Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“It seems Grandmother is finally coming.”

I said it as if it were someone else’s affair and stole a glance at his expression.

“Can she make it?”

“It seems she’s decided to come.”

My husband and I rarely spoke much about anything. At the large desk across from me, even during the brief moments he let out a few words, he would usually be reading something. Once I had managed with great effort to convey the little I needed to say, out of habit I turned my eyes toward the glass door. On the bayberry branches that someone had recently pruned until drenched in sweat, glossy leaves of a color caught between madder red and falcon brown had already sprouted in full, looking utterly charming. In the sky, pale white clouds appeared utterly still. But through their gaps flowed an even paler cluster—like gauze shaken loose—passing by with a pressed-smooth gentleness. In the upper layers there seemed to be very slight movement. It was like music without sound, I thought. At the same time, I became acutely aware that within my own heart raged a cacophony completely different from that, chaotically tangled.

Grandmother, it would be nice if you came to Ito.

After all, it was he who had first brought up the idea.

There’s such wonderful fish here.

We have a hot spring here at our place.

I merely stole a glance at his expression as he said such things.
This might be his song.
Moreover, inviting my own mother was something I had to consider very carefully.
His mother had also wanted to come to our house.
And by the time the welcoming car finally arrived, she had already passed away.
I often find myself reliving the pangs of guilt over having never properly cared for his mother.
Whenever Grandmother became the topic of conversation, I felt particularly guilty.
So I only conveyed to Grandmother what he had said—that he said this and that—and never once urged her in my own words to please come.

The air raids grew increasingly intense.
The suburbs near the Tama River could not be considered safe.

“There’s also such a thing as ‘elderly evacuation,’ you know.”

Only when he told me this directly did I, infusing it with my own sincerity, write to suggest that she come to Ito—a place with a higher safety margin—until the danger passed, and sent it off.
But at that time, Grandmother had Yoshirou by her side.
This second son, a wanderer without fixed abode, had caused Grandmother considerable hardship through his drinking and by taking a wife past forty only to quickly divorce her.
But once alcohol became unmanageable for him, he suddenly had no choice but to devote himself entirely to filial devotion.
For him, living alone, Grandmother had likely become his sole anchor, like an antique ceramic.
He, who had been skilled at growing jasmines and chrysanthemums, gradually shifted toward cultivating broad beans, peas, spinach, and other such things that suited Grandmother’s palate as food shortages worsened.
His main profession was Russian—he had translations of Artsybashev and Gorky—but gradually Burbank and Michurin began to dominate the bookshelves.
Grandmother’s retreat lay in a corner of her eldest son’s estate, yet while the vegetables cultivated by the main family’s farmers grew parched and withered, the edge of her retreat always remained lush with green—a sight that brought quiet reassurance.
Grandmother must have thought this way.
Yoshirou had put such devoted effort into cultivating the garden for his own sake.
Abandoning that and going to Ito would be pitiful.
Moreover, when the main family’s daughter-in-law mentioned that there had been an invitation from Ito, she said, “Oh, please do go ahead. We’ll handle everything afterward and send Grandmother an allowance.”
If I were to move, Yoshirou would lose his place to live.
Such must have been the culmination of her thoughts—Grandmother sent a reply saying she would remain here after all.

But that Yoshirou died suddenly at the year’s end when the fear of air raids had subsided.
The spinach at the edge had thrived lushly green even in the snow, almost miraculously, but when it finally came time for even that to end, crop rotation arrived.
Even with an experienced maid attending her, it was impossible for a ninety-three-year-old mind to navigate this crisis.
Yet due to long-standing custom, Grandmother would not ask for anything from the eldest son and his wife, who were right there before her eyes.
As long as she did not ask, they maintained their facade of ignorance.
Before long, marriage proposals began to come in for the experienced maid.
Even so, she apparently disliked being taken care of by the main family household.

“I too shall henceforth eat bread once out of every three meals.
I will gradually make it twice out of three meals.
In time, I am prepared to make all three meals bread.
Since in all heaven and earth I have none but you to rely upon, I beg you not to cast me aside.”

