Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

He walked aimlessly toward the wharf. It felt as though this land no longer intended to keep him here indefinitely—that the time when he would have to depart might be approaching sooner rather than later, governed not by his own habitual indecisiveness but by some external force. Days of strangely vulnerable, passive restlessness had arrived. Of course, that too was merely his overactive imagination. This had often happened before. At times like these, his feet would naturally turn toward the station or wharf. Going to the station and nostalgically gazing at urban station names as if reading a lover’s name became another form of self-consolation. Going to the wharf to check steamship fares and calculate travel expenses turned into another act of defiance against his own irresolute heart. There were piles of cargo burdening dockworkers’ shoulders, iron materials hoisted by cranes, passengers boarding steamers in travel attire, people disembarking from lighters—all while illusions of distant lands perpetually enticed those afflicted with wanderlust. Yet there at the wharf also existed those who had come deliberately nurturing hopes for this small city—individuals whose sentiments stood in stark opposition to his own disillusionment. When he saw laborers—some in couples, others likely single men with their calves exposed—dressed in blue work clothes and hand luggage slung over their shoulders as they disembarked from the pier in scattered groups, that peculiar sensation would return and his thoughts would grow dull once more. He could no longer avoid confronting himself—he had to suppress the current confusion in his heart and examine it thoroughly.

"Could it be that they can't go anywhere better than this land? Even in this town, securing work isn't easy. Until they finally start working after entering the factory, they're made to go through quite troublesome procedures. They would have to live idly through February and March. 'And in the end, if things go badly, they'll be rejected in the physical examination, until finally some even lose all means to sustain themselves,' he observed them with such fellow-feeling, half as one of their own. Particularly when he saw migrant laborers dragging along wives and children, that thought deepened even further. And then, he immediately had to consider his own recklessness. He came to realize that leaving this land now would be utterly rash. No matter how disgusted he felt, he came to realize that as long as the factory didn't dismiss him, there was nothing better than quietly clinging to this place. The present circumstances—where fixed wages could be obtained as long as one showed up at the factory and worked each day—had suddenly become irreplaceable by anything else. And so, even feeling spineless to himself, he resolved that starting tomorrow he would pull himself together and work diligently. This resolution was somewhat the same as the feelings he had when he first arrived at this wharf two years prior. At that time—the end of February—patches of snow still lingered on the mountains surrounding the harbor, yet the waves already swayed with a spring-like roundness and majestic ease, while white gulls flew about between merchant ships and warships. The vigorous dark-brown coal smoke filling the entire sky, and beyond the factories below where iron and engines resounded with clamor—when he viewed this from the steamship's deck, he had been filled with an indescribable sense of fortitude and admiration. He had thought how happy he would have been if this land had allowed him to settle. How uneasy and unfortunate it would have been in such circumstances to anticipate a second destination if things did not go as hoped. That anxiety had not failed to return him to being a submissive, devout person toward fate from the depths of his heart."

“This time—this time if I can secure work, this place will become my lifelong home. No matter what happens, how could I not settle down and work this time?” With hands nearly pressed together in prayer toward the tallest mountain overlooking this port, had he not sworn a binding oath? If by some chance he were to grow weary of this land in days to come, he had needed something that might serve as an object to severely reprimand himself. So deeply did he fear that fickle nature of his—that easily bored, wavering disposition lurking in the depths of his heart. For he had never once succeeded in restraining that stubborn temperament.

In any case, at that time alone he had genuinely sworn to settle in this land. The unbearable endurance of three years' military life—narrowly escaping death by missing actual combat, finally attaining ownership of his own being—this joy had made him affirm everything in the world without criticism. In the eyes of such returning soldiers, meaning and happiness and joy could be found in even the most wretched of lives. It was a foolish pathological delusion that temporarily revived only in those utterly exhausted through particular sufferings. But now the port spread out before his eyes—this panorama of the small city—was nothing more than the cold husk of that delusion.

