Pathway to Japanese Literature

Against the blue, elongated embankment, they stood out here and there in stark white. The hum of tiny wings from insects gathered on the flowers formed a dreadful drone. Rice fields stretched along the embankment. The short figures of farmers scattering lime flickered into view. White powder flew like smoke from their fingertips. The glossy dampness of ridges skillfully plastered with fine mud contrasted with the white, dried path through the rice fields. Frogs cried at full voice. Both the edges of the rice fields and the opposite bank were all cultivated fields. The fields were everywhere covered with ripening wheat ears. The wheat ears appeared as finely as dry earth. The mulberry fields between them stood out in vivid, deep green. And the villages' forests stood thickly clustered, demarcating the fields. The distant forests stretched low as if sinking into the wheat, drawing bold outlines against the sagging blue sky. The Kinu River maintained its normal water level as it meandered through these plains. River sparrows pecking at riverbank insects showed their white bellies while busily cheeping and flitting about. Nimbly twisting their bodies, they struck the water of the shallows near the riverbank and leaped up. Bathing in the midday sun, everything appeared pleasant. Ofusa the hairdresser walked briskly northward along the embankment in a straight line.

Over her medium-patterned yukata, she wore a white chest covering. When Ofusa took this embankment northward, she was always immaculately dressed. The white chest covering, crisp and clean to the eye, made the petite Ofusa appear three or four years younger. She cradled a small bundle containing oil, combs, and tools of her trade in her left arm while holding open an umbrella in her right. Though she bore a certain withered quality that set her apart from ordinary people, no trace of worry showed on Ofusa. When walking north along the embankment, Ofusa's face wore a cheerful smile. She twirled the umbrella on her shoulder round and round like a young girl would. Ofusa is twenty-six. Through the short grasses lining the path, the white tabi socks advanced energetically. At the embankment's end stood a dense forest, from which houses built along one side extended like outstretched hands lining the bank. The river curved sharply to the left. Therefore, three or four white walls made the riverbank appear lively from afar. In front of the transport company, Takase boats gathered beneath the embankment. On the slope cut diagonally into the embankment, rice bales bound for Takase boats were being rolled down in orderly succession. In the vicinity, earthen pipes, empty sake barrels, and miscellaneous goods continued from the transport company’s yard, narrowing the embankment thoroughfare. Ofusa furled her umbrella and passed through the laborers. The mischievous laborers teased Ofusa from behind with short, abrupt phrases. But nothing reached Ofusa's ears. And then she started walking briskly and entered the barbershop across the way. The only conceivable reason Ofusa traveled all the way along the lengthy embankment was that this shop existed.

In the shop worked a mistress nearing fifty, a woman in her twenties, and a girl of fourteen or fifteen. Male craftsmen were not employed. Ofusa exchanged glances with the mistress and simply smiled with innocent radiance. And then, from behind the customer having his beard shaved, she reflected her own figure in the mirror and smiled radiantly once more. Seeing her own splendidly prepared appearance reflected was an immense delight for Ofusa. Ofusa placed the umbrella and bundle on the net-covered shelf. The mistress and the other two were also wearing white work garments. The work garments were extremely soiled. Ofusa gently tapped the young girl's shoulder, briefly pinched her own starched chest covering, then pinched the young girl's work garment and produced a strange voice squeezed from the depths of her throat before smiling with childlike radiance once more. The young girl

“Yeah, sure. What a huge favor.”

Shaking her body as if trying to fling something off, she stopped the hand holding the precariously held razor and stuck out her tongue briefly. Ofusa, with an attitude that seemed both teasing and coquettish, emitted another strange sound and smiled radiantly.

“You shouldn’t do such things, Omin.”

The other girl using a razor, Omichi, said reproachfully. Omin, “That’s right—it really is nice.” She turned toward Ofusa and said this. The mistress kept up a steady snipping sound while combing up strands of hair and trimming their ends bit by bit. Squinting intently, she worked the scissors with concentration. After some time passed, the customer who appeared to be a primary school teacher stood up holding his belongings from the shelf. Ofusa stared fixedly at his face. The customer briefly glanced at the skylark cage hanging from the shop’s pillar before leaving. The figure in Western clothes and geta sandals receded into the distance beyond the mirror until vanishing entirely. Ofusa had been watching the teacher’s retreating back when she again emitted that strangled sound from her throat. The mistress paused her busy scissors and looked over to find Ofusa stroking her own cheek, pointing at where the teacher had gone, then thrusting out her thumb. The mistress gave an acknowledging nod. Ofusa’s manner grew increasingly agitated.