In an old-fashioned yet overly steady penmanship for a ninety-three-year-old, Grandmother came to send such letters.
When loneliness set in, Grandmother would convince herself it was about time for them to come from Ito.
And then she would decide by herself that they were supposed to come tomorrow.
Waiting one day, then two days in this daze, her strength gradually waned.
By the beginning of summer, she had finally fallen ill from all this.
“You should get better soon and we’ll go to Ito, okay?” I comforted Grandmother.
But I couldn’t imagine a three-hour train journey being feasible for Grandmother in her post-illness state.
However, a ninety-three-year-old’s tenacity proved unexpectedly formidable.
Grandmother had surprisingly recovered quickly and reported that she had already begun preparatory walks.
Not long after that, as the lingering summer heat had become much more bearable, she broached the matter directly—now that things were as she had long hoped, she wished to come to Ito; when would be convenient for us?—

“If she’s coming, it’d be better to do it before the weather turns bad.”

He cast his eyes toward the sunlight streaming through the glass door, then looked around the two adjoining rooms filled with cluttered items,

“Grandmother will surely say, ‘My, my, what an extraordinary assortment of implements!’” he laughed, imitating her voice and mannerisms.
Still chuckling, he stood and tromped upstairs with heavy footsteps.
From earlier on the north side opposite the glass-paned door came intermittent bursts of excited shouting—raucous cries of “Home! Home!” echoing sporadically.
Through the second-floor window overlooking the sports field directly below, a sponge-rubber baseball game had commenced.
In Tokyo where his mind grew terribly strained, he seemed to find respite on holidays by watching these amateur baseball matches.
When I ascertained he had settled upstairs, I spread formal writing paper across the large desk and drafted a reply: should we obtain the main family’s approval, we would depart at dawn next Sunday, with myself coming to fetch her the preceding evening.
Then I went to the long-vacant maid’s quarters and began sorting through the food supplies occupying half the room.

II

The Odakyu train had been immobilized by funeral urns and mourning attire, but after the pitiful group departed, it suddenly became starkly empty. When I sat down relieved, the wind blowing through the window without glass struck loose strands of hair against my eyes. As I brushed them away, I suddenly noticed an occupation soldier by the doorway staring at my shoes. Thinking these navy blue unconventional shoes were the only ones matching this outfit, I had worn them—but among rows of dirty geta, they might have stood out as conspicuous items indeed. I pretended not to notice and turned my eyes elsewhere. Another GI was swinging from a hanging strap while glaring around the car. He suddenly lowered his head while still suspended, peered at the clouds outside the window, and muttered something about the weather. I too had been watching the unsettled sky since earlier. If only it would hold out until tomorrow morning. Grandmother hadn’t ridden a train since her 88th birthday celebration—there was no telling how long she could endure the journey. If it rained regardless of circumstances, everything would become difficult.

——

No sooner had I noticed the clouds silently parting than the train was already crossing the Tama River. I took down the wrapped bundle from the luggage rack, tucked my handbag under my left arm, and walked toward the exit while balancing carefully. The GI still swinging from the strap suddenly formed an arch with his hands and torso as I approached.

“Oh, thanks,” I reflexively mouthed—whereupon the other one who had been eyeing my shoes earlier suddenly made another gesture overhead,

“I thought you were going all the way to Tokyo, but...” he said.
By “Tokyo,” he likely meant Shinjuku.

“Why?”
“That’s how it looked.”
“But we’ve lost the house in Tokyo.”
“Oh, so you live around here?”

“That’s not it—I’m visiting my mother.”

“Oh wow!”

His blue eyes seemed to suddenly turn toward his mother back in his homeland. She must still be a young mother. I wondered whether he could possibly imagine that the mother I was visiting was ninety-three years old. Then I suddenly recalled an article stating that the mother of his country’s president was indeed the same age as Grandmother and had arrived in Washington by plane. Perhaps Grandmother too might be unexpectedly unfazed, and for Grandmother, she might be able to endure the long journey.

As the door before me opened, I stepped resolutely onto the corridor without turning back and walked briskly toward the stairs.

III

Lowering my head and sinking into thought once more, when I emerged onto the tree-lined path at dusk,

“Madam! Madam!” a boisterous voice called out, and from unexpectedly close by, a beaming face appeared.
“Grandmother has been eagerly awaiting your arrival for some time now.
“I must go take care of the registration—I’ll be right back.”

