Pathway to Japanese Literature

Orikí

Shinichi

Jirō

Sada

Kijū

Moriyama

Osen

“That’s not how it is!”

“That’s right!”

Shinichi: “That ain’t how it is!”

Jirō: “That’s damn right!”

“That’s not how it is, I said!”
“That’s how it is!”
“That’s not how it is, I said! You idiot!”
“Call me a fool or an idiot all you want—that’s how it is because that’s how it is!”
“Tch—what does someone like Jirō even know!”
“Hmph—in that case, does Shin-chan here understand every damn thing?”

“Who said ‘every damn thing’?” Shinichi shot back. “I’m just sayin’ it ain’t how it is ’cause it ain’t how it is—end of story!”

“That’s why!” Jirō barked. “I’m tellin’ ya it is how it is ’cause that’s the way it is! You ain’t the only one who gets to put on some high-and-mighty truth-face—quit your yammerin’ already!”

“When’d you start wearin’ that truth-spoutin’ mug?” Shinichi snapped. “It ain’t like that! I’m just—”

Jirō: “You still don’t get it either, Shin-chan!”
Shinichi: “Isn’t it you who doesn’t get it, Jirō?!”

“That’s why—this simple, clear fact here, y’see—heh—”
“So ain’t the fact that it’s not how it is?!”
“There ain’t no such thing! That’s how it is! That’s why—that’s how it is!”

The heated argument between the two young men—which had begun abruptly with shouting nearly akin to a brawl—had already been raging on for quite some time. As their argument continued along the mountain path deep in the hills—their trousers brushing against the grass on both sides, their feet crushing the withered branches that littered the trail—the sharp cries of birds occasionally pierced the air, echoing crisply from near and far.

“That’s not how it is!” Shinichi snapped. “You keep trapping yourself in your narrow circumstances—that’s why everything goes wrong! Why don’t you try seeing today’s world with some damn perspective?”

“I am seein’ it broad-like!” Jirō fired back. “Ain’t nobody wants fights when they’re just thinkin’ regular thoughts! But fights happen anyway—don’t they? So start from there—”

Shinichi: “That’s wrong! Anyone’d fight! But that’s when folks snap—a mistake—not how people normally are! You’re tellin’ me we gotta stay battle-ready year-round over those mistakes?!”

Jirō: “Even if fights are mistakes—I’m tellin’ ya there’s just too damn many of those mistakes!”
“Then that ain’t no mistake—it’s just how humans are made!”
“It’s been this way all along, and it’ll stay this way—I tell ya!”
“If that weren’t the case, why would they be racing to build more atomic bombs faster?”
“What?!”

Shinichi: “But that’s—that’s a completely different issue—”

Jirō: “There ain’t no difference—it’s the same damn thing!”
“So, if that’s how it is anyway—in other words, if that’s the actual reality right now—then I’m just sayin’ you gotta decide what you think based on that, that’s all there is to it!”
“First off—the only reason you can spout that idealistic nonsense and split hairs like this is ’cause Shin-chan here got to graduate from some industrial school, reads plenty of books too, and now’s pullin’ in a fancy salary workin’ at a Kōfu factory!”

“Then why don’t you tell your family to let you go to school too, Jirō?!”

“If we could do that d’you think I’d be spoutin’ any of this?!”
“With our paddies an’ fields combined barely makin’ three tan—an’ the mountain plot with scrub trees just two tan—how’s seven mouths s’posed to eat off that?!”
“Hell—I’m just the spare brat here! A damn cold-rice sandal!”

“Even if you can’t go to school, you can study by readin’ books yourself.”

“Where’d I find time for book-readin’?!”
“Three hundred sixty-five days a year—workin’ my bones to dust even nights! An’ even without that—when Big Bro’s inheritance comes up—I gotta split what little fields I got with him too! House’ll collapse otherwise! You think I ain’t shiverin’ blue just thinkin’ on it?!”
“What’s wrong with me wantin’ t’get outta here t’Tokyo?!”

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s wrong—but you’re the one talkin’ ’bout joinin’ the Police Reserve—”

“Hmph—Shin-chan’s part o’ the privileged class now, ain’t ya? Go work at some town factory an’ turn into a commie-struck fool! That’s why you’re such a—”

“What the hell?! Why’m I part o’ some privileged class? Spout that nonsense again an’ I won’t let it slide! First off—just ’cause I oppose the Police Reserve—why’s that make me some kinda commie?!”

“Oh yeah? C’mon—remember how Shin-chan here tried to volunteer for the youth air corps during the war, even though he wasn’t old enough? Didn’t he raise one hell of a ruckus about it?!”
“Huh?!”

“That... back then... I was wrong about all that.”

“I ain’t wrong!
“The war might’ve been wrong, but I don’t think Shin-chan’s heart ’bout tryin’ to serve the country was mistaken one bit!”

“I told you I was wrong!”
“I was wrong!”

“Even if you were wrong back then, that’s somethin’ you can only say now—after everythin’s turned out this way!”
“If you’d been standin’ there in that moment, you’d have no choice but to act based on what you thought then!”
“Even if it’s the Police Reserve—”

“Bullshit!”
“You’re only thinkin’ about joinin’ the Reserve ’cause there’s no future for you even if you stay home?!”

