Pathway to Japanese Literature

(I)

At the northern edge of Ippongi Field lay a slightly elevated mound. Dogtooth grass grew thick across it, and at its very center stood a beautiful birch tree with feminine grace. Though not particularly large, its trunk glistened glossy black while branches stretched elegantly—in May it bore clouds of white blossoms, come autumn shedding leaves of gold, crimson, and countless hues. Thus migratory cuckoos and shrikes alighted here, along with tiny wrens and white-eyes. Yet whenever a young hawk appeared, the small birds would spy it from afar and keep well clear.

This tree had two friends. One was the Earth God living in a soggy marsh about five hundred paces away, and the other was a tawny fox who always came from the southern part of the field.

The Birch Tree, if anything, preferred the Fox. For while the Earth God bore the title of deity, he was utterly crude—his hair resembled a tangled bundle of cotton threads, his eyes glared red, his robe resembled seaweed, and he always went barefoot with long black claws. However, the Fox carried himself with great refinement and rarely did anything to anger or upset others.

Yet if one were to truly compare these two, the Earth God might have been the honest one, while the Fox was perhaps slightly dishonest.

(II)

It was an evening in early summer. The Birch Tree was covered in fresh soft new leaves, their sweet fragrance filling the air, while above, the Milky Way already stretched its pale glow across the sky as stars trembled and swayed, flickering and vanishing across the entire expanse. Underneath it, Fox went to visit, carrying a poetry book. He wore a newly tailored navy suit, and his red leather shoes clicked sharply. “It’s indeed a quiet evening.” "Yes." The Birch Tree replied softly.

“The Scorpius star crawls across over there. “In ancient China they called that big red one Fire.” “Is that different from Mars?” “It’s different from Mars. “Mars is a planet, but that one’s a proper star.” “What do ‘planet’ and ‘proper star’ mean?” “Planets don’t shine by themselves. “They only look bright by borrowing others’ light. “Proper stars make their own light. “The Sun’s naturally a proper star. “Though so huge and blinding here—viewed from some impossible distance—I suppose it’d look just like a tiny star.”

“Oh, so even the Sun counts among the stars!” “When you look at it that way, there are so many suns in the sky—oh, stars—oh, but that’s strange—there is a sun after all.”

The Fox laughed magnanimously.

“Oh, I suppose that’s right.”

“Why do the stars have such red, yellow, and green hues, I wonder?”

The Fox laughed magnanimously once more and crossed his arms high. The poetry book swayed loosely yet stubbornly refused to fall. "So stars have orange, blue, and all sorts of colors?" "It’s like this." "Stars generally began as hazy cloud-like masses." "There remain many in today’s sky." "For example, they exist in Andromeda, Orion, and Canes Venatici alike." "The one in Canes Venatici forms a spiral." "There’s also what we call the Ring Nebula." "Since it resembles a fish’s mouth, it’s termed the Fish-Mouth Nebula." "Many such formations still fill our present sky."

“Oh, I’d love to see it someday!” “Oh, how magnificent a nebula shaped like a fish’s mouth must be!” “That is magnificent.” “I saw it at the Mizusawa Observatory, you know.” “Oh, I’d love to see it too!” “I’ll show you.” “I’ve actually ordered a telescope from Zeiss in Germany.” “It should arrive by next spring, so I’ll show you as soon as it comes.” Fox inadvertently spoke these words. And he immediately thought. Ah, I’ve told another lie to my only friend. Ah, I’m truly a hopeless fool. But I didn't say it out of malice. I said it thinking to make her happy. "I'll tell her everything properly later," the Fox thought to himself, sitting in silence for some time. The Birch Tree said cheerfully, unaware of such matters.

“Oh, how delightful! You’re always so kind.”

The Fox answered somewhat dejectedly. “Yes,and I would do anything else for you.” “Would you care to look at this poetry book?” “It’s by someone named Heine.” “It’s a translation,but it’s quite well done.” “Oh,might I borrow it?” “Not at all.” “Please take your time with it.” “Well then,I’ll take my leave now.” Hmm,I must have forgotten something,I thought.