"What's the deal with that teacher?" Omin said while folding a white cloth and hanging it on a pole. "That’s just how it is."

“They say she acts just like Shō-san—whenever she sees a decent-looking man, she sticks out her thumb and makes a fuss like that—all because she’s got nothing but Shō-san on her mind.” Omichi said. And then “That’s right, Otsuka-san.” She turned to face the mistress. “That makes Shō-san the guilty one, then.” Omin made a precocious remark.

Hearing people say “It’s a sin, it’s a sin,” Omin parroted their words. Ofusa opened the water tank’s lid, saw that the water was gone, and signaled this to Omin with her hand. Because Omin was standing vacantly, Ofusa picked up the bucket and began to rise. The mistress— “Omin! Omin!” the mistress suddenly scolded. Omin snatched up the bucket, dashed across the thoroughfare, and ran off. At the embankment’s base, she lifted her skirt hem all around. When that figure disappeared beneath the embankment, Ofusa too ran across the thoroughfare. And then she stood looking down at the river. From the barbershop, the river water was not visible. The village on the opposite bank wore sparse groves’ green, pressing against the thoroughfare’s edge where Ofusa stood. Two or three shoji screens glimpsed between the trees caught the eye. From where the river curved, water glistened white vertically in the distance. The embankment Ofusa had walked along stretched lushly green as far as one could see. From that distant point ahead, two white sails now rose into view. A white-feathered bantam appeared from beneath the embankment near Ofusa’s feet. Its tail—so full it nearly touched its comb—fluttered in the soft breeze. A rooster crowed shrilly. Leaning backward with open beak, its small throat seeming to tear as it let out two or three crows.

And then, its white tail fluttering in the wind, the bantam disappeared into the embankment. It walked through the green grass on the embankment's slope, scratching at the ground with its feet in search of food. Omin came up. She placed the bucket at the base of the embankment and, leaning on it with both hands, rested briefly with an exhausted air. Ofusa lent Omin a hand and carried the bucket. During this time, a rattling carriage passed by on the embankment thoroughfare, its hooves kicking up dust. A cart piled mountain-high with goods passed by. A person passed by. Those that run pause for an instant; those that pause etch their forms eternally in the dim depths of the mirror. When the thoroughfare became deserted, the depths of the mirror were calm. Only the skylark in the cage hung from the pillar nearest the entrance—spilling millet from its bowl while thrusting its bristled head against the ceiling netting in repeated struggles—kept the mirror’s depths in constant motion. When the water tank was filled and more buckets had been brought from the river, Ofusa soaked a rag in a bucket and walked around wiping here and there starting from the water tank. Ofusa took down a lamp hanging in another corner and inspected it. She wiped the soot from the chimney, took out the wick to inspect it, and trimmed it with scissors. And then she hung the lamp back on its former nail and sniffed the smell of her hands.

“You’re really something, aren’t you? What a big help.”

Omin said this and handed her the soap. Ofusa washed her kerosene-smelling hands, then washed her face, and once again gazed adoringly at her reflection in the mirror. "She’s really pining for Shō-san, isn’t she?"

Omichi studied her intently. After the lull in customers, a man came steadily through the entrance from behind and plopped down into the chair while— “Now that’s a beard!” He boomed in a deep voice. “Now that’s a beard!” And Omichi immediately mimicked him, “What’s with all the high-and-mighty airs?” Omichi laughed. The man leaned his neck against the chair and smiled. His sunburnt face glinted with a healthy sheen, marking him as a robust man. He wore a navy-blue work shirt with straight sleeves and had carelessly tied a three-foot-long sash around his waist. His wide-open chest was thickly covered with hair. He was a Takase boatman. Despite having soap lathered onto his bristly beard with a brush, he teased Ofusa through hand gestures. Ofusa made a strange, sullen face—what exactly she had comprehended was unclear—and pressed two fingers beneath her nose.

“They call you Two Sticks, you know. Should’ve kept that trap shut.” Omichi chided the boatman. He tried to retort, but Omichi’s razor hand clamped over his lips, stifling the words.

“I’ll slice you with this razor if you keep flapping your gums.” Everyone burst out laughing. Ofusa’s face brightened again.

"Isn't this clothing's pattern nice?" Omin said enviously. "They all get them from the transport company entrance, you know. They're really nice, aren't they?"