I recalled the letter Grandmother had sent the previous day stating there was no need to come fetch her since she would go with the maid, and thought that even as she wrote that she couldn’t wait, it was indeed Grandmother after all.

I opened the front door,

“Thank you for coming all this way,” she called out cheerfully, and there appeared Grandmother—toddling forward in what seemed like a seated posture—what a sparkle in her eyes! I felt struck to the heart. Grandmother had been waiting for this day to such an extent. Grandmother had been so very forlorn.

“Oh my—you really came all this way.”

“Are you all right, Grandmother?”

“Yes, yes.
“There’s truly nothing amiss anywhere, you see.”
“I find it strange even to myself.”

“What did the main family say?”

“When I say I’m going, what could they possibly say?”
“When I mentioned going to soak in the hot springs for a couple of days, they got all flustered and said, ‘If you’re going to all the trouble of coming, you should take your time.’”

“That’s true.”
“Wouldn’t just two or three days be more like going to exhaust yourself?”

“Do you think so?”
“They’re absolutely delighted over there, you know.”
“They’re thinking the thorn in their side will be gone, you know.”

Grandmother, even at ninety-three, had still not lost her sharp tongue.
I pulled the bundle closer and,

“This is the fish for tomorrow’s breakfast, this is sweet bread for the lunchbox, this is glucose for when you get tired, this is the thermos for hot tea—and here are the bills—”

“Oh my! Have you already prepared the cash? My, gathering all this must have been quite an undertaking.”

Grandmother’s keen eyes gained renewed sparkle, her mind already fluttering with anticipation of tomorrow’s outing.

“Isn’t this usually when you’d be going to bed?”

“Yes, but—”

“You really ought to get more rest than usual tonight—”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m perfectly fine.”
“And I had eel for lunch too.”

“You managed to get some nicely, didn’t you?”

“Ms. Miyagawa brought it for me.”
“She said if you’re going to Ito, we won’t be able to meet for some time.”

“How very kind of her!”

“Oh right—the bath is ready.”
“Why don’t you go in?”

“You’re the one who should bathe early and rest.”
“I must go visit the main family household.”

“That’s true. Since we told them we’d come, they might be waiting.”

I once again recalled “There’s no need to come,” and couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

At the main family household, both the couple and their children eagerly welcomed me in.
When I apologized for my prolonged neglect and expressed relief that the threat of confiscation seemed to have passed, the main family launched into an extended complaint about the property tax.

“This time, it seems Grandmother will be coming to impose herself upon you, and well—”

“Oh no,
but what did Grandmother say?”

“She came by yesterday—said she’s got a persistent itch and will soak in the hot springs for two or three days.”
“That’s fine.”
“However—when I asked how she planned to make the journey—they’re coming from Ito to fetch her.”
“But tomorrow’s Sunday—won’t it be crowded?”

“There shouldn’t be any commuters.”
“I also thought that if Grandmother said she would go out, you might offer to send her off from here, which is why I deliberately chose Sunday in the first place.”
“Given her age, there’s no telling what might happen along the way.”

“Oh, it’ll be perfectly fine.”

As the main family spoke with apparent nonchalance, their faces—which had markedly lost vigor since the purge order—suddenly betrayed inner consternation,

“I’ve also gotten on in years lately, you see—to the point where I’ve become so uncertain about going up and down station steps.”
“So it’s not as if I can carry Grandmother on my back and go.”
“It would be good if we could send Yukio instead, but unfortunately, he has some sort of gratitude gathering for his former teacher tomorrow.”

“No, it’s quite all right.”
“I had sent a letter to Grandmother in advance explaining matters and asking her to convey certain details to the main family household, but with a ninety-three-year-old mind, it was likely impossible for her to relay that information here.”
“Since this concerns parent and child, I believed that no matter what happened or what was said, it would suffice to simply accommodate her feelings—but with those not connected by blood, I thought one must observe proper formalities.”
“In return, should Grandmother express her wish to return here again, I would appreciate it if Yukio could come to fetch her.”

“Well, if you’d just send a telegram, we’ll come right away.”
“Whenever it’s a day off—hey, Yukio, Yukio.”

