Pathway to Japanese Literature

North of Akita City, after being rocked by the train for a mere hour, there lay a small station called Ichinichiichi. From there, the railway tracks branched off and led to the town called Gojōme. It was a small town. A deceptively tranquil town still dozing within its feudal-era shell. In truth, even the station name used at Ichinichiichi had originally gone by this town’s name, but before anyone knew it, it had been stolen away. That drowsiness was to blame. While napping, this town appeared to be aging and withering away.

Among the townspeople, few used the railway tracks. Since they knew the folly of spending money needlessly when walking sufficed, they generally walked back and forth along the main road running parallel to the tracks. Before the railway reached them, covered wagons had traveled this main road, replaced by box sleds when snow began piling up. For the townspeople, life had been better in those days. They muttered that civilization was nothing but a money sink.

Along this main road lay a place called Nanamagari. A giant pine tree weathered by years stood as its landmark—a spot that seemed an ideal rest area for travelers on foot, yet one the townspeople seldom visited. Those who paused here could be identified as outsiders at a glance. Often, horse handlers would tether their mounts to this pine and pause for breath. At such moments, a fleeting look—distant, scornful, laced with superiority—crossed the townspeople’s faces.

The pine tree, gnarled and knotted, soaked through with the storms of years past, stands now as it always has at the crossroads of Nanamagari.

November arrived, and the snow that began falling sporadically started accumulating; by the time New Year approached, the entire view transformed into a world of unbroken white. By early February, the snow had piled high enough to traverse between rooftops, and the bundled-up children—bulky and round in their layers—stomped straw-booted feet as they hopped nimbly from roof to roof, chattering excitedly about how the pine tree at Nanamagari had shrunk.

From the town’s rooftops, this pine tree—buried in snow—truly looked low in stature and stunted.

In this town, a market was held every seventh day. The aging, withering town’s breath seemed faintly sustained through these market days. When it came to “Gojōme’s market day,” it had been a custom since ancient times for people from the surrounding villages to gather. Along the main thoroughfare that ran through the upper and lower districts of the town, vendors lined both sides. People thronged.

This story began when the mountains just started turning white. Around this time of year, whitebait and small crucian carp freshly caught from nearby Lake Hachirōgata—still tangled in thin strands of algae—would be measured out by the masu from fish baskets. It would not be long before the calls of the snakehead fish sellers grew clamorous. Buyers, attempting to quickly pick out sections brimming with buriko (roe), would spark small disputes with the sellers.

The women selling mushrooms called out incessantly. Many were small-grained nameko mushrooms carried from the deep mountains. With dried leaves still clinging to them and seeing them measured out as they were, the buyers complained while laughing. Then they made them throw in just a small handful extra. Among these vendors, the town’s small merchants also set up stalls. Geta shops, heavy fabric shops, sundries shops selling small goods…

Market day was peak time for drinking stalls, with several stands lining up their faded curtains fluttering listlessly. There were young men who went to gulp cloudy sake before even unloading their goods. Once drunk, they'd shout at full volume, forget their loads, and wander about in revelry. The drinking companion for such lushes was invariably old man Senta from the oil shop.

Senta was the town’s drinking champion. When it came to alcohol, there was no one who could rival Senta. 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 at some point it fell into decline, and now his successor son Senichi single-handedly managed the sprawling shop that had stood since days of old. The townspeople whispered that Senta—the father—had effortlessly drunk dry the assets left by the previous generation.

Senta had remained a widower all this time, but the townspeople gossiped about it in various ways. A rumor had also spread that he kept a secret woman in the countryside, though this seemed false. Even as rumors swirled about him, Senta went unacknowledged by the townspeople. The only ones who kept him company were his fellow drunks. Whenever the lanky Senta, wearing a padded cotton haori, walked through town with a spindly-legged stride, people would avert their path and hurry past. At such times, a distant, scornful expression—forced and fleeting—would flicker across their faces. It resembled the look they wore when gazing at Nanamagari's pine tree and the outsiders resting beneath it.

In the townspeople’s minds, this Nanamagari pine tree was always linked to Senta, imprinted with an eerie impression.

