Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

He walked aimlessly toward the harbor. It was as though this town itself had resolved not to let him linger much longer—as though its determination advanced more swiftly than his own wavering resolve—and now came days of strangely forlorn, passive turmoil, filled with anxious wonderings about whether the time when he must depart was drawing near. Of course, that too was merely his overactive imagination. This had happened many times before. In times like these, his feet would turn of their own accord toward the station or the harbor. Going to the station and nostalgically gazing at the urban station names he imagined—as if reading a lover’s name—was also a kind of emotional ritual. Going to the harbor to check steamship fares and calculate travel expenses was also a kind of demonstration against his own unsettled heart. There lay mountains of cargo burdening laborers’ shoulders, iron materials hoisted by cranes, passengers boarding steamships in travel attire, people disembarking from barges—and there always drifted a phantom of distant lands that enticed wanderers. However, there too existed those who had come to this provincial town purposefully nurturing hopes—a state of mind likely diametrically opposed to his own, wherein this land had grown utterly devoid of interest. When he saw laborers—some in couples, others likely single men with bare calves—wearing indigo work clothes and carrying their belongings in split bundles as they sporadically disembarked from the pier, he would again feel that peculiar sensation clouding his thoughts. He could not avoid once more suppressing the current wavering of his mind and thoroughly examining it.

"Could they not go somewhere better than this town? Even this town wasn’t easy until one found work. Even after entering the factory, one would still be put through considerable trouble before finally being able to work. They would have to spend February and March living idle—and in the end, if they were unlucky enough to fail the physical exam, some might even end up lost with nowhere to abandon their very selves." With a fellow laborer’s sympathy, he watched them. Especially when he saw itinerant laborers accompanied by wives and children, it deepened his brooding all the more. Then next, he had to immediately take stock of his own recklessness. He came to realize that leaving this place now would be utterly rash. No matter how much he loathed it, he came to feel there was nothing better than obediently clinging to this place so long as the factory didn’t dismiss him. The present circumstances—where simply showing up at the factory each day to work guaranteed fixed wages—had abruptly become something irreplaceable. And yet, even he found himself spineless, resolving that starting tomorrow he would pull himself together and work diligently. This resolution was not so different from how he had felt when first arriving at this harbor two years prior. At that time—the end of February—patches of snow still lingered on the harbor’s surrounding mountains, though the waves now swayed with a spring-like gentleness, their rounded swells generous, while white gulls crisscrossed between merchant ships and warships. When he gazed from the steamship’s deck at the factory beyond—its iron and engines roaring beneath a sky brimming with vigorous burnt-brown soot—he had been filled with an inexpressible heartening strength and a sense of admiration. If this land had allowed him to settle, he thought, how happy he would have been. How forlorn and wretched must it have been—anticipating a second destination should things not go as hoped—in this particular circumstance. That anxiety had not failed to return him to being a man submissively devout toward fate at heart.

This time—this time—if he could just secure his job, this place would become where he settled for life. This time—no matter what—this time I'll plant myself here and earn my keep...! he had sworn with ironbound resolve to the highest mountain overlooking the harbor, hands nearly clasped as if in prayer. Should he ever grow weary of this town someday, he needed something that might harshly chasten him. So deeply did he dread that capricious nature of his—that easily bored and wavering disposition lurking in his heart's depths. For never once had he managed to rein in that obstinate temperament of his.

At any rate, at that time alone had he sincerely sworn to settle in this town. The unbearable hardships of three years of military life, having narrowly escaped death by missing combat, and the joy of finally making his own body his own—these had compelled him to affirm everything in the world without criticism. To such returning soldiers, meaning, happiness, and joy could be found in even the most wretched of lives. It was a foolish, pathological delusion that only temporarily revived in those utterly worn down through prolonged and extraordinary suffering. But now the harbor spread before his eyes, the panorama of this small town, was nothing more than the cold shell of that delusion.

He stood motionless at the harbor for some time. The autumn sun set behind the island mountain. A biting sea breeze swept through. It was the same wind he had encountered long ago, during those days when he wandered along unfamiliar coastal paths after losing his job. It was an evening wind that made him anticipate the misery of unemployment should he mistakenly take a single step away from this land. By now, a certain group of dockworkers had finished their work for the day, received their wages, and were each making their own way to their usual bars in the area. From the distant shipyard, the hoarse 5:30 steam whistle resounded. Those who had idly shirked work at the factory and spent this day in purposeless leisure possessed no right to rejoice in that steam whistle’s call. The steam whistle was an unbearable threat to those who were not diligent. It instantly plunged into gloom those who begrudged even a day’s labor and neglected their military obligations.

Upon his face in that single moment appeared the torment and fear of a fragile heart. This was rebellion's hue struggling against the steam whistle's menace. Yet that steam whistle's blare remained something those laborers could never defy. When he considered this, he had to forcibly reduce his will to passivity, then found himself compelled to conclude that tying himself to this land for life required the ballast of wife and children—that this ultimately constituted the wisest course. This had long been pressed upon him as one facet of necessity.

At the stone steps of the harbor where he stood, a coastal tugboat arrived. About twenty country-looking men and women passengers boarded. Last came a fair-skinned, slightly plump young wife of twenty-five or twenty-six with a round chignon and something bearing a bright red handle; she climbed aboard. As he watched absently, his gaze settled on the young wife. He saw how—unusually dewy for a country woman—the soft white line of her neck curved gently from beneath her navy-patterned half-collar before disappearing into the nape behind her earlobe. When the plump four-year-old boy passed from his mother's hands to the boatman's grasp, he floated briefly in midair before being hoisted ashore with evident delight. Several horse-drawn carriages waited there for passengers. The driver loaded her luggage and child into the carriage as though handling precious gifts. She stepped inside. The carriage set off. He kept watching it. There he saw what his present life most sorely lacked.

II

The streetlights came on in the town. Yotsuji grew hazy, as if assailed by a thin mist of foot dust spewed from the factory with the workers.

He hurried from the harbor toward the lodging house. He walked briskly along one side of the town without glancing aside. He detested encountering the great number of comrades returning after completing a full day’s labor. But among comrades who took never missing a day’s work as their greatest pride, even if they had spotted a slacker like him, they would likely have pretended not to notice and moved on—his face had stiffened with the shame of indolence.

But it was no use. He was finally stopped by an older comrade. This was the very person he had most feared encountering. "What do you think you're doing?" "I thought maybe you were sick, but that's not it, huh?" he said scornfully.

“No, nothing like that at all. I mean to start coming tomorrow,” he said with forced cheer.

“That’s good then. They’re firing anyone taking too many days off these days—get dismissed now and things won’t go smooth for you,” the veteran worker stated with brusque directness.

