Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Niimi Nankichi

1.

The elder brother Matsukichi and his younger brother Sugisaku were a year apart in age but looked remarkably alike. Their foreheads were large for their faces; when they laughed, wrinkles formed on their foreheads like a monkey’s; and when they ran, they both splayed their hands wide open in the same manner. “You two don’t look different at all.” People would often say this. At this, Big Brother Matsukichi would purse his lips, spit saliva from the gap in his insect-eaten tooth, and retort.

“Nah. “I’ve got two whole warts!” “Sugi doesn’t have a single one!” So saying, he thrust out his bony right fist and showed it. When they looked, sure enough, there were two small warts about one centimeter apart at the base where his thumb and index finger met.

It was during last year’s summer vacation that their cousin Katsumi came from town to visit the brothers’ house. Katsumi was the same age as Matsukichi and in the fifth grade of elementary school. Though Katsumi was a fifth grader, he was small in stature—even standing next to Sugisaku, a fourth grader, he remained about five centimeters shorter—but he was a fidgety, restless child who darted about constantly. No sooner had he arrived at Matsukichi and Sugisaku’s house than he was dubbed "Twenty-Day Mouse."

Behind Matsukichi and Sugisaku’s house stood a large cinnamon tree with a trunk two arm spans around. When they crushed the bark of that tree with stones, it released a pleasant fragrance, so during midday naps when the adults were sleeping, the three of them would often tap-tap at the trunk like woodpeckers. Another time, Katsumi discovered that there was hair growing inside Grandfather’s ear, “Ha ha! Grandfather’s ear has hair growing in it!”

There had been a time when he’d jeered like this. Matsukichi and Sugisaku had known about that for ages. But Katsumi was making such a lively show of it that they ended up joining in too— “Ha ha! Grandfather’s ear’s got hair growin’ in it!”

they had jeered like this. Then, Grandfather glared at Matsukichi and Sugisaku, “What’s this, you rascals? You see it every day and know full well about the hair growing in Grandfather’s ear, yet you carry on like this!” Grandfather snapped. There were such times.

Katsumi, fascinated by the mortar, pleaded to be allowed to pound rice. However, after stepping on it about twenty times, he grew tired of it and climbed down, so Matsukichi and Sugisaku had to take over.

On the afternoon of the day before Katsumi was to return to town, the three of them carried a tub to Kinukake Pond in the back mountain. Kinukake Pond wasn’t particularly large, but because of its bottomless depth, its clear and cold water, and its distance from the village, even the local children avoided it as a place to play. The three of them, clinging to the tub, attempted to cross the pond from south to north.

When the three of them reached the southern embankment, they saw that the pond—surrounded by mountains to the east, north, and west—had nothing but those peaks and pure white clouds floating above it; not a soul was in sight. The three now felt slightly eerie. However, after going to the trouble of carrying the tub all this way, wouldn’t it be too cowardly if they were to go back without even getting in the water? Summoning their courage, they stripped naked. Then, cautiously, they lowered the tub into the reeds beneath the embankment.

The tub splashed loudly. The sound was so loud that it seemed it must have echoed across every corner of the surrounding mountains. From where the tub lay, ripples spread outward. As they watched, the ripples spread all the way to the farthest edge of the pond, where the shadow of a small pine tree swayed gently back and forth. The three of them regained a bit of energy. “We’re going in.”

“We’re going in,” said Matsukichi, looking back. “Yeah.” Katsumi nodded. The three naked boys slid into the water with successive splashes and grabbed onto the edge of the tub. And then, chuckling, they exchanged glances and laughed. Whether they laughed because it was funny or because it was too cold, even they themselves couldn’t quite tell.

Now that things had come to this, they couldn’t just stay still. The three of them moved their legs. At first, since their movements were out of sync, they could only thrash about in one spot. But before long, the three of them kicked the water in the same direction. The tub began to inch forward, little by little, toward the center of the pond.

A long time passed. The three of them were utterly exhausted. They had become tired of moving their legs. Now, how far had the three of them come? When they saw where they were, the three of them were shocked. They were right in the very center of the pond!

In the surrounding mountains, cicadas were singing out. Their minds alone grew frantic. However, their bodies would no longer move. “I can’t keep swimming.”

Sugisaku, his younger brother, said with a tearful smile. Matsukichi too felt like crying. He silently closed his eyes. “I can’t do it anymore either.” Katsumi said.

Matsukichi opened his eyes resolutely—

“Let’s head back. It’s time to go.” he said.

