Pathway to Japanese Literature

Ohana

Kenji

Rokuhei

Nakazo

Gosuke

Sugimura

Middle-aged woman

Goro (Hizen)

Ogin

Clerk 1, Clerk 2

Matsuo

Kaneichi

Sankichi

Passerby

Oyone

Echigo

Bungo

Rikuzen

Satsuma

Jōshū

Makiko

Mikawa

Iwami

Dr. Inoue

Music (Overture sharing the same theme as the Symphony from a later section)

An announcement played over the music.

The announcement and music stopped, leaving the scene silent for a while.

Suddenly, clang, clang, clang—the sound of a large hatchet striking a standing tree echoed through the mountains, resounding far and wide.

The sharp cries of small birds.

At times, carried by the wind, the sound of the mountain stream came rushing in with a whoosh.

The atmosphere of a forest deep in the mountain depths.

“Heave-ho!”

A young man's work shout and the clang of a hatchet striking a standing tree resounded simultaneously.

As if signaled by that sound, from a place slightly removed came a song—a stiff, crude melody in the voice of a not-yet-mature girl that could pass for a boy's.

Ohana: "Yah-reh!

In the mountains, what's red—I tell ya,

Azaleas and camellias

And wisteria vines entwined

Ah! Chietoko! Partoko!

Yah-reh!

Far apart now—I tell ya—

When I want to see you,

If only the moon would turn to mirror-glass

Ah! Chietoko! Partoko!"

Kenji: "Still butcherin' them songs same as ever, Ohana! When you wail like some mountain hag, I'll end up choppin' my own shins with this blade!"

Ohana: “Well now, you go sayin’ such things… But Mr. Naka went and praised my singin’ just like this!”
Kenji: “Well then, have Old Man Rokuhei sing later and compare for yourself. Naka says that’s pure Onoshi-style—no matter what anyone says, he says it’s good.”
Ohana: “Well then, Big brother, you try singin’.”

Kenji: "I'm just a woodcutter from Hita's mountain depths... Can't sing worth a damn... Just gotta keep choppin' wood... Heave-ho!"

Clang—the sound of cutting a standing tree.

Meanwhile, Ohana worked a small saw back and forth vigorously,

In time with this,

Ohana: “Yah-reh

To bring out the moon, I tell ya,

I promised, but

The moon hides in mountain shadows—where is my love?

“Yah-reh, Chietoko, Partoko”

“Ah-hahahaha!” The two of them laughed in unison.

“Alright, I’m goin’ in—Ohana, move aside…”

With a clang of the strike, the large hinoki cypress came crashing down—crack-crack-crack, whooosh—its fall resounding through the forest.

The younger sister approached her older brother.

“Look at this sweat, Big brother!”

She wiped her brother’s back.

Kenji exhaled with satisfaction. “Ahhh! So with this—the eighteen logs we bid on at Maruichi—that’s all done now, right? Why don’t we grab some lunch over at Old Man Rokuhei’s place around here?”

“Is it alright if we leave the drop-off for next time?”
“Yeah—Naka said he’d come ’fore raft assembly and take care of the drop-off.”

Ohana: “So does that mean Mr. Naka’s comin’ here?”

Kenji: “What’s wrong with him comin’?”
“Haha, let's get goin’!”

Ohana: “Yeah…”

The brother and sister made their way down the slope toward the stream, treading through the undergrowth.
That sound…

Kenji suddenly halted,

Kenji: "Ohana, how old are you now?"

“Huh?”
“What?”

“How old are you now?”

“I’m eighteen,” she said. “Why d’ya ask such a thing?”

“Eighteen, huh?” He wiped sweat from his brow. “…I’m twenty-three. A twenty-three-year-old woodcutter headin’ out to mountain work with his eighteen-year-old sister in tow—might seem odd to folks, but there ain’t no help for it.”

The saw’s rasping paused as he continued: “Not that I don’t wanna have ya learn proper lady-like sewin’ an’ such—get ya settled someplace nice sooner rather’n later. But it’s just me ’n’ you—brother ’n’ sister alone. No pa, no ma, no other kin to speak of. Can’t rightly leave ya by yourself at the village house while I’m off in the mountains. So here we are…”

“I ain’t gettin’ married, I tell ya,” said Ohana. “And besides, workin’ up here in the mountains with you brings in way more than stayin’ home alone ever could.”

Kenji shook his head. “No—what I’m sayin’ is, people shouldn’t go forgettin’ the boundaries they were born into, that’s all. Anyway, we were born in these mountains and it’s our lot to end in ’em—that’s just how it is.”

“Big brother,” Ohana tilted her head, “what in the world are you talkin’ about?”

“What... Nakazo here—” Kenji scuffed his boot against the dirt, “—he was my school friend, gets along well with you too, and now he’s workin’ as Maruichi Lumber’s river boss. But originally he was a distant relative of their master—might even become Maruichi’s adopted heir someday.” His voice lowered. “We ain’t of the same standing.”

"Ohana: 'So what's that supposed to mean?'

Kenji: 'Ain't sayin' there's any particular reason, but whatever Nakazo might be tellin' you—you gotta keep that in mind when dealin' with him, I'm tellin' ya.'

Ohana: 'What intention? What're you even on about? Is it wrong for me to like Mr. Naka?'

Kenji: 'Can't say it's wrong...'

Ohana: 'When it's someone I love, I can't just go hatin' on 'em.'

Kenji: '...Hmm... That... can't be helped. But what I'm sayin' is...'"

With a rustling through the undergrowth, the two made their way out to the stream.

“Heeey... Old man Rokuheeei!”

Old Man Rokuhei slowly poked his head out from the hut,

“Heeey! Ohana-chan! Kenji!”

“We came for tea!”

“Just in time.
I was fixin’ to start makin’ the meal myself.
C’mon in.”

(while entering) “Damn... To think such a gorgeous maple exists!”

