Pathway to Japanese Literature

Heading north from Akita City, after being jostled by the train for about an hour, one arrived at a small station called Ichinichiichi. From here, the railway tracks branched off, leading to the town called Gojōme. It was a small town. A town somehow complacent, as if still napping encased within the shell of the feudal era. In fact, even the station name used at Ichinichiichi had originally been accustomed to being called by this town’s name, but before anyone knew it, it had been taken away. It was because the town had been napping. While dozing, this town appeared to be aging and withering away.

Among the townspeople, few used the railway tracks. Knowing full well how foolish it was to spend money unnecessarily on places easily reached by foot, most would walk back and forth along the thoroughfare running alongside the railway tracks. When the railway tracks were still unused, covered wagons had traversed this thoroughfare, and once snow began piling up, these would be replaced by box sleds. For the townspeople, life had been better in those days. Civilization was something that cost money, they grumbled.

Along this thoroughfare lay a place called Seven Bends. A giant aged pine tree served as a landmark, and though this area appeared to be an ideal resting spot for those on foot, the townspeople seldom stopped there. Those who rested here could be recognized as rural folk at a glance. One would often see horse handlers tying their horses to this pine tree and taking a breather. At such times, a complex expression—part aloofness, part scorn, tinged with a sense of superiority—would flit across the townspeople’s faces.

The pine tree, gnarled and knotted, steeped in the storms of bygone years, stood at Seven Bends as it always had. As November arrived, the snow that had begun falling sporadically started to accumulate, and by the time the New Year approached, the world transformed into a bleached monochrome as far as the eye could see. By early February, the snow had piled so high that one could traverse between rooftops along the road. The children, bundled into round shapes with straw boots on their feet, hopped nimbly from roof to roof, chattering excitedly about how the pine tree at Seven Bends had grown small.

From the town’s rooftops, the pine tree appeared truly low in stature, dwarfed and half-buried in snow. In this town, a market was held every seventh day. The breath of the aging, withering town seemed to be faintly sustained through these market days. When it came to “Gojōme’s market days,” it had long been customary for people from nearby villages to gather. Through the upper and lower districts of the town’s main thoroughfare, vendors lined up along both sides. People thronged.

This story began when the mountains had just started to turn white. During this season, freshly caught whitefish and small crucian carps from nearby Hachirōgata—still tangled with thin strands of algae—were measured out by the masu from wicker baskets. It wouldn’t be long before the catfish vendors’ cries grew clamorous. Buyers would try to swiftly pick out sections brimming with brico (roe), sparking small disputes with sellers.

The women selling mushrooms called out without pause. There were many small nameko mushrooms carried from the deep mountains. Seeing them being measured out with dried leaves still clinging to them, the buyers complained with a laugh. Then they made them throw in just a pinch extra. Amidst these vendors, the town’s small merchants also set up shop. Geta shops and cotton clothiers and sundries stores selling small goods... Market days were boom times for drinking stalls, with several stands lined up under slightly soiled noren curtains fluttering. Even before unloading their goods, some young men were already heading off to gulp down unrefined sake. They’d end up drunk, raising boisterous voices while carousing about and forgetting their loads entirely. The companion to such drinking buddies was invariably the oil shop’s Old Man Senta.

Senta was the town’s drinking ringleader. When it came to alcohol, there was no one who could rival him. It was said that the townspeople had never once seen this old man walking about sober. Senta’s oil shop had once been counted among the town’s most prominent old families, but had since fallen into decline. Now, his heir son Senichi single-handedly managed the sprawling shop structure that had stood since ancient times. It was rumored by the townspeople that Old Man Senta had nonchalantly drunk dry the fortune left by his predecessors.

Senta had remained a widower all this time, but regarding this matter, the townspeople speculated in various ways. There were even rumors of a secret mistress in the outlying villages, but these seemed to be false. Though rumors swirled about him, Senta was shunned by the townspeople. The only ones who kept him company were his fellow drunkards. When the lanky Senta, draped in a padded kimono, walked through town with his shambling gait, people would avert their paths and hurry past. At such times, a kind of aloof, scornful, forced expression would flit across the townspeople’s faces. It resembled the expression people wore when gazing at the pine tree of Seven Bends and observing the rural folk resting in its vicinity.

In the townspeople’s minds, the pine tree of Seven Bends was always associated with Senta, leaving an eerie impression.