“Yeah, that’s part of it.”
“That’s part of it, but you’ve got the same damn feelin’ you had when you wanted to join the youth air corps during the war!”
“If I’m gonna work either way—for the country, this—”

“How does that serve the country?!”
“Then the very idea itself is reactionary!”

“Look at that! You put your own past actions up on a shelf and then tear into others!”
“If I’m reactionary, then you’re a damn monkey!”

“So, I’m a monkey now?!”

“That’s right—you’re a monkey who forgets his own red ass while laughing at others’!”

“Bastard, you said it!”

“So what if I said it?”

(...A young woman’s voice called up from the valley below to the cliff path where the two stood glaring at each other, blocking the way.)

“Heyyy!” Sada called up from below. “Well if it isn’t Shin-chan and Jirō-chan over there!”
The two glanced toward her voice but immediately resumed glaring at each other, refusing to answer. “What’re you two doin’ standin’ around like that up there?” she continued. “Hurry on down here!”

Shinichi muttered “Damn brat, getting cocky—” under his breath before shouting downward: “Hey, Sada-chan!”

Gravel crunched underfoot as he ran down the slope.

Jirō scoffed “Hmph!” before bellowing toward the valley: “Sada-chaaan!”

(This one, too, came clattering down the slope.)

“Oh my!” Sada exclaimed. “If you run like that, you’ll go tumbling down!”

As she spoke, Mike rapidly approached Sada.

“Hey, Sada-chan!” Shinichi called.

“Well there you are!” she replied. “What’re you two doin’ standin’ around like that up there?” Laughing, she added, “When I came out to gather firewood, I heard some kinda fightin’ voices up above—happened to glance up and—what’s goin’ on?”

Shinichi: “Jirō’s the one talkin’ nonsense.”

Jirō: “You’re the one who don’t get it, Shin-chan!”

Sada: “Heh heh. When Kōshū Tochizawas meet Nakagomi Tochizawas after all this time, ’course they’ll start squabblin’ right off.”
“Come on now, let’s get inside.”
“Up we go.”
(She hefted the firewood bundle and cut across the garden diagonally.)
(The young men trailed after her.) Had they come plodding along together?

Shinichi: “Nah—I came down from Nobeyama way. Was restin’ at Osaki’s fork-road Jizō when Jirō here popped up.”

“Oh, ’kay then.”

“Is Granny here?”

“Yeah, she’s here.”
“There are guests right now.”
“Mr. Kijū from Uminokuchi, Mr. Moriyama the agricultural guidance officer, and Aunt Osen from Kawakami who guided them here have come.”

“Where’s Grandfather?”

“He’d been at the Kawakami house for about half a month.”
“Lately it’s just been me and Granny here.”
“It’s a lone house deep in the mountains—when people come by, it makes us so happy.”

(Entering the house’s earthen-floored entryway)

Osen (from the edge of the raised floor): Huh? Is that you?
“Well, look who it is! Shin-chan from Kōshū and Jirō-chan from Nakagomi!”

“Good day, Auntie,” said Shinichi.

“I’m doing just fine,” said Jirō.

“Come on now, get yourselves inside,” said Osen. Turning to Orikí, she added, “Granny, we’ve got a packed house today! Your three grandchildren’ve all gathered here.”

“Well, you’ve come,” said Orikí. “In Kōshū and Nakagomi both—isn’t everyone just the same as ever?”

“Yeah,” said Shinichi. “Mom said to tell you thanks—the Danshaku potatoes she planted in the reclaimed field with the share you gave her turned out real good.”

“I see,” said Orikí. “Well, that’s good.”

Shinichi: “This is tea. I promised Granny. Got my salary, so I bought it right away and brought it over.”

Orikí: “Well now, thank ya kindly. Been ’bout four-five days since we ran dry. Can’t drink tea—makes everything feel right dismal. Oh? This here’s from your wages?”

Moriyama: “It’s been a while since I last saw you too, Mr. Shinichi. Haha—do ya remember? ’Twas Moriyama who went to Kōshū once or twice for river improvement guidance.”

“I remember,” said Shinichi.
“Good day.”

“Jirō,” Orikí commanded, “quit your loiterin’ and plant yourself right here.”

“Yeah.” Jirō fumbled with a cloth bundle. “...This’s for you.”

“What’s this now?”

“Mochi.” He straightened slightly. “Used this autumn’s first glutinous rice—fixed up proper as first-fruits for Granny. Me an’ Ma pounded it at dawn.”

“Ah.” Orikí’s knuckles whitened on her cane. “Mighty kind of ya.”
Her laugh rasped like wind through dry reeds. “Tea an’ rice cakes boilin’ over same as spring floods! Custom-made timing, eh? Sada! Brew that leaf-water sharp now!”

Sada (clattering teacups in a corner of the slightly removed earthen-floored area): “Right away.”

Moriyama: “So this’d be Matsuzō from Nakagomi’s place—huh! Never figured they’d have such a strappin’ eldest son here!”

Osen: “Eldest son my foot—he’s the second one, y’know.”

“Huh?”
“That’s a double surprise!”
“Is that right?”
“Well, I don’t notice myself getting any older, but I’m always astonished at how the young ones keep growing up.”
“Hah!”