He was immediately irritated. "Don't talk nonsense," he thought. This veteran worker was a man who amassed considerable money, prudently circulated it among his comrades, and greedily profited from high interest. He still had a debt remaining with this man. Every month on payday, he would lie in wait at the factory exit, and mercilessly seize the agreed amount from his wage envelope. "Goddamn half-dead bastard," he cursed under his breath as he crossed the avenue without looking back.

From there, his lodging house stood where several quiet backstreets twisted and turned.

When he opened the lattice door of the boarding house, an unfamiliar new pair of women’s geta at the entrance caught his eye. And he immediately realized—this must be the daughter of the house he’d heard about for some time now, who was supposed to arrive any day, having married into a distant family and now finally come today. Beside the women’s wooden clogs were small child’s shoes lined up. Even from the cheerful voices of younger siblings audible deeper within, he could discern which guest it was. In the kitchen, they seemed to be in the midst of preparing a modest special dinner. He felt an uncharacteristic restraint befitting a lodger. Yet despite this, curiosity about what sort of beauty she might be lightly teased at him.

He entered his three-mat room beside the entrance just as he was. There he noticed the round head of an unexpected intruder. It was an adorable little boy who made you want to scoop him up right then and there. A round-faced plump child with large eyes sat before his desk engaged in some mischief. The child immediately ran into the back upon noticing him. Then from behind the shoji screen came stealthy peeking. He smiled and beckoned, but the child ultimately fled to the mother’s lap in the back.

“Who…? Oh! Did Uncle come?” “What sort of Uncle…? Oh, I see…” came a young motherly voice from the back.

“Have you returned, Mr. Maruta?” “Come now, let’s have dinner together.” The usual cheerful old matriarch called him from the tearoom.

Kakichi, who had just returned from the factory moments ago—true to his usual habit and still in his work clothes—sprawled cross-legged across one side of the round dining table and was already gobbling noisily at his meal. The elderly patriarch had also set his lacquered meal tray beside the long charcoal brazier as was his custom, beginning his modest evening drink. From the days when this household had been commissioned for gold and silver metalwork in the castle town, the area around the large round dining table—the kitchen’s decorative centerpiece—appeared bright and lively for the first time in ages. That long ago tale of numerous craftsmen and apprentices dining at this very table in two separate seatings was one the elderly matriarch often repeated during meals. Since the family had left the castle town and fallen into their current circumstances, nothing had deepened the elderly matriarch’s awareness of how times had changed more than the lonely emptiness around the dining table during meals. One reason they had taken Maruta in as a lodger was precisely that.

“Ah, fate’s a curious thing indeed.” “Now this here’s Mr. Maruta—works at the same factory as Kakichi does.” “Been with us since summer’s start.” “Come now, Mr. Maruta, take your seat here.” “This here’s our house’s daughter.” “What’s with all this shyness now…?”

The elderly matriarch bustled about with even more vigor than usual. He saw for the first time the young woman with the round chignon. And they exchanged greetings. But it was unexpected. Her face was not unfamiliar. She was unmistakably the woman he had seen earlier at the wharf. The glossy red-ornamented marumage that had come ashore from the tugboat that time was now offering a polite yet familiar greeting in this unexpected place. Such a chance encounter being with someone of the opposite sex alone made his heart quiver with pleasant astonishment. She was indeed a woman who left this elderly matriarch with nothing short of pride.

His heart whispered. It whispered again, overwhelmed. "This person has come to confront me with something. Perhaps I might have to agonize over this. But even so, I'm happy..." his heart seemed to whisper. How had these new developments so lightened the gloom that had weighed upon him these past four or five days? A lively, enjoyable meal had begun. The elderly matriarch's practiced mixed rice was well-liked. The young mother remained too distracted by her child to pick up her own chopsticks. The child ate voraciously with unsteady chopstick grips and a precarious way of holding his bowl. From the younger siblings onward, everyone laughed endlessly at this gluttonous guest.

“That’s enough now. We’ll have more tomorrow, dear—if you eat too much, look, Uncle will think you’re being silly,” she said, using the child as an intermediary to cast friendliness toward Maruta while wiping the food clinging to the boy’s cheeks and chin. The child, being told this, turned his large eyes toward Maruta. However, in reality, Maruta was no different from this child. Because tonight, before her, he had to be nothing less than a likable lodger.

III

From the next day onward, Maruta went to the factory. He worked like malfunctioning machinery that had suddenly begun spinning through some quirk of fate. The crisis of unpleasant turmoil had passed. He had come to realize that even by his own measure, his way of thinking until yesterday had been far too lacking in flexibility. "Above all, overthinking was the problem. What exactly were all those things I agonized over until yesterday...?" he thought, probing his heart's depths for traces of yesterday's anxieties only to sneer at himself. Today, none of it mattered anymore. The cause was always that same old demon. To put it plainly: settling down here with a wife and children to labor his entire life would yield results all too predictable; working himself to the bone without rest to become like that moneylender would end in outcomes equally foreseeable; this factory—overrun with locals and filled with air too stifling for someone like him to endure lifelong—was crawling with detestable men starting with the foremen; that his emotional turmoil always began with such capricious impulses. He felt that resolving to leave this place now might soon become the genesis of better fortune—that merely going elsewhere could let his indolence be replaced by fresh endurance, making a courageous life seem attainable. But he should have settled this matter yesterday evening when he stood reconsidering at the wharf. After all, enduring everything as before was safest—with this resolve today, he tended to his long-neglected machinery as if reclaiming ownership: wiping oil puddles, meticulously scraping gear grime, adjusting metal fittings, even tightening the inspection belt's slack. Then the machinery itself seemed to comply cheerfully with his commands, spinning smoothly and lightly, while the foreman paused in passing before his machine and glanced over something that caught his eye. Even that today seemed like a benevolent look. Everything was in perfect order today. Before he knew it, autumn sunlight streamed through the high glass-paned roof. Soon after, the lunch whistle blared across the grounds. Today, even the clock seemed free of its usual obstinacy.

It was their established routine to open their lunches with Kakichi at the usual spot. The fact that his lunch wrapping differed from the norm today gave him a faint flicker of pleasure. He recalled her morning exertions.

Having only arrived the previous night, she had uncharacteristically risen early this morning to take the elderly matriarch’s place—diligently clad in a splashed-pattern work jacket with carp-mouth collar fastening, her slightly disheveled red-handled round chignon arranged in an older sister-style topknot—and now squatted gracefully beneath the dimly lit kitchen window, gazing intently at the boiling pot before her. From his bedding, he stole glances at her softly rounded profile illuminated by the hearth flames. Thus, this morning’s meal preparations had been entirely her doing. And yet, she was being poutily scolded by her brother Kakichi over trivial complaints like this morning’s rice being too soft.

"To think this man with a face like withered stone had such a sister..." Maruta thought as he ate his lunch. The mere fact of being her brother made even Kakichi's face appear different from its usual self.