This happened back when covered wagons still traversed the thoroughfare, making it a tale from quite some time ago. An incident occurred that stirred up this small town, which had been sunk in a deep slumber.

At that time, the young Senta was overwhelmed by his daily gloom. He could think of nothing but his cherished wife, O-Taka. What began as a trivial matter of loans had escalated into a rivalry between their parents, and O-Taka had been taken back to her family home.

From then on, young Senta continued taking his dog Kuro into the mountains day after day.

The dog plunged into the kumazasa thicket that day too, its tail coiled rightward. Senta stumbled over a gnarled root and nearly fell, but steadying himself, he drew a deep breath of gelid air and shifted his rifle across his shoulders. The wind swept down from Moriyama—its monk’s pate dusted with faint snow—and roared through the pine grove before dying away. Ominous clouds smothered the mountain sky.

Senta crashed through the thicket and plunged into the underbrush.

“Kuro!” “Kuro!” The dog waited, its black, pointed face peering through the bamboo grass. “What’re you doing?” “There ya go! Right there!”

The bamboo thicket rustled violently and undulated wildly for some time. The dog turned its black eyes again. It seemed at a loss. "What’re you doing!"

Senta shouted. And from the waist down, he stood stock-still, covered in bamboo grass. The pine grove roared thunderously. The clouds spread overhead as if to threaten. A crow hurriedly flew toward the foothills.

The dog lowered its tail and emerged from the thicket onto the path. Shivering, it briskly ran up the slope. Senta stood motionless in the same spot, the morning sun caught in his mouth as he sank deeper into thought.

“Isn’t that Kuro? Don’t go startling me now!” A voice came from beyond the pine grove. The doctor from Furukawa Town came down with the dog. The stones crunched noisily. “Mr. Senta, caught anything?” Senta remained silent and bowed.

“What’d you come to hunt?”

“Me? Hell if I know what I came to hunt.” “With this weather… Don’t even run into any mushroom pickers…” “Is your father home?”

The doctor stroked his red beard with the back of his hand. “He’s still the same. Whether asleep or awake, he does nothing but flick those abacus beads.” Senta’s father ran an oil business and also lent money at high interest rates. “It’s all well and good fiddling with abacus beads, but you’re turning into quite the problem yourself.”

Senta exited the thicket and followed the doctor down the path. Kuro hurried ahead at a brisk pace, several yards ahead. And he occasionally looked back.

The clouds completely covered the sky, and it looked ready to pour at any moment. The pine grove roared, its sound reverberating.

“There ain’t nothin’ I can do. No matter what I say, it won’t help, Sensei.” “Last night, your father came and I got the gist of things, but the Sugawaras forcibly taking away Ms. Taka when she’s heavy with child—that’s against all reason! Your father’s being stubborn too—a promise is a promise, after all—but even if you can’t do it right now, there must be a way to phrase it without outright refusal. For your family, a thousand yen shouldn’t be impossible to manage, and now that we’re down to the wire about seeing your grandchild’s face, if the parents keep butting heads like this, even this matchmaker here won’t have a leg to stand on…”

“I think so too. I’ve pleaded with Father countless times, but now it’s Mother who’s being stubborn and egging him on—that’s how things stand. She spews every possible insult about Taka—last night she even said something like, ‘Good riddance—one less mouth to feed’… When I think how cruel that is, I end up losing my temper and shouting back. Lately, staying home feels so stifling I’ve taken to spending all my time in the mountains.”

Senta walked along, brushing one hand against the pine tree by the roadside. “Since I’m the one who arranged this marriage, I gotta see it through somehow. First off, I can’t even show my face in public like this.” “You gotta tough it out a while longer and keep from pickin’ fights.” “Once things settle down, you should get yourselves registered at the town office and set up a separate household—just the two of you.”

After letting Senta pass by, Yanagiya-sensei stood urinating while looking up at the sky.

“Damn, these clouds are moving fast!” Senta waited a short distance ahead. Flicking away pebbles with his fingertips, he found himself recalling O-Taka’s vibrant figure from their newlywed days—for no particular reason. The endearing pout when she jutted out her chin, the dewy freshness at her collar as she shyly looked down, even the way she’d raise her little finger to brush back the thin black curls clinging to her forehead—all rose vividly before him.