Tap-tap against the giant tree’s bark.

“Heh heh—this pullin’ method brings out true jorinmoku wood.
Orders from Saga—they want floorboards outta this. Town’s crawlin’ with fancy types these days, heh heh.
Though ’s thanks to their airs that old woodcutters like me keep fed.”

Kenji: “Damn... To think you could take wood this warped and make a clean cut straight as a snapped line—all with just one big saw...!”

Rokuhei: “Ah, well... Once you pass sixty, your spirit might stay sharp but these arms go limp.”
“Wish I could’ve shown you the planks from when your pa was alive—sawin’ away so lively!”

Ohana: “So... Pa was... he was really that good?”

Rokuhei: “Aye, Kengoro was a master without equal—not three in all Hita could match him.”
“Even now when I’m stumped over tricky timber, I set Kengoro right ’fore my eyes—‘How’d you make these cuts, eh Kengoro?’—jawin’ with him while I work.”
“Gone these many years, but let his old pal call out and he’ll come ghostin’ over quick as you please.”

"Ohana: 'Old man's stories always turn into ghost stories before you know it—I hate that.'

Rokuhei: 'Can't be helped—this hut’s got ghosts comin’ round all year long.'
'Though mind you, I’ve gotten so ancient myself now that I might as well count as one of the ghosts already! Ah ha, ha, haha—'

Kenji and Ohana laughed in unison.

Rokuhei: 'Well then, the tea's ready. Won't you have some?'"

Just then, from downstream came the splish-splash of footsteps crossing the shallows of the stream, drawing nearer and nearer,

“Heeey, Old Man Rokuheeei!”

Kenji: “Ah, Naka’s here!”
(Calling downstream) “Hey there, Nakazo! That you?”

Rokuhei: “Look now, Ohana-chan’s groom’s come callin’!”

Ohana: “What’re you sayin’, old man!”

Rokuhei: “But ain’t that how it stands?”

Ohana: “Don’t care!”

“What’s gotten into you? What’re you gettin’ so angry about?”

Kenji: “Old man, you really gotta stop sayin’ that— Well...”

Even as they spoke, Nakazo’s footsteps drew closer,

Nakazo: “Well now! Kenji and Ohana-chan are here? Haha, perfect timing! I was wonderin’ how the Forestry District’s round log extraction was comin’ along—”

Kenji: “Eighteen logs total—forty-four or five down at the lower drop point.”

Nakazo: “Fine, fine. I see. Then my role for today’s pretty much done here.”

Rokuhei: “Well then, have some tea.”
“Haha, Ohana-chan here’s been waitin’ on her groom since way earlier.”

Ohana: “You stupid old man!”

Nakazo: “Haha, no—actually, I’ve been thinkin’ what kinda souvenir I should buy for Ohana-chan this time, you know?”

“Souvenirs? I don’t need any!”

“Huh?” Nakazo blinked. “Didn’t you tell me last time to buy you a ribbon and comb? Why’re you suddenly sayin’ you don’t want ’em?”

“I don’t want any! Said I don’t want any!”

“Ah ha ha!” Nakazo laughed, shoulders shaking. “What’s got you all riled up? Even if you say you don’t need nothin’, Ohana-chan, I know what you’re after.” He spread his work-calloused hands wide. “I’ll get you a ribbon! A comb! A whole bolt of Hakata silk!”

“Quit blowin’ all your coin on fripperies, Naka!” Kenji cut in, axe resting against his shoulder. “You keep comin’ back here starvin’ after Maruichi’s boss skins you clean!”

“That’s right, that’s right!” Rokuhei boomed. “From the Chikugo River stretches all through Saga way—boat ghosts lurkin’, river demons yankin’ out folks’ buttock stones, musty-smellin’ monsters aplenty, I tell ya!” He wagged a gnarled finger at Nakazo. “Now now, ‘stead o’ trinkets, you’d best mind yourself ‘gainst such things!” His laughter rolled like thunder through the hut. “Ah ha ha!”

The other three also laughed.

Ohana: “Old man, won’t you sing us a woodcutting song?”

Rokuhei started up again. “What’s the point of listening to nothing but my lousy songs?”

Ohana: “No, ’cause Big brother says my songs are boring—I wanna get better at ’em.” “Hey, won’tcha sing one for me?!”

Rokuhei: “I see, all right then! …Hmm, can’t get goin’ without usin’ the saw, huh?” He lifted the large saw onto the big tree and began working it. The sound—

In time with that sound came a desiccated, lonesome voice nearly devoid of human warmth—like wind rushing through mountain depths—with its melodic phrasing.

Rokuhei: "Well now,

The trees we cut in these mountains—
Though countless they stand,
The will to fell them
There’s none beyond our own—
Chietoko, Partoko!

“Well now—Chietoko! Partoko!”

The sound of the saw.

Rokuhei: "Well now—

Torn straw sandals and, here—

Our bond—

Seems ready to snap any moment,

Yet never does it sever

“Well now—Chietoko! Partoko!”

The rapids roared and boomed as they clashed against the rocks.

The sound of the raft creaking, thudding, and scraping as it rode the rapids and rushed downstream.

Nakazo (in a frantic, driving voice): “There! There!”
“Gosuke!”
“Thrust your pole against that rock over there!”
“Put your back into it!”

Gosuke (thrusting his pole while roaring): "Hoo-rah!"

Nakazo (shouting further toward the distant rear): "Sugimuraaa! Use your hook to tear out those tree roots there! If Tomo gets caught, this raft'll split clean down the middle! Steady now—!"

Sugimura: "Hey-yo—! All right—!"

Nakazo: "Heave!" (while working his pole) "There! There! There! That's the rhythm! Once we clear this rapid and slip under one bridge, Hita Basin's right there! After that, you could snooze your way down to Chikugo River! Counting on you!"

