Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

This village produced one Army colonel and one Navy captain each.
Army Colonel Ono fell in battle in the southern theater, while Navy Captain Sada returned to the village after the war’s end.
I am he.

That I became the mayor of this village was never by my own will.
The previous mayor had died of illness, and with no other suitable candidates available, I ended up accepting the position when pressed into it. From what people said, it seemed all I needed to do was go to the town hall and sit in the mayor's seat. In my own memory too, back when my uncle was mayor, the town hall janitor would come fetch him only when needed—otherwise, he spent entire days playing Go at home.
When I recounted that memory to Deputy Mayor Hanyū and remarked that if things were indeed so simple I might manage after all, he responded by—

“As you are well aware, society has undergone a complete transformation since the war’s end. Even in this mountain village, there are those who insist on making reasoned arguments like city folk. Therefore, I must request that you attend the office punctually every day, however troublesome it may be.”
“As for playing Go all day at the town hall—that’s something you needn’t restrain yourself from doing in front of anyone.”

“No—I am a man with no hobbies to speak of beyond Go. Gardening and tending fields are about the extent of my pleasures. Given that I’m such a man, if that were established as my daily routine, not only would arriving punctually every day not be a hardship—it would actually be good for my health.”

It was with such a lighthearted attitude that I ended up accepting.

The village’s elementary school had burned down completely last year due to a mysterious fire.
Fortunately, the recently built middle school had survived the flames, so they managed temporarily by holding split-shift classes there and at temples.
Now the barracks-style temporary classrooms were nearly complete, leaving only the formal commencement of constructing the proper school building.
However, this fund-raising wasn’t coming through.
The reason there was no one who wanted to become village mayor was also due to this.

However, since they could not manage without a village mayor, the village council members and Deputy Mayor Hanyū came to visit me, stating that they would handle all matters regarding the new school building construction and fund-raising themselves without causing me any trouble, and thus wanted me to become mayor.
Even if I did nothing, my title would naturally function on its own.
All administrative duties would also be handled by the Deputy Mayor.
In other words, I was to be a figurehead mayor—a ceremonial role—and given that such mayors were hardly rare in the world, I too laughed heartily and became mayor.

From the very beginning of my tenure, the elementary school had been problematic, but when I actually came to deal with it firsthand, it gradually became clear that steering this institution was far more troublesome than maneuvering a warship.

The daughter of Army Colonel Ono, who had died in battle in the southern theater, was a teacher at this elementary school.
She was a woman of considerable ill repute in the village, but given her father’s standing—and particularly as I too was a military man—I could not regard her as a stranger.
Thinking that speaking would allow our hearts to connect, I privately looked forward to the day of our meeting.

Then one day, a call came from her to the town hall.
She said she wanted me to come to the school because there was something she wished to discuss.
With Deputy Mayor Hanyū away and no one else to consult—and it being about time to leave anyway—I decided to go visit the school.

It was dusk with winter's cold wind howling.
When I was led by the janitor into the faculty room, there sat a woman with a coat slung over her shoulders warming herself at a hibachi—and that was her.
Seeing me, she gave a slight nod,

“I got bored, so I called. I’m on day duty. Had nothing else to do and ran out of cigarettes—ended up scavenging butts and rummaging through the middle school’s hibachi. No one around to mooch from. Was hoping some sucker might show up when I suddenly thought of calling you. Mayor. How’s tricks? Town hall keeping you entertained?”

“Smoking butts?”

“That’s right. Use a pipe for it.”

“Ah.
“Do you usually carry a pipe at your waist?”

“No way.”
“I found it in the male teachers’ discards, you know.”
“You got any cigarettes?”

I felt no ill will toward her. Indeed, her manners were as poor as rumored, but wasn’t she a frank and intriguing woman?

When I took out cigarettes from my pocket and gave them to her, she beamed with delight,

“Just as I expected—you’re so naive.”
“Maybe I mooched too much—now even people from other villages won’t give me cigarettes anymore.”

“Do you like cigarettes that much?”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.”
“Do you think there’s anything else to do?”

“Do read.”
“Educators need to read, don’t you think?”

“What an elementary school teacher needs is brute strength alone.”
“Next, as for an educator’s self-awareness, I suppose it would be barter.”
“Those who give shall take.”
“I won’t give you anything, but when it comes to this village’s stuff, they make you feel like it’s fine to take whatever you want.”
“I can’t imagine paying money for cigarettes.”
“They all act like everything’s free.”

“What do you buy with money?”

“When you don’t give me enough to buy anything. Look! Take a good look. This is what a twenty-five-year-old unmarried woman wears. Patches on the chest, arms, skirt—see? The chest and arm ones were slashed by a kid’s knife. I’d kill for nylon stockings, but look at these socks. More pathetic than a defeated soldier’s.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad. For this village, it’s practically luxurious. Wear work pants instead of a skirt—no need for socks. A kasuri kimono hides tears and patches better. That Western getup makes you look like a gutted salamander.”