Emerging onto the thoroughfare, the two walked side by side. Dust enveloped them and streamed swiftly away into the dry fields. From the rice fields, crows took flight one after another after another. “Sensei, damn, this wind’s brutal.”

A man with his cheeks wrapped in a cloth passed by. He glanced at Senta and sneered.

Senta walked with his head bowed. "If you'd just help me out here—please make the effort." "I'll never forget what you've done for me." Senta repeated it over and over.

At the corner where the town street turned toward Furukawa-cho, Senta made the same request once again. The doctor’s lips curled into a smile. “Mr. Senta, you just can’t forget her, can you?” “Ah… No matter what—I want to be with Taka.” Senta responded earnestly. And there in the cold, shaded sunlight, he kept watching as the doctor in his high-collared coat—hand still pressed to his hat—gradually grew smaller and smaller.

Outside had grown dark, and a fierce wind was blowing.

At the barber shop, neighbors gathered and were chatting or playing shogi. The master himself, wearing a yellowed, soiled apron, was reading a newspaper with a hatchet-shaped pipe clamped between his teeth. A single dim ten-candlepower light was burning. “Resenting the world’s cruelty… What’s this? Another double suicide in the prefecture…”

The master set down his pipe, placed his well-fleshed hand on the newspaper, and began reading aloud.

The tatami maker leaned forward. "Speakin' of double suicides—my place is crawlin' with nothin' but women... Hey, Master—we'd have to pull off a parent-child suicide ourselves at this rate..." "How 'bout sendin' her to work as a maid at the oil shop?" "Lately, I hear they're short-handed and lookin' for a maid." "That oil merchant family's hearth has grown mighty large, hasn't it? "These days, they say they're even lendin' to factories across the prefecture."

Without pausing his shogi move, the joiner interjected. “Mr. Toki from the town office said they’d bought up all of Miura’s family’s mountains.”

“Nah, that ain’t it. Mr. Suzuki from the registry office—he came in for a haircut last night and said it’s only half the back mountain. And not even bought outright—put up as collateral for a loan.” “With the rich, it’s all about hoardin’ money. The more it piles up, the filthier it gets, they say. The oil shop’s old man is one thing, but that tightfisted old lady—after market days, I hear she makes ’em take a basket to gather leftover chicken feed.” “And they’re tryin’ to weasel outta taxes too—even when they got elected to the town council, I hear they only bought two shō of sake. Then that old lady only brought pickled vegetables and said, ‘This here’s all we’re drinkin’ with.’ ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ the old Handyman was sayin’.”

“The Handyman? Damn—even if you dumped a whole ton on ’im, he’d still be whinin’ ‘Had enough!’ I tell ya.”

Everyone laughed in unison. "My, what a lively bunch!"

Hizuka Jijirou, the registry clerk, entered with a clatter of the glass door. He pressed his face close to the mirror, frowning and contorting his mouth as he examined it, “Maybe age is doin’ this—wrinkles multiplyin’ like crazy,” he muttered to himself. “Just gotta trim this beard.”

The master stood up. “With a face like yours, it makes no difference whether you trim it or not. Well, let me give it a trim anyway.” “If a ladies’ man like you starts sayin’ stuff like that now, the Master’ll have to close up shop. Huh?”

The tatami maker protested. “Besides, Ms. O-Taka’s been comin’ out now.”

The joiner tacked on. "What about Ms. O-Taka?"

Jijirou declared sharply. “Hey now, don’t go teasin’ her too much.” “Ms. O-Taka’s just the treasurer’s daughter who came back home divorced.” “There ain’t no lingering feelings—she’s nothin’ but a knocked-up woman now.” “You’re struttin’ around all high and mighty, but ain’t you sweet on Ms. O-Taka yourself?” “Lately, they’re sayin’ Mr. Sugawara’s been layin’ it on thick with someone.”

The joiner hadn’t backed down. “Just now—ran into Tomii from Back Alley—said he saw Yanagiya-sensei and Mr. Senta comin’ down from the mountain together all chummy-like.” “Not even half a month gone by and they’re slidin’ right back into that old groove.” “You lot oughta quit flappin’ your jaws ’bout things you don’t know squat about!”

The tatami maker intervened. Everyone briefly fell into an awkward silence, their voices stilled.

The barber shop master steered the conversation toward O-Taka in a lively tone meant to lift everyone’s spirits. They too, caught up in his momentum, grew animated.

