Pathway to Japanese Literature

Tastes are indeed varied.
There are those who take pleasure in things beyond belief.

Shinji Ida grew up amidst tranquil rural scenery without experiencing want.
While those around him toiled soil-stained in the fields, he alone developed like a small kingdom's prince, never lacking eggs or milk even during wartime.
As the culmination of this upbringing, what he came to cherish most upon reaching adulthood was borrowing others' possessions, refusing to return them, and when pressed for repayment, deftly wielding his silver tongue to rhetorically dismantle creditors until they withdrew.
This grew to be his greatest passion.
To put it plainly, he had come to regard repelling debt collectors as earth's supreme delight.

There may be no shortage of people in this world who find pleasure in repelling debt collectors, but in truth, most likely became that way out of necessity; had they possessed what they needed at hand, they would never have needed to seek out such thrills. Among them exist bold confronters who challenge creditors with cries of "Bring your arrows and guns!", yet from a bystander's perspective, there was something pitiful and unadmirable about this approach. It was crude. While debt inherently drives one to desperation, choosing to become a human battering ram could hardly be called a praiseworthy method. Yet being the desperate endgame it was, such behavior by its very nature couldn't be condemned for lacking poetic refinement.

However, Shinji Ida was not truly a vigorous man, either in name or reality.
He had been bad at gymnastics since elementary school, and despite excellent nutrition, he lacked strength.
If he hung from the horizontal bar, he would just dangle there, unable to move—such was his physical weakness—and he had neither interest in nor connection to sports of any kind.

It is common for such frail children to be blessed with intellectual gifts, but he had no connection to that either.
At the very least, the academic subjects taught at school provided no stage for him to demonstrate his prowess—such was the case.
Being part of the rural elite—the young master of a great landowner—he could avoid exposing his flaws as long as he kept his mouth shut.
If they didn’t make him run races, there was no chance he would lose.
The elementary school teachers had struggled tremendously to prevent him from exposing his flaws, but he ended up revealing them in unexpected ways, leaving them at their wits’ end.
He carried himself with the utterly hopeless air of a good-for-nothing who couldn’t be handled with either chopsticks or a pole.

However, it was upon entering middle school that he began to reveal his sharp edge; because he couldn't ride a bicycle, they purchased a suitable house near the school where he commuted attended by a maid, and from around that time he began demonstrating his talent for appropriating others' belongings.

He quietly took hold of the knife being used by the student to his left.
Transferring it to his right palm, he pretended to have picked it up from under the desk of the student to his right.
He then asked the student to his right,

“This is yours, isn’t it?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Is that so? It had fallen by your feet—so I guess that means it doesn’t have an owner then. I’ll take it.”

He slipped it into his own pocket. Since he had no shortage of money to buy such a knife, it wasn’t that he wanted the knife itself. The student on the left noticed this,

“Hey, cut it out. That’s mine.”

The catch was that making such a claim would backfire. His eyes narrowed into sharp angles. At the time, he was still young—that’s how it was. In other words, he became greatly angered.

“There’s no way your knife could have been lying there, is there? Even if it were your knife, if I hadn’t found it for you, you would have lost it, you know. Since I’m the one who found and picked it up, it’s mine.”

Here began what should have been a debate, but Shinji Ida’s logic diverged so fundamentally in its premises that no proper argument could take shape. The reasoning of the Six Codes of Law mysteriously ceased to hold sway. Thus, ownership of the knife inevitably ended up in Shinji’s hands.

This sharpness grew as vigorously as bamboo shoots in his backyard. Yet the villagers failed to notice. This was because he had spent his middle school and university years elsewhere. When he graduated after the war’s end and returned to the village, its people welcomed him merely like some dim-witted simpleton demobilized from a southern jungle island. He passed several years as an inconspicuous presence.

That year, the village's Youth Association decided to hold a Cultural Festival.
When it came time to solicit donations, several committee members carrying ledgers made him their very first visit.
Among these committee members was Gosuke.
Gosuke had been Shinji's elementary school classmate who shared the same desk and had served as class representative.
He was glib of tongue and deft of hand.
He was the Youth Association's great hope.
They had reckoned that while securing a direct meeting with Shinji would have been ideal, they would likely be turned away by the maid bearing a wrapped monetary offering.
Yet switching places with the maid, Shinji himself appeared.

Shinji opened the door to the parlor that connected from the dirt-floored entryway,

“Now, please come in.”

“No, matters like donations are best settled standing.”
“Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Very well then.”

“I see.”