Omichi also said. "If you want it that much I'll give it to you myself—if your husband beats you, better come find me instead." "So noisy! Here we go again." The two of them burst out laughing again after saying this. Most customers coming to this shop were boatmen, laborers, farmers, and such. In this region where the rough speech particular to the area was constantly traded back and forth, such exchanges weren't considered strange in the least.

Ofusa retreated behind the mirror, unfastened her tucked-up hem all around, retied her sash, then stood blankly at the shopfront gazing into the distance beyond the thoroughfare. The shop mistress's customer had finished getting his hair cut. The white cloth now covered in hair was gently removed. When Ofusa suddenly noticed it, she took the white cloth from the mistress’s hand and began briskly shaking out the hair. The shop mistress draped a small cloth before him and lightly moistened the area around his mouth. Then after adjusting the razor and testing its edge against her palm she returned to the side of the chair.

“What’s with this woman? Is she mute?” The thirty-five- or thirty-six-year-old mustached customer asked. A man who appeared to be a tax official—arrogant-looking—. “Well she’s mute, but sir, didn’t you know?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know.” “She comes here often enough—there’s nobody around these parts who doesn’t know her.”

“I see. Though I’ve only been here two months myself. So what’s the story with this woman then?” The customer, having been drawn into the nearby conversation since earlier, proceeded to inquire about Ofusa. The shop mistress shaved off the left sideburn and used the back of the razor while—

“She did have a husband once, but when he cast her aside—well, she doesn’t think that way about herself anymore.” “Where on earth— Well, this woman…”

The customer continued inquiring with an attitude half in jest. The shop mistress spoke in a half-hearted manner, her attention divided by the razor.

“This Kawanishi, you see.” “Her mother was rather dissolute.” “The man who became her mother’s husband was a sake merchant from Echigo who entered the family as a live-in son-in-law, they say.” “I don’t know the full details myself.” “They say he was docile as a cat too—that’s how his arrogance grew.” “He became a master brewer at the storehouse—though you gentlemen must know about such things—they called him a toji or some such.” “So when he’d work hard bringing money home only to find her gone out drinking and beating the child.” “Well, being a man, her husband must’ve gotten angry too—but I don’t know those particulars.” “Her husband being a born worrier—so fretful about drink he hardly came home—they say this mute woman took up with some barber apprentice young enough to be her son. At her age carrying on like that—she’s worthless now.” “That’s why they say her husband left once things went too far—though someone from distant parts with no roots can’t just cleanly cut ties.” “Still, they say he left the property he’d built up—caring for the child supposedly—though I can’t vouch for that.” “Even that barber had shady morals, and her mother must’ve worried about appearances—meant to cut him loose but he wouldn’t agree.” “So they tricked this mute into thinking she’d run a shop—ended up setting one here.” “Back then the household managed somehow—she was twenty-four then.” “Thought she’d found herself a good man and worked herself raw.” “Then her mother up and died.” “Plain as day the drink did her in.” “The craftsman’s Shō-san they call him—why’d he keep protecting this mute? Took in some teahouse girl—left this one at home while he went off toward Tsukuba—and still she doesn’t believe he cast her aside at all...”

The razor moved smoothly and glided slowly along the jawline. The shop mistress tenderly cradled the chin, tilted her head, and moved the razor. Ofusa kept her hands busy—wringing towels from the pole, scrubbing the sink, sweeping up hair clippings to examine them. Omichi’s hands became free as customers stopped coming for a time. Ofusa led Omichi behind the mirror. She took the bundle from the shelf and laid out the hairdressing tools. She poured hot water from the iron kettle and began working out the hair’s kinks. The boatman too sat down behind the mirror, rustling his newspaper awhile before lying down to sleep.