Gosuke┐

├ (from varying distances) Heave!

Sugimura┘

Middle-aged woman (calling from the riverside path): “Yoo-hoo! That raft headin’ over there—ain’t that Maruichi’s crew from Ike no Hara?”

Nakazo (hearing this): “Aye, that’s right! It’s Nakazo of Maruichiii! Ain’t you Auntie from Shimizu?”

Middle-aged woman: “That’s right, that’s right, that’s right!” (while hurrying along the riverside path to keep up with the raft) “I had a feelin’ it might be you all—and sure ’nough, it’s Naka-san! Where’re you takin’ that raft all the way to?”

“We’re takin’ it all the way to Saga!” Nakazo called back.

“That so!” the middle-aged woman shouted. “You mind yourselves out there now!”

“Aye!” Nakazo replied. “Give our best to Master Shimizu over at the shop!”

Her voice grew distant as she stopped following them along the bank: “Fine strappin’ lads like you three—don’t go lettin’ any Saga hussies wrap you round their fingers now, hear?!”

The raft echoed with Nakazo’s booming laugh joined by Gosuke’s guffaws and Sugimura’s nervous chuckles.

Rooooar went the rapids’ roar.

Suddenly, the soundscape transformed into dull thuds, low sloshes, and gloomy splashes—the midnight water sounds of the Chikugo River.
The creaking sound of the raft slowly drifting through that stretch...

Gosuke (all three men speaking in dull, sleepy, slightly frightened voices): “It’s so dark… Like—jeez—someone smeared ink right in front of our noses—we can’t even see the shore.”

Nakazo: First time on the Chikugo River for you, eh Gosuke?
"Aye, that's right!"
"Once y'get this far down th'Chikugo, even just th'river's width runs five-six hundred meters."

Sugimura: Reckon we'll get rain soon, Naka-san?

Nakazo: “Yeah... But if it rains, it’d be manageable.”
(The three men, each holding poles at their stations along the long raft while standing and talking, engaged in distant conversation) “What’s wrong, Sugimura?”
“You cold?”

Sugimura: “I ain’t cold, but—”

Gosuke: “Your voice’s tremblin’, Sugimura!”

Nakazo: “Yours too, Gosuke.”
“Hahaha—so you lot heard ’bout this from someone, eh?”
“That when ya float a night raft down Chikugo River, boat ghosts show up ’n’ stop yer progress—that kinda talk?”
“Heh—here’s how ’tis. Halfway down, th’ Kougo River comin’ from Saga joins up with this ’un.”
“Kougo’s a tidal river—saltwater rises ’n’ falls right from its mouth. We’ll wait there till tomorrow’s dawn, watch for Kougo’s flood tide, then head up toward Saga.”
“Where th’ rivers meet—all sorts o’ rough whirlpools swirl ’tween surface ’n’ depths, see?”
“Raft gets caught there—stops dead still or starts spinnin’ round—then folks go claimin’ boat ghosts stopped it or river spirits tricked ’em.”
“Hah!”

“Is that so...”

Gosuke: “What's that?!”
“What’s that?! Huh?! Is that Naka-san’s voice or somethin’?!”
The other two fell completely silent.

…From the distant shore came a faint, wavering sound—Bwa… wa… wa… waaan—impossible to tell whether human voice or animal cry, drifting across the dark river surface.

The sound of river waves lapped.
The raft creaked.……

Sugimura: "What... what's that?"
(his voice trembling)

Nakazo: "Yeah... What is that..." (his voice also trembling)

Gosuke (suddenly shouting): "Wh-what's that?!"
"Naka-san! Look—there’s a pitch-black thing crawling up from the river onto the bow and sittin’ there!"
"Hey! Look, look! See?!"

Sugimura: “Aaaah!” (jumping up while screaming)

Nakazo: “Ain’t nothin’... Ain’t nothin’!”
“Goddammit!”
“Goddammit all!”
“What the hell’s that?!”
(Shouting in a trembling voice while raising his pole overhead, he dashed toward the bow with quick steps across the raft)

Simultaneously, from the distant bow came the sound of something hitting the water with a loud splash.

Nakazo: “Goddammit all!”
(in a trembling voice) “Wh-what’s that? Huh!”
“Just a carp or somethin’ jumpin’ onto the corrugated iron and landin’ on the raft, I tell ya!”
“Goddammit!”
“Hahaha, hah!”
(forcing a loud laugh) “Hang in there, Gosuke! Sugimura!”
“What the hell are you doin’?!”

Gosuke ┐

├Hey—!

Sugimura ┘

Nakazo: “Haha!”
“Who do you think I am? The river master of Hita!”
“Heave-ho!”
(breaking into a shrill, trembling song) “They promised moonrise tonight—but where’s that mountain-shadow lord hidin’? Heave Chietoko! Partoko!”
(Splish-splash, trickle-trickle of water sounds and creak of the raft’s vines tightening)

Suddenly shifted to a bright sound effect.

Nakazo projected his voice freely.

“Hey!”

“Yamagataya crew, heeey—!”
“Maruichi’s raft just arrived—hooow!”
“The raft from Hita just arrived—hooow!”
“Yamagataya crew, heeey—!”

“Oh!”
A lively boy’s voice answered back,

“The raft’s here—aaah!” Goro shouted, clattering to his feet and clambering down the ladder from the second floor with a clatter of wooden rungs, yelling toward the shopfront.

“The raft from Hita’s arrived—baaah! Auntie! Sirs! Mr. Naka’s raft just made it!”

“Ohh, really now!” Ogin called back. “That was quicker’n expected!”

Clerk 1: “Oh!” (stood up and headed to the front)

Clerk 2: Perfect timing!
“Matsu-an! Kin-don! Sabu!”