“Both sides ain’t without their complaints, mind you.” “The start of it all was this.”

The master formed a circle with his finger. Everyone’s opinions were divided. O-Taka’s uncle, who owned a lumber mill in the prefecture, had borrowed ten thousand yen from the oil shop—interest-free and with no repayment deadline—when expanding his factory. When they heard the factory was faltering due to the recession, the oil shop began pressing urgently. They demanded immediate repayment, threatening to take him to court if he refused. This was why O-Taka’s father flew into a rage and took her back home—or so claimed the Tatami Maker.

“Well now, I hear it was Mr. Sugawara who provided funds to that prefectural factory.” “Turns out he funneled insurance money to cover the shortfall, but when he asked the oil shop to repay it, all he got were empty promises.” “Since they didn’t show any sign of coughing up the cash, Mr. Sugawara flew into a rage.” “Can’t blame him for getting furious.” Hizuka Jijirou, the registry clerk, said with a know-it-all air. Everyone found it hard to trust either side, but given that Jijirou worked at the same town office as Sugawara, they listened to his words with greater weight.

Sugawara Magoichi, O-Taka’s father, served as the town treasurer while also operating an insurance agency. There had been rumors that even before this, when his embezzlement was discovered and disputes arose with the company, the mayor had intervened each time to mediate and resolve matters.

The master, who had been puffing on his clogged pipe until it glowed red, huffed a deep breath and—

“The one to be pitied is Ms. O-Taka, I tell you.” “A woman of such delicate beauty.” “How about it, Mr. Jijirou—care to give it a try?” “It’s no use.” “But if Ms. O-Taka liked you, what’d you do then, huh?”

Jijirou fell silent.

“I knew it.”

The master nodded. The glass door clattered open, and a sudden cold wind rushed in. Kuro entered. After that, Senta lumbered in. Everyone fell silent and looked at Senta’s face. His eyes alone were unnaturally large, glowing with an eerie light.

“Good evening—everyone’s all here.”

And after shooting a brief glance at Jijirou, he sat down before the mirror without another thought. “Master, give me a shave.” The master tapped the hearth embers with a pat-pat sound and blew smoke through his nose in a soft puff. “Cold’s set in proper, hasn’t it?” They were plainly rattled. The tatami maker and two others left, muttering about unfinished work. The joiner started a shogi game with the barber’s eldest son. Hizuka Jijirou pretended to read his newspaper while humming “Obako-bushi” through his nose.

“My, how Kuro’s grown!”

The master gazed at Kuro while sharpening his razor. Then he went to fetch hot water from the back room. Senta stared at the mirror with unblinking eyes. He appeared completely disconnected from his surroundings.

When he had finished the initial shave, the master sharpened his razor again. “Master, I’ve got a Western razor I bought from within the prefecture at my place. Which cuts better—that or a Japanese razor?” In the mirror, Senta asked. “Th-that’s… that’d be a Western razor.” “But if you’re not used to it, you’ll cut yourself.”

Jijirou let out a big yawn and left. “So, was there some interesting talk?” “I was just reading this morning’s newspaper article about the love suicide.” The master laughed awkwardly. Then he tested the sharpness by applying the honed razor to his head.

Outside, the wind still hadn’t subsided. The glass door rattled violently. Senta tightly pursed his lips each time his face was stroked with cold water. "Why don’t you take a smoke break?" Senta stood up and brushed off his front, whereupon the master picked up the pipe by the hearth. Kuro heaved itself up and followed its master out. "Mr. Senta’s changed..." The master muttered to himself while stuffing his pipe with tobacco.

The rain never came. The wind roared violently through the darkness. The steam whistle of a train running on tracks a mile away could faintly be heard echoing.

The graveyard was dark, and the chinquapin trees groaned and howled in agony.

Senta remained standing and struck match after match. “You should sit down…” O-Taka crouched down and used her sleeve as a screen. “Aren’t you cold?” “More importantly—since we can’t let anyone see us—if you’d just make yourself a little smaller…” Senta stifled a laugh and, hunching his shoulders as if to shrink himself, drew closer to O-Taka. “It’s no use.”

