Pathway to Japanese Literature

Ishida Kosuke took up his post in Kokura as a Major Staff Officer on June 24th.

The disembarkation from the steamship operating between Tokuyama and Moji occurred at 3 a.m. Knowing that regional military units were quite lavish in their send-offs and welcomes, Ishida had donned what passed for standard formal attire at the time and was wearing his medals. The former Staff Captain had come to the pier on behalf of his colleagues. The rain was pouring down. It wouldn’t take more than an hour by train from here to Kokura. At a place called Kawau, they had a meal prepared and ate. After daybreak, the captain ran around taking care of tickets and luggage.

From the train window, small houses densely lined up on the cliff could be seen. Every house had doors thrown open, with women and children nearly naked. Among them were also houses where people were just then eating breakfast. The officer told him these were the homes of laborers who did work like Nakatame.

They emerged into rice fields. The rice planting had already been completed. Occasionally, farmers could be seen wearing straw raincoats and carrying hand baskets as they walked along the paths between rice fields.

Gradually Kokura approached. The first dwellings to come into view were Asahi-chō's brothel quarter. Every house had red quilts draped over second-floor railings. They wouldn't be drying them on such a day. Since rain fell daily, they must have been airing them this way. With a clattering roar, the train crossed Murasaki River's railway bridge and soon reached Kokura Station. The Chief of Staff headed a large welcoming party. After exchanging cursory greetings with everyone, they entered an inn called Tatsumi in Muromachi.

With assistance from an orderly sent from the regiment, Ishida promptly changed into full dress uniform and departed for headquarters. At that time, though reporting procedures had not yet been standardized, it was nevertheless customary to make one’s arrival greetings in full dress uniform when granted an audience with superior officers—a matter of protocol.

The next day, the rain continued to fall. He went to look at a rental house in Kajimachi. Although it was sandy soil, because they used limestone fragments for road repairs, pale ink-colored water flowed through the town.

The rental house was situated on the south side of the town. Enclosed by a hedge, it was a suitable residence. Since no limestone fragments were spread in the garden, the clean sand absorbed all the rain that fell, leaving it appearing completely dry. At its center stood a large crape myrtle tree. Near the hedge stood five or six oleander trees. Having apparently seen him alight from the carriage, the landlord emerged to show him around. He was a shriveled old man with a face the color of persimmon-tanned paper. Ishida removed his waterproof cloth raincoat, entered through the gate, and was about to place the removed raincoat—turned inside out and rolled up—on the veranda edge when the old man picked it up. Ishida, wondering if this was precaution against wetting the veranda, looked at the old man’s face. The old man spoke as if reciting a well-worn maxim: in this neighborhood, leaving items in places visible from the street was dangerous. When Ishida removed his rain boots, the old man took those as well and led the way.

Ishida was guided by the old man and looked at the house. The houses in this area differed only in size; every one of them seemed to have been constructed from the same blueprint. Upon entering through the gate entrance, the left side formed an exterior wall while the house extended rightward in a rectangular shape. This rectangle was divided into front and rear sections, with the rear serving as kitchen quarters. To Ishida’s eyes—accustomed to Tokyo—the pillars first struck him as peculiar, painted what appeared to be red iron oxide or some similar ochre-like pigment. Yet he did not find them unpleasant. Though this house did not seem particularly aged since its construction, it somehow gave an impression of weathered antiquity. He felt that living in such a place might bring his mind some measure of calm.

The front section, passing through the entrance and anteroom, had its finest reception room in the westernmost area reached by turning right, complete with an alcove. The old man said, “Excuse me for a moment,” and went to the kitchen area, but after setting down the overcoat and boots, he returned carrying a cushion and a tobacco tray. Then with a clatter, he slid open the loosely closed shutters facing the garden where the crape myrtle grew. From the inside, the garden appeared relatively spacious. The old man pointed at the hedge and explained that since this area was near the fortress, constructing stone or brick walls would meet with objections, but wanting to make at least the front presentable, he had inquired and learned that low walls were permissible—thus he intended to make arrangements to build one eventually.

The main street was a moderately sized side lane; through gaps in the hedge, one could see the low windows of the single-story house across the way. Bamboo blinds were hung over the windows. From within came the drowsy hum of thread being spun.

Ishida spread a cushion over the threshold, leaned back against a pillar, raised his knees, took out a Kintengu cigarette from his pocket, and lit it up. The old man squatted at the edge of the veranda muttering something, but gradually the talk about the house turned to rent matters, and from there shifted to personal history. This old man named Usui lived with his wife in the western neighboring house. His son, born late in life, had been enrolled at Toyotsu Middle School. It meant he had to rent out this house to make ends meet and provide his son's school expenses.

Then he examined the layout of the rear section. This side had a small room at the western end. The next one was slightly more spacious. These two rooms were situated behind the front section’s reception room with the alcove. The area behind the next room in the front section and the entrance was a kitchen with a partially earthen floor. The well was dug in the corner of the earthen floor.

When he stepped out onto the veranda and looked, the back garden was about three times the size of the front garden. Here and there stood mandarin orange trees, their branches laden with numerous small fruits. Near the veranda stood a tile-built flowerbed where chrysanthemums had been planted. Beside it stood a well constructed of rounded stones, from every crevice of which red crabs peered out. Beyond the flowerbed lay a field, and in its western corner stood a stable with attached groom’s quarters. Over the flowerbeds, across the field, and around the mandarin trees, bees swarmed in such numbers that Ishida, concluding this must be a place teeming with bees, decided to inquire of the old man. These were kept by the old man, and the hive had been suspended on the eastern outer wall.