IV

“Now I gotta head to the Russkies’ ship. You comin’ along or not?” Kakichi said as he finished his lunch. “What are you going to do there?” “Ah, quit askin’—just come see.” The two then headed from the factory’s rear—where red-painted boilers and scattered iron materials lay—toward the coast. They made their way past the aftermath of yesterday afternoon’s accident—where the crane’s chain had snapped, crushing two laborers beneath iron plates—as they walked.

“Look at this blood on the railroad tie,” Kakichi pointed. Maruta felt his breath constrict, unable to respond. On nearby cargo piles sat about ten laborers smoking tobacco, showing no particular grief despite having lost their comrades yesterday. The scene carried on with routine indifference, as if proclaiming that no number of deaths would ever deplete their replacements. The crane stood arrogantly erect, attributing all tragedies to human stupidity, carelessness, and obliviousness. Maruta hurried past. Kakichi descended the stone steps ahead and vaulted into the small boat.

“Get on already!” “But the whistle’s about to blow.” “Quit your frettin’, I tell ya. Today’s the day that foreman bastard gets let off at noon! There’s no way in hell I’m gonna pass up slacking off on a day like this!” “Huh, so that’s how it is. Didn’t know that.”

“That’s why you’re such trouble,” Kakichi said, deftly rowing the oar with one hand. “They won’t ask why we came here?” “See? Just like I told you.” Kakichi tapped the ruler and inside calipers through his pocket. “We’re here to measure repair parts—that’s our line.”

Before long, the small boat bumped gently against the side of a Russkie whaling ship anchored near shore. Kakichi briskly climbed up the gangplank ahead. The sailors didn't pay them any particular suspicion. With repairs underway, the crew sprawled idly about the deck with time to kill. Kakichi spotted a familiar Russkie sailor and shook his hand. The Russkie laughed and jabbered something unintelligible while pointing toward the engine room at Kakichi. Maruta followed after him. The two descended to the middle deck, passed by the cook's room wafting savory aromas, and proceeded down into the dim engine room where a bare candle flickered. Everywhere in that place, packaged steam pipes of various sizes coiled and wound like a swarm of snakes. In one corner, a Russkie sailor clad in oil-stained coveralls was polishing disassembled engine parts while performing maintenance.

“Aleksei, good day.” Kakichi tapped the Russian sailor’s shoulder from behind with casual familiarity. “Konnichiwa…,” Aleksei shrilled in a comically high-pitched voice as he spun around. With an innocent, good-natured smile, he nodded at Maruta too. Kakichi pulled two slender paper boxes from his pocket and thrust them forward. The Russian sailor accepted them with a grin, immediately prying open the lids. He let out a joyful shout. Inside lay Hanafuda cards and Shogi pieces. Aleksei promptly dragged Kakichi off somewhere. When he returned after some time, he carried an object wrapped in old newspaper under his arm.

“That’ll do for our business.” “Let’s move.”

The two exited through the hatch they had come from onto the bright deck and leaped into the small boat. “What do you think this is?” Kakichi said smugly as he worked the oar. “It’s bread… or maybe biscuits? No—probably some sweet canned goods.” “This ain’t no joke. You think I’d let ’em guess right? Not a chance,” Kakichi shot back with a nonchalant whistle. When they reached the stone-walled shore, they secured the boat as before and hurried toward the red brick warehouse. Just then, the hanging whistle sounded. The two paid it no mind and strode briskly off in another direction. There, where new warehouses were being built, women handling pile-driving ropes lounged in slovenly repose. Spotting the two figures, they unleashed a torrent of jeering abuse.

“Hmph, yap all you want,” Kakichi shot back briefly. Then one of them—a woman with a red sash—chased after him, clinging to his back as she begged for cigarettes. “Shut up. Hand ’em out to everyone,” Kakichi said, flinging the entire bat case at them. Kakichi and Maruta vanished into the entrance of a warehouse. There stood a hunchbacked old watchman with an absurdly short torso, spindly legs that seemed too long for his body, and one missing arm. This was the man who had been a lathe worker in his youth until a shaft tore off his arm, after which he’d been transferred out of pity to become a warehouse watchman—now rooted for thirty years in this dark hole of a consumables warehouse. Kakichi spoke familiarly with the old man. Then they descended to the deepest basement. They lit the half-burnt candle. There emerged a massive table riddled with cigarette burns and two or three clumsily made stools. Kakichi placed the old newspaper-wrapped bundle he’d carried under his arm onto the table and began unwrapping it.

“That’s vodka and dried grapes. The Russkies gave us these basic provisions.” “We’re meant to share this with that old man, but since we’re leaving the whole bottle here anyway, drink up if you want.” “Here—take a swig.” Kakichi found a chipped teacup and poured the bottle’s contents into it.

“You can’t drink it straight like this. You’re supposed to mix water in.” “I see. Then there should be cooled water in that kettle.” “There we go—just what you needed.” The two men began drinking in heavy gulps, blinking at each other like warehouse mice. Gradually, they slipped into a pleasant haze. Then they talked.

“Hey, you’ve already taken five days off as of today. Take two more days off and you’ll face penalties as agreed. You got that?” Kakichi began. “I know. But I ain’t takin’ a single day off from now on—you’ll see.” “Hmph, talkin’ tough now, are ya?” “In that case, if I take another day off, let’s set the penalty at twenty bats this time.”

“Alright, you’re on.” “No mistakes there,” said Kakichi, the heavy smoker, with the look of someone who’d already claimed his prize. “Once I’ve said it, I’m a man of my word.” “Not a chance I’ll slip up.” “But then, if I show up without taking a single day off from now on, what’ll you give me?”

“Wait a damn minute…” Kakichi said, pausing with brief hesitation as if deep in thought. “Alright then, let’s just say I’ll have you treat me to two days’ wages.” “Hold your horses—then you’re gettin’ the sweeter deal here.” “Then one day’s worth’ll do.” “You really ain’t takin’ another day off? Then I’ll treat you to two days myself.” Kakichi looked at Maruta with a challenging gaze. “If you just don’t skip work, the money stays put. Unlike us—if you wanna save up, save all you like. I wanna be footloose like you.” Kakichi said.

Kakichi shouldered the burden of a four-person family. Because of this, he had married late and was now a man with no choice but to trudge to the factory each day. He found no particular joy.

When he returned home, he would grow strangely silent, sit cross-legged at the dining table still in his work clothes, and briskly wolf down his evening meal without ceremony. Then, while skimming through the newspaper, daytime fatigue would assail him; just as he was about to doze off right there, he would go upstairs, lay out his bedding, and immediately fall asleep—this was his usual routine.

“But look here,” “If humans just work every damn day like this—like me—there ain’t no heart left in it, huh.” “Even if you say you’ll take time off, if you think about it proper-like, I’d be the one winnin’.” “I’m done with this damn stupid bet.” “No matter how much you flail around, it’s all the same.” “I’m done with this bet.” “Done.” Kakichi said abruptly, his tone shifting as he began to speak. “Don’t go sayin’ shit that don’t suit you.” “You’re definitely the one who’ll end up owing twenty bats.” “Since I’m definitely gonna lose anyway, quit your worrying already.”