Since this was from the days when covered wagons still traveled the main road, it had become a story from quite some time ago. An incident that stirred up a commotion occurred in this small town that had been drowsing in stagnation.

At that time, young Senta was overwhelmed by daily gloom. O-Taka—beloved wife—was all that filled his thoughts. Due to a trivial matter of lending money that had escalated into a rivalry between their parents, O-Taka had been taken back to her family home. Since then, young Senta continued taking his dog Kuro to the mountains day after day. The dog—its tail curled to the right—plunged into the thicket of dwarf bamboo that day as well. Senta tripped over a root and nearly fell but regained his footing; he drew a deep breath of frigid air and shifted his gun on his shoulder.

The wind swept down from Bōzu no Moriyama—its peak lightly dusted with snow—and roared through the pine forest. Menacing clouds hung low over the mountain peaks.

Senta pushed his way into the thicket with a rustling sound.

“Kuro!” “Kuro!” The dog waited, its black pointed face peering through the bamboo grass. “What are you doing?” “There! Right there!” The bamboo thicket rustled fiercely and writhed intensely for a moment. The dog turned its black eyes again. It appeared utterly lost. “What are you doing!” Senta bellowed. Then he stood motionless from the waist down, engulfed by bamboo grass. The pine forest roared with a deep rumble. Clouds spread menacingly overhead. A crow hurriedly flew toward the foothills.

The dog lowered its tail and emerged from the thicket onto the path. Shaking itself off, it briskly ran up the slope. Senta stood motionless in the same spot, the morning sun clenched between his teeth as he sank deeper into thought.

“Kuro! Don’t scare me like that!”

A voice came from beyond the pine forest. Dr. Yanagiya from Furukawa Town came down with the dog. The stones crunched. “Mr. Senta, any luck with the game?” Senta remained silent and bowed. “What did you come to hunt?” “Me? “Hell if I know what I came to hunt.”

“With this weather being what it is, I haven’t even run into any mushroom pickers…” “Is your father home?”

Dr. Yanagiya stroked his red beard with the back of his hand. “He’s still the same as ever—whether he’s asleep or awake, he does nothing but click away at those abacus beads.”

Senta’s father had been lending money at high interest alongside running his oil business. “The abacus beads might be fine enough,” he said, “but you’ve become quite the problem yourself.”

Senta exited the thicket and followed Dr. Yanagiya down the path. Kuro hurried ahead at a brisk pace, several meters in front. And he occasionally looked back.

The clouds had completely blanketed the sky, and rain seemed ready to pour down at any moment. The pine forest roared deeply. “Ain’t nothin’ to be done. Whatever I say won’t make a lick o’ difference, Doctor.” “Last night your father came and I heard the gist of it, but even so—the Sugawaras forcibly dragging off pregnant O-Taka like that crosses every line of decency! “Your old man’s no saint either—a promise is a promise. Even if he can’t cough up the money right now, he didn’t need to slam the door in their faces outright. “A thousand yen oughta be manageable for your family’s coffers, and here we are at the desperate hour when we should be seein’ your child’s face! With you parents lockin’ horns like this, this mediator’s left swingin’ in the wind...”

“I think so too. I’ve tried asking Father many times myself, but now Mother’s the one being stubborn and egging him on. She keeps ranting all sorts of insults about O-Taka—just last night, she went on about how ‘good riddance to that useless eater’… When I think it’s gone too far, I end up losing my temper and shouting back. Lately, staying home feels so stifling that I just keep coming up to the mountains.”

Senta walked while touching a pine tree by the roadside with one hand. “As the matchmaker in this affair, I’ve got to bring this matter to some resolution—for starters, I can’t even show my face in society otherwise." “You need to tough it out here a while longer without picking fights." “Once things get sorted out properly, have them file at the town office and set up a separate household just for yourselves.”

After letting Senta pass by, Dr. Yanagiya stood urinating while gazing up at the sky. "My, how fast those clouds are moving!"

Senta waited a short distance ahead. Flicking stones away with his fingertips for no particular reason, he found himself recalling O-Taka’s vibrant figure from the time of their marriage—the endearing pout of her upturned chin; the dewy freshness of her collar when she shyly bowed her head; even the habit of raising her pinky to brush back the thin black curls clinging to her forehead, all rising vividly before him. Emerging onto the main road, the two of them walked side by side. Dust enveloped them and swiftly flowed away to the dried paddy field. From the paddy field, crows rose one after another in great numbers.

“Doctor, what a damn fierce wind this is!”

A man with a cloth over his face passed by. He glanced briefly at Senta and sneered.

Senta walked with his head down.

“If you could do me this favor—please try your hardest.” “I won’t ever forget what you’ve done for me.” Senta repeated these words again and again.

At the corner leading to Furukawa-machi on the town street, Senta made the same request once more. Dr. Yanagiya smirked. “Senta-san, you still can’t seem to forget her, can you?”

“Ah—no matter what—I want to be with O-Taka.”

Senta responded earnestly. And there in the cold, shadowed sunlight, he kept watching Dr. Yanagiya—still holding his hat to his head in that stiff-collared coat—grow smaller and smaller into the distance.

Outside was dark, and a terrible wind had risen. At the barbershop, neighbors had gathered and were chatting and playing shogi. The master himself remained wearing his yellowed, soiled apron as he read the newspaper with a thick-stemmed pipe clamped between his teeth. A dim ten-candlepower light burned.

“Resenting the world’s cruelty… Hmm, they say another lovers’ suicide happened in the prefecture...”

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

The tatami maker leaned forward. “Lovers’ suicide, my ass—over at my place, we’ve got nothin’ but daughters multiplyin’ like frogs… Hey, Master—ain’t that the kinda situation where a parent and child oughta just kill themselves together?” “Why not make her a maid at the oil shop? Lately, they’re short-handed and lookin’ for a maid, I hear.” “The oil shop’s gone and enlarged their stove, huh. Lately, they’re even lendin’ to factories across the prefecture—that’s the talk, y’know.”

Without pausing his shogi move, the cabinet maker interjected. “About the Miura family’s mountain—Mr. Toi from the town office said they bought up the whole thing.” “Nah, that ain’t it. Mr. Suzuki from the registry office came for a haircut last night and said it’s only half the back mountain. And they didn’t buy it—it’s collateral for a loan.”

“Money just keeps piling up for rich folks.” “The more it piles up, the filthier it gets, they say.” “The oil shop’s father is one thing, but when it comes to the mother’s tightfistedness—after market days, she makes someone carry a basket to gather scraps for the chickens, they say.” “And they’re trying to cheat on their taxes too—plus when they got elected to the town council, all they bought was just two bottles of sake, they say.” “The mother over there brought pickles and said, ‘We drank with this,’ they say.” “‘I’ve had enough of this,’ the handyman’s old man said, they say.”

“The handyman?” “What’s this—if they’d entrusted him with a whole measure, he’d say ‘I’ve had enough,’ I tell ya!” Everyone laughed in unison.

“My, how lively it is here!”

Jiro Toizuka, the family registry clerk, rattled the glass door as he entered. Pressing his face close to the mirror, he frowned and stretched his mouth as he examined himself, “Must be getting old—more wrinkles.”

he muttered to himself. “Guess I’ll just trim my beard.”

The master stood up.

“With that face of yours, trimmed or not—makes no difference.” “Have a smoke instead.” “If a pretty boy like you starts talkin’ like that now, Master’ll go outta business. Eh?”

The tatami maker protested. “Moreover, O-Taka-san has been seen around.”

The cabinet maker tacked on. “What about O-Taka-san?” Jiro Toizuka declared sharply.

Jiro Toizuka asserted sharply. “Hey now, don’t go mockin’ her too much.” “O-Taka-san’s nothing but the revenue officer’s divorced daughter.” “What lingering feelings? She’s just a pregnant woman.” “You’re acting all high and mighty, getting worked up—but ain’t you head over heels for O-Taka-san yourself?” “Lately, there’s talk you’ve been butterin’ up Mr. Sugawara real hard, y’know.”

The cabinet maker was not defeated. “Just now, when I ran into Tomi from Urakoji Alley on my way back from the mountain, Dr. Yanagiya and Mr. Senta were coming down together talking animated-like. They’ll be back in each other’s good graces before half a month’s passed. You lot should quit flappin’ your jaws about things you don’t know squat about.” The tatami maker intervened. Everyone fell silent for a moment, disenchanted.

The barber master steered the conversation toward O-Taka in a lively tone meant to rouse everyone’s spirits. Everyone was swept up in the momentum and grew animated. “Both sides have their complaints, mind you.” “The whole thing started right here with this.”

The master showed them by making a circle with his finger.

Everyone’s opinions were divided. O-Taka’s uncle—who owned a lumber factory in the prefecture—had borrowed ten thousand yen from the oil shop without interest or repayment terms when expanding his operations. When word spread that this factory faced collapse amid economic hardship, those at the oil shop grew frantic. They demanded immediate repayment and threatened litigation if refused. It was over this that O-Taka’s father flew into a rage and reclaimed her—or so claimed the Tatami Maker’s version of events.

“Well, the story goes that Mr. Sugawara was the one who provided funds to that prefectural factory.” “Apparently, he diverted some insurance funds and asked the oil shop to cover the shortfall, but they kept making promises and never paid up.” “Since they didn’t show a single penny, Mr. Sugawara got angry, I tell ya.” “He had every right to be angry.” Jiro Toizuka, the family registry clerk, said with a know-it-all air. Everyone found it difficult to trust either side, but given that Toizuka worked at the same municipal office as Sugawara, they listened to his words with greater weight.

Sugawara Magoichi, O-Taka’s father, served as the town revenue officer while also operating an insurance agency. There had been previous instances where embezzlement had been discovered, leading to disputes with the company, but each time, it was rumored that the mayor had intervened to settle matters. The master, who had been blowing through his clogged pipe until it glowed red, huffed and took a deep breath,

“The pitiable one is O-Taka-san.” “Such a delicate beauty she was.” “Well now, Mr. Toi—why not try your luck?” “It’s hopeless.” “But what if O-Taka-san fancied you—what then?”

Jiro Toizuka fell silent. “I knew it.”

The master nodded.

The glass door rattled open with a clatter, and an icy gust swept in. Kuro entered. Right behind him, Senta shuffled in heavily. Everyone fell silent and stared at Senta's face. Only his eyes appeared unnaturally large, gleaming with an uncanny light. "Evening. Full house tonight."

Then he glanced at Jiro Toizuka but sat down before the mirror without paying it any heed. "Master, shave me."

The master patted out the fire in the hearth with soft thumps and blew smoke from his nose in a long puff. “It’s gotten cold, hasn’t it.”

He was clearly flustered. The Tatami Maker and the other two left, saying they had work remaining. The cabinet maker began a game of shogi with the barber’s eldest son. Jiro Toizuka was reading a newspaper but humming the “Obako-bushi” folk song through his nose. “My, how big Kuro’s gotten!”

The master looked at Kuro while sharpening his razor. And then he went into the back to fetch hot water. Senta sat staring at the mirror with fixed eyes. He seemed utterly unaware of anything around him. When he had finished the first pass of shaving, the master sharpened his razor again. “Master, I’ve got a Western razor I bought from the prefecture at my place. Which do you think cuts better—that or a Japanese razor?” In the mirror, Senta asked. “Th-that’s a Western razor, isn’t it. “But if you’re not used to it, you’ll cut yourself.”

Jiro Toizuka let out a loud yawn and left. “So, was there some interesting gossip?”

“I was just reading this morning’s newspaper article about a lovers’ suicide.” The master laughed awkwardly. And then, he held the freshly sharpened razor to his head to test its edge.

Outside, the wind still had not subsided. The glass door rattled violently. Each time the cold water stroked his face, Senta pursed his lips tight. "Why don’t you have a smoke before going?"

When Senta stood up and brushed off his front, the master picked up the pipe by the hearth.

Kuro heaved himself up and followed his master out.

“Senta-san’s really changed.”

“Senta-san’s really changed,” the master muttered to himself while packing tobacco into his pipe.

The rain never came. The wind roared fiercely through the darkness. The faint whistle of a train running on tracks one ri away echoed through the air.

The cemetery was dark, and the chinquapin trees moaned and wailed as if in agony.

Senta remained standing and struck match after match.

“Why don’t you sit down...”

O-Taka crouched down and used her sleeve as a screen. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Instead of that—if people see us, it’ll be trouble. Let’s make ourselves smaller first.” Senta snorted a laugh through his nose, hunched his shoulders, and pressed closer to O-Taka. “No good.” He ground the tobacco under his heel, held his breath for an instant, then asked bluntly: “The other day—when you were late. Did they say anything to you?” “No, nothing.” “But they might know and just be pretending not to…”

Senta’s mind gradually settled. And then he talked continuously about the events that followed. Depending on how he approached him, there was a chance Father might bend his will, but Mother remained stubbornly obstinate and showed no sign of relenting. “We didn’t buy a bride with money,” she stubbornly insisted. —Senta lowered his eyes and said. O-Taka also lowered her eyes as she listened. Their relationship had begun during their time at a school in the prefecture—so naturally their love was pure and beyond reproach. But now that matters had grown so tangled, there was truly nothing left to be done. “My stubborn mother’s being unreasonable, but your father who dragged you back like a stray pup was too quick-tempered. But Dr. Yanagiya said again today that he’ll make sure everything gets settled properly—and I’ve begged him over and over—so I’m sure it’ll all work out. He plans to help me with the town office too. He even said we should live separately and make a home just for ourselves.” —Senta said this and gripped O-Taka’s hand. O-Taka stroked Senta’s hand with her free one.

“You’re always going to the mountains, they say?” O-Taka asked softly. “Ah, it’s hard bein’ at home during the day.” “I don’t get along with Father and Mother neither.” “What’s more, when I walk through town, everyone looks at me with them strange eyes.” “Just now—went to get shaved at the barber’s, but soon as I walked in, they all cleared out.” “Every last one of ’em glares at me like I’m dirt.” “Makes me think—who says I’ll roll over an’ take it?” “Right now—just havin’ you here’s enough.” “Long as you keep believin’ in me—that’s worth a thousand men at my back.” “To hell with the whole damn lot of ’em!” “And don’t forget—Dr.Yanagiya’s stickin’ by me too.”

O-Taka reached out her hand to Senta’s face. “Really, so clean!” “Just to see you.” “I wonder what the barber was feelin’ when he put that razor to me.” Senta gave a low laugh. And then, he embraced O-Taka tightly.

Suddenly, the two of them felt the wind had died down. However, it was that Kuro had come to their side unnoticed.

“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，each day spent apart like this became unbearably painful. Even if their feelings for each other hadn’t changed，wasn’t this situation no different than if they had? Even if I relied on Dr.Yanagiya，it was all too roundabout—I couldn’t keep waiting. How about this—why don’t we just go to my house now? Let’s try pleading with both sets of parents together. After all，they’re parents who want to see their grandchild—if we just stand firm and stay together，they wouldn’t be so stubborn. —Senta grew more and more impassioned. We’ll leave the parents’ matters to the Doctor. If they still complain，we could just run away together. Let’s just go to Tokyo.

O-Taka watched Senta’s increasingly agitated breathing intently. "But with this body… I can’t."

O-Taka let out a sigh.

“Instead of that—why don’t we go to Dr. Yanagiya’s place right now? Have both our parents come and settle everything once and for all?” “Right!” At this, Senta sprang up. O-Taka held him back,

“Today Father went to the prefecture on town office business and is supposed to return on the last train, so if we do it tomorrow…”

“No—today. Let’s do it today.” “Let’s go now.” “This is a matter of our life and death, isn’t it?” “Let’s go right now.”

Senta stood up.

The horn of the carriage that had arrived in town trembled in the wind and could be heard.

“Father might have come back…” O-Taka wanted to think it through slowly one more time. When she imagined things ending in failure, she desperately wanted to restrain Senta’s racing heart. But knowing Senta’s single-minded, fiery temperament, she resigned herself to the futility and let herself be drawn along as she began walking. The two left the cemetery together. It was pitch black.

“What’s wrong with it? We’re married.”

Senta was absolutely opposed to walking separately. And then, suddenly, he embraced O-Taka tightly. “Oh, you!” “Someone’s watching...”

O-Taka, words breaking between each breath, finally managed to whisper this.

There was no one on the road. But O-Taka walked slightly behind Senta, head bowed and hands holding down the hem of the kimono.

Kuro walked ahead of the two.

The meeting at Dr. Yanagiya’s residence ended in failure.

Due to Dr. Yanagiya’s mediation, the young ones were sent home first, leaving the parents to discuss matters among themselves. O-Taka’s father, Sugawara Magoichi, presented his argument: “Though some in this world might say I exchanged my daughter for money, let me remind you—I hold the position of this town’s revenue officer. I’d never stoop to human sacrifice-like dealings. From the start, I approved of their mutual affection—that much is true. But this loan matter stands apart. When the oil shop owners made such ironclad promises about repaying their debt yet failed to fulfill even that despite our dire straits… Well, airing our shame like this makes me doubt whether we could ever associate as relatives hereafter. That’s why I resolved to reclaim what’s mine now.”

Senta’s father responded as follows. “Unless I explain from my side about that matter, you won’t understand.” “Like I told you before, Doctor—we didn’t buy Miss O-Taka with money, nor have we got any money tree growing at our house. We’ve been scrambling to make ends meet, figuring we’d at least waive the interest and work something out eventually. But what with this blasted recession—the shop’s not selling, the loans ain’t even yielding interest… Forcing us like this—saying you’ll take Miss O-Taka away unless we obey—that’s downright cruel…”

“For someone who’s supposedly so hard up for money—I hear you lent five thousand yen to a prefectural woodworking company just last month! Smooth talkers you oil shop owners may be—but seems you’ve got no funds that actually yield interest… Doctor—are you hearing this?” “This isn’t something I can tell others—oil shop owners—I didn’t come to you on some drunken whim!” “The insurance company’s been hounding us nonstop—they’re demanding we send every last yen spent by month’s end! If we don’t send it—we’ll ruin Mayor who guaranteed us! I won’t be able to stay in this town! No matter how much Senta sticks by her—O-Taka’ll live in shame! Even lowering interest for family—I said from the start—put up some damn fields as collateral!” “Knew all that—yet come here at death’s door with no plan? Like you played me for a fool!” “Must’ve heard—you’ve got money saved—but whole town says you grip coins till they scream!” “You can let people die—can’t you?”

At this point, Senta’s mother did not stay silent. “The woodworking company has paid through the proper channels, so there’s no reason for you to nitpick every little thing.” “This whole ‘family’ business—cleaning up after debts you recklessly racked up—we’re the ones losing both principal and interest!” “Even if we consider Senta’s future, it’s nothing but carrying around a money bag full of holes.” The oil shop backed them up. “Even though we’re offering to lend you seven hundred yen—a huge sum—interest-free for five years, being hounded like some common debtor makes us want to stubbornly refuse out of spite.”

“This is how it’s going then?” “You’re demons through and through!” “Hmph! If we’re demons, Mr. Sugawara, what does that make you? Some starving wraith?” “Feeding off others’ coin.” “That’s what comes of being a damn reckless revenue officer!”

Dr. Yanagiya’s mediation had all ended in futility. The two parties, now clearly emotionally estranged, returned home through the cold wind, their memories only further agitating them.

Dr. Yanagiya, having lain down close to midnight, spoke to his wife while resting. "They’re both to blame." "It’s unfortunate for Senta and Miss O-Taka, but things have finally ended in separation." "They’ve agreed to have the oil shop take in the child." "There’s truly nothing to be done." "I can’t do anything more about it."

And, “I’ve had enough of playing matchmaker—even death wouldn’t make me try that again,” he mused.

Days of clear blue skies began to lengthen. The ditches swelled with water as fragments of ice clinked and flowed. When digging through slushy snow with shovels, blue butterbur buds scattered among white. Under sunlit walls, black soil began to show. Sleds were stored away in sheds. Children faced more scoldings from mothers for tabi socks caked in mud. Sometimes they played with faces smeared dirty. Hands on shoulders and tiptoes stretched high, they peered at Mount Moriyama floating in blue expanse, counting days with thrill until they'd light wildfires.

Senta was up on the roof, throwing down snow. “Watch it!” The children packed snow into mandarin orange crates and carried them to the ditch. When the dammed water gradually filled up and with a heavy crash swept away the snow, they all let out a cheer at once. Senta strained his ears. The infant’s cry could faintly be heard from the room below.

“Don’t make it cry!” he shouted from above. He could hear his mother muttering under her breath. Ever since the infant had been delivered, Senta’s mother had known he had become extremely silent and had grown terribly irritable. And, feeling partially responsible herself, she tried not to oppose him as much as possible. It was a child who cried often. Especially at night, it would continue crying without cease.

That night was cold. It was that severe freeze that often assails as winter draws to a close. Senta was abruptly awakened by the infant’s cry. And he heard his mother’s sigh. “What a troublesome child.” “Why did you have to be born again?” Senta, flaring up in rage, jumped up 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 over, and the geta clattered.

Kuro panted heavily, white breath visible, 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. The distant howl of a dog could be heard.

Senta had parted with O-Taka at Dr. Yanagiya’s place and never saw her again.

Three days later, he went to Shinji Cemetery and waited, but even two hours past the agreed-upon time, O-Taka did not come. At the time, he took it as a kind gesture—thinking the cold would affect her health—but after that, she never showed herself to him again. The child had turned one month old when Midwife Kondo brought him. After explaining that the milk should be given in a certain amount each day,

“Since he’s not exactly sturdy, breast milk would’ve been best—but there’s none to be had,” she added. Senta wandered through Nakamachi and found himself standing before the Sugawara residence before he realized it. He reached to knock on the door but clenched his fists and held back. The infant kept crying in that wispy voice. There came a rustle of someone stirring awake. Muffled whispers reached him. Then a voice sharp with rebuke.

Senta held his breath and, pressing his face against the doorway, said— “Mr. Sugawara… It’s Senta…” There was no reply. He strained his ears. But heard nothing. “Good evening… Good evening…” He knocked on the door. Senta felt himself growing breathless. The infant kept crying. A rooster marked the hour.

Resolved to try once more, he knocked. The sound of the door struck him as oddly clear.

Senta stepped away from the door. He drove off Kuro—who refused to budge—with a sharp “Scat!” And, forgetting even the child in his arms, he returned home with his head hung low.

“Where’ve you been in this cold!” “Tryin’ to kill the child?!” the father bellowed. The mother took the infant and pressed it to her chest, shoving her shriveled sack of a breast at it as she cried: “Goodness—hands like ice! That father of yours is a cruel one. Hush now, I’ll get you milk straight off.” Sucking warmth into the baby’s frozen fingers, she sidled toward the hearth. Senta walked wordless into the next room. Face buried in bedding, he wept—great heaving sobs that shook the floorboards.

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

The women gathered on squelching field paths and ditch banks to pick yomena greens and seri parsley. “It’s Mr. Senta again, ain’t it?”

The women called out while cupping their hands over their foreheads to block the sun. “The mountains, huh? Even if he goes to the mountains, Ms. O-Taka ain’t there no more.” And they burst into laughter together. In town, there was a rumor that Sugawara Magoichi had finally gotten the mayor to pay back the embezzled funds. The townspeople split evenly between the Sugawara faction and the oil shop faction. Even in town council meetings, emotional clashes frequently erupted, and it was said that the oil shop was spreading around considerable money.

Senta paid no heed whatsoever to the town’s gossip. Even when told 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 sorts of gossip about Senta. However, Senta had grown numb to the rumors.

It was the end of May. Two or three days of rain continued.

The infant developed intestinal catarrh, and Senta stayed up all night. Holding the child who whimpered with a strained voice, he paced through the room with heavy steps in the dead of night. Just when it finally stopped crying and he laid it down, the infant immediately let out another strained cry. Senta picked up the child again and began pacing heavily. The doctor said it was due to the season. Smiling ambiguously, “Breast milk’s best after all,” he added.

After the doctor left, Senta sat by the infant’s bedside for a long time. The infant kept its eyes closed and cried in faltering bursts. Senta sat as though he had forgotten the infant, crossing his arms and falling silent. Then, listlessly standing up, he went to the doctor’s house himself to get the medicine.

On Shinmachi Street, Senta was called out to by Jiro Toizuka. “Mr. Senta, how haggard you’ve become.” “Senichi’s taken a bad turn.” “I see. Take good care of him.”

Jiro Toizuka walked past him and then turned back,

“You know what? Ms. O-Taka’s coming back from the prefecture the day after tomorrow, I hear.”

“I got no business with that.” With that, Senta turned away.

Two days later, the sky had cleared, but puddles still lingered here and there along the main road.

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, then looked at the child’s face. Both had become gaunt. In the afternoon, Senta said he was going to the mountains and dashed out of the house with Kuro in tow. “He’s just like a child through and through. Does whatever he pleases…” his mother grumbled. When Senta reached the Nanamagari pine three cho short of town along the main road from the station, he looked at his watch. And he lay down by the base of the tree.

A carriage passed by at 1:35. Senta stood up but lay back down again. And just like that, he fell sound asleep. He jolted awake and thought he'd messed up. His back was soaked through. However, his watch showed there were still about ten minutes until the downbound carriage would arrive. He steadied his pounding heart.

When the carriage came into view, Senta dashed out into the main road. He saw him clearly. “Old man, stop!” The carriage driver said something quickly to the passenger inside and whipped the horse. The carriage tilted, raising a spray of water as it swayed violently past Senta.

“Wait!”

Senta shouted. “I need to talk! Wait!” Senta chased the carriage. The dog ran ahead, barking furiously. “Why won’t you stop?!” Finally managing to grab the horse’s reins, gasping for breath, he suddenly leaped onto the carriage and attacked O-Taka. “Mr. Senta!”

O-Taka resisted. Senta yanked O-Taka out of the carriage. The dog barked furiously, circling around and around the two of them. "Just listen to me."

O-Taka knelt on the road and adjusted the man’s kimono in an attempt to calm him. Suddenly noticing the razor in the loosened folds of the kimono,

“Ah!”

With a sharp cry, she immediately hurled a geta.

Senta remembered the razor. He reached into his kimono. He grabbed the woman’s hair as she tried to flee into the carriage and yanked her down. The woman pressed her hand against her throat and struggled to turn face down. A white blade flashed. Fresh blood drew a line across the woman’s face. With that, it gushed forth and stained the puddle red. The man’s arm swung up and plunged into the woman’s neck. The woman let out a low cry. She fell face down and stopped moving.

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

It was said that O-Taka remained in good health and now resided in Chamachi, Akita City. Having found it increasingly difficult to stay in town since the incident, the Sugawara family had soon relocated in what resembled a midnight flight. According to an account from the wife of this town’s vice mayor—who had stopped by during a recent trip to the prefecture—Magoichi, O-Taka’s father, amounted to little more than a broker in name alone, his sole occupation being to wander about scraping geta; burdened with this aging man, O-Taka somehow sustained their livelihood by working as a sewing instructor while taking on piecework.

While speaking with the wife, O-Taka had kept one cheek hidden with her sleeve; it was said that the large scar—which formed a darkened groove running from under her eye down to her neck, the skin there pulled taut—made half her face appear stiff. From this wife’s account, the townspeople began to spread rumors in all manner of ways.

Even if the scar was a hindrance, it was impossible that O-Taka—once such a renowned beauty in her youth—had remained unmarried all this time. Some even whispered she’d become a kept woman. There were those who claimed to have seen Senichi—heir to the oil shop—leaving O-Taka’s house in Chamachi, and with this, the town’s gossip grew increasingly animated. Senichi, nineteen that year, was a tall youth who took after his father, his brows still bearing traces of youthful softness. From managing the shop to caring for his alcoholic father, he handled every task single-handedly. Rumors had begun circulating lately about him and the youngest daughter of the neighboring registry office—though these too might have been nothing more than idle chatter from the town’s rumor-mongers.

(December 1938)