Matsuo┐ (laborer) “They’re here!”
“Heave-ho!”
“Whoa!”
(To

Kin'ichi├ clattered his hand hook while dashing out front)

Mitsuyoshi┘

The front was separated from the road by the Ōkawabata riverbank—now at peak high tide from the rising surge—with the raft moored right at the water’s edge.

Ogin’s voice echoed across the water: “Well now!”
“So Mr. Naka’s in charge again this time too, wasn’t he!”
“That was quicker than I reckoned.”
“Come on up now—have a drink and rest a spell.”

Nakazo (from the raft): “Oh gods, been an age!”
“Once more we’re obliged to ya.”
“These two here’s greenhorns we’re passin’ over.”
“Treat ’em decent now!”

Gosuke: “Name’s Gosuke!”

Sugimura: “Sugimura’s what they call me!”

Ogin: “Aye aye.”
“Save the pleasantries for later—we’ll chew the fat proper-like.”
“Well now!”

Goro (splashing into the water): “Mr. Naka! Took your sweet time!”

Nakazo: “Well damn, Goro! You’ve shot up like bamboo since I last laid eyes on ya!”
“How’s that middle school treatin’ you then?”

“I’m already a second-year student—taah!”

“A second-year already, huh! Is that right!”

“Now now Goro! What’re ya doin’ stripped naked jumpin’ into the river like that? That’s dangerous!”

“But ya gonna start unloadin’ from the water right now?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! Well now, we’ll rest a spell first!”

“Nah, oh god—since the clerks and workmen are all here right now, we’ll go ahead and unload just the planks and nuki from the water right away. If we wait a day or just one day, they’ll only get heavier! Everyone! I’m countin’ on you all—zou!”

The clerks and laborers, along with Gosuke and Sugimura, answered with a booming “Ooh!” followed by the clatter clatter clatter of unloading from the water.

Amidst it all, Goro's shrill shout rang out conspicuously.

Ogin laughed boisterously like a man.

The thud-thud sound of a machete chopping through the vines binding the planks and nuki.
The clang of a hand hook being driven into the lumber and yanked back.

With that came the sounds of water: splash, splash-sloshing.

The people's shouts and cheering voices.

Mixed in with these were the morning sounds of Saga, a midsized city.

Bicycles passing on the road, carts, the drone of a distant factory.

Those sounds quieted down, and the scene shifted to the front of Yamagata Lumber Shop at dusk.

The clatter of geta echoed along the road before Yamagata Lumber Shop.
Clerk Two splashed water across its entranceway with rhythmic sweeps.

"Evenin'," called out a passerby through dusk's fading light.

"Evenin'," Clerk Two returned without breaking his watering rhythm.

From the earthen-floored area at the back of the store, Nakazo emerged with the clattering sound of wooden geta.

Nakazo: “Ah, they let me take a bath—first time I’ve had Saga sake in ages.”
“Oh god, this town’s liquor beats that mountain hooch from Hita any day.”

Ogin (clicking her abacus in the accounting area): “That mule-headed husband o’ mine’s off bid-hunting in Hakata—ain’t got a soul to drink with now.”

“Well now, Mr. Naka—if you’re headin’ out to Yanagimachi for drinkin’ companions, there’s plenty o’ pretty women waitin’ there for ya—hahaha!”

“Th-th-that’s… Mr. Clerk…”

“Hahahaha! Oh come now, Mr. Naka! Youth don’t come twice!”
“Go on an’ meet her.”
“If it’s that Oyone-san—the one called that—I’ve met her two-three times myself an’ know her well.”
“Well now, even if they call her a geisha, she’s a more proper girl than any o’ the townsfolk lasses round here—no cause for worry.”

“But if you go spending too much in Yanagimachi like last year and end up dipping into the lumber payments so you can’t go back to Hita, we’ll both be in a right fix—y’know.”

“Th-th-that’s… Mr. Clerk…”

┐

“Bwahahaha!”

┘

“Mr. Gosuke and Mr. Sugimura—shouldn’t they go out for fun?”

“Oh, those two? They wolfed down their supper and dashed out ages ago—taah!”

Ogin, Clerk 1, and Nakazo laughed.

Nakazo (facing the back): “Goro-shan, let’s be off.”

“Ah, ’kay.”

With a clatter clatter clatter of small geta, he came out.

“I’ll borrow Mr. Goro for a spell,” said Nakazo.

“That’s all well and good,” Ogin countered, “but dragging this child to queer places and making him drink sake—you ought to quit that!”

“Heh heh, now…” Nakazo demurred. “Well then, I’ll be off.” “Come along now, Mr. Goro.”

With a clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter, the two walked off.

Ogin (seeing them off): “But here he goes sayin’ he’s gonna visit his regular geisha after so long, yet gets all shy and drags Goro along every single time—what a pitiful young man!”
“Ha ha ha ha!”

Clerk 1 and Clerk 2 laughed.

In the inner private room of a traditional restaurant built to jut out over the waters of the Ōkawa River at night were the three of them: geisha Oyone, Nakazo, and Goro.

Suddenly, the taut twang of a shamisen began to resonate, followed by Oyone’s song.
Hakata Bushi.

All these singing voices, every sound here, echoed across the high-tide surface of the Ōkawa River.

Tie the Hakata obi
Chikuzen tie-dye, tie the Chikuzen Hakata obi
The figure walking—what a sight, hey ho!
Slender waist
Mr. Moon peeks out from the pine's shadow

“Good evening.”

Nakazo: “Evenin’, huh? Oyone-san, won’t you have a drink too?”
(He takes the cup from the table and offers it.)

Oyone (setting her shamisen aside): “I’m no good with drink myself, Mr. Naka—here...” (pours more sake)

Nakazo (receiving it while continuing to drink casually): "Same as always—this is umaka."
"Hey there, Goro-shan!"

Goro (munching on something): "'Mmm, umaka."

Nakazo: "You really get what 'umaka' means, Goro-shan?"

