Pathway to Japanese Literature

Ferry Landing

Near Tokyo, at a bend in a large river, there had been a ferry landing.
Once a fairly busy crossing point, it had fallen into complete desolation after a train line was laid and bridge built about a kilometer downstream.
Only nearby farmers used it occasionally now, with an aged ferryman operating a weathered boat.

Beside this ferry landing stood a single-story house that seemed oddly urbane for the countryside, its numerous small rooms giving it an air of faded elegance.
A podocarpus hedge encircled the property, ancient plum branches arching overhead in tangled embrace while five palm trees stretched fronds high above the roof.
This place had once served as both rest stop for ferry passengers and modest eatery, even providing overnight lodgings in its heyday.
As the ferry landing withered into obscurity, the house too became nearly vacant, reduced to sheltering just the old ferryman and his wife in one corner.

However, during the final stages of the war when Tokyo began suffering air raids, Iwata's mother and daughter evacuated from Tokyo and came here.
Next, the Kawara family of four were driven out by fire from Tokyo and came here.
After the war ended, Nakamura’s son arrived.
After the new year, Iwata's son - who had been dispatched to the interior of China and had been nearly missing in action - suddenly returned.
In this way, the house became packed tightly with people.

In mid-March, the Kawara family was scheduled to leave for Hokkaido.
However, arrangements had been made for the Makita family of five to arrive afterward.

Old Man Jubei the ferryman’s workload increased.
About three kilometers across the river stood a small town where Yoshikichi Nakamura engaged in covertly transporting local goods.
Potatoes, vegetables, and legumes crossed the water bearing substantial black-market price tags.
At Komatsuya eatery in town worked a young waitress named Kayoko - a place Motohiko Iwata began frequenting with regularity.
Sometimes he would make these crossings late at night.

When the Kawara family relocated, Old Man Jubei steered the boat, sweating profusely.
The Kawara family had been affected by the bombings in Tokyo, but since their main household goods had already been evacuated here beforehand, completely relocating now meant they had a considerable amount of luggage.
Various boxes and straw-wrapped bundles crossed the river within a single day.
The following afternoon, the four members of the Kawara family crossed the river.
They would stay overnight at an acquaintance’s house in Tokyo and then head to Hokkaido.

Iwata and the people from Nakamura’s group had intended to see the Kawara family off to the town’s train station, but they abruptly abandoned this plan and parted ways at the ferry landing instead.
Due to the modest farewell banquet, everyone—with some variation between young and old, men and women—was in a tipsy state.
That became their pretext for parting ways at the riverbank.
Since it was a pretext, there must have been another reason.

After the members of the Kawara family had left, people went about their respective tasks.
Motohiko Iwata strolled along the river’s edge.
Yoshie Iwata began preparing the evening stew.
Kayoko from Komatsuya, who had come to help, washed the dishes.
Yoshikichi Nakamura chopped firewood.
He seemed to find some pleasure in chopping firewood.
Yaeko Iwata lit the bath fire.

The bath fire, for some reason, wouldn’t catch properly and smoldered.
While fanning the flames, Yaeko Iwata was teary-eyed.
It wasn’t just because the smoke stung her eyes—she seemed to be weeping inwardly.
Truly, she was feeling sad.

Why have I become so prone to tears, I wonder.
I find myself on the verge of tears over the slightest things.
The very thought of trying not to let others see those tears already brings more welling up.
Even merely thinking *I shouldn’t be like this* still makes tears well up.

Some time ago, Brother brought two chocolate bars and quietly slipped them to me.
I couldn’t even utter words of thanks and simply hung my head.
After that, in a place with no one around, I gave one to Mother, but without properly looking at her face, I hung my head.
My eyes were growing hot and moist, and if someone were to see them, I felt tears would surely start falling.
While gnawing on the chocolate bar, I felt sadness more than I enjoyed the sweet taste.

Brother occasionally—though very rarely—brings me things like chocolates, candies, or peanuts.
On my part, I constantly attend to Brother's side dishes.
But delicious things are hard to come by, and even when I occasionally obtain some, I can't just give them to Brother alone among all these people.
Whether it was Mr. Kawara or Mr. Nakamura—they were people as close as relatives from the start—so while even the scarcest staple foods were kept separate, the side dishes had come to be prepared together.
That's why I couldn't give Brother special treatment.
Still, I wanted to give Brother as many delicious things as possible and was always attentive to him.
Such things felt somehow lonely and sad.
There were times when tears would well up for no reason while I prepared side dishes.

