Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Around that time, Otsue had picked up the phrase "economic downturn" from no one in particular and kept repeating it.

“It’s all because of the economic downturn—even Brother’s struggling.”
“On top of that, from April to September alone, we had to hold four funerals, you know.”

Otsue addressed her peers in this way.
For a fourteen-year-old girl’s way of speaking, it was rather precocious, but when one saw her flat face resembling a mask that seemed slightly pinched within, those listening nearby found themselves smiling despite themselves.

For Otsue, the meaning of the phrase “economic downturn” had never been clearly understood from the start.
In that neighborhood, whenever people crossed paths, they would exchange such greetings, so even Otsue had come to feel that uttering those words was a timely and appropriate thing to do.
Yet around this time, even the face of her brother Tsurukichi—who worked so diligently—had begun to bear an unpleasant shadowed cast.
That shadow sometimes lingered stubbornly even after dinner, and there were times when Mother, working at Ryumoto, would set aside Tetsukuhi fish scraps—thinking she’d give them to Kuro—only to reconsider and toss them into the pot to boil instead.
At such times, a feeling came over Otsue—something lonely, something that seemed to press in from behind.
It had come over her, but she could not yet have possessed enough anguish to firmly link that feeling with the economic downturn.

In Otsue’s household, the first among those who died one after another since April was her father, who had been ill for a long time.
Having been paralyzed on one side for a year and a half and remaining completely bedridden, this proved an unbearable burden for the small barbershop household.
Brother had grown accustomed to telling each customer—as if offering polite consolation—that while they truly wanted him to live long, given his advanced age and that body being neither here nor there, keeping him alive like that was rather a cruel fate.
The habit born of his stubbornly unyielding nature—arrogant and domineering, filling the house with his selfishness—had only intensified after falling ill, leading him to vent his frustrations on the family three times a day. This drove even Tetsu, the youngest brother, to stand before Father and mockingly repeat Mother’s insults verbatim: “You old nuisance!”
When the sick man heard this, he forgot his illness and sprang up from his bed.
In the end, that frayed mood spread throughout the house, and days would pass where they glared at one another.
Even so, when Father was gone, the house became as if a wedge had come loose.
Even the asthmatic voice that grated on her nerves—the one she wished she could tear apart with all her might—when it was gone, Otsue found herself strangely unsatisfied.
She wanted to rub her father’s back one more time.
The earth may have been a muddy path from melting snow, but under a crisply clear blue sky that was pleasantly warm—on an afternoon when several kites were embedded here and there like windows—Father’s corpse was carried out from the small shopfront.

The next to die was the second brother.
He was a young man of nineteen—so lacking in spirit, body, and strength that he couldn’t even manage contrariness—that for Otsue, it proved impossible to discern whether this brother was home or not.
Even when dawdling about and crossing the threshold while bracing for a scolding—times when she could vividly picture exactly who was home and how they sat—with this brother alone, she remained unable to tell his presence.
Moreover, this brother’s existence neither aided nor hindered anything.
If someone made even a slightly sour face, he would vacate his seat and conceal himself as if personally responsible.
Having contracted beriberi, he developed edema so severe his eyes nearly sealed shut within two weeks, then died of heart paralysis unnoticed.
That this frail brother should die so bloated struck Otsue as rather comical.
And from the very next day, she resumed parading about proclaiming that economic downturn.
It was mid-June when an unseasonably prolonged rain—uncommon even for Hokkaido—fell ceaselessly dank and chill.

II

When mid-August had passed, a sudden heat wave swept through Hokkaido.
Otsue’s shop too began to feel the summer’s oppressive weight.
The predawn clang of the bathhouse plug being struck next door echoed with a parched resonance, jolting people from their gauzy dreams.
The garish Tokyo sumo poster promising five straight days of fair weather startled Otsue and all the neighborhood children with its brash colors.
Posters for Kikugorō’s troupe arrived from Sapporo-za while moving picture advertisements papered every available inch of the shopfront walls.
After Father’s death, Brother had exercised his own resourcefulness to revamp the shop’s appearance.
To Otsue’s immense pride, the front door was repainted a crisp blue, and a spherical eaves lantern emblazoned with “Tsurusō” in vermilion hung before the shop sign.
Better still, electric lights were installed—eliminating the lamp-cleaning duty Otsue detested as thoroughly as blown smoke.
In exchange came this year’s new chore of starching clothes, but Otsue cared little for such details, enraptured by the visible transformations instead.

“We’ve installed electric lights at home—it’s so bright now, you don’t even need to clean them!”

Having said that, she walked among the young girls dragging an iron rod.

In Otsue’s eyes, Brother had suddenly seemed impressive since their father died.
When she realized it was Brother who had repainted the shop and installed the electric lights, she found him utterly reliable.
Having settled down with a local carpenter and now with a darling two-year-old baby, the eldest sister had made and sent over a wool-silk velvet sash, which Brother wore neatly tied as he busily moved his sturdy compact frame while working.
Unlike any of his siblings, Otsue’s twelve-year-old brother Rikizo—round and chubby—skillfully clacked about in high-tooth geta as he removed customers’ dandruff and parted their hair.
As summer approached, customer traffic gradually picked up.
The shop stayed bustling late into the night, with laughter and shogi pieces clacking until the small hours.
Brother handled customers with an attitude utterly unlike a proper barber—naive and unpolished.
That very quality ended up delighting the patrons.