After seeing this much, Ishida parted ways with the old man and returned home. However, having taken quite a liking to the house, he asked the inn's landlady to handle finalizing the details, and two or three days later moved in.

The horse he had shipped from Yokohama had also arrived, so he had the groom bring it in. He bought kitchenware. He bought a dining set. He bought a mosquito net. The one sent to make the purchases was orderly Isomura. The landlord was a diligent old man who came and took care of various matters. When buying the dining set, the old man inquired. “How many place settings will be required?” “Two place settings.” “Wouldn’t the servants require any?” “With mine and the maid’s, that makes two place settings. The orderly takes his meals with the regiment. The groom also handles his own provisions.”

Mosquito nets—his, the maid’s, and the groom’s—he bought three. At that time as well, the old man inquired. “Wouldn’t you be needing futons?” “There are blankets.”

Everything proceeded in this manner. Even so, it cost about fifty yen.

When it came time to hire a maid，the landlady of Tatsuya Inn sent over a labor broker. Ishida requested an elderly woman. A woman named Toki，around fifty years old，arrived. She and her husband were preparing boxed lunches for elementary school teachers—apparently，she had come from their household. She remained oddly silent. She performed kitchen tasks without speaking.

Two or three days passed.

Every day, the rain fell and stopped off and on. Ishida put on his raincoat and rode out to headquarters on horseback. Torakichi, the groom newly hired from Tokyo, said this when he first accompanied him.

“Master. There’s no raincoat for the horse.” “There is.” “Yes. There is a small one that covers just the saddle. There’s no knee cover for your knees, Master.” “I don’t need such a thing.” “Even so, your knees will get wet. Every master has one.” “I don’t care if my knees get wet. There’s no such thing as a knee cover in horse gear. Even if others have them, I don’t need one.” “Heh heh heh. Then, in Mr. Nogi’s style.”

“I don’t need it.” “I don’t know about His Excellency Mr. Nogi’s practices.” “Oh.” After that, the groom refrained from pressing the matter. Ishida, on his way back from headquarters, presented his name cards at the homes of the division commander and his other superiors. At that time, there was a Governor-General in residence, so he presented his name card there as well. Among them were those who granted him an audience. When he returned home, there were always two or three name cards left by subordinates who had come to visit. There were also merchants who left behind gifts of the like before departing. Then, Ishida would immediately have Isomura take them back. That was why Isomura was so troubled about receiving things and generally refused to accept anything brought to him when he was present.

One day, upon returning home, he found someone engaged in a heated exchange with Isomura. The other party was a man who appeared to be a peasant. When he looked, the man was holding a live chicken. When the man saw Ishida, he smiled, approached him, and said: “Major. You may not remember me, but I am Asō, the transport soldier who served under your care in the warzone.” “Hmm. Asō from the army headquarters?” “Yes.” “Why have you come?”

“I have been discharged into the reserves and returned home.” “My home is in Daisato.” “Having heard that you had become a Major and were stationed here, I came to pay my respects.” “This is one of the many chickens I keep, but as it’s just the right age, I have brought it with me.”

“Hmm. “That’s a splendid bird.” “That wasn’t requisitioned, was it?” Asō scratched his close-cropped head. “I beg your pardon. “Since everyone kept going on about requisitioning this and that, I ended up saying such things and received your reprimand.”

“Even so, you stopped taking the Chinese people’s belongings after that—commendable.”

“Thanks entirely to your guidance, I never made any mistakes, so until my triumphant return home, I couldn’t tell you how proud I felt.” “Even when everyone’s knapsacks got inspected in Dalian—with silver hairpins and women’s kimonos turning up to their shame—I alone could breathe easy.” “As for that Jinzhou chicken—well now, I nearly caught another scolding there! Though I explained how the Chinese had fled and it was sitting on eggs with no owner, you ordered me to take it back to that abandoned house. That truly left me speechless.”

“Ha ha ha ha. I’m stubborn through and through.” “Not at all, sir. That became my life’s guiding lesson. I’ll take my leave now.” “Stay the night? My household runs on battlefield rations—no fancy meals here.” “Might your lady wife be at home?” “My wife passed recently.” “Ah. My deepest condolences.”

“Isomura can tell you—we’re living just like we’re still on the battlefield.” “That must be quite inconvenient for you.” “I have spoken of trivial matters and disturbed you while changing clothes.” “With this, I will take my leave.” Asō handed the chicken to Isomura and left, his shoes squelching as he went. Ishida took off his rain boots and stepped up. He took off his raincoat and handed it to Isomura. Isomura took the raincoat and boots to the kitchen. Ishida entered the western corner room, went before the alcove, and placed his cap on the officer’s trunk that was set there. He laid the military sword sideways in the alcove. On the day he first arrived here, O-Toki had propped this against the alcove wall and been scolded for it. Things that are stood up may fall over. If it falls, the sword will get damaged. The reasoning was that the wall might also get damaged.

In front of the alcove stood a desk of the sort children use for handwriting practice. Before it lay a folded blanket spread across the floor. Still wearing his summer uniform, Ishida settled cross-legged on the blanket. At that moment, the old maid emerged from the kitchen.

“What would you like to do with the chicken?”

“Is there no side dish for the meal?” “There are simmered eggplant and green beans.” “That will do.” “The chicken...” “Keep the chicken alive.”