Contrary to his facial expression and words, Gosuke, inwardly pleased with himself, smirked and led the group into the parlor, sinking his body into a ridiculously large leather-covered armchair.

Gosuke scrutinized Young Master Shinji intently for the first time in years—the man shouldn’t want for anything, yet his complexion showed no signs of proper nourishment. He was somewhat gaunt. Perhaps from being secluded deep within his mansion, there was something darkly amusing about how he carried himself with the oppressive bearing of an ascetic monk. At first glance, he didn’t appear to be a fool at all. The ascetic monk had clasped both palms together on the desk and fixed his gaze on a single point when—

“Cultural Festival donations—how astonishing,” he said. “You should know these festivals turn handsome profits elsewhere.”

he blurted out something unexpected.

“When you say ‘elsewhere,’ do you mean America?”

“No, every corner beyond this village. Back in university days, we profited from Cultural Festivals. We’d pocket all ticket revenues ourselves. Fudged about half the sales figures. Such glorious fun, you see. That’s Cultural Festivals for you.”

“You’re charging admission?”

“Naturally. You weren’t planning free entry? Astounding. Never free. Nothing deadens life like freebies. Make diamonds free and they’re just dull rocks. You’d reduce the Cultural Festival to rubble.”

“But that’s just it, you see. It was a stone to begin with. Amateur singing contests and three measly songs – that’s all it is.”

“Unbelievable.”
“May I ask—what exactly constitutes culture?”
“Even in a rural village—”
“This is meant to be a Cultural Festival steered by the Youth Association, no?”
“It ought to differ from mere sideshows at the Guardian Deity’s festival.”

“Well, color me impressed.”
“There’s no way real professionals would ever come to this village.”

“It depends on the money, you know. You spend money to bring in performers, then take money by putting on a show. And make sure you profit. Cultural festivals are profitable ventures, I tell you.”

“They say show business is in a slump these days, isn’t it? If even professionals can’t turn a profit, amateurs stand no chance.”

“Because they’re amateurs, they turn a profit. That’s what makes it a Cultural Festival. Professionals can’t hold Cultural Festivals—how pitiable for them.”

“If I may be so bold—would you take charge as Cultural Festival organizer?”

“Sure, I’ll do it for you.”
“In proper Cultural Festival style, I’ll give everyone an energetic boost!”
“It’s truly enjoyable.”
“That’s youth for you.”

Surprise after surprise.
Shinji accepted it with utmost ease.

From that very day, Shinji’s house became the Cultural Festival planning headquarters, and the Youth Association executives gathered there. Since they wouldn’t suffer any losses even if things went south, they found it amusing to assist the clueless young master in whatever antics he might pull off—and not a soul voiced any complaints.

“If we put on a striptease, it’d rake in cash, I tell ya.”

Although this opinion held overwhelming sway, the ascetic quietly suppressed it,

“That won’t do.”
“This is a Cultural Festival, after all.”
“That which elevates life is culture.”
“As for my proposal, I intend to bring a jazz band and a beautiful singer—but not pure professionals, mind you. A university student jazz band.”

“Your alma mater, then?”

“That kind of relationship is meaningless.”
“Even among university bands, there are those rivaling professionals—some perform at top cabarets for high fees.”
“Let’s invite those first-rate ones.”
“Let’s target a band featuring a beautiful female university student singer.”
“Tōto’s first-rate student band and a beautiful part-time singer.”
“Appearance at the Nichigeki Theatre.”
“The pride of youth.”
“Gentle breezes and love, a melody of rapture.”
“How about this kind of advertisement?”
“With a thirty-yen admission fee, our minimum target is one thousand tickets.”

Most people had thought it impossible.
Even if it was bound to fall through, they decided to treat it as an amusing diversion and entrusted everything to Shinji.

Shinji had the Youth Association leader prepare several formal contracts, then gripping these, he went up to Tokyo to secure performance agreements.
A few days later, not only did he return having secured the contracts as intended, but he also brought back a hundred flyers proclaiming "the pride of youth," "gentle breezes and love," "a melody of rapture," and so on, along with five thousand admission tickets.
He had simply included the Youth Association’s contracts with the printing shop and hadn’t paid a deposit either.
Settling this debt was yet another of his future delights.

Shinji distributed tickets to thirty male and female executives of the Youth Association,

“In nearby villages and towns, seek out connections, call in favors, and sell as many as you can.”
“You must give it your all.”
“Don’t go using up too much of the sales proceeds now.”
“You’ve got to bring back half of it, or we won’t be able to cover the expenses.”