In this flourishing household, only Mother continued smoldering endlessly.
Before being predeceased by her husband, she had worked briskly without uttering a single complaint—even when her bedridden husband made fussy demands—silently completing tasks with efficiency he never seemed grateful for.
Instead he appeared pleased receiving care from sons already lost to illness.
Perhaps due to some innate chill within her presence warmed only when drawing close to lively people like one might huddle near winter’s hibachi.
Rikizo—plump-cheeked—remained her most cherished treasure; Otsue followed distantly.
The two older brothers received only neglectful scraps of attention.

After their father died，Mother’s demeanor had changed so much that even Otsue could clearly see it.
The stalwart woman，who until then had rarely revealed her inner feelings no matter what，suddenly became a meddlesome complainer obsessed with others’ moods，her likes and dislikes growing increasingly vehement.
The way she lashed out at Tsurukichi，the eldest son，was more than even Otsue could bear to watch.
Though comparatively loved，Otsue did not particularly like Mother，so whenever she herself acted sulkily or said something resentful，Mother would flare up like fire，snatching fire tongs and chasing her all the way to the shopfront.
Otsue would deftly escape to play elsewhere，idling away the day before returning home，only to find Brother waiting outside the shop.
In the main room，Mother was once again weeping bitter tears of frustration.
And this was no longer directed at Otsue；she now venomously accused Brother of making plans to bring home a wife while neglecting household affairs.
Yet no sooner had she done this than she would act nonchalantly；when Otsue returned，Mother would put on an appeasing look and—heedless of dinner being imminent—summon even Rikizo from the shop and Tetsu，the lame younger brother below him，to treat them all to delicious rice crackers she had somehow stored away.

Even so, this family was considered enviable by the neighborhood.
Because Tsurukichi was gentle yet diligent, everyone said he would soon spread his wings from their back-alley shop to the main street.
Tsurukichi truly paid no mind to either people’s gossip or praise and kept working diligently.

III

August 31st was the second Tenchōsetsu (Emperor’s Birthday), but claiming they hadn’t observed the first one due to the mourning period, Tsurukichi kept the shop closed for the day.
And so they conducted a grand cleaning of the entire house that had long been neglected.
Even Mother—who would typically grow oddly resentful at any mention of Tsurukichi’s doings—threw herself wholeheartedly into the work that day.
Otsue and Rikizo helped diligently too, half in amusement amid the morning cool.
As they tidied the shelves, objects never before seen and things long forgotten kept springing up unexpectedly, leaving Otsue and Rikizo dust-covered as they scoured every corner.

“Look here, Otsue-chan! This picture book turned up!”

“That’s mine, Rikizo! I was wondering where you’d gone off to. Wait up!”

“What? Gotcha!”

With that, Rikizo acted like a mischievous child, showing it off with a contrary air.
Otsue abruptly pulled out three glass bottles from the corner of the shelf, covered in dust as grimy as sleeve filth.
In one of the large bottles was clear water, while the remaining large bottle and a small bottle with the same mouth held a white powder resembling finely powdered sugar.
Otsue suddenly opened the lid of the large bottle containing white powder and, while pretending to take some and put it into her mouth,

“Rikizo, look at this!”
“I won’t give it to you if you’re being mean!”

As she was saying this，Brother Tsurukichi suddenly raised his voice—sharper than usual—from behind.

“What are you doing, Otsue? You idiot, tasting that stuff… Did you really taste it?”

Overwhelmed by his vehemence, Otsue spat out the truth and confessed she had only pretended to taste it.

“Try tasting even a speck from that small bottle, and you’ll drop dead right before my eyes. Dangerous stuff.”

“D-dangerous,” he stammered, his voice breaking as Brother swept fearful eyes around the room like he was staring at some invisible horror.
Otsue froze unnaturally.
Then she stepped down from the footstool and hoisted her sister’s visiting child onto her back.

In the afternoon, Rikizo was sent to wash shrine offerings at the Toyohira River behind their house.
As the heat worsened and weariness overcame her, Otsue trailed after him.
Through water flowing like a discarded indigo ribbon across wide gravel shoals, naked children splashed and played.
When Rikizo saw them, his eyes lit up irresistibly; he thrust the laundry at Otsue and waded in calling to friends.
Otsue didn’t bother with washing either. Settling in a willow’s meager shade, she gazed at the glinting riverbed while singing lullabies to the child on her back—until gradually lulled by her own voice, she sat awkwardly still and both slipped into careless sleep.

When she was startled awake by something with a gasp, Rikizo stood before Otsue, his entire body dripping wet and glistening.
In his hand, he held three or four unripe cucumbers.

“Shall we eat them?”

“That’s poison!”

Yet after working herself weary and then falling fast asleep, Otsue’s throat burned with thirst.
Though uneasily aware of the dreadful dysentery outbreak spreading through what people called Sapporo’s slums, she accepted the vivid green cucumbers from Rikizo’s hand.
The child on her back woke and began wailing for a share.

“I told you, noisy brat! Here—eat this!”

With that, Otsue thrust one forward.
Rikizo gulped them down as if devouring ravenously.

