Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

At Azuma Fox Farm, only two foxes—a male and a female—now remained.
Both were excellent breeding foxes from Karafuto, yet Hoshizumi Shogo, the farm owner, considered that even these might be relinquished should suitable buyers emerge.

Since the war began, sales of silver fox fur—undeniably a luxury—had ceased entirely. Moreover, procuring feed like fresh herring and horse meat had grown desperately difficult. Breeding became unthinkable; how to dispose of over a hundred foxes had become an unending vexation.
Apart from those perishing naturally from feed shortages, they had steeled themselves to practically give away pelts—yet somehow kept clinging to their fox farm's signboard through it all.

The war had ended.
Seeing fellow breeders here and there beginning repairs on fox cages' wire mesh in anticipation of an export boom, Hoshizumi Shogo could no longer remain idle.

In those days, not a soul doubted that Azuma Fox Farm—once vied for top ranking in the region—would be restored to its former glory.

Within its vast grounds encompassing natural woodlands stood four hundred tsubo of fox cages, at their center a watchtower-like surveillance tower rising imposingly; passing through the main gate, a gravel path wound its way through white birch plantings in a large S-shape before arriving at the blue-painted office entrance.
This building was divided into an office, display room, and reception area, connected via a corridor to the residence at the rear; surrounded entirely by lawn, in a sunny spot lay the master’s prized Kai dog curled up asleep.

Hoshizumi Shogo was now sixty-three years old.

All that was known was that he had wandered through Siberia, Kamchatka, and Karafuto; no one knew what he had actually done there.
Some imagined that through fisheries-related work, he had built up some wealth.
Twenty years prior, he had suddenly appeared in this area and snapped up vast tracts of what was then virtually worthless land. Just as people began wondering what he intended to do with it all, he started raising foxes with fur colors never before seen.

When people heard that a single pelt sold for as much as ¥1,000 or even ¥2,000 in those days, they were utterly stunned.
The foxes swiftly multiplied in number.
There were even customers who came speeding by car from places like Karuizawa.
Regarding the fate of foxes having their pelts reserved while still alive, the locals would say to each other, "Now that's what you call a fox of distinction."

Occasionally, foxes would slip through the cages and escape.
For those captured unharmed, a reward of five hundred yen had been offered.
Whether youths or grown men, the local men forfeited their daily wages to comb through the mountains.
Not a single one of them managed to claim the reward.

The name of Azuma Fox Farm resounded throughout the neighboring areas.

There was no sense letting him hoard all those easy profits.
Copycats and rivals started springing up everywhere.
Some collapsed outright, while others just barely kept up pretenses.

Hoshizumi Shogo showed no sign of panic, curiously enough.
Declaring that pointless conflict benefited neither side, he proposed establishing a trade association; upon realizing his counterparts were largely amateurs, he took initiative to arrange breeding foxes and provide guidance on husbandry methods.
When it came to treating sick foxes, the local veterinarians proved unreliable, leaving no choice but to trouble him each time.

He could diagnose at a glance that a fox refusing even its favorite chicken—sniffing but turning away—suffered from parasites, then revive another fox that had suddenly lost mobility and lay drowsily squinting in the cage corner with a single injection.
And in the process, he would always make rounds of the fox cages to inspect for skin disease.
He never failed to warn the owners that this disease was fatal to foxes whose very existence depended on their fur.

The competitors certainly had to acknowledge his superiority, yet they still doubted his true intentions. As so-called business rivals, this manner of showing goodwill seemed truly incomprehensible. To be sure, there was logical sense in the notion of coexistence and mutual prosperity, and helping fellow breeders while encouraging one another was undoubtedly desirable. Yet in Hoshizumi Shogo's case, he devoted such excessive effort to others' affairs while never once mentioning his own circumstances that some began keeping watchful eyes on him, thinking: "That man might've been tolerable when he first proposed his theory that 'foxes have no eyes,' but mark my words—he means to devour us all before long."