He issued his grave instructions without so much as a smile.
The thirty male and female executives only realized the gravity of the instructions after they had left Shinji’s house.

“Don’t use up too much of the sales proceeds, he said.”
“He definitely said that.”
“Too much,” he said.
“Too much?”
“Is a bit okay?”

“He did say you’ve got to bring back half of it.”

“Hmm.”
“Oh.”
“Hey.”
“This is it.”
“This is what they call political maneuvering.”
“That’s based on his exact wording.”
“Oh.”
“Bloodlines can’t be denied, I tell ya.”
“He’s truly a scion of nobility.”
“He’s got formidable political skills, I tell ya.”
“He’s not just a fool—he’s playing the fool! That’s some admirable skill, isn’t it?”

“A politician…”

“We’re in awe.”

Perceptions abruptly shifted.

★

The Showa University band members gathered at Ueno Station while rubbing their sleepy eyes, but when singer Yatsuko Komori declared she wouldn’t board unless they had second-class tickets, the trip turned contentious right from departure.

It was the bandmaster’s obligation to specify second-class cars when making contracts.
Yatsuko’s argument—that making artists ride third-class amounted to looking down on them—had its reasons.
Bandmaster Tani and Yatsuko had been at odds for about the past week.
This was because Tani had grown jealous when Yatsuko tried to go out drinking with a president who frequented a cabaret, telling her, "Don’t act like some hostess—you’re disgracing the band!" which had made Yatsuko furious.

“I refuse to travel like some low-tier roadshow performer.”
“I must preserve my self-respect!”

Yatsuko declared.
The members of this troupe had never traveled in second-class train cars for a performance before, but when she put it that way, her argument did seem to carry some validity.
They had started wanting to go on performance tours in second-class cars.

This was also because Tanuma, who harbored feelings for Yatsuko, grew concerned and called Tani aside to a secluded spot,

“Ms. Yatsuko’s point is quite reasonable.
How about it? Let’s show some pride!”

“We’d love to have some pride too, but since we haven’t received the advance payment yet, it’s a matter of finances.
Can you cover the cost?”

“Cut it out.
If I had that kinda money lying around, would I be out here doing part-time work in the sticks?
But if she up and leaves, we’re screwed—just buy Ms. Yatsuko the damn second-class ticket.”

“Well…”
“If it’s just one ticket, I can manage that.”
“Ain’t no helpin’ it.”

Tani swallowed his resentment and bought one second-class ticket.
However, when they reached the ticket gate, Tanuma was somehow already holding a second-class ticket.

“Ah ha ha!”
“The singer rides second-class.”
“The band rides third-class.”
“This is the hierarchy of art, isn’t it?”
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me.”

Tanuma was also a singer.
He boarded the second-class car as if escorting Yatsuko.
The five band members, all utterly destitute, could do nothing but stand by and watch enviously.

They disembarked at a small station, where they had to board yet another bus.

“Not even a welcoming party at the station.”

Once again, Yatsuko delivered this barbed comment.
It was an eminently justified barb.
Thus Tani’s resentment grew all the deeper.

“It seems there’s no second-class on buses—my apologies.”

In his irritation, he’d let the words slip out thoughtlessly, causing Yatsuko’s expression to darken. She attempted to find a taxi to ride alone, but this was no station equipped with such conveniences. Yet her indignation refused to settle,

“I will walk. Please go ahead.”

“Impossible. They say it’s seven miles.”

“No, I will walk.”

“This is a problem.”
“Well then, I’ll come along too.”
“You all, go on ahead.”
“We’ll look for some sort of vehicle and catch up.”
“The singer is the headliner.”
“While the band is performing first, we’ll quietly slip in.”

“Cut it out.
“There ain’t no other vehicles around.”

“Excuse me! Excuse me!
“We are now departing.”

“Damn it!”
“Ugh.”

There was no helping it.
The five band members had no choice but to board the bus, leaving Yatsuko and Tanuma behind.

“Find a vehicle and come back quickly, will you?”

“Ah, don’t worry.”

Due to these circumstances, the band and the singers ended up separated. The singers' arrival was delayed by a full hour.

“Her selfishness doesn’t know any limits! Flauntin’ her beauty like she’s somethin’ special, damn her.”

“Don’t talk bad about her. Walkin’ seven and a half miles outta pure stubbornness—there’s somethin’ endearin’ ’bout that, huh?”

“We don’t need no damn singer. We’ll show ’em what this band can do!”