“It’s about the colors of the stars.” “Ah, right right—but let’s save that for next time.” “Because I shouldn’t impose for too long.” “Oh, it’s quite all right.” “I’ll come again, so goodbye for now. “I’ll bring the book.” “Well then, goodbye.” Fox hurriedly returned. And then, while her leaves rustled noisily in the south wind that had just blown in, Birch Tree picked up the poetry book Fox had left behind and turned its pages, holding it up to the faint light from the Milky Way and the stars blanketing the sky. That Heine poetry book was filled with Lorelei and all manner of beautiful songs. And Birch Tree kept reading all night long. Only in that field, around when the Taurus constellation rose from the east past three o’clock, did she doze off slightly.

Dawn broke.

The sun rose.

Dew sparkled on the grass, and all the flowers bloomed with all their might.

From the northeast direction, bathed in the morning sun as if drenched in molten copper, the Earth God came slowly, ever so slowly. He came slowly, ever so slowly, arms crossed with an air of solemn deliberation.

The Birch Tree, feeling somewhat troubled, nonetheless turned toward the approaching Earth God, her blue leaves glittering as they moved. The shadow fell upon the grass, flickering and flickering as it trembled. The Earth God quietly came and stood before the Birch Tree. “Ms. Birch Tree. Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“You know, when I really think about it, there’s so much I don’t understand—an awful lot of things I just can’t grasp.” “Oh, what sort of things might those be?” “Take grass, for instance—it grows from black soil, so why’s it green like this? Even yellow and white flowers bloom. I just don’t get it.”

“Would it not be because the grass seeds possess blue or white?”

“Right. “Well, if you put it that way, I suppose that’s true—but even so, I still don’t get it. Take autumn mushrooms, for example—they sprout solely from the soil without any seeds, yet they still come in reds and yellows and all sorts of colors. I just don’t get it.” “Might it not be advisable if you were to ask Mr. Fox?” The Birch Tree, still entranced by last night’s conversation about the stars, ended up saying this.

Upon hearing these words, the Earth God’s face suddenly changed color. And he clenched his fist. “What? Fox? What was Fox saying?” The Birch Tree's voice trembled anxiously. “He hasn’t said anything in particular, but I thought you might know something about it.” “What in blazes—me learning from the likes of a fox? Hmph!” The Birch Tree was now thoroughly frightened and quivered and quivered. The Earth God gnashed his teeth, crossed his arms high, and paced around the area. The shadow fell jet-black upon the grass, and the grass trembled in fear.

“The likes of Fox are truly the scourge of this world!” “He hasn’t a single truthful word—cowardly, timid, and consumed by envy.” “Ugh! The impudence of that wretched brute!”

Birch Tree finally regained her composure and said.

“Your festival must be approaching soon.”

The Earth God's expression softened slightly.

“That’s right.” “Today is May 3rd—six days remain.” The Earth God remained silent in thought for a while but suddenly raised his voice again. “Yet humans are insolent! “Lately they don’t bring a single offering to my festival—damn them! The next one to first set foot in my domain, I’ll drag them down into the mud’s depths for sure.” The Earth God gnashed his teeth gratingly once more. The Birch Tree, finding that the very words she had carefully chosen to placate him had once again backfired into this outcome, became utterly at a loss. Her leaves quivered faintly in the wind. The Earth God, bathed in sunlight as if ablaze, paced restlessly about with his arms crossed high and teeth gratingly gnashed—yet the more he thought, the more everything seemed to grate on his nerves. And finally unable to contain himself any longer, he roared like a howling beast and violently returned to his marsh.

(III)

The Earth God’s dwelling was a cold wetland about the size of a small racetrack, where moss, vetch, and short reeds grew, though here and there were also patches of thistles and stunted, grotesquely twisted willows. The water was damp and clammy, with reddish iron scum surfacing here and there across its expanse, giving it a thick, sludgy appearance that looked downright eerie.

In the very center of that island-like spot stood the Earth God’s shrine, constructed from logs and standing about six feet tall.

The Earth God returned to that island and stretched out at length beside the shrine. And he scraped and scraped at his black, withered legs. The Earth God saw a bird flying straight over his head. Immediately, the Earth God sat up and shouted, “Shh!” The bird, startled, lurched unsteadily as if about to fall, then fled into the distance while gradually descending lower and lower, as though its wings had gone numb.