He stood motionless at the wharf for a while. The autumn sun sank behind the island mountain. A raw sea breeze swept across. It was the same wind he had met long ago during those days of unemployment when he wandered unknown coastal paths in his distant past. It was an evening wind that seemed to presage the misery of joblessness should he mistakenly take even one step away from this land. By now, a certain group of stevedores had finished work, collected their day's wages, and were scattering toward their usual drinking dens in the area. From the distant shipyard came the booming five-thirty steam whistle. Those who had idly skipped work at the factory and frittered away this day in aimless sloth had no right to welcome that whistle's sound. The steam whistle became unbearable menace to the undiligent. It instantly cast into gloom those who begrudged even a single day's labor and neglected their blood-tax toil.

On his face, in that instant, the anguish and fear of a faint heart flashed vividly. It was the color of rebellion struggling to overcome the steam whistle's threat. Yet the sound of that steam whistle was something they—the laborers—could never defy forever. When he thought of this, he was forced to suppress his own will and arrived at the realization that to anchor himself to this land for a lifetime, he needed the burden of a wife and children—that this was ultimately the wisest course. That had long been pressed upon him as a one-sided demand.

At the stone steps of the wharf where he stood motionless, a coastal tugboat had just arrived. About twenty rural-looking men and women passengers came ashore. Last among them boarded a fair-skinned, slightly plump young wife of twenty-five or twenty-six wearing a round chignon that revealed red under-sleeves. As he watched absently, his gaze fixed upon this young wife. He observed how—uncommonly fresh for a country woman—the soft white line of her neck emerged from beneath the patterned navy half-collar, tracing a smooth arc that vanished quietly into the hairline behind her earlobe. When her plump four-year-old boy was passed from her hands to the boatman's, he floated momentarily through the air before being cheerfully deposited ashore. Several carriages stood waiting there for passengers. The driver loaded her luggage and child into a carriage with timid care, as though handling precious gifts. She too climbed aboard. The carriage set off. He kept watching until it disappeared. There he saw everything his present life most sorely lacked.

II

In the town, the streetlights came on. Yotsuji grew hazy for a time, as though assaulted by mist—though it was actually dust from workers' feet spewing from the factory. He hurried from the wharf toward his lodging. He walked briskly along one side of the town without glancing aside. He detested encountering the multitude of coworkers returning after completing their day's labor. Yet among comrades who took greatest pride in never missing a day's work, they had likely pretended not to notice even if spotting a slacker like him—his face had stiffened with indolent shame.

But it was no use. He was finally stopped by one of his older coworkers. That was the one person he had most feared encountering. “What’re you playing at?” “Thought maybe you were sick,” he said mockingly. “But nah—fit as a fiddle.”

“No, it’s not like that. I plan to start coming tomorrow,” he said with feigned cheer. “That’s good then." “They’re firing slackers left and right these days—get canned now and even you won’t have it easy,” the veteran worker said pointedly. He was immediately irritated. Mind your own business, he thought. This veteran worker was a man who had amassed considerable money through sound investments among his fellow workers while greedily profiting from high interest. He still owed this man money. Every month on payday they would lie in wait at the factory exit to mercilessly seize their due from his wage bag. “Damn you! Should’ve died when you had the chance!” he cursed under his breath while crossing the main street without looking back. From there his lodging lay through several twists of quiet back alleys.

When he opened the lattice door of the lodging, an unfamiliar newly made pair of women's geta at the entrance caught his eye. He immediately realized. This must be the daughter of the house—the one he’d often heard about who was supposed to arrive any day now—who had married into a distant family and come today, he thought. A pair of child's shoes sat lined up beside the women's geta. From the cheerful voices of younger siblings heard in the back rooms, he could infer which guest had arrived. In the kitchen, some sort of simple special dinner seemed to be in preparation. An uncharacteristic lodger-like restraint rose within him. Yet curiosity about what sort of beauty she might be lightly stirred him.