“Well said, you.”
“The men in this village wield words more deftly than Tokyo’s newspapers, you know.”
“When finding fault with women, that is.”
“Putting down women appears to be the lifelong vocation of this village’s men.”

My first meeting with Ono Mariko went like this.

Shortly after, the male teacher on night duty arrived at the school, so I took my leave—but that teacher closed in on me as if meeting a century-old nemesis rather than seeing me,

“You’re going to make us spend this winter in this barracks-style schoolhouse?”
“Most of the window panes are shattered!”
“Can’t you see?”
“The classroom floors are dirt.”
“If snow accumulates, the classroom will become a muddy mess.”
“Can you make children study in such a place?”

He opened the door and showed the classroom’s interior.
I withdrew without answering that.

As my life in this village was spent living with an elderly couple, our conversations naturally remained limited, and I had unwittingly remained unaware that even floorboards had not been laid in the barracks-style temporary school building.
I had also been unaware that most of the window panes were shattered.
While his approach toward superiors bordered on excessive, the male teacher’s reproach was not without justification.
I planned to speak to Deputy Mayor Hanyū about this matter the next day and take emergency measures.

However, when I went to work the next day, the Deputy Mayor was lying in wait for me,

“You went to the elementary school yesterday.”
“What did you do sitting face-to-face with that woman teacher?”
“With that Abortion Teacher?”

He advanced with unexpected fury.
I couldn’t grasp the reason,

“In this village, is it forbidden for the mayor and a female teacher to converse face-to-face?”

“You gave her cigarettes.”
“A single cigarette.”

“She was in need, so I gave her one.”

“She’s always in need.”
“Why not make it routine?”
“A village mayor of your standing...”
“To that Abortion Teacher.”

“What do you mean by ‘Abortion Teacher’?”

“Because she’s the teacher who aborted.”
“That’s what the villagers call her.”
“None use her proper name.”
“Even the children whisper it.”
“A slut lower than any whore—one who’d spread her legs for a smoke.”
“With such trash teaching here, this school’s become a den of devils.”

“Den of demons?
“A palace, perhaps?
“That is.
“And who might this demon king be?”

“A former naval captain couldn’t even become a demon king.”
“A naval captain who couldn’t go to war—pathetic.”
“Nothing you do ever amounts to anything.”

There was no greater insult than this to me.

Indeed, I was a naval captain who couldn't even go to war.
Just before a great war broke out in the Pacific, I had been transferred to the reserve.
To have been transferred to the reserve at such a critical juncture when they needed every hand they could get—had I truly been deemed that utterly incompetent?
If I had at least been promoted to rear admiral before being transferred to the reserve, there might have been some consolation—but I was left utterly devastated, my humiliation so profound that I even contemplated suicide.

Afterward, regaining my composure, I took employment as a mere civilian employee at what was called the Naval Hydrographic Department—but as a hired hand, even my reserve captain’s rank held no sway. I endured reprimands from lieutenants and ensigns who might as well have been my own children, considering this spiritual training—persevering through humiliation after humiliation until the war’s end. What could be more laughable than a military man encountering an unprecedented great war only to be dismissed from service and denied participation in that very conflict? A history that cannot be passed down even to descendants. There remained nothing but self-mockery.

Because Hanyū had uttered the words I most feared, I began to doubt his true intentions.
Even if one were an enemy, there ought to be some measure of compassion.
For him to utter these words to my face, there must have been some grave reason behind it.
Yet I had no inkling of what that reason might be.

“I fail to comprehend why my visiting the elementary school troubles you to such an extent. You seem to have this peculiar custom of considering any man who gives a woman cigarettes to be a villain.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true. It’s about as peculiar a custom as the Village Mayor being summoned by some notorious woman in the village to go hand out cigarettes.”

“By the way, I hear there are no floorboards in the elementary school’s barracks building. Most of the glass is broken too—can’t we do something about that?”

“How dare you say such a thing!”

His face twisted in fury.
He seemed to hesitate for a moment but then, appearing to have resolved something, retrieved some documents from the shelf.

“First, please review this.”
“Even that barracks-style temporary school building has my blood seeping into it.”
“If someone like me didn’t exist, there’s no reason that even that barracks-style temporary school building would have been built!”
“Where do you suppose the money exists?”
“How could that barracks-style temporary school building have been built when there’s no money?”

While shouting this, he continued moving back and forth between the shelves, retrieving numerous documents.
A towering pile of documents formed on my desk in no time.