“If you keep tending to others’ business like this, you’ll wear yourself out.”

Shina could only watch in dismay as her husband—even after finishing dinner—dutifully set out for a fox farm in the neighboring village three kilometers away to examine an ailing fox.

Yet this was no new development.
Since his Karafuto days, this very tendency of his had made people grateful, irritated, and scornful by turns.
In the end, that same disposition led to such an absurd misunderstanding that he’d been forced to surrender half his wealth.

Hoshizumi Shogo withdrew from Kamchatka and crossed over to Karafuto at the age of thirty-five.
He arrived penniless.
He had studied mineralogy at T University and even had an offer for a mining job, but thinking that being a salaried worker didn’t suit him, he embarked on a journey from Korea to Manchuria and then Siberia with a dream-like plan.

Accustomed to a life of wandering, he felt drawn not so much to mineral collecting as to the primal breath of nature, letting his feet lead him ever northward toward the continent’s edge.

After nine months since leaving Japan, he finally arrived at the town called Oliutorskoe.
It was a fishing town along the coast at the base of the Kamchatka Peninsula where, having heard that Japanese ships occasionally called there, he somehow ended up settling down.
A Greek Orthodox priest bestowed blessings upon him and found him lodging and employment.

He was assigned a role akin to site supervisor at a Russian-operated lumber company, and after finishing work, he would discuss Russian literature with the innkeeper who kept foxes as a side business.
This innkeeper, a self-proclaimed intellectual who had been expelled from university after participating in underground movements before the revolution, would recite Pushkin’s poetry and offer opinions on Chekhov’s travels to the Far East.

Hoshizumi Shogo experienced his first romance here—if you could call it romance—or rather, something resembling romance.
The thirty-year-old woman of Tatar descent—her eyes like black crystal—stirred his carnal desires.
Though she had originally been a prostitute, she was passed off as the widow of a White Army officer and lived in a room at the same boardinghouse.

The ten years in Kamchatka were an entirely new life for him.

The wave of revolution from the homeland arrived only gradually, but even in this remote tip of the continent—locked in ice for most of the year—there was a palpable sense of unseen unrest in people's hearts.
It was around that time that rumors spread of the Japanese military having occupied the Siberian Railway.

Before long, the company was seized, reorganized, and taken over by several individuals claiming to be Communist Party members, without allowing any protest.
He was subjected to imprisonment due to his status as a Japanese national, but through the special arrangements of his boarding house landlord Goriev, he obtained provisional freedom with a time limit.
He could do nothing about the condition requiring him to leave the country within three months.

However, he was in truth struggling to manage his ill-fated entanglement with that Tatar woman.

In the spring of 1929, carried aboard a small motorized sailboat flying the Soviet Union flag across the thawing Bering Sea, he arrived in Karafuto.

With nothing but the clothes on his back, he somehow managed to secure a position as a live-in laborer at the O Paper Company’s pulp factory near the border.
Whether this should be called good fortune or not, he could not say.
He yearned for the Russians.
As far as they were concerned, not a single unpleasant impression remained.
There had indeed been times when he suffered terrible ordeals, encountered infuriating situations, faced humiliating events, and experienced terrifying incidents that made him tremble.
However, that so many people—whether acquainted or strangers—had treated him, a foreigner, with such bottomless kindness, generosity, and lack of pettiness was ultimately beyond his capacity to comprehend.

Compared to that, how stiflingly narrow his life in Japanese Karafuto must have been! He had to perpetually mind his surroundings. He kept discovering hostile gazes in unexpected places. Amidst this environment where people envied others' successes and crowed over their failures, he worked in silence—ignoring all gossip—and single-mindedly continued preparing to operate his fox farm.

His current wife Shina was working at an elementary school in a nearby town at that time.
What circumstance could have drawn together and united this laborer-intellectual who seemed to brim with ambition and this beautiful Christian female teacher devoted to colonial children's education—these two who appeared so diametrically opposed?

