Pathway to Japanese Literature

Characters

Some

Katsu

Blacksmith

Sabu

Farmer

Shige

Horse Cart Driver
Black Market Broker
Innkeeper
Girl 1
Village Boy
Clerk 1
Deputy Mayor
Clerk 2
Farmer
Clerk 3

Clerk 4

Girl 2

Young Man

Female Teacher

Traveling Woman

Somewhere, a chicken was crowing.

Katsu (while working): “What a cursed mess this is.”
“Every single month, once the 26th comes around, you jump out of bed before dawn even breaks—there you go, putting on your best clothes—‘Turn this way a sec’—heck, you look like some young girl off to see the sights.”
“There we go.”
“There—got your obi fastened!”
(After giving a light tap to the back of the fastened obi) “Here’s your purse.”
“There’s sixty yen in there, so if you get tired take the bus, and if you want something sweet go buy yourself some hard candy.”
“If you go handing it out willy-nilly to people, that’s no good.”
“Got it?”

Some: Aye.

Katsu: “You got your handkerchief?”
“Here’s your geta.”
(Clacking the pair together before setting them on the dirt floor) “Honestly, what a trial you are!”
“If we don’t let you go, you’ll just mope around for five-six days without liftin’ a finger—fine then, go—but me ’n Genjirō’ll die of shame before the whole village, Auntie.”

Some: Aye.

Katsu: “Tch, not listenin’ at all.”
“Well, can’t be helped.”
“Here’s your bento.”
“Eat proper come noon.”

Some: “Katsu, could you get that bell for me? It’s in the household altar.”

Katsu: “The bell again? That’s the one thing you never forget, huh. No help for it…” (She trotted across the tatami to fetch a bundle of small bells from the household altar.) (The clattering sound) “…Turn that way. Attach it here on the side of your obi like this, and… come back early, you hear? And even if you’re late, I’m busy all day today planting azuki beans so I won’t come pick you up—got that?”

“Well then, I’ll be off,” said Some. The wooden clogs clacked and the bell jingled as she started walking.

Katsu called after Some’s retreating back: “If anyone asks you anything, just say you’re the aunt of Katsu, wife of Genjirō Araki from Washuyama. No matter how much they pester or tease you, don’t go engaging with ’em. You hear me?”

Some responded from a short distance away as she walked: “Aye.”

In the room, the infant who had been sleeping until now woke up and began crying fussily.

“Kid, you awake?” said Katsu.
She entered the room and picked up the child.
The crying stopped. “Since Grandma can’t mind you today, I’ll take you to the paddy myself. Behave now.”
She turned back toward Some: “Look there, Grandma—off you go quick.”

Clink, clink, clink—the sound of the bell grew distant and faded away.
The roar of the bellows.
The clang of iron being struck on the anvil—clang, clang.

Blacksmith (pushing the bellows): “Sabu, does Yonehachi from Washuyama’s mangwa need rushin’?”

Sabu: “Yeah, he said they gotta have it done today no matter what. Said since the mountain reclamation they’d left half-done last autumn absolutely had to be finished this spring.”

Blacksmith: “That one there—yeah, that’s it! Bring it here! Then get Shinzuke’s rake done too.”

Sabu [...] placed the hoe and rake he’d brought with a clatter. “Heave-ho.”

Blacksmith: “While you’re at it, throw some coke on the fire! I tell ya, this recent coke’s got no kick—might as well be sawdust! Damn stuff!
“This stuff costs 200 yen per bale now.
“With inflation like this, a country blacksmith like me ain’t gonna last long!”
“Damn it all!”
He thrust the hoe’s blade into the fire with a whoosh, then pumped the bellows fiercely.
Amidst that roaring sound, the faint chime of a bell drifted in from afar...

Sabu: “Ah—Washuyama’s Granny Kichige’s come.”

Blacksmith: “Aa—huh?”

Sabu: “It’s Mr. Genjirō’s place, y’know.”
(The bell sound drew closer.)

Blacksmith: “Huh—so yer sayin’ today’s the 26th already?”
“I’d thought it was the 25th—(the bell sound neared)—right then, gotta finish Yamada’s horsepower wheel by today after all.”
“The compost needs haulin’ to the mountain—they for sure said it’s the 26th.”

Sabu: “Well then, maybe I’ll take off the wheel and set it aside.”

“Hmm,” (toward the bell sound passing by outside) “Granny Some... You’re early today, ain’t ya?”
“Well now—you sure got grit, that you do.”

“Aye,” said Some without breaking stride as she passed by.

Sabu watched her receding figure. “But still—wouldn’t that Granny be better off givin’ up already?”

“That’s what bein’ a parent means, see!” said the blacksmith. “Call her ‘Kichige’ again and you’ll bring down heaven’s wrath, I tell ya. Me—every month when that Granny passes by on this day, gets me wantin’ to show some respect to my old lady.” He yanked the iron from the flames with tongs and clunked it onto the anvil. “Ain’t this a blessed piece o’ work!” Striking it with his hammer—clang, clang—he barked, “C’mon now!”