He crushed the tobacco underfoot, held his breath for a moment, then finally asked resolutely. “The other day, when you came home late—did they say anything?” “No, nothing.” “But they might know and just be pretending they don’t…” Senta’s agitation gradually subsided. And he went on to recount everything that had happened since then. “Depending on how I present myself, there’s a prospect Father might yield, but Mother remains stubborn and shows no sign of consenting. ‘We didn’t buy a bride with money!’ she insists stubbornly.” Senta said, lowering his eyes. O-Taka also lowered her eyes and listened. Their relationship had begun during their time at a prefectural school, so of course their love was pure and beyond reproach. However, now that things had grown so complicated, there was truly nothing left to be done. “My stubborn mother may be pigheaded, but your father was too quick-tempered when he dragged you back like some stray dog. But Yanagiya-sensei said today as well that he’d get everything settled properly, and since I’ve pleaded with him over and over, surely everything will work out. Yanagiya-sensei intends to help me with matters at the town office as well. He even went so far as to say we should live apart and have a home just for ourselves.” Senta said this and clutched O-Taka’s hand. O-Taka stroked Senta’s hand with her other hand—the one not being gripped.

“They say you’re always going up to the mountains?” O-Taka asked in a small voice. “Ah, staying home during the day is unbearable.” “I just can’t click with Father and Mother.” “And even when I walk through town, everyone stares at me funny.” “Just now—went to the barber for a shave—soon as I walked in, they all left.” “Every last one looks at me like I’m dirt.” “Then I think—like hell they’ll break me!” “If only I had you now…” “If you’d just keep believing in me—that’d be strength for a thousand men.” “To hell with the whole damn lot!” “And Sensei’s still got my back, y’know.”

O-Taka reached out to Senta’s face. “You’re really beautiful!” “It’s just to see you. I wonder what the barber shop master was feeling when he put the razor to me.” Senta gave a low laugh. And then he tightly embraced O-Taka.

Suddenly, the two of them thought the wind had died down. However, it was Kuro who had come to be beside them before they knew it. “It’s just Kuro. There there.” O-Taka stroked his head. Kuro sniffed, snorted, and licked her hand all over.

Senta continued talking. Even so - being apart like this made each passing day unbearably painful. Even if their feelings hadn't changed - wasn't this situation just like them having changed? Even asking Yanagiya-sensei felt too roundabout; he couldn't bear waiting. How about this - why not go straight to his house now? They should plead directly with their parents together. After all - they were still children wanting grandchildren - if only they stayed firmly united - surely even those stubborn elders wouldn't say such heartless things. Senta grew increasingly agitated. They'd leave negotiations between parents to Sensei. If objections persisted - couldn't they just run away together? They could disappear straight to Tokyo.

O-Taka remained still, intently attuned to Senta’s increasingly agitated breaths. “But in my condition…”

O-Taka sighed. “Instead of that, why don’t we go to Yanagiya-sensei’s place, have both our parents come, and settle the matter once and for all?” “That’s it!”

With that, Senta sprang to his feet. O-Taka tried to restrain him, “Today, Father went to the prefecture on town office business and is supposed to return on the last train, so perhaps we should do it tomorrow…”

“No, let’s do it today.” “Let’s go now.” “This is a matter of life and death for us both!” “Let’s go right now.”

Senta stood up.

The horn of a carriage that had arrived in town quivered through the wind. “Father might have returned…” O-Taka wanted to weigh it all again carefully. When she imagined it ending in failure, she desperately needed to curb Senta’s racing heart. But knowing her husband’s single-minded intensity, she resigned herself to inevitability and let herself be led onward. They left the cemetery side by side. The darkness was absolute.

“What’s wrong with it? We’re married.” Senta stubbornly refused to walk apart. Then he suddenly pulled O-Taka into a fierce embrace. “Oh you!” “Someone might see!” O-Taka whispered haltingly between labored breaths. The road stood empty. Yet she walked half a step behind him, head bowed and kimono hem clutched tight.

Kuro walked ahead of the two.

The meeting at Yanagiya-sensei’s residence had ended in failure. Through Yanagiya-sensei’s mediation, the young ones were sent home first, leaving matters to a discussion between the parents themselves. O-Taka’s father Sugawara Magoichi’s position ran thus:

“Some in town may say I traded my daughter for money, but I’m the town treasurer here—it’s not like I’ve done anything as barbaric as offering her up like some human sacrifice. From the start, they were in love of their own accord—I was even happy about it. But that’s separate from how the oil shop people made such a firm promise about repaying the loan. It’s mortifying to bring this up, but we were backed into a corner ourselves. If they can’t even follow through on that now, I can’t see how we’d manage as relatives going forward. So I figured it’s best to settle things now and take her back.”

Senta’s father responded thus. “Regarding that matter—unless we explain our side properly, you’ll never understand.” “Like I explained to Sensei earlier too—we ain’t bought O-Taka with money, nor do we got a money tree planted at home. We’ve been tryin’ our damnedest to scrape things together, figured we’d at least cut the interest rates soon as we could… But what with this rotten economy, the shop can’t sell a drop, loans ain’t payin’ a lick of interest… Forcin’ us like this—‘do it or we’re takin’ O-Taka back’—it’s downright cruel…”

“You claim to be so hard up for money, yet I hear you lent five thousand yen to that woodworking company in the prefecture just last month! The oil shop people spin pretty tales, but seems you’ve got no cash that breeds interest… Sensei, listen to this—” “This ain’t something I’d tell just anyone, oil shop people—I didn’t come beggin’ to you on some fool whim.” “The insurance company’s been houndin’ me—they want every last yen of what I spent paid back by last month’s end. If I don’t send it, Mayor-san—my guarantor—gets dragged through the mud. I’ll be run outta town, and no matter how much Mr. Senta sticks by her, Taka’ll be shamed right along with me! That’s why I’ve been sayin’ from the start—cut the damn interest if you want, just put up a scrap of land as collateral!” “You knew all that, yet here we are at rock bottom and you claim you can’t scrape two coins together—like you’ve played me for a fool!” “You’ve heard it yourself—you’ve got money stacked up, but the whole town says your lot’s tighter than a rusted lock.” “Your kind’d watch a man drown and call it thrift, I tell you.”

At this point, Senta’s mother would not remain silent. “We’ve paid the woodworking company through proper channels, so there’s no reason for you to nitpick every little thing.” “Going on about ‘relatives’ this and ‘relatives’ that—if we’re stuck cleaning up after debts you recklessly racked up, we’ll be left losing both principal and interest!” “Even if we consider Senta’s future, it’s like we’re hauling around a money bag full of holes—utterly pointless.”

The oil shop people came to her support. “We’re offering to lend you seven hundred yen interest-free for five whole years, yet when you come hounding us about your own loan like this—well, it just makes us dig in our heels and refuse!” “This is how it’s going, I tell you. “You’re downright demons!”

“Hmph, if we’re demons, Mr. Sugawara, then aren’t you a starving demon? You’re doing nothing but leeching off others’ money. You’re nothing but a dangerous treasurer, that’s what!”

Yanagiya-sensei’s mediation had all ended in futility. The two parties, now clearly estranged in their emotions, grew even more agitated by their memories as they made their way home through the cold wind.

Yanagiya-sensei spoke to his wife while settling into bed around midnight. “They’re both as bad as each other.” “It’s a pity for Senta and Ms. O-Taka—the matter’s ended with them parting ways.” “We’ve settled on having the oil shop take custody of their child.” “Nothing more can be done.” “There’s nothing left I can do.”

And then,

“I’d sooner die than play matchmaker again,” he remarked.

Days of clear skies began to linger.

The ditches swelled with water, and fragments of ice clattered downstream as they flowed. When digging through slushy snow with shovels, they found blue butterbur sprouts scattering amidst the white. Black soil showed itself beneath sunlit walls. Sleds were already stored away in sheds. Children faced growing scoldings from mothers for tabi socks caked thick with mud. At times they played with faces smeared dirty. Hands on shoulders and tiptoes stretched high, they peered at Moriyama floating in blue skies, counting days until setting field fires with hearts pounding.

Senta was up on the roof throwing down snow. “Look out!” The children filled mandarin orange crates with snow and carried them to the ditch. The dammed water gradually swelled until it burst through the snow with a heavy crash, prompting them to let out a simultaneous cheer. Senta strained his ears. The faint cry of an infant could be heard from the room below. “Don’t make him cry!” he bellowed from above. The mother’s grumbling voice could be heard. Ever since the baby had been delivered, Senta’s mother had known he’d grown extremely silent and terribly short-tempered. And she, feeling partially responsible herself, tried not to oppose him whenever possible.

It was a child who cried often. Especially at night, the child continued to cry without cease.

That night was cold. It was that severe freezing cold which often assailed as winter drew to a close.

Senta awoke abruptly to the infant’s cries. He heard his mother sigh. “What a troublesome child.” “Why did you have to be born into this world again?”

Senta, flaring up, jumped to his feet and snatched the infant from his dumbfounded mother. He rushed outside, clutching the suddenly wailing infant. The father chased after him to the doorway.

“Sen! Have you lost your mind?” Outside had frozen solid, and the wooden clogs clattered. Kuro panted, exhaling white breath as he ran ahead of his master. Senta pressed the infant tightly against his own skin. “There, there now. There, there.”

There were no passersby. A dog’s distant howl could be heard. Senta had parted with O-Taka at Sensei’s place and hadn’t seen her since. He waited at the Shinji Temple cemetery three days later, but even two hours past the appointed time, O-Taka did not come. At the time, he had interpreted her absence as an act of kindness—that she stayed away to avoid the cold harming her body—but after that, she never appeared before Senta again.

The child was brought by midwife Ms. Kondo when it was one month old. After explaining that the milk should be given in such-and-such quantity per day, “The little one ain’t exactly sturdy, see? Breast milk’d be best, but there’s none to be had,” she added. Senta wandered through Nakamachi and found himself standing before the Sugawara residence without realizing it. He tried to knock on the door but stiffened and held himself back, waiting. The infant continued to cry in a feeble voice. He sensed someone stirring awake. Hushed voices could be heard. A reprimanding voice could also be heard.

Senta held his breath and, pressing his face against the doorway, said. “Mr. Sugawara… It’s Senta…”

There was no response. He strained his ears. But he couldn’t hear anything. “Good evening, good evening.”

He tried knocking on the doorway. Senta felt himself gradually growing breathless. The infant did not stop crying. A rooster marked the hour.

Resolving to try once more, he knocked. The sound of the door struck him as oddly piercing. Senta left the door. He drove Kuro forward with a “Move!” when the dog refused to budge. And forgetting even the child in his arms, he returned home with his head hung low. “Where’d you been out in this cold!” “Tryin’ to kill the kid?”

“Senta! Have you lost your mind?” shouted the father. The mother, upon receiving the infant, immediately tucked it into her bosom and pressed her wrinkled, sack-like breast against it while, “Good heavens, how cold your hands are! What a terrible father your father is. There, there. I’ll feed you some milk right away.” While sucking on the infant’s ice-cold hands to warm them, she scooted closer to the hearth.

Senta entered the next room without saying a word. And then, he lay facedown on his bedding and wept like a man.

Senta began going to the mountains again. Moriyama had already completely revealed its yellow slopes. The snow lingered only slightly, soiled in the shade.

The women gathered at the squelching ridge paths and moat banks to pick wild greens. “Ain’t no one but Mr. Senta left.”

The women called out while shading their foreheads with their palms. “It’s ’cause of the mountains.” “Even if he goes up the mountains, O-Taka ain’t there.” And they burst into laughter together.

In town, there was a rumor that Sugawara Magoichi had finally gotten the town mayor to pay the embezzled funds. The townspeople split evenly into the Sugawara faction and the Aburaya faction. Even in town council meetings, clashes of sentiment became frequent occurrences, and it was said that Aburaya was lavishly spending money.

Senta did not lend an ear to any of the town’s rumors. Even when he heard that O-Taka had gone to work as a wet nurse for a certain wealthy household in Akita City about a month prior, he showed no particular agitation. During the day, he took the dog and went to the mountains. He did not take a gun. And when he returned home, he would sit down by the hearth still holding the child and sink into deep thought. In town, there was all manner of talk about Senta. However, Senta had grown numb to the rumors.

It was the end of May. Rain continued for two or three days.

The infant developed intestinal catarrh, and Senta continued staying up all night. He cradled the shrilly wailing infant as he paced through the room with heavy footsteps in the dead of night. No sooner had he finally quieted it and laid it down than it immediately began wailing again. Senta picked up the infant once more and began walking with a thudding rhythm.

The doctor said it was because of the season. He laughed ambiguously. “After all, nothing can match breast milk,” he also said.

After the doctor left, Senta remained seated at the infant’s bedside for a long while. The infant continued crying feebly with closed eyes. As though he’d forgotten the child’s presence, Senta sat with arms crossed in heavy silence. Then, rising listlessly, he went himself to fetch medicine from the doctor’s house.