“Yes.” The old maid thought to herself that he remained as stingy as ever. According to the old woman’s observations, Ishida had two defining traits. The first was stinginess. As for side dishes, women from Nagahama came selling them on trays balanced on their heads, but he had only bought small sea bream once. Because vegetables were delicious, he ate nothing but cucumbers and eggplants. He didn’t drink alcohol at all. When told to buy sweets once, she had brought back the local specialty Tsuru no Ko, but he said “This is terrible” while eating them all, and never told her to buy them again. The second was that he was a fool. He didn’t understand the actual value of things. No matter how much they said, he would silently pay. He sent back each and every gift people brought. The old maid had first made these observations.

When the old maid stood up, Ishida said, “Is the bath ready?” “Yes,” replied the old maid as she withdrew to the kitchen.

Ishida moved to the back corner room. There were a water jar for tea ceremony, a rinsing bowl, a metal washbasin for drawing hot water, and a bucket placed there. This had been set up this way since the first day, and remained unchanged both morning and evening.

Ishida first used a toothpick. He rinsed his mouth. He washed his face with hot water. The soap he used was an imported product costing about seventy sen. When people asked why he indulged in such extravagance, he would say soap must be proper soap - if it came to using counterfeits, he'd rather not use any at all. He washed his close-cropped head. Then he stripped naked and carefully scrubbed his entire body. He used the same metal washbasin for the leftover water. He washed his feet. When people called something dirty, he insisted his own body was clean. He dumped the bathwater into the bucket. He drew fresh water into the basin and washed the hand towel. He dumped the water. He wrung out the towel and wiped the metal washbasin. He wrung out the towel again and hung it up. He performed this routine twice daily. He did not visit public bathhouses. Instead, even when bivouacking on battlefields, he never neglected these practices.

Ishida changed into his undergarments and hakama trousers, then put on his summer uniform. On ordinary days, he remained as he was until changing into nightclothes and a yukata. When a guest came and saw this, they would say, “Is that Mr. Nogi’s custom?” To which he would reply, “I know nothing of His Excellency Nogi.”

He took his seat at the desk. The meal was served. No matter how slowly he ate, it never took longer than fifteen minutes.

When he looked outside, the rain had stopped. Ishida stood up and went out to the kitchen. Seeing the old maid, who was eating her meal, set down her chopsticks, he said, “It’s nothing,” and stepped out onto the veranda leading down to the dirt-floored area. In the dirt-floored area, Torakichi was scattering rice for the chickens and crouching to watch them. Ishida had also come out to look at the chickens. It was a large rooster. Its entire body was covered in reddish-brown feathers, with a mandarin-orange-colored collar around its neck and a long black tail hanging down. Torakichi raised his villainous, bluish-black face and looked at his master with bulging eyes before saying:

“Master.” “This one’s meat is tender.” “It’s not for eating.” “Oh.” “So you’re keeping it?”

“Yeah.” “In that case, there’s an empty coop in Mr. Ōya’s storage shed—I’ll go borrow that.” “It’s fine to borrow that until we buy one.”

Having said this, Ishida returned to the living room, sheathed his sword, put on his cap, and went out to the entrance. In the entranceway were the long boots that Shimamura had polished and left. He took them down into the garden and put them on. Hearing the clattering sound, the old maid came out. “Your overcoat?” “I won’t need it; I’ll be back shortly.”

Ishida went straight west from Kajimachi to Torimachi. There, at the bird dealer he had noted when leaving his business card during his earlier walk, he bought a hen and requested a craftsman be commissioned to make a coop. He selected a plump, well-fed hen with pure white feathers, arranging to have it delivered later. After paying, Ishida returned. The hen was delivered. Torakichi took the bird dealer to the stable and engaged him in earnest discussion. Ishida released both birds together, observing as the rooster spread its patchy feathers and strutted in a semicircle around the hen to challenge her. The hen kept trying to escape.

Before long, even though it was still light outside, the chickens began to show signs of unease. Before long, they noticed a shelf in the corner of the kitchen’s dirt-floored area and tried to fly up onto it. They were searching for a roost. Ishida said to Torakichi, “Put the chickens to bed,” and entered the living room.

From the following day onward, the chickens began crowing at dawn. Ishida was pleased. However, when he returned home after duty and looked, the hens had increased to two. When he asked the old maid about it, she said that the groom had requested to keep one of his own chickens together with theirs. Ishida made a displeased face but offered no reprimand. Within a few days, another hen was added, bringing the total to four chickens along with the rooster. This one too was the groom’s, having been obtained from somewhere—or so it was said. Ishida made a displeased face again but still said nothing to the groom.

The four chickens scavenged all around the estate. They would invade Usui’s eggplant patch and sometimes be chased back by the old man. Because the hens fought among themselves, the groom would catch the feistier ones and confine them in the coop. Since the new coop had now been completed, the portion borrowed from the neighbor had been returned. As for the coop, Torakichi had informed old man Usui, partitioned off the space under the eaves to prepare it, and installed at the entrance a crude lattice door made of planks and split bamboo alternately nailed together.

One day, the old maid lay in wait for Ishida’s return from headquarters and said the following.

“I hear the groom’s chickens have laid eggs—he says you should take them if you wish.” “Tell him I don’t want them.”

The old maid withdrew with a look of surprise. From then on, she would often bring up the matter of the eggs. It seemed only the groom’s hens laid eggs, while the Master’s did not. Each time she broached this subject, she lowered her voice considerably. And she would mutter how strange it was, how strange. The old maid wanted Ishida to discover what lay beneath this story. Yet Ishida appeared utterly unable to comprehend it. Since he was such a fool, there was simply no helping his ignorance. Thus, growing increasingly impatient, she repeated the same thing. But fearing Torakichi might overhear her words, her voice gradually softened. In the end, she pressed close to Ishida’s ear and said this.