IV

That evening, the family—unusually gathered together—ate a lively dinner. Today, Mother was uncharacteristically relaxed and engaged in lighthearted small talk with Sister. Tsurukichi looked contentedly around the neatly tidied living room and cast his eyes over the shelves, but when he saw the medicine bottle resting there, he laughed as he recalled the morning’s incident,

“You can’t let kids be careless around dangerous stuff. That Otsue almost drank mercuric chloride this morning… If she’d gone through with it, she’d be done for by now.”

He gazed at Otsue’s face with such utter fondness.
To Otsue, this felt inexpressibly joyful.
Whether it was her brother or any other male, Otsue could do nothing about her gradually maturing ability to discern the power emanating from men.
Whether terrifying or joyous—when she imagined that overwhelming force crashing into her without warning, a force against which no resistance could prevail, Otsue felt her heart’s blood surge in sudden pounding waves, her face burning so hot she thought it might burst.
At such times, Otsue’s gaze turned every corner of Tsurukichi’s barbershop vernal.
Had she been standing then, she would have abruptly sat down—and if Tetsu were present—hugged him tight, rubbing cheeks until it grew bothersome or squeezing him close while telling amusing stories.
Had she been sitting, she would have stood as if remembering something and busily helped Mother or cleaned the living room and shop.

Otsue would stand up restlessly whenever she encountered her brother’s affectionate gestures.
After taking the baby from her sister and showering its cheeks with kisses to her heart’s content, she left the shop.
The summer night in the northern country had turned as cool as poured water, and the evening moon hung faintly over the river beyond while scattering pale blue light.
Finding herself wanting to sing something for no particular reason, Otsue hurried out to the riverbed.
Evening primroses grew in scattered patches along the embankment.
Otsue plucked one and began softly humming “The Song of a Traveler’s Lodging” while gazing at its faintly glowing buds.
She was a child whose lovely voice belied her plain face.

“Ah, my parents, where art thou?”

As she finished singing, one of the flowers—as if roused by her voice—slowly parted its slumbering petals.
Otsue, stirred by this response, kept singing.
The blossoms swelled ever more lushly with each verse, petals trembling as though about to ring out with sound.

“Ah, my kindred, with whom shall I play?”

Suddenly feeling a chill slip through her body, Otsue noticed a pricking pain like a needle in the corner of her abdomen.
At first she thought nothing of it, but when the pain recurred two or three times, she suddenly remembered the cucumbers she had eaten that day.
Each time she remembered the cucumbers, thoughts of dysentery and that morning’s mercuric chloride incident swirled together chaotically, churning through her mind until her earlier clarity lay shattered. A premonition gripped her—Rikizo must be writhing with stomach pain by now, worrying everyone—while another fear assailed her: what if Rikizo, in his agony, confessed they’d eaten cucumbers? What if he blurted out that she and the baby had eaten them too? Trembling with these thoughts, she crept back home.
To her relief, Rikizo was calmly engaged in sumo wrestling or something with Brother, laughing boisterously.
Otsue let out a sigh of relief and stepped over the threshold.

However, Otsue’s stomach pain did not subside.

In the midst of this, the baby who had been sleeping on Sister’s lap suddenly began wailing shrilly.
Otsue jolted and stared at him.
Even when Sister pressed her exposed breast against him, he made no attempt to drink.
“It must be because the house is different,” Sister said as she set off for home.
Otsue saw her off to the entrance and, while worrying about her own stomach pain, listened intently to the baby’s cries receding into the cool moonlight.

Even after lying down, whenever Otsue thought about when dysentery might take hold, she found herself unable to sleep.
Rikizo lay asleep as if dead from exhaustion after playing, but she kept worrying he might wake at any moment and complain of stomach pains, her eyes blinking incessantly in the dark.

When morning came, Otsue had somehow fallen asleep.
And she had completely forgotten yesterday’s events.

Around noon that day came sudden news from Sister’s place that the baby had developed severe diarrhea.
Mother—whose eyes never left her grandchild—immediately rushed over.
But by that evening, the dear little baby no longer belonged to this world.
Otsue shuddered deep within.
And she suddenly began observing Rikizo’s behavior with trembling vigilance.

Rikizo, who had been listless since morning, quietly called his sister into the alley between the bathhouse and the shop in the evening.
Then, wondering what he had stuffed inside, he searched his bulging pocket, took out some chalk, and began repeatedly writing “August 31, 1913” on the board while—

“I’ve had a stomachache since morning and went to poop four or six times already.”
“Mother isn’t here, and if I tell Brother, he’ll yell… Otsue, I’m begging you—keep quiet about yesterday’s thing.”

his voice trembled unsteadily.
Otsue no longer knew what to do.
When she thought that both Rikizo and she would die within a day or so, a helpless loneliness pressed tightly against her chest, and before Rikizo could cry out, she burst into loud sobs.
That reached her brother's ears.

Despite this, Otsue afterward felt no stomach pain whatsoever, but Rikizo collapsed into bed and, assailed by violent diarrhea until he became little more than skin and bones, died without fuss on September 6th.

Otsue felt as though she were in a dream.

Having lost both her treasured grandson and son in rapid succession, Mother succumbed to acute hysteria and fell into a transient manic state.
Her gaze—as she sat glaring wildly at Otsue by dead Rikizo’s bedside—burned itself into Otsue’s mind with vivid clarity, like a specter from a dream amidst the haze of everything else.

“You fed ’em something foul, got two killed off, yet here you sit still breathin’—don’t you forget it.”

Whenever Otsue recalled those eyes, she felt as if she could almost hear those very words ringing vividly in her ears.

Otsue would often slip into the alleyway and, tracing Rikizo's leftover chalk marks with her fingertip, weep in loneliness.

Five

Through Tsurukichi’s strenuous efforts, the Tsurubed barbershop had just begun raising its head from the mud when it slid helplessly back—with pitiful ease—into an even deeper abyss of economic downturn.
The mere disappearance of Rikizo’s round, plump face alone dealt a fatal blow to the shop.
Though her hysteria had subsided, Mother—her left mouth corner permanently upturned into a spiteful grimace—still showed beautifully flushed cheeks; Tsurukichi stood emaciated with wax-pale skin; and little Tetsu remained lame and shriveled—none of them brought warmth or prosperity to the household.
Though ailing, Tsurukichi—clinging to his youth’s resilience—threw himself into shop work more diligently than before. Yet seeing him exhaust every ounce of strength he could muster, leaving nothing in reserve, pained those who watched.
As for Sister, she grew particularly quick to anger toward Otsue.

Among them all, Otsue alone grieved most bitterly over Rikizo’s absence—yet the life force welling up from within like a bursting bud refused to let her dwell solely on others’ affairs.
By the time Rikizo’s chalk marks on the alleyway boards had vanished without trace, Otsue had regained her former lively self.
Mornings would find her turned away from the east-facing window as she washed clothes while singing school songs—the red of her undergarment and obi first piercing through the household’s monotony.
Even when they resolved to send Kuro the dog to the tanner—claiming he ate too much—Otsue stubbornly refused.
Declaring she’d work harder at starching clothes and scrubbing floors to help their income, she clung to Kuro’s neck and wouldn’t release him.

Otsue had in fact become thoroughly diligent in her work.
Within her heart lingered the desire to somehow atone for having concealed that she’d eaten the cucumbers.
She gave up attending even the Sunday meetings at the night school—which she had come to enjoy most of all—had Rikizo’s tall geta sandals slightly lowered by someone, and wore them to assist her brother.
Otsue doted on Tetsu as if he were the apple of her eye.
Even when it grew late, Tetsu waited for Otsue to go to bed.
After finishing her work, Otsue hung her white work clothes on a nail, unwound her obi in a flurry, and abruptly lay down beside Tetsu.
As Tsurukichi tidied up the shop and listened, he could faintly hear Otsue telling an old tale.
Mother listened while crying in a manner that feigned sleep.

Around the time Otsue began wearing a haori over her unlined kimono and—taking advantage of the back being unseen—cinched a short woman’s obi forming just a single loop instead of a knotted men’s flannel one, the clamor of voices repeating “economic downturn” began sounding incessantly.
The heat that had flared up almost dutifully quickly cooled, and though it seemed not a single rice seed could be harvested across all Hokkaido, the price of rice began falling with eerie unease.
Otsue often went about talking of this “economic downturn” and how four family members had died between April and September, but what truly troubled her was how the downturn worsened Mother’s and Brother’s increasingly rough moods.
There had been no shortage of times when Mother harshly scolded Otsue before, but now there were instances when Mother and Brother clashed in unprecedentedly fierce arguments.
There were moments when Otsue felt secret satisfaction in her heart as Mother received Brother’s rather severe reprimands.
Yet at other times, she found Mother so pitiable it became unbearable.

Six

October 24th fell on Rikizo’s forty-ninth day memorial service.
Her sister, who had completed the baby’s memorial observance four or five days earlier, had come to Tsurubed that day for sewing work or something and was talking with her brother in the shop.

Otsue had been treated kindly by Mother since waking that morning and was in high spirits. Even toward her sister, she clung affectionately with repeated calls of "Sister," all the while muttering to herself as she cleaned the washstand.

“Please accept this as well—it’s only a small sample, but do try using one.”

When Otsue turned at the voice, Angel Köyu advertisements and sample products in small bottles were delivered.
Otsue suddenly rushed up and snatched the small bottle from her sister’s hand.
“Angel Köyu! Since I’m going to Sister’s tomorrow to have my hair done, half I’ll use, and half you can use, Sister.”

“You’re being sneaky!”

Sister also laughed.

While Otsue was making such jokes, Mother—who until now had been silently occupied with something in the tea room—suddenly turned and began to rage.
"Hurry up and clean the washstand—if you don’t starch clothes on a day like this, what’ll you do when it starts snowing?" she snapped venomously, emerging into the shop while scolding.
Her eyes, which appeared to have been crying until now, were wide open, the bloodshot whites gleaming unnervingly.

“Mother, please—for Rikizo’s sake today—won’t you try not to be so angry?”

Sister tried saying this gently to placate her.

“You keep spouting ‘Rikizo, Rikizo’ like he was yours—who the hell do you think raised him?”
“What happens to Rikizo ain’t your damn business.”
“And Tsurukichi—yammering ‘economic downturn’ while working us to the bone! Look at that layabout Otsue—lazing around growing taller by the day!”

When Sister heard this filthy tirade, she fell eerily silent and left without even a proper goodbye.
Otsue glanced at her brother standing there awkwardly, then wordlessly threw herself into her work.

Mother remained standing at the entrance, muttering endlessly.
A dull gloom like a lump of lead swelled up to the eaves of this house.

