Pathway to Japanese Literature

When the oppressive rainy season passed, the scorching sun's rays began beating down relentlessly on fields and mountains.
The wheat ears in the fields turned yellow and parched, the water in the rice paddies grew murky and tepid, and small fish lurked in the shade of water weeds in the stream.
And from both ground and water surface, as faint heat hazes rose quiveringly, the sweltering dry air engulfed them and lumbered heavily, sluggishly toward nowhere in particular, while from distant mountain ridges, cumulonimbus clouds - piled high, swirling and swelling - thrust upward their swollen heads.

The oppressive midday silence shrouded the earth.
On the road whitened with dust, not a single traveler was visible.
The road passed through villages and stretched straight across the plain.
On one side were paddy fields and on the other dry fields; crossing a stone bridge over a deep stream with gentle currents, it made its way through patches of wasteland dotted with young pines and shrubs before vanishing into the distant fields.

In the wasteland, among sparse young pines and shrubs, low brambles and grasses grew thickly, with small flowers blooming here and there.

In one corner of this wasteland, Heisuke straightened his back using his hoe handle as a staff and stood up.

“I just hope that evening downpour don’t come.”

Overhearing the voice that had been muttered like a soliloquy, Otokichi threw down his pickaxe and stood up.

“Nah, let it come.”
“It’d be nice to cool off.”
“If we don’t get a good drenching downpour soon, this heat’s gonna be too much to handle.”

Wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, he shot a sharp glance at his father.

“The work’ll fall behind.”

“Even if we get a bit behind, it ain’t nothin’.”
“This wasteland’s so huge, you know.”
“Ain’t no fun if we go hurting ourselves.”

“Don’t go spoutin’ such gutless talk when you’re supposed to be young.”

“Even so, when on earth’ll this ever end? I ain’t got a damn clue.”

“Work’s what’s good while you got it.”

"But this work's so damn boring."

"What's so damn boring about it? If left like this, it's just useless wasteland. If we clear this land proper-like—think how many bales o' rice you'd get per quarter-acre!"

"If only this was my damn land!"

"The land may be the Master's, but this work's my own. You ain't thought it through proper—this here's work that'll endure for generations."

Otokichi didn't answer, visually measuring the wasteland's expanse.
Heisuke averted his gaze to stare into the distance—at cumulonimbus clouds peering over mountain peaks, at a smoke column rising from slopes, across the vast plain.
A glaring light flooded everything.
He blinked against the brightness.

The wasteland was Master Noda's property.

Since Otsu, who had long been ill with peritonitis, passed away in the winter before last, Heisuke's family had sunk ever deeper into poverty.
Heisuke had his twenty-year-old second daughter Okane and eighteen-year-old only son Otokichi, but with Omitsu—the granddaughter Otsu had brought back from the coal mines—proving a hindrance and debts mounting from Otsu's prolonged illness, he found himself losing sight of future prospects and sinking into gloom, endlessly picturing in his mind Otsu's grossly swollen abdomen and legs beautifully distended from fluid retention.

“When I die, you should turn to Master Noda for help.”

Before marrying and leaving for the coal mines, Otsu—who had worked as a maid in Master Noda’s household—uttered those words on her deathbed.
Those words became Heisuke’s sole strength.

And indeed, Master Noda took care of Heisuke’s family in various ways.
Since around last spring, he had entrusted the reclamation of the wasteland to Heisuke.
Heisuke regained his vigor as though revived.
The accumulated debts were left untouched, and each time they reclaimed a quarter-acre of wasteland, they could receive thirty yen.

Since then, over a year and several months had passed.

“This work’s my own till I close my eyes for good.”

Heisuke and Otokichi came to the wasteland every day, shouldering hoes and pickaxes.
The work was not easy.
Because it had once been a forest, large tree stumps remained everywhere, their roots stretching deep underground, while young pines and shrubs grew thickly with weeds reaching high.
Even so, because the irrigation was well-suited, once reclaimed, it could readily become paddy fields.
As the mounds of roots and stones in one corner of the wasteland gradually grew larger, the reclaimed paddy fields also expanded bit by bit.
In the portions reclaimed since last year, rice seedlings were already planted lush and green.

Heisuke watched with a beaming, radiant face as the land he had reclaimed with his own hands was soaked with water, plowed by horses, and rice seedlings were planted to the singing of village girls.

“The land may be Master Noda’s, but I’m the one who reclaimed it.”