On Shinmachi Street, Senta was called out to by Jijirou. “Mr. Senta, my, how haggard you’ve become!” “Senichi isn’t doing well.” “That’s serious.”

Jijirou walked past and then turned back, “You know what? Ms. O-Taka’s coming back from the prefecture the day after tomorrow, I hear.” “I ain’t got no business with you.” And with that, Senta turned away.

Two days later, the sky cleared up, but puddles still lingered here and there along the thoroughfare.

Senta shaved his beard for the first time in a while beside the child breathing weakly in sleep. He looked at his face in the mirror and at the child’s face. Both were gauntly thin. In the afternoon, no sooner had Senta said he was going to the mountains than he dashed out with Kuro. “He’s just like a child, I tell you. Doin’ nothin’ but what he pleases…” his mother grumbled. When Senta reached the pine tree at Seven Bends—three blocks from town along the station thoroughfare—he checked his watch. Then lay down at the tree’s base.

A single carriage passed by at 1:35. Senta stood up but lay down again. And just like that, he fell sound asleep.

He started awake with a jolt and thought Damn it—he’d messed up. His back was drenched. But according to his watch, there were still about ten minutes until the downbound carriage would come. He clenched his jaw against the pounding in his chest. When the carriage appeared around the bend, Senta lunged into the thoroughfare. The driver spotted him clear as day. “Old man! Get outta the way!” The driver barked something at his passenger and cracked the whip across the horses’ flanks. The carriage listed sharply, wheels throwing up plumes of muddy water as it careened past Senta.

“Wait!”

Senta shouted. “I’ve got something to say! Wait!”

Senta chased the carriage. The dog ran ahead, barking furiously. “Why the hell aren’t you stopping?!” Finally managing to grab the horse’s reins, panting breathlessly, he suddenly leapt onto the carriage and lunged at O-Taka. “Mr. Senta!”

O-Taka resisted. Senta dragged O-Taka out of the carriage. The dog barked furiously while circling round and round the two of them. “Just hear me out.”

O-Taka kneeled on the road and, trying to calm him down, adjusted the man’s kimono. Suddenly, she caught sight of the razor in his loosened pocket.

“Ah!”

With a sharp cry, she suddenly hurled her wooden clog. Senta remembered the razor. He reached into his pocket. He grabbed the hair of the woman trying to flee into the carriage and yanked her down. The woman pressed her hand against her own throat and tried to turn face down. A white blade flashed. Fresh blood streaked across the woman’s face. And with a sudden gush, it flowed out and stained the puddle crimson. The man’s arm swung up and stabbed into the woman’s neck. The woman let out a low cry. She fell face down and stopped moving.

The dog barked madly. It was circling round and round the two of them.

It was heard that O-Taka was currently in good health and residing in Chamachi, Akita City.

Since that incident, finding it difficult to remain in this town, the Sugawara family soon relocated as if fleeing in the night. According to a recent account from the Vice Mayor’s wife of this town—who had stopped by during a trip to the prefecture—O-Taka’s father Magoichi was little more than a broker in name only, his sole skill lying in wearing out his clogs as he roamed about. Meanwhile, burdened with caring for this old man, O-Taka was said to somehow sustain their livelihood by working as a sewing instructor while taking on piecework.

While speaking with the Vice Mayor’s wife, O-Taka was hiding one cheek with her sleeve, but the large scar running from under her eye to her neck had formed a darkened groove, and because the skin there had tightened so severely, half her face appeared contorted in a grimace.

From the Vice Mayor’s wife’s account, the townspeople began spreading rumors in every direction. Even if her scar posed an obstacle, a woman like O-Taka—once celebrated as the town’s peerless beauty in her youth—couldn’t possibly have remained unmarried all this time. Some even whispered she’d become a kept woman. There were claims that Senichi, heir to the oil shop, had been seen leaving O-Taka’s house in Chamachi, and gradually the town’s gossip grew increasingly lively.

Now nineteen years old, Senichi was a tall young man who took after his father, with brows that retained their youthful freshness. From shop affairs to caring for his alcoholic father, he managed every detail single-handedly. There had been rumors lately about him and the youngest daughter of the neighboring registry clerk’s household, though this too might have been nothing more than idle gossip from the town’s rumor-mongers. (December 1938)