Goro: "This shrimp an' kinton... umaka."

Nakazo: "Huh? Shrimp an' kinton?"
"So that's it—hm-hm—shrimp an' kinton, eh?"

Oyone: "Hoho—shall we have 'em bring more then?"

Nakazo burst out laughing: “Ah-hahaha! Ah-hahaha—hm-hm—ah-hahaha!”

Goro asked, “What’s up?”

“Ha ha! Here I was tryin’ to praise the finer points of Hakata Bushi again… Hm-hm, the finer points of Oyone-shan’s Hakata Bushi… and you go ‘shrimp an’ kinton,’ Goro-shan… Hff-hff, ha ha ha!”

Oyone: “Hohoho!”

Goro (drawn into laughter too): “But me... Ha ha ha! That Hakata Bushi’s pretty good too!”

Then Nakazo and Oyone started laughing in unison.
A man rowing his boat with creaking oars across the Ōkawa River outside the shoji paper doors somehow got drawn into their laughter too and called out teasingly in a cheerful voice.

“Wahahaha! Ahahaha! That’s the way!” laughed the boatman.
“Ha ha…(breaking into song)—Blow, river wind! Rise up, bamboo screen! Have you seen the face of Onagoshi within?” he sang.
“Ahaha! Evenin’! How’s it goin’, he said?”

The voice and the sound of oars grew distant.

Nakazo asked, still laughter in his voice, “But they call it the Hakata obi—what kind of belt do you suppose that is?”
“Since they even sing about it in songs, must be one hell of an obi.”

Goro cut in: “Naka-shan, you still ain’t seen a Hakata obi yet?”

“I haven’t seen one yet,” said Nakazo.

“That’s ridiculous!” Goro shot back. “It’s right under your nose—been there plain as day all along—!”

“Goro-shan, you mustn’t say that!” Oyone chided. “Hoho, now now, come over here! Right here, come on!” She grabbed Goro’s shoulders from behind with her sleeves.

“Heh heh, what’re you up to, Oyone-shan?”

“Stay still!”
“Stay still now!”

“But dang, you reek!”

“Well now, I reek?”
“Me?”

“Yeah, woman stink!”
“Phew……”

“Ha ha, what’s all this about?”
“When a geisha clings to you, does she stink?”
“Ha ha.”

“But I stink, dang it—just stay still, Goro-shan.”
“Hm-hm, Mr. Naka, have you truly never seen a Hakata obi?”

“I haven’t seen one.”

“So then, have you seen it?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it.”

“In that case, I’ll show it to you. But with this willow waist of mine, it’s not quite right. My waist’s a bit like a stone mortar. Hoho, here.”

Releasing Goro, she smoothly rose to her knees.

Nakazo: “Huh? What is it?”

Oyone (lifting both sleeves to show her waist area before covering her face with them): “...My late mother told me she left me just this one thing... That’s why even though it’s gotten old and worn out, it’s a genuine Chikuzen shibori Hakata obi.”
“Truly splendid.”
……Oh, how embarrassing.

Nakazo (finally noticing, deeply struck): “Hmm… So that’s how it is!”
“So that’s what it was?!”
“My word—it’s beautiful!”
“Well now—been watchin’ since Tsuki…”
“Last year when I came—you were wearin’ it then too—this beauty… Never noticed till you said… Humans sure are somethin’…”

Oyone: “The moment I think of Mother—so nostalgic, so nostalgic—tyin’ this obi feels just like her.”
“They say parentless kids stand ’neath eaves.”
“You got no folks either, Goro-shan.”
“Still—helpin’ at your aunt’s shop while goin’ to middle school—that’s good.”
“Me though—playin’ geisha like this—not skilled enough to live by my art… What’ll become of me?”
(inner) “Thinkin’ on that—so anxious… so anxious…”

“Hmm, I wonder...” Nakazo mused. “How ’bout it—why don’t you come with me to Hita? There ain’t a single interesting thing in these mountain depths, but there’s none of that town-living hardship here.”

“Hmm... Is that right?” Oyone responded. “...Hita’s Ohana-chan has grown up quite a bit, hasn’t she?”

“Ohana...?”

“You told me before too.
“……When you return to Hita this time, thinking to get that person a souvenir, I went and bought two or three hairpins for them.”

“Is that so...”
“That’s really…”

Oyone had grown somber.
“Now then, please help yourselves.”
“Here!”

Nakazo: “No more sake for me.”

Oyone: “...Well then, could you teach me the rest of that woodcutting song we left halfway through before?”
“Please, go ahead.”
“Ah—the one called ‘Chietoko, Partoko’.”

“I just can’t manage it tonight—I’m getting drunk,” said Nakazo. “You should learn from Goro-shan instead. He’s already got it down pat from last time—he’s good.”

Oyone turned to Goro. “Well then, Goro-shan,” she implored, “please, I’m begging you!” She took up the shamisen and plucked a few lively festival notes. “Like this?”

“No way, I—!”

“Why?”
“Hey! Please!”

“The Hakata-bushi from before was better…”

“Well then! I’ll teach Goro-shan an’ Mister Naka here th’ Hakata-bushi style—so y’all gotta show me that woodcuttin’ song!”

“Yeah, in that case.”

“Well then, I’ll sing one more Hakata-bushi! After that, you’ll sing the woodcutting song!”

“Yeah...”

Oyone played the shamisen.

“Tie your Hakata obi!

Chikuzen shibori

Tie the Chikuzen Hakata obi

The figure walking

Heave-ho, that willowy figure

The moon peeks out slightly,

“Beneath the pine’s shade—oh, good evening!”

Before “Good evening” could even finish, Goro thrust out his boyish voice with the force of a military chant,

Goro: “Here goes!”

Oyone (flustered): “Oh my!”

Nakazo: “Ah ha ha, ha ha!”

Goro: “But hey, it’s like this, damn it!”