When Brother returned was also such a time. For a long time there had been no word from him, and even after the war ended his whereabouts remained unknown—they had simply been worrying endlessly when he suddenly came back. His complexion was dark, he had grown thin, and only his eyes glared fiercely. I was supposed to welcome him with such joy that I might have thrown my arms around him. But what had happened? I couldn’t speak and simply teared up. Those tears were different from tears of joy. They were something more complex and strange, even containing sadness. Nor was it because I directly felt our country’s defeat through Brother being a soldier—because the war itself had actually seemed like something far removed from me. Rather than that, there seemed to be something more important. What exactly that is, I still don’t clearly understand—but I feel it’s something directly connected to being human. When I saw Brother, that important thing abruptly revived in my chest, piercing it, and I felt strangely sad.

Something important had been trampled upon for a long time, had been on the verge of being forgotten.
Even now, wasn't that still the case? That was what felt so strangely sad.

It seemed I was trapped in such sorrow.
Therefore, even when I heard those words from Mr. Koichi Kawara, I did not blush, felt almost no fluttering in my chest, and simply hung my head.
If I had stayed still a little longer, I might have shed tears.

This morning, as she stood in the garden watching the sky, Mr. Koichi came.
The camellia tree was covered in red buds.
Mr. Koichi plucked two or three of those buds and stared at them intently.
Then he said, “It’s finally time for us to part, isn’t it.”
I nodded.
She remained silent for some time.
Then Mr. Koichi said.

“I am going to distant Hokkaido, but I will never forget you.”
“You are like this bud.”
“If there ever comes a time when we meet again, please bloom as beautifully as a camellia flower.”

Hearing those words, I felt neither particularly happy nor amused, but with some sort of sad feeling, I ended up looking down.
It wasn’t that the parting itself was sad.
The notion of blooming like a flower—transcending matters of beauty or its absence—abruptly struck my chest.
I saw myself as a frozen bud.
Because staying still made me feel tears would start falling, I hurried away without another thought.

Even so, I still seemed to be on the verge of tears.
When I encountered Brother and he stared at me, unusually enough, he asked what was wrong.
He must have seen me talking with Mr. Koichi too, and since it wasn't something worth hiding, I confessed honestly and relayed Mr. Koichi's words.
Something fierce flashed across Brother's face, but with that alone, he walked away in silence.

Brother may have gotten angry.
Lately he had become altogether quick to anger.
Yet despite this quickness to anger, he hardly told me anything.
These two things were painful to me.

If Brother would tell me jokes, openly get angry, and talk about all sorts of things like Mr. Yoshikichi Nakamura does, how happy I would be.
Brother was always thinking or getting angry by himself and never told me anything.
I wonder if Brother acted that way toward Ms. Kayoko from Komatsuya too.
Even toward Mother, Brother was the same way.
We were supposed to go all the way to town to see off the Kawaras, but stopping at the ferry landing had also been due to Brother’s unilateral decision.
Brother hadn’t explained anything at all.
Because he had gotten drunk, and because everyone was drunk, he had declared firmly that they would stop at the ferry.

We stood at the water’s edge watching Mr. and Mrs. Kawara, Koichi, and Koji board the ferry to cross to the opposite shore.
The sky was thinly overcast, and the wind blowing across the water’s surface felt cold.
I pressed both sleeves to my chest as if cradling something precious within them.
Suddenly I remembered being small—being taken by my parents on trips to Hakone and Nasu.
Then came the memory of my deceased father.

Is not death also a kind of journey? If that were so, then Father had gone on his journey alone. I too wanted to set out alone like Father had done. Mountains and rivers and seas would spread their varied scenery before me endlessly. I would drown within them and forget everything—even sorrow.

Before I knew it, tears had welled up in my eyes. They swelled until they threatened to spill from my eyelids. I wiped them away with my sleeve. I hated the thought of Brother seeing me cry. But there was no need for concern. Brother wandered along the riverbank some distance from us. He appeared absorbed in some deep contemplation.