“Winnin’ or losin’ don’t matter a damn.” “I’m done.” “Never even thought ’bout it.” “We got no choice but t’endure an’ work like this every day. Right? Go makin’ bets with our bodies on top… our own flesh’ll punish us sure as hell…”

Kakichi had become quite drunk.

“You serious? What’s the point of you sayin’ that?” “Enduring’s the best there is.” “Bein’ lazy like me ain’t no fun either.” “I can’t help but wanna be an endurin’ type like you.” “You might say that, but I ended up bein’ real impressed after readin’ that book I borrowed from you last night till midnight.” “I ain’t never read such a damn good book in my life.” “Was so fuckin’ good I copied bits into my notebook—like this, see?” Kakichi said, shoving his notebook forward.

“Here, it’s the end of Chapter Two.” “Well, you probably get it already, but I’m gonna read it out anyway—don’t gotta listen if you don’t wanna,” Kakichi said and began reciting the passage he’d copied into his notebook.

“There exist both slave relationships and free contractual relationships; even today’s free labor system is in reality nothing more than a hypothesis.” “The freedom of laborers entails matters of life and death; the freedom of capitalists is merely a question of profit and loss.” For this reason, laborers ultimately have no choice but to submit to factory regulations freely determined by employers; and when they question either the nature of these regulations or the presence of sanitary hazard prevention measures, they find nothing but despair and dissatisfaction wherever they turn. And of course, such laborers will never be accepted by factory owners unless they declare a labor shortage. In this situation, as long as they do not wish to starve to death, laborers have no choice but to make concession after concession themselves, ultimately submitting to any manner of exploitation. “In this sense, it can be said that even today’s free contractual relationships in reality still retain the vestiges of slave relations.”

“This is it. This matches it exactly,” Kakichi said as he finished reading, drawing himself up proudly. “That’s right. Our freedom’s just in name…”

The two then vigorously debated.

When they were awakened by the old watchman, it was already five o'clock. Rubbing their sleepy eyes, the two slipped out from between the bales of cotton waste and made their way back toward the factory, keeping to the shadows. And soon, the quitting-time whistle blared.

V

Several days passed.

She busied herself every day with laundry and starching clothes. Because mending winter clothes for her young siblings and various other tasks proved too much for the elderly mother to handle alone, she devoted herself to needlework late into each night. She was an unusually filial daughter. As she did every morning, she rose early in place of the elderly mother to send Maruta and Kakichi off to the factory. Around the time the two men finished their morning meal and left, it would soon be time for her two younger siblings—actually orphaned children of the deceased eldest son—to rise from bed one after another and prepare for school, following the same order each morning. In this way, by the time the morning kitchen took shape, it was usually around nine o'clock. The half-senile elderly patriarch would set out each day with a rice ball in hand for the medicinal bathhouse in a distant town. There, elderly acquaintances would gather to soak in pungent medicinal baths; when growing pleasantly drowsy, they sprawled across wooden floors—chanting Buddhist invocations to themselves or exchanging gossip to pass the day. Since her arrival, the elderly patriarch had often taken to going out with his young grandchild in tow. At home, these intervals became opportune times for conversations between elderly mother and daughter that properly suited their relationship. The most frequently broached topic was the household she had married into—her stingy mother-in-law, her hysterical sister-in-law with a warped disposition, her perpetually indecisive, obtuse, and unreliable husband, and then this recent turmoil.

“The merciful Lord knows all things, so even if you brood over matters, as long as you entrust everything to Him…” the elderly matriarch often spoke thus.

The household she had married into lay six *ri* away in the countryside, downriver from S Castle Town. There, several small ironworks factories sent up thin trails of smoke. She was wedded to the younger brother of an ironworks owner among them. Her husband had once labored at this shipyard, but when his elder brother struck out independently to establish a modest factory, he too had gone to join him. Now this brothers' foundry showed signs of burgeoning growth despite its small scale.

“Say what you will—a man who built all that with his bare hands’s got real grit…” The elderly matriarch had made a habit of praising the factory owner’s capabilities whenever Kakichi was present. Then without fail Kakichi would sour, “In your eyes he’s some big shot operator—but ’round here he ain’t worth spit,” he’d sneer. “Hush now! Keep jawin’ like that an’ who’ll help us if I take sick? You know full well we’re leanin’ on ’im even now—what else can I say?” she chided. And Kakichi would clamp shut like always.

Yet his sister’s return this time—intending to stay awhile—couldn’t have been without reason. Kakichi knew this. “Oh Mother—this herringbone scrap turned up here…” She spoke to her mother as if discovering something precious among the rags. “Ah—’cause I found that t’other day an’ kept it there.” “My—it’s so old.” “I was just dying to wear this for Tenchōsetsu at school—nothing made me happier…” Her voice brimmed with nostalgia.

“It’s old stuff, you know. Back when you were five or six—when Gen’ojisan went up to Tokyo—he bought it as a souvenir for you. But when I dressed you in it, your father got cross with me… ’Cause back then I was goin’ through the same kinda troubles you are now…” The mother blinked her watery eyes and sniffled.

The mother and daughter’s conversation was interrupted there for some reason.

VI

The night was already past eleven o'clock.

Maruta suddenly woke to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Everyone else had already gone to bed, but she and the elderly mother were still up doing something.

"I figured night boats'd be more peaceful, but ended up packed tighter than a sardine tin..." The guest spoke through mouthfuls of tea-soaked rice scooped from a haphazardly prepared tray. The crisp crunch of takuan pickles being chewed carried an absurd comic quality. Lying awake, Maruta listened through the paper screen to the guest's gruff voice—a raw baritone untouched by refinement—and found himself picturing a portly man with doughy features and an amiable air. Could this be her husband arriving unannounced? Yet something about that frivolous tone felt inadequate for a spouse of hers. His senses sharpened by degrees in the darkness.

"So it was true after all…" The day had come for her to return. "At the latest, they’d be leaving together within a day or two…" he realized only when the guest was about to retire. Though his face remained buried deep in the futon’s collar, his unutterable expression could still be read in the sliver of visible forehead. He had already begun envisioning the days that would follow her departure. Everything had been evident from the start. Yet now he recognized the folly of having clung to hope regardless.

"I focused too much on only her good qualities…" "If only I’d made myself notice her flaws instead—so that whenever she left, I could remain perfectly unaffected…" he now thought. For the safest path to cleanly abandon unrequited, hopeless feelings was none other than to become disillusioned with the other party’s flaws.