The main family raised their voices as if venting something and called down their demobilized eldest son, who had been living on the second floor with his wife and children since returning home.
And they carefully reiterated everything discussed thus far and made Yukio promise to go pick up Grandmother at any time.
I found the main family’s excessive meekness, timidity, and endurance rather unreliable.
They repeated that they intended to do everything possible but had already offered apologies in advance should any discourtesy occur.

“But you must be having a hard time yourself.”
“Grandmother only eats rice.”

Thinking it would be easier than transporting her from Ito, I barely managed to stop them from setting out.
And then, before any ill will could surface, they took their leave.

Grandmother was waiting in bed for my return.
But when I hurriedly bathed and came out, she was emitting faint snores.
After I finished discussing tomorrow’s arrangements in whispers with the maid and told her to tidy up quickly and go to bed, I circled around to the sitting room and stood before my second brother’s bookshelf.

Grandmother would probably settle in Ito.
If Grandmother weren't here, there would likely be no reason to return to this house again.
Then to me, leaving behind in this house the belongings of my second brother—who had cherished Grandmother so dearly and even had someone take his deathwater—seemed unbearable.
He had come to Ito a week before his death while attending to Grandmother's needs.
During his two-night stay to relax, he had even held earnest discussions with Grandmother about their future life together.
I recalled my brother's somewhat lifeless expression from that time, and though we had been companions who discussed everything since childhood, I grew terribly sad that he was already gone.
Before the bookshelf lay Grandmother's clothes for tomorrow neatly stacked.
But the bookish scent lingering there resembled my brother's bodily odor.
Conscious of something permeating my very being, I scanned the spines of books—ones I should have thoroughly read once—with a lingering sense of farewell, starting from the top shelf.
The massive Russian volumes occupying several shelves were utterly unreadable.
Only the Michurin book—which he had finally procured from Moscow and carried about for some time—was immediately recognizable.
At least this one—to Ito—I would bring along to keep by Grandmother's and my side.
Clutching that single luxurious volume to my chest, I lay sprawled on the tatami and peered at the lowest shelf crammed with worn Western books.
Works by Saintsbury, Galsworthy, Thoreau and others—volumes I'd read during my student days and entrusted to my brother when he traveled abroad—stood terribly faded and sporadically wedged there.
These had been separated from me for over twenty years while clinging to my brother's life.
I resolved to extract those several volumes and take them to Ito.

IV

At 5:30, when I finished preparing and was about to go greet the main family from the kitchen entrance, they—already wearing geta—gestured from the veranda with hand and chin, saying to leave quickly as they would see us off.
I withdrew once and slipped out from the storage room to the entrance, then had Grandmother put straw sandals on her stiffened legs.
The maid had hurriedly tidied the kitchen and would run to the station afterward.
Matching Grandmother’s tottering steps as we exited the gate of her retirement residence bearing her nameplate, there on the early morning tree-lined path already waited the main family couple.
The two of them took Grandmother from my hands and started walking, supporting her from both sides.

The clouds hung low, but against the eastern sky skimming the treetops, a swath of orange glowed.
There was scarcely any wind.
It seemed the day would last as I had hoped.
My second brother’s spirit would surely guard our journey.
Clutching a small zabuton cushion and handbag under one arm while gripping a wrapped lunch box in the other, I trailed behind the trio’s six-legged shuffle.
Once outside, Grandmother looked startlingly diminutive.
Her back curved at nearly a right angle.
Above that hunched spine, snow-white slicked-back hair gleamed.
Though Grandmother’s mother—whose beauty lingered in memory—had fine features, Grandmother herself retained bright eyes and a straight nose even at ninety-three.
This lineage had crumbled in every aspect by our generation.
I felt proud escorting such an elegant grandmother.