When Brother was deep in thought, he also looked angry.
When he was angry, he also looked like he was deep in thought.
Why was he like that?
To me, that was lonely.

Where could Brother be now?
What is he thinking?
The smoke stung the eyes again，and tears welled up...

Yaeko's brother Motohiko Iwata was wandering along the riverbank.
And he was thinking.

—The river’s leisurely current….
While wishing to maintain a state of mind akin to it, I found myself utterly incapable of doing so.
After three years of battlefield life—was it because I longed for a quiet environment to rest my body and mind but couldn’t obtain it?
That wasn’t all.
Things beyond my control pressed in on me relentlessly from all sides.

In the military, my individuality was dissolved into the collective, and day and night I was intermingled with others.
Then after the war ended, we lived as a group like a herd of livestock, were crammed into transport ships, and returned to our homeland.
Already packed tightly on top of that, those prone to seasickness lay sprawled out, making the space grow ever more cramped until we could only sit hugging our knees.
Then on domestic trains it became even more crowded, to the point of being crushed while standing upright.
Amidst the breath and body heat of so many people, even my own body odor turned foul.

Even so, when I caught sight of this house by the river, I breathed a calm sigh of relief. Since I had occasionally visited before, I recognized it well, and it left a deeper impression on me than Tokyo homes ever did. The palm trees spreading their broad leaves over the roof held a charm that captivated the heart. The prospect of living here peacefully with Mother and Sister brought a serene smile to my face. My physical fatigue momentarily vanished.

However, what I found inside this house was communal living with a multitude of people.
Whether it be the Kawaras or Nakamura, they were not complete strangers to me, but even so, they remained people from other households.
Those people shared meals together; from morning till night, we spent every waking moment in each other's faces.
From waking until sleeping, we exchanged greetings, attended to various matters, and gazed into each other's faces.
No one had their own place or their own time.
Though the living spaces were each separate to begin with, Japanese houses—particularly single-story ones—are highly open in nature, and rooms lack independence as individual spaces.
Therefore, all members of the household ended up in a state nearly akin to communal cohabitation in shared spaces.
In such a place, each person’s own corner ceased to exist.
In any form of social communal living, there should exist a corner that serves as a place for the soul to find respite and the body to rest; when that is absent, communal life will degenerate into merely animal-like herd existence.

What astonished me was how Mother remained composedly settled amidst all this.
For her, having just one seat by the long brazier seemed enough—no matter how people scrambled about in confusion around her.
She must have perceived even the surrounding chaos as a kind of landscape.
She settled her corpulent body firmly in place, ever smiling and amiable.
After the Kawara family left, she had readily agreed to take in the Makita family with an additional member.
Yoshikichi Nakamura remarked indignantly to me.

“Auntie’s too charitable.”

Compassionate sympathy was Mother’s inherent trait.
When times like these come upon us, Mother seems to pity everyone.
Even so, when I insisted that the Makita family handle not just their staple food but all their cooking separately, Mother immediately agreed.

“If that would be preferable, I shall propose it that way.”

Such things didn't matter to Mother either way.

Given that Mother was like this, it was only natural she didn’t pay much heed to Yaeko’s tears.
But I noticed my sister’s tears as soon as I returned home.
At first, I thought they were tears squeezed out by the pressure of communal living.
From being made to eat decent meals and being looked after with such care, I became convinced it must indeed be so.

I myself was disgusted by the crampedness and suffocation of communal living from the very first day of returning home.
Friendly faces and words surrounded me, gently tightening their grip.
If only there had been at least one person among them who could glare back at me with hatred—but with not a single such soul present, I too had to remain amiable toward everyone.
This was something I had never experienced before.
Just as military life mechanizes humans, so too does this communal existence vulgarize and flatten the human spirit.
It permits no deep breathing for mankind.

To escape this atmosphere, I wandered the fields, floated a fishing boat on the river, and frequented Komatsuya in town to grow close to Kayoko.
Under the pretext of convalescing for the time being, I spent my freewheeling days in melancholy.
There were times when I got dead drunk and had Kayoko escort me home.
Mother was amiable toward Kayoko as well.
That very fact was dissatisfying to me.
In other words, even while abusing the privilege of being a demobilized soldier, my spirits did not lift.
I attributed that guilt to the suffocation of communal living.