Oyone: “That’s right, that’s right! Keep going, Goro-shan, keep going!”

She played the shamisen with a jaunty strum.

Goro: “The trees we cut in the mountains—listen here—
Though there are many kinds,
The will to cut them down
And nothing more—
Hey now, Chietoko, Partoko!”

He sang without flair or affectation, just pouring his full voice into the song.
Then imitating him—but in the manner of a geisha performing in banquet rooms—

Oyone: “Here goes!
The trees we cut in the mountains, listen here—
Though there are many kinds,
The will to cut them down
And nothing more—
Hey now, Chietoko, Partoko!”
Like this, Goro-shan?

“No! You can’t sing it that fast, damn it!”

“Here goes!
(Nakazo chuckles quietly)

“Torn straw sandals and—hey!

“As for us Naka,

"The sleeve will tear any moment—

It won’t fray.

“Hey now, Chietoko, Partoko!”

The sound of Oyone’s shamisen rang out in pursuit of it...

Ｍ……

The tonal quality of songs and music up to this point began as monophonic sounds that gradually developed into polyphony, shifting between somber and bright moods, but in any case maintained a fundamentally simple and nostalgic tone that accepted old Japanese folk songs exactly as they were. A hue that traced the atmosphere of northern Kyushu from twenty years ago.

From this point onward, that music’s tonal quality and instrumental arrangements had to abruptly take on a shockingly modern tone and coloration.
Violent, crowded, urbanly diverse, dissonant new elements needed incorporation to develop into a modern symphony.
All while maintaining the foundational tone of the woodcutting song—the overarching theme—as its undercurrent.

And particularly in this section’s music, the composer should demonstrate the full scope of their craft.
For that purpose, sufficient time should be allotted to this section’s music.

…the flow of music, however, gradually regained clarity and began to rise beautifully.

As if maliciously crushing that climactic moment.

Clang!
Clang!
Clang, clang, clang, clang!
The clatter of an empty tin can being thrown into the corner of the earthen floor.

“Shut the hell up!”
“Who the hell’s making that racket at this hour?!”

“Damn right!” Rikuzen shouted. “This here’s the Echigoya Budget Lodge—a dorm for outdoor laborers from Ueno to Shitaya! And it’s already past bedtime, with everyone kickin’ up a fuss! Anyone makin’ noise this late’s tramplin’ on human rights, you damn bastards!”

Satsuma (chuckling): “Hah, calls itself an outdoor laborers’ dormitory.”
“What’s the big deal? Call it what it is—this ain’t nothin’ but a scrap dealer’s flophouse.”
“We ain’t kickin’ up a fuss ’cause it’s bedtime—it’s ’cause stayin’ awake makes our bellies growl!”
“You damn bastard! It’s not human rights—it’s humanity we’re talkin’ ’bout here!”

Rikuzen: “Enough already—shut up!”
“With that kinda outlook, you’re the damn bastard here!”
“With this, each of us is just like some beast covered in wounds.”
“We’re people who barely manage to scrape by day after day.”
“If you get cocky drinkin’ too much or burnin’ the midnight oil and wreck your health, you’ll be right back crawlin’ through the underground before you know it.”
“When fourteen or fifteen of us are crammed together sleepin’ in this big room like this, even so, we’re comrades—we oughta watch out for each other and not do anything that’ll mess with tomorrow’s work.”
“Quit yappin’ and let’s get some shut-eye!”

“Heh heh heh—well now, ain’t you the one yappin’ away with that kinda lecture and disturbin’ everyone’s sleep yourself?”

“Whoa, you’re right!”

With that came the rustle of him yanking his futon over himself; three or four people nearby chuckled low.

Unfazed by their voices, Hizen drunkenly grumbled under his breath as he removed his split-toe tabi shoes at the entryway.

“Tch, what’re you yappin’ about?!”
“Tch, quit blatherin’ like you know shit!”
“Who’da thought someone’d wake from their dream—I’m tellin’ ya, over twenty damn years gone since then.”
“Ain’t no undoin’ it now no matter how much I chew it over!”
“Tch—if you’re so sore about it, why don’tcha haunt me proper, Oyone!……”

With a grunt, he made the empty can clang-clang against the corrugated iron again.

Mikawa said seriously in a low voice, “Hey, Mr. Hizen—you really oughta keep it down. Everyone’s already asleep, and more importantly, Maki-chan over in that corner’s been feelin’ poorly again tonight—she was sufferin’ something awful till she finally settled down just now.”

Hizen didn’t answer—just kept humming as he creaked past everyone’s pillows to his sleeping spot. He dragged out his futon and started gettin’ ready for bed, all while singin’ in a low voice that sounded cheerful enough to him but came out all broken-down and careless to anyone else.

“Well now, to fetch the rising moon—hey!
We promised, but
The moon hides in mountain shadows—where are you now?
Well now, Chietoko, Partoko!”

A few bunks ahead, the girl called Maki—a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old war orphan lying flat on her back—turned her round face toward the noise.

“You’re so loud, Mr. Hizen! When you sing, is that really all you know?
It’s just like listening to someone chant sutras.
Cut it out!”

“What the—you damn half-dead failure, Maki-boy! If you’re feelin’ so damn sick, then shut up and sleep!”

“Like I need your help! Whether I’m croakin’ or not, I don’t want your miserable talk. Tch! When I die, I’ll have Mr. Jōshū sing me proper Yagibushi tunes!”

Iwami emerged from his futon beside her with his face muffled, coughing violently while laughing at Makiko’s sharp tongue. “Heh heh... Now Maki-chan,” he said, “you’re too young to talk like that—but Mr. Hizen’s song there... that’s a song with real depth to it.”
“I don’t know where it’s from or what it’s called, but every time I hear it, I get all choked up.”
“You know?”
“This bond between me and these torn straw sandals... who even knows what it means? Me—I’ve lived sixty-eight years like this... Sure, there were good times and bad, but now all that’s left is this ailing body... Yet when I hear that song, it feels like my whole life—all those unspeakable things—seeps up from the soles of my feet. Heh... makes me remember so much... gets me all choked up with nostalgia, hmm.”