The pace at which Grandmother climbed the station stairs was astonishing.
Though they were supporting her from both sides as if lifting her up, Grandmother’s own earnestness made her legs appear to outpace them.
The sturdy main family’s master still held up well.
But the main family’s backs seemed to have simply expanded Grandmother’s silhouette.
As I watched Grandmother and the main family—so alike yet utterly incompatible—holding hands today, perhaps for the last time in what might become an eternal parting, I found myself wondering anew what had caused them to become so stubbornly opposed to each other.
Because the main family and the deceased Yoshirou had been on terms even worse than dogs and monkeys since their youth, I had thought that while my second brother was alive, she might have kept her distance from the main family out of obligation to him—the one who dutifully cared for her.
But when, immediately after the misfortune, the main family proposed that they live together, Grandmother’s face changed color and she said, "I won’t have it!"
From then until today, the main family had maintained an attitude of not lifting a finger regarding life at the retirement residence.
But from my perspective, I could not consider it happiness—this grandmother leaving the side of her eldest son, who now sat dejected under banishment orders though he had once been a splendid bureaucrat and promising politician, coming to die at what amounted to the evacuation site of his hand-to-mouth youngest daughter.
Even for Grandmother herself, saying things like “two or three days” or “a week” was merely to save face for the main family in society—in her heart, she undoubtedly intended to go die in the unknown land of Ito.
Every time I saw Grandmother’s earnest steps, I could not help but feel something akin to pathos.

After rushing through to buy the tickets, I followed the three of them down to the walkway once, but upon realizing I had even brought the maid’s ticket, I headed back toward the ticket gate again.
Just then came the maid—who had hastily changed into her good monpe work trousers—running up while panting heavily.
As I urged myself there was still plenty of time and began descending once more, I gradually saw the three figures bathed in pale orange light exchanging greetings with a gentleman holding his hat in hand.
He must have been someone who had been under the main family’s care at some point.

“She said she wanted to bathe in the hot spring, you see.”
“Ha ha.”

The main family let out a slightly hollow laugh.
The gentleman sent a respectful nod toward Grandmother each time the main family said something.
When I saw scenes like this, I found myself hoping that Grandmother wouldn’t feel lonely going to an unfamiliar place.

There was no longer any place left to sit in the first Odakyu train.
Guided aboard by the maid's hand even before departure, Grandmother had already staggered all the way to the center of the car from the momentum of boarding.
When she finally stopped there, the khaki-clad person who had been sitting before her immediately stood up and let Grandmother take the seat.
In that moment,

“Do take care of yourself.”

Even as the Main Family’s Wife’s raised voice still seemed to linger, the train mercilessly left the couple behind.
After I properly expressed my gratitude to the kind person who had given up their seat,

“Grandmother, are you all right?” I leaned over her.
“I’m perfectly fine.”

Grandmother had a look of pleasure on her face at the train ride, her first in years.
“Why don’t you sit up higher?”
“This is more comfortable for me.”
“Isn’t too much wind coming in?”
“This is just perfect.”

I couldn’t help but laugh aloud at her delight.
In my silk dress I was slightly sweating, yet Grandmother in her crested serge haori jacket looked perfectly cool.

“Try not to look outside the window, all right? You mustn’t let your eyes get dizzy.”

Grandmother continued beaming as she cheerfully shifted her gaze to the passengers inside the car. But the men and women in the increasingly sparse car had already begun focusing their attention on her even before she noticed them. They likely didn’t know she was ninety-three, but regardless—there sat this remarkably elderly woman, neatly dressed and properly seated, radiating cheerfulness from her face.

“You must feel quite content today—being seen off so thoroughly by two people.”

“My conscience has been pricking me somewhat.”
“Yesterday—quite unusually—I asked if there was any pocket money.”

“And what did they say?”

“I told them it’s still manageable since we can make do.”

Grandmother seemed convinced she had prevailed with that response.
I produced a faintly bitter smile.
Grandmother’s savings book should have contained barely three hundred yen remaining from selling her second brother’s effects.
Considering she had maintained a maid’s service until now since his sudden death was remarkable indeed.
Without doubt, Grandmother’s mind had known not a moment’s respite amidst her daily struggles.
That exhaustion and impasse must have accelerated her resolve to depart for Ito.

At the transfer between Odawara and Atami, they had come out without letting her carry a single thing because the maid was supposed to carry her on her back, but when Grandmother alighted at the terminal, she declared she would walk and put so much force into her cane-holding hand that it trembled. She nearly managed the ascending stairs in one go.

I had only ever seen Grandmother toddling about her small retreat for many years, so I couldn’t help but marvel at where she had been hiding such extraordinary energy.

The holiday train wasn’t as crowded as we had feared.
At Atami, right before our waiting eyes, the wide doorway of a freight car stopped.

“Let’s board this one.”
“Sitting here might actually be more comfortable.”

I briskly climbed aboard first and spread out the seat cushion from under my arm across the even floor of the passageway.