And just the other day on March 3rd—the Doll Festival—since our living space was cramped and no hina dolls could be displayed nor diamond-shaped rice cakes or white sake procured—it passed like any ordinary day.

That evening, thinking I might go to Komatsuya in town, when I went out to the riverbank, there amidst the red glow of the setting sun was a woman leaning against a willow tree beginning to bud, gazing intently at the river surface.
It was Yaeko.
I approached and called out.
My sister turned around and squinted at me.
Her eyes were those of someone looking at a complete stranger.
I tried teasing her.

“You look pessimistic.”
“Probably because we couldn’t hold the Doll Festival.”
“How old are you going to be?”

My sister shook her head earnestly and smiled.
But in those eyes were tears.
I averted my gaze and looked up at the sunset.
Then I walked home with my sister.
I wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.
Then my sister murmured:

“Brother, if only war would begin again.”

“Don’t spout nonsense.”

I replied mechanically, but immediately afterward, the true meaning of my sister’s words struck my heart.
My sister hadn’t been talking about the war or anything like that.

"Yeah, I get the feelings you’re talking about," I said again.

My sister seemed to want to say something and was waiting for my words.
But I couldn’t say anything.
And the two of us returned home in silence.

At times like these, if it were the two of us from the past, we would surely have talked about all sorts of things. That custom too had been lost. Was it because of communal living? That was part of it. Yet I felt there were other reasons.

At that riverbank, my sister had looked at me with eyes as though seeing a complete stranger. Such eyes were something I had occasionally encountered before. At such times, my sister must have been wandering through some void. The emptiness wasn't in some distant place—it existed within one's own heart. In my heart too, that emptiness dwelled. It was an emptiness formed after something had collapsed. What exactly had collapsed? It was just something human—I still didn't fully grasp it. After the war's end, I had dimly sensed that truth. Now I perceived it with somewhat greater clarity. My sister must also have been feeling that void. My sister's frequent tears must have sprung from that source.

Given such a sister, Koichi Kawara actually managed to say those things.
Even if it were a confession of love—to use camellia buds or camellia flowers, whatever was at hand—he actually managed to say those things.
It didn’t have to be peonies—if he’d used plum blossoms or cherry blossoms, or even daffodils, that would’ve been better.
Camellia flowers—weren’t they just symbols for some plump country girl with red cheeks?

As for Kawara’s parents too, their words rang rather nonsensical.
They claimed that after I disappeared Mother had grown despondent and Sister done nothing but weep—all sorts of things—but I heard directly from Mother and Sister themselves that they’d actually held firm.
They even spoke of secret deliberations about holding a grand funeral for me—as if such absurd discussions could ever have existed.
To cling to hope that I might still be alive somewhere—that’s human nature.
Yet this very betrayal of human nature gets trotted out as proof of their joy at my survival.
All lies spun from kindness.
Might there instead be lies forged from malice?
That would likely sit better with who I am now.
And then always—inevitably—they dredge up nothing but frontline tales.

Even at today's afternoon banquet, the same things were repeated.
It came to be regarded as a fixed drinking ritual.

I'd had enough.
I resolved to seal myself in silence.
No matter what others said or asked, I maintained absolute muteness.
Having become a complete mute, I stared into the profound emptiness now visible within myself.
This void left by collapsed humanity—dimly comprehended yet acutely felt—how could one ever fill it?

With fury-tinged fervor, I preserved my silent stance.
I cared nothing for others' opinions.
Choosing to escort the Kawaras only to the ferry landing became another articulation of this silence.
Everyone surely deemed me deranged.
Even Mother appeared to watch me covertly.
My sister avoided my gaze yet kept hers fixed upon me.
Those loving eyes too—I'd had enough.

I want to be completely alone, just once.
Even as I wander this riverbank like this, isn't there still someone secretly watching me?

Dinner was served early.
Or rather, the men started drinking sake early.
With Motohiko Iwata, Yoshikichi Nakamura, the Kawara family, two villagers they were close with, and Old Man Jubei the ferryman—just that number of people—Yaeko carried around dishes of simmered food, and Kayoko went about serving drinks.
The mistress Yoshie sat her ample body beside the long brazier, tending to the sake warming while listening with a smile to people’s conversations.