There existed his and his only son’s intense labor and life.
Just as the black earth of the land was vigorous, so too was their strength.

“But this work’s so damn boring.”

It was after Otaka from the village had gone to work at a silk mill in a distant town that Otokichi began saying such things.

“You say such things—do you think Master will let that slide?” Heisuke said.

“Even so, if I go to town, I can make a heck of a lot more money.
If I work this hard there, you can just laze around sleeping, old man.”

“Don’t go spoutin’ such nonsense.
Ain’t a single soul who goes off elsewhere to earn money and comes back proper.
They all just learn how to fool around—ain’t it certain they’ll turn into good-for-nothings?”

What was etched particularly deep in Heisuke’s mind were thoughts of the dead Otsu.
Shortly after marrying, she had gone with her husband to the coal mines beyond the mountains, but when a small sum of money had been saved, her husband plunged deep into drinking and gambling, became entangled with some teahouse woman of unknown origin, and ran off with her, leaving Otsu to return in beggarly fashion with her young daughter in tow.
And then, thoughts of various others from the village rose in Heisuke’s mind.
As life grew increasingly difficult, two or three of the village’s young people would inevitably drift away to distant places each year.
There were those who went to work in town factories and those who crossed distant mountains to the coal mines.
And most would return to the village in fine clothes but with empty pockets, only to drift away to distant parts again before long.
Such things had unwittingly instilled lethargy and instability in the hearts of the village youths.

“When I was young, everyone used to cling to the ground like this,” Heisuke thought.

“But don’t they all come back dressed real fine?” Otokichi said.

“You say such things—do you think that’ll satisfy the Master?” Heisuke repeated.

“Ain’t no ‘satisfyin’’ or ‘not satisfyin’’ about it."
“I’m earnin’ through my own strength.”
“Master Noda’s just stuffin’ himself with fancy grub and lazin’ about—he wouldn’t give us a single penny for free.”

“In return, he does worry twice as much as others.”
“He often says it’s better off havin’ nothin’ to worry about, don’t he?”

“That’s nothing but your selfish nonsense!” Having stated this bluntly, Otokichi fixed his gaze on his father’s face. “Hey, anyhow, just let me go to town on my own for a while, won’t ya?”

“No, you can’t.” Heisuke shook his head firmly.

The two remained silent for a time, standing motionless in the blazing heat of the sun.
Eventually, Otokichi let out a weary sigh, then gripped the pickaxe handle recklessly and began turning up large clods of earth, whether they were tree roots or thickets.
Heisuke followed behind, turning over the earth with his hoe as he went, separating roots and undergrowth from the soil, carrying them to a corner of the wasteland where he built up a small mound.

And their labored breaths, the smell of sweat, even the thoughts buried deep in their chests—all were swallowed up by the sweltering air.
The sound of cicadas chirping somewhere blended with the scorching sunlight that beat down, pressing heavily upon the earth.

As the sun dipped westward, the density of the sultry air loosened, and the faint scent of earth began to drift through—at this hour, Heisuke and Otokichi each experienced the day’s labor in their own way.
Heisuke threw himself even more into his work, while Otokichi sat lost in thought.

When the color of evening mist began gathering in the distant mountain shadows, Otokichi threw down his pickaxe and sat on the grass.

“Let’s go back already.”

Even when addressed, Heisuke didn’t release his grip on the hoe.

“Ain’t no slackin’ allowed.”
“Look at that sun—still blazin’ bright, ain’t it?”
“Back in my day, we never quit till the sun dipped and the temple bell tolled.”
“You got no notion why the priest rings that bell.”
“It’s his way of tellin’ all us field hands it’s time to head back.”

“But ain’t we done enough work today?”

“Ain’t no meanin’ to life ’less ya work past what ya already done.”

Otokichi fell silent and looked up at the red sun sinking behind the western mountains. Then he knitted his brows, lowered his head onto his knees, and sank deep into thought.

“You gettin’ a headache or somethin’?”

Otokichi raised his face as if startled, then lowered it back onto his knees and began speaking in a resolute tone.

“Hey, won’t ya let me go to town for a while?”

“Are ya still thinkin’ ’bout that? I gave ya an earful last night… What on earth d’ya think you’re gonna do in town?”

“They’re hirin’ at the silk mill. I’ll work there awhile, save up some money, then come right back.”

Heisuke stared down at him from above.

“Otaka must’ve told you such things.”