“You’ve got the right idea.”

Suddenly, a booming male voice came from behind.

“You’re a smart one for getting on here! It’s a special seat, you know.”

When I looked, there were three flushed-faced individuals, each sitting with a one-shō bottle set upright in a triangular arrangement.

“Grandmother, how old are you?”

“How old do I look?”

“Eighty—well…”

“I’m ninety-three, you know.”

“Ninety-three? Well, that’s a national treasure!”
“Wow, ninety-three!”
“The secret to a long life is eating good food!”

“What a terrible freeloader I am.”

Grandmother lightly interjected from the side.

“No such thing! But you’ve been eating well, haven’t you? Since I’m in the food business, when I look at people’s faces coming in, I can tell exactly what they’ve been eating. Have a piece of this. It’s sugar-coated hardtack.”

Though it looked hard, when I received and handed it over, Grandmother broke off a tiny piece from the edge and promptly put it in her mouth. Holding it in her mouth, she moved her lips almost imperceptibly. Bathed in the coastal light, her lips were as beautiful as an infant’s. When one grows this old, even their food becomes akin to a baby’s—perhaps their bodily tissues were reverting to those of a newborn. Come to think of it, I felt as though I were traveling with a child rather than a mother. Grandmother sat as innocently secure as an infant—once we passed through one tunnel, the second station would finally be Ito. I became aware that the stiffness in my shoulders from recent days was gradually easing.

V

He slid the door open,

“I’m home!” he declared in a voice brimming with self-satisfied delight, his face emerging first from behind the sliding paper doors.

“Ah, welcome! You’ve made it here safely.”
“It went just as planned, I suppose.”
“Now come in right away.”

He had rearranged the two adjoining rooms by this morning, placed a reading desk by the window in the next room, and prepared a seat for Grandmother.
Grandmother looked dazed for a moment as if entering an unfamiliar house, but upon sitting down, she seemed to regain some composure,

“I’ve become such a terrible burden,” she said, politely bowing her white head.

“Ah, as you can see, it’s quite a humble abode.”

“Not at all—it’s most splendid.”
“My my, what extraordinary furnishings these are.”

We exchanged glances and laughed.

“Please make yourself comfortable.”

“I’ll be taking advantage of the hot springs for about a week.”

“Please don’t say that—you should take your time.”
“At least during the cold months.”

Grandmother seemed relieved now that his sounding out had concluded.

After everyone finished eating the heaps of rice balls the maid had prepared, I forcefully put Grandmother to bed and had the sleep-deprived maid rest in the maid’s room.

He said he was going up to the second floor to watch baseball again. Saying I'd lock up on my way out, I turned my shoes at the kitchen entrance to send a safe arrival telegram to the main family. Kuro, who had been sprawled under the stone steps, sensed movement and bounced his bulky body like a burst rubber ball, immediately breaking into his usual geh-geh cough. He had lived with us for fourteen years now, carrying filaria in his chest for ten of those years. When he woke up, he geh-geh'd. When pleased, the geh-geh started too. Whether wanting food, entry through the front door, or a nighttime bathroom trip—all requests came as geh-geh. On the rare occasions when a 'woof' escaped,

“Oh, Kuro is going ‘woof’!”

“Cheeky thing.”

We widened our eyes in surprise, then burst into laughter.
The strain from the previous day—as if I had staked something vital—had left me quite worn out; but by walking with Kuro, by walking together after leaving him lonely all night, I felt myself recovering somewhat.
Pedestrians turned around at the geh-geh cough.
Mischievous brats who knew the geh-geh dog was deaf would sometimes hurl stones from the side.
This was a creature we had to protect and care for, just like Grandmother.

While coughing geh-geh yet energetically leading ahead, I looked intently at Kuro for the first time in a long while and wondered: as a dog, was he senior or junior to Grandmother? In his youth, he had been a Shiba Inu of nearly standard form—a dog fiercely strong in fights—and not only that, he had quite a few tales of valor to his name, such as killing chickens or breaking into rabbit cages to steal them. But now, with his ears folded and tail often drooping, even toddlers just learning to walk believed him to be a harmless creature. His head had become quite mixed with white hairs, and his spine, which used to stand straight in the past, now curved toward the earth—the opposite of Grandmother’s. I had heard that human backs bend because they can no longer endure the weight of the skull, but perhaps Kuro’s spine could no longer bear the burden of his internal organs. I couldn’t help but wryly smile at myself—who, instead of having children, had ended up caring for an old dog and an old woman.