“I shouldn’t speak out of turn, but Master’s birds are laying eggs too. No matter which one lays an egg, Torakichi claims they were laid by his own birds.”

The old maid timidly said this while hoping Ishida wouldn’t get angry and raise his voice. However, Ishida showed not the slightest reaction. He kept an impassive face. The old maid grew unbearably agitated. This time, she felt she wanted him to get angry even if the groom found out. Finally resigning herself that there was no remedy for a fool, she gave up. Ishida remained silent for some time before speaking with icy detachment.

“When I want eggs, I buy them and eat them.” The old maid, appearing to endure her frustration, went down to the kitchen while muttering something under her breath.

July 10th was the third Sunday since Ishida had come to Kokura. Ishida woke early and performed his morning ablutions in the narrow room he customarily used. Though there had been duties even on Sundays until now, today felt like his first proper Sunday since arriving. Still wearing his sleeping yukata with a heko obi wrapped loosely around his waist several times, he stepped onto the southern rear veranda. The southern sky stretched clear in indigo-blue hues while sunlight filtering through citrus thickets cast glittering dappled patterns across flower beds' sandy borders. From the stable came metallic rasps of a comb grooming horses. Occasionally hooves clattered against floorboards as horses shifted stance - each clang met by Torakichi's sharp "Hey!" rebuking restless steeds.

Ishida, in a leisurely state of mind, took a deep breath of the morning air. Ishida took the hemp-soled sandals that had been placed on top of a scrap newspaper with their soles facing each other at the corner of the veranda, lowered them into the garden, and stepped down from the veranda.

He strolled leisurely around the flower bed. He saw the usual red crabs on the stone pavement around the garden well, but when he peered into it from above, they all hid. A moss-covered well bucket with a short pole attached lay discarded there. Between the well bucket and the stone pavement, water striders were busily darting about. Circling east around a citrus tree brought one to the kitchen entrance. The old maid was cooking miso soup. The groom finished grooming the horse, applied oil to its hooves, and came to the kitchen entrance. In his hand, he held a feed bucket. He bowed to his master, opened the lid of the wheat box placed at the kitchen entrance, and began pouring wheat into the feed bucket. Ishida stood for a while watching.

“How much does it eat?”

“Yes. About three cups of this would be just right.” Torakichi, with bulging eyes, glanced sideways at his master, then retrieved from the wheat box a lathe-turned rice bowl with a chipped rim and showed it. Ishida turned his back in silence and retreated toward the veranda.

By the time he returned to the flower bed, a hen let out a raucous cry and darted to his feet. Along with this came a strange voice. It was a woman’s voice, clamorous as a shrieking child’s wail. When Ishida looked toward the sound, beyond the flower bed across the vegetable field, a woman of about forty peered over the southern neighbor’s hedge. Her face bulged yellowish like a squat pumpkin, topped by a small oil-stiffened round chignon. This was the voice’s owner.

She was chattering away about something. Ishida wondered who she was addressing and scanned his surroundings, but found no one else. To his perception, it did not appear she was speaking to him. Yet it seemed she spoke precisely to force him to hear. Likely having waited for Sunday when he would be home, she had begun her tirade. It was as though she proclaimed to the world at large while obliquely compelling Ishida’s attention. He could not clearly grasp her words.

Not limited to this region, dialects tend to manifest most purely when one is angrily spewing insults. When speaking to or addressing someone of higher status, one must use polite language, causing the dialect’s distinctive features to vanish. The woman was now speaking in pure Buzen dialect. Unlike the speech of O-Toki and landlord Usui within the household, he could discern the general meaning, but the finer nuances eluded him. Apparently, it seemed to be about the chickens climbing over the fence and ruining the fields, causing trouble. Taking that as her theme, she was delivering a grandiose Philippic. The woman declared: "In Buzen there is a proverb. The saying goes that one must not keep chickens unless they possess several acres of fields. Yet for those living in rented quarters to keep chickens—such presumption knows no bounds. To think that those who ride horses with spurs can do whatever they please is a grave misconception." The general thrust of her argument followed this pattern, leaving no reserve for further attacks. The woman also proclaimed: "Not only does she not know what the chickens are doing, She probably has no idea that the maid is fiddling with the kitchen provisions to make a living for herself. She probably has no idea that Torakichi is cheating with the horse's wheat to save up money." At times like these, she would raise her voice even higher. She was trying to make both the old maid and the groom hear her. The woman added: "What tenants do is the landlord’s responsibility."

"If Saberu’s so domineering you can’t speak your mind, you shouldn’t have rented to Saberu in the first place!" Her voice rose higher still. She was trying to make old man Usui hear her too.

Ishida stood rigid as a post before the flower bed, facing directly toward the chattering woman and listening in silence. On his face, aside from the occasional shadows of a smile that shifted like tree leaves swaying on a windless day, there was no expression whatsoever. It was much the same as when he wore his military uniform and listened to his superior’s reprimands, differing only in that his muscles were slightly more relaxed. The only difference being that he couldn’t suppress the emergence of a smile. Ishida was thinking such things. It appears chickens are crossing fences. It is widely known that monks refer to sake as "Buddha’s broth," but that chickens are called "hedge vegetables" remains unknown to those who do not read books. When I received the chickens, since I had no desire to eat them, I thought to keep them alive. If kept alive, they would even cross fences. The fact that I hadn’t even considered they might cross fences from the start may suggest a lack of preparation, but in truth, one cannot undertake any endeavor while keeping such éventualités in mind. That keeping chickens should bring this woman’s anger was not particularly surprising. Be that as it may, there was something amusing about that strange head perched atop the hedge—how it flexed facial muscles without restraint and held forth so eloquently. When I was in Tokyo, I once saw a spectacle that utilized light reflection to make a head on a table appear to speak. That showman was far too prétentieux, which only stirred antipathy and made it unamusing. This is far more amusing than that. Ishida was thinking such things.