“First, examine the village funds.”
“How much came in and how much went out?”
“Next, the special revenue for building a new elementary school.”
“How much is there?”
“And how much did that barracks-style temporary school building cost?”
“Nearly half still remains unpaid.”
“Then consider how I’ve been using village funds.”
“Inspect my travel expenses.”
“For seven years since taking office, I’ve refused even travel allowances.”
“Out of my own pocket.”
“Staying at inns crawling with snake-oil peddlers, groveling before every official—that’s how we somehow built that wretched barracks!”
“Doesn’t facing me like this make you ashamed?”
“How dare you lecture me when you’ve never lifted a finger!”

“I have fully understood your position.”
“I shall review the documents as per your explanation and state my opinion, but you are somewhat overexcited.”
“It seems you’re misinterpreting every word I say.”
“Let us both maintain our composure, discuss matters thoroughly, and work together for the village’s sake.”

I calmed Deputy Mayor Hanyū, then spent nearly a week reviewing old documents. He was right. The village’s economic depression was one thing, but its finances were bone-dry even if shaken upside down. Be that as it may, his selfless dedication to public service was truly admirable. His ceaseless efforts had been entirely self-funded throughout. His anger must have stemmed from those efforts going unrecognized. When viewed in this light, his anger was not without reason. I was ashamed that I had not known. Accordingly, I apologized to him for my ignorance, but—

"But here's the thing."
"I understand there's no budget, but could we not somehow contrive to lay floorboards in the school?"

When I repeated this statement, he once again abruptly conjured a venomous glint in his eyes,

“Is that so.”
“Go ahead and do it.”
“Mayor.”
“By all means.”
“Do as you please.”
“Mayor.”

It was at this time that I came to know the humiliation of cowering whenever I was called Village Mayor.

Hanyū muttered under his breath.

“But you know, having a dirt floor instead would eliminate fire hazards and provide peace of mind.”
“We should’ve floored the classrooms and made the night duty room and faculty room dirt floors instead.”
“Sleeping on straw spread over a dirt floor is what suits those bastards.”

2

Ono Mariko had many enemies besides Hanyū.
And apart from Hanyū, they all had clear reasons for being her enemies.
Mostly laughable reasons at that.

Take Nesaku for example—he owned a horse.
A man who loved to throw his weight around in every matter and look down on others, he seemed particularly obsessed with horses, constantly boasting that his was Japan’s finest.
Then one of his children wrote a composition parroting those very boasts.
"Our horse understands human speech and replies," it went, "demonstrating loyalty like Kusunoki Masashige," the composition stated.
Then Mariko appended a single-line remark at the end.

“Next time, tell your father to buy Japan’s finest deer.”

About ten days later, when Nesaku forced his way into the school, they must not have noticed until then. He took his horse by the bridle and barged in,

“You called me Japan’s number one fool.”
“So now you’re calling this horse Japan’s number one fool too?”
“In any case…”

From morning until evening, he kept up his obstinate antics with the horse.
Because of this, the school couldn’t hold classes for the entire day.
From that time on, there was implacable enmity.
Nesaku made no attempt to conceal that he was Mariko’s enemy at every turn.

Also, Shigesuke had once been caught in a gambling raid.
It was one of this village’s bad customs that many treated gambling as daily entertainment.
There existed neither loan shark bosses nor yakuza who professionally gambled, yet the farmers’ nighttime diversion consisted of gambling.
Every year when matters grew intolerable, someone would inevitably get raided.
That year, it was Shigesuke who got caught.

Then at that year’s elementary school cultural festival appeared a play dramatizing a gambling den raid.
Yet the role of the raided man fell to Shigesuke’s own son.
He wept while kowtowing desperately, but to no avail—reprimanded belatedly, he was dragged away wailing without end.

Needless to say, Shigesuke was furious.
Also, a majority of the villagers were furious.
Because they were habitual gamblers.

However, homeroom teacher Mariko stated that the play was something the children had spontaneously created and performed themselves, with the roles also having been decided among the children.
When they questioned Shigesuke’s son, he not only nodded in confirmation but gradually revealed matters such as having eagerly volunteered to take on his own father’s role, declaring “I’ll play my old man’s part!”
Because things had ended in an unexpected backlash, it was said that the resentment held by Shigesuke and his ilk toward Mariko had taken deeper root.

The above was but one example, yet in this manner Mariko had many enemies.
It came to pass that fire prevention water supplies were to be installed in the village, and since these needed placement in densely populated residential areas, the villagers' voices unwittingly coalesced into a resolution to demolish Mariko's house for their installation.
As the late Colonel Ono had belonged to a branch family, there existed no house of their own in this village.
The bereaved family had rented a small farmhouse during the war and lived an evacuated life.

After I assumed the position of Village Mayor, the deadline arrived, and the forced eviction of the Ono bereaved family was carried out.
The bereaved family consisted of no more than three people—Mariko, the mother, and the brother—but this brother had long been bedridden due to tuberculosis.

In a mountain village where no surplus houses could exist, the bereaved family had struggled to find a new residence. At that time, the school colleagues—unable to bear watching any longer—determined to house Mariko’s family in the night duty room and made them relocate without consulting the village office or council.