"What sort of man could he be…" Now that morning would bring an inevitable meeting with her husband, Maruta found himself harboring a measure of curiosity. If that person were a man several degrees inferior to himself, might some new confidence and satisfaction arise within him? He even imagined what impression he would make when that person first laid eyes on him. He even worried that he might already be thought of as an adulterer. Furthermore, he even considered the scenario where that man was several degrees superior to himself. Rather, he thought that scenario might offer a clean break by reducing his foolish feelings to motes of dust.

Amidst such thoughts, the clock struck two.

The next day was a public holiday, and the factory was closed. As he had anticipated the previous night, he encountered that person at the breakfast table. His prediction was fairly accurate. The husband was still only thirty-two or thirty-three—a portly man who at first glance could not be thought of as anything but good-natured. And to any eye, he was a fair-skinned handsome man surpassing even Maruta. His eyes were large and imposing like glass prosthetics, but above all else on that face, his nose stood as a masterpiece. His profile bore the smooth, classical lines of beauty seen in the king from a deck of playing cards, ascending elegantly to his forehead.

And on one side of that great figure-6-shaped nose hung a large wart that reminded Maruta of a dried grape he’d once seen. He nearly burst out laughing in that moment. This primordially grand nose would trigger an uncanny vibration roughly every five seconds, accompanied by a sound akin to an automobile horn... This stood out so jarringly that the young wife beside him appeared to flush slightly in her complexion. Maruta, recognizing this, felt pity. What a peculiar habit he has..., he thought. Yet such habits seemed almost like indispensable appendages to this ostensibly good-natured man.

“You, this is Mr. Maruta—he works at the same factory as Brother,” she introduced Maruta to her husband. At that moment, Maruta felt an uncanny sensation. It was as though a shadow had fallen—the kind that descends when someone has already formed an improper relationship and she herself resolves to leave decisively like this to avoid discovery. Therefore, he bowed all the more courteously, as if brimming with respect.

“Oh, is that so,” was all the husband said. He briskly finished his meal.

"What a hasty way of eating this man has…" "He still doesn’t have a good impression of me…" Maruta remained endlessly preoccupied by this. Perhaps because he thought this and looked, an even stranger mood seemed to faintly linger on the man’s face. Yet no matter how one looked at him, he remained nothing more than a good-natured eccentric—certainly nothing that gave a worse impression than that.

Moreover, for some reason, once even the elderly mother and younger siblings began showing signs of slight contempt toward the man, Maruta found the feeling unbearable. Yet Kakichi alone seemed to truly understand this brother-in-law and receive him wholeheartedly.

“It’s fine weather today—why don’t we take a walk around here?” Kakichi suggested after the meal, and the guest immediately agreed. “Shōbō, Daddy’ll take you along too—so have Mommy put your tabi on and your hat…,” the husband told the child. Maruta ended up joining them as well. The child was given a ride on his father’s shoulders. And so they wandered all the way to the drill ground. The morning sun blazed relentlessly. Kakichi and his brother-in-law discussed work as they walked. Maruta lagged behind the two men. Kakichi remained utterly indifferent to this. Yet from his perch on his father’s shoulders, the child kept glancing back at Maruta. It seemed even his childish heart wondered: “Why won’t Uncle talk to Daddy…?”

“What an observant child—hasn’t he noticed everything with that?” Maruta even thought. To conceal his feelings, Maruta blew a finger whistle that echoed across every corner of the drill ground. The child was delighted. From far away, a white dog came darting toward them—

The three smoked cigarettes there for a while before promptly turning back. “Shōbō, shall Daddy and you go together today—just us two?” “Mommy’s coming too?” “Mommy doesn’t have to come—let’s just go by ourselves,” the father said. The child on his shoulders fell silent as if overwhelmed by thought and stared into the distance.

“Are you leaving today? Why not stay a couple more days?” Kakichi said. “Work is too hectic right now—I am afraid that is not possible. You should come visit sometime yourself….” The guest seemed intent on returning alone by day’s end. Maruta heard this, and suddenly everything around him appeared clear and bright. The sky, the mountains, the town’s tall buildings—everything seemed to be on his side too, and for the first time, he felt relieved. For several days yet to come, she would remain the color in Maruta’s life—something that belonged to him. While feeling an inexpressible happiness beneath the awkwardness of having his inner state seen through, he walked on, lagging behind as before, keeping his distance just as he had earlier. However, at that moment, he was suddenly struck by the sight of the child’s forlorn face. It was a face so sorrowful it seemed on the verge of tears.

"Daddy came all this way only to end up returning alone again, unwelcomed by anyone. 'Why won't Mommy go back with Daddy and me?' The child now seemed tormented by this question troubling his little heart. Maruta found himself feeling a melancholy akin to what he had known in his own childhood."

The guest departed alone that afternoon.

But those who laugh on Saturday cry on Sunday—and the day after proved an exceedingly ill-omened one for Maruta. In the morning, he had gone to the factory and just started work when he was summoned by the Military Police. He first returned to his lodging to change into work clothes before presenting himself. The reception-desk superior private took down his name, and without a moment’s pause, another superior private promptly dragged him toward the detention cell at the corridor’s end. Before the detention cell sat a crude stool that creaked. The superior private pointed at it and barked “Wait here,” then walked off. He sat facing the detention cell and looked around. Just yesterday at this hour, even the sky, mountains, and town’s tall buildings—everything—had seemed aligned in his favor. Yet today every visible thing around him appeared to aim spears of counterattack his way. Even the clatter of rickshaws from the town he had traversed now conveyed, beyond the wall, an utterly indifferent rhythm—the aftermath of having been delivered to his destined place. He was made to wait there over two hours before being hauled before the Captain. The summons concerned his failure to complete procedures for the Resident Registry Inspection Roll Call Attendance Petition, designating him one of this year’s absentees from roll call.

“State your official rank and full name.” The Captain suddenly spoke in an eerie bass tone and glared up from under his brows. “Army Transport Soldier, Maruta Yoshinosuke,” he stated in a stiff military-style posture. “Recite the Five Articles of the Imperial Rescript.” “First—a soldier shall consider devotion to loyalty his fundamental duty. Second—a soldier…”

“Just reciting that—do you think it serves any purpose?” “Why do you not put it into practice?” “Why don’t you act on it?!” the Captain shouted, pounding the table hard enough to splinter it, then continued roaring. Even Maruta was taken aback and reeled backward. The Captain’s tone seemed to soften for just an instant before he resumed his endless shouting. Maruta was pale. And at that moment, somehow, he felt as though even the matter concerning her—something that should have been entirely unrelated to this—had been completely overturned from its very foundation.

“Not only that. “Thou harborest outrageous notions toward a married woman—you scoundrel...!” the Captain denounced, dragging even that matter into his tirade as if it were a natural progression, leaving him utterly cowed. It felt as though he were being charged simultaneously with evasion of roll call and adultery. Throughout this ordeal, her figure would materialize nearby one moment only to dissolve into the distance the next. Through his masculine demeanor and the nature of his defense in such situations, she seemed to be weighing whether to draw closer or keep her distance.