The woman on the hedge might have been an orator. Yet even the most eloquent orator has limits to what arguments they can muster about a single topic. The hedge-perched woman had at last drained her well of ideas. One could surmise she had felt this exhaustion of thought and been unable to suppress a sense of disappointment. In her experience, each time she wielded such rhetoric, someone would engage with her. At least one word of response would come. Then, like water surging when it strikes a stone, her arguments would gain vigor. Should her opponent too brandish eloquence, making it an even match, her heart might have found satisfaction. She had likely never before encountered an adversary like Ishida. And she must have felt that unpleasant sensation—like thrusting one’s arm against a noren curtain. “Fine then! Next time they come I’ll wring their necks!” she declared, withdrawing her pumpkin-like head into the shadow of the border hedge. For all its weighty meaning, her concluding statement lacked vocal force.

“Master.” “The meal is ready.”

Called by the old maid, Ishida returned to the sitting room to eat breakfast. As she served him, the old maid spoke about how Minamiura no Ue-san was a notorious troublemaker whom no one wanted anything to do with. Ishida ordered that the chickens be kept confined in cages as much as possible. At that moment, the old maid lowered her voice and said the following. The white hen the master had bought was sitting on eggs this morning. Torakichi, too, seemed to find it difficult to say that what the white hen was brooding had been laid by another hen, and so remained silent. “Because hatching just one egg would be wasteful,” she suggested taking it away. Ishida said, “If it’s brooding, just let it brood.”

After finishing his meal, Ishida went out to the kitchen to check. The shelf above the dirt-floored area of the kitchen—the one that had been used to let them sleep before the chicken coop under the eaves could be built—remained spread with straw. The white hen was perched on top of it. The bird, usually puffed up, had raised its feathers and inflated its body to about twice its usual size, and was moving only its head to look around. The old maid, who had been washing dishes, came and poked the bird’s side. The bird made a sound. Ishida looked at the old maid and said.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought to show you the egg, Master.” “Stop. There’s no need to see it.”

Ishida, as if suddenly remembering, posed the following question to the old maid. "When we set up the household, I should have bought a masu measure. Isn't Torakichi using that to measure barley?" he said. "I've never seen Torakichi use the masu measure," said the old maid.

Ishida said, “I see,” and abruptly returned to his room. And he opened the lid of his officer’s trunk and took out a box wrapped in a half-sized woolen blanket. They were Havana cigars. Ishida normally prided himself on this—no matter how remote the countryside he might march to, there was no risk of being unable to replenish them, he would say. He occasionally smoked high-quality cigars. And when chatting with friends, he would say, “Novelists know nothing—making their diamond-ringed rich protagonists smoke Manila cigars,” and laugh. The reason Ishida wrapped the cigars he occasionally smoked in a blanket was that he was applying the method for preserving gunpowder. Ishida would say: “If I were to become a general, I’d open a new box of cigars every day. Since I have to preserve them for a whole month after opening a box now, it requires some ingenuity,” he would say.

Ishida lit a cigar and, with evident pleasure, took a single puff before turning to the usual writing desk. The north-facing front garden, through the sparse leaves of the crape myrtle, was bathed in full sunlight, and here and there on the oleanders, flowers were already blooming. The spinning wheel in the house across the way was whirring away again today. Ishida pulled out a book titled Characters by La Bruyère from among the Western books leaning in the corner of the alcove, read one short, sharp chapter, and contemplated it intently. He read another one and contemplated it intently. No sooner had he read five or six chapters than he set the book aside.

Then he took out a box containing imported ivory paper and envelopes and began writing letters with a pen. Ishida managed everything with pens and pencils and did not use an inkstone. On the rare occasion that there was a petition or such, he would ask a clerk. Since joining the army, he had never once taken sick leave, so such requests were rarely necessary. As for the letters from others that required replies—since they were kept in the map case—he took them out and wrote responses one after another. In Tokyo, he had left his son, who was attending middle school, in his mother’s care. First, he wrote a letter to his mother. Then, without setting down his pen, he wrote two or three more. And he stored only his mother’s letter in the officer’s trunk and tore up the rest.

Noon arrived. After finishing his meal, he lit the half-smoked cigar he had left on the ashtray when starting to write letters earlier and stepped out onto the north veranda. The sky had turned a pale gray unbeknownst to him. A train sounded.

“Umbrella repairs and recoveries done here!” someone called out as they passed along the street in front. The whirring of the spinning wheel continued its steady rhythm.

Ishida thought about going out somewhere, but as the sky had taken on an ominous look, he decided against it. After a while, he entered the parlor, spread out a large map of South Africa, and began studying the geography of Transvaal, where war seemed likely to break out around that time. The day ended in this manner.

Three or four days had passed since then. The government office had already closed for the midday break.

Ishida had sent his horse to be shod, so he was walking from headquarters along the narrow path on the left bank of the Murasaki River toward Tokiwa Bridge when he encountered a man named Nakano, whom he had been on familiar terms with since the campaign. Nakano called out to him. “Hey.” “On foot today?”

“Right. I sent it to have the horseshoes put on. What did you do with yours?” “I sent mine into the sea.” “I see.” “It’ll be thrilled.”

“In that case, I’ll try sending mine once too.” “If the groom can’t swim, it won’t work.” “He was saying he could swim.”