For this reason, an Emergency Village Council was convened on the upper floor of the village office where countermeasures were intensely deliberated.
In the village council’s view, the school’s action constituted an overt act of hostility against the village.

Thereupon, I stood up and,

“While it is indeed improper that the school carried out this measure without authorization, when a teacher’s family—one’s colleagues—faced dire housing circumstances, devising to provide them with the school’s night duty room was the sole available measure, and as such should not be faulted as a strategy.”

“The reason their action appears confrontational at first glance—resembling an act of hostility—is that, as I humbly consider, the very approach of having singled out the Ono bereaved family’s residence when establishing the fire prevention water supply and failing to prepare alternative housing has become what instills hostility in them.”

“In short, I believe there are aspects of the village’s measures that warrant reflection.”

Before I could even finish arguing,

“What nonsense are you spouting?!”

A voice roared out.
It was Nesaku—the horse-and-deer man.
He was a village council member.
He said:

“What isn’t there can’t be helped.
Or can the Village Mayor use magic tricks to create vacant houses?”

Mountain villagers possessed an innate talent for employing peculiar metaphors in their debates.

"Fundamentally, the school's night duty room is public property,"
"It's all well and good that they can't bear seeing colleagues in dire straits, but why don't they open their own homes to take them in?"
"Using village facilities for private purposes amounts to outright corruption!"

Nesaku struck a pose as he delivered this verdict. Farmers proved unexpectedly skilled in debate—a fact I'd come to keenly feel since becoming Mayor. Time and again I'd put forth shallow conventional arguments only to face unexpectedly fierce counterattacks. My fatal flaw lay in being loose-tongued with flimsy reasoning. I could only fall silent before Nesaku's rebuttal.

“No need for the Mayor!”

“Don’t meddle in village governance!”

“Have you forgotten the promise?!”

Being thus reviled by all, I gracefully withdrew from the assembly.
Because I had assumed the role of an incompetent and inactive mayor, I had already attained the enlightenment to withdraw without hesitation should I face counterattacks.
However, after I withdrew, a strange resolution had apparently been passed.

The following Sunday, carpenters raided the elementary school and stripped the floor joists from the faculty and night duty rooms.
They used part of these to lay floors in the classrooms, but in exchange, the faculty room and night duty room reverted to dirt-floored spaces.

Upon receiving the report, I too headed to the school, but even I as Village Mayor was barred by council members and their henchmen villagers from entering the construction site.
A portion of the villagers had donned fire brigade uniforms and appeared resolved to show no mercy in eliminating anyone who entered the restricted area.

“Martial law in effect, I see.”

As I muttered,

“Improper. Hold your tongue. One wouldn’t take you for a former military man.”

Hanyū berated me, his veins bulging.

I had noted that Hanyū had previously blurted out something similar to today’s events when addressing me, so I concluded that he must be the instigator behind today’s actions as well.
Thereupon, I turned to Hanyū and said,

“You just vehemently argued to me the other day—presenting financial documents from recent years—that even if we shook them upside down, not a single floorboard would fall out. But that was all a temporary falsehood.”
“Isn’t today’s action utterly unreasonable?”

“Ha ha ha! Not a single penny of village funds was used for today’s matter.”
“This much is merely the opening move.”
“To drive out that hussy and her kind from the village, Nesaku claims he’d sell even his prized horse.”

“How splendid if the deer’s head were gone.”

“Indecorous!”

Hanyū’s veins bulged again, but the villagers encircling me guffawed.
And rumors spread with dreadful swiftness—the tale that today’s carpentry costs had been met through Nesaku selling his prized horse passed lip to lip among those gathered round the school to spectate.
Hearing this, Nesaku came storming in with a visage transformed by rage.

“Is the Village Mayor here? Where is he?”

Hanyū greeted him with an “I’ve been expecting you,”

“The Village Mayor is utterly improper. If you sell your horse,” he said, “the deer’s head would disappear—how splendid that would be.”

“Tch.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here! On what grounds is the Village Mayor spouting such idiocy about me selling my horse to cover today’s expenses?”
“When did I ever say such a thing?”
“Does the Village Mayor hate my horse that much?”
“Do you want to make me sell my horse?”

Hanyū’s expectations were dashed, leaving him flustered.

“No—the horse matter isn’t today’s business.
Today’s expenses—I can pay out of my own pocket.
That’s a separate matter—well, come over here.”

Hanyū took Nesaku by the hand and hurriedly led him away toward where no one was.

I searched for Mariko’s figure. As the late Colonel and I belonged to different branches of the military—he to the Army and I to the Navy—our interactions had been limited to occasional encounters at prefectural association meetings, and we had never developed a deep connection. However, as a fellow military man, I could not turn a blind eye to the deceased’s bereaved family suffering as they were today. If there was no place for them to settle, I thought it would be acceptable to offer a room in my house.