II

It was in the autumn of 1935 that Hoshizumi Shogo departed Karafuto, taking his young wife with him.

Though few in the industry yet knew his name, he was already an established specialist in his field. Selling off hundreds of fox cages along with his residence—a barracks-like structure measuring over twenty tsubo—he pocketed tens of thousands in cash and returned to mainland Japan, cherishing two breeding foxes like children all the while.

Thus Azuma Fox Farm rode the tide of the times.

But that did not last long.
Since the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War, exports came to an abrupt halt, and domestic demand followed a parallel downward trajectory.
Silver fox fur stoles became symbols of traitors.
What were once thousand-yen pelts now found no buyers even at twenty yen.
If they weren’t living creatures, one could consider stockpiling them and waiting for better times.
But these creatures—with their pampered appetites requiring at least five hundred momme of fish and animal meat daily as feed—were, in times of crisis, nothing but wasteful grain consumers, useless freeloaders not even as useful as cats.

The countermeasure committee of the fox breeding trade association focused its discussions solely on how to curb expenses to the minimum possible extent.
Whether herring or horse meat, prices were rising dramatically each day; moreover, clear signs of procurement difficulties were evident, and it had become perfectly certain that transportation routes would soon be severed.

Hoshizumi Shogo, as Managing Director, proposed taking final measures.
This meant processing every last fox into pelts immediately and selling them on the Shanghai market.

“Is it all right not to keep the breeding foxes?”

Managing Director Hosokawa interjected with an expression of reluctant resignation.

"If there are those who wish to keep them, they may do so. However, even for those, the feed will surely run out. Even wild rabbits are being hunted everywhere by people, you know."

That was indeed the case.
A decree ordering even domestic dogs to be culled arrived from some unknown quarter.

The seven fox farms closed their gates all at once.

Hoshizumi Shogo, overcoming his wife Shina's opposition, decided to continue keeping a few breeding foxes for a while longer.
This way, there would be no need to borrow anyone's assistance.
For feed, he resolved to purchase male goats at substantial prices.

Now the foxes were being killed one after another and skinned.
The cubs that had just been weaned were pitiful to behold.

“Master, are you doing this one too?”

Tameki Otoya, the caretaker and handyman, reserved his affection solely for these still-innocent fox cubs that knew no suspicion.

“We’ll do it.”
“The pelts may be worthless, but reducing mouths to feed is the goal.”
“They ain’t eatin’ much at all...”

The magnesium sulfate solution had already been injected into its heart.
It didn't so much as twitch.

Hoshizumi Shogo had thus efficiently disposed of the foxes one after another, but one troublesome problem remained stuck in his mind and refused to leave.

Specifically, it concerned Tameki Otoya—the caretaker and handyman he had hired a year prior—whom he now wanted to let go given the reduced workload and for cost-cutting purposes, though doing so would leave the man at a loss.

Such situations were common enough in the world that one might think it unnecessary to agonize over simply making someone understand their circumstances and seek other employment—provided one avoided cruel dismissal methods. Yet there existed various factors incomprehensible to others, and so Hoshizumi Shogo found himself ceaselessly agonizing over this matter from dawn till dusk.

These circumstances were neither complex nor grave, but rather consisted of a kind of subtle human relationship—one that could be understood by those who grasped it and remained incomprehensible to those who didn’t.

What kind of person was Tameki Otoya?
First, his career and character had to be recounted concisely.

III

Tameki Otoya was born in Shikoku. He was raised in a poor farming household and, immediately after finishing elementary school, was sent into service as an apprentice. After completing his five-year apprenticeship at a paint shop in Takamatsu, he was urged by others and crossed over to Kobe. Though it was called a paint company—a grand-sounding title—there were only three craftsmen. He was driven day and night without respite, then dismissed in less than two years. The reason given was that he had criticized his master’s work. He wandered aimlessly through Osaka, and when he finally thought he had found menial work at a laundry, they gave him only half the usual wages, claiming his efficiency was lacking. In frustration, he stormed out, and through someone's assistance, took up residence as a caretaker at Hokkeji Temple. This position lasted quite some time, but with the war came conscription. Through some twist of fate, he was shuffled between various military factories until finally, in the mountains of Joshu—amidst a wasteland of scorched stones and pampas grass—he obtained a military doctor’s certification deeming him unfit for labor and at last regained his freedom.