Otokichi raised his face but immediately averted his eyes and looked toward the distant mountains.

“It ain’t Otaka.”

“You’re lyin’.”
“I know full well.”
“Ever since Otaka went to the factory, you made a promise with her, didn’t ya? ……That one’s still tryin’ to drag you in.”
“She’s a fat hussy.”
“Gettin’ mixed up with that sort ain’t gonna do you no good.”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’ to Otaka...”

“Quit your bullshit.”
“The whole damn village already knows.”
“Do you think I’m the only one who don’t know?”
“Look here—what’s done can’t be helped. If you’re set on goin’ to town, fine. But that brazen hussy—you’d best cut her clean off for good.”
“There’s plenty of other fine lasses in the village.”

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about Otaka.”
“I’m just sayin’ I wanna go to town and make a bit of money then come back.”

“But if you go off, what’s gonna become of things after that? Ain’t I the only man left to work? Think it through proper.”

“I’ll come right back. Once I’ve saved up plenty, I’ll make things easier for you too.”

“I don’t want no comfort. Can’t face the Heavenly Deity proper… You oughta throw your whole self into workin’.”
“You gotta see it clear—this here wasteland’s gonna be reclaimed by these hands o’ mine.”
“Ain’t no work finer’n this.”

“Ain’t ya gonna let me go to town no matter what?”

“Told ya same as last night.”
“Work all ya can work.”
“In time, I’ll get ya a proper bride.”
“Endure it.”
“Don’t go rushin’ off nowhere.”

“I ain’t takin’ no bride or nothin’.”

Heisuke stared fixedly at his face.

“What’s with you… You got a letter from Otaka, didn’t ya.”

Otokichi simply shook his head.

“You’re hidin’ it… But fine.”
“Work as hard as ya can.”
“Your mind’ll change once you keep at it.”

Otokichi said nothing more.
Eventually he stood up weakly and began mechanically swinging the pickaxe.

When the sun sank below the western mountain ridge and the distant evening temple bell began tolling, Heisuke immediately stopped working.
The two washed their hoe and pickaxe in the wasteland's bordering stream.
They scrubbed their mud-caked limbs next, then finally their sweat-drenched faces.
White algae flowers bloomed in the water.

Otokichi stared fixedly at the algae blossoms.
Heisuke looked up to read the sky's weather signs.
Then he turned toward Otokichi and spoke.

“Don’t go brooding over one thing too much.”

By the time they were heading home, a thin evening haze had settled over the fields.
Around the village, evening cooking smoke drifted, and the western sky was tinged red with sunset hues.
A few belated birds flew through the sky, seeking their roost.
In the distance, a cow's low echoed long, and just like that, the day quietly drew to a close.

And when the next day came, bathed in the glorious morning sunlight, Heisuke's cheerful face and Otokichi's dejected face were once again found upon the wasteland.

It was around four in the morning.

The eastern sky began to whiten faintly, and the heavy mist that had been hanging low started to drift away quietly.
While the mountain shadows and forest shadows still retained the essence of night, a fresh brightness peered out from beyond the horizon; as this happened, the starlight faded and a faint breeze passed over the fields.
And the leaves of plants and trees, glistening with dew, scattered a fresh green scent into the air.

Otokichi left the village briskly and proceeded along the main road. He wore a new indigo-patterned hemp kimono with a white crepe sash tied around it, a straw hat on his head, and high wooden clogs on his feet.

He looked up at the eastern sky. Seeing the emerging colors of dawn mingling with fading starlight, he glanced back anxiously over his shoulder. Yet in the western sky, many stars still glimmered. He smiled a lonely smile and quickened his pace.

As he passed by the wasteland, noticing beyond a shrub thicket the mound of uprooted plants they had piled there, he suddenly halted. Then after a moment, he staggered into the wasteland itself. Dew clinging to grass blades soaked his indigo tabi socks and dampened his kimono hem. When he pushed through the field, there lay before him the ground he and his father had reclaimed until yesterday. Overnight moisture had transformed the soil into a expanse of rich black earth, while thatch grass sent up straight new shoots of vibrant green.

Otokichi stood there with his arms folded, pondering for a while.

Morning mist crept low along the ground, and a faint scent of rice fields drifted through the air.
The village’s forest was still darkened by the night air, but from nowhere in particular, the sound of small birds began echoing.