He entered his three-mat room beside the entrance as he was. There he unexpectedly spotted the round head of an intruder—a boy so adorable he wanted to scoop him up in an instant. A chubby-cheeked, well-fed child with large eyes had just settled before his desk and was engaged in some mischief. When the child noticed him, he immediately dashed into the back. Then came stealthy peeking from behind the shoji screen. He beckoned with a smile, but the child ultimately fled to the mother’s side in the rear quarters.

“Who...? Oh, you came, little one? What kind of visitor are you... Oh, I see...” “What kind of visitor are you… Oh, I see…,” came a young mother’s voice from the back. “Have you returned, Mr. Maruta? “Now, let’s have dinner together, come on.” The usual easygoing elderly mother called him from the tearoom. Kakichi, who had just returned from the factory, was already devouring his meal with his usual abandon—sitting cross-legged in his work clothes at one side of the round dining table, sprawling comfortably in his usual spot. The elderly master had also, as was his custom, set up his box tray beside the long brazier and begun his modest evening drink. From the days when they had been commissioned for gold and silver crafts in the castle town, the area around the large round dining table that served as this house’s kitchen centerpiece appeared bright and lively for the first time in ages. It was one story the elderly mother often repeated at mealtimes—how in the old days, when there were many craftsmen and apprentices, they would eat at this very dining table in two shifts. After the family had left the castle town and fallen into their current circumstances, what made the elderly mother feel the contrast between past and present more keenly than anything else was the loneliness surrounding the dining table at mealtimes. Part of the reason they had taken Maruta in as a lodger was precisely that.

“Ah, fate works in strange ways,” “Now this here’s Mr. Maruta—works at the same factory as Kakichi.” “He’s been staying with us since summer.” “Come now, Mr. Maruta, take your seat there.” “This here’s our daughter.” “No need for formalities now…” The elderly mother bustled about more animatedly than usual. He saw for the first time the young woman with her hair in a traditional married woman’s chignon. They exchanged greetings. Yet it felt unexpected. Her face was not unfamiliar. Unmistakably—she was the woman he’d seen earlier at the wharf. That glossy chignon with its crimson hairpin, worn by the woman who’d disembarked from the tugboat, now offered polite yet unguarded greetings in this improbable setting. The sheer coincidence of encountering her—a woman no less—made his chest quiver with startled delight. She was exactly the sort who’d make any mother proud. His heart whispered. It kept whispering, overwhelmed by it all.

This person had come hurling something at me. Perhaps I might have to writhe in agony because of that. But even so, I'm happy... his heart whispered as if to say. How had this new turn of events lightened the gloom that had weighed upon him these past four or five days? The enjoyable, bustling meal commenced. The elderly mother's seasoned mixed rice was well-received. The young mother was constantly distracted by her child and had no time to pick up her own chopsticks. The child ate heartily with unsteady chopstick grips and a precarious hold on the bowl. The younger siblings and everyone else couldn't contain their amusement at this ravenous little guest.

“That’s enough now.” “We’ll have more tomorrow, see? If you eat too much, look—Uncle’s laughing at how silly you’re being,” she said, using the child as an intermediary to extend warmth toward Maruta while wiping the food clinging to the boy’s cheeks and chin. The child, being told this, turned their large eyes toward Maruta. But in reality, Maruta was no different from this child. Because tonight, before her, he had to be nothing more than a pleasant lodger.