While working as a temple caretaker in Osaka through the abbot's mediation, he married the pale-complexioned daughter of a bathhouse worker who had returned home. Their expectations were modest, but what they gained proved substantial. She was a reliable and attentive wife skilled at sewing. In five years they had six children, two of whom—whether fortunately or unfortunately—did not survive.

With the conscription notice before him, he consulted his wife. His wife said, "If only we didn't have children."

The abbot asserted that what the temple needed was the hands of strong men—that women and children’s hands, no matter how many pairs, would never suffice—and gave no consideration to how the wife and children being left behind would manage. He reluctantly asked his family home in his hometown to take in the mother and her five children. Merely thinking about it made those days dark.

On the day his conscription was lifted, he first sought shelter at the house of an acquaintance—a transport worker named Mr. Fukai.

“No matter where I go, there ain’t no work to be had, so I was thinkin’ of imposin’ on you here a while. What d’you say?”

he proposed.

“If my place suits ya, no need for formalities—there’s a bit o’ work for you here.”

Nevertheless, Mr.Fukai was the local boss.

"I'll be in your care."

From then on, Tameki Otoya was made to work as a truck assistant, cart puller, firewood cutter, and at times even tend to field work and chicken coops.
As a result, he couldn't send a single penny to his wife and children.

“It’s hard to say this, but do I have to do this labor just to feed myself?”

One day, driven to desperation, he confronted his master, Mr. Fukai.

“If you ain’t satisfied with that, what exactly are you proposing we do? Getting all high and mighty, ain’t ya…”

“Ain’t it you who’s getting all high and mighty? When I can’t even afford tobacco money, how am I supposed to find the will to work...?”

“If there ain’t none, then just say there ain’t none straight out. Whenever, wherever, I’ll take care of it for you... You’re no spring chicken—can’t even keep up with kids’ work, can ya!”

If one were to say that, there was some truth to it. To put it simply, the firewood-cutting job had become piecework paid per bundle. Though he didn't directly receive that much cash, the bundles he managed to produce in a full day barely reached around sixty. For even upper-grade elementary students could easily make eighty bundles as the standard, so how low his efficiency was became something anyone—not just the master—would acknowledge. Thus he subsisted on three meals of barley rice alone, never receiving so much as a single copper coin for pocket money unless the master was in an exceptionally good mood.

He didn’t drink a drop of alcohol, never tried gambling, and couldn’t even exchange a playful word with women. Yet despite working himself to the bone, he could barely afford even rationed tobacco—a situation whose reasons had only now become clear—and he dimly sensed that this outcome wasn’t entirely his own fault.

His face hardened day by day; he could no longer bring himself to laugh, and even when spoken to, responding grew burdensome.

Society typically viewed this as his own doing, but one day, Officer Arima stationed there caught him and said:

"Why don't you try finding work somewhere else? As things are now, you won't get anywhere."

“If there were somewhere else that would let me work, but…”

“There are places. If you’re willing, I could arrange it. You know the Kandas—the ones who evacuated to the villa area in Narazawa?”

"I don't."

“Don’t play dumb! He’s a scholar everyone knows. Getting on in years, practically retired—needs a man’s help with his field and firewood. Just him, his wife and daughter living there—three people—security’s not great. Heard just yesterday they can’t find a reliable single man for caretaking. You interested in trying?”

“I’m not a single man.”

“Aren’t you practically a single man anyway?”

“How much are you offering?”

“Well, that’s how I see the matter shaping up.”
“I guarantee it can’t be worse than now.”

“In that case, I’ll go take a look.”