Amid the voices of small birds, a whistle sounded in the distance.
Otokichi snapped back to his senses and strained his ears.
The whistle sounded right nearby.
He saw Senji’s figure approaching along the main road shouldering an openwork basket.

Otokichi unconsciously clenched both fists and stared fixedly, but immediately let out a bitter smile and crossed the wasteland to emerge onto the main road. And he waited for Senji.

Senji opened his eyes wide in surprise and scrutinized Otokichi’s appearance.

“You’re early,” Otokichi said.

“I was headin’ out for grass cuttin’… What’s with you wearin’ such fancy getup….”

“I’m headin’ to town now.”

And Otokichi studied the other man’s expression.

“Ah, I see,” Senji said with a smile in his eyes. “You’re goin’ off with Otaka, ain’t ya? ’Course I know. Don’t worry—I ain’t gonna tell a soul… Get goin’ already.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“I ain’t gonna tell, I said! ……I’ve been thinkin’ of runnin’ away myself one of these days. Hanging around a dump like this sucks all the life outta ya. I’ll count on you then. ……But hurry up and get goin’ already. If you get caught, it’ll be trouble.”

“Alright.”

Otokichi set off briskly along the main road. As he walked, he reached to touch the money pouch in his pocket. Beyond the mixed woodland ahead ran a single light railway line.

Senji stood there, watching until Otokichi’s figure disappeared into the mixed woodland. He let out a relieved sigh, then as if suddenly remembering something, wiped his snot on the roadside grass.

That day, and for several days thereafter, Heisuke’s figure was not seen in the wasteland.

Days of relentless heat without rain continued.
When the sun set, the western sky was dyed crimson with sunset hues.
When night broke, strong bright morning sunlight shone over the land.
And during daytime, heat haze rose from the fields while paddy field water grew as warm as bathwater.
In afternoons, terrifying cumulonimbus clouds would typically peek out from one mountain peak or another.
Then they reared their massive heads to assault the mid-sky before gradually scattering sideways—streaming like silk threads in wind—until vanishing deep into azure firmament.

And then one day, the thunderstorm finally arrived.
The cloud that had begun swelling ominously from the northern mountain ridge covered the sky with terrifying speed.
What had been white cotton-like masses edged with silver thread transformed into pitch-black whirls, swiftly swallowing the sun until a cool wind swept across the plain and fat raindrops began plopping down one by one.
From when the horizon lay shackled in black shadows came lashing sheets of rain as lightning and thunder raged between them.

The fields, forests, villages—all things held their breath and fell silent beneath the thunderstorm’s violent onslaught. Over the wheat fields and rice paddies, rain spray rose swiftly with each gust of wind. Muddy water poured into the river from all directions, swirling and flowing in full force. And from the sky to the ground, a pale bolt of lightning slid sideways, roaring as it dragged a long tail behind it.

When that had continued for about an hour, a pale light began to shine from nowhere in particular, and the earth's breast began to breathe out in relief. Before long, the thunder ceased, the rain cleared, and sunlight shone. In the sky, skylarks' voices could be heard, and cicadas began singing from treetops. Everything shone with pure radiance. On every single leaf tip of trees and grasses, water droplets glistened beautifully.

At that moment, Heisuke’s figure came into view, emerging from the village onto the main road. He walked slowly over the gravel of the road washed clean by the sudden downpour, his posture slightly hunched.

He entered the wasteland and stood beside the cultivated ground.
From beneath his tucked-up kimono, his shins appeared strangely spindly thin while his shoulders formed sturdy angular blocks.
Before long, he kicked off his wooden clogs there and stepped into the reclaimed land.
On the soft black earth lay several small stones knocked loose by the rain.
He picked up each one and threw them toward the small mound of plant roots.
The plants that had been shaken free of soil and left exposed to the sun for days were piled high and beginning to wither.

Heisuke suddenly stood up as if startled by something and looked all around.
The strong sunlight blazed down on the damp earth as water vapor rose quietly.
Not a single human figure could be seen in the rice fields, the dry fields, or along the main road.
The village forest lay hushed and still.

Heisuke stood vacantly for a while but then bent down and began picking up small stones again.
When all visible small stones were gone, he picked up the wooden clogs he had kicked off in one hand, tucked his other hand into his belt's front fold, and walked straight back toward the village.

Early the next morning, Heisuke’s figure began to appear over the wasteland once more.
He himself wielded the pickaxe and also the hoe.
Okane occasionally came by with a sickle.
He himself cut down tall shrubs and large tree stumps for his own household’s firewood, and beautiful grass for Master Noda’s horse feed, then carried them away.