“That’s exactly why I hate it!” Makiko snapped.

“You shouldn’t go sayin’ things like that,” Iwami chided. “C’mon now, Maki-chan—sing us some more! Go on!”

Hizen (without really listening to such talk) “Hmph.”

The distant melody of a Chinese soba vendor's flute...

Along the Ōkawa riverbank.
Near the landing for puttering steamboats along the Ōkawa riverbank, that sound occasionally drifted over.
Slosh, slosh, chachacha—the sounds of water.

Hizen carried a basket on his shoulder and held a pole with a hook attached to its end as he made his way along the water’s edge, pausing now and then.
Behind him, Maki followed along in the same manner.

“Whenever I come look, the Ōkawa’s just so fine,” said Hizen.

“But today the waves are glaring,” Maki replied.

“You’re that worn down, yet you can still walk?”

“Heh, if I trip on somethin’ and go thud, I bet I’ll just keel over dead right there.”

“You talk like it’s someone else’s problem... Why you been taggin’ after me all the time lately, Maki-boy?”

“When I’m with you, Mr. Hizen, they don’t go naggin’ me—that’s why.”

“So what—those other guys sayin’ weird shit to you? Like whether you’re some kinda boy or girl they can’t even tell?”

“Who does?!”
“A tubercular wreck like me—nothing but skin and bones—reeks when anyone gets close, I bet.”
“Who’d ever say that?!”

Hizen: “Then what’s buggin’ ya?”

“They keep yappin’—‘Take care of yourself,’ ‘Get healthy quick,’ ‘Gobble your food proper at mealtimes.’ So damn naggy.”
“Like they’re all Dr.Inoue’s agents from Okachimachi or somethin’, spoutin’ the same crap.”

Hizen: “But hey, they’re just worried ’bout you, Maki-boy.”
“They all like ya, y’know—just sayin’ it outta kindness.”

“I hate that so-called kindness,” Makiko said. “What’s ‘kindness’ once they see us like this? Everyone should just die already.”

“So,” Hizen pressed, “you think you should die sooner too, Maki-boy?”

“Yeah.”

“But that’s a rotten way to think! A slip of a girl sixteen or seventeen like you lookin’ down on the whole world—that’s rotten thinkin’!”

“If my thinkin’s rotten, then yours is too, old man! How should I know? You only belt out those weird songs when you’ve had some shōchū or somethin’—but what’s the damn point of you stayin’ alive anyway?”

Hizen...

“So then, Maki-boy—should the two of us just plop right in from here?”

“But it’d be painful,” Maki said. “If we wait a bit longer, we’ll die naturally.”

Hizen chuckled. “Heh heh, true enough...” He poked at the flotsam along the water’s edge with his pole—thunk... thunk-plunk—as he spoke. “Well lookit this—a single rubber boot. Maki-boy, pick it up.”

...He hooked the washed-up empty cans with clinking sounds before dropping them into his basket.

Makiko: “Whoa!”
(With that, she hooked this one too—the rubber boot—picked it up into the basket, and started walking again.)

Hizen: “Maki-boy, you eat anything for lunch?”

Makiko: “Nuh-uh.”

Hizen: “Still ain’t hungry?”

“I don't wanna eat.”

“I’m takin’ a break here for a bite before we move on. Even if I tell ya that—still don’t wanna eat?”

“What now?”

“Bread rolls.”
(rustling paper as he pulled two rolls from his coat pocket and handed one over) “Still gonna refuse even if I tell ya?”

“If you tell me t’eat—old man—I’ll eat!
What now?!”
(she fumed)

“Heh... Then eat up.”

……The two naturally sat down at the water’s edge and began nibbling on their bread.
The chugging sound of a steamboat crossing diagonally across the Ōkawa River.
The sound of its waves rushing in with a swoosh-swoosh splish-splash.

Hizen (chewing bread): “…Hmm. When a kid of seven or eight suddenly loses both parents and every last sibling in an air raid—can’t say it ain’t possible they’d end up feelin’ that way——”

Makiko: "No, that's not it."
"It's not about that."
"I mean back then, when Dad and Mom and everyone disappeared all at once, I wasn't even that sad."
"What really got me was seeing my brand-new school books burn up with my bag—turning perfectly to ash while still keeping their shape. That hurt way more."

Hizen: "But hey, you ain't the only one who lost their whole family in the raids."
"So how come it's just you ended up like this—what's the—"

“Yeah, I don’t get that either,” said Makiko. “Maybe I was just born that way... After that, I got shuffled around—my aunt’s place, my uncle’s place, then nurseries and camps here and there. Saw all kinds of things.”
“Everyone was kind enough,” she continued. “They’d give me kimonos right away, toys, food—stuff like that.”
“They’d dress me up in those kimonos,” she said, her voice flattening, “make me hold those toys, then take heaps of photos for the newspapers. We had to smile for those.”
“Not a single person failed to dote on me—as Maki, as Yamanouchi Maki the poor war orphan.” Her fingers dug into her frayed sleeves. “No matter where I went—war orphan. Because I’m a war orphan, because I’m pitiful, because they had to think me pitiful—nothing but pity.”
The river’s murmur filled her pause before she rasped: “Should’ve... should’ve had someone who’d beat Yamanouchi Maki black and blue when she acted up—clothes and food be damned—that might’ve been better than this... this...”

“...You think so?”
“I guess that’s possible.”
“I don’t rightly know.”

“That’s how it is,” said Makiko. “Not that I’m mad about it or anything—but once I realized that truth, I stopped caring about everything at all. And I’m sick anyway.”