Nakano was an officer who had graduated earlier than Ishida. He was now an infantry major like Ishida and served as a battalion commander. He was a slightly overweight man and, by nature, a man of integrity. He doted excessively on his horse. Nakano continued talking. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this since we met—there’s a spot there where they lined stones over a large ditch and covered it.” “That must be the road the horse transporters take.” “That’s the one. That’s Uomachi. You shouldn’t take horses over that spot. Horses aren’t the same as humans when it comes to weight.”

“Right. That might be the case. I didn’t notice at all.”

Having this conversation, they arrived at Tokiwa Bridge. Nakano, seeming to remember something, slowed his pace and spoke thus. "Oh. There was one more thing I wanted to tell you. It's a foolish thing, though." "What is it? I've only just arrived and don't know anything yet, so please give me all the warnings you can." "Actually, from the veranda of my house—since we can see the gate of your residence—my wife claims to have discovered something odd."

“Hmm.”

“When you leave for work every day, the old woman comes out of that gate carrying a furoshiki bundle, or so she says.” "But I think it was the day before yesterday—because that bundle was unusually large—my wife became terribly concerned."

“I see.” “Now that you mention it, I do recall something.” “Because we always run out of pickles, on that day I told them to prepare plenty of eggplants and cucumbers.” “Then they must have pickled plenty for their own household too.” “Ha ha ha ha.” “However, thank you all the same.” “Please give my regards to your wife.”

While talking, they came to the entrance of Kyōmachi, but Ishida stopped. “I have a place to stop by. I’ll take my leave here.”

“I see. Goodbye.”

Ishida crossed Tokiwa Bridge and returned the way he had come. And he stopped by Tatsu-mi in Muromachi and requested Madam to replace the maid. Madam stroked the Chin's head and said with a laugh:

“But you were the one who said the old woman was fine, sir.” “The old woman won’t do.” “Did she do something?” “She didn’t do anything. Since she’s rather full of herself, please instruct the employment agency to send a sturdy young one.” “Yes, yes.” “I will instruct them to send Besshin-san.” “No—having a maid named Besshin won’t do.” “Goodbye.”

Ishida then stopped by the neighbor’s place on his way back and requested old man Usui, “Since a young maid will be coming, please have your maid come stay overnight only.” And he returned home and remained silent.

The next day, Ms. Kuchīri no Ue-san from the employment agency came and spoke to O-Toki. "It’s pitiful to make an elderly person work so hard," she explained, "because the master says so." The old woman listened with unexpected compliance and ended up leaving. Even though it was still the middle of the month, Ishida paid out a full month’s salary. When evening came, Ms. Kuchīri no Ue-san went out again and brought along a maid for an interview. She was a woman of about twenty-five or twenty-six with thin hair, bowing while stealing sidelong glances at Ishida’s face. The water-blue merino fabric used for her underkimono sleeves peeked out about an inch from the cuffs.

The next day, Ishida sent Shimamura to the employment agency and had him order the replacement of the maid. This time, there came a petite girl of about sixteen with round, lively eyes. Her temperament seemed brisk and alert. This found favor with Ishida.

After waiting two or three days, Ishida settled on her. She was from Hinako and went by Haru, it seemed. She spoke in a Higo dialect like a man's, her movements brisk. Her skin held an amber sheen, muscles firm beneath. Ishida thought her a spirited one.

The trouble was that she always wore a tea-colored vertically striped unlined kimono with about two patches on the knees. She served while smelling of sweat.

“Is that the only kimono you have?” “Ain’t got none.” She answered calmly with a smile. Ishida gave one of the three summer yukata he owned.

About a week passed. The maid from Usui’s household who had been lodging overnight with Haru took her leave and moved into the division commander’s residence. They said she had grown envious upon learning Haru’s wages were double her own, and so changed employers. Consequently, the Usui residence decided against sending over their replacement maid for overnight stays anymore. Ishida summoned Ms. Kuchīri no Ue-san and stated he wished to hire another maid. Ms. Kuchīri no Ue-san replied she would send her own daughter and departed.

The employment agency’s daughter came. She was thirteen years old and called Hisa. She was a girl of jet-black complexion, extremely filthy, and extremely ill-mannered. Around five o’clock the next morning, a peculiar *putt* sound caused Ishida to wake up. Later he learned that in the kitchen they had made it a practice to keep a lantern lit from morning until after closing the doors. Haru would always hang the hook attached to the end of the lantern’s handle on the nail in the wall rail. When told to hold the lantern, Hisa found it bothersome and used the handle to poke a hole in the shoji screen, then hung the lantern there. Ishida disliked having holes in the shoji and was painstakingly patching each one himself, so upon hearing this story, he made a displeased face.

Ishida called for Ms. Kuchīri from the employment agency and said he wanted to send Hisa back. He intended to send her back and hire a replacement. However, Ms. Kuchīri said she would ask what was wrong and have it corrected. There wasn’t a single thing about her that wasn’t problematic. Ishida was cornered—there was nothing wrong with her. “A single maid will suffice,” he said.

Ishida went to Tatsumi and requested the hiring of a second maid. Ms. Kuchīri played with her Chin dog while listening to Ishida’s request, smirking all the while. And then she spoke as follows:

“You’d do well to get yourself a proper mistress instead.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.” With that final request, Ishida left. However, the second maid did not come readily. Ishida ended up employing one young maid.