Mariko disliked being either an object of curiosity or a recipient of sympathy, so she had disappeared from around the school.

She had taken shelter at a Zen temple near the mountain's edge.
When I went there, the first person I met was that male teacher from before, who glared at me with fierce loathing.
He was boarding at the Zen temple.

“Are elementary school teachers dogs?”
“I hear you’ve made them conduct administrative work on dirt floors and sleep on straw spread over those same dirt floors.”
“Have you ever seen a prison?”
“Even prisons—places where humans live—have proper floors.”
“You’re making a strange face.”
“Do my words sound absurd to you?”

I could sympathize with his assertion that he wasn't a dog, but I couldn't sympathize with his bearing. That indeed verged on canine. They were nothing but fang-baring dogs, I thought—no different from the fire brigade members and village councilors under martial law.

Not wishing to respond to a dog, I searched for Mariko. She had avoided people and climbed the back mountain, it was said.

The back mountain was a cemetery.

Mariko sat on one of the tombstones, glaring, her arms crossed.
Because she was staring fixedly at my approaching figure, I too forced a wry smile.

“Today, wherever I go, I’m just glared at.”

“It’s because my tobacco ran out.”

Her unsmiling face averted its glaring eyes as she muttered.

“As you well know, I am an incompetent and inactive Village Mayor, so through the authority vested in me as mayor, I can do nothing for you.
“Fortunately, I have a house too large for a couple alone—you’re welcome to use the rooms as you please.”

Mariko was smoking the tobacco I had offered,

“Do I look that troubled to you?”

“You do appear troubled.”

“Maybe I should drop the brave front.”
“But even more troublesome things have happened not just ten or twenty times, you know.”
“To have lived this long...”
“Today, when I’m just sitting here dazed, someone comes along—they all gather round, there’s even someone giving me tobacco—it’s really nothing worth mentioning.”

“Aren’t you just putting on a brave front?”

“Doesn’t seem to be the case. As for me—rather, I’m grateful to Deputy Mayor Hanyū. Because he taught me to burrow into the straw on the dirt floor and sleep. Futons and tatami are only convenient because you can fold them up and store them in the closet or sweep them. Who could tell whether I slept on a futon over tatami last night or burrowed into straw on the dirt floor? Even if it were a king instead of me, it’d be the same. If a king were to sleep with a futon pulled over his head or squat in the toilet with just his buttocks sticking out, it’d be ridiculous. Crawling out after waking amidst dirt and straw—that’s far more fitting for a king.”

“I too have memories of giving myself up to despair, but in the end, boiling water only scalds—you can neither drink it nor bathe in it.”
“Living requires tepid water.”
“If deemed incompetent and inactive, one can weave ordinary dreams upon the tatami.”

“Uncle.”
“And your child?”

“She got married. There’s also a dead man.”

“When was the last time I used that?”
“The word ‘Uncle’.”
Was I trying to act dependent?
“I want the power to deceive people!”

“Come to my house and rest.”

“I can’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I have to wake up amidst dirt and straw.”
“I’ll come by sometimes to get tobacco.”
“The dream I saw in the straw—I’ll tell you about it.”
“My regards to your wife.”

Mariko stretched once and walked away.

I took the mountain path from the cemetery and returned home. Along the way, I regretted not having forcibly brought Mariko and her family to my house, but when my family heard what I had to say,

"Why didn't you bring them here?"
"I will go and bring them here."

When I saw them begin to rise, my heart changed.

“Leave them be.
“Alas.
We lack the standing to forcibly restrain what that girl does.”

“Does something like this even require standing?”

“Indeed.
Though I was born a farmer’s son and spent half my life as a military man, I never knew how to make courageous decisions like choosing to burrow into straw to sleep.
To advise that girl—I think it’s beyond my station.”

I unwittingly found myself weeping.
My life had passed by foolishly.
There was no longer any way to retrieve it.

Though I was a man and a military officer, it seemed I had entirely lacked Mariko's resolve to throw myself bodily into matters.
That I now found myself burdened with this aged, decrepit form was not without reason.
Had there been even a trace of Mariko in my past, I thought, there might still have been some salvation.

3

Mariko and her family returned to live in the dirt-floor faculty room.
Only her bedridden brother lay on a handmade bed with a futon spread out, but as for Mariko and her mother—some said they slept in the closet, others claimed they spread straw on the dirt floor and burrowed into it—various theories abounded.

Hanyū, Nesaku, and their group were taken aback by the unexpected outcome.

Once again, an emergency village assembly was convened and countermeasures were earnestly deliberated, but I made the following statement in particular.