“...Humans sure come in all sorts,” Hizen mused. “Brains differ, natures differ... When things go south, they all slink into town and clump together in some weird mass... Till finally—like they all made some pact—the one thing they agree on as clear as a stamped seal is that livin’ ain’t worth a damn. But even then they can’t just die proper—just snivelin’ along... Heh... So here we all end up at the river’s edge, plantin’ our asses to nibble bread...”

Makiko: “Old man, they say your real name’s Yamagata Goro?”

“Huh?”
“Hmm.”
“...Goro of Yamagata, huh?”
“Ancient history—more’n twenty years gone since then.”
“Heh... Down in Kyushu’s Hizen Saga, we had ourselves a big river too—all them waterways ’n such.”
“’Course, weren’t near as grand as this one.”
“Rafts’d come floatin’ down from Oita’s mountain guts now’n then, stay tied up year-round... Mr. Naka, was it?”
What was that again?
“Took me to this pleasure quarter called Yanagimachi once.”
“Hmm.”
“...Maki-chan—ever hear tell of the Hakata song?”

“No,” said Makiko. “Old man, it’s not that strange song you’re always singing, is it?”

Hizen chuckled dryly. “Heh, it’s a much finer song... So there I was working at that lumberyard while they let me go to middle school... Then that aunt of mine up and died sudden-like, and before long the shop went under.”

“After that I drifted around—worked in Moji awhile—but figured if I was gonna make something of myself, Tokyo was the place. Came here at eighteen.”

“Tried all sorts of things.”

“Nothin’ worked out.”

“Ain’t society’s fault.”

“My own pigheaded nature.”

“Whatever I started turned straight into fights.”

“See—it’s always them higher up doing wrong while I’m right—that’s how I felt.”

“That... what d’you call it... justice sickness made me chuck everything halfway through... Then while I’m drifting—war breaks out.”

“Class B conscript—got drafted.”

“No—didn’t fight none—got stuck two damn years tending horses... Well—horses were decent enough.”

“Men were worse—non-coms kicking and beating folks left and right...”

“War ends—come back to this mess—honest folks getting screwed... Then sick on top... Next thing I know—sleeping in Ueno’s underground... Yeah—you’re right Maki-boy—might as well be dead already.”

“Heh...”

Suddenly, right by their ears, the afternoon horn from the riverside beer factory blared out with a resounding roar, drowning out their conversation.

Makiko’s illness worsened until she collapsed into bed, and the men who had feelings for her kept their distance, watching over her unconscious form from afar.
The young Dr. Inoue, who had been concerned about the lodgers of the dormitory, came over, finished his examination, and somewhat absently addressed the group:

“Hmm, the disease itself hasn’t necessarily worsened that much, but her nutrition has deteriorated. At this rate, even if she doesn’t die from lung disease, she’ll die from malnutrition.”
“Since the patient herself has already lost the will to live, there’s nothing doctors can do.”
“If only she’d show some will to live, we could take her to our clinic and give her plenty of nutritional injections—she might recover then.”
“After all, it seems the patient herself thinks it would be better if she died sooner rather than later.”
“There’s nothing to be done about this.”
“Hey, Maki, are you listening to what I’m saying?”

Makiko lay like lifeless ashes, unable to even open her eyes.

Dr．Inoue： “As you can see.”
“If she shows even the slightest sign of recovering， bring her to me anytime.”
“In any case， I’ll try coming again late tonight．”

With that, the doctor left.

After that, those who remained silently watched over Makiko.

Bungo: “Hey, Maki-chan!”
“Stay strong!”

Iwami: “…What a damn hopeless mess, Makiko! Hey!”

Makiko did not reply.

Thereupon, suddenly from the farthest corner—

“Yare

Torn straw sandals and

“And our bunch—”

When the group suddenly looked over, there was Hizen.

“Hizen,” said Rikuzen. “What’s got you singin’ all of a sudden? This ain’t no time for songs! Look—Maki-chan’s ’bout to kick it.”

“Never mind that now, Hizen,”

“The sleeve’s about to tear any moment now.”

“Stop it already, I said!”

Bungo shouted.
In the ensuing silence came a muffled chuckle; when they looked over, Makiko lay there asleep with a faint smile on her face.
Then her eyes snapped open.

“Hey! Maki-chan’s come around!”
“What’s wrong, Maki-chan?”
“Cheer up now, Maki-chan!”

Makiko giggled softly in a weak voice.

“Uncle Hizen thought I was going to die and started singing a sutra song.”

“Huh? A sutra?”

Then Makiko

“Uncle Hizen, sing it again.”

Hizen, who had been listening to this, kept his sullen face,

“Yare

Torn straw sandals and

And our bunch—

The sleeve’s about to tear any moment now.

But it won’t tear

“Ah... Chietoko, Partoko”

After slowly finishing his song,

“Oyoné-san!” he called out.

As she slept, Makiko smiled.

Makiko: Oyoné-san?
“Who’s Oyoné-san?”
“Huh? Who’s Oyoné-san?”

There was vitality in Makiko's face.

Bungo, Iwami, Rikuzen, and others…

“Well now, she’s gotten surprisingly lively all of a sudden!” Bungo and the others exclaimed.
“Since Dr.Yoshi said that, let’s lay her on the storm shutter right here—all of us lift together and carry her to the clinic.”

Several people agreed. Nodding that this seemed reasonable, they quickly laid Makiko—still wrapped in her futon—onto a wooden storm shutter and

There we go!

They carried her out with four or five people.
Hizen and Echigo, over sixty, watched them go.

“Hizen, ain’t you comin’ along?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“I just hope she manages to pull through.”

“Yeah...”

From somewhere, the woodcutting song resounded in the voices of a great many people, as if the tide were surging into Ōkawaguchi.

(Chorus or humming) Deep within that humming, the shamisen and song of Hakata-bushi might faintly be heard.