“Ain’t lookin’ like that’s gonna fly.”

Then one of the band members pointed at the blackboard in the dressing room. The dressing room was an elementary school classroom. On that blackboard was pasted a single copy of that poster. In the bottom right corner, a Marilyn Monroe-like beauty held up a cigarette and blew smoke. On the left was a pale pink nude beauty. And in the center was "Umagusa Village Cultural Festival": beautiful female university student singer. The star of our dreams. A gentle breeze and love, a melody of ecstasy. Ah, Youth’s Cultural Festival. Toto First-Rate University Band Performance.

“Hey.”
“They’ve only written about us like we’re garnish on sashimi.”
“Those Umagusa Village hicks sure got refined tastes!”

“Looks just like one of those damn Adorm ads!”

The whole group kept talking loudly in reckless frustration.
Shinji, having caught snippets of this, knew he had them right where he wanted.

Truth was, Shinji hadn’t started this Cultural Festival business planning to line his own pockets.
Things just snowballed this way—and watching the village kids skim their easy profits left him cold as yesterday’s rice.

However, from the moment he began advocating to invite the university student band, he had harbored an ulterior motive.
Even dealing with country girls did nothing to stir his heart.
He had always thought about how he wanted to somehow establish a dashing relationship with a stylish city girl; however, there had been a vague ulterior motive from the start—to use the Cultural Festival as an opportunity to make such a scenario come to pass.
After scrutinizing actresses, dancers, singers, strippers, and various others, he concluded that part-time student entertainers—who aligned with his preferences and showed promising potential—were the way to go.
Therefore, even when he went to Tokyo to finalize the contract, he had placed greater emphasis on scrutinizing the female student singer’s looks over the band.

Since Yatsuko Komori had thrown a tantrum, fought with the band, and arrived late, Shinji thought this was advantageous.
Shinji himself wasn’t entirely clear what made this situation favorable, but he knew one thing—opportunities never arise from nothing.
If there was something present, there was potential for opportunity; therefore, it was advantageous.
Waiting for Mōrō and opportunity’s arrival was something he greatly relished—half a day or even a full day meant nothing to him.
He waited at the elementary school gate—the Cultural Festival venue—for Mōrō and Yatsuko Komori to arrive.
Yatsuko and Tanuma arrived one bus behind.
Shinji stepped forward,

“Thank you for coming all this way.”
“Since everyone has been waiting eagerly, Mr. Tanuma, please proceed to the venue immediately.”
“Furthermore, Ms. Komori, your fans are waiting to invite you to lunch.”

“I’m quite late, but is there still time for lunch?”

“There certainly is.”
“Now then, Mr. Tanuma.”
“The venue is over there.”

Tanuma, having had Yatsuko whisked away without so much as a by-your-leave, made a suspicious face and reluctantly headed toward the venue.

Shinji guided Yatsuko to his home.

“I’ve only stood on stage a handful of times since becoming a singer, but what are my fans like?”

“Yes.”
“That would be me.”

“Oh my!”

“It’s my greatest honor that you accepted this invitation.”

He brewed coffee himself and attended to her with diligent hospitality.

“Oh no, this is urgent!”
“I must get to the venue now!”

“That’s right. But since this is the countryside, you only need to sing a little bit. As for the rest, the band and Mr. Tanuma will take care of it.”

“That’s not going to work.”

“After your song, I was hoping I might have the pleasure of meeting you again.”

“Yes.”

Yatsuko sang five popular songs and withdrew. She did not show herself again. After a short break, the band and Tanuma launched into another vigorous performance, but the rainy-day gymnasium was packed to the rafters with young villagers.

“Bring out the girl!”
“What’s wrong with the girl?”

Finally stamping their feet, they broke into an uproar.

At that point, Gosuke stepped forward,

“Well now, I must inform everyone in attendance.”
“Ms. Yatsuko Komori has unfortunately fallen ill and cannot perform again.”
“In Ms. Komori’s place, Mr. Tanuma will now favor us with an exquisite melody.”
“Quiet, quiet!”

And so, the Music and Song Program of Umakusa Village’s Cultural Festival came to a close without incident.
Gosuke appeared at the green room and,

“Thank you all for your hard work.”
“I’d love to treat you to dinner, but the buses will stop running soon...”
“As you can see, everything’s in complete disarray—we don’t know what became of the ticket sales, the accountant’s gone missing, and we can’t settle accounts today. For now, here’s your return fare: twenty-five yen per person for the bus and two hundred seventy yen for the train—one thousand seven hundred seventy yen total for six people.”
“Please take this.”
“We’ll settle up properly and send your payment right away.”
“Oh—it’s already time for the last bus.”
“If you miss this one, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Let’s move!”