Osen: “Hahaha.”

“What’s wrong, Jirō?”
“Huh?”
“Why the long face?”

Jirō: “Nah.”

Sada (walking through the earthen-floored area with a laugh): “Even though they came together, Jirō and Shinichi looked like they were about to start grappling with each other up on that slope.”

Osen: “Huh? That again? How come?”

“I came to consult Granny,” said Jirō. “When I told Shin-chan ’bout that, he called me a fool—”

Shinichi: "That ain’t it—what I’m saying is—"

“There there,” said Orikí. “Now then—what’s this about? Out with it.”

“...I’ll tell ya later,” muttered Jirō.

Moriyama leaned forward. “No need to hold back with us.”

“Nah—later’s fine,” Jirō insisted, avoiding their gazes.

Orikí waved a gnarled hand. “Well then—bring it up proper when you’re ready.” She turned toward Moriyama and the stone-faced Kijū.

“So you’re saying that Kingoro from Serizawa absolutely refuses to budge, eh?”

Moriyama: “Aye, seems hopeless at this point.”
“Like I’ve been sayin’, this ain’t some new quarrel brewin’ overnight.”
“First off, last year’s general election saw Mr. Suyama from Uminokuchi get himself tangled up in a vote-buyin’ scandal.”
“Turns out three or four folks from the village ratted him out to the cops—and word has it the Suyama bunch pegged our Mr. Kijū here as one of ’em.”
“Now them Serizawa lot’ve been lickin’ Suyama’s boots since way back when. So when he gave the order, they started houndin’ Kijū’s family somethin’ fierce.”
“Dig deeper, and you’ll find durin’ the war, when Suyama tried takin’ back them rice paddies Kijū’s folks had borrowed and worked—why, they near ’bout lost their heads! Talk of fleein’ clear to Kōshū or sellin’ off their own daughter to scrape by.”
“But then Granny here stepped in proper-like—had a word with Suyama hisself—and he thought better of snatchin’ them fields back. Settled things peaceable enough.”
“That’s how it went down, yeah?”

“Now, did such a thing ever happen?”

“There was such a thing indeed,” Moriyama said. “At that time, after they’d taken back those rice fields from Mr. Kijū’s place, there was actually an arrangement in Serizawa to lease them out right away for tenant farming. But when Granny stepped in, even Mr. Suyama couldn’t refuse.”
“Well, when Serizawa’s plans fell through, they started treating Mr. Kijū’s place as their sworn enemy. Ever since then, they’ve stirred up trouble at every turn—it’s all piled up over the years. The roots run deep, y’see.”
“Then this recent water inlet problem over the parceled land finally made things explode. We couldn’t just keep turning a blind eye no more.”
“Now, if this were just some squabble between Kingoro and Mr. Kijū’s household—neighbors at each other’s throats—well, that’d be common enough in the village. No matter how bad they bloodied each other, there’d be no call for outsiders to butt in.”
“But the Serizawa lot went and dragged nearby houses into it—even held meetings to ostracize Mr. Kijū’s household. Before you knew it, not a soul in the village would so much as nod to them anymore.”
“At that point, it became the whole village’s problem, y’see.”
“We tried every which way to negotiate, but Serizawa won’t budge an inch—we’re plumb out of ideas.”
“It even came up at the village assembly, but Serizawa’s got money and clout both.”
“What’s worse, with Mr. Suyama backing them, everyone else just tiptoes around it.”
“So I figured I’d sound out Granny—not that I’m sticking my neck out special-like, but as a guidance officer, these things weigh on a man—and here I am with Mr. Kijū… Mrs. Osen here happened to be making her miso delivery rounds, so we tagged along with her sort of natural-like—”

Osen: “I’ve heard that tale too. When Uminokuchi’s troubles reach all the way to Kawakami, you know it’s grave business. Must be hard on you, Mr. Kijū.”

Kijū: “...Yeah.”

Moriyama: “This one here still won’t speak his piece, so we’re proper stuck now. Why’s he gotta clam up like this? Get riled about it and he turns to stone, I swear.” “Hey now, Mr. Kijū?”

Kijū: Yeah.

Moriyama: "Yeah," huh?
“Honestly, heh—”

Orikí: Hah! What’s this? I’ll get you talkin’, hey Kijū!

“Yeah.”

“You—so do you hate Kingoro?”

Kijū: “I don’t hate him—” he said in the halting, slightly disjointed manner common to old farmers prone to stubborn silence, “but it’s harder than dying, Granny. So then—if this keeps up—they’ll die for sure. Ain’t no doubt about it.”

Orikí: “They’ll die? The fields?”

Kijū: “If it were me, I’d still be alright. It’s the rice fields.”

Orikí: “Say it plainly. The rice fields will die?”

Kijū: “That’s right. They keep chippin’ away at the water inlet, inch by inch—if the water gets cut off, the rice fields’ll die for sure, won’t they?”

“They chippin’ away at the water inlet?”
“……So Kingoro’s the one chippin’ at it?”

