glass door.
“This is Shizuoka tea…”
“No, don’t need any.”
A man’s voice refused her from the room beside the entrance.

Ryo stood patiently at doorway after doorway, but not a single house asked her to set down her load.
Tomekichi trailed behind Ryo, whining all the while.
To fend off the loneliness, Ryo found it strangely satisfying to stand at each threshold—house after house—even when nobody bought anything.
It was better than begging, she thought.
The rucksack—weighing over two kan—had begun to numb her shoulders.
Ryo laid strips of hand towel where the straps bit into her flesh.

The next day, Ryo left Tomekichi at home and went out alone to Yotsugi.
Being without her child gave her the freedom to dwell on thoughts of Tsurushi.
When she rounded the wooden fence, she found an unexpected fire burning in the small hut.
Nostalgically recalling that first day, Ryo hitched up her rucksack and approached the glass door.
An elderly man in a workman’s coat was burning firewood in a charcoal brazier.
Smoke smoldered thickly from the small window.
“What is it?”
The man turned toward her, coughing through the smoke.

“I was here to sell tea…”
“Ah, there’s still plenty of good tea here—don’t need any…”

Ryo stopped placing her hand on the glass door and quietly moved away from the hut. Even if she tried entering that hut, it wouldn’t make any difference. Although she considered asking that old man where Tsurushi’s sister lived so she could at least offer a stick of incense, Ryo gave up on that too. It wouldn’t make any difference. Now, everything felt unbearably heavy. From some association she couldn’t trace, Ryo began to feel that if she were to become pregnant with Tsurushi’s child, she wouldn’t be able to go on living. Even though her husband would surely return from Siberia someday, she came to think that if something were to happen, death would be her only option.

Yet all around, under an uncharacteristically bright sun, the embankments flanking the dried-up riverbed were lined with grass so vividly green it seemed aflame, their color stinging her eyes.
Ryo’s conscience remained unexpectedly unscathed.
Not for a moment did she feel that knowing Tsurushi had been wrong.

She had come to Tokyo intending to return to Shimizu if her tea didn’t sell, but now Ryo thought Tokyo was better whether her business thrived or not—better even if she were to collapse and die there.

Ryo sat down on the embankment’s green grass.
Below her eyes, near a concrete fragment, a kitten’s corpse lay discarded facedown.
Ryo immediately stood up, shook the load on her shoulder, and walked toward the station.
When she slipped into a side alley, she called out to a shabby house with boards nailed over its glass-latticed entrance.
“Wouldn’t you care for some Shizuoka tea?”
“Let’s see—how much?
It’s expensive, isn’t it?”
When Ryo opened the lattice door, several women who seemed to be sewing tabi soles as home-based piecework turned toward her.
“Wait just a moment.
I’ll look for an empty can now,” said a petite woman as she vanished into the next room.
Women like herself were diligently sewing tabi soles.
Occasionally a needle glinted.