Dr. Kanda was an unassuming scholar of botany who had retired from the university upon reaching retirement age and devoted himself to writing. After being burned out of their Tokyo home and fleeing for their lives to this mountain villa, they were likely among the last evacuees. While other seasons might have been manageable, given the life of extreme cold they could imagine enduring, they found themselves absolutely needing a man to handle errands. Even Mrs. Yukari Kanda earnestly hoped that no matter where else they might cut back, they could at least secure this essential labor force.

Through Officer Arima’s introduction, the Kanda couple rejoiced at the swift appearance of Tameki Otoya, a man who seemed perfectly suited for the role at first glance.

Their joy proved fleeting, for within less than three months, Mrs.Yukari Kanda began laying out complaints to her husband, Dr.Kanda.

“Hey, you, that man is utterly hopeless.”
“First of all, even when called, he doesn’t respond.”
“When I ask him to do something, he always turns away.”
“When you press him by asking ‘Do you understand?’, he just furrows his brow and says ‘Hee’.”
“Then whenever I try giving him even slightly troublesome work, he’ll think awhile and mutter something under his breath.”
“That always ends up being how it goes.”
“Where does the cause lie in making him do such things?”
“Shouldn’t he have been cautious from the beginning to prevent things from becoming this troublesome?”
“Making a fuss over this now makes him look absurd.”
“You can’t understand how absurd this job is unless you actually try doing it.”
“It’s quite a nuisance if people think it’s simple.”
“In other words, that’s precisely how it is.”

“Surely he wouldn’t phrase it exactly like that.”

With that, Dr.Kanda tempered his wife’s volubility.

“Of course those aren’t his precise words, but that’s exactly what he means.”
“I can see it in his face.”

“Hmm, he does have a bit of a stubborn streak.”
"But what's truly bothersome is that when I ask him to do something, he doesn't do it properly right away."
"The two tasks I gave him—fixing the warped gatepost and putting up crossed ropes over the chicken coop to keep hawks out—it's already been three days and he still hasn't done either."

“Exactly.
"There's this way he puts on airs.
"Is his pride too strong?”

“He does have some of that.”
"But ultimately, it's all slow motion."

“I wouldn’t mind slow if he’d just start right away.”

“You see—even how he moves between tasks is slow motion.”
“That must be it—unless every part’s uniformly slow, you can’t call it slow motion.”

“Exactly—like how you get all hasty about certain things.”

“Now don’t turn that on me too.”
“I’ll try speaking to Tameki myself when there’s a good moment.”

“If mere scolding could fix him, I wouldn’t be fretting like this.”
“I’ve already thrown in the towel—thrown it…”

“Moreover, he seems to have absolutely no interest in farm work. When I watch him doing fieldwork, I can’t say he’s any more skilled than us. Tell me—have you ever seen him carry a manure bucket?”

“No. What’s more, I’ve told him repeatedly to apply diluted liquid fertilizer to the eggplants and cucumbers. At this point, this isn’t about being slow anymore. It’s sheer negligence. Nothing but pure shirking!”

"No, no—that’s going too far."
“Yukari dear—I’ve discovered one hidden virtue in that man.”

"What?"

“Listen—yesterday evening a truck passed our house.”
“Loaded with charcoal.”
“You were likely in the kitchen—but when it hit a stone at our corner...”
“The whole thing shook violently.”
“Charcoal sacks burst open—three kilos worth spilled out.”
I thought what a waste.
Then Tameki—hilling potatoes roadside—glanced over and ignored it.
Truth be told—this morning I checked during my walk.
Can you imagine?
“With charcoal prices soaring—he never touched a single lump.”
“Convinced others’ losses aren’t his gain.”
“Well Yukari? That’s Tameki for you.”

“It’s hardly something to be impressed about.”
“That’s precisely how dull his mind works.”

“Blessed are the slow-witted, is it? I do think there’s some promise in him.”