“I ain’t seen it myself,” Kijū said. “But when I rebuild that inlet, they come creepin’ back at night with their damn hoes—chippin’ away at it again.” His calloused hands trembled against his knees. “Rebuild it once more, they tear it down once more.” A dry laugh escaped him. “Fifteen—sixteen times this whole cursed summer.”

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a rasp. “Tried lyin’ in wait by the ridge one night—thought I’d catch ’em red-handed.” His eyes glazed over remembering the mosquito-bitten hours. “Never showed when I was watchin’. Must’ve got them snot-nosed brats spyin’ on me.”

Suddenly he slammed his fist against the tatami. “If they hate my guts so damn much—” Spittle flew as he jabbed a finger at his temple “—why not march right over here? Bash my skull open proper with a hoe!” The mat fibers groaned under his pounding. “Be cleaner than this rat’s game!”

“Honestly!” Osen interjected. “Given how they call you ‘the rice field bug,’ Mr. Kijū, no wonder you’d think that way!”

“Quit your blatherin’!” Orikí snapped. “If they crack your skull open, that’s when you’ll truly die!”

“I’m a fool,” Kijū muttered, thumping the tatami. “All I know’s rice fields—not a lick about anything else. Since it’s Kingoro... even if he mocks me... none dare object.” His voice cracked. “Why... why’s he tryin’ to steal water from my fields? Hey! Why won’t nobody listen?!”

“Now, getting all worked up like that won’t help—Kingoro isn’t even here.”

Kijū: “But ain’t that just how it is?! After the war ended and that Land Reform business came through, I scraped every penny till my nails bled to buy back my share of the common land—finally became a proper smallholding farmer! And here you are working your heart out, and some devil goes and does this to you?!”

“And of all things,” said Moriyama, “for Serizawa and Mr. Kijū—neighbors already on such bad terms—to end up with their parceled lands right next to each other too.”

Osen: “Honestly, what cursed luck!”

Kijū: “Demons, ain’t they?!”
“How’m I supposed to keep swallowin’ this, Granny?!”
(Thump-thump-thump went his fists on the tatami.)

Orikí: “Enough now.”
“Quit poundin’ the mats—you’re raisin’ a dust storm.”
“Look here!”

Kijū: “If it was just Kingoro’s nasty tricks, I could stomach it.”
“Our families been feudin’ since granddad’s day—sure I done wrong sometimes too. Between folks, you let that slide.”
“But the whole damn village—!”
“First they force Kingoro’s seeds on me, stuff money in my palm—then that pretty-faced bastard cozyin’ up to Mr. Suyama—every last soul’s kickin’ my family down!”

“They may act against you in the shadows—but there are quite a few who sympathize with your side, Mr. Kijū.”

“What’s the use of ’em sympathizin’ in secret? This autumn—even at the festival—I’m the only outcast. Even when I try t’contribute like everyone else, they turn me down. They keep skippin’ over my place when they make the rounds with rationed goods. When it comes t’helpin’ with rice plantin’, they’ve all agreed—not a single soul shows up t’my place. See?! Even when we meet on the road—if I try t’greet ’em, they all turn their backs! Look at that! A family of five livin’ right in the middle of the village—yet it’s just like bein’ exiled t’some remote island!”

“Hmm. …But now even the stones’ve suddenly started jawin’ away strong again.”

Kijü: "Only 'cause yer Granny lets ya jaw on like this!"
"Enough!"
"Walk a mile in these shoes!"

“But what’re you tellin’ me to do?”
“Even if you say ‘See it from my side’—I’m Granny here, and you’re Kijū.”

Moriyama: “Well, y’see—it’s about that very point. We thought we oughta discuss it proper with Granny here once, talk through how t’handle the whole business thorough-like—that’s why Mr. Kijū an’ me came over this way—”

“Well now—that’s impossible,” Orikí said. “What’s there for me to understand?”
This wasn’t something to consult about, she muttered to herself. The world just kept refusing to go right.
……When even an honest man like Shi couldn’t make things work—what in blazes was there left to do—

(The group fell into a heavy silence, and no one dared to speak.)

Sada: …Ah, the tea’s ready.

Orikí: Hey.
“……Mr. Moriyama, please go ahead.”
“Kijū, drink too.”

(The clinking of tea bowls as Sada distributed them.)

“Ah, these’re Nakagomi mochi.”
(served them with chopsticks)

Orikí: "Well now—huh! This has bean paste in it."

Sada: "Uncle Kijū, don't go reaching out now."

Kijū: "Right."

Orikí (while eating): "Wow, this is good! Nicely done!"
"Here you go, Mr. Moriyama."
"Shinichi and Jirō, eat up."

Shinichi: Yeah.

Moriyama: “I’m sorry—to have you use the first harvest offerings for this.”

(The group sipped tea and ate mochi.)

“So… what was this ’bout Jirō’s consultation again?”

“I’ll tell ya later.”

“Don’t give a damn anymore—spit it out.”

“…I—even if I stay home, there’s nothin’ for me here—so I thought I’d go t’Tokyo, an’—”

“I was th’one who opposed it.”
“Nah—if ya just go t’Tokyo, that’s fine—”

Just then, suddenly, with a voice like a dog howling—a sound that at first could not possibly be recognized as weeping—Kijū burst into unrestrained tears.

“Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!”
“Waaah!”

“Huh? What’s wrong, Uncle Kijū?”

“Kijū-san!”
“What’s wrong?”

Kijū: “Oooh, oooh, oooh!”

Orikí: “What’s gotten into you? Blubbering outta nowhere—quit that!”

Moriyama: “Mr. Kijū, what’s happened?”

Kijū: “Ugh... Huh... What wicked thing’ve I done?
“Ugh... Yet me ’n’ my house—no matter where I go in this whole damn village—there ain’t one single home that’ll say, ‘Kijū, we’ve got tea on—have a cup ’fore you go.’
“Ugh... It’s cruel, Granny!
“So after all that—I came to Granny’s place for the first time in years.
“They let me drink tea here, eat mochi here.
“The only spot that treats me like a person’s this house—so I...”

(The group fell into a heavy silence.)

“...So that’s how it is.”

Moriyama: “Truly, there’s no way around it, hmm.”

Jirō: “I think Uncle Kijū’s right!”
“Ain’t that right?”
“The ones in the wrong are those village bastards.”
“We can’t just leave scum like Serizawa Kinnosuke be.”
“Even after puttin’ up with all this—I say we gotta fight those who keep tormentin’ us!”
“Ain’t that right?!”
“If they start a fight against us, we gotta strike back!”
“If you don’t fight back when they come at ya—then you’re a coward!”
“Spineless bastards!”
“If that’s how it goes—yeah, the whole country’ll fall too!”
“I’m tellin’ ya—I’ll stand by Uncle Kijū!”
“Uncle—do it!”
“Don’t hold back—whether it’s Serizawa or those village rats—smash ’em apart with root cutters!”
“So what? If we die fightin’, then we die—ain’t no shame in that!”
“Endurin’ this cruel treatment—livin’ with this humiliation—wouldn’t it be better to just die?!”

“There you go again!” Shinichi snapped. “That’s exactly like you, Jirō. You get all worked up spouting nonsense, but things don’t work that simply.”

Jirō shot back, “But Shin-chan—don’t you feel any sympathy for Uncle Kijū? Are you saying we should just shut up and let it go?!” He gave a bitter laugh. “Heh, maybe that’s how it is. Why’re you against rearmament anyway? ’Cause you figure if some army invades Japan, we should just raise our hands and go ‘Here, take whatever you want!’—that it?”

“What are you saying?” Shinichi snapped. “That’s a completely separate issue!”

“Ain’t separate at all!” Jirō fired back. “Big or small—household troubles, rice field problems, national affairs—they’re all cut from the same cloth! Ain’t that right?” He jabbed a finger at the air. “Serizawa Kinnosuke’s the bastard who came barging into Uncle Kijū’s territory!”

Shinichi crossed his arms. “Uncle’s situation needs proper handling—take it to the village council, file a lawsuit, whatever works. But lumping that together with national armament debates?” His voice sharpened. “Claiming we need military buildup and inevitable wars? That’s pure idiocy!” He leaned forward, eyes blazing. “It’s exactly this kind of thinking that’s letting ex-soldiers and right-wing creeps crawl out of the woodwork again!”

“That and this ain’t the same damn thing at all! If former military men and right-wingers just stay holed up, fine by me! I’m talkin’ ’bout our own future here! First off, Shin-chan—you say there’s ways to handle Uncle’s problem, but what exactly’re you s’posed to tell the village council or court when bringin’ it up? Even if you say there’s other ways—we’ve already tried every damn thing we could up till now! Even so, they still keep on bullyin’, don’t they? And so here we are—Uncle’s cryin’ his eyes out! Uncle’s cryin’ his eyes out!”

“That’s why—that’s why I’m tellin’ you—all I’m sayin’ is it’s wrong to mix up this matter with the country’s armament! Ain’t that right?”

“Wrong how? It’s the same damn thing! If Japan gets invaded someday with no armament, where you s’posed to appeal? And if appealin’ don’t work—what then? What’re you s’posed to do?”

“Well listen,” said Shinichi. “Nowadays there’s plenty who say if a house ain’t got proper locks, burglars’ll come in—that those locks are armament itself. But your argument comes down to exactly that!”
“That’s some muddled thinking that just assumes every other country’s a thief!”
“The world today ain’t one where folks stay quiet watching some country go invading others without good reason!”

“That right there’s the kinda dreamy idealist talk I mean!” Jirō shot back. “Then how ’bout Korea right now? Huh?”
“Look—I don’t know did North Korea attack South or t’other way ’round.”
“But point is—one side attacks, t’other pushes back! That’s how wars start!”
“Even with this United Nations thing—they still can’t fix it nohow!”
“Same exact as how Uncle Kijū’s problem can’t get solved neither by village council nor district council!”
“Only thing left now’s whether we smash ’em with brute force or get smashed ourselves—ain’t that how it goes?!”

“You’re impossible!” Shinichi snapped. “If Japan were truly independent now, it’d be fine to have armament for self-defense. But right now, Japan’s crammed with American military bases, I tell you! If we had our own military there—look, if America went to war with another country, our forces would get swallowed up whole by theirs! Then Japan’s military could end up forced to fight America’s battles! Not even considering that while acting like you’re the only patriot—you pig-headed fool!”