“Father, let me wield the hoe too,” she said.

“You’d be better off doing day labor.”

"But I want to work by your side, Father."

She looked up at her father’s face with a coaxing gaze.
However, Heisuke did not so much as glance her way.

“Nah, can’t have that.
This work ain’t for girls to be doing.”

“So you mean to do it all by yourself then?”

“That’s right. I’ll do it alone.
That idiot Otokichi ran off, so now it’s just my job.”

“But can you really manage it?
……Don’t go pushing yourself too hard now.”

“It’s my work, so I gotta do it myself.”

Okane gave up entirely after that and went out for day labor whenever asked.
However, she didn’t eat dinner there but returned early instead to eat together with her father and Omitsu.
Moreover, even when going out for day labor, she was able to come to her father’s side whenever she found a moment.

It had just become time for the first weeding of the rice fields.
A number of villagers set out together, dressed in workman's gaiters and arm covers, heading to the rice fields.
Even to the rice fields that Heisuke had been reclaiming since last year, those people hired by Master Noda came.

“This wasteland looks fertile.”
“The rice plants are a lush green.”
“Master Heisuke’s hard work is paying off, I tell you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s because everyone’s been fertilizing it so well,” Heisuke replied.

“Nah, if the land itself ain’t fertile, you won’t get rice this color.”

“Color alone ain’t enough.”

“Nah, that ain’t how it is. This don’t look like no first-year crop to me. Give it two–three years, this’ll be prime first-class fields.”

Maybe that was true, Heisuke thought. When weary from work, he would stand using his hoe handle as a cane and gaze over the rice fields with a pleased expression. Indeed, the rice fields in that reclaimed land showed a darkened, vigorous green—though the spreading of the rice plants’ roots was slow, their growth was robust. Through that space, bustling with activity, the straw hats of expert weeders advanced side by side. Among them was Okane as well. Heisuke would occasionally straighten up and look to see whether her familiar straw hat was falling behind the others. However, Okane was a hard worker who didn’t lose to the men.

While the men took a brief smoke break, she hurried over to her father.

“Father, aren’t you getting tired?”

“Nah, this body’s been trained up to my age.”
“You’re the one who oughta take it easy, young’un.”

“Ah, I’m taking it easy.”

“Then that’s fine. Hurry back over there.”

After driving her away the moment she arrived, Heisuke abruptly swept his fierce gaze across the wasteland.

“I’ll reclaim this wasteland while I’m still alive.”

And he forcefully gripped the hoe handle.

Once the first weeding of the rice fields was completed, people suddenly vanished from the vicinity of the wasteland.
The wheat in the fields had already been harvested, and the rice in the paddies grew luxuriantly.
The villagers moved their labor to some other place.
Only Heisuke continued reclaiming the same wasteland every day.
Even those who had initially laughed at his stubbornness soon began to regard it with awe.
Master Noda too tried several times to suggest that he join forces with the other villagers.
However, Heisuke insisted on working alone.
His work had already become his own life.

“The land may be Master’s, but the work is my own.”

And he hardly rested a single day.
From early morning, he would come energetically shouldering his hoe and pickaxe.
And he would not return until the temple’s evening bell rang.
The only changes since Otokichi’s disappearance were that the sunburned wrinkles on his forehead had become noticeably deeper and that a vaguely rough shadow had begun to linger around his mouth.

On the highway, figures of pilgrims were occasionally visible. Typically two or three in a group, they would pass by without conversing or glancing around, stirring up light dust from the road as they went. Heisuke always watched until their figures disappeared from view. However, toward the villagers who occasionally passed by, he did not maintain a particularly amiable expression.

“You’re really putting in the work, aren’t you.”

To such greetings, he would merely reply with a disinterested “Ah,” then immediately turn away.

However, from around that time, Heisuke often had his granddaughter Omitsu come to the wasteland.

Omitsu had already been attending the elementary school in the neighboring village.
Throughout the summer vacation, she had been going to Shōkichi’s house to babysit the newborn, but after school began in September, her afternoons became completely free.
When she returned from school, she would rush into her empty, open house, eat a meal by herself, and bring the lunchbox Okane had prepared that morning along with the earthenware teapot of bitter tea to Heisuke.
Heisuke stopped bringing his own lunch and came to look forward to Omitsu delivering it.
And he often kept her at the wasteland until evening.