The Captain’s tone soon softened somewhat. “Well... you see... yes... The truth is, I had been considering leaving this area... yes... And so the residency procedures... yes... yes... I found myself compelled to postpone them... yes... This time, I humbly beg your leniency, Captain... yes....” he explained his circumstances and offered profuse apologies. The Captain recorded it all point by point. After more than two hours like this, the interrogation ended, and he was to be sent back for the time being.

When he returned to the lodging house, it was already past two o'clock.

“How was it?...” she suddenly asked him. “Oh, it’s finally over. It was nothing serious,” he said very offhandedly. “Well, that’s a relief. You must be terribly hungry.” As she spoke, she began preparing the meal. The elderly matriarch had apparently just gone to the dyer’s shop—a scene that seemed as though crafted solely for him. “What if she had seen the state I was in back then…,” he thought as he gazed at her profile. Then, as he was eating his meal, the Captain’s face loomed up vividly before him once more.

It was precisely at this moment. “Mr. Maruta, what rank were you in the military?” When she asked him this, he grew even more flustered. The truth was, he wanted to say “transport soldier” but couldn’t.

………… “I do so wish I could have seen you in your soldierly uniform. “Were you a sergeant… or perhaps a corporal?”

“Oh, let’s just leave it at that,” he said with a hollow chuckle. “You conceal all your admirable qualities, so I truly can’t speak carelessly. My husband’s one of those soldiers too, you know. Why, that’s the most shameful sort of soldier there is…”

“I too thought it seemed that way.” “What rank was he?” “He must have been a sergeant or something.” “Oh, you’re so mean! “Mr. Maruta, if there were a sergeant as porcine as that, why, that would be truly dreadful.” “He’s a transport soldier, you know.” “And a mere supplementary transport soldier at that—oh, I’ve grown so weary of it all…,” she laughed with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. The transport soldier listening couldn’t bear it either—his ears reddened clear to their roots.

Does she know I’m a transport soldier…?

VII

Winter came. The year was drawing to a close. One day, a man who was said to be her husband’s brother stopped by on his return from business in Osaka. A man in his early forties whose face largely resembled that of his younger brother who had visited earlier—though with features far more hardened by worldly shrewdness—struck one as unmistakably the elder sibling through his smooth, attentive manner of speaking. For the elderly matriarch and the entire household, he was the most honored guest.

“Oh, welcome, Brother….” She had somehow smoothed her hair and, with a faint blush, stepped before the guest to exchange formal greetings before inquiring about how things were back home. “My, such splendid things every time you come…,” the elderly matriarch exclaimed, pressing the gifts to her forehead before first arranging them before the family altar. Soon, the younger siblings returned from school, and as soon as they saw the uncle who had brought so many presents, they immediately knelt down and bowed politely.

“My, how they’ve grown! “Children change so when you barely look away!” While comparing the two of them, the guest had already quietly pressed silver coins into their hands.

“Oh, you… There’s no need to go through such trouble every single time… Really….” The elderly matriarch tried in vain to stop him with elaborate protests. “Now please, Brother… I’m afraid there’s nothing here that will please your palate….” She had somehow retied her obi and, presenting herself with neatly arranged attire, began pouring drinks for the guest—by then, it was already evening. “It’s just that you keep sayin’ I oughta have her return soon, but here I am goin’ on about it… I’m the one selfishly keepin’ her here so long—must be trouble for your son-in-law…” “Forgive this old woman—with age, my eyes have gone quite dim, and I can’t sew a single stitch anymore.” “But even so, thanks to this, everything’s finally been settled…” the elderly matriarch offered explanations regarding her daughter.

“Oh, there’s no need for you to worry so much about that.” “At home there are still the womenfolk, so you needn’t trouble yourself at all. Since year’s end draws near anyway, ’twould be better to return at leisure after the new year.” “It’s not like she’s taken a lover or anything—ha ha ha!” The guest laughed at his own crude joke. At this moment, she too laughed uproariously together with the elderly matriarch. The guest then turned toward the old man and began expounding on his various new plans.

“I mean to expand the factory next year, I do.” “Once that’s done, we’ll be needing Mr. Kakichi to quit this place and come work for us.” “With us brothers and comrades lending our strength, we’ll make it Kansai’s foremost factory—mark my words, Father.”

“Indeed, that’s precisely how it is,” said the elderly patriarch. “Do see it through while we still draw breath,” urged the elderly matriarch from the side. “And Kakichi here—without your patronage, he’ll never rise from his wretched station in life.” “But you know well what a trial he is.” “Even at his age, still a country clod who knows naught of social graces—I fret over his future something fierce. Not even you could make anything of him—no hope remains at all.” She clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“Nonsense, there’s no need for you to fret so.” “Once he gets himself a wife, he’ll change completely, I tell you.” Thus night fell. Kakichi and Maruta too returned from the factory. When Kakichi entered through the gate, he immediately sensed it and—uncharacteristically—first changed out of his work clothes before going to the parlor to offer the guest a customary greeting. He shared a cup or two, but soon came to the kitchen and began eating with Maruta.

“Goodness, you—at a time like this, there’s no need to go scarfin’ your food in such a fluster. If you’d just keep your brother company proper-like, at your age you oughta know better by now….”

“But I can’t just come home from work and not eat,” Kakichi retorted irritably and wolfed down his food. Then he immediately went out somewhere. “Mr. Maruta, even if it’s a bother, could you come over here and keep him company?” “A drinker craves company—even just one person, you see.” “That Kakichi’s trouble enough too, I tell you.” With that, the elderly matriarch dragged Maruta off to the parlor. And she introduced him to the guest. The guest promptly offered Maruta a cup in an amiable manner.

“Pardon my asking, but where might your home province be?” he inquired. “Kyushu.” “That’s quite... quite a distance.” “You can’t be thirty yet—and at the factory, I hear you’re drawing quite favorable wages.” “Oh, not at all—it’s barely enough to get by.”

"I too used to trudge to the shipyard here with my lunch pail," the guest said, swelling with pride at his current station. "Yet I've long heard tell of your present-day prosperity." Maruta guided the exchange toward flattery. "Oh now, I'm just running a pitifully small workshop these days." "Well, thanks to your kind words, our gas engines alone have earned some modest renown." The guest's tone swelled with self-satisfaction. He spoke of averaging five or six gas engines monthly yet still lagging behind orders, next year's planned factory expansion, and how production dwindled to a third without his oversight.