“Whether I’m a pig-headed fool or a dog-headed fool, it’s none of your damn business! Heh! You can spout all that high-an’-mighty crap ’cause your family’s got enough fields to get by—you’re the damn eldest son there, plus you’re pullin’ in company wages every month! Makes you think you’re some big shot! Heh! Poor farmers like me—dirt-poor second sons eatin’ cold rice—or folks like Uncle Kijū ain’t got the luxury to spout such highfalutin’ nonsense!”

“You call that nonsense?!”
“Bastard!”
(With a thud, he threw a punch) “Let me make this clear—”

“You did it!”

Sada (clattering in to intervene): "Enough of this!"
"What do you think you're doing, you two!"
"Stop it right now!"

Osen (while trying to intervene): “What in the world—I never!”
“Cousins, and you two carrying on like this!”
“Shin-chan! Don’t go justifying hitting!”

“You bastard!” Shinichi shouted.

Orikí (loudly): “Let them fight!”
“Even if they’re wrestling—let ’em go at it!”
(As the commotion abruptly ceased and silence fell)………“Look here, Shinichi—you’re the one who says soldiers are no good and war’s no good, yet right under those very words, you went and hit Jirō.”

Shinichi: “But he was spoutin’ off about lookin’ down on folks way too much—”

Orikí: “Same difference.”
“No matter how cleverly you speak, you and Jirō are just the same.”
“Both bein’ my grandsons—you’re a pair of damn fools.”

Moriyama: “But you see, when you look at these young folks here—if another war breaks out, they’ll be the ones directly dragged into it. So it’s only natural they get worked up over armament issues.”

Orikí: “True enough—it’s a real problem... (in a lonely, hoarse voice) Jirō—so when you came to consult me... was it with that kinda mindset you want to go to Tokyo?”

Jirō: “……Yeah—even if I stay home... there ain’t nothin’ ahead—”

Orikí: I see.……

(A long silence... Within the stillness came the crackling of hearth flames and the pillar clock's clack-clack-clack marking time.)

“...Kijū.” Orikí’s voice cut through the stillness. “You—about this village ostracism business creepin’ up on ya—you ain’t done nothin’ wrong to Kinzō or the villagers from your end, have ya?”

“I swear on my life,” Kijū rasped, his calloused hands trembling in his lap. “Don’t recall doin’ a lick of wrong.”

“You’re the sorta fool who’s honest to a fault.” The old woman’s words hung like smoke from the hearth. “I know that well enough.” Her knuckles whitened around her walking stick. “But even saints stumble ’cross others’ toes without noticin’ their own clumsy feet.”

“But I’ve made inquiries all over,” Moriyama said, “and there’s nothing like that on Mr. Kijū’s side. The claim that he instigated Mr. Suyama’s bribery during that year’s election—that’s a false accusation too. Anyone with half a brain knows someone like him wouldn’t overreach like that. They’ve just swallowed Serizawa’s sweet talk and let things spiral.”

Orikí fixed her gaze on Kijū. “You’re not lying about not doing wrong, are you?”

Kijū: “Even if I were to lie before God himself, I’d never tell a falsehood to you, Granny.”

Orikí: “Alright, but that’s not good enough.”
“Then just keep being happy—that’s fine.”
“If you consider yourself fortunate and stay content, then that’s just fine.”

“Huh?”

“Whether they ostracize you seven parts or ten,” Orikí said, “throw all that aside and keep farming. Ain’t that so? These days, livin’ without doin’ a single wrong to others—that’s something mighty. If you yourself know that, ain’t that enough? There ain’t no true satisfaction in this world—so bein’ content with that ain’t no good. First off—no matter how fierce them villagers bully you now, folks can’t keep up such fool nonsense forever. They’ll tire of it soon enough and forget you clean.”

Kijū: “That ain’t how it is! They’re so damn relentless—never forgettin’ and keep bullyin’ me—”

Orikí: “Wrong! You’ve got it backwards! The one who can’t forget is you. ’Cause you keep nursin’ them resentful thoughts—that’s why they won’t let go neither.”

Jirō: “But then Uncle’s just s’posed to keep takin’ their abuse, no matter how bad it gets?”

Orikí: “Now now—you leave that to me.”

Shinichi: “The very idea of village ostracism—such a feudalistic practice is completely wrong!”

Orikí: “Hah! You can spout all that logic you want—what makes you think I’d understand any of it? But you see—people mustn’t rush into things.”
“Kijū keeps sayin’ he’s bein’ bullied this way and that—and I don’t reckon he or Mr. Moriyama are lyin’—but if you listen proper-like to their tales, the only hard fact in all this mess is that water inlet’s been meddled with. Ain’t that so?”
“Bein’ left outta rations, gettin’ strong-armed for festival donations, bein’ shut outta social ties—all that might just be misunderstandings poppin’ up here and there, or maybe even our own misjudgin’ of things.”
“It’s all murky as a mud puddle.”
“When troubles get tangled, that’s when such matters start sproutin’ one after another.”
“It’s ’cause you’re stuck thinkin’ you’re bein’ bullied day in and day out that you end up twistin’ how you take each little thing.”
“Folks mightn’t mean to lie, but lies get told all the same.”
“Hah! My old man once got fooled by a fox, see—after comin’ back from a kinsman’s do up in Komoro, he couldn’t get through the door nohow, so he started bellowin’ fit to wake the dead. When I went lookin’, there he was atop the hill, goin’ round and round in circles—took me goin’ up myself to finally haul ’im home. Even when he laid eyes on me, he kept claimin’ that blasted fox was still trickin’ him.”
“Ah well—when all’s said and done, he’d guzzled that rotgut local brew and wolfed down some half-spoiled mackerel sushi—got himself soused on that greasy slop till his head wasn’t right.”
“The fool hisself swore up and down he’d been fox-tricked—still believes it to this day.”
“Hah—folk are queer creatures—they hoodwink their own selves.”
“Mightn’t get fooled by foxes, but you’ll fool yourself sure enough.”
“Hah! Me—I’m a simpleton through and through, but even a simpleton’s got her wiles. Till I see it with my own two eyes, I ain’t about to trust a word from nobody’s mouth.”
“Even that business ’bout the water inlet bein’ meddled with—there’s no provin’ it was Kinzō what did it.”

“But, Granny—”

“Sada, bring me a pair of straw sandals.”
“Straw sandals?”
“What’re ya gonna use ’em for?”
“What d’ya think straw sandals are for? —I’m wearin’ ’em to go.”

“Huh? Where you headed?”
“I’m headed to Kai-no-Kuchi for just a little ways.”

“Hmm—you mean to say—”

“You all come along with me, and we’ll see whether Kijū’s telling truth or tales.”
“To settle this proper-like, I’ll need to meet with Suyama’s master and that Kinzō from Serizawa.”

“Is that so!”
“If you’d be so kind as to step in like this, Granny—why, there’ll be no need for fuss or feathers—things’ll smooth themselves right out.”
“This here’s a godsend!”

“Granny, I... I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”
“That’s exactly right!”
“Hmph—don’t thank me yet. It’s still too early.”
“No one’s said they’ll take your side yet.”
“I’ll go see—and if you’re in the wrong, I’ll take you down proper! You mark my words!”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Oh! This is a blessin’!”

“If they’re in the wrong, I’ll take ’em down proper.”
“Hahaha—that’s just my little joke.”
“Truth is, it’s just this white-haired head bowin’ up and down, goin’ round beggin’ favors—that’s all there is to it.”

“I’m comin’ along too!”

“I’m goin’ too.”
“Enough! You all go straight home from Kawakami.”

“But Granny, you needn’t rush like birds startled from underfoot—”
“Nonsense—with matters like these, quicker’s better.”
“Yes, straw sandals.”
“Tabi socks, huh?”

“I don’t need the tabi socks,” said Orikí.
(adjusting the straw sandal cords) “Right—it was your matter to discuss, Jirō.”
“So you’re planning to leave for Tokyo?”

“Yeah,” said Jirō.

Shinichi cut in: “If you’re just leaving, that’s fine.”
“But since you’re saying you’ll join the Police Reserve, I’m against it.”
“They say the Police Reserve’ll turn into a full military force down the line.”

Orikí paused mid-motion with her sandals: “The military?”
(strapping on straw sandals)

Jirō squared his shoulders: “Still fine by me.”
“You’re against armaments, Shin-chan—that’s why you say that stuff. But I ain’t opposed. If protecting the country needs it, I’ll gladly become a soldier.”

“I see.”
“……Can’t make heads or tails of your fancy arguments—but Jirō, you’re hellbent on goin’ to Tokyo?”

“Yeah. Gotta go.”

“I see.”
“Then go.”
“Youth don’t come twice.”
“What matters most is doin’ what you truly wanna do.”
“No matter what folks say—you search your heart proper-like, think it through, then grab hold of whatever you wanna do most and give it all you’ve got.”
“Do that, even if you botch it—no regrets.”
“Go to Tokyo.”
“And if it don’t work out—come on back.”

Jirō: “...Yeah. Nah—you’re right.”
“Truth is, I don’t wanna go to some damn Tokyo.”
“Me... Farmin’ suits me best—wanna keep at it.”
“But even if I stay home—family’s fields ain’t enough as is—me bein’ the second son there? If we split off a branch household, main house can’t keep goin’. Plus feelin’ awful ’bout my brother—lately, just can’t stand seein’ his face.”

“Oh… So that’s how it is… Then quit yammerin’ ’bout headin’ to Tokyo.”
“Ah hell—if that’s how you feel, just quit it already!”
“Not havin’ enough fields’s a damn nuisance, but don’t fret—I’ll square it away proper for ya.”
“Even beggin’ scraps from kinfolk, we’ll scrape together ’bout two tan worth.”
“When Gramps an’ me kick off, you’ll get at least one o’ them lower paddies here.”

Jirō: “…Thank you, Granny.”

Orikí: “What’s this? Cryin’ yer eyes out?”
“Yer no girl—quit yer snivelin’. I can’t abide it.”

“But y’see—right now, this problem ’bout second an’ third sons in farmin’ households—it’s a real big issue here.”
“In the end, it’s ’cause there ain’t enough land—no matter how much land reform they do, it won’t lead to a real solution.”
“Even if we try to address the population problem, it can’t be resolved quick—and once you realize that, this thing becomes an issue that just can’t be settled domestically no matter what.”
“The root cause of Mr. Kijū’s problem also comes from not havin’ enough fields.”