“When she was cast aside, they say she cried something terrible.” “Must be truly inconvenient being all alone like that.” “Though mind you, seems there were neighbors and kin who tried looking after her.” “With no other choice, they had her do the hairdressing her husband’d trained her in—that’s how it came about.” “Since he’d taught her razor work well enough, she’s actually useful now—though if you ask me, that’s still thanks to him.” “Then three months later her man comes back sudden-like—after that, couldn’t pry ’em apart no more.” “Sweet-talked her somehow and ran off again, I tell you.” “Made her swallow some tale about being too poor—had to go earn money far off, said he’d come back once he saved enough to work at the shop again, so she should keep earning and waiting. Don’t know the full truth myself.” “That’s why she’s been hoarding every coin since then, clear as day.” “At first folks took pity—gave extra wages, passed down clothes, looked after her proper.” “This yukata here must’ve been charity too.” “That’s where it went wrong.” “Her man shows up now and then—swindles her clean and takes off with the purse.” “Reckon she thinks he comes ’cause he’s hard up—hands over every last cent she’s got.” “So he’s too shamed to show in the village—calls her out halfway instead, goes carousing two-three days.” “After that got known, folks still give money but make sure she don’t keep none.” “That’s why he drops by here sometimes—since they made her think she could earn again at this shop.” “Comes mornings sometimes, afternoons like today—cleans here and there when he shows up. Helps with our kids, but her believing all that nonsense makes it right inconvenient.” “Being so stuck on her man—cripples are hopeless cases.” “No use others teaching her—she won’t listen proper. Tease her and it backfires—better just keep her happy. Less trouble that way…………”

The shop mistress continued her account. “Well now, do you even know what sort of man this husband fellow is?”

This time, the customer too seemed hooked. “You see, sir—that husband of hers goes by Shō-san. He’s quite the charmer, knows how to sweet-talk, and truth be told, he’s not bad company.” “Truth be told, this shop could do quite well, but his conduct isn’t proper—though lately the authorities have stopped doling out punishments from Hachikamado. He’s always had debts here and there, making him thoroughly detestable, and if you’re going to have someone like that, better they can at least speak properly, I tell you.” “In jest, he says disabled folks are too sentimental to handle—and for some reason they’re cold, which makes them unpleasant—that’s how Shō-san puts it, you see.” “Even so, he probably isn’t completely without pity knowing she’s all alone, and since there’s no way he feels good about treating her like that, I suppose he can’t help but come check on her now and then, you see.”

“But isn’t he a terrible fellow for snatching away her money?” "You see, sir—Shō-san does come by this shop without fail, but there are times when everyone teases him till he’s quite flustered." "It might just be an excuse, but Shō-san says taking the money keeps her cheerful, does no harm here, and serves both sides—so he holds onto it. But mind you, Shō-san doesn’t strike me as a bad sort." "He’s still only thirty-three or thirty-four at most—not one to be tossed aside yet." “Truth be told, he’s a husband from days gone by—but even an overstayed one has his uses.”

The razor ran repeatedly across every part of the cheek. The shop mistress, distracted by the razor, chattered without restraint. Because she spent her days with rough companions, she had become thoroughly rough herself. Ofusa bit off the end of the paper cord with her incisor teeth.

“It must be that whenever something reminds her, she comes here, I tell you.” “She cleans everything up hoping her husband will praise her—that’s all there is to it.” “That’s why she primps herself up like this to look her finest.” “The way she dolls herself up without being taught—now that’s what chills your bones.” “Course, since she don’t chatter much, you might say she don’t understand—or acts like she don’t.”

The shop mistress further— “Whichever way you look at it, a crime’s a crime whether you kill or spare someone, sir.” and added the final line. The white cloth was removed from his chest. “Sir, shall we wash up?” The customer rose from the chair after a long interval. While wiping his smoothly shaved face, he suddenly glimpsed Ofusa through the mirror’s reflection as she tied hair by the long hibachi. “This is really well done.”

A gingko-style topknot was formed. “She’s clever，you see．If she could speak with this skill，she’d be remarkable—but what a pity…………”

While neatly wiping the seated customer’s hair, the shop mistress said this. And then, “Whenever he comes, she styles everyone’s hair like this before leaving, you see.” “In return—you see—we buy her kintsuba sweets as proper hairdressing fees. But seeing how delighted she looks, even if there were no need, you couldn’t begrudge buying them for her.” “It must be her disability—there’s something childlike about her, you see.” “No matter how you look at it—if she were ordinary—even at twenty-six she wouldn’t be fooled so easily by mere kintsuba sweets, you see.”

she said.

A single Takase boat appeared to have docked, its white sail pressed against the embankment as it came to a stop. The large white sail spread over the distant fields, appearing vast in the mirror's surface. The white sail sagged limply, looking utterly drained of strength. The sail rope seemed to have been untied, and the white sail went completely slack before sliding smoothly downward. A thud like a log being thrown echoed from below the embankment. Leaving only the upright mast behind, the mirror soon reflected again the glistening river surface, the verdant embankment, and the expanse stretching from village to field. The skylark in the mirror never stopped fluttering. The customer’s hair was oiled and combed repeatedly. The shop mistress took a white cloth and briskly patted around the collar. The customer stroked his chin once, looked into the mirror, and stood up. The shop mistress poured tea and offered it.