“As your mayor who has left village governance entirely in your hands while considering himself incompetent and inactive, I make few demands—yet since I remain unchanged as mayor after all, I would ask that resolutions such as yours be at least reported to me so my opinion may be sought.”
“Had this been done, incidents like the present one might perhaps have been prevented beforehand.”
“Though I possess no particular talents, I believe my sole merit lies in not falling behind others when it comes to honoring the Middle Way.”
“Politics may demand both technique and strategy, appearing as an exceedingly complex matter that adapts to circumstances—yet it seems that so long as one does not abandon the Middle Way, one may avoid grave errors.”
“In this sense, I—as your mayor of incompetent inactivity—have come to consider that I may yet retain some small reason for being.”
“However, should village council resolutions be implemented without seeking the mayor’s opinion, I would be left no opportunity to exercise what little merit I possess and could not face our villagers with dignity.”
“Henceforth, I particularly urge your attention to prevent such occurrences.”

Then Nesaku stood up and said.

“I’ve got a word of warning for you too, Mayor—but I can’t have you continuing to be the incompetent mayor forever.”
“As you well know, the village’s finances are strained by budgetary shortages, but to suggest selling Nesaku’s horse whenever there’s a shortfall—that’s not mere incompetence, that’s being a one-man ruler, a tyrant.”
“Using incompetence as your trademark to avoid confronting difficulties is cowardly—what do you say?”
“How about I start mustering the will to take action?”
“As for the budget shortfall—I’ll make it up. How about I start working up the resolve to boldly pay from my own pocket?”
“If one devotes oneself to work，people naturally find that resolve—but can’t a military man pay from his own pocket even as mayor?”

“That’s right.”
“That’s right.”
“Pay from your own pocket and get the money here!”

A clamor arose.
Among them were voices demanding the military man atone for his sins.
Some even said, "Do you think you're a feudal lord?"
Each was a voice that gouged into my entrails.
Once again I had spoken recklessly, only to end up tormenting myself.

My family home was not wealthy.
The fields left to me were nothing more than what even an amateur could cultivate with hands to spare.
Fortunately, the house I built for my elderly parents during my military days now serves me well, but beyond that, I have no savings.
Looking back, it seemed that through my salary as mayor, I was obtaining proper sustenance for the first time since the war.
I stood dumbfounded and simply waited for the assembly to quiet down,

“Your words have gouged my very entrails.”
“Your reproach is most warranted.”
“I hereby offer my deepest apologies.”
“If I had savings, I would even pay from my own pocket.”
“If I possessed the talent of a politician, I would also rush about fundraising.”
“Knowing I possess neither, that I have tainted the position of mayor stems from my ignorance.”
“I hereby offer my deepest apologies and wish to resign.”

That was a voice that sprang from the depths of my being, but it seemed to take the assembly by surprise.
An eerie silence fell, and not a soul dared speak.
It was Deputy Mayor Hanyū who stood up then.
Contrary to all expectations, Hanyū fixed the entire group with a glare and—

“The council members’ remarks are utterly disrespectful toward the Village Mayor.”
“When you first recommended Naval Captain Sada as mayor, what exactly did you promise him?”
“Was it not your pledge not to trouble him with fundraising or other trivial matters?”
“Naval Captain Sada is a man of integrity and purity—a commander of peerless rectitude who stands as a paragon even among military men.”
“He’s fundamentally different from you villagers—this cesspool of self-interest and egoism!”
“Were this a proper world, you lot wouldn’t dare approach his shadow.”
“You’re unworthy to share his company even in death!”
“Beasts fallen into the animal realm!”
“Hell’s demons will come claiming you!”

Hanyū’s menacing demeanor was terrifying.
I too involuntarily felt as if cold water had been poured down my collar.

Through these events, that day’s emergency village assembly descended into chaos, and the matter of my resignation as mayor was left unresolved.

The next day, when I was hesitating to go to work, Hanyū came specially to fetch me. Saying that things wouldn’t be resolved unless I came to the town office and sat in the Village Mayor’s seat with a grand air, he led me out as if taking me by the hand.

“For them, there is no matter of great importance like their own loss.”
“They wouldn’t part with even a penny for the world or others.”

Hanyū’s anger did not abate.

There was a reason for this change in his state of mind. Because he had been the instigator of this harassment campaign, when it failed to produce the intended results, his comrades' criticism became focused entirely on him.

In particular, this harassment had incurred considerable expenses. Since it fell outside the village budget, it seemed there had been an arrangement for the comrades to share the burden among themselves. However, since it hadn't worked as planned, their resentment over the money emerged first. Their denunciation of Hanyū reached its peak intensity, but this appeared to stem from their single-minded desire to avoid shouldering the financial burden themselves. According to village rumors, it was said that Hanyū had ultimately ended up bearing the entire cost.

Looking back, Hanyū was an enigmatic figure. Or perhaps one should call him a tragic figure. While rushing about for the village's sake at his own expense, he was seldom rewarded, and his opinions were never respected. On those rare occasions when his opinions seemed to be treated with respect, it appeared limited to instances where cunning villagers had shifted burdens onto him.