Three or four days passed. July 31st arrived. When he got up in the morning and went out to wash his face, Haru informed him that the chicks had hatched. Ishida hurriedly washed his face and went out to the kitchen to look. From between the white hen’s feathers, a yellow chick’s head was peeking out. It was the day when merchants came to collect payments, so he left instructions to tell them that the master would pay upon his return, and went out to the office. When he returned at noon, there were those waiting. Ishida jotted them down in the notebook with a pen and paid each one in turn.

In the evening, Ishida checked the accounts. Since arriving in Kokura, he could finally examine a full month's consolidated expenses. When he summoned Haru and inquired about the rice situation, she reported that the storage bin was currently empty and the rest would be delivered tomorrow. Thereupon Ishida sent Haru to the kitchen and calculated the remaining rice quantity himself. It far exceeded the army's fixed ration of six gō of polished rice per person daily. Ishida thought: I don't eat even half as much as the soldiers consume. Neither O-Toki nor Haru seemed likely to eat soldier-sized portions either. He immediately recalled O-Toki's furoshiki bundle incident. Then he slowly stored the notebook in his officer's trunk.

When August arrived, the members of the headquarters all took leave.

The Division Commander took his family and departed for Funagoya Hot Springs. Ishida did not take consolidated leave and instead opted to take days off every other day.

In the front garden, flowers began to bloom sporadically on the crape myrtle. From time to time, the voices of cicadas mingled with the sound of spinning wheels from the house across the way.

The sixth was a Sunday, and summer greeting visitors came in great numbers to Ishida's quarters. When first establishing his household, he had bought three zabuton cushions fashioned from what resembled persimmon-tanned paper. Though barely used, the cotton stuffing inside had already bunched up in clumps here and there. For up to three guests, zabuton could be laid out, but when four gathered together, they had to be seated upon folded blankets. On this day at last came visitors who sat upon blankets. The guests generally arrived wearing summer kimonos with hakama trousers and light haori draped about their shoulders. Of course, Ishida himself possessed no such things as light haori or hakama trousers. On days like these, Ishida would don his summer military uniform from morning onward to receive visitors.

The guests would generally say the same sort of things before leaving. “This year’s heat seems milder than last year’s.” “Kokura’s an unpleasant place with high prices.” “Especially with rents varying by officers’ ranks—most inconvenient.” “Even if you get leave, there’s no way to pass time in such a town.” “Nothing worth seeing anywhere here.” “Hot spring resorts? Nearby ones like Nijūichi are dull, and the far ones too bothersome.” Such were their usual remarks. Ishida simply responded with vague “uh-huhs.”

Among them were some who affected an air of refinement. They would gaze at the garden and lament the absence of a sea view, or inspect the hanging scrolls and converse about calligraphic works and paintings. Ishida had displayed in the tokonoma an Imperial Rescript granted to military personnel, rendered in meticulous script through commissioned calligraphy. This alone he kept in his officer’s trunk to carry wherever stationed, owning no other scrolls whatsoever. Whenever discussions turned to painting techniques or brushwork styles, he would declare his ignorance and disengage entirely.

From around the following day, Ishida too set out for the office, visiting the residences of the Division Commander, Brigade Commander, Division Chief of Staff, Infantry Regiment Commander, as well as the Governor-General and Governor-General’s Chief of Staff to present his name cards, thereby completing his summer greetings.

The weather gradually grew hotter. The voices of cicadas could be heard ceaselessly, just like the sound of spinning wheels from the house across the way. On days of evening calm, after sunset it became so hot that staying indoors was unbearable. Even Ishida changed into a yukata and went out for an aimless stroll. In the beginning, he thought to familiarize himself with the town of Kokura and wandered all around. In the south, from Bashaku to the northern edge, and in the north, where the Special Forces Unit was stationed, he knew them well. Thereupon, he walked eastward to the outskirts of Nagahama’s fishing village, where boats had been hauled up onto the sand. To the west, where the coal cinders used for road repairs gradually decreased and natural sand began to emerge across the town, he walked to the outskirts of Nishikajiya-machi. In the end, he concluded that the site of the old battery at the eastern mouth of the Murasaki River—which lay behind Asahi-chō, the brothel district—was the best place to cool off, and so he perched himself on some stacked lumber there to pass the peak of the sultry evening calm. At such times, he would think that when he next went to Tokyo, he would buy a three-legged camp stool and bring it here.

The hatched chick was female. It proved remarkably sturdy and grew swiftly before one's eyes. As it grew larger, its feathers darkened. Within about ten days, its entire body had turned jet-black. It resembled nothing so much as a crow's fledgling. When Ishida reached to seize it, the hen clucked in protest, making him desist. The eleventh day marked Tanabata's eve by the lunar calendar. "Would you care for bamboo branches?" peddlers called through the streets. By morning next day, every household displayed bamboo sprigs adorned with writings on five-colored paper strips. In Kokura, the ancient custom of Kikkōden yet endured among the common folk. Come mid-month's turn, new cries echoed: "Might you need bamboo vases for flower offerings?" For Obon's visitation drew near.

The eighteenth day was the thirteenth of the seventh month by the lunar calendar. Over the crape myrtle flowers, rain fell intermittently. The spinning wheel across the way maintained its ceaseless hum, while cicada calls grew sporadic. At intervals, barefoot children ran past beyond the hedge, crying “Shikimi! Shikimi!” They were selling sacred anise. During lulls in the rain, the air turned stiflingly humid. Ishida felt this might be summer’s hottest day yet. The next day remained equally muggy, showers starting and stopping without respite.