When Master Noda’s eldest son Kentaro returned home from his technical college in the capital for summer vacation, Omitsu received a beautiful wheat straw hat.
Heisuke carefully stored it away and didn’t let her wear it even when she went to school.
But he suddenly took it out and ordered her to wear it when delivering his lunch.
In contrast to her kimono, face, hands, and feet all blackened with dirt, only that new wheat straw hat stood out in a yellowish-white vividness.

Amidst the wasteland, small white, red, and yellow flowers bloomed here and there.
Along the rice field paths, there were also return blooms of Chinese milk vetch.
In the stream and at the water inlets of the rice fields, small fish were swarming.
Omitsu used a hand net made from scraps of an old mosquito net to scoop up those small fish, gather flowers in the fields, and search around for cicada molts.

When Omitsu wandered too far away, Heisuke would straighten up and call out.

“Mitsu, Mitsu.”

Only after being called many times did Omitsu finally return.

“Don’t go too far off now.”
“’Cause it’d be no good if you get stung by bugs or hurt yourself.”
“You’ll play close by here.”

“’Cause Grandpa’s always workin’, I’m bored as can be.”

“There there, I’ll catch you a big crucian carp later.”

However, he showed no sign of stopping his work.
When Omitsu tired of playing and grew weary of boredom, she tried to help a little by carrying the roots of plants and trees he had dug up.

“Don’t you be doing that,” Heisuke snapped.
“Go play over there.”

Not knowing what to do, Omitsu puffed out her cheeks and crouched in the shadow of a lone hackberry tree towering in the wasteland.
Eventually she lay down there and before long drifted into a doze.

Heisuke came over, gently placed the wheat straw hat on her sleeping face, and with a puzzled look, returned to his work.

When the morning sun was shining quietly, Heisuke crouched on the wasteland and read Otokichi’s letter again—the same one he had looked at many times since yesterday.
It contained apologies for having run away from home, descriptions of conditions at the silk mill, accounts of various town entertainments—all written entirely in hiragana.
He had intended not to write until he could send some money, but since that financial prospect had now mostly materialized... such things were also added in writing.

“Sweet-talkin’ to trick me, are ya? …Damn it, why should I forgive this?” Heisuke muttered under his breath.
Even so, he carefully tucked the letter into his shirt’s inner pocket.

That half-day, he worked more vigorously than usual.
He wiped the sweat streaming from his forehead with the back of his mud-caked hand.

“I’ll do it with my own strength!”

Then he took a couple of satisfied drags of tobacco.
He took out Otokichi’s letter again and read through it once more, scowling with irritation, yet still tucked it back into his shirt lining with care.

He remained motionless, lost in thought, but after some time suddenly stood up.
Beyond the highway lay a taro field.
He went there and brought back a large taro leaf.
He dug a hole in the shade of the hackberry tree and placed the water-filled taro leaf inside.
He then made rounds checking the water inlets of the rice fields.
Young crucian carp swam about in numbers.
Stepping in stealthily and trying to pin down one that had hidden beneath waterweed shadows, he felt it slip away from under his fingers.
After repeated failures, he finally caught one fairly large fish.
Cupping it between both palms, he ran back to the hackberry tree and released it into the taro leaf's water.
Then he set out once more.

With three young crucian carp and one young catfish, Heisuke was satisfied.
In the water that had thickly pooled in the taro leaf, he gazed intently at those small fish swimming about.
Then he stood up and looked up at the sun.
It was still too early for Omitsu to arrive.
He covered the taro leaf with a tree branch and returned to the half-reclaimed area.

The hot air flowed heavily and sluggishly.
There came a stiflingly quiet moment when the cicadas' cries and birdsong abruptly ceased.
Yet in the unreclaimed wasteland, plants grew thick with insects flying and small flowers blooming; in paddy fields reclaimed since last year, water had warmed as rice plants grew verdant; from newly broken ground with its blackened skin, heat haze rose shimmering.
And from southern mountain peaks, the white crowns of billowing cumulonimbus clouds had begun peeking through.

Heisuke stood there and took in all of it in one sweeping glance. When his eyes began to dazzle, he blinked two or three times and peered along the white highway to the village entrance. There was no sign of Omitsu’s pretty straw hat, nor of anyone else.

The smell of the soil seeped into his skin. The sunlight beat down directly from overhead. He spat sharply onto the palm of his hand and forcefully gripped the pickaxe’s handle.