“I’d like some tea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Unlike Tokyo, if you miss this bus, you’ll end up bewitched by foxes.”

“What about Ms. Yatsuko?”

“She may have returned to the capital ahead of everyone else. After all, it’s complete chaos. Hello? Everyone. Please have today’s guest of honor, our artists, board the bus first.”

Gosuke desperately bowed to the crowd and succeeded in having the six board first. The promised daily allowance of 1,000 yen per person plus the 1,770 yen for their travel expenses—surely they wouldn’t renege on paying—so the group, hurried along and in a fluster, boarded the bus. After boarding the bus and now taking time to reflect, they finally came to understand that with only a paltry sum provided for their return fare, even scrounging up a sandwich for dinner seemed unlikely. For their lunch substitute, they had only received steamed potatoes and about three rice crackers per person offered as hospitality; thus, the group returned to the capital in such a state of hunger that their stomachs clung to their backs, without even the strength to let out a sigh.

★

Shinji invited Yatsuko to the mixed grove behind his house.
It was a scheme both to tide them over until dinner and to deepen their lyrical impressions into something profoundly poignant.

However, the reason Yatsuko cut her songs short as Shinji had told her and left the venue had nothing to do with that impression.
It was an act of spite toward Tani.
I don’t want to see Tani’s face for the entire day today.
Having lightly fulfilled her performance obligations, she wanted to breathe freely somewhere his face couldn’t be seen as soon as possible.
Moreover, there was one more exceedingly materialistic reason.

“Mr. Ida, you are serving as the organizer of the Cultural Festival, aren’t you?”

Yatsuko, disregarding the atmosphere of the mixed grove, bluntly brought up that materialistic issue.

"I may be the organizer in name, but I’m really just a glorified errand boy."
"University graduates are like foreigners in rural villages, you see."
“I have no real authority.”

It wasn’t authority.
It was a natural defensive posture in preparation for emergencies.
It was a peculiar kind of mental operation, unrelated to intelligence.

“So you are the organizer, aren’t you?”

“That’s correct.”

“It may be improper for me to raise this with you, Mr. Ida, but I’m dissatisfied with Bandmaster Tani’s contract for this Cultural Festival.”
“That’s precisely why I quarreled with the band members.”
“The round-trip train was third class, wasn’t it?”
“I alone came by second class.”
“You may think me presumptuous for an amateur singer, but since this is a student’s part-time job, I want to maintain some pride.”
“I refuse to endure miserable touring conditions.”
“Don’t you think it’s only natural for villagers to at least meet me at the station?”
“This is merely my personal opinion.”
“Mr. Tani lacks backbone.”
“The logic goes that because I’m an unskilled student amateur doing part-time work—precisely because of that—I should at least ride second class.”
“I would’ve demanded taxi service between the station and village too, but since there are no taxis available there, I’ll reluctantly accept this.”

Silent nature wasn’t worth three pennies.
Having had his lyrical impressions split like bamboo, Shinji awoke from his deluded dream—but once roused, repelling debt collectors was his specialty. This was life’s true joy!
That she would boldly demand second-class fare with sword-sharp insistence—what an admirable maiden! What a magnificent spectacle she made!
Unbidden, that crisp, refreshing allure seeped thrillingly into Shinji’s flesh. He shuddered with a warrior’s tremor, lost in rapture.

“That is indeed a valid opinion.”
“Of course second class—or rather special second class, or even first class.”
“I’ll inform the Secretary-General immediately and arrange everything to your satisfaction, but well—they’re just country folk, you see.”
“Instead of buses, they walk.”
“Instead of trains, they use bicycles.”
“Since I’m one of them, they consider even third-class train seats a luxury.”
“Even if someone built fourth-class seats on train roofs for them, they’d demand fifth-class seats under the trains instead.”
“And yet they won’t ride fifth-class either—they think it’s smarter to walk everywhere.”
“Persuading this lot might be as troublesome as knocking stars down with a pole, but fighting them for your sake is my greatest pleasure.”
“I’m truly delighted.”

“I wouldn’t call this a matter of happiness, though.”
“It’s business, you know.”
“It’s a pure transaction, isn’t it?”

“Therefore, I’m delighted,” he continued smoothly. “Being useful in business matters brings me genuine pleasure. After all, life fundamentally revolves around commercial transactions.”