The Earth God smiled slightly and stood up. However, when he immediately looked toward the high ground where the Birch Tree stood, he was startled, his face changed color, and he froze rigidly in place. Then, in a manner that clearly showed his frustration, he clawed at his disheveled hair with both hands.

At that moment, a woodcutter came from the southern direction of the marsh. He seemed to be heading out to work toward Mitsumori Mountain, striding along a narrow path skirting the edge of the marsh, yet evidently still aware of the Earth God’s presence—he occasionally cast wary glances toward the Earth God’s shrine. However, the woodcutter could not see the Earth God’s form.

When the Earth God saw this, he rejoiced, his face flushing crimson. Then he thrust his right hand in that direction, grasped his right wrist with his left hand, and pulled it toward himself. Then came a strange occurrence: even as the woodcutter believed himself to be walking along the path, he seemed to be gradually venturing deeper into the marsh. Then, as if startled, his feet quickened, his face turned pale, and he opened his mouth to gasp. The Earth God slowly rotated his right fist in a full circle. Then the woodcutter, who had been gradually walking in a full circle, grew increasingly frantic and began circling the same spot over and over, panting heavily all the while. It seemed he was trying to flee the marsh as quickly as possible, but no matter how frantically he rushed, he only kept circling the same spot. Finally, the woodcutter began to sob helplessly. And he raised both hands and began to run. The Earth God, grinning smugly all the while, lay sprawled out watching this, but soon after the woodcutter—now completely frenzied and exhausted—collapsed into the water with a splash, he slowly rose to his feet. Then, squelching through the mud with great strides, he walked over there and nonchalantly tossed the woodcutter’s collapsed body toward the grassy field beyond. The woodcutter thudded heavily into the grass and seemed to stir slightly with a groan, but he still hadn’t regained consciousness.

The Earth God laughed loudly. His voice took form as an eerie wave that surged toward the sky. The skyward-bound voice soon rebounded and crashed down where the Birch Tree stood. Startled under the harsh sunlight, the Birch Tree turned pallid—her form trembling frantically as it turned a translucent blue.

The Earth God, unbearably clawing at his hair with both hands, thought to himself. The reason I’m so unhappy is primarily because of Fox. It’s more for Birch Tree’s sake than Fox’s. It’s for Fox and Birch Tree. But when it comes to Birch Tree, I’m not angry. To keep from making Birch Tree angry, I’m suffering like this. If I didn’t care about Birch Tree, then Fox would matter even less. I may be base, but I am still a god by my station. Moreover, that I must concern myself with Fox and such is pitiful. Even so, I can’t help but be concerned. Forget about Birch Tree! But no matter what, I can’t forget her. This morning, I turned pale and trembled. That admirable quality—I simply can’t forget it. I tormented such a pitiful human in a fit of irritation. But there's nothing to be done. Anyone might do something unpredictable when they're in a fit of irritation.

The Earth God, alone and anguished, thrashed about frantically. Another hawk flew across the sky, but this time the Earth God said nothing and silently watched it. Far, far in the distance came sounds of gunfire—a rapid pattering like crackling salt from what seemed cavalry exercises. From the sky pulsed a blue radiance flowing down into the field. Perhaps having absorbed this glow, the woodcutter who had been thrown into the grass earlier finally regained consciousness, cautiously rose to his feet, and kept looking around.

Then he suddenly stood up and fled at full speed. He fled at full speed toward Mitsumori Mountain.

The Earth God saw this and laughed loudly again. The voice traveled once more toward the blue sky, then midway crashed down toward the Birch Tree.

The Birch Tree, startled once more, changed the color of her leaves and trembled so finely it was nearly invisible. The Earth God paced restlessly around his shrine again and again until he finally seemed to calm down, then vanished like melting mist as he entered the shrine.

(4)

It was a deeply foggy night in August.