Otsue finished cleaning the washstand and went outside to starch clothes.
A cold yet brilliantly clear late autumn day cast slanted light through the shop’s sliding doors, while a faint smell of paint rose.
Otsue, seemingly interested in her work, was diligently pasting various patterned fabric pieces onto a board, her cheeks slightly flushed.
Her small fingers—only their tips flushed red—darted skillfully across the soot-darkened board. With each bending and straightening of her posture, Otsue’s body wove soft feminine curves into intricate patterns. In the shop, Tsurukichi—reading the newspaper—found his heart turning beautiful as he gazed at her ceaselessly.

Having finished an early lunch due to union business, Tsurukichi left the shop—even then, Otsue was working diligently.

“Take a break. Go get something to eat.”

When he spoke kindly, Otsue briefly looked up and smiled faintly, then immediately resumed her work with renewed vigor.
When he reached the corner and glanced back, Otsue had risen to see her brother off.
"What a sweet kid," Tsurukichi thought as he quickened his pace.

Even when Mother called her for lunch, Otsue remained absorbed in her task.
Just then, three companions arrived and invited her to see the caterpillar track test at the amusement park.
Caterpillar track—the very name stirred Otsue’s curiosity intensely.
Planning to take just a quick look, Otsue removed her work sash and tucked it into her sleeve before joining the trio.

While stern officials from the Hokkaido Government Office, Railway Bureau, and Ward Office looked on, a slightly modified cart clattered over deliberately constructed obstacles—a sight neither interesting nor anything special—but stepping out into the field after so long and playing carefree with school friends was a rare respite these days.
Just as she thought they had barely begun to play, she suddenly noticed a chill and looked up at the sky—before she knew it, dusk had already settled under a blanket of gray clouds.

Otsue froze in shock.
Her playmates, seeing Otsue’s complexion suddenly change, all three widened their eyes.

Seven

When she returned home, since the brother she had relied on had still not come back, Mother alone was trembling like fire.

“You good-for-nothing wretch! Where’ve you disappeared off to?”
“Why haven’t you gone and died somewhere? You!”

With that, she jabbed repeatedly,

“It’d be fine if Rikizo were alive, but he’s dead—even if you drop dead, you’re just a worthless burden.”
“You’ve got no use here—get lost.”

she shoved her away.

Finally, even Otsue snapped.
‘You tell me to die? Like hell I will!’ she rebelled inwardly while wrapping Mother’s starched clothes into a furoshiki cloth before immediately leaving the shop.
Otsue felt hungry then but lacked courage enough to eat before departing.
Yet when leaving she retained composure sufficient to take Angel Köyu’s small bottle beside the mirror and slip it into her sleeve.
“Once I reach Sister’s place I’ll give her such an earful—that’ll fix things.”
“Telling me to die? Who’d ever obey that!”
Harboring these thoughts all along her path,Otsue arrived at Sister’s house.

Usually Sister would come bustling out to greet her, but today only a girl of about ten—left in her care by a neighbor—appeared at the entrance wearing a lonely face. Slightly disheartened, Otsue made her way to the inner room where she found Sister silently engaged in needlework.
Unused to this change in routine, Otsue stood there fidgeting.

“Oh, do sit down.”

Sister fixed her sword-like glare on Otsue.
Otsue sat down intending to placate her sister and showed her the scented oil from her sleeve, but Sister didn't even glance back.

"You must've heard something from Mother."
"They even came looking for you here earlier."

With this opening, Sister began lecturing Otsue about karma—concealing anger beneath a gentle tone.
Otsue had listened initially with bewilderment but gradually became drawn into her sister's words.
Her brother's business was declining—their monthly income alone couldn't sustain them—so Sister's husband had been helping bit by bit. But since carpentry work completely dries up when snow falls, he now planned to scrape by doing odd jobs in mornings—though whether this would succeed seemed doubtful.
Now that Rikizo too had died, they'd eventually need to hire another errand boy.
"Mother's like that—when she takes to bed as she often does, those medical costs pile up."
"As for Tetsu—being lame means even graduating elementary school won't help."
"You should know how many houses around here got evicted since October for unpaid rent."
"If you think this concerns others, you're dead wrong."
"And today being Rikizo's memorial—how could you laze about alone since morning?"
"Even useless as you are—had you stayed home cleaning altar or making offerings—Mother might've been pleased. This heartlessness goes too far."
"At fourteen—marriageable in two-three years."
"No one would take such a bride."
"You'll keep burdening Brother's household—pointed at by everyone—living whole life without joy."
"Keep this up and soon everyone'll abandon you—see how you like that!"
Thus Sister pressed on berating Otsue.
Until finally even she herself welled up—

“They say carefree folks live long, but Mother won’t last much longer, and Brother—grinding himself down like that—could fall sick any day now.”
“And since I was left all alone when the baby died, I’ve got no reason to live—so you’ll just be left behind struggling by yourself… Now that I say it, I’ve been meaning to ask—back then at Toyohira River, didn’t you give the baby something bad to eat?”

“What could I have possibly fed him?”

Otsue, who had been silent with her head bowed until now, answered as if pleading and then bowed her head again.

“But Rikizo was there too... And I didn’t even have diarrhea.”

After a while, she added something incomprehensible, as if making excuses.
Sister looked at Otsue with suspicious eyes like a whip.