The conversation spanned various matters, touching on political issues, extending to agricultural crops, and even addressing food shortages, but talk of the departed Kawara family remained central.

Old Man Jubei was once called by his wife, rose from his seat, and came steering the ferry boat.

“Oh dear, this is such trouble at times like these.”

Old Man Jubei smiled amiably, appearing to relish the inconvenience.
Yet when night descended, ferry passengers vanished completely.

Throughout it all, Motohiko Iwata kept drinking in obstinate silence.
He seemed to have forged an unshakable vow of muteness.
But once he spoke—as all present sensed—his words carried near-absolute authority that tolerated no contradiction.
His military-green high-collared uniform framed by overgrown bristling hair, that resolute brow and unblinking stare—they coalesced into an aura of unassailable dignity.

When the women had finally finished the meal and all the sake had been drunk, Motohiko Iwata suddenly spoke up.

“Well then, let’s take Kayo-chan to town now.”
“Nakamura, come along.”
“If we don’t do that, Kayo-chan would have to come all the way back here to send me again.”
“I’m drunk.”
“Let’s go.”

Recognizing the ferry as his duty, Old Man Jubei too rose to his feet.
The two villagers also rose from their seats to take their leave.
The paper lanterns were lit.

In the faint light of the paper lanterns, Motohiko stared intently at Yaeko, who had followed him to the entrance with a worried look, and said while twisting his cheek in an odd manner.

“Don’t fret anymore. From now on, I’ll always be here for you.”

Yaeko suddenly teared up and, as if to hide those tears, went into the house.

It was a cloudy night, unseasonably warm, with mist hanging in the air.

Motohiko was drunk and unsteady on his feet.
He placed his hand on the shoulder of Yoshikichi Nakamura—who held a paper lantern and wore a mantle over his kimono—as if leaning against him.

“Hey, Nakamura, quit being a middleman for black market dealings.”

“Yeah, I’ve decided to quit,” Nakamura replied with an honest smile.

“Very well.
But if you keep doing that, I’ll never let Yaeko be yours.
She’s my sister, but I’ve fallen for that little soul of hers—childlike yet adult, utterly unknowable.
If she weren’t my sister, I would marry Yaeko.
Then you marry Kayoko.
Hey, Kayoko, Kayo-chan, you don’t dislike Nakamura, do you?
Say you love him, say you love him…”

Kayoko glanced at Nakamura and whispered.

“You’re quite drunk, aren’t you.”

Motohiko seized upon this.

“Drunk? Don’t talk nonsense. I’m thinking serious thoughts. Seriously wondering—how many people have drowned in this river since ancient times? How many more will drown here?” He turned toward the ferryman. “Hey Old Man Jubei, plenty must’ve drowned here, eh?”

“Who’s to say what’s what.”

Already disengaged, Old Man Jubei began untying the ferry ropes.

The abundant water flowed leisurely, appearing faintly white even in the darkness of night.
As soon as everyone boarded, the boat departed immediately.

Motohiko took off his coat.
Then he draped it over Kayoko's slender shoulders—she who wore a crimson arrow-feather-patterned kimono beneath her red coat.

"Consider this my final kindness."

But that "final" seemed to point to something else entirely.
He smiled happily and took out a large bottle from his coat’s side pocket.
The shochu was filled to about eighty percent.
From the other pocket came two large cups.

“Old Man Jubei, take a little rest. Now go ahead.”

The river’s flow was extremely gentle.
Old Man Jubei was also pulled in by Motohiko and took a cup of shochu in hand.
Motohiko drank down two or three cups, then took the oar and turned the boat upstream.
If he rowed upstream a little, after that it would just follow the current.
Old Man Jubei was talking about how a horse had drowned.

“Even though it could swim, it panicked and plunged its head into the water—that was all it took.”
“If there’s no one to pull your head above water with a rein, you just have to lift it up yourself.”
“Because it forgot that, that big head just kept sinking downward.”
“Among horses too, there seem to be two types—those that know how to swim and those that don’t.”

Kayoko frowned as she listened.
Yoshikichi Nakamura was engaging in the conversation with growing excitement.
Motohiko had already lost all interest in his surroundings and was gazing fixedly at the river’s surface.