However, despite her husband the professor’s support, the stalwart Tameki Otoya had so thoroughly frayed Mrs.Yukari’s nerves that at the end of six months—when the oak leaves were beginning to turn—he was abruptly dismissed.

IV

It was not long after that when Officer Arima, the local policeman, brought Tameki Otoya to visit Azuma Fox Farm.

“There aren’t many foxes left now, but instead, the fields are keeping us busy.”
“Human food production—this isn’t something I can manage alone.”
“How about you? Farm work?”
“Do you have any experience?”

Officer Arima answered, “There is.”
The fact that his family home was a farm in Shikoku and that he had worked in the fields in his youth—this history proved decisive.

“Since there’s plenty of land here, I want you to diligently clear some of it,” said Hoshizumi Shogo.
“If possible, I’m thinking of trying things like fruit trees as well.”

“That’s nice,” replied Tameki Otoya.
“For this area, I suppose we’d start with peaches and pears.”

“Well, apples could work too,” said Shogo.
“But first and foremost, it’s potatoes and wheat right now.”
“Do you have any salary requirements?”

“How about it?”

Officer Arima inquired.

“None at all. Same as before is fine.”

“When you say ‘before,’ how much did you receive at Mr. Kanda’s place?”

Hoshizumi Shogo had just been shown a character reference written in Dr. Kanda’s own handwriting.

Tameki Otoya, the above-named individual, was employed by our household from May to October 1943 (Shōwa 18). As a live-in caretaker, he committed no major faults while demonstrating honesty and simplicity of character. Though steadfast in his duties, he displayed no obstinate tendencies. While not particularly agile, he followed orders faithfully and showed no duplicity in his actions.
This time, due to our circumstances, his employment has been amicably terminated.
We hereby certify the above.

it stated.

“Including meals—was it fifteen yen?”

Officer Arima spoke on his behalf.

And so, Tameki Otoya obtained a new position at Azuma Fox Farm and avoided starvation.

However, as the war grew increasingly intense, food became increasingly scarce.
The reclamation they had been counting on made no progress, and this summer they even lacked vegetables; because of this, Hoshizumi Shogo took the lead and swung a hoe.

“If you’re going to do such things yourself, then what’s the point of having someone called Oto-san around?”

Every time he rubbed his back and removed his tabi work shoes, his wife Shina would repeat her criticism, but he would laugh it off,

“Oto-san is an honest man, but I’ve realized farming’s beyond him.”
“A serious miscalculation, but there’s nothing for it.”

“Then even if it’s pitiful, let’s replace him with someone who can keep up.”
“Even a woman could manage a sharper field if she’s seasoned.”

“I know. But whether we can find a replacement right away is another matter.”

“The cost of rice isn’t trivial either.”

“I’ve considered that too. The best course would be for you and me to live quietly together if it comes to this. There’s no telling how many years this war will drag on, but so long as we’re sipping gruel together, we won’t collapse overnight.”

“No—”
“I’m not talking about such passive things.”
“We have all this land here.”
“No matter how much there is, I believe it can be used productively depending on the approach.”
“Even you must have things you want to do—this way and that.”
“With someone like Oto-san, you can’t accomplish anything, can you?”

“That’s right.”
“That’s true enough, but just think about it.”
“Do you think a moderately capable person would come work at a closed-down fox farm these days?”
“Even day laborers’ wages these days can quite support a family, you know.”
“Oto-san—wherever he goes, that one isn’t fit to be employed anywhere.”
“That’s why he’s here like this.”
“I’ll take my time training him properly.”

“You’re taking quite the long view, aren’t you?”

In this manner, Tameki Otoya’s neck remained connected right up until the war’s end—and even after the war had ended, it stayed properly attached.

“Master, one of the goats died last night.”

One morning, Tameki Otoya reported.

"What? Which goat?"

Hoshizumi Shogo asked in surprise.

"The big pregnant one."

Hoshizumi Shogo thrust his feet into his geta and ran to the goat shed.

“Oto-san, what’s this?
“Isn’t its neck caught in the rope?”
“Didn’t I tell you repeatedly to keep the rope short?”