As Otsue remained silent in this state, a sudden sadness welled up from the very depths of her gut.
She was simply overcome with grief.
Her chest tightened as though being crushed, and even when she tried to hold back, her breath came fast. Then two or three fiery-hot tears trickled down her flushed cheeks with a faint, tickling sensation—and overwhelmed, she collapsed into sobs in a blind frenzy.

And Otsue cried her heart out for about an hour.
No sooner would she glimpse Rikizo’s mischievously playful, charming face or her sister’s baby innocently sticking out its tongue than they would transform—into Father’s face, into Mother’s face, into Tsurukichi’s face, which she found peculiarly dear.
Each time, Otsue felt tears streaming down her face to an almost amusing degree and kept on crying.
This time, Sister began to worry and tried consoling her in various ways, but seeing it was futile, she ultimately left her alone.

After crying as much as she wanted, Otsue quietly raised her face and looked up. Her head felt relatively lighter now, her heart profoundly desolate and still—a single clear thought lay sunken at its depths.
All attachments had cleanly vanished from Otsue’s head.
I’ll just die.
Otsue, filled with tragic resolve, nodded deeply within herself.
And then, “Sister, I’ll be going home now,” she said demurely and left her sister’s house.

VIII

Having been delayed by an errand, Tsurukichi returned home some time after the lights were lit.
The electric light blazed brightly in the shop, but the living room made do with that borrowed glow.
In that dim space sat Mother and Otsue apart from each other, solitary figures.
Beside the cupboard lay Tetsu wrapped in a light summer quilt, emitting faint snores.
Tsurukichi—assuming another quarrel had occurred—attempted harmless small talk to break the tension, but Mother scarcely responded as she produced a vegetarian meal draped with a dishcloth and urged them to eat.
When he looked, Otsue’s portion too remained untouched.

“Otsue, why aren’t you eating?”

“I don’t want to eat.”

"What a charmingly childlike voice that was," Tsurukichi thought.

Before picking up his chopsticks, Tsurukichi stood up and went to the Buddhist altar. After offering a perfunctory bow to the small plain wooden memorial tablet, he was overcome with a somber, lonely feeling.
Feeling too weighed down, he twisted on the electric light.
The room flared briefly into brightness, and Tetsu seemed to stir awake for a moment—but then everything settled back into stillness, only deepening the loneliness.

Otsue remained silent as she took her brother’s meal tray to the kitchen sink and began washing it.
Even when told to leave it for tomorrow, she didn’t listen and silently finished washing.
On her way back, she went to the Buddhist altar, replaced the lamp wick, and bowed briefly to the memorial tablet.
Then she slipped into geta and tried to leave the shop.

Tsurukichi felt an inexplicable unease and called out to Otsue from behind.
Otsue was outside,

“I left something at Sister’s place,”
she said.
Tsurukichi suddenly wanted to get angry.

“You idiot! There’s no need to go this late. You can just go first thing tomorrow.”

While saying this, he meant to demonstrate solidarity with his mother,

“You’re just being willfully selfish.”

he added.
Otsue compliantly turned back.

After the three had gone to bed, Tsurukichi grew increasingly troubled by the sense that his own words—“You’re just being willfully selfish”—had crossed a line.
Otsue lay stone-still and silent beside Tetsu, facing away.

Outside, the year’s first snow appeared to be falling as night deepened within a silence that pressed down like a weight.

IX

Sure enough, the next day dawned with snow.

By the time Tsurukichi got up, Otsue was cleaning the shop, and Mother was tidying the kitchen.
Tetsu was tying his school bundle by the shop brazier.
Otsue was diligently helping him with it.
After a while,

“Tetsu.”

Otsue said.

“Huh?”

Even when Tetsu responded, Otsue didn’t follow up with any words, so

“Sis, what is it?”

he pressed, but Otsue remained silent.
Tsurukichi, about to pick up a toothpick, looked at the shelf in front of the mirror and found a single small dish there that had no business being in the shopfront.

Around seven o’clock, Otsue said she was going to her sister’s place and left home.
Tsurukichi, who was in the middle of shaving a customer’s face, hardly even glanced back.

After the customer left, when he happened to look, the dish from earlier was gone.

“Oh, Mother, did you put away the dish that was here?”
“What dish?”

Mother stuck only her face out from the back room.
And she said she didn’t know anything about such a thing.
Tsurukichi thought, “Why the hell did Otsue take that thing out?” and when he looked around, there it was—sitting atop the water jar by the washstand.
In the dish, a little water remained, with something like white powder stuck to it.
Tsurukichi absentmindedly handed it to Mother and had her dispose of it.

When even around nine o'clock Otsue hadn't returned, Mother started muttering again.
Tsurukichi was also thinking he’d have to give her a proper scolding once she returned when the girl being looked after at his sister’s place breathlessly flung open the door and rushed in.

“Uncle, right now, right now!”

[She] panted breathlessly.
Tsurukichi found it amusing and laughed,

“What’s the matter, getting so flustered… Did Auntie die or something?”

As soon as he said this,

“Yeah! Uncle! Your Otsue’s dying! Come quick!”

When Tsurukichi heard this, he was seized by an urge to laugh in an unnaturally strained way.

“What did you say?”

He asked again.

“Otsue’s dying.”