“Though there’s only twelve laborers under me, when I’m around we output double what others do.” “Call it twelve, but only two are proper craftsmen—the rest’re term-bound apprentices, I tell you.” “My policy’s to run things strictly with homegrown craftsmen I trained myself from the ground up.” “Can’t get to real work otherwise.” “Plenty o’ down-and-out travelers come beggin’—say they’ll take any wage—but my place don’t hire no itinerant workers.” “Itinerant workers’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Come to think of it, I’m an itinerant worker too…” Maruta briefly thought to himself here. The guest continued speaking without paying the slightest heed to such matters. “Well now, these five years since starting my factory have been nothing but drudgery training apprentices.” “Now all ten lads have grown proper skilled—not that I’d boast ’bout mere ’prentices—but even bunglin’ craftsmen can’t hold a candle to ’em, I tell you.” “Once them boys start learnin’ a trade, they pick it up quick-like, I tell you.” “Train ’em right and by year three they’ll match any seventy- or eighty-sen craftsman for skill, I tell you.” “Take my top lad Toku here—facin’ conscription next year he is—this one’s turned out downright masterful.” “Whether it’s finishin’ work or lathe operatin’ or forge craftin’—set him to any task and he’ll outdo others proper, I tell you.” “Even I find myself marvelin’ at this one, I tell you.” “His old man worked under me at this very shipyard too—got himself killed gruesome-like during Ship No.106’s trial run. Took the boy in at twelve and trained him up right proper, I tell you.” “What a waste it’d be for the army to snatch him now, I tell you.” “But that’s the authorities for you—nothin’ to be done.” The factory owner spoke as though discussing livestock husbandry.

“Indeed, as you say—using homegrown craftsmen you’ve trained yourself must spare you considerable trouble. And having such skilled apprentices come up under you is truly commendable.” “They don’t particularly need wages—just biannual clothing allowances would suffice, I suppose…,” Maruta added. In Maruta’s eyes flickered the image of a small ironworks in the Kawashita district beneath S Castle Town—a place he’d never seen—appearing through imagination’s lens. Clad in wretched, tattered oil-stained work clothes, figures of fifteen- or sixteen-year-old apprentices materialized—youths driven to toil while occasionally being cuffed by this master. The apprentices’ lot—knowing no joy beyond three meager daily meals and night’s early arrival for sleep—materialized vividly before him: their small bodies exhausted from being driven to night labor until nine or ten o’clock, huddling together like puppies in a suspended loft at the factory’s edge (a pigeon’s nest-like structure exactingly recalled from Maruta’s own apprentice days in a small ironworks), their pitiful state crystallizing with cruel clarity.

The guest dried the cup and offered it anew to Maruta. “I really can’t have any more.” “I fear I’ve kept you company longer than intended,” said Maruta, declining at this moment. “Now now, this here’s a fresh cup to properly mark our acquaintance, I tell you.” “If you ever grow tired of this factory here, you’re welcome to come work at my place anytime, I tell you.” “As I mentioned earlier, we plan to add four or five lathes next year too, I tell you.” “The wages you receive here—I’ll provide the same at my place, I tell you.”

“Oh, no... “That’s very kind of you… But we’re just itinerant workers ourselves, truly…” Maruta said, scratching his head. However, once he had spoken, his words struck him as oddly biting. When he looked at the guest’s expression, it seemed the man had indeed taken notice. At this moment, a vile premonition assailed him—that if he were to leave this land, he might in the end, driven to utter destitution, come crawling back to this man’s factory in desperate supplication.

Before long, the guest took the children and her and went out to town. The elderly matriarch, doing as she was told for once, hastily threw on a haori and went along with them. The entertainment district was ablaze with countless electric lights and gas lamps, with various picture signboards lining both sides. The lively strains of a novel circus troupe's band pierced through the night sky. A tide of people flowed slowly.

“My, what a lively place ’tis! Even though it’s practically under our noses, we don’t come to these parts but once a year…,” the elderly matriarch said, peering out as if dazzled by the scene.

“If you go to Dotonbori in Osaka, this commotion here is nowhere near that—truly an immense crowd gathers there, I tell you,” the guest said with exaggeration. “That must be so, aye…” At that moment, she suddenly drew close to the guest and whispered succinctly, “Let’s quickly get the children and Mother into the show here… then we can be alone.” The guest had the air of immediately understanding it. Then, walking slightly behind this time, she whispered to her mother: “I want Brother to buy me something—so please take the children in to see the show...”

“Ah well, if that’s how it is, then that’s fine by me,” the elderly matriarch readily agreed. “Mommy will be here soon, so go watch the horse act with Grandma and Auntie, there’s a good boy.” The child listened innocently.

Not long after the guest and they had gone out to town, Maruta too wandered out of the house. Kakichi had gone out somewhere in the early evening, and with no sign of him returning, staying home felt lonely. So now he planned to peek into a couple of low-class bars where Kakichi might have gone—if he found him there, he'd have a drink himself before returning home together to sleep. Yet Kakichi was nowhere to be found in that area. Having no other leads, he resignedly walked toward the entertainment district. When he passed through the showman's quarter for the first time in ages, there were female sword dances, armless beauties, and monkey performances—the same acts he'd seen three years earlier during his three-day stay in Sasebo before being dispatched to the battlefield. He stopped and gazed nostalgically. Thinking he would never have another chance to see such things, he found himself wanting to go in. The state of his own heart from three years past was brought back by these spectacles. At that very moment, the armless beauty was singing Buddhist hymns in a beautifully plaintive voice. Unaware that among these spectators walked a man with deeper ties to this spectacle than any other—a man who now stood transfixed—she sang on. When he passed through the entertainment district again, various showmen were spinning their clever spiels: tooth medicine sellers performing quick-draw demonstrations, peddlers hawking artificial gold rings, student-like men selling books on rapid memorization techniques—and in dim alleyways behind utility poles, blindfolded violinists in broad-brimmed hats singing as they sold their tunes, each creating whirlpools of people. As specimens of those yearning for freedom amidst half-lived existences, their forms stood illuminated by the winter night's moon. Maruta turned left from there into a quiet street. He passed before the military police station where he'd once been summoned. When he'd gone a block further, he suddenly noticed figures of a man and woman about ten meters ahead and slowed his pace. The man in cloak and bowler hat was tonight's guest. Walking close beside him was her. Maruta immediately found it suspicious that neither the elderly matriarch nor children—who'd all left home together—were anywhere to be seen.

“Aren’t they walking like a married couple or something…,” he thought. At that moment, an abhorrent thought suddenly raced through his mind. And in the flash of that thought, her husband’s face—that large nose, those artificial eye-like eyes—loomed vividly into view. His chest tightened. That chest-tightening anguish was a double-layered torment—both the visceral reality her husband himself must experience, and his own unbearable sorrow of disillusionment.

“What am I jumping to conclusions about… How can I say such things now…” he mocked himself this time in his overwhelming anguish. But once he had convinced himself of this—even tentatively—he found it impossible to regain any semblance of peace of mind until he could grasp some irrefutable counterevidence to overturn it.