“But, Master…”

"But that's not it. It's your responsibility. Well, what's dead can't be helped. Since we're on the subject—if you dump this many daikon leaves all at once, even a sturdy one would get sick. This is something I've told you countless times before. You haven't forgotten how you nearly killed that rabbit by overfeeding it cabbage, have you?"

"That one thing... I didn't know about that..."

“That’s not all. You immediately say things like that, but even chicken feed must be divided into two portions—morning and evening—or it won’t do any good. If you just dump extra feed all at once because it’s troublesome, then you can’t claim to be properly raising chickens. And the oyster shells haven’t decreased at all.”

“……”

“Why don’t you give some sort of reply?”

“Master, I just can’t stand being told all sorts of things at once.”

Tameki Otoya said, furrowing his brow deeply and making his shoulders twitch.

“Hmm, you dislike being told things all at once?”

Hoshizumi Shogo widened his eyes as if to say “That’s news to me,” and looked at Tameki Otoya’s face.

“When I’m told everything at once, I can’t make heads or tails of anything anymore, you see.”
“My head goes all foggy, I tell ya.”

“The first time I told you everything at once was today.”
“In these three years, this hasn’t happened before—don’t you agree?”
“Today of all days—I simply couldn’t contain myself anymore.”

“I don’t think the goat died just from the rope,”
“That pregnant one kept shakin’ its head like mad, I tell ya.”

“Enough about that.
When did you give the chickens their oyster shells?”

“Still plenty lyin’ in the shed, I tell ya.”

“You mean to leave ’em till not a scrap’s left?”

“I just can’t abide bein’ told other things when I’m startin’ on somethin’, I tell ya proper.”

He had used the polite form "gozansu" for the first time.

Hoshizumi Shogo was taken aback by this.

"It might be unpleasant, but I too have times when if I don't say something right when I think of it, I'll forget."
"I can't just wait around until you finish your work."

"I'm just a complete slowpoke, I tell ya."

"If you understand that, well, that's fine."
"The slowness in your work comes from you being thorough."
"There's no need to worry."
"However, when I tell you something once or twice, it's because it's important, so I need you to properly follow through."
"Breakfast probably isn't ready yet."
"Go eat."

Five

Hoshizumi Shogo surveyed the postwar economic landscape and decisively concluded that the fox breeding business held no prospects for the foreseeable future.

Thereupon, he dissolved the nominal trade association while persuading his wife Shina to drastically cut living expenses, resolving to accumulate as much capital as possible in preparation for a certain opportunity.

To that end, the idea of selling off unnecessary fox cage materials and reinvesting the proceeds into lucrative stocks was considered.

When it came to this, he inevitably had to cut out the waste of keeping a man employed.

“Let’s occasionally hire village girls on a part-time basis. That would be much cheaper and less hassle.”

“I suppose there’s no choice but to do that after all.”
“It might seem somewhat cruel though.”

“If we endure this much, it should suffice.”
“This way we’ll have demonstrated more than enough sincerity.”

“Let’s call him over tonight and broach the matter.”

Hoshizumi Shogo, however, thought it would be better not to broach the subject in his wife's presence.
His wife Shina was bound to interject.
He believed he understood the other man's feelings better than his wife did.

He spoke to Tameki Otoya that evening while inspecting the livestock shed, where the farmhand was cutting hay with a fodder cutter.

“I’ve finally decided to close down this fox farm.”
“My wife and I intend to stay quietly in these mountains and eke out a living selling whatever we can.”
“With that done, there’ll be no more need for hired help. Though I regret you’ve only just gotten used to the work, I want you to start thinking about your next steps.”
“Not that it has to be immediate.”
“Take your time finding suitable work.”
“But we can’t keep paying your wages forever. Here’s what I propose: We’ll make this month your last, call it severance if you like. To tide you over, I’ll give six months’ living expenses. With that settled, I’d like you to find yourself proper lodgings soon.”
“I’d considered helping you bring your wife and children here too, but given how things stand, we must abandon that plan.”
“I know I made many exacting demands, but you served us well in the end.”
“My wife and I are grateful—truly, we’ve no complaints.”
“Please understand that clearly...”