Tsurukichi finally burst into genuine laughter.
And after dealing with her dismissively, he sent the girl back.

Laughing, Tsurukichi loudly told Mother in the back about it.
When Mother heard this, her face twisted as she came down to the shop barefoot.

“What, Otsue’s dying?…”

And then Mother, too, suddenly laughed in an extremely unnatural manner.
Then, just as suddenly, she turned serious again,

“Last night, Otsue didn’t even touch her temple food and just clung to Tetsu crying… Ha ha… As if that could ever happen… Ha ha ha…”

As she said this, she laughed unnaturally again.
When Tsurukichi heard that laughter, his chest churned strangely against his will, but he too became caught up in it,
“Ha ha ha… What on earth is that girl saying?”
he chimed in agreement.
Mother did not even attempt to go up to the tearoom and simply stood there in a daze.

Just then, his sister came running in barefoot.
When Tsurukichi saw this, the matter of the dish from earlier suddenly came to mind—as if he’d been struck.
And for no discernible reason, he thought, "Damn it," took his tobacco pouch, and tucked it into his waistband.

10

Early that morning, Otsue had come to her sister’s place once.
And because Mother found the powdered medicine hard to take，she said that if there were any oblate wrappers left from when the baby was sick，to give them to her.
The sister handed them over without a second thought.
Then around seven o’clock，she came again bringing sewing and spread it out in the three-tatami room next to the entrance.
Since the cupboard in that room contained small items，the sister went there for a moment，but Otsue showed no particular change in her demeanor.
It seemed she was hiding something beneath a haori，but thinking this was just usual secretive eating，the sister didn’t bother to ask.

About thirty minutes had passed when there was a sense that Otsue had stood up and was drinking water in the kitchen. Ever since losing her baby, her sister had come to see plain water as poison; she scolded Otsue through the sliding door, telling her not to drink it. Otsue immediately stopped and entered her sister’s room. The sister had lately been engrossed in Buddhist rituals, so even then she was polishing brass altar implements. Otsue helped with that too. For thirty minutes of sutra chanting, she sat piously at the back listening—then suddenly stood up and entered the three-tatami room. After some time passed, her sister heard retching sounds from next door and hurriedly slid open the door to find Otsue already writhing on the floor in agony. No matter how they pressed her, she kept silent while contorting in pain. Finally, her sister struck her back hard two or three times in anger—only then did Otsue say she’d drunk poison from the shelf at home. And she apologized for causing trouble by dying at her sister’s house.

The sister came running into Tsurukichi’s shop and told him all of this in a disjointed manner between gasps.
When Tsurukichi went to see, in the three-tatami room of his sister’s house where a futon had been prepared, Otsue lay there with an unexpectedly calm face watching her brother enter.
Tsurukichi could not bear to look at his younger sister’s face.

Thinking to fetch a doctor, Tsurukichi left his sister’s house and immediately rushed to the nearby hospital.
The pharmacy and reception desk had only just opened.
He repeatedly urged them to come at once and returned home to wait, but even after forty minutes there was no sign of their arrival.
The nausea that had once begun to subside surged back violently.
When Tsurukichi saw Otsue pressing her face into the pillow while taking deep breaths, he could not stay still.
Wondering if waiting forty minutes had caused a critical delay, Tsurukichi dashed out again.

After dashing five or six blocks, he realized he was wearing geta.
Thinking it absurd that anyone would run in geta at such a time, he removed them and ran barefoot—then dashed another five or six blocks through the snow.
Suddenly noticing a rickshaw passing beside him, he thought himself a fool again and turned back two or three blocks to look for a rickshaw stand.
There was a rickshaw, but the rickshaw puller was an old man who seemed much slower than Tsurukichi could run.
From where he had turned back, within less than one block, there was the house of the doctor he was seeking.
The message was that everything had been prepared and was ready, so he should bring her immediately.

Tsurukichi rushed barefoot through snow (S-551-555), urgently sought doctor (S-545), confirmed caustic potash was in larger bottle (S-560), hesitated to verify deduction (S-561), waited for rickshaw (S-563), held Otsue on lap in rickshaw (S-564)
Otsue drank poison from larger bottle (S-559), showed calm demeanor earlier (S-540), smiled faintly while held by Tsurukichi (S-565)
Sister reported Otsue’s condition (S-557), previously scolded about water (S-529)

Tsurukichi rushed to his sister’s house without minding the rickshaw and inquired about the situation, but it seemed there was still no need for such commotion.
He unintentionally thought he had succeeded.
Otsue must have confused the bottle sizes and drunk from the larger one.
The larger bottle contained powdered caustic potash.
He felt certain of this but lacked the courage to verify it firsthand.

Waiting for the rickshaw again took some time.
Soon Tsurukichi rode in the carriage with Otsue cradled on his lap.
Otsue smiled faintly while embraced by her brother.
A visceral bond of kinship sank its teeth into Tsurukichi’s heart, tightening its grip.
Save her somehow—that alone filled Tsurukichi’s thoughts.

Before long, Otsue was carried to a spacious room on the second floor of the doctor’s house and transferred onto snow-white sheets.
Otsue was gasping and pleading for water.

“There, there. I’ll make sure you won’t feel thirsty now.”