For a while, customers stopped coming.

Suddenly, a little monk boy of about six, with half his head still unshaven, came running while crying. At the base of the entrance pillar, he kept stretching his unreachable hands toward the skylark cage while stamping his feet and wailing. The old woman ran up from behind alone and tried to grab the little monk boy. The little monk boy would not be caught by the old woman’s hands. The skylark, startled, flapped its wings and made a commotion. Everyone in the shop laughed. “Look, here comes the patrolman!” The old woman threatened. The little monk boy slightly subdued his crying. Ofusa finished tying the hair and briefly peeked into the shop. And then she made peculiar gestures to the shop mistress. It seemed she was saying to give something to the child. The shop mistress simply nodded in response. The little monk boy was finally led away by the old woman.

“With this, she’s got a mother’s heart, you see.”

And the shop mistress said to the customer. "Did I say she was twenty-six?" “Still, she’s young.” “If she could speak, there would’ve been quite a commotion, I suppose.” "It’s too unsettling to meddle, you know." "And now that she’s only got eyes for her husband, it’s all the more reason not to interfere."

“When did you move this shop here?” “You’re thriving here.”

“It’s already been two years, you know.” “My own home was two or three ri away too—quite the strange tale.” “The master was a dissolute sort, you see.” “When he dragged in all those layabouts, I couldn’t very well be pleased.” “In the end we split off here.” “Was a rented place, but now that Shō-san’s handed over the full set of tools, we’re set.” “As for apprentices—girls handle better, so we’ve kept it all women here—manages just fine this way.”

“Since it’s all women here—well, I must say it’s quite admirable.” “Even so—do you still have dealings with the master now?” “Well, he does come around sometimes—but since he only stirs up trouble and there’s no dealing with him, we’ve long since stopped having proper rows.” “At his age, he might as well stay single.” “It’s not that I want to argue—but when things go too far, I can’t hold back—and even then, it’s still no use—they’ll only say the woman’s at fault.”

The shop mistress smoked her pipe with a disheveled face.

"Even so, I do have one child, you see." "Yes, that's right—he's a boy." "He can start working at the telegraph office once he graduates next year." "Until now I devoted myself to supporting him—with him being my sole reliance, you see."

Having said this, she stuffed paper into the fire pan, twisted it firmly, discarded the rouge-stained paper into the corner of the brazier, and blew a breath into the packed pipe. "This time, have Omin tie it."

The shop mistress shouted.

The customer “Ah,much obliged.” With a haughty greeting he left.

Ofusa was walking back along the Kinu River embankment, clutching a slightly swollen package. She seemed thoroughly cheerful. The swollen package was kintsuba. Ofusa held that as something precious. There was no way to truly know Ofusa's heart. If you filled a sealed box with pebbles, wood fragments, glass shards and assorted things, then shook it violently, even if you could imagine one of those contents being a pebble or wood fragment, you would never know them all. Ofusa's heart was that.

No one could definitively assert their imaginings about Ofusa were accurate. Yet when walking this embankment, her usual sullen look vanished, leaving only carefree cheerfulness. When contemplating quietly, all found Ofusa pitiable. When meeting and speaking with her, all laughed and mocked. Regardless of who it might be, hearing rumors of her husband seemed intensely pleasurable to Ofusa. Thirty marked a woman's age of decline. With those thirty years looming before her, Ofusa childishly walked back and forth along the embankment. A south wind blew soft and cool through wild rose blossoms. The limpid azure sky appeared like a glass lid covering the earth to protect vegetation thriving like vigorous youth. The few days when wild roses bloomed were the year's most refreshing time, when surroundings stirred no unease. The sun lingered at dusk as if reluctant to part from this earth even momentarily, hesitating to set. In such moments, only the wheat ears bore sorrowful hues. As if unable to endure sunlight that gave vitality to all things and shone intensely, the wheat ears turned yellow like scorched earth. From the sun's angle, faint shadows drifted over wheat ears still tinged with blue. The slanting sunlight peered insistently at Ofusa's childlike cheeks.

(Published in Hototogisu, Volume 12, Issue 12, September 1, Meiji 42 [1909])