Having said this, he took out a box of “Hikari” from his jumper pocket and offered the other man a cigarette.

“Master, I didn’t quite catch what you were sayin’, but does this mean you’re lettin’ me go?”

“Well, I suppose that’s how it will be.”
“However, we’ll keep it amicable.”
“It’s the same as when you left Dr. Kanda.”

“I tell ya, no matter what anyone says, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong that’d make ’em have to let me go.”

“Who said you did anything wrong? I’ve never claimed to dislike you either.”

“I know what rubs you wrong about me.”

“No—at the very least, I have never said you should leave because I dislike you. To put it plain, there’s two reasons: no more work needing done, and our money won’t stretch to allow it.”

“There’s work aplenty, I tell ya. More’n I can manage alone, I tell ya.”

“I mean to do away with all such tasks from here on out. We’ve decided against keeping any critters that need tending—goats, sheep, ducks, rabbits, the whole lot.”

“Chickens too, then?”

“Huh? Chickens? Well, we might keep two or three within our means. In any case, we mean to live a life that doesn’t need troubling a man like you for help.”

“I don’t give a damn about that sorta thing.”

“Don’t you get it? It’s not for your sake. It’s for our sake.”

“I just sent a letter the other day sayin’ I’d be callin’ my wife over real soon now, I tell ya.”

“That’s your choice. I intend to give you six months’ worth of severance pay all at once, calculated as I mentioned earlier—estimating the monthly amount including food expenses at 5,000 yen per month.”

“Thirty thousand yen, you say?”

“So, thirty thousand yen—is that not enough?”

“First off, I ain’t even got a roof over my head, and buildin’ one’ll cost a good thirty thousand yen, I tell ya.”

“If you were to work somewhere as a live-in, you wouldn’t need a house, would you?”

“I’ve had my fill of live-in work.”

Hoshizumi Shogo thought indeed that might be the case.

“You shouldn’t ask for too much, I tell you.
However, it’s not enough for me to simply have you leave.
I’m concerned about your future too.
To speak plainly—if it’s just you working and feeding yourself alone, you might manage somehow, but then you’ll never lay eyes on your wife and children again.
How about this—why don’t you bring your wife here and try working together?”

“At your place, Master?”

“No, no—you’d have your own independent house.”
“You said a house could be built with ¥30,000, didn’t you?”
“In that case, I’ll stretch to add another ¥20,000. From that sum, we can cover your family’s travel expenses and some living costs for the time being. How about giving it your all?”

Tameki Otoya’s eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter.

“I can’t do anything beyond that,” said Shogo. “If that’s acceptable, I’ll have Officer Arima come over to make it official. Dr. Kanda will surely consider what comes after as well. If it helps with your next employment, I can also write a character reference for you like Dr. Kanda did.”

However, even as Hoshizumi Shogo said this, he thought to himself that he would rather avoid doing that very thing if at all possible.

Tameki Otoya leaned his back against a pillar of the livestock shed and remained lost in meditation for some time.

It was already the season when yellowed oak leaves scattered in the wind.

After a long silence, Tameki Otoya suddenly gulped down saliva and then spoke.

“Master, if that’s how it is, then I’ll do as you say.”
“After receivin’ ¥50,000, I’ll take my leave from here.”
“Can I get that ¥50,000 right quick?”
“Do that an’ I’ll call my wife an’ kids an’ throw up a shack wherever’ll do.”
“Dunno what’ll be left after, but I mean to try far as I can go. If it comes to where I can’t scrape by nohow—you’d take me on again then?”
“That’s all I’m askin’.”

Tameki Otoya bowed his head deeply and sniffled loudly.

Hoshizumi Shogo's face twisted as if collapsing.