“Hah,” she interjected dryly, “is that so?”

“Particularly given your gender,” he pressed on, undeterred by her skepticism, “and considering you’re primarily responsible for drawing that packed audience, it’s perfectly reasonable for you to demand compensation equaling what all six other performers combined receive.” His tone took on conspiratorial warmth as he concluded: “I shall make this request to the Secretary-General personally.”

“That’s simply impossible.”

“Well, everything has become impossible for those people now.”

“As for me,
"I simply want to receive second-class fare at least for myself and show it off to Mr. Tani."
“I believe that very act of showing off is necessary.”
“That one should maintain at least that level of pride.”

“Of course.”
“Then please wait in the reception room.”
“I’ll bring the Secretary-General with me.”

Shinji greatly rejoiced that things had taken a favorable turn.
Of all relationships, none is as inseparably close as financial ones.
It is a relationship even more naked than when human beings are in the nude.
It is precisely when in this relationship that people's hearts touch most deeply.
That the one from whom debts are collected and the one who collects them should fall passionately in love is life’s natural course—yet how ironic life is.
Neither the poor nor the moneylenders have any beauties among them, so unfortunately, no great romances are born.
That said, Yatsuko Komori’s gallant warrior-like demeanor!
Gallant allure!
An overflowing surge of emotion!
A man who doesn’t devour this in one bite is no man at all.

Shinji called Gosuke to a secluded spot,

“The truth is, Yatsuko Komori is demanding second-class fare—but I’d like you to play the villainous Secretary-General.”

“That’s simple enough. But isn’t it fine to let her return in second class?”

“That won’t do. Since she seems to have funds herself, perhaps we needn’t even provide the return third-class fare.”

“I don’t think I can go that far.”

“Yes, I’ll handle it when that time comes.”
“Now then, Secretary-General—let’s move forward.”

“Yes, yes.”
“Understood.”

Shinji brought Gosuke and introduced him to Yatsuko.
Gosuke puffed leisurely on his cigarette like an executive at a major company,

“About this second-class fare business—we’d love to accommodate that request, but there’s the budget issue.”
“The budget’s completely off track, see? Out of today’s thousand-some visitors, only about thirty actually paid properly for tickets.”
“Thirty yen times thirty tickets—that makes nine hundred yen total?”
“Hmm,”
“That’s way too low.”
“Can’t do squat with nine hundred yen.”

“That is the responsibility of you who manage the venue.”

“That is indeed our responsibility. So you see, some are saying we should just kill ourselves, while others lament their lives being too precious to throw away—it’s complete pandemonium. Anyway, it’s impossible.”

“What exactly is impossible?”
“Suicide should be possible.”

“That should be the case, I suppose.”
“I’ll look into that matter again, but the second-class fare seems utterly impossible.”

“I won’t accept evasions.”
“Given that there was such an enthusiastic audience, the responsibility lies with your side.”
“Take responsibility.”
“Please demonstrate by committing suicide.”
“I’ll watch.”

“This is troublesome.”
“I’ve consulted everyone.”

“You are the Secretary-General, aren’t you?”

“Hah... However, in our village, the Secretary-General holds a position equivalent to an elementary school class president—receiving not a single sen in salary and thus, under our bylaws, bearing no responsibility whatsoever.”

“That’s despicable. I will sue you. Save that excuse for the courtroom.”

At the word “court,” Gosuke was jolted from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes and froze rigid. His face turned pale. One minute. Two minutes. Three. He hung his head for one minute, two minutes, three minutes. All traces of executive dignity had vanished, leaving him utterly disheveled.

Shinji lit a cigarette in Gosuke’s stead and quietly took three or four puffs.

“This is quite an irresponsible matter,”
“So this is what constitutes a rural village.”
“They cannot take responsibility for anything.”
“They cannot take responsibility for how many potatoes form in the soil, nor for how many grains grow on wheat ears.”
“Since potatoes, leeks, and carrots are the farmers’ bosom companions, they themselves are potato-equivalents—or rather, kin to potato worms.”
“They are inherently irresponsible.”
“The very notion of potatoes organizing a Cultural Festival was doomed from inception—a blunder that ultimately inconvenienced even our esteemed university attendees—though upon reflection, today’s audience too were mere potatoes.”
“War reparations pose critical challenges for defeated nations, yet while urban bombings yield compensable damages, rural bombings merely excavate holes.”
“Flatten those craters and they revert to their primal state—the bomb fragments becoming permanent assets lodged within.”
“Thus rural villages need not fear war reparations—they lie beyond humanity’s habitable realms.”
“Democracy itself must be barred from taking root there.”

Rain fell.
The sun shone.
Potatoes grew.
That was all.
"I oppose war, but rural villages don't oppose war for precisely those reasons—therein lies our misfortune in relying on such compatriots."
"When you think about it, that's exactly how matters stand."

Shinji closed his eyes dejectedly and meditated.
His explanation made even less sense than the answers of political bigwigs.
However, he seemed intensely moved by his own words,

“Well, that’s how it is.”

"And," he nodded quietly once again to himself and added his conclusion.

“What kind of reason is that?”

“Huh? It’s precisely as I’ve just humbly explained.”
“Truly, it’s a state of affairs steeped in utmost sorrow.”

“Somehow, I’m getting this creeping chill.”

“That’s correct. At this evening hour, it suddenly turns cold because the crops in the soil all at once draw in air.”

“I thought it was your doing again.”

“I am grateful. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”

“What do you mean?”
“It is my unfeigned sentiment.”

“What a peculiar village.”
“I feel like I’m in some foreign land.”

“How lovely.”
“Do dream.”
“A dream of exotic realms.”
“A singular night of youth.”

“Ah! I won’t make it.”

“Ms. Yatsuko Komori!”

“Don’t make that weird sound. I’m leaving now. But remember this well—I won’t forget about the second-class fare.”

“Hello? Hello?”

“Enough already!”

“For your information, I wish to inform you that the final bus has already departed. The next bus won’t depart until tomorrow morning.”

“What about the person I brought with me?”

“I am not aware.”

“I humbly guided your companion to the final bus and ensured their safe boarding.”

“You didn’t even inform me about the bus time, did you?”

Yatsuko’s anger finally erupted at this point, though the one inwardly rejoicing was Shinji.
Anger. Fury.
This represented relationships in their purest form.
Here, their hearts became profoundly intertwined.
Rage, hatred, love—these were mere surface ripples.
What truly mattered above all was this deep interweaving of hearts.
The remainder depended on timing and destiny.
Such was his philosophy.

“Since today’s the Cultural Festival and the young men are drinking, it’s dangerous for a woman to walk alone at night.”

“Just leave me alone!”

“Yes, I will accompany you anywhere.”

Yatsuko stomped ahead, but once the sun had completely set, she couldn't see a thing and couldn't walk.
Since Shinji continued following about three steps behind, once night had fully fallen, his presence somehow felt somewhat comforting after all.
They couldn’t walk all the way to the station, there were no inns along the way, and it seemed there was no choice but to return to Umagusamura Village.

“I suppose we’ll have to go back to the village and stay there.”

“Of course, that’s right.”

“You can walk even in the dark, can’t you.”

“Yes, I can’t see anything either, but I’ll try to walk regardless. Please hold onto my back.”

“That’s filthy. I won’t.”

“I see. Then I’ll let the end of my obi hang long, so please grip that and follow me.”

Shinji took the lead and began walking, but it was a moonless and starless night where they could only feel their way forward. Since groping ahead at that speed would take an hour just to cover one chō, Shinji, driven to desperation, resorted to crawling on all fours. He couldn’t tell how much more reliable or faster crawling might be. After crawling seven or eight chō through the darkness, he finally reached house lights where he borrowed a lantern and safely guided Yatsuko home.

Yatsuko was appalled by Shinji crawling on all fours, but she couldn’t help admiring the perseverance and courage that had brought them to shelter. In the lantern’s glow, she glimpsed what looked like blood dripping from both his knees. Though his eerie calls had made her suspect him of perversion earlier, his restraint in total darkness led her to reassess him as unexpectedly gentlemanly. When they arrived at Shinji’s house, she felt not only relief at reaching familiar ground but also—upon seeing him anew under bright electric light—a nostalgic warmth as if meeting a transformed dear friend.

Yatsuko felt terribly nihilistic.
There had been times at cabarets when she’d felt nihilistic after drinking with some company president and being dragged off somewhere, but even that nihilism had contained something human.
Today’s nihilism lacked humanity.
It was absurd.
It was base nihilism.
It was utterly hollow.

“My mother says she’d like to have dinner together with you.”

“No.”
“Me.”
“I really want to drink tonight.”
“I want to get drunk.”
“Keep it a secret from your mother, okay?”

“You understand that, don’t you?”
“Then let’s drink tonight.”
“This makes me happy.”

And so the two of them drank.

“Ms. Yatsuko Komori!”

When Shinji made another eerie call, Yatsuko’s response had completely transformed.

“Yes.”

She gave a very gentle reply, sensuality writhing through her entire body.

★

The next morning, thirty male and female Youth Association executives gathered at Shinji’s house for the Cultural Festival settlement meeting to be held, and Yatsuko was utterly appalled.

Of the 5,000 admission tickets each person was responsible for selling, over 3,600 remained unsold.
In other words, 1,400 tickets had been sold.
The executives—there had been signs that sixty percent of them had secretly agreed to keep their share for themselves and submit only forty percent.
However, almost none had actually submitted even forty percent.

“Truly—ah—due to deficiencies in fee collection, what has gathered in our hands thus far amounts to merely the equivalent of eight tickets.”
“Truly—ah—the outstanding balance is too much to bear.”
“Truly, it pains us to behold your esteemed selves under such circumstances, but this is solely due to the rural depression at work—sweating profusely and with utmost sincerity, we humbly beg your forgiveness.”

Among those who had sold forty-eight tickets, there were even villagers who submitted only the equivalent of eight. On average, it didn’t even reach thirty percent. Approximately ten thousand yen was collected in Shinji’s hands.

The combined daily wages for the band and singer totaled seven thousand yen, and the round-trip travel expenses exceeded four thousand yen—this expense alone resulted in a deficit. Advertising expenses and other miscellaneous costs—there was no way to cover them, but since Shinji never intended to pay in the first place, he settled things with composure.

“This is rather poor performance.”
“The income was ten thousand yen?”
“Expenditure: Band daily wages and travel expenses—eleven thousand one hundred thirty yen.”
“School facility rental fees, advertising and other printing costs, refreshment expenses, personnel costs and other items—total twenty-three thousand two hundred fifty-five yen.”
“That brings total expenditures to thirty-four thousand three hundred eighty-five yen.”
“It’s nowhere near enough to cover the payments.”
“Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose.”
“The rural depression is severe, you see.”

Shinji was the one controlling the association.
Because Gosuke and others were presenting the money for ten tickets while kowtowing with their heads pressed to the tatami, Yatsuko—having moved beyond mere appallment—found herself reluctantly impressed.
There had to be a limit to their brazenness.
Not even bandits could be this shameless.
After the group handed over their money and proceeded to press their heads against the tatami mats—offering groveling apologies and words of gratitude before leaving—Yatsuko couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it.
She was simply struck by the eerie sensation of having witnessed, in this warped rural village, a group more unnerving than bandits.

“What are you anyway?
You’re the village’s big boss, aren’t you?”

“I may appear that way outwardly, but in truth I’m merely a messenger boy.
The ones turning profits are them.”

“That 10,000 yen—give it to me.”

“This money is absolutely essential for covering part of the miscellaneous expenses.”
“I need it too.”

“Regarding that—please observe this severe rural depression.”

“Where’s this ‘depression’? Things are positively thriving here.”

“That’s such a tax office-like view. You realize I’ve been producing charcoal in the back grove? While you Tokyoites apparently purchase it for four or five hundred yen per bale, I sell to brokers at fifty-five yen. It required days of heated debate just to raise the price from fifty yen. I practically begged through tears.”

“I won’t believe you anymore.”

“Allow me to show you. Please observe the current state of rural villages in detail.”

Shinji forcibly took Yatsuko out.
They had been walking in silence until they reached the main road, but—

“Let’s go into town.”
“The town is where Japan—that monster—and rural villages collide head-on, a place swarming with the anguished groans of the countryside.”

They waited for the bus and boarded it.

“Since I left intending it to be a walk, I forgot to bring any money.”
“Please cover the fare for now.”

He had Yatsuko buy the bus ticket.
Shinji’s grim expression brightened upon confirming there was travel money for returning to Tokyo.

When they arrived at the station front, Shinji bowed politely to Yatsuko and,

“I had forgotten there was an important appointment in the village.”
“Since this bus connects to the Tokyo-bound train, you shouldn’t have to wait long before boarding.”
“Thank you very much.”
“I must take my leave now.”

“Wait!”
“Huh? The train will be here any moment.”

“Hmph.”
“You—do you have bus fare?”

“Hah.
The conductor’s a familiar face.”

He calmly boarded the bus.
Yatsuko burned with murderous intent to get back on and torment that bastard thoroughly—but wait, she realized forcing him to repay would just repeat heaven’s ordained pattern, and knowing she stood no chance against this potato-like foe, gave up.