III

From the next day onward, Maruta went to work at the factory. He worked like a malfunctioning machine that had abruptly started spinning through some adjustment. The crisis of unpleasant turmoil had passed. He had come to realize that even by his own measure, he'd shown far too little composure in his thinking until yesterday. "More than anything, overthinking was to blame. What exactly were all those things I'd agonized over until yesterday...?" He probed the remnants of yesterday's anxieties within himself and sneered at his own folly. Today it had all dissolved into nothingness. The cause remained that same persistent bug. To lay it bare: how staying put meant working here lifelong with wife and children would yield results all too predictable; how striving without rest to become like that moneylender would produce outcomes equally transparent; how this factory—teeming with locals—maintained an atmosphere too stifling for his endurance; how foremen-led unpleasantness filled its spaces; how such whims always sparked his inner turbulence. If he could just resolve to leave now, it might mark favorable destiny's dawn—somewhere new might transform his indolence into fresh endurance, enabling courageous living. Yet surely he'd settled this yesterday evening at the wharf. Enduring remained safest—with this resolve, he tended his long-neglected machine as if reclaiming ownership: wiping oil pools, scraping each gear's grime true, aligning metal parts precisely, tightening slackened inspection straps. Then—as if compliant—the machine spun light and smooth at his command. Passing by, the foreman paused before it as if noting something. Even this today seemed a benevolent glance. Everything hummed in tune today. Unnoticed, autumn sunlight pierced through high glass roofing. And soon the lunch whistle blared. Today even the clock shed its usual sluggishness.

Lunch was always opened at their usual spot with Kakichi. Today even the differently wrapped lunchbox gave him faint pleasure. He remembered her morning exertions. Having arrived just last night, she had unusually risen early to replace the elderly mother—diligent in her kasuri-patterned work jacket with koi-shaped collar clasps, her slightly disheveled marumage hairstyle adorned with a crimson hairpin in matronly fashion—crouching neatly before the dim stove under the sliding window, watching the boiling pot. From his futon he secretly studied her rounded profile illuminated by the stove's flames. Thus this morning's meal preparations had been entirely her doing. Yet there she sat receiving Kakichi's huffy complaints about matters like the rice being overcooked.

"That this man with a face like parched stone had such a sister..." Maruta thought while eating his lunch. The very fact of being her brother made even Kakichi's face appear uncharacteristically different.

IV

“I gotta head over to them Russians’ ship now—you comin’?” Kakichi said as he finished his lunch box. “What’re you going there to do?” “Ah, never mind that—just come take a look.” The two of them then went from the back of the factory—where red-painted boilers and iron materials lay scattered—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.

“The blood on this sleeper,” Kakichi pointed. Maruta found himself unable to respond, as though his breath had clogged. On top of the cargo in that area sat about ten laborers who, despite having lost their comrades just yesterday, showed no particular signs of grief as they puffed on their cigarettes. And as if declaring that no matter how many died replacements would never be lacking, the surrounding scene carried on nonchalantly as usual. As though attributing all tragedies to human folly, carelessness, and lack of awareness, the crane stood arrogantly in place. Maruta hurried past. Kakichi descended the stone steps ahead and jumped into the small boat.

“Hurry up and get in.” “But the whistle’s about to blow.” “Don’t sweat it.” “Today the foreman bastard’s off at noon.” “There’s no way I ain’t gonna slack off on a day like this.” “Huh, didn’t know that.” “That’s why you’re such a hassle,” said Kakichi, deftly beginning to row with one hand. “What if they don’t even ask why we came here?” “So you see, it’s exactly like this,” said Kakichi, patting the ruler and Inside Pass through his pocket. “We came to measure the dimensions of the items needing repair—that’s our story.”

Before long, the small boat lightly collided with the side of the Russian whaling ship anchored near shore. Kakichi briskly climbed up the gangplank ahead. The sailors did not particularly suspect the two of them. As the ship was under repair, they appeared idle, lounging about on the deck. Kakichi spotted a Russian sailor he knew and shook hands with him. The Russian laughed and pointed toward the engine room with some unintelligible words directed at Kakichi. Maruta followed after Kakichi. The two descended to the middle deck, passed by the cook's room emitting an appetizing smell, and went down to the dimly lit engine room where naked candlelight could be seen. Everywhere in the engine room, packaged steam pipes of various sizes crawled along like a swarm of snakes. In one corner, a Russian sailor in oil-stained coveralls was performing maintenance, diligently polishing disassembled engine components.

“Aleksei,” Kakichi said familiarly, tapping the Russian sailor’s shoulder from behind. “Ko-nnