Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Kumakawa Tadanori's name was now spreading beyond the entire village to the whole prefecture.

To say that a mere charcoal burner had suddenly gained fame and been given hope of building wealth would likely make one think he found gold nuggets deep in the forest or discovered a radium spring by some mountain stream—something along those lines. Yet the story proved more involved, and moreover, offered a deeper taste of life's ironies.

At the height of the Pacific War, a naval-related factory was constructed in the middle of the Yakeishi Plain at the foot of Mount Asama in Jōshū, and several hundred men who had avoided conscription were gathered there as forced laborers.

Among them was a middle-aged, small-statured man with no particular distinguishing features. No matter what task he was given, he would work steadily and diligently, but this odd man would take three times as long as others on the simplest jobs; moreover, he never participated in his comrades’ ill-intentioned schemes, yet neither did he ever report such matters to his superiors. He did not drink a drop of alcohol but was fond of tobacco; since rationed shreds and Kinshi-brand cigarettes were never sufficient, he dried and smoked knotweed and butterbur leaves he learned about from others. While wandering the mountains, he experimented with various weeds’ leaves on his own until finally settling for regular use on a plant called goha—a short-stemmed herb with large leaves split into five folds like maple leaves.

Moreover, this man was ordinarily so taciturn that no matter what others were discussing, he rarely interjected, and no one had ever seen him engage in idle chatter while working.
However, there were just two topics that could transform this man into someone unrecognizably eloquent.
One concerned building materials, and the other pertained to the nature of the land known as Korea.

To be sure, the reason for this was nothing remarkable when inquired into, yet the curious thing was that people would eventually come to be sorely vexed by this eloquence.

This man was named Kumakawa Tadanori and was forty-two years old when conscripted.
Originally born in Yanagawa, Kyushu, being the second son, he had followed family connections to Osaka for an indentured apprenticeship.
The place of his apprenticeship was none other than a cleaning specialist’s establishment.
Young people nowadays seem largely unfamiliar with the profession called cleaning specialist, but to put it simply, this refers to specialized technicians who clean houses—using chemicals to thoroughly wash away years of grime accumulated in every corner of a home, or stains that develop on pillars and ceilings during new construction.

Thereupon, Kumakawa Tadanori learned this cleaning specialist trade in Osaka, and upon becoming a full-fledged craftsman, he heeded his companions’ invitation and ventured to Tokyo.
In Tokyo, where skilled cleaning specialists were scarce, he had drifted into dreaming of the future due to his companions’ youthful ambition—their claim that now was the time to showcase their skills.

Tokyo did not welcome Kumakawa Tadanori generously.
While working alongside a companion at a certain master’s shop, his partner left without informing him, and the master made no move to raise his salary as punishment.

He, however, voiced not a single complaint; through all seasons, he silently gripped his scraper and focused his attention on the myriad variations in wood grain across every material.
When the surface of a blackened column began faintly revealing its natural grain through the chemicals' effect, the thrill in his heart became the sole pleasant stimulus in his life.
Sometimes led by the master, and other times having the master draw clumsy blueprints for him, venturing to new worksites was surely counted among his few pleasures.

There was also Shimotaya.
Mostly, they were merely vast mansions that someone like him could never hope to inhabit.

Inns and restaurants were comparatively numerous.
These too were extravagant edifices that seemed utterly divorced from his own existence.

Occasionally, there were offices, temples, and storehouses.
Still, such places somehow lacked any real sense of engagement.
The fact that someone might be watching him while he worked wasn’t something he particularly dwelled on—far from being a distraction, it rather sharpened his focus and established a productive rhythm.

Just as he had finished the work, the master came over—"Well now, it’s transformed beyond recognition." When someone would widen their eyes and exclaim, "Now this is truly remarkable," and if by chance this occurred in the company of a refined young wife, Kumakawa Tadanori would heighten his dignified bearing, rub his nose with sulfuric acid-roughened hands, and deliberately turn aside to puff at his tobacco.

His work was indeed meticulous to the extreme.
However, on the other hand, it was also a fact that his efficiency remained dreadfully low.
He alone failed to realize that such methods made the business unprofitable these days, and the master finally lost patience.

He stubbornly clung to the conviction deep in his gut that improving efficiency ultimately meant doing shoddy work. Thus, the master’s words fell on deaf ears.

“A real craftsman gets crisp work done without dawdling! You ogle and fuss over one damn pillar all day—forget estimates, we’re bleeding money here!”

“I can’t work with half-measures.”

“Who told you to cut corners?
“You fool! If those who matter see it and don’t complain, that’s good enough.”
“You’re old enough—stop fooling around!”

Though he wasn’t exactly fooling around, Kumakawa Tadanori found the master’s reasoning somewhat hard to fully grasp.

He decided to take his leave of his own accord.
This was because he had secretly resolved upon a course of action.

He resolved to go independent.
In other words, he would build his clientele from a freelance position.
There were indeed some master builders who recognized his work ethic and offered kind words, but this proved temporary—come autumn, his idleness became conspicuous, and with winter’s arrival, work abruptly ceased.

To compound matters, as ill luck would have it, at twenty-seven years old, he obtained his first opportunity to approach a member of the opposite sex.

II

In the vicinity of Shitaya Tennō-ji lived a master builder named Tabe Yoshishichi.
A steadfast craftsman past sixty who suffered from rheumatism, he visited the worksite intermittently, confining himself to marking lumber with ink while having comfortably delegated nearly all contracted work to his son.

Kumakawa Tadanori found this Tabe Yoshishichi easy to approach; as one might say, occupying the position of a regular visitor, he would drop by periodically—whether with business or without—to keep the master builder company through games of shogi.

One evening, recalling that he had long been told to come visit leisurely since it was the neighborhood festival, Kumakawa Tadanori smoothed out the wrinkles of his well-worn national uniform—the only one he owned—and set out for the master builder's house.

Alighting at Uguisudani Station, passing through Yanaka Cemetery as usual, and about to turn onto the narrow lane marked by the corner candy store—right at that moment, he encountered—

“Oh, Tada-san! You made it.”
“Well, come on in. Take your time and have a drink.”
“I’ll just go check on things over there…”

Kumakawa Tadanori opened the front lattice door as instructed.

The mistress amiably welcomed him.

“The young folks have all gone out, and as you see, it’s left all messy like this.”
“He’ll be back any moment now, so…”

“Ah, I just met him there, you see.
“Please, don’t mind…”

Though sake and food had been brought out, Kumakawa Tadanori merely accepted the cup and set it down.

“Tonight, they’re having some entertainment over at that vacant lot, I hear….”
“Apparently, young men and girls are gathering to do some sort of dance, they say.”

Kumakawa Tadanori had no interest whatsoever in such things.
Now that she mentioned it, earlier on his way here, he had heard the lively voices of men and women singing and cheering.
He vaguely recalled a rural festival night.

Before long, Tabe Yoshishichi violently flung open the front door and returned.

“Hey, O-tane! Put on the hot one—the hot one…”
“That’s why I kept warnin’ ’em before lettin’ those brats go out!”
“I don’t mind if ya just watch, but you brats—start dancin’ like that and I ain’t gonna stand for it!…”
“But what’s this, O-tane? That brat Yuki—thinkin’ I ain’t watchin’ or somethin’—goddamn it, she’s gettin’ all cocky, swingin’ her hips and dancin’ away!”
“And not just that—she’s holdin’ hands with young men, even huggin’ ’em…”
“It’s downright shameful!”

Tabe Yoshishichi suddenly began fuming with anger, so Kumakawa Tadanori couldn’t even offer a greeting.

“Hey, Tada-san, c’mon, listen here.
“That Ama they call Yuki—she’s my own flesh-an’-blood daughter!”
“That daughter o’ mine—of all things—mimickin’ foreigners or whatever the hell, swingin’ her hips in some dance right in front o’ everyone! What kinda nonsense is that?”

“Heh heh heh...”

Kumakawa Tadanori chimed in.

He had meant to offer an agreeable response, but it proved ineffective.

“Heh heh... Ain’t that right?”
“You think what I’m saying’s funny?”

“No, there’s nothing amusing about it.”

“Damn straight!
“A girl like that—you wouldn’t wanna take her for your wife either, would ya?”

Well, at this point, Kumakawa Tadanori thought he could no longer respond.

For when he first encountered the graceful figure of Tabe Yoshishichi’s only daughter, Miss Oyuki, he had experienced a shock unlike any since his birth. However, that was all there was to it. No matter what he wished for, resignation that it would ultimately prove unattainable came first. Yet he wasn’t one who could find satisfaction in nurturing secret affections. He possessed a convenient disposition whereby he could become indifferent at will. From then on, Miss Oyuki had become practically an irrelevant existence to him. Whenever she occasionally brought tea and left a trail of something perfumed in her wake, he would snort through his nose.

But when he thought about it, all of that had been nothing more than stubborn pride. Just now, when Master Builder had said—"You wouldn't want her as your wife either, would ya?"—even if meant in jest, merely imagining if such an offer were actually made set his heart racing.

People came crowding in one after another. Each time, he wondered if he was being a nuisance. When Master Builder ordered the mistress to bring out the shogi board, he finally felt relieved. He was confident he was slightly stronger at shogi than Master Builder. Master Builder’s shogi lacked persistence; he would only attack recklessly and didn’t even fortify his king.

“Master Builder, there’s something I’d like to discuss…”

And so, when no one else was present, he finally broached the subject.

“Actually, regarding work... Lately, I’ve been completely free, so...”

“Yeah, so what’re you tellin’ me to do about it?”

“Might I trouble you to use your influence to put in a word for me a bit more…”

“Hmm, I don’t mind helpin’ out, but you gotta work faster, y’know.
“First off—even if you look at this shogi game, I can’t make heads or tails of it.
“You can think all you want—but dawn’s comin’, dawn…”

And so, the conversation came to an end.

And then, the surroundings had fallen completely silent—the festival commotion seemed to have subsided—and Master Builder’s eyes grew heavy-lidded.

At that moment.
The kitchen gate softly opened, and—"I’m home—" came a young woman’s voice.

It was indeed Miss Oyuki.

Kumakawa Tadanori pricked up his ears at the same moment Master Builder kicked his seat and rose.

“Hey! There’s no comin’ in here for you.
You! What’ve you been doin’ all this time?”

Tabe Yoshishichi shoved past the mistress and stormed out toward the kitchen.

“You who won’t listen to your parents—get out!
Ain’t comin’ back here.
Go wherever! Do as you damn please then come back!”

The mistress’s mediation was in vain.
The Master Builder’s raging demeanor made even Kumakawa Tadanori cower.
Miss Oyuki’s figure appeared to be no longer there.

There was a sense that the mistress had hurriedly chased after her.

“Master Builder, well then, I’ll be…”

With that, Kumakawa Tadanori rose slightly from his seat.
He had no urgent business elsewhere.
It was simply that he was concerned about Miss Oyuki.

“Ain’t it fine? You should stay longer...”

Yet even as Tabe Yoshishichi said this, it was clear he had no real intention of stopping him.

Stepping outside, what did Kumakawa Tadanori see in the dimly lit corner of the crossroads beneath the utility pole?

It was an eerie scene: Oyuki slumped dejectedly, clutching her collar with her left hand, flanked by the mistress and a policeman who appeared to be on patrol—all whispering together.

Kumakawa Tadanori, too—unable to simply walk past this—naturally came to a halt beside them.

“If me going out there can settle things, I don’t mind coming along with you. But with your mother here, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

The young policeman said sheepishly, his demeanor blending approachability and authority in equal measure.

“That’s just not how it works. Once my husband gets like this—once he’s said his piece—he won’t listen to anyone, no matter what they say. So even if it’s trouble for you, if you could just show your face and tell him to let my daughter back into the house—why, that alone would hold more sway than anything anyone else could say.”

“However, truth be told, this doesn’t seem like a situation that calls for police involvement.”

“But Officer, if you’d just consider how pitiable this girl is…”

“Well now—I don’t particularly mind that your daughter danced with the townsfolk.”
“Whether that sits well with your father or not isn’t something I should meddle in…”

The policeman adhered firmly to a policy of non-interference, while the mistress clung desperately to the authority of those in power, hoping to soothe the old man’s rage.

“No, Mom... I won’t go home then.”
“I’ll just go off somewhere like this and die.”

Oyuki muttered in a despondent yet frantic tone.

“What’re you saying, you... Tada-san, do listen to what this girl’s saying....”
“You know how my husband gets, don’t you?”
“He won’t calm down before tomorrow morning.”
“If I leave this girl here all night, I won’t get a wink of sleep either!”

The mistress shouted this too, hysterically.

Kumakawa Tadanori wanted to take Oyuki and walk around that area all night if permitted.
The Yanaka base stood right before their eyes, making for an ideal walking path.
Of course, he lacked the courage to apologize to the old man on Oyuki’s behalf.
If he were to do such a thing, being banned from entering would be the best outcome he could expect.

Whether by fortune or misfortune, at that moment, the young policeman declared solemnly.

“Very well. I shall accompany you.”

With the policeman leading the way, followed by the mistress, Oyuki, and Kumakawa Tadanori in that order, they entered the Master Builder’s house.

“Excuse me!”

At the policeman’s call, the group fell silent and waited for a response from within.

“Who is there?”

With that answer, Master Builder Tabe Yoshishichi appeared.

What exactly he said and how he said it—the policeman’s eloquence was truly refreshing.
There was not a trace of tone that wielded his duty like an umbrella to intimidate the people; rather, it was a method of persuasion brimming with compassion, akin to a teacher earnestly instructing students.

Kumakawa Tadanori involuntarily teared up.

Tabe Yoshishichi also nodded deeply, again and again.

“Now then, Miss Oyuki—you must promise to continue respecting your father’s opinions as his own, and have him let you back into the house.”
“Understand? This is my first patrol in this neighborhood tonight, but I’ll be stopping by regularly from now on.”

“Thank you for going to such trouble…”

With that, the mistress bowed politely.

“Thank you ever so much.”

Oyuki said in a hoarse voice.

The policeman deftly brushed aside his saber’s scabbard with one foot while giving a hand salute, then departed.

Now, as for Kumakawa Tadanori—he no longer understood why he was even there himself—finally,

“Well then, everyone, goodnight.”

With those words, he hurriedly vanished from sight.

III

Following this incident, two months later, the policeman and Oyuki exchanged betrothal gifts.
This was something Kumakawa Tadanori had no involvement in whatsoever and came as a complete shock to him.

He was disappointed and disheartened.
He thought that if only that policeman hadn’t been there that night, and inwardly seethed with frustration as though he had let slip a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Not long after that, Kumakawa Tadanori made the decision to cross over to Korea.
He had remembered that a distant relative was managing a farm in Hamgyong Province.

After crossing over to Korea, his life became utterly monotonous.
Morning and evening, feeding the livestock and poultry was his job.
From summer through autumn, he would drench half his body in dew while cutting down weeds; from winter through spring, he would gather hay while minding thorns to process through the chopper, all while having to dispose of pungent animal waste that assaulted his nostrils.

Ten years' time passed in the blink of an eye.

And when he realized it, he was still single.

There was someone who arranged things, and he married Fukiko, the daughter of a peddler.
Twelve years his junior at twenty-six, her beauty was more striking at night than in daylight.
Plump in figure, she worked diligently when inclined but napped constantly when not.

When he occasionally urged her against sleeping so much, she—having remained silent until now—explained she suffered chronic beriberi and that strain affected her heart, sending a chill down his spine.

He had begun to love his wife.
It was not entirely just a matter of practical concern—that he would be left in a difficult position if she were to die.
The feeling that he worked this way for Fukiko’s sake gradually grew within him.
Her rarely shown delighted face was now something like his reason for living.

And then, the war began.

His wife was pregnant.
Cash income was pitifully meager, and he couldn’t even feed her the things she wanted.

He thought about changing jobs.
He tried going to Keijo and Wonsan.
No suitable jobs were to be found.

Through an old acquaintance, he wrote a letter to Tabe Yoshishichi.
He received a reply from the mistress and learned that Master Builder Tabe had already passed away.

Thus passed several years of war, and a third daughter was born in quick succession.

Kumakawa Tadanori gave up on the snot-sized wages being charitably tossed his way and resolved to enter the coal mines.
There too he was tormented by shouts of “Efficiency! Efficiency!”—behind which glinted the harsh eyes of ration cuts and wage reductions.

He fled to Busan with his wife and three children.
Literally, there had been no choice but to flee.

At that time, coal miners had no freedom to leave their workplaces for simple reasons.

Day labor had become his sole means of survival.
He wanted to tread the soil of mainland Japan once more.
And, especially in Tokyo, he wanted to return to his original profession as a cleaning specialist.

From Busan to Tokyo, he wandered about like a Gypsy while seeking each day’s sustenance.

Tokyo was in the midst of air raids.
There were houses to live in everywhere, but not a single building left to clean.

After much deliberation, he decided to take a job at a transport company.
It was still an era when evacuation luggage was scrambling about.
Outside of working hours, temporary jobs flooded in.
Hauling one paulownia chest by handcart from Asakusa to Kōenji became three days' work.
He simply needed to halve his sleeping time.

His wife Fukiko waited for his return in a half-burned storehouse that remained half-charred in a corner of the scorched mansion district, clutching their three nursing infants to her chest.

“This is all for today…”

At times, as dawn broke, he would collapse exhausted, lie down there, and in the same motion snatch several bills from his trouser waistband to toss by his wife’s pillow.

“This much? Seems like a lot, doesn’t it?”

When he heard that shrill, buoyant voice, his fatigue vanished. In the candlelight’s glow, his wife’s profile appeared to shine as if yearning for him. How many months had such days continued? What he had long dreaded within finally arrived—assaulting him in his sleep one crisp early summer morning. It was conscription.

IV

“What on earth are we supposed to do?”

said Fukiko, her eyes narrowing sharply.

“How should I know?”

Kumakawa Tadanori involuntarily slammed the scrap of paper onto the floor. But even as he said this, he picked up his oldest boy and sat him on his lap,

“Now then, boys—you’ll stay here with Mama for a while. I think I can probably send enough for you to eat, so…”

he said in a feeble tone.

“You really think you can send something like that?”

His wife’s voice grew increasingly sharp.

“If you check properly and find you can’t send anything, I’ll manage somehow again.”

Even with conscription, at first he had no idea where he would be sent or what he would be made to do.

Before long, he was put on a train from Ueno and made to disembark at Kutsukake.
Many trucks were waiting there, carrying them up the steep slope onward and onward without end.
In the end, they came upon a path strewn with large stones—a path that could hardly be called a path.

Someone pointed at a mountain spewing smoke with their left hand,

“Ah, Mount Asama.”

they said.
An illusion occurred as if he were being thrown into Mount Asama’s crater.

It seemed they had finally reached their destination, and the line of trucks came to a stop near a cluster of barracks that looked like a row of caterpillars.

Gardener, scaffolder, lantern maker, typesetter, street vendor, cook, inn manager—the professions of the assembled people were diverse, and the first task they were ordered to do was installing machinery.
No one knew what kind of machinery it was.
People did nothing but mindlessly push and lift the massive iron lump.

Installing the machinery took over two months.

And then August 15th arrived like a beacon in the dark night over the foothills' volcanic ash soil plain.

How was his wife Fukiko faring?
And the children?
Kumakawa Tadanori, while ceaselessly reproaching himself, regretted having neglected until now to send any word.
The reason he had begun writing letters countless times only to abandon them midway was that he couldn’t send enough money to make it worth sending.

When his conscription ended, he tried returning to Tokyo with what little remained of his saved money tucked in his pocket.
In Kōjimachi Ichibanchō, the half-burned storehouse where he had once lived with his wife and children still stood before his eyes.

By now, night had fallen.

He felt his legs go strangely weak.

What if she wasn’t here?
he thought—what if she was here?
he also thought.

From the high window fitted with iron bars, a faint light seemed to seep through.—Oh, he thought, someone must have come to live here afterward.

Stealthily muffling his footsteps, he placed one foot on the corner of the damaged stone steps at the front.

The door remained open and rusted as before, but now an old straw mat hung at its entrance.
And then, from inside the storehouse, there came the sound of a baby crying and a mother’s lullaby soothing it.

—Fukiko.

Kumakawa Tadanori leapt up as if someone had struck his back.

He again timidly pulled open the straw mat and peered inside the storehouse.

A small kerosene lamp sat on a mandarin orange crate, two children laid out in a T-shape beside it. When he thought “Huh?” and raised his eyes, the singing voice cut off abruptly—there stood his wife Fukiko against the back wall, rocking the child on her back while pinning him with her gaze.

“Fuki…?”
“It’s me… It’s me.”

His wife moved forward wordlessly like a mute, inching closer step by step. The lamp’s flame threw her shadow huge across the rear wall.

V

Kumakawa Tadanori, overwhelmed by the divine appearance of his wife, unsteadily dropped to his knees there.

“Forgive me… I beg you… Please, I’m begging you…”

But Fukiko, his wife, in a voice not so much hollow as deeply shadowed,

“Did you not forget to come back? The children are all well. But you… you didn’t need to come back at all.”

she said.

“Why is that? Huh? Why? Why is that?”

He shouted as though gasping for air.

“Because you... you don’t work nearly enough...”
“If I’m alone, I can keep the children from starving.”

The meaning of this was beyond his grasp.

“What’s wrong with me being here?”

Instead of answering, his wife jerked her face away and shook the child on her back fiercely.

“Is there truly no way?”
“Couldn’t we try living together again?”

“No… No, no, no...”

she declared like a machine gun.
And then, slightly changing her tone,

“So for now, if you work alone and earn enough to keep your wife and children from going hungry, then you can come back here again.”

“Will you wait for me until then?”

“If I can wait.”

In this manner, Kumakawa Tadanori received what amounted to a disownment from his wife and dejectedly retraced his steps along Tokyo’s night roads back to Ueno, aimless.

VI

Asakawa Jisuke, who ran a transport business in Tsumagoi Village, Agatsuma District, Joshu Province, had occasionally received truck commissions from the local naval factory and thus remembered the face of conscripted laborer Kumakawa Tadanori.

“I see. Makes sense—Tokyo ain’t got no use for cleaning specialists these days.”
“Well, whether it suits you or not, you can try helping out for a while.”
“Instead, it’ll just keep food in your mouth and ain’t even cover more’n cigarette money.”

It was work transporting firewood cut from the mountains.

Because his shoulders wouldn’t move as he willed, the harder he strained, the further behind he fell in his work.
The young workers all ridiculed him, taunting with names like “Guzu-Tada.”

He decided that mountain work would be better after all and requested a transfer to firewood cutting.
This was a piece-rate agreement paying per bundle, so it provided some incentive.
However, he could hardly meet the adult average of fifty bundles a day and barely kept up competing with fifteen- or sixteen-year-old lads.

Even so, every ten days when he obtained some cash and entered the udon shop in front of the station, it was quite a treat.

He thought of trying to forget completely about his wife and children left behind in Tokyo.
There was no other way for him to find peace of mind.
The more he rushed to bring them back quickly, the more he knew full well it would only make him miserable.

Gradually, talking to people became bothersome, and if possible, he wanted to sit alone in the forest.

He abandoned his work one day and made his way along the mountain ridge to visit one of the charcoal-burning huts.
And there, he idled away half a day.

At present, charcoal burning could hardly be called easy work, and as people were becoming increasingly scarce, he was quickly able to take on the role of a charcoal-burning helper.

He learned one thing after another—how to build kilns, how to stack logs, how to tend the fire.
Cutting thatch and weaving straw bags were also things he had somehow become able to do.

When autumn turned to winter that year and full-scale charcoal burning began, he became a charcoal burner recognized by both himself and others.

VII

However, when spring arrived and the budding trees began coloring fields and mountains in pale green, charcoal burning work became markedly less busy.

Most charcoal burners—excluding the elderly—each cultivated whatever small field they could manage and furthermore went out for any paid work available.
Road construction, tree planting, bridge repairs, pest control, levee reinforcement, even temporary mine assistance—depending on their physical strength and wage levels, they would each deliberate over workplaces matching their circumstances.

Then there were side jobs even women and children could manage—gathering udo shoots, bracken ferns, and zenmai ferns that enlivened spring fields; bundles of chestnuts, walnuts, and wild grapes carried on one’s back from late summer through autumn fetched decent money. Among them were also sturdy men who specialized in foraging autumn wildflowers for Tokyo’s flower markets and alpine-specific medicinal herbs.

Kumakawa Tadanori had by now resolved to abandon work and join the ranks of women and children, but no matter what, he found it regrettable that in all this vast land, he did not own even a single *tsubo* of farmland. That said, it was not as though he could simply dig up any vacant spot he pleased; nor could he request to borrow someone else’s land, for in this area, no one possessed surplus arable fields to rent out to others. Thus, inevitably, reclaiming land required purchasing it outright with cash—there was no other way.

Rumors of favorable farmland reorganization and settler immigration initiatives offered no prospect of benefit for someone with his background.

However, through some chance occurrence, he was presented with an unexpected proposal by the local police officer.

“Tada-san, you know how it is—the Minamisawa resort area. Over there’s a villa belonging to Mr. Hibari, a university professor.”
“That Mr. Hibari says he wants to have a small field cultivated while managing his villa.”
“It’s not just the field—though there won’t be much of that—there’s firewood cutting, lawn mowing… and sometimes running errands to the station.”
“You don’t have to stay year-round—just from around May through October, he wants you here...”
“I think someone like you would surely win the professor’s favor—the work itself doesn’t seem all that difficult. Hmm?”
“How about giving it some thought?”

Officer Kashitsu, the local policeman, was of course acquainted with him and had thoroughly grasped Kumakawa Tadanori’s personal history—since this proposal came with that understanding, it was evident he was taking it lightly, assuming there was little chance of refusal.

“Officer Kashitsu, I appreciate the offer, but I ain’t got no interest in that proposal.”

When he became slightly more formal, he slipped into Kyushu dialect.

“Hmm. No interest at all?”
“He says it’s fine whether the salary’s set monthly or yearly.”
“Here in this land, you know, having a fixed cash income would be your greatest advantage.”
“To your wife in Tokyo—if you did that, couldn’t you send her some money?”

“Would I really get that much?”

At this, Kumakawa Tadanori finally shifted to the edge of his seat.

“Well then, we can make any sort of arrangement for you.”
“You’d get meals provided, and we could discuss the amount...”

“No—I ain’t one to take handouts...”
“The rest’d just be tobacco money—this won’t add up to nothin’ for me.”

“Hold on now.”
“I’m not sayin’ you gotta decide this minute.”
“So anyway, how ’bout just meetin’ Professor Hibari once?”
“Right now’s spring break—he’s brought his wife and daughter up with him.”

“I ain’t good with university professors.”

“Why’s that? It’s not like you’ll have to take any English exams or anything.”

“I can’t stand folks who put on airs…”

He spoke his mind here and now.
This was by no means because he upheld democratic egalitarianism; it was simply a statement from one who knew himself well—that his nature disliked being suppressed by others.

“No—there’s no need to worry at all, Tada-san. Professor Hibari may have a beard, but he doesn’t use it to put on airs.”

Therefore, at any rate, Kumakawa Tadanori decided to visit Professor Hibari Hanpei of B University at the Minamisawa villa area under Officer Kashitsu's guidance.

VIII

Professor Hibari had for twenty years now utilized his university vacations to prepare lecture notes at this Minamisawa mountain villa while devoting himself to writing on his specialty of English and English literature.
During the war he had temporarily evacuated his family to this villa and at times taken up a hoe himself to cultivate potatoes and pumpkins, demonstrating middle-aged vigor. But when surrender came, he fortunately moved his wife and three daughters back to their Tokyo residence that had escaped firebombing while he alone drastically reduced university lectures, resolved to devote himself to compiling his life's work—a Shakespeare lexicon—while prolonging his enjoyment of highland living as much as possible.

However, sixty-three was an age that demanded he press forward with all urgency.
This came to be reflected in the Professor’s daily words and actions—a tendency to detest being made to wait above all else had grown pronounced.

In this regard, the fact that Officer Kashitsu had recommended a suitable candidate for villa caretaker within mere three days of receiving Professor Hibari’s request greatly satisfied the professor.

“Ah, well, well...”
“Why do you say that?”
“No, no—it is I who must apologize for imposing such an inconvenience...”
“I see—this gentleman here. My, quite impressive...”

Once the introductions were completed, Professor Hibari offered the two men a box of *Hikari* [cigarettes], then turned to acknowledge his wife who had brought tea to the table,

“If it’s Officer Kashitsu’s recommendation, I can rest assured,” he said.

Kumakawa Tadanori had been taking in the unfamiliar scents of a lifestyle centered around this elderly scholar from every corner.

This Western-style hall might be what they call a parlor.
On the mantelpiece, the remaining embers still smoldered faintly.

“Now then, let’s get straight to it—our requirements are essentially as you’ve heard from Officer Kashitsu.”
“Regarding terms, I intend to fully consider your requests and settle on arrangements manageable for both parties.”
“Mr. Kumakawa, was it? Shall we consult frankly?”

Professor Hibari Hanpei discovered that Kumakawa Tadanori belonged to that particular type of person who never once tried to look others properly in the face.

“Look, Tada-san, since the professor’s said it like that, why don’t you try clearly stating your requests from your side? After all, there’s your family to consider too, you know.”

Officer Kashitsu tried to broach the subject.

“Ah yes—I’d like to hear more about your family…”

Kumakawa Tadanori twitched his eyebrows repeatedly and puffed out his cheeks as if his mouth were filled with saliva.

“Let me see—indeed, he had a wife and three children.”
“Professor, actually, they’ve apparently been left in Tokyo since the war.”
“As for his wife, she seems to be managing somehow there, but from Mr. Kumakawa’s perspective, I believe he can’t simply leave things as they are.”

Officer Kashitsu thoroughly demonstrated his perceptiveness.

“Thank you… But Mr. Kumakawa, wouldn’t you have any interest in working in Tokyo again?”

Professor Hibari was determined to make Kumakawa Tadanori speak.

“That doesn’t seem to be the case.”

And once more, it was Officer Kashitsu.

“In that case, I shall propose our conditions."
“To be honest, I’ve given it considerable thought—how does this arrangement sound?”
“If you, Mr. Kumakawa, were to assist with my work here, I would essentially cover half of your necessary annual income.”
"In return, you would provide half of your labor to us."
“Furthermore, the labor you provide need not entirely serve our purposes.”
“For example, even if you were to cultivate fields—as you can see—there’s ample land available.”
"If we were to create three tanbu of fields, we would be content with receiving seasonal fresh vegetables."
“As for the rest, you may grow whatever you like and dispose of it as you please.”
“Also, suppose you were to raise chickens.”
“On my part, I would take a few fresh eggs daily and occasionally slaughter some for meat—the remaining eggs you hatch and raise would be entirely your prerogative.”
“In short, we require approximately half a person’s labor.”
"The crucial question is whether you can sustain your livelihood through your current charcoal-burning wages combined with what might be called an allowance from me."
“Under current economic conditions—what amount would you consider sufficient to support your family...?”

“…………”

Kumakawa Tadanori inwardly admired how Professor Hibari was quite skilled at managing people. Therefore, he must not say anything careless—he told himself, tightening his lips even more firmly.

“Kashitsu-san, looking at this fairly—in this area, what would you say is the average labor wage for elderly people?”

“On average, well, around five or six thousand yen.”

“Five or six thousand yen… So if I provide the land free of charge and cover expenses like fertilizer and such—would paying three thousand yen per month suffice?”

“That should suffice. Well，Tada-san，with that much you should manage.”

“We will provide all necessary farming tools.”

“I’ll be in your care…”

And, for the first time, Kumakawa Tadanori spoke.
That too, he tried to make an expression that seemed anything but pleased.

9

It had been two full years since Kumakawa Tadanori began assisting at Hibari Sansou.

As for his experience with farm work, there had been times in his youth when he followed his father and elder brother out to the fields in his rural hometown, and during his ten years in Korea—though his main occupation there had been livestock and poultry raising—the agricultural estate did have both rice paddies and fields, so during busy periods he would serve as an assistant in horse-drawn plowing and be pressed into tasks like disinfecting fruit trees or sowing wheat seeds.

Though the land had changed, he believed he possessed basic agricultural knowledge; however, overcoming the troublesome conditions of volcanic ash soil proved no easy task. The first year’s results left even him unsatisfied. While Professor Hibari did not exactly complain about this, he remarked that there might still be room for further study, ordering two or three agricultural journals and urging him to read them.

However, no matter where he looked across this land, there were no splendid fields being cultivated; compared to that, Kumakawa Tadanori reasoned, he saw no particular reason why he should be blamed.

But what proved most troublesome was Professor Hibari meddling in the work with his half-learned knowledge.
Having said he would leave everything to him, Professor Hibari nevertheless gave truly incessant instructions—how about preparing corn seedlings by making his own seedbed rather than buying them elsewhere; why not try cultivating various Western vegetables instead of growing so many radishes; when chopping firewood, he should sort it into three types for cooking stoves, heating stoves, and bath furnaces while distinguishing sizes and lengths.

Moreover, just as he was cutting grass for compost, Hibari would come sauntering out again: "Look, there are balloon flowers around here—leave those alone," and "Careful—that patch has primroses starting to bud."
In this state of affairs, he couldn't even carelessly cut grass, and at such times, Kumakawa Tadanori would lament the dreariness of working for a scholar's household.
This year, however—even if things hadn't gone entirely as the professor had ordered—the spring-sown seedlings had grown reasonably well, and the May frost had fortunately left no significant damage. Given this progress, Kumakawa Tadanori felt encouraged: barring potato blight, he could likely avoid repeating any major failures.

August arrived, and the weather completely settled.
The tomatoes already bore fruit the size of a little finger's tip, and the corn began forming glossy ears.
The cucumbers weren't doing badly either.
Mrs. Hibari had the maid hold a basket and came to pick cucumbers herself.
Leaving the splendidly grown ones untouched and selecting only the small specimens that didn't yet need fruiting, she would turn to the maid and speak loudly enough for him to hear whenever Kumakawa Tadanori was nearby.

“Oh my, if you let them grow this big, they’re useless.”
“Even without that, our cucumbers have such tough skin they’re practically useless...”

Kumakawa Tadanori heard this and muttered inwardly.

The tough skin isn’t my fault.

Just as he thought this and was about to fertilize the eggplants again—their growth slightly delayed, just beginning to form buds—one of the daughters, who had been reading a book leisurely on the veranda, called out:

“Ah, Tada-san, sorry to bother you again, but could you set up the hammock?”
“As much as possible, somewhere in the shade.”

Finding it bothersome to reply verbally each time, he would make a motion as if he had understood.
This too was carried out in such a way that one might wonder whether he had comprehended even momentarily.

Now, it was an afternoon—uncommonly muggy from morning onward for this region.

Kumakawa Tadanori finished weeding the overgrown weeds around the base of the broad bean plants—which he had sown this year as an experimental crop—now growing stems with relative success, producing flowers, and beginning to form plump pods, all while thinking: anything could be done if one tried.

At that moment came an unfamiliar visitor.
He proceeded slowly along the path from the gate to the entrance, enjoying the view on either side.

In such cases, Kumakawa Tadanori did not stop the work he had started to act as an intermediary.
If they didn’t offer a greeting first, it would be odd for him to bow his head from his side.
The visitor was a guest of the Hibari family, not his own.

What kind of guest this was also remained unknown to him.
Probably, he had come for some business unrelated to himself.

However, after some time had passed, Kumakawa Tadanori noticed that the earlier guest was coming down to the garden with Professor Hibari.
As he watched, Professor Hibari guided the guest around various parts of the mansion, then eventually stopped near the field where the two began conversing earnestly about something.
It seemed Professor Hibari was explaining to the guest how well this year's crops had turned out.

“Mr. Kumakawa, just a moment...”

Suddenly, Professor Hibari's voice called out.

Kumakawa Tadanori walked as unhurriedly as possible.

Since this morning marked the first time he would exchange words face-to-face with the professor, he adjusted the brim of his military cap,

“Good morning.”

he said.

“Good morning.”
“Now, Mr. Kumakawa, this is Professor Kikui Mohei—an agricultural scientist.”
“As an authority in high-altitude agriculture, I hear he’s going to establish a research institute in this area soon.”
“Since Professor Kikui also maintains a test field in Kamikochi and appears to have conducted various valuable studies, someone like you should seek his guidance from now on.”
“Since today’s a good opportunity, why not ask about anything that’s still unclear from your experience so far?”

Professor Kikui removed his Panama hat; despite already having hair half-streaked with gray, both his physique and complexion made him appear far more youthful and spry than Professor Hibari, who seemed roughly the same age.

“Well now, everything here is quite well done.
“Farm work in this land is no small feat.
Was this corn direct-seeded or transplanted?”

“The sturdy ones there are direct-seeded, and those spindly ones over yonder were transplanted seedlings.”

Professor Hibari answered on Kumakawa Tadanori’s behalf.

Kumakawa Tadanori felt somewhat proud, having long advocated the direct-seeding theory himself. As for the claim that transplanting seedlings was better—something Dr. Hibari had heard from somewhere and kept insisting on—he had merely tried it.

“Transplanting doesn’t seem to yield good results in this land,” he said.
“No one does it anywhere here.”

Kumakawa Tadanori added.

“I see.”
“I don’t know how you’re transplanting the seedlings, but around here, I suspect the ground heat during planting season is probably insufficient.”
“Don’t dig deep holes—plant them very shallow instead.”
“Wrap them with the warmed surface soil so you don’t chill the roots.”
“Once twenty-four hours have passed, they’ll be fine.”
“As long as you devise measures to maintain the necessary ground heat around the roots during that period, transplanting should yield far better results.”

This time, Professor Hibari said, looking at Kumakawa Tadanori out of the corner of his eye.

"I see. It's failing because you're not taking any of those precautions at all.
That's what they call half-knowledge."

The two again shifted their steps toward the bean field.

Professor Hibari remarked that legumes from this region had excellent flavor regardless of type, whereupon Professor Kikui expounded on various research findings regarding methods to increase yields, adding that if they could achieve that, it would be ideal.

“Ah, these are broad beans! Hmm, they’re bearing splendid pods.”
“Well, this is an incredible find!”

Professor Kikui stood before the two-tsubo broad bean field, crossed his arms, and murmured.

“Broad beans aren’t much grown around here—which is probably why people aren’t aware of them.”

Professor Hibari, too, did not understand what Kumakawa Tadanori had intended by growing broad beans and until now had not paid them much attention.

“When did you sow the seeds?”

“April 21st. It started snowing heavily from midday.”

said Kumakawa Tadanori.

“April 21st… Today is August 10th… Hmm, I see.”
“Professor Hibari, actually I’m currently researching these broad beans—specifically how late into the season we can bring them to market.”
“You know—the ones used for beer snacks.”
“Statistics show the last appearance in Tokyo’s market this year was July 5th.”
“Even then, pods included sold at 1,500 yen per kan.”
“If we could supply after that date, prices would climb like an eel up a waterfall—this is exactly where high-altitude agriculture should focus.”
“Roughly speaking—with slightly more care—we should achieve five kan per tsubo. No vegetable compares as an income source.”
“At my Kamikochi test field too—trial cultivations since last year—but no success.”
“This year of all years—birds devoured every seed.”
“Wait.”
“These would make excellent reference material—allow me to photograph them.”
“Then as actual specimens—may I take two plants back with me?”

Before Dr. Hibari could respond, Kumakawa Tadanori,
“If that’s all you need, take however much you want...”
arched his chest forward and answered.

Ten

The broad bean field cultivated by Kumakawa Tadanori at Dr. Hibari's mountain villa would soon become a subject of discussion in academic circles through Dr. Kikui's advocacy, and with luck, might even develop into a special feature in newspapers—at least in their regional editions.

Kumakawa Tadanori would likely devote his full skills to preparing approximately three tanbu of new fields the following year, continuing annual reclamation at that pace until most cultivated land became broad bean fields.

From one chōbu of fields, according to Dr. Kikui's projections—how much income might that yield?

Kumakawa Tadanori licked a pencil repeatedly that night and attempted to draw up detailed calculations.

If it's five kan per tsubo, then at 2,000 yen per kan, that's 10,000 yen. Since one chōbu is three thousand tsubo—wait a minute—without any mistake, it comes to exactly thirty million yen. There was no need to do anything else. The fertilizer costs were negligible, but he'd repay Professor Hibari from the income.

If things finally reached that stage, the proper course would be to first bring the good news to his wife Fukiko—but was she still living resolutely in that storehouse in Kōjimachi Ichibanchō, keeping watch over the children?

He couldn't shake this vague premonition that something was amiss.
Wouldn't it be better then to convey this plan to her now regardless, letting her hold onto hope for the future?

No, no—counting uncaught raccoon dogs or whatever that saying was—even if she didn't voice it aloud, there was no telling what she might be thinking deep down.
The joy of reality proved most potent when hurled suddenly before one's eyes without warning.

Kumakawa Tadanori considered whether he needed to seek Professor Hibari's opinion regarding this matter. Since the agreement permitted him free use of the land, he concluded that how he utilized it was entirely his own affair—but then emerged the crucial question of whether sufficient suitable land actually existed within the Hibari family's holdings: land appropriate for cultivation.

First, he had to confirm that.

September arrived, and this villa area once again grew quiet.
Mrs. Hibari, her three daughters, and the maids all returned to Tokyo.

Professor Hibari, now left to his own devices, began cooking for himself.
What he was eating, Kumakawa Tadanori had never seen.
From being occasionally sent to the station-front grocery to buy bread, Kumakawa deduced that the professor seemed to prefer bread over rice.

The professor had made a large flowerbed himself and made watering it a daily routine.
Sometimes he would sprinkle water with a watering can; other times he would pull out a hose and shower it down like fountain rain.
At such times, his face looked as guileless as a child’s.

Kumakawa Tadanori had taken it easy on work since morning due to slight body aches and was wandering around inside the villa.

Just as Dr. Hibari was weeding the flowerbed, Kumakawa happened to pass by and stopped there to watch the professor's awkward posture.

"So, have you made arrangements yet to bring your wife and kids here?"

Dr. Hibari asked a question whose answer he already knew.
Kumakawa Tadanori currently received only 3,000 yen per month from the Hibari household—a man with no other income.
Of course he saved 1,000 yen each month from that amount, but expecting to feed his wife and children on what remained was clearly impossible.

“If you intend to have a home here, I could buy you the necessary lumber—why not build yourself a small cabin at a suitable spot within my estate? Then you wouldn’t need to make that full ri journey anymore.”

For whose benefit were the professor’s words spoken? Kumakawa Tadanori wondered.

“Just how large is this estate of yours, Professor?”

“Huh?”
“In tsubo?”
“You still don’t know that?”
“I thought I’d mentioned it before—the total’s about nine hundred tsubo.”

“Huh, nine hundred tsubo...”
“I thought there was more...”

“Ah, if we could get them to cede the neighboring vacant lot, we could expand as much as we like.”

That’s it—that’s the way, thought Kumakawa Tadanori as he smirked.

“Professor, I’d like to take about two days off here...”

“Ah, that’s fine by me—but what will you do?”

“Well, just…”

With permission granted, Kumakawa Tadanori boarded the first train to Tokyo the following day.

There was nothing in particular he intended to do.
It was to quietly ascertain whether his wife Fukiko and their three children were still living in that fire-scarred storehouse.

It was a precaution for when the time came.

But when he went to that place, the familiar storehouse had been demolished without a trace, and a wide, brand-new wooden fence surrounded the area.

His gaze, however, remained fixed on the spot where the storehouse had once stood, unmoving for what seemed an eternity.

To those who glimpsed his figure from afar—this unassuming middle-aged man standing so—he could only appear as someone gazing with poetic contemplation at autumn clouds drifting across the sky.