“That’s right—what’re we s’posed to do?”

“If only foreign countries’d hurry up an’ think about this point—let us emigrate somewhere or somethin’—”

“Yeah,” said Orikí.
“Reckon there ain’t no choice but to make that plea in the end.”

Moriyama adjusted his sandal straps. “Now ’bout that last war—sure, Japan’s fightin’ was wrongheaded, but one root cause was this land shortage here. If they hadn’t gone pushin’ into Manchuria or suchlike, there just wasn’t no way to keep body an’ soul together, see?”
“Keep at this track now, an’ things’ll get right knotted up quick.”
“Them youngsters like Shinichi an’ Jirō here gettin’ all fired up ’bout rearmament this an’ anti-rearmament that—that’s all tangled with these same troubles. Can’t say I don’t feel where they’re comin’ from.”

Orikí: That’s right.
“But armament’s no good—we can’t have soldiers anymore.”

“Huh?” Jirō’s voice cracked. “Armament ain’t allowed, Granny?”

“Ain’t allowed.” Orikí’s words fell like an axe blade.

“...Then what’ll ya do if some foreign country attacks?”

“Who said they’d attack?”

Jirō: “No one’s sayin’ they will—but if they did come, you’d have us raise our hands and surrender?”

Orikí: “I don’t know ’bout that sorta thing.”
“Besides, this here’s a matter for all of Japan.”
“What good does a shitty old hag like me blatherin’ this ’n’ that do?”
“I just want smarter folks handlin’ things proper.”
“But soldiers—we ain’t havin’ ’em no more. …In that cursed war, I sent four sons off as soldiers and lost two of ’em. …Don’t regret it—that’s just how it is.”
“Course it’s plain as day—nothin’ more to it.”
“But havin’ two sons taken from ya—it ain’t easy.”
“……That’s what I’m sayin’.”
“Ain’t I ’lowed to say it?”
“……Soldiers—we ain’t gonna have ’em, any kinda soldiers.”

Jirō: “...But—”

Orikí: “No ‘buts’ or ‘what ifs’! Once you start makin’ excuses, you’ll find one for everythin’. Whether it’s better to arm up or stay disarmed—there’s arguments for both sides. Good points and bad in each. No end to weighin’ ’em against each other.”

“What matters is—once you see clear what’s truest—you toss aside all that clutter, every last bit, and act on it. Troubles’ll come from that choice—but deal with ’em as they come.”

“Last year—Granny Okame from Itabashi had gut troubles so bad, no amount of rest cured her. Saw three, four town doctors—drank enough medicine to fill a bucket—nothin’ worked. Ended up beggin’ faith healers—still no good, just cryin’ ‘cancer! cancer!’”

“When I visited—kept my eyes sharp—turns out she loved azuki beans somethin’ fierce. Made ’em into sweet paste, dumplin’ fillin’, porridge—stuffin’ herself mornin’ and night.”

“Azuki beans loosen your bowels—she knew that full well! But kept eatin’ ’em anyway—made up every excuse under the sun.”

“So I snatched ’em right up! Harsh? Sure—she wailed like a banshee at first.”

“Half a month later? Gut troubles gone—licked clean away.”

“Ha.”

“When your life’s on the line—don’t do what harms you. Stop clean.”

Jirō: "...So you're sayin', Granny—even if some foreign army comes attackin', you ain't gonna resist?"

Orikí: "What's this 'resistance' you're goin' on about?"

Jirō: "You're sayin' we ain't supposed to fight back?"

Orikí: "Who's to know? We're only human—can't tell till it happens. But if them foreigners start slaughterin' Japanese folks right before your eyes, one after another—damn straight you'd grab a butcher knife and fight back whether you want to or not."

“Then if it comes to that, it’ll already be too late, won’t it?!” Jirō shot back. “We’ll just be slaughtered!”

“Even too late’s got nothin’ to be done about,” Orikí retorted. “Better get killed by others than stain your hands with killin’!” Her voice rasped like wind through dry reeds. “If bein’ killed’s too late, then doin’ the killin’s later still—ain’t that so?” She leaned forward, her shadow swallowing Jirō’s. “Folk like that’ll just rot in hell forever.”

A beat of silence hung before she drove the point home: “What matters is—killin’s wrong.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Ain’t that right?”

Three times she hammered it, each strike louder than the last:
“Evil is evil—don’t do it!”
“Evil is evil—don’t do it!”
“Evil is evil—don’t you dare do it!”

“My, what loud voices!” Sada exclaimed. “My ears are ringing something awful!”

“Haha!”
“That’s all I know.”
“Being a fool, I don’t know about the rest.”
“Let the wise ones handle what remains properly.”
“Evil is evil—don’t do it!”

(With both feet now in straw sandals, [she] stomped heavily on the dirt floor.) “Kijū! Let’s get going!”

Kijū: “Right!”

“Haha, haha!”

Osen: “Heh heh!”

(Everyone laughed lightly as the people who were leaving began to stand and walk out.)
Somewhere, the shrill cry of a shrike.)