When evening came and one went out to town, Bon lanterns were lit at every house. Among them were homes that had thrown open their second floors, hanging dozens of large lanterns across their ceilings without gaps. Going out as far as Nagahama Village revealed that the Bon dance had already begun. They formed a large circle on the beach sand and danced. Men and women alike wore towels over their faces, tucking one side of their kimono hems into their obi sashes. Some wore no tabi socks, but most were barefoot. There were women too in short work coats bearing family crests, fastened with three-shaku sashes and no loose trousers. They sang kudoki ballads in unison, chanting “Hey-sah-sah!” with each refrain. This was likely the local dialect’s version of ito sa. Ishida watched awhile before returning.

The chicks grew bigger day by day. At first, the mother hen had vigilantly protected them, but as they grew larger, she gradually ceased to pay attention. Ishida brought the chicks onto the tatami mats and fed them rice. Gradually growing accustomed, they began pecking at the rice placed on his palm. A few more days passed. When Ishida returned from the office and sat at his desk, those playing in the garden would run up to the veranda, pecking in a pickaxe-like manner as they rhythmically bobbed their heads in sagittal directions until they drew near his knee. Every day on his way back from the office, as he neared home, Ishida would find himself thinking about the chicks.

At the end of August, the Division Commander returned from the hot-spring resort. The summer vacation was also drawing to a close. On the 29th, hearing that all the locals were visiting Jizō-sama, Ishida too went to Teramachi to see. In front of the Jizō hall, tattered Bon lanterns were hung in rows, and in their center, sand had been piled mountain-high. Men and women would bring lit incense sticks, plant them in the sand, and leave.

After a day's interval, on the 31st, the merchants came again to collect debts. When Ishida did the accounting as he had the previous month, the rice was still in large quantities, just as it had been in June. This month, there was no old woman taking out the furoshiki bundle. Ishida thought it over for a while, but Haru did not seem the type to do things like O-Toki had. Thereupon, he called Haru and asked her what she thought about the rice seeming to be a bit more than necessary. Haru looked at the master with round, sparkling eyes and laughed. He thought it only natural that there was so much rice. He knew the reason why there was so much. However, he wondered whether he should explain the reason and pondered for a while.

Ishida heard something interesting from Haru. It was the fact that Groom Torakichi had been placing his own rice into the master’s storage bin. Torakichi’s salary included food provisions. Even though Torakichi—working at headquarters where they rarely used horses—had only been paying the regulated amount to fodder merchants for horse provisions, he had been making considerable profits—this was something Ishida knew. However, thinking it was fine as long as the horses weren’t being allowed to grow thin, he saw no need to expose the scheme. Yet despite this arrangement, when Torakichi went so far as to place his own rice into the master’s storage bin and freely take it out to eat, even Ishida could not help being astonished. Torakichi had no idea how much rice he was putting into the storage bin, nor how many times he was adding it. Having done so, when measuring it out, he would freely take however much he wanted. As Ishida gradually listened to Haru’s account, he found that the miso and soy sauce were also being consumed through the same method. As for the pickles made in-house, Torakichi would take them out to eat, declaring, “This larger portion here’s my eggplants.” While Torakichi did receive his own food provisions, what he actually ate was the master’s food. Haru said with a laugh. “As for the firewood, Mr. Betto’s is ‘display firewood,’ and no matter how much time passes, it never decreases,” she said. “The kitchen utensils were the same way.” In the dirt floor lay two seven-rin coins. When Haru arrived, Mr. Betto said, “The broken ones are the master’s, and the intact ones are mine.” Eventually, when the broken ones became completely unusable, Haru cooked using the same seven-rin coins as Mr. Betto. “Since it’s for the master, I’ll lend it to you—but you’d better use it with a proper bow,” Mr. Betto was said to have declared.

Ishida felt as though his eyes had been opened for the first time. And he could not help but feel no small respect for Mr. Betto’s resourcefulness.

Ishida knew about the chickens and the eggs. He knew and tacitly permitted them. Yet this was not limited to chickens and eggs. Mr. Betto had developed a peculiar accounting method—*systématiquement*—and was applying it to all matters. Keeping the chickens together and eating every egg they laid amounted to nothing more than applying this *système* to the poultry.

Ishida thought this and involuntarily smiled. Ishida soothed Haru’s anxiety—that if Betto were to find out she had spoken of such things—and told her there was no need to worry. The next day Ishida had Shimamura buy and gather various items—a rice storage bin，a pickle tub，seven-rin coins，and so on. Then he called Torakichi and handed over all the existing tools—the rice storage bin with its rice still inside，the pickle tub with its pickles still inside—and with a composed expression said:

“Up until now, it seems your rice and such had been mixed in with mine—that was my own oversight,” he said. “I’ve bought new tools, so I’m giving you the old ones. If there’s anything else of yours still mixed in the kitchen, take it all without hesitation. And those four or five chickens—I’m giving them to you too. Eat them or sell them as you please.” Torakichi listened with a dumbfounded expression. When Ishida finished speaking, he seemed about to say something, but Ishida cut him off:

“No—you may have your circumstances, but I’ve made my decision, so there’s no need to hear your side.” Ishida abruptly stood up and went into the back. Torakichi asked Haru, “Go find out whether the master’s dismissed me or not.” Ishida laughed and said, “Tell him I never said any such thing.”

That evening being the 26th-night moon viewing, fireworks were set off in Asahi-chō. Ishida stood on the front veranda watching the fireworks scatter above the crape myrtle’s dusky blossoms. Then Haru came and said: “Mr. Betto’s tyin’ up th’ chickens an’ takin’ ’em off right now.” “Says he’ll leave th’ chicks if y’want—should I tell ’im t’leave ’em?” “Tell him we’ve no need for chicks.”

Ishida was still watching the fireworks.