And then, he gave the tub a strong push in the opposite direction.

Sugisaku and Katsumi remained silent. However, they had no choice but to follow Matsukichi. On the faces of the two exhausted boys, a faint glimmer of resolve began to surface. The tub did not seem to be moving forward at all. No matter how much time passed, it did not seem they could return to the original embankment.

From time to time, the three of them cast fleeting, despairing glances toward the embankment that showed no sign of drawing nearer. At that moment, the words escaped Matsukichi’s lips: “Heave-ho!” The chant burst forth. Heave-ho!—it was a work chant that country folk would recite in unison when joining their strength to raise and lower a heavy mallet during groundwork before building a house. It was a country phrase. It was a phrase he felt embarrassed for Katsumi, a town boy, to hear. However, now, Matsukichi felt no embarrassment whatsoever. He was desperate.

“Heave-ho!”

And kicking the water, Matsukichi said again. Then, younger brother Sugisaku said in a tearful voice, “Heave-ho!” he responded. Sugisaku was desperate too. “Heave-ho!”

Matsukichi raised his voice.

This time, not only Sugisaku but even Katsumi joined in along with him, “Heave-ho!” they responded.

Katsumi, too, was desperate.

All three of them were desperate. There is nothing that unites human hearts as seamlessly as desperation.

Matsukichi felt that the feelings of the three of them were tightly clenched into the shape of a single fist. When that happened, a hundred times more strength than before came surging forth. “Heave-ho!”

“Heave-ho!” said Matsukichi.

“Heave-ho!” said Sugisaku and Katsumi. Suddenly, the tub seemed to speed up. The embankment was now right there. Look—now, one of the reeds had touched the tub. Katsumi had stayed at Matsukichi and Sugisaku’s country home for about ten days, but never before had the three of them felt so deeply connected in their hearts as they did on this final day.

When they returned home from the pond, the three of them—utterly exhausted in both mind and body—sat on the bench beneath the Fujidana, their stomachs sunken flat.

At that moment, Katsumi was stroking Matsukichi’s right hand,

“How do you get warts? I want one too,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll give you one,” said Matsukichi. “You’ll give it?” Katsumi widened his eyes in surprise. Matsukichi went into the house and brought out a single chopstick. “Where do you want it?” “Here.” Katsumi, as though disbelieving, chuckled under his breath and presented his left upper arm like someone about to receive a vaccination.

A chopstick was placed between one of the warts on Matsukichi’s right hand and Katsumi’s arm.

Matsukichi made a very serious face. And then, while looking up toward the sky, “Wart, wart, transfer.” “Wart, wart, transfer.” he chanted a spell whose meaning was clear. The very next day, the town boy Katsumi received heaps of souvenirs—eggplants, cucumbers, watermelons—and returned to his home in town.

Two

Around the time when sasanquas bloomed white behind the cowshed, Matsukichi and Sugisaku’s household made anko mochi. Known as the Harvest Celebration, this was an observance carried out by every farming household to mark the full completion of both autumn harvest and rice preparation. When Matsukichi and Sugisaku returned home from school on Saturday afternoon, it was decided they would deliver those rice cakes to Katsumi’s house in town. This was something they had already secured through their mother’s firm promise since yesterday’s mochi-making.

For in this matter, there were two good things. One was being able to meet their cousin Katsumi, whom they had grown close to over summer vacation; the other—though they didn’t want to state it too plainly—was that they would receive payment. And what’s more, unlike country folk, their uncle and aunt in town didn’t skimp when it came to money. They always gave them about fifty sen as payment.

As Mother was wrapping the tiered lunchbox filled with rice cakes in a furoshiki cloth, Matsukichi—

“Hey, Mom, if I take the train, ain’t it okay?”

he pleaded in a nasal voice. “What? The train? If you can’t even walk such a short way, then I ain’t askin’—you can just quit right here. If we have Dad make a quick trip by bicycle, that’d settle it right there.” “Hmph.” With that, Matsukichi snorted. But he found some small comfort in thinking that on the way back, with the payment they’d receive, they could ride the train.

Matsukichi and Sugisaku left home without putting on their hats. If they went to town wearing their hats, the town children would surely notice the badges and realize that Matsukichi and Sugisaku had come from the countryside. That was why the two of them hated the idea.