The Earth God wandered out of his shrine, unbearably lonely and seething with restless irritation. Before he knew it, his feet had turned toward that Birch Tree. Indeed, whenever the Earth God thought of her, his heart would inexplicably pound. And it filled him with profound sorrow. Lately his mood had changed significantly for the better. Thus he resolved to avoid thoughts of Fox or Birch Tree whenever possible—yet found himself helplessly dwelling on them regardless. "Am I not at least divine? What worth could one mere birch tree hold for me?" Day after day did the Earth God repeat this mantra to himself. Still the sorrow proved unbearable. But most excruciating of all—even briefly recalling that Fox—it felt as though his very flesh were scorching.

The Earth God, deep in thought, gradually approached the Birch Tree. Eventually he became fully aware that he was indeed heading toward her. Then abruptly his spirits began to leap. Since he hadn't visited in quite some time, it occurred to him with great force that perhaps—just perhaps—the Birch Tree had been waiting; indeed it seemed all too likely, and if that were the case, he felt terribly sorry for her. The Earth God stomped heavily through the grass, his heart pounding as he strode forward in great steps. However even his firm strides eventually faltered, and he found himself drenched from head to toe in azure sorrow, forced to stand rooted to the spot. It was because Fox had arrived. Though night had fully fallen, from beyond the murky fog bathed in hazy moonlight came Fox's voice.

“Yes, of course that’s correct.” “Just because something mechanically fulfills symmetrical principles doesn’t mean it can be considered beautiful.” “That is dead beauty.”

“That’s absolutely true.” The quiet voice of the Birch Tree came forth.

“True beauty isn’t some fixed fossilized model.” “Even if something satisfies symmetrical principles, what’s truly desirable is that it possesses the *spirit* of symmetry.” “I truly think so, Mr. Fox.” The Birch Tree’s gentle voice spoke again.

The Earth God now felt as though his entire body were burning in fluttering peach-colored flames. His breath grew hurried until it became truly unbearable. What torments you so? Is it not merely some brief conversation between Birch Tree and Fox in the field? To have your heart disordered by such trifles—can you still call yourself a god? The Earth God berated himself.

Fox said again. “Therefore, every aesthetics book discusses at least this much.” “I have quite a few books on aesthetics.”

The Birch Tree inquired. "Yes, I don't have that many, but I do have most in Japanese, English, and German." "The Italian ones are new editions, but they haven't arrived yet." "Your study—oh, how splendid it must be!" "No, it's utterly disorganized. Plus, it doubles as my research lab—over in that corner there's a microscope, here's *The London Times*, marble Caesars rolling around... it's absolute chaos."

“Oh, how splendid! Truly splendid!” Fox let out a snort that hovered between modesty and pride, and for a while, silence fell.

The Earth God could no longer remain still. When he heard what Fox was saying, he realized Fox was truly more esteemed than himself. The very lesson he had been drilling into himself—"Am I not at least divine?"—now became impossible to sustain. Agony, agony—should I burst forth and tear Fox to shreds? But such an act should never enter even my dreams! Yet what am I, if not inferior even to that fox? What must I do? The Earth God writhed as if clawing at his chest.

“That telescope from before still hasn’t arrived.” The Birch Tree said again. “Yes, the telescope from before? “It still hasn’t come.” “It’s taking quite a while.” “The European shipping routes are rather disrupted.” “When it arrives, I’ll bring it straight away to show you.” “Saturn’s rings—now those are truly beautiful.” The Earth God abruptly clapped both hands over his ears and dashed headlong northward. He grew terrified that if he stayed silent, he might do something unpredictable.

He ran off headlong. When he ran out of breath and collapsed, it was at the foot of Mitsumori Mountain. The Earth God tore at his hair while rolling around in the grass. Then he wept loudly. The sound, like untimely thunder, soared into the sky and resounded across the entire field. The Earth God cried and cried until exhausted, then returned dazedly to his shrine at dawn.

(V)

In time, autumn finally arrived. The Birch Tree was still deep green, but the pampas grass around it had already put forth completely golden ears that glimmered in the wind, and here and there, lily-of-the-valley berries had ripened red.

On a certain clear, golden autumn day, the Earth God was in high spirits. He felt as though all the various painful thoughts since this summer had hazily transformed into something like a magnificent mist, crowning his head in a ring. And now that his strangely spiteful nature had vanished somewhere—if the Birch Tree wanted to talk with Fox then let her; if both found joy in conversing that was truly a good thing—the Earth God walked toward the Birch Tree with a light heart while thinking he would tell her this today.