He followed them while keeping as much distance as possible. Before long, from the square where Hakuhinkan stood, the figures of the two turned right. He suddenly had to quicken his pace. However, their figures remained within his field of vision. At that moment, she glanced back. Maruta thought he was done for. But he felt relieved. It seemed they hadn’t properly looked back but had merely turned to the side.

The two finally entered the department store. Here, he came to an abrupt halt. “Am I really trying to confirm there’s something between them… or am I trying to confirm there isn’t…?” Maruta muttered to himself at that moment, as if interrogating his own motives. Even if there were something improper between them, he had come to feel it would prove utterly impossible to grasp the truth directly tonight. For their familiar behavior up to a certain point could be validated by that special designation of family relationship. Even if they had walked pressed brazenly close as though no eyes watched them, even if they had vanished into the entrance of some tucked-away little restaurant.

Thinking this, he could not help realizing that all his actions up to now had been utterly futile. "They walked through town together... then entered the department store... There, she had her husband’s brother buy her either a shawl or a detachable collar. Then they went into a restaurant and ate something... What’s wrong with that? So what’s the issue...?" Given that they were family, such facts were their own business. When he realized that no matter how far he pursued it, the truth would remain elusive, he felt utterly foolish and hurriedly turned back. Then, he stopped by again at his usual bar—the one he had only peeked into without entering about two hours prior—downed a hot drink, and headed home to bed.

VIII

The next morning bore a thinner frost than usual. On this particular morning alone, the elderly matriarch rose early to prepare breakfast. Maruta had awakened before Kakichi as was his custom. In truth, he had scarcely slept through the previous night. Caught in unspeakably unpleasant and mournful thoughts, he had managed only a brief slumber before dawn.

Last night when he returned from the bar, only the elderly matriarch and children had already come home and gone to bed. He too went straight to bed. Then some time after midnight struck, the back door opened quietly. It was the guest and her. The two went up to the second floor. More than ever, everything seemed to fit perfectly into Maruta's initial vile imaginings. Yet when he rose this morning, washed his face, and sat before the round dining table, the elderly matriarch remained exactly as she always was—treating him like family through her pious custom of saying "May no harm come to you at the factory today...," making him receive auspicious rice offerings descended from the gods and buddhas before losing herself in lengthy prayers. He felt unbearable sorrow and suddenly found himself on the verge of tears. But however hard he tried to dispel his own abhorrent thoughts, it was already too late. That day he worked with a lifeless expression from morning till night. At lunchtime he gathered with Kakichi as usual. Yet his mind brimmed with guilt-ridden anguish toward these two trusted friends. To taint even their friendship through his own hasty assumptions born of uncertainty was unbearable to him. This single-minded man could not rest until matters were purified beyond reproach. But more than anything else, Kakichi's unchanged vigor—that manly vitality still brimming with life—overwhelmed Maruta's state of mind.

“Hey, I took that book to the station waiting room last night and read it.” “When I go to the station at night, I somehow feel like I’ve gone to a distant country—damn, that’s a good feeling.” “The part I read last night was Chapter 3. After getting home, I copied this bit into my notebook—look here: ‘Labor, like other commodities, has its natural price—that is, the price necessary to maintain laborers and their families at a standard of living required by...’ That’s how it goes.” “Now if wages in the labor market rise above the natural price, laborers—finding their standard of living eased—will come to support numerous families, ultimately increasing the number of workers and creating an excess labor supply. Before long, the market price of wages will fall, until not only does it revert to the natural price, but in some cases drops even lower as a reactive phenomenon—and such occurrences are far from rare—”

“This here’s exactly right,” Kakichi declared with fervor after finishing the passage. But even to that, Maruta couldn’t muster any enthusiasm today.

“So why weren’t you home last night?” Maruta said. “Yeah, I just can’t stand seein’ that bastard’s face.” “Hearin’ his voice makes my skin crawl too.” “The younger brother ain’t so bad though.” “After that, I took your place and got treated.” “That’s rough. Nobody could stomach listenin’ to that blowhard’s braggin’.” “But he did achieve all that—he’s a remarkable man,” Maruta said.

When the two returned from the factory at dusk, it turned out that the guest had departed this evening. “O-Sayo went to see them off to the harbor, carrying Shōbō on her back, and she still hasn’t returned,” the elderly matriarch said to Kakichi.

For Maruta, dinner felt somehow lifeless that evening.

“He asked me to pass along his proper regards,” she said to Maruta-san. “He praised you as quite the man who’s known hardship,” the elderly matriarch added, looking at him. “Says they’ll expand the factory next year and want you there too—I tell you, that’d be better than staying stuck like this forever—but who knows what sort of terms they’d offer.”

Kakichi remained silent and did not respond to that. While smoking a few puffs of his after-dinner cigarette, Kakichi’s face steadily grew more grim. “Mother, your thinkin’ it’s fine long as folks just cling to others is one helluva mistake.” “Ain’t like I’m not workin’ my bones to dust tryin’ to keep y’all from starvin’ neither…”

“No one’s sayin’ that. I know you’re workin’ hard, y’know—but your brother’s sayin’ all this ’cause he’s thinkin’ of our family. That’s why I’m tryin’ to talk it through, see?”

“How can you know if people’s hearts are truly with our family when they speak? Holding onto such shallow ideas these days lays the groundwork for terrible mistakes.”

“Then that’s just fine. “Do as I see fit then,” the elderly matriarch snapped, pursing her lips. “You’re just bein’ contrary to every word I say—what’s gotten into ya? “I’m only sayin’ all this ’cause everyone’s thinkin’ of my own good, y’know! “In our current state, even if you took a wife, y’know you’d end up sufferin’ all the same. “But even so, y’know you can’t stay single forever at your age. “A parent’s gotta have their own thoughts, y’know—here I am worryin’ my head off, so why d’you dig in your heels every time I open my mouth? “If you find me so annoying, then I won’t say another word to you—from now on I ain’t sayin’ a thing! “Do as you damn well please—go on then! If I’m such a bother, don’t need my help neither—do whatever you want! Have it your way, you ungrateful wretch!”

The elderly matriarch's voice quivered with tears as she kept speaking. "If only Chōjirō were alive, I'd have no complaints at all..." "Even brothers—why must you be so stubborn?" "Last night too—when your brother came for the first time in ages—you couldn't even be bothered to properly receive him! Just wolfed down your food and vanished! Ungrateful wretch! You think this world lets you get by without relying on others? Mark my words—you'll see... you'll see...!" Her voice shook as she shrieked. The elderly patriarch sat silent by the brazier, listening. The children huddled small in the shadowed three-mat corner, their faces showing they sensed something grave as they watched the matriarch. Maruta knew no recourse but to keep soothing her. Then Kakichi suddenly stood, thrust that book into his coat, and stalked out to who-knows-where. Maruta guessed he'd likely gone again to the station waiting room. There lingered always that nostalgic sense—of a warm stove and some impossibly distant, free, bright land one might almost reach.

(July 1918)