On the way back, I intended to cut through the school sports field and try signaling him on the second floor from there. But when I stood at the side gate facing our second floor, what appeared low in the distant window was not him, but Grandmother’s white head.

VI

One month passed.
Grandmother settled completely into the corner he prepared for her—crumpling paper, winding thread, searching for things whose whereabouts she forgot moments after putting them away—living with perfect decorum in a space just under three square meters.
I moved half of the chest of drawers from beside the window where his writing desk had been over to Grandmother’s area and decorated its top with a photograph of her deceased son.
Then he remarked how pale the wood grain looked and draped a Sumatran cloth over it.
He and Grandmother seemed oddly compatible.
The truth was he himself stood on old age’s threshold and felt genuine curiosity toward this ninety-three-year-old existence.

“She still has a full forty years left to live, you know,” he said to the man from the company who had come to visit.
“You’ve got another fifty years—ha ha.
“And that’s fifty years since becoming an adult, I tell you.”

The visitor assumed a troubled expression,

“Her hearing doesn’t seem to be failing either.”

“Yes. Her eyesight’s so poor she can’t thread a needle, but she can still read the newspaper.”

In the morning, he would often make coffee himself. Each time, he also prepared a small bowl under the guise of Grandmother’s portion. One morning, having finished my coffee, I stood in the kitchen and said, “I should go prepare Grandmother’s porridge,” whereupon he immediately came hurrying after me,

“Isn’t this rather too early by any measure?” he said with an expression tinged with that look Grandmother’s eyes had when she was pleased.
“Could you have mistaken the clock?”

“Nine o’clock—nearly half past, I should think.”

“Nine-thirty already? Practically midday.”

“Didn’t you know?
Six in the morning, ten o’clock, four in the evening—”

“Hah.
I suppose defying nature like this must be the secret to long life.”

Whether Grandmother had caught his fondness for baseball or not, she would now stealthily climb ladders step by step.
Baseball—something she was seeing for the first time at her age and didn’t understand—was apparently quite entertaining.

“Grandmother, the shamisen has begun.”

When he informed her,

“Oh my, how extravagant this early in the morning!”

Grandmother adjusted her collar slightly as she stood up and bustled off to the parlor where the radio was.

“How delightful that was! That was Tokiwazu no Kakubee—when I was a girl, it was first created and performed by Shikan and another. I too became utterly engrossed in practicing back then.” Until very recently, Grandmother had been prone to excessive reserve, her habitual use of expressions like “There’s no need for you to come” leaving those unaccustomed to her ways thoroughly flustered; but since settling in Ito, she had grown remarkably straightforward in her enjoyment of things. When she saw live spiny lobsters, a whole young yellowtail, or a mountain of early-ripening mandarins, Grandmother would—

“A souvenir for the afterlife,” she would murmur, growing restless from sheer delight. Then she would eat them joyfully, bathe joyfully in the hot spring, and fall asleep while daylight still lingered.

“Like this—when I stroke my cheeks like this, the wrinkles don’t feel so noticeable anymore.”
“I’ve put on weight in such a short time, haven’t I?”

Grandmother stroked her smooth, ivory-hued cheeks again and again.

“If you say so, your complexion does seem livelier now compared to when you were at the retirement residence.”

“That must be so,” she said. “I’ve truly come to feel content.”

“Isn’t that splendid? If you had come to Ito and grown thin, I would have no face to show the main family. That you keep yourself so healthy through it all—that’s what makes a child’s devotion worthwhile.”

“How can I ever express my thanks? Truly, I believe I’m a fortunate soul,” she replied. “When I was small, people often said this child would surely find happiness because she had such fine ears, but...”

“I suppose one could say that such a state of mind itself constitutes happiness.”
“For there is always something higher above, and human desires know no bounds.”

“But there can’t be anything better than this. Like this, soaking in my favorite hot spring morning and night, eating nothing but delicious things. Whenever I close my eyes for the last time, there will be nothing left to regret.”

Grandmother didn’t seem to be merely reciting diplomatic pleasantries.