The doctor with an air of compassion slipped his arms into an examination gown while keeping his eyes fixed on Otsue and calmly spoke these words.
Otsue obediently nodded.
The doctor soon placed his hand on Otsue’s forehead and examined her intently before turning to look at Tsurukichi,

“How much mercuric chloride did she drink?”

the doctor asked.

Tsurukichi felt this marked the threshold of fate. Tentatively drawing closer to Otsue, he pressed his mouth to her ear.

“Otsue, was it the big bottle or the small one you drank from?”

While saying this, he showed her with hand gestures indicating large and small. Otsue gazed at her brother with feverish eyes and, in a clear voice,
“The small one.”
Otsue answered.
Tsurukichi felt as if struck by lightning.
“H-how much did you drink?”
He had long been told that even adults would die if they drank two-tenths of a gram, so, though he knew it was futile, he asked this.
Otsue remained silent, curled her index finger, brought it near the base of her thumb, and indicated a circle the size of a five-sen coin.

The doctor who saw this tilted his head doubtfully, but
“It seems we’re a bit too late in our intervention,” he said.
As he said this, he had the prepared medicine brought in.
A pungent odor, likely from the poison, filled the room.
Tsurukichi’s mind regained such clarity because of this that it felt as if everything up to now had been a dream.
“It’s hard to swallow, but bear with it and drink.”
Otsue closed her eyes without resisting and gulped it down.
After that, she fell into a drowsy, seemingly painful half-sleep for some time.
The assistant continued taking her pulse, holding her hand.
The assistant exchanged words in low voices with the doctor.

About fifteen minutes had passed when Otsue suddenly jerked her eyes wide open as if startled, lifted her head from the pillow while frantically looking around as though seeking help—then abruptly began vomiting violently.
Her stomach, having eaten nothing since yesterday noon, could only bring up foam and mucus.

“My chest hurts… Brother.”

Tsurukichi could only nod deeply in silence while rubbing her back.

“The bathroom.”

When she said that and tried to stand up, everyone supported her, and she surprisingly managed to sit up properly.
Even when they mentioned a bedpan, she refused outright.
With Tsurukichi bracing her shoulders, she walked onward.
Though she insisted on climbing down the stairs herself, Tsurukichi forcibly hoisted her onto his back,

“You’ll fall and die trying to go down those ladder stairs alone.”

When he said this, Otsue held a faint shadow of a smile somewhere on her face.

“I wouldn’t mind dying.”

The diarrhea had been considerable.
That there was this much vomiting and diarrhea became their last remaining hope.
Otsue arched her back like a great wave in her agony, panting out hot breaths.
Lips parched and cracked; cheeks flushed with vivid crimson.

When Otsue stopped complaining of the pain in her chest, she began to complain intensely of pain in her abdomen.
That was a miserable agony.
Even so, Otsue resolutely said she would go to the bathroom again, but in reality, her strength had waned, and she passed blood in her futon.
From her nose as well, a copious nosebleed flowed.
And during the cruel agony of her clawing at the air and tearing at the sheets, a shudder-inducing stillness of terrifying coma persisted.

Then her sister, who had been scrambling to secure funds, arrived as well.
And she retied Otsue’s disheveled black hair from the roots—tightly bound so it wouldn’t unravel.
There was no one who did not want to keep Otsue alive.
All through this time she was dying second by second.

But in Otsue, not the slightest trace of clinging to life could be seen.
That dear, firm resolve now gouged at the hearts of those around her.

Suddenly, Otsue awoke from her coma and called out, “Brother.”
Tsurukichi, who had been sobbing in the corner of the room, hurriedly wiped his eyes and approached her bedside.
“Tetsu...”
“Tetsu, he’s...”

The brother’s voice trailed off there.

“Tetsu is at school.”
“Shall I call him for you?”

Otsue turned her face away from her brother and faintly
“If he’s at school… you don’t need to call him.”
she said.

This was Otsue’s final utterance.

Even so, Tetsu was summoned and brought back.
However, Otsue’s consciousness had already ceased functioning, and she could no longer recognize Tetsu.
Even Mother, who had tried to forcibly keep someone at home, arrived in a frenzied state.
Mother brought Otsue’s favorite formal clothes.
And she absolutely refused to yield, insisting on dressing her in it.
When those around her tried to stop her, she said, “Then let me do it this way,” draped the kimono over Otsue, and lay down beside her.
Since Otsue’s perception had vanished, the doctor left it up to Mother to do as she pleased.

“There, there...”
“That’s right.”
“That’s it... that’s it...”
“There we are now.”
“Mother’s here—don’t cry.”
“There, there... there, there...”

As she uttered these words, Mother kept stroking the area around.
And thus, in this manner, around three-thirty in the afternoon, Otsue departed from her short life of fourteen years.

The following afternoon, Tsurudoko held its fifth funeral.
In the freshly fallen pure white snow, a small coffin and a group of mourners appropriate for it left a dark blemish.
Tsurukichi and his sister stood at the entrance of the shop and watched the small procession depart.
Behind the coffin, Tetsu—lame-legged and clutching the memorial tablet—could be clearly seen walking in the worn-out geta that had belonged to Rikizo and Otsue, his steps lurching unevenly up and down as he went.

His sister kneaded the prayer beads in silent devotion.
Upon the hands clasped in prayer—those of his sister and Tsurukichi bound by inverse karma—snow kept falling from behind.

(January 1916, published in Shirakaba)