He did not seem like a wealthy man, so while covering his own expenses was one thing, how he would pay for this recent loss was enough to give even an outsider a headache. Yet he never attempted to speak of his own damages or heartaches. He seemed to have firmly resolved in his heart that his true intention was to endure in secret the hardships that befell him, sharing them with no one. In stark contrast, toward those who had caused him hardship, he spared no effort in harboring malicious suspicions and showered them with abuse.

“Now that I bring this up, there was an arsonist behind the elementary school’s mysterious fire.”

As he led me to the town office, he suddenly came out with such a statement.

“Did you see the arsonist at the scene of the fire?”

“I haven’t witnessed it myself, but given all circumstances, there’s no mistaking that he’s the culprit.”
“The culprit is Nesaku.”

This could only be that same malicious conjecture driven mad by hatred.
Seeing I showed no sign of leaning in to listen, he began his explanation with visible agitation.

“I trust you recall that last year, three fires occurred in succession before the elementary school’s mysterious blaze.”
“All were accidental fires caused by careless handling of flames, but three consecutive fires in this village was an unprecedented anomaly.”
“Nesaku was village fire brigade chief at the time, and took the lead in conducting a Fire Prevention Week.”
“This village didn’t even hold air raid drills during the war, but with fires breaking out so frequently, they said we needed practical drills or they’d be useless in emergencies—so we mobilized the entire village for a week-long bucket brigade like wartime Tokyo’s.”
“You participated in the bucket brigade too, I believe, as did most villagers—however reluctantly.”
“Yet most elementary school teachers never showed up even once.”
“They claimed bucket brigades only work during air raids—when everyone’s prepared and waiting for fires to break out. But during peacetime fires, you can’t expect people to gather in such numbers without warning.”
“To put it bluntly—if a late-night fire broke out at the school, there’s not a single house nearby to form a bucket brigade.”
“By the time enough people gathered, the fire department should’ve arrived anyway—and if they hadn’t, then that fire brigade itself would need major retraining and a complete spiritual overhaul—or so they argued.”
“They said since the school had night watchmen constantly vigilant about fire prevention, there was no need for bucket brigades now. No matter how Nesaku pleaded, they refused to cooperate with Fire Prevention Week.”
“Since most villagers had been grudgingly forced into the brigade too, they agreed the teachers made sense—leaving Nesaku’s reputation in tatters.”
“Nesaku nursed that grudge.”
He’d had this exchange with the elementary school principal:
“‘If a fire breaks out at school, the night watchman will put it out!’ ‘The watchman isn’t fire personnel—he can’t extinguish fires! He patrols to prevent them! No fires will occur!’ I was there when they told Nesaku this. He bit his lip speechless with frustration. That bitter resentment drove him to arson at the school.”

“Did anyone actually see that happen?”

“No one actually saw it, but there’s no mistaking that it was his arson. That night, the teacher on night duty slipped out of the duty room, went to Daruma Inn, had a drink, and ended up getting drunk. At that time, Nesaku was drinking in the neighboring room. Knowing the night-duty teacher had returned to school staggering drunk, Nesaku left Daruma Inn. The night-duty teacher forgot to patrol the grounds and fell into a deep sleep, but when he suddenly awoke about three hours later, the school was a sea of flames. He neglected his patrols, but it’s clear the fire started from the school building where there should have been no ignition sources. The cause of the mysterious fire remains unknown, but Nesaku’s arson is an indisputable fact.”

“There’s no way the fire brigade chief would commit arson.”
“He was said to be an exceptionally devoted chief, wasn’t he?”

“That’s precisely because of his excessive zeal.”
“Those who betray war are soldiers themselves.”
“Having eaten some soldier’s rations myself, I know all too well how soldiers are arrogant and more jealous than most.”
“What they desire most isn’t the nation’s welfare, but their own success and others’ failures.”
“Of course, this isn’t limited to just soldiers.”
“The greatest betrayal in all walks of life is committed by those very practitioners of their fields.”
“In all matters, without exception—that’s exactly right.”

I rather considered that he himself was suited to be such an arsonist, but his demeanor and words carried an air of discernment and composure, with no unusual behavior detectable.

Yet another disturbance occurred the following Sunday.
Hanyū stormed into the school alone and was reportedly tearing up the classroom floorboards.

When I received the report and went to the school, this time there was no sign of anything resembling martial law.
The children were playing in the schoolyard as if unaware of anything, and Hanyū was engrossed alone in tearing up classroom floorboards.

“You’re putting in quite the effort.”

With a laugh, I approached him.

“School repairs?”

“Oh, nothing.
This is my property—I’m taking it back before it rots.”

“Are you truly the sort who’d do such a thing?”

“Huh.
Is it strange to reclaim what’s mine?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s been working for the village out of your own pocket?”
“What’s more, you’re exactly the sort who’s been waging a lone battle in secret for rebuilding the school.”
“Haven’t you already poured considerable personal funds into reconstructing the school?”
“I can’t fathom why you’d single out these floorboards to reclaim.”

“I did pay for them myself, mind you.”
“But people aren’t bound to keep doing the same thing forever.”
“That condescending tone like you’re pacifying a child is downright insulting.”
“Or are you saying that since I’ve footed the bill till now, I should donate my entire estate to the school?”
“Instead of putting on airs, why don’t you handle it yourself?”
“I’m thoroughly sick of this.”
“You’re in my way—move over there.”

I had no choice but to leave that place.
When I happened to peek into the duty room, neither Mariko nor her mother were present—they seemed to be out—but I could see the tuberculosis patient lying on a crude bed with a futon spread out.
Though called a bed, it was merely planks laid over poles spanning the dirt floor, raised a mere two or three sun above the ground.
It could hardly even be called a bed—it was more like laying out a roadside corpse in a nearby shed.
If one were to imagine the mother and sister spreading straw and burrowing into this space around it, the scene surpassed even refugee wretchedness in its misery.
To think this was the colonel’s bereaved family—my heart felt crushed.

I returned to Hanyū,

“I apologize for interrupting during your busy schedule, but I’d like to propose a business arrangement.”
“I wish to lay floorboards in the duty room using my personal funds. Would you be willing to sell me the planks at a reasonable price?”

“Since I intend to recoup my costs, I can’t make the price particularly cheap. But if that’s acceptable, I’d be happy to sell them.”

It was a steep price, but I managed to obtain enough floorboards to lay in the duty room.
Hanyū had finished his work and begun loading the planks into his car, so I borrowed carpentry tools from him and set about laying the floorboards in the duty room.
At that moment, Mariko returned home.

Mariko watched my work without returning my greeting but gradually turned pale.

“Stop it, please.”
“Without even consulting me.”

Mariko lunged at me and snatched away the carpentry tools.
Because I had single-mindedly convinced myself that Mariko would show gratitude, I found myself utterly at a loss.

“I must apologize for starting the work without your permission.”
“I decided I wanted to lay the floorboards by sunset.”

“Who asked you to do this?”

“I wasn’t asked to do this, but I thought you’d gladly accept it just like the tobacco.”

“You compare this to tobacco?!
“Tobacco and what—”

Mariko’s ferocity was so overwhelming that I was left speechless.

Mariko said while pacing in circles around the dirt floor.

“We’ve already thrown away things like tatami.”
“We despise them.”
“If we were to indulge in tatami, we couldn’t live with our shame.”
“If you’re going to put this patient on tatami, I’d rather strangle him in one go and let him rest peacefully.”
“My belly holds a child full of shame.”
“I had a child aborted before, but I won’t do it again.”
“I’ll proudly give birth to this fatherless child.”
“I’ll give birth right into the dirt and straw!”

In a short time, Mariko’s cheeks hollowed out.
Her eyes sank and turned fierce.
I departed while muffling my footsteps.

Hanyū had concealed himself in the shadow of the school building and was listening.
Seeing me leave, he too drove his car and followed.

Hanyū whispered to me.

“Women are all like that, you know.”
“Peel back one layer, and every woman’s just like that.”

I couldn’t help but flare up and shout.

“Shut up! You inhuman wretch! You’re the one! Was it you who set fire to this school? You’re the root of all this village’s misfortunes!”

“Are you claiming I set the fire?”

“Wasn’t it you who devised stripping the floorboards to feast on people’s suffering? Who else but you would burn down the village school?”

“How laughable.”

He stepped away from the car and approached me, a hammer dangling from his right hand.

“As for me...
“With complete sincerity, I meant to serve this village.”
“I cast aside my personal wealth and emptied myself in service to the village.”
“Moreover, I never sought personal honor.”
“I never even contemplated becoming Village Mayor.”
“To labor unseen in obscurity—that was my pride.”
“The only reward I desired was modest satisfaction.”
“A satisfaction unknown to others.”
“Yet the reward you gave me was an innocent arsonist!”
“Amusing.”
“I alone had placed some trust in you, but in the end, you were an amusing man.”
“To brand me an innocent arsonist!”

Suddenly he lunged.
I was subjected to a flurry of blows across my entire body and finally fell to the ground from a strike to my forehead.

My wounds were fortunately minor, but public opinion appeared unfavorable toward me. I was said to have been an incompetent mayor who lacked even the ability to lay floorboards in the elementary school. It was said that in the end, I went mad, called the Deputy Mayor an arsonist, and ended up getting my head split. It appeared as if the entire village had taken to laughing and delighting in rumors about me.

My incompetence and my madness—both were probably correct. Looking back on my clumsy life, it should perhaps be said to have achieved a graceful conclusion. I had inscribed my epitaph as follows.

“Defeated by Moderation”