—It was exactly this kind of bend.
It was a dimly dark night.
When they reached midstream, a flash abruptly erupted on the opposite bank.
The flashes multiplied, and bullets streaked through the sky.
At that moment, there was a coward who foolishly returned fire with a few shots from this side.
On the opposite bank, flashes erupted all at once in rapid succession.
The bullets that went whizzing past overhead soon began hissing threateningly close, sending up sprays of water.
Before long, larger ones began falling from overhead as well.
The sinister swishing sound’s location could not be determined.
The moment it seemed one of them was about to come crashing down overhead, the boat was slammed sideways with a crash.
That alone felt terribly anticlimactic, but the crew had already been flung into the water...

Old Man Jubei was laughing uproariously, "Ha ha ha..."
Motohiko looked around.
The faintly white surface of the water undulated leisurely.
There was something repulsive about it.
It was repulsive, desolately void, and utterly elusive.

—All is emptiness.
Dive deeper into the depths of emptiness.
Go under alone.
Motohiko suddenly regained clear consciousness.
Then he grew cautious.
While the three were distracted by conversation and not paying attention here, Motohiko shifted his body from the boat’s edge and smoothly submerged himself into the water—feet first, then torso, until finally his head……

It was Kayoko who first noticed that Motohiko Iwata had disappeared.
Yoshikichi Nakamura and Old Man Jubei also stood up.
The boat rocked, and Kayoko prostrated herself there.

It was a dimly hazed night where neither calls nor shouts drew any response.
Motohiko Iwata had vanished.
Old Man Jubei strained desperately at the oar.
Even after steering the boat every which way, they recognized their futility.
Having moored to shore, the three raced home.
Several villagers were rallied.
Multiple paper lanterns were kindled.
Old Man Jubei leapt back into his boat.
Others boarded the second vessel too.
Calling across midstream and both banks, people gradually worked downstream—toward the train’s iron bridge—searching for Motohiko Iwata.

At that time, Motohiko Iwata was much further upstream.

Submerged in the water, he became utterly alone.
He dove alone for a while, then swam.
Being a skilled swimmer, he reached shore still clothed.
When he stood on the bank, he felt a terrible cold.
He wrung out his coat and emptied his shoes of water.
Then he walked along the embankment upstream.
Because of the cold, he broke into a run.
There was a bamboo thicket with piled dried twigs.
Motohiko groped in his pocket for the lighter.
Then he combed the low riverside area, diligently gathering dried bamboo branches to light a fire.
The fire burned pleasantly, illuminating the surroundings and staining the sky with sudden color.
Motohiko warmed himself by the fire while adopting the mentality of a solitary wanderer at world's end, sinking into meditation.
The drunken meditation deepened profoundly.

What exactly that meditation had been, even he himself could not clearly recall.
All he could say was that it had been something deep, deep—something that seemed both fragmentary without coherence and yet coherently continuous.
It was a flight within a vast emptiness.
It resembled flying through the vast sky in an airplane—if one could say that this aviation had occurred within the abyss of his heart.

When he awoke from that meditation, the alcohol's effects had nearly worn off, and his clothes were beginning to dry. Motohiko showed an ironic smile, then broke into a serene one. With measured footsteps, he began making his way back home.

Plucking a single supple leaf from the Masaki hedge, he played his flute. Upon entering the earthen-floored entryway of the house, he discarded the leaf and paused momentarily.

There，by the long hibachi，in the glow of the electric light，the women were gathered together.
Mother bent forward，gazing into the hibachi’s fire.
Yaeko tightened her face resolutely and stared into empty space.
Kayoko pressed a handkerchief against her face and cried.
Old Man Jubei’s wife talked quietly about something while alternately looking between them.

To Motohiko, this scene felt like a rare spectacle he had never before witnessed. Mother’s demeanor differed from her usual self, Yaeko’s manner bore no resemblance to her ordinary comportment, Kayoko’s state defied normality, and the old woman assumed an uncharacteristically dominant presence.

Motohiko stood motionless and stared wide-eyed. Then he smiled brightly. Yet separate from this, some heart-constricting emotion kept him from speaking.

Yaeko made a strange sound. At this, they noticed Motohiko. All eyes fixed intently on Motohiko. Under their collective gaze, he silently stepped forward, removed his shoes, and entered the room. Still standing, he gave each of them a nod that seemed to acknowledge everything.