Within a month, the maid finished moving Grandmother’s personal belongings and then took her leave due to an impending marriage proposal.

In Grandmother’s vacant home, the main family’s eldest son and his wife seemed to have already settled in comfortably.
I myself grew accustomed to daily life with Grandmother and began attending to things like her clothing.
Grandmother had altered her deceased brother’s striped cotton short coat into a lined garment and was wearing an apron over it, claiming it was too worn out.

“It’s getting colder by the day, but what will you wear this time?”

“But really, apart from this, I only have one good outfit left.”

"But this must be a garment made after Yoshi-chan passed away."
"And what did you wear before that?"
"Well, that—I undoubtedly *was* wearing something, but I simply can’t remember what it was."
"I believe I have certainly seen you wearing Hachijō silk before."

“I wonder if that’s the case.”
“But such things have left neither shadow nor form.”

I felt unable to fully conceal the growing gloom in my heart. At times her responses were brisk enough to startle us, yet at other times she would forget things she ought to have known well—so much so that one wanted to interject, “You know...” I could not bring myself to believe that only the kimono had vanished without trace. What a pitiful grandmother she had become, I thought, my eyes welling up with tears.

“I used to insist that my good outfits were mere living relics of my upbringing, but it’s strange not to have a single everyday garment left.”
“In any case, let’s try taking out my old clothes.”

I promptly went upstairs and brought down his threadbare Hachijō silk and the yōkan-patterned haori he hadn’t worn in years.
Grandmother began fidgeting restlessly again at the sight of such splendid things.
When I said we needed to rush these to the tailor, she replied that since they were for New Year’s there was no need to hurry, her eyes taking on a dreamlike quality.

Seven

That night too, he returned after Grandmother had gone to bed.

“This came to the office.”

What he pulled from his pocket was a telegram addressed to me.
It was a lengthy kana message requesting Mr. Yoshirou’s address and expressing their desire to include his “Mother” in Gorky’s complete works.
I widened my eyes and looked through the paper sliding door toward where Grandmother lay sleeping.
Since the publishing company didn’t even know Yoshirou had long been dead, there was no way they could know Grandmother was here.
If someone were to tell Grandmother—now stripped bare after exhausting everything—that ten thousand yen had come in, wouldn’t she start retching like Kuro?
I recalled again my brother’s lifeless expression when he had visited here a week before his death, and felt a sadness constricting my chest at the thought that if Yoshi-chan were still alive, he could have enjoyed his favorite sake.
Perhaps the publisher had sent the telegram to his company—ignoring the main family who shared our surname—guided by my deceased brother’s spirit. After several dreamlike moments passed, I wrote back to the sender that I would spare no effort for my late brother and elderly mother’s sake.

“Grandmother, you mustn’t be startled.”

With that preface, I explained the news of *Mother*’s publication to Grandmother in terms she could easily understand.
But Grandmother, perhaps tempered by her ninety-three years of life’s trials, did not so much as flicker an eyelash.

“Will it be ready in time for the first anniversary?”

“Given the circumstances of this season, I can’t say whether it will proceed as scheduled.”

“Then I simply must live until then.”

“If you keep this up—hoho—you’ll easily make it to 100.”
“But why?”
“Do you want to offer some sake to Yoshi-chan?”

“That’s also true.”
“But I would like to offer all of that here as a token of gratitude.”

“What are you saying? I couldn’t possibly accept that! Our household doesn’t have struggles like the property tax burdens of the main family household, yet even so, we live quite comfortably without any particular wants. If you were to think we’re taking care of you out of self-interest, it would be truly unbearable.”

“Who would ever think such a thing?”
“But I have no other way to repay your kindness.”
“Morning and evening I soak in my favorite hot spring, eat nothing but delicious things, without a care in the world—back when I was in Tokyo, truly every single day—”

Grandmother contorted her well-composed face at this first complaint of hers, and though she didn’t let out a wail, her crying became utterly uncontrolled.

“If you cry like that, even happiness will turn to nothing, don’t you think?”

“No, these are tears of joy.”

Grandmother wiped her tears with the hand towel that always lay beneath the table, then showed a strained smile.

And then her eyes suddenly regained their sharp clarity, and she spoke with a mischievous air.

“That’s quite all right.”
“I’ll make sure to write it properly in my will.”