As the two of them were passing by the stone torii of Hachiman Shrine, there stood Kenbo, holding a spinning top and looking dejected all by himself, “Hey, Sugi. Where you off to? Wanna play?” he called out. Sugisaku,

“We’re goin’ to town, that’s why.” said Sugisaku. And the two of them passed by without so much as a glance, like people advancing toward newfound happiness.

Kenbo stood watching them go with a face like a kicked kitten.

By the time they had left the village, Matsukichi noticed his right hand was hurting. When he looked, the tiered lunchbox was being held in his right hand.

Just then, as if by perfect timing, a roughly one-meter-long piece of bamboo lay fallen by the roadside. The two of them decided to pass the bamboo under the knot of the wrapping cloth and carry it between them. Younger brother Sugisaku took the front position while older brother Matsukichi took up the rear. Carrying it this way between them made the tiered lunchbox feel remarkably light. It worked out perfectly. The two walked on silently for some time. Matsukichi began idly pondering—if they gave fifty sen. Would they really give fifty sen? But Auntie had given fifty sen last year and before that too—she'd probably do it again this year. If they gave us fifty sen—what should I buy with my share? Model airplane parts—like what Tōichi from the rice shop has—how much would those cost? Fifty sen might not cover it... Or maybe I should get a magazine instead... Wonder what little brother wants...

Matsukichi’s aimless dreams were suddenly— “Boom!”

were suddenly shattered by an earsplitting noise. Matsukichi’s guts lurched, and he almost dropped the bamboo pole he’d been carrying.

The one who let out such a voice was none other than his younger brother Sugisaku, walking just ahead. When he realized it was Sugisaku, irritation welled up in Matsukichi. “What the heck, lettin’ out such a stupid-sounding voice.”

Then, without even looking back, Sugisaku replied: “Oh, ’cause there was a kite perched on top of this tree here, so I just fired off a cannon shot.” Well, there was no helping it. Again, the two of them walked on in silence for a while. Again, Matsukichi began to think—would Katsumi be home today? If he saw our faces, how delighted he’d be. Had the wart properly taken to his arm? One of my warts had disappeared, though.

Matsukichi quietly looked at his own right hand.

III

When they entered the town, the two of them felt as if they had suddenly become shabby. In this state, even without seeing the emblems on their hats, people would know they had come from a mountain village. For one thing, town people don’t go around looking all vacant-eyed and restless like this, or nearly bump into horse carts and get yelled at. However, both of them found themselves unable to stop this restless fidgeting.

In their hearts, the two of them were feeling a shared anxiety. It was the fear that they might get caught by town children and be bullied. So, the two of them stayed on high alert, moved apprehensively, and chose routes with as few children as possible.

After passing a large bookstore called Dōmei Shoin and walking a little further, they came to Katsumi’s house in a narrow alley leading east. There, after passing Dōmei Shoin, the two of them stretched their necks like geese, peering into every narrow alley they came across. They peered into even the narrow gaps where there was no proper path—merely the space between houses.

Before long, Sugisaku—

“Ah, here it is!”

he exclaimed, as if he had found a dropped wallet. Sure enough, there in the middle of the alley was a barber’s sign shaped like a red-and-white twisted candy. —Katsumi’s house was a barbershop.

The two of them advanced without haste, like people who had seized fortune by the tail. The bamboo pole was pulled out and discarded. Matsukichi carried the tiered lunchbox. Silently moving his lips as they did in town, Matsukichi rehearsed what his mother had taught him.

When they reached the front of the shop, there before the large frosted-glass door at the entrance, bathed in the chilly afternoon winter sunlight, sat two small pots of orchids with thorns at the tip of every leaf. At the base of the orchids, eggshells had been placed upside down, with road dust piled upon them, making it look deceptively chilly. However, the inside of the shop wasn’t clearly visible through the frosted glass, but warm-looking steam was rising. There would be the kind aunt and uncle, and their dear Katsumi.

When they opened the heavy glass door and stepped inside, there was an uncle lying on his back in the tatami-matted area reading a newspaper alone. On this side of the room sat a towel steamer with its round silver head polished to a shine, rhythmically hissing steam—*joon*, *joon*—into the air. The uncle had apparently dozed off while reading and remained still for some time, but eventually startled by their presence flung the paper aside and sat up. Seeing this, the two of them froze. It wasn’t the uncle.