“Still reckon it’s wasted effort,” Sabu muttered. “Heave-ho!” The great hammer came down with a resounding clang.

Blacksmith (striking with a clang): “What’s useless about that?”
“With that kinda thinkin’—(Clang)—you’ll never be a proper smith, Sabu—(Clang)—not even if ya work at it for years.”
Clang, clang, clang—the sounds grew distant and faded away.

The sound of the bell continued on.

The scratch-scratch-scratch of a hoe groaning its way through the field’s soil.

Farmer (groaning as he worked): “Well then, Shige, better start hauling over them seedlings slow-like.”

Shige: “Aye! Alright—heave-ho!”
(With a thud, he set aside the hoe he’d been using.)

Farmer: “You bring them seedlings from th’ south side first now.”
“Them ones got ‘Nōrin’ writ on their tags.”

“Aye.”
“Well I’ll be—Granny Araki’s off again.”

Farmer (stopping his hoeing to look): “Well I’ll be—scurrying along like that! Why, she’s got herself done up like some young girl off to a festival, ain’t she?”

“That’s right—for Granny Araki here, this might be no different than heading to a festival,” said Shige.
“Quite something, ain’t it?”
“But look at us—got nothin’ like that. Our precious boy’s already proper buried ’neath a grave, see?”
His voice cracked. “Even if I keep thinkin’ he’d come back as some ghost, that fool Kyūsaku won’t even show up in my dreams.”

“Quit bringin’ up Kyūsaku,” the farmer snapped.
“It’s all ’bout how you see things.”
“The Arakis are Washuyama’s top rice suppliers—all ’cause that old woman keeps her wits about her. But that same clear-headed granny? Every damn month when that day comes, off she goes like she’s been snatched by spirits!”
“Enough bellyachin’.”
“Least we can clean give up—might even be better off than her.”

“You’re a father, so you’d say that,” Shige retorted. “There’s times I envy that granny myself.” He kicked at the dirt, voice rising. “What a damn fool war—a real goddamn fool thing they started! They take our precious sons to die, and what’s come of it? Life here gone all topsy-turvy—a single sho of rice won’t even buy tabi shoes now! Makes my gut boil.” He spat fiercely. “My boy died for nothin’—I’d like to ask those fancy ministers in Tokyo what kinda sense they’re making of it all!”

“Stop howling, you fool.”
“Hurry up and get those seedlings here.”
“Farmers are meant for the fields—we ain’t got time for spinning arguments.”

Shige: “That’s right—we ain’t got time to be spilling tears either!”
Shige: “You’re such a heartless one.”

Farmer: “What the hell’re you yappin’ about, you idiot?! If you don’t get goin’, I’ll beat the crap outta ya!”

The sound of the bell and geta clogs continued onward with a steady clack.

From up ahead came the growing rumble of a horse-drawn cart drawing near.

The horse cart driver walked alongside his horse, humming lightly. “Heave-ho! Let’s get this show on the road!”
“Fish dwell in rapids, birds roost on branches, folks cling to their feelings—hey there, Granny! Off again, are ya?”
“So? Any of that actually doin’ ya good? Heh heh—” The cart came to a stop. “You really gone touched in the head or somethin’?”
As the bell fell silent: “That ain’t it—you’re just playin’ the Kichige act and paradin’ your misery around, ain’tcha?”

Some: "...Yes."
(She seemed to bow nervously—the bell gave a small ring.)

Horse Cart Driver: "On regular days, ain't you workin' the paddies or mindin' kids without a hitch? C'mon, say somethin'! Well? You know who I am?"

Some: "Ah... You're the horse cart driver who always comes through the village."

Horse Cart Driver: "See there? You do know! Phony Kichige! Quit your nonsense already! Hell—it's been five years since the war ended! Democracy! What's done is done—everyone's gone and forgotten about the war! But you—keep draggin' it on forever! I mean—plenty lost sons, husbands, fathers! They've all given up, tryin' to forget! But when you go flauntin' around like this—rubbin' our noses in it—can't stand it, I tell ya!"

Some: Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
(The bell clattered faintly.)

Horse Cart Driver: “Ain’t the real story that you’re just traipsing around making money as some black market rice broker? Or are you working as some tax office’s ditch-digging henchman?”

“No, that’s not—”

“Ha ha ha ha! Anyway, quit your nonsense already!” the Horse Cart Driver barked. “First off, spacing out like that with your eyes all bugged out—you’ll get yourself hit by a bus or kicked by a horse one of these days! Hey, you! Move it!” (This last command was directed at the horse.) The horse began walking, making the cart creak. As it started moving, he called back: “Watch yourself!”

“Yes.”

“Ha ha! Ha ha ha!” The Horse Cart Driver laughed as he receded into the distance with his cart. “Shellhead!” He resumed humming: “Humans dwell in the abyss of their attachments—” His voice faded away with the song.

The geta clogs and bell resumed their journey.

Broker: “Look here, Innkeeper—I ain’t keen on runnin’ around like this crack o’ dawn neither, but just this once, profits aside, if I don’t scrape together ’bout two *to*, I can’t square things with my buyers. So I’m beggin’ ya—even a *sho* or two’d do—just share some with me. Please.”

Innkeeper: “There’s some, sure enough—five or six *sho* even.”
“But with a measly three hundred yen, there’s no use even talkin’ about it.”
“Even here—with the 26th just four days off… Gotta pay taxes by Miso-ka, but I ain’t got the money comin’ in. So sooner or later I’ll have to sell somethin’—”

“That’s why I’m beggin’ ya, c’mon! Ah, screw it! Let’s go all out and splurge fifty ryō already! Now it’s a matter of pride!”

“You can’t just stand there in the middle of the road! Get over here—inside now!”
“Lately there’s folks in our own groups reporting people to the cops.”
“If they spot you out here, it’s trouble.”

“Comin’ through!”
He pulled his bicycle toward the gate, banged it open and stepped into the yard while muttering, “Never figured things’d get this bad.”
“Farmers bein’ decent folk? That’s turned into some wartime fairytale since we lost.”

“Lower your voice when you ask,” said the innkeeper. “Oh, it’s just jealousy. When they catch even a whiff of someone else’s household getting by alright, their eyes light right up—start spreadin’ tales with all sorts of add-ons.”
(She crossed the garden.
The broker followed, pushing his bicycle—this wasn’t just about black market business.)
“Here I am keepin’ up as a war widow—workin’ myself black in them paddies to raise three kids—but folks don’t understand a lick! Go yappin’ ’bout me chattin’ up men in town and whatnot!”

“Well, I suppose...”
“But hey—that’s partly ’cause you’re so pretty, see? And you ain’t even that old yet. Heh heh—any man lays eyes on you can’t help but wanna say stuff like that.”
“Not that you need to get all riled up ’bout it, but this—”

“What nonsense you spoutin’? Hmph. Men? Had my fill with my dead husband.”

“Ain’t that so now?”

“Ain’t that right?”
“When things were peaceful, he’d guzzle sake and run off to town foolin’ around with God-knows-what women. Then when war came, he got all red-eyed like he alone was carryin’ Japan on his back—or was made to act that way—shoutin’ ‘Banzai!’ as he marched off, only to drop dead soon after.”
“Must’ve felt real good all by himself.”
“As for me and my kids—he left us flat, and look at this mess! The accounts don’t balance.”

“But hey—heh heh—there must be times you miss your husband now and then, ain’t there? You shouldn’t go sayin’ such heartless things. Heh heh.”

(The sound of a bus horn approached.)

“Ha ha ha! Ha ha! C’mon—over here, I said! That corner’s storage bin—under there’s where it is.”

“Much obliged—I’ll get it out,” said the broker.
(He stomped into the shed, accompanied by the clattering sound of farm tools being moved aside.)

A bus passed by on the main road outside the fence with a roaring sound.

“The first bus has left,” said the Innkeeper.

“Under here, right?” asked the Broker.
(He continued moving things aside as he spoke)

“...Ah, the bell lady from Washuyama is passing by...” (But no bell sound could be heard)

“Huh? What is it?—” (The innkeeper didn’t respond.
(The faint sound of a bell passing by in the distance) “Heave-ho... This here under the storage bin—this’s it, eh?”
(No response)... “This here’s it?”

“...She’s heartrending.”

“What’s that?”

“She goes ringing her bell—Granny from Washuyama.”

“Ah, the day for Kichige?”
“Yeah, how she never gets tired of it, heh heh.”
“This here’s it, right ma’am?”

“W-Wait a moment... Gotta discuss it with my boy first,” said the Innkeeper. When she thought about it, this deal might not sit right after all.

“Wh-what’s got into ya sudden-like?” The broker’s voice cracked. “Y’spring this now? Then how we s’posed to handle taxes?”

“Taxes I don’t know—” Her words trailed off as she stared past him. “But hearin’ that bell... Felt like my dead man was watchin’ me.” She squared her shoulders. “We’re done here. ’Pologies, but I ain’t decidin’ nothin’ ’fore talkin’ with my boy.”

“Is that so, huh?”
“But now, after all this—I don’t get it.”

“I don’t rightly understand it myself, but for today at least—take it back for now, if you would.”

“Is that so?”
“Well, s’pose so.”
(...muttering under his breath)

The tinkling bell and clatter of geta receded into the distance.

The sound of a bicycle approached from behind, followed by a bell.

“Granny, off again today?”
(Laughter)

“Oh, this is—”

“He’ll be back any day now—don’t you go losin’ heart, you hear? Stay strong.”
“I’m off to the town’s dressmakin’ school.”
“Bye-bye!”

(Jingling her bell, she passed by and rode off.)

The sound of the bell and the clatter of geta.

Village Boy: “Hey, Kichige Granny—you gonna move it or what?”

Some: “I’m just, uh—”

Village Boy: “You gonna move it or what?
“If ya don’t say, you ain’t crossin’ this bridge.”

“I’m just—uh—to the village office—”

“What’re ya doin’ goin’ to the village office? What business ya got there?”
“Say it.”
“If ya don’t tell me, I ain’t lettin’ ya through.”

“Please don’t talk like that and let me pass.”

“Then gimme money.”
“If ya don’t hand over cash, ya ain’t crossin’.”

“Is it money you want?”
“In that case… (pulling out a cloth purse from her obi and extracting coins) Here, take this.”

The boy took it... Hmph.

The clatter of geta and fading bell marked Some’s hurried departure.

“Hey! What’re ya laughin’ at—”

“Ah, what a good child you are,” Some said, her voice receding into the distance.

Village Boy (yelling at her retreating back): Idiot!
“Crazy old hag!”

The telephone bell rang insistently—a harsh metallic trill—then came the thud of someone rising from their chair followed by the slap of slippers hurriedly scuffing across the floorboards. With a clatter, the receiver came off the hook.

“Yes, yes... Yes, this is Komagata Village Office.”
“Ah, yes—the Prefectural Office’s Education Section—... Yes... Ah... Ah, ah... Is that right?... Ah... The textbooks that haven’t been distributed yet... they’ve all arrived now?”
“Well, thank you for your trouble.”
“The schools will be pleased... Ah... I’ll inform them right away.”
“So directly—if we take that slip to Ōtsubo Books, they’ll understand, right?”
“Yes... yes... Thank you kindly for that.”
“Well then...” (hanging up the receiver with a clatter) “Deputy Mayor, it seems all the missing textbooks have arrived.”

“I see. That’s good news. We’ve been worn out since the other day with the principal pestering us.”

“Mr. Kuga—”

“Yes,” replied the young clerk.

“You there—I know it’s trouble, but could you make a quick run to the school and tell them that?”

“A phone call should suffice,” said the Deputy Mayor.

“The school line’s out of order,” replied Clerk 2. “I’ll head right over.”
(With a thud, she stood up—clattering footsteps stumbling into shoes—clack-clack across the dirt floor.)

The farmer rasped: “When the potash ration’s this short—what’re we s’posed to do? We’re proper stuck here—how’s this meant to work out—”

Clerk 3 (man in his thirties): “Like I told ya yesterday—bringin’ that kinda trouble here ain’t gonna solve nothin’. Why don’tcha take it to your local implementation cooperative or somethin’—”

Farmer: “We did go to Sanza! But no matter how many times we go, they don’t weigh ’em proper when takin’ delivery—all they ever say is ‘Su’s konnyaku’ and leave it at that—”

Clerk 3: “Su’s konnyaku?”
“This’s a real pickle.”
(Scratching his head roughly)

“You folks can settle things by scratchin’ your heads all you like, but when us farmers run short on fertilizer—this here’s a matter o’ life an’ death.”
“But even so, we don’t know where the hell to take our complaints about this.”

“But even so, Mr. Kawamoto, this here’s the village office’s welfare section.”
“Even if you complain ’bout the potash… This is a real bind.”
(The sound of clacking geta) “Oh—Kuga! Where’re you off to?”

“The school.”
“They say the textbooks have arrived.”
(With clack-clack footsteps, she opened the entrance door with a creak.)
(Simultaneously with the jingling of a bell) “Oh, Granny’s back again.”
“Don’t just stand there—come on in, now.”
He ushered her inside and stepped out himself.
(The door creaked and swayed shut.)

“Yes, yes,” said Some.
(Bowing, she moved toward the reception desk.)

Clerk 3: “Oh right—today’s the twenty-sixth.”
He trailed off, “Well now—”

Some: “I’m in good health today.”

She bowed her head politely.

Clerk 3: “Yes.”
Accepting her greeting, he continued: “Good to hear you’re well, but... you’ve come again?”

Some: “Yes, um... I’m Araki Some—aunt to Katsu, wife of Araki Genjirō from Washiyama hamlet in Komagata Village. I’ve long relied on Genjirō’s support.”
“There’s just a small matter I’d like to ask about—”

“Understood,” said the clerk.
“Understood,” he repeated.
“I understand.”

The farmer rasped, “Hah—so this here’s the Siberia-crazed granny we’ve heard about?”
“Huh—so I’d heard the stories, but—”

Some: Yes.
“From Siberia, this here—um… (pulling a paper bundle from her breast pocket and rustling it open) this postcard has properly come right here from Siberia.”
“Oh, please take a look.”
“Suekichi—Araki Suekichi—is properly written here, you see.”
“He’s safe and sound and working properly there, you see—so even though your side must have various circumstances to consider—please, this is my request—please arrange for him to be sent back soon… No—if you’d just send him back with nothing but his own body, that alone would be more than enough, you see—so I humbly ask this of you.”

Clerk 3: “There she goes again.”
“Granny, I understand what you’re sayin’ well enough—but comin’ here every damn month spoutin’ this… This here’s the village office—nothin’ we can do. Look—both your sons got taken by the war—figured they were both dead—then found out the younger one’s alive as a POW. As a parent myself, I get how you feel—but even if ya come here houndin’ us… there’s just… hell—”

Farmer: “Hey now—you’ve got two sons taken. Ain’t there any other kids left?”

Some: “Yes—it’s just the two of them, you see.
But you see—for the sake of the country, I had no choice but to give up my eldest son Hisao—but please, return Suekichi to me.
My husband passed away long ago—this child I raised through long hardships as a widow.
Suekichi alone—please, I beg you—return him to me.”

“This’s a real bind,” said Clerk 3. “If this keeps up, she’ll sit herself down here till evening—why, when her eldest son died and when the official notice came for her youngest son’s death in action, they say she accepted it proper and didn’t so much as flinch. Then after nearly two years had passed—that is, around May last year, on the twenty-sixth day—a postcard came flying in from her youngest boy who was supposed to be dead. She was so happy she just broke down completely, I tell ya. From that time on, whenever the twenty-sixth came around, she’d take up that bell—the bell being a protective charm she’d received from Ms. Osawa when her second son went off to war after going to pray for his lasting military fortune—which he’d left with Granny as a keepsake, they say. After all—well—since that time, something’s gone wrong with her up here, I suppose.”

“I’m not mistaken, you see,” said Some.
“Because two postcards have properly arrived here like this—you see—”

“No damn wonder—no wonder at all! When it’s just one parent and one child left—no damn wonder at all!”
“What kinda country even is Russia anyway?”
“Look—I know we lost the war and got made prisoners—can’t go demandin’ favors—but after workin’ ’em good and proper, why can’t they just send ’em back? Huh?”
“Keepin’ ’em locked up three—four years now—what kinda plan you call that?”
“And ain’t they always yappin’ how Russia treats peasants and workers real special-like? Like they’re s’posed to be on our side? That their whole deal?”
“You call that right? Makin’ a farmer’s kid suffer through such hell?”

“Hey Mr. Kawamoto—quit your hollerin’. You’re makin’ a scene—this ain’t no Soviet Embassy.”

“But damn it all—it’s just too much! What kinda fools they gotta be?!”

“N-no sir—not angry at all—why, not a speck o’ anger here—just knowin’ my Suekichi’s been alive all this time—don’t know how to thank you proper—so please sir—beggin’ you—send him back quick as can be—”

Farmer: “Look at ’er—even Russians are human bein’s!”

Clerk 3: “Now this’s trouble—you start hollerin’ too— Didn’t ya come ’bout Ms. Karin? Such—”

“Damn right it is!”
“Whether it’s Ms. Karin or this Granny here—it’s all the same damn thing.”
“Why’s this world gotta be crawlin’ with such thick-skulled fools who can’t understand a lick?!”
(He pounded the reception desk with a heavy thud)

“Hey, hey!”
“Ink’s gonna go flyin’ like this.”
“But you—lumpin’ Ms. Karin and Granny together and gettin’ all worked up—it’s just—”

Deputy Mayor: “What’s going on here?”
(walking over from the back toward the reception desk) “Ah—you’ve come.”

Farmer: “This here’s the deputy mayor?”
“Well ’bout this granny—it just boils my blood somethin’ fierce that—”

“Ah, she’s come again,” said the Deputy Mayor. To Farmer Shige he added, “We’re seething with frustration ourselves, you know. This isn’t just about her alone. In this village alone, six or seven others still haven’t been repatriated.”
“We’ve done everything possible—submitted petitions and investigation requests to the Welfare Department, Repatriation Support Agency, military headquarters, embassies, you name it. But this requires cooperation from the other side. When they don’t give a single word in reply, there’s nothing more we can do here.”
Turning to Some, he continued, “So listen—I know you’re anxious, but coming here every month won’t change anything. However hard it is, you must try to be patient and wait at home. At least rest assured your son is confirmed alive and well.”
“After all,” he concluded, “Siberia and here—no matter how worked up you get about it—they won’t come to blows over this. You ought to calm yourself a bit more—”

“Is Siberia—the place they call Siberia—truly so very far away?”

“That’s a long way off, I tell you,” said the Deputy Mayor. “Hundreds—no, thousands of leagues away—”

“How many days would it take for me to walk there?”

“Huh?” Clerk 3 cut in. “You’re actually thinkin’ of walkin’ there?”

“No—being such an old woman as I am,” Some replied, “I can’t move fast like the young ones—but if I just keep plodding along—”

“Wai-wai-wait!” The clerk’s voice rose in panic. “Wait a second! Wai-wai-wait! You—this ain’t no joke! On top of that—all the way to Siberia—if you go trudgin’ there, we can’t have that—jo-jo—”

“Ha ha, ha ha… That won’t do, Auntie. There’s a sea in between—even if you crossed it, they wouldn’t let you in over there. Ha ha—you shouldn’t go saying such nonsense.”

Farmer: “I ain’t laughin’, Deputy Mayor!”
(wiping tears) “I ain’t laughin’!”
“Ain’t that right?”
“This old woman here—it’s absurd!—this old woman is gettin’ the idea to walk all the way to Siberia to fetch her son back!”
“If there’s anyone who can laugh at this, let ’em laugh!”
“Such bastards—heartless, self-servin’ sons o’ bitches—good-for-nothin’ lazy bastards, that’s what they are!”

Clerk 3: “Lazy bastard?”
“You’re callin’ the Deputy Mayor a lazy bastard to his face—what the hell’s that about?”

“But ain’t that right? You folks are slow as molasses in every damn thing you do. Even with Ms. Karin at my place—no matter how much I’ve pleaded—”

“Ms. Karin again!”

“Now, now, old man—no need to carry on like that— We’re doin’ all we can for you villagers’ sake—(to Some) So Auntie, best head home for today.” “Alright?” “You plantin’ yourself here just gums up the office work, and ’sides—they’re frettin’ back home.” “Ain’t lyin’ to ya—go on home and wait quiet-like.”

Some: “Yes.”
“But I beg of you—please give Suekichi back.”
“I beg you.”

Deputy Mayor: “So listen—we’ve already made extra requests to all the relevant offices for quicker returns and have everything properly arranged. You should go home today.”

Some: “Please don’t say such things—I implore you.”
“I’ll wait as long as needed.”
“I’ll bring Suekichi back myself.”

Deputy Mayor: “It’s like—I tell you—her son’s right here.”
“This is getting downright troublesome.”

“Isn’t that right?” said Clerk 3. “There’s no end to dealing with her—it’s always like this. She keeps saying this and that—won’t go home till evening anyhow.” Then, turning to Some: “Auntie, just go sit on that bench in the corner.”

“Yes, thank you kindly,” said Some.

“That’s right—come over here,” said the farmer.
(He helped her sit on the bench in the corner of the earthen floor area.)
(The bell clattered softly.)

“Deputy Mayor, someone from the Agricultural Land Committee has arrived,” said Clerk 4.

“Hey, let’s go,” said the Deputy Mayor. (He clattered off toward the back.)

The front storm door creaked open and shut,

Young Woman: “Um, I’d like to request a copy of the family register, please?”

Clerk 3: “A copy, huh? So, go straight to the back—there’s a family register section—tell them that.”

The telephone bell rang shrilly.
Overlapping it, the large clock slowly struck eleven.
Overlapping that came a voice saying, "Yes yes, this is Komagata Village Office..."
"...Yes... Uh-huh... Uh-huh uh-huh," continued the voice.
Those sounds gradually grew distant and faded away.

A young man approached while walking and playing a harmonica.
The tune was again that old-fashioned one called "The Sun Sets Over the Desert".

“Mr. Kakizuma, are you heading back now?”

“Ah, Ms. Murayama, good evening.”

“You’ve been working hard. I hear you’ve been clearing land lately? That’s admirable. It must be tough, right?”

“No, today it’s the mountain fields.”

“Yes,” said the female teacher. “You know that cultural group meeting we discussed before? We’re holding it tonight at Ms. Mitsumura’s house—won’t you come? Members from the women’s youth group will be there too—Ms. Fuji from Nitta and Ms. Yoneko.”

“Is that right?” replied the young man. “I’d like to go, but... after supper I get so worn out I just end up nodding off straight away—”

Female Teacher: "Oh my, someone as young as you saying such—! And listen, Ms. Mitsumura went to Tokyo the other day and heard about rural theater productions, plus she bought a stack of books, so I think there’ll be some interesting discussions."
“About that plan they mentioned for staging a play through the cultural group—you know.”

Young Man: “Is that right? Well then, I’ll attend.”

“Please do come. Well then, see you later.”
(The clack-clack of shoes began to fade away.)
(The clattering of the bell began to blend with that sound.)

Young Man: “Ah, Old Lady Washiyama went again today.”

“Huh? What is it?”

Young Man: “No, it’s nothing.”

“Is that so?”
“Well, bye-bye.”
(The footsteps faded away.)

The sound of a bell and the clatter of geta drew near.

“Good evening, Auntie,” said the young man.
(No response) “Returning from the village office?”
(No response) ...She looked utterly spent.
“Well then, that’s enough.”
“...What’s troubling you, Auntie?”

Some (in a voice on the verge of vanishing, utterly drained): "Good evening."

The young man... (He looked back once, then again, began walking; the harmonica he habitually played went to his lips, sounding the melody of "The Desert".) He played until a certain point and stopped abruptly. After that, only the pattering of tabi-shod footsteps grew distant.

The clatter of geta and the tinkle of a bell sounded with each step.

Village Boy: Hey! Hey! Kichige hag!

Some... (She paused briefly but then started walking again.)

“Stop!”
“Hey—I’ve been waitin’ here proper, I have!”
(The bell’s clattering stopped.) “So—they give ’em back?”
“Huh?”

Some: “They didn’t... return ’em...”

“Why ain’t they returnin’ ’em?”

“They’re... way far away...”

“No matter how far, ain’t he your son? Then why ain’t they sendin’ ’im back?”

“Yes…”
“That’s rotten! A guy like that! Heh, I ain’t listenin’.”
“Thank you kindly… Please let me pass.”
“Here, take ’em back.”

“What is it?”
“Ah, this is the ten yen I gave you earlier today, isn’t it?”
“Why’s that?”
“Did your mother scold you?”

“Wasn’t scolded.”
“Don’t need it no more, so I’m givin’ it back.”

“...I see, I see. You’re a good child.”
“It’s fine—I’m fine. When tomorrow comes, you should buy yourself caramels to eat.”
(She began walking.)

“I said I don’t want it!”

“...It’s fine!” (while moving away)

Village Boy: Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!
“That son of yours, Horyo—he’ll come back any day now!”

Some (cheerfully): Yes.

Village Boy (from afar): Idiot!
“Kichige hag!”

The tinkling of the bell receded into the distance.

Traveling Woman: “Um, excuse me... Could I ask something?... (Some stopped walking and peered through the dusk) Are there any places around here that sell food?”
“(No response)... Anything would do, really...”

Some: “...What is it... you there?”

Traveling Woman: “Well... I should’ve prepared better when leaving Tokyo... I’d thought—since last time during the war when I came here, the bus went all the way to Shirohama—that I’d reach there by evening... But somehow they’d changed the bus routes elsewhere... Now I’m starving—you see—I can’t walk another step.”
“...Is it still two or three ri to Shirohama?”

“Shirohama, you say?”
“If it’s to Shirohama... well, how many thousand *ri* would that be—”

“Huh?”

“Uh-uh.
No—that’s right—Shirohama and…”

“Is it further in here?
I did come here once with my husband, but I don’t remember it well—”

“That’s right—two thousand… No, no—two and a half ri, maybe.
Let’s see… is that right?
Well… what’s happened here?
Food, you say?”

“What’s the matter?”
“No no—food? …You mean somethin’ to eat?”

“Ah… Isn’t there anywhere at all that’ll sell something?”

“Well… not a single shop round these parts… And first off—it’s near dark already—why’re you out here all alone…?”

“My husband’s sister—you see—she’s in that Shirohama Village.”
“No—my husband suddenly passed away from illness the other day… and with this child here, you see.”
Some peered at the woman’s back. “Ah, you’ve got a little one there, ain’t ya.”
“You’re carrying [the baby] well, ain’t ya.”
“My husband’s—well, even in times of trouble, his sister never came to help… So even if I go there now, it might amount to nothing… But still, I’ve got to discuss how to manage my life from here on—with no other relatives to turn to—”

“That’s awful.”
“Ah, right...”
“Hard times, ain’t it.”

“No, I steeled myself for hardship—it’s nothing really.”
“Just... got no strength left to walk from hunger—”

“Ah! Right—got rice balls here.”
“Here.”
(Untying the bundle behind her obi) “Eat this ’fore you go, dear.”

Traveling Woman: “Huh? Oh! Is this really all right?”
Some: “Of course, of course. Take it as it is—bamboo leaves and all.”

“That’s very kind.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You’ve saved me.”
“What should I…?”
“How much money should I give you?”

“Nah, I don’t need any money or such.”
“That’s the bento Katsu fixed up for me.”

“But then, you’re in trouble yourself, ain’t you?”

“Well now—I, uh—managed without eatin’ any,” said Some. “Don’t hold back—take it, go on.”

“I see,” replied the traveling woman. “Well then—thank you... You’ve saved me.” Her voice caught. “In a place like this—I don’t know who you are—” She swallowed tears. “I won’t forget.”
“Thank you…”

“Ah, now…” Some murmured, her tone turning slightly bashful. For some time now, her demeanor had shown traces of someone waking from a dream. “Well then, go on quick now—if it gets late, why, it’s dangerous.”
She started walking.

“I won’t forget this, Granny!”

“You too, dear—even when hard times come, don’t go losin’ your temper now!”
(And she strode briskly on.)

The bell rang and wooden clogs clattered.

The sound of a bicycle bell.

Girl: “Evenin’!”

Some: “Evenin’.”

Girl: “Oh! Granny, are you heading back already?”
(Some does not respond. The girl rings her bell and ends up passing her by.)

The sound of the bell and geta... They continued for quite some time, then gradually slowed before stopping abruptly.

Some muttered to herself: "Even when there's hardship... ain't..." Her voice broke tearfully at the trailing words, then she began sobbing with hitched breaths.

The horse cart driver approached from afar with the clattering of empty cart wheels and the clip-clop of horse hooves.
(Seemingly drunk, singing a terribly drawn-out song) "Issai kore wa no, paratto se to."
Haaaah—Date and Sōma’s border cherries in blo-o-oom, hah-kore-wa-no-sa… Giddyup now, walk faster… Heisai-kore-wa-no, paratto-se to!
“Haaaah—Who’s ’at?”
(No response) Huh? Hey?
“Well I’ll be—ain’t that the Siberia Granny?”
“What’s wrong doin’ here in a spot like this?”

Some: “Evenin’—”

“Cryin’ again here in this godforsaken spot—Tch, hopeless ol’ Granny—I told ya plain as day when we met this mornin’, didn’t I? Even if you drag yourself to the village office over that son in Siberia—what’s it gonna change? You knew ’twas useless from the get-go, didn’t ya? Then ya go marchin’ off to the village office all wide-eyed, gettin’ baked by the sun all damn day, come back disappointed, and then start bawlin’ when ya get to the bridge there. If you don’t pull yourself together, what you gonna do when you take a tumble into the river there, huh?”

“I was wrong—I’m sorry.”
“I won’t—uh—do such things anymore—”

“Heh heh—that there’s just your lot in life, ain’t it.”
“Worn out?”
“If yer done in, wanna ride my cart?”
“Ain’t like it’s loaded anyhow.”
“C’mon—hop in.”

“Thank ya kindly.”

Katsu approached at a half-run. “Oh! That you, Auntie?”

Some: “Katsu—”

Horse Cart Driver: “Oh—you’re family, huh?”
“Oughta show some care.”
“Leavin’ this old one alone like that—she was sittin’ right here bawlin’ just now.”
“What if she’d gone and hurt herself? What then, really—”

Katsu: “I’m real sorry. No matter how much I try to stop her, she insists on going—and if I don’t let her, her strange behavior won’t settle down for three or four days—”

Some: “It’s my fault. It’s my fault, I tell you.”

The horse cart driver: “You know how dear children are to their parents. More’n that—when an old woman with few years left pines for her son, anyone’d understand! Yet here you are being this damn stubborn! Even without all that—these days the world’s full of things that get on your nerves. Makes everyone’s blood boil for no good reason. You never know what’ll happen.”

“I’m sorry—I’ll take better care from now on.”

“What’s with that? I ain’t sayin’ it angry-like. How ’bout it—wanna ride in the cart, you folks?”

“No need—we’re near there now.”

“Oh, ’kay. G’on now, walk—” The horse began plodding forward. The empty cart clattered.

“Thank you kindly.”

Clattering into the distance went the horse cart.

“...Come on, Auntie, let’s get back quickly,” said Katsu. “You took so long… I’ve been real worried.” In the middle of preparing the meal, she couldn’t bear it and came running out.

“I’m sorry,” said Some. “Please bear with me.……”

“The kid whines and fusses all day when you’re not around.”
“Once I feed him first thing, the day’s already like this.”

“Oh, poor thing.”
“He’s fast asleep.”
“Let me see—let me carry him.”

“It’s fine, Auntie—you’re tired out.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’—I want to carry him, I tell you.”

“I see. Well then... hey, kid.”
(While saying this, she let Some carry the child.)
He mumbled in his sleep.
(The bell clinked softly.) “You all right?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’.” … (The two began walking.)

“Walk in the middle or it’ll be dangerous, ’cause it’s dark.……Look, there’s our house light.”
“Genjirō—has he come back from the rice fields yet?”

“He just got back.”
(The two walked.)

From afar, the horse cart driver’s song—“Haaaah, Date and Sōma’s—”—drifted in on the wind.

“...I’m truly sorry to you.… But I know—I just can’t keep still, you see.
“I’ve caused trouble for you, Genjirō, everyone—I won’t go anymore, so please bear with me.”

“...Oh, come on—it’s fine to go again next month.
“It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong—hey, we’ll keep going till Sue-chan comes back.
“If need be, next time I’ll go with you.”
“Heh-heh.”

“...I’m sorry.”
“Why’m I such a fool, I tell you.”

The two walked on.
Clink-clink-clink went the bell.

From afar came the horse cart driver’s fragmented song: “Haaah... Kore wa no se...”
“Flowers in Sōma, fruit in Date—haah, all this here’s... scatter ’way—”