The Birch Tree was watching that from afar. And yet she waited, shivering anxiously. The Earth God proceeded forward and greeted her casually. “Ms. Birch Tree. “Good morning.” “It’s truly fine weather.”

“Good morning.” “It is lovely weather.” “Divine providence is truly a blessing.” “Spring turns red, summer white, autumn yellow—and when autumn yellows, grapes turn purple.” “It’s truly a blessing.” “Indeed it is.”

“I’m in an awfully good mood today. “From this summer until now, I’ve truly suffered through all sorts of hardships, but finally, since this morning, my heart has suddenly felt lighter.” The Birch Tree tried to respond, but for some reason found herself unable to reply, as if the very act had become unbearably oppressive.

“I’d give my life for anyone right now.” “If an earthworm needs to die, I’d gladly take its place.” The Earth God said while gazing at the distant blue sky. His eyes too were dark and noble. The Birch Tree tried once more to respond, but something remained unbearably oppressive, leaving her merely heaving a sigh.

At that very moment. Fox had arrived. Fox paled abruptly upon seeing the Earth God there. But unable to retreat, he advanced before the Birch Tree while trembling slightly. “Good morning, Ms. Birch Tree. That’s the Earth God over there, isn’t it?” Fox, wearing red leather boots and a brown raincoat while still sporting a summer hat, said this.

“I am the Earth God. “Fine weather we’re having.” The Earth God spoke these words with genuine cheerfulness. Fox addressed the Birch Tree, his face paling with jealousy. “Forgive my intrusion where you’re entertaining a guest.” “Here’s that book I promised you earlier.” “As for the telescope, I’ll show it to you on some clear night.” “Farewell.” “Oh, thank you ever so much,” the Birch Tree managed to say, but Fox had already begun briskly retreating without so much as acknowledging the Earth God. The Birch Tree turned ashen and trembled faintly once more, her leaves quivering with suppressed agitation.

The Earth God stood blankly watching Fox depart for some time, but when the sudden glint of Fox’s red leather boots in the grass startled him back to awareness, his head began to spin violently. Fox was walking away vigorously, shoulders squared as if in stubborn defiance. The Earth God seethed with anger. His face turned a terrifying jet-black. Muttering about aesthetics books and telescopes—“Damn it! Well, let’s see what you’ll do now!”—he suddenly gave chase after Fox. The Birch Tree, in a panic, had all her branches tremble violently at once, and Fox, sensing something amiss in her demeanor, casually glanced back—only to find the Earth God, now completely blackened, storming toward him like a tempest. Fox abruptly changed his complexion, twisted his mouth, and fled like the wind.

The Earth God felt as though all the grass around him had turned into blazing white flames. The very sky that had been glowing blue suddenly became a gaping dark hole, and at its bottom crimson flames roared and blazed, he thought.

The two roared like a train as they ran. "It’s over, it’s over—the telescope, the telescope, the telescope," Fox repeated desperately in a corner of his mind as he ran as if through a dream.

In the distance stood a small reddish-bald hill. Fox tried to enter the round hole beneath it and spun around once. Then, lowering his head to suddenly leap inside, when Fox flicked up his hind leg, the Earth God had already lunged from behind. No sooner had this happened than Fox found his body twisted by the Earth God, his mouth drawn into something resembling a faint smile as his head went limp and drooped over the Earth God’s hand.

The Earth God abruptly hurled Fox to the ground and stomped on him four or five times with crushing force. Then he suddenly jumped into Fox's hole. Inside lay desolately empty and dark, with nothing but red earth neatly compacted. The Earth God, twisting his mouth open wide, felt a strange sensation and came back outside.

Then he reached into the raincoat pocket of Fox’s limp corpse lying sprawled on the ground. Inside that pocket were two brown reed foxtail spikes. The Earth God, his mouth still gaping open from before, burst into tears with an earth-shaking wail. The tears fell upon Fox like rain, and Fox—his neck now completely slackened into a faint semblance of a smile—lay dead.