It was Mr. Kobei, the third son of their village's blacksmith. Mr. Kobei had graduated from school around spring of the previous year. Now that they thought of it, they seemed to recall having heard that Mr. Kobei had gone to a barber shop in town as an apprentice. The two of them gazed intently at Mr. Kobei's face and figure. Mr. Kobei had somehow grown more subdued. His complexion had turned paler, and his jawline appeared fuller. His head—likely due to working at the barbershop—was neatly cropped into a square shape. He had always been quiet, keeping his eyes narrowed in a constant smile. Yet this same person would often play pranks from behind people's backs.

Once, Matsukichi had been troubled when azuki beans were put into his ear. Whether Mr. Kobei still remembered such things now or had forgotten them—in any case, even now, Mr. Kobei stood with both hands in the pockets of his white work apron, smiling as he looked at the two of them.

Mr. Kobei said that today both the master and mistress had gone off to some Konkōkyō thing or other, and that Katsumi-chan still hadn’t come back from school yet. The two of them were a little disappointed.

“But it’s only three o’clock—wait a bit longer, I say. The mistress might come back any minute now,” said Mr. Kobei.

At that, hope welled up once more. The two of them crowded together at the edge of the entryway and sat down. Mr. Kobei, saying he’d take the rice cakes for now anyway, went into the back, making a clattering noise, and before long emerged with the empty tiered lunchbox wrapped again in the wrapping cloth. Matsukichi received it and placed it beside his knee. Five minutes had passed since then. The aunt still hadn’t returned. Neither the uncle nor Katsumi had returned. Matsukichi and Sugisaku let out small sighs together.

Mr. Kobei had been watching their heads, but “Your hair’s gotten pretty long. How ’bout I give you a cut instead of payment?” said Mr. Kobei.

The two of them exchanged glances and stifled a chuckle. Neither Matsukichi nor Sugisaku had ever once had their hair cut at a barber shop since they were born. The one that had always cut their hair was the pair of clippers gripped in their father’s or mother’s hand. Those clippers had been in terrible condition for five or six years now, sometimes suddenly snagging violently and becoming impossible to remove or manage, so the two of them didn’t much care for getting their hair cut at home.

The two of them looked at the splendid stool before their eyes. It had white ceramic armrests. The part where one sits was covered with black leather. The part to lean against was also black leather. On top of that, there was even something like a small pillow attached. The lower part had a metal footrest for placing one’s feet, which bore openwork patterns. They would sit on this splendid stool and have it done for them. The two of them once again exchanged glances for some unspoken reason.

Urged by Mr. Kobei, Matsukichi and Sugisaku yielded precedence to each other, pressing themselves back toward the corner in mutual retreat—but in the end, it was decided that Big Bro Matsukichi would go first.

Matsukichi timidly climbed onto the splendid stool. He felt as if he had ascended to an absurdly high place. In the large mirror directly before him, his own gourd-shaped face reflected back with such stark clarity that he grew ashamed. Mr. Kobei wrapped Matsukichi from the neck down in a spotless white cloth. He couldn’t move his hands at all.

Mr. Kobei took out a pair of hair clippers from somewhere. The hair clippers looked just like the ones they had at home. When the hair clippers touched him, Matsukichi instinctively hunched his shoulders. He thought these clippers might snap at him too.

When he saw something drop onto the white cloth, it was his own black hair that had been cut. “Oh,” he realized, “so it was already being cut.” It didn’t hurt one bit. There, Matsukichi finally relaxed his shoulders in relief. When his hair had been cut off, Matsukichi thought this was the end. At home, that had always been all there was to it. However, to his surprise, the stool let out a faint creak and began tilting backward.

“Ah!” Matsukichi let out a cry. However, the stool had not fallen over. Only the backrest had extended backward, so that the person sitting came to lie on their back—that was all. As he gazed at the white ceiling and the large frosted glass lamp shaped like a cabbage head, suddenly something hot and wet splatted across his entire face, leaving him unable to see. Sugisaku, who had been watching, found it amusing and burst out laughing with a “Ha ha ha ha!” Matsukichi also wanted to laugh, but with his face covered, he couldn’t manage it. He came to fully understand that people laugh with their faces. What had been placed on his face was a steamed towel.

Mr. Kobei removed the towel and, using something like a thick brush, lathered soap foam onto Matsukichi’s face before beginning to shave from his hairline with a razor. At that moment, Matsukichi remembered how Mr. Kobei, back when he was still a child living in the village, used to play pranks on him and the others. Mr. Kobei would often sneak up from behind and slip his hands down people’s backs or tickle their armpits. And then, he narrowed his small eyes and smirked.

Even now, Matsukichi felt restless, convinced Mr. Kobei might launch into one of those pranks at any moment. Especially when Mr. Kobei pinched his ear and shaved his ear hair twice, Matsukichi became certain the man had revived his old mischief. He nearly burst into stifled laughter. But when he saw Mr. Kobei’s face, it held a solemn expression. This wasn’t playfulness—it bore the look of an adult immersed in work.

Matsukichi understood that because Mr. Kobei had become an adult, he wouldn’t play around anymore. Adults are supposed to work. Even something that looked like a prank—such as pinching someone’s ear while shaving it—Mr. Kobei did seriously, for it was his job. To Matsukichi, becoming an adult seemed like a promise to stop fooling around and become serious. He felt a vague sense of loneliness.

After washing his head at the corner sink, returning once more to the stool, and having a slippery substance spread on his face, Matsukichi was done. This time, his younger brother Sugisaku took his turn and got onto the stool.

When he looked at the clock, it was 3:40. Earlier, the sunlight had been streaming down to the bottom of the glass entrance door, but now only a faint remnant remained near the top, as if forgotten.

Just then, the entrance door clattered open violently, and a boy wearing a brown jacket entered holding a handbag.

“I’m baaack.”

It was Katsumi. Matsukichi and Sugisaku sprang back to life in an instant. The words "Katsumi-chan" rose in Matsukichi's throat. However, there they stuck. In contrast to Katsumi's overwhelmingly urban appearance, their own country roughness came rushing back to them.

Katsumi first met eyes with Matsukichi, then with Sugisaku. However, Katsumi’s eyes were cold, as if looking at strangers. Matsukichi wondered if he still didn’t realize that we were Matsukichi and Sugisaku. It was a maddening feeling.

Katsumi did not stay there long. He climbed the stairs behind Matsukichi and went up to the second floor.

But Matsukichi still hadn’t given up hope. Katsumi had probably gone upstairs to take care of a small errand and would come back down any moment now. And that he would play with us, Matsukichi was thinking. But Katsumi simply did not come back down. Eventually, two who seemed to be Katsumi’s friends, “Katsumiii!”

With that, they entered the shop from outside. Katsumi came down from the second floor.

Matsukichi’s heart pounded with excitement. This time for sure, he thought Katsumi would say something to them. However, Katsumi didn’t even glance at Matsukichi. And then, beckoning his two town friends, the three of them stomped up to the second floor together.

Matsukichi felt as though he had been pushed off a cliff. The ground beneath his feet transformed into something bleached-white and desolate.

Matsukichi understood. To Katsumi, Matsukichi and Sugisaku—whom he'd played with in the countryside for about ten days—meant absolutely nothing. In Katsumi's town life, unlike in the countryside, there were so many things going on that this was only natural.

IV

Matsukichi and Sugisaku walked from the town toward the village with faces as though their souls had drained away. The empty tiered lunchbox, stuffed into the pocket of Matsukichi’s trousers, dangled carelessly from his right hand, bumping against his backside with every step. In stark contrast to their hearts brimming with hope on the way there, what a hollow, evaded feeling they carried on their return.

When he thought about it, today had been utterly ridiculous. First, Katsumi had completely ignored them. Second, since they hadn't received their payment, they couldn't take the train back either. Third—again because of not getting paid—their dream of buying magazines and model airplane materials had gone up in smoke.

When he thought that they were being sent home like this—ditched and shorn bald—Matsukichi suddenly felt the evening wind seeping into his freshly shaved head and the nape of his neck. “Boom!” Sugisaku suddenly shouted. Thinking it might be a kite again, Matsukichi looked around, but nothing of the sort could be seen anywhere.

Beyond the withered mulberry fields, the crimson sun was now sinking. “What’s there?”

Matsukichi asked Sugisaku.

“Nothin’ there. I just tried firin’ a cannon, is all,” said Sugisaku.

Matsukichi understood his brother’s feelings as clearly as if he could hold them in his hand. His younger brother was lonely too, just like him. So Matsukichi, too, “Boom!” And then, he fired a cannon shot.

Then Matsukichi felt this way—that being ditched by others like today would surely happen countless times from now on. No matter how many times we faced such sadness, we ought to just keep walking straight through it with calm faces.

“Boom!”

And then, Sugisaku fired another shot.

“Boom!” And Matsukichi answered in kind. The two of them, blasting away their cannons with booming echoes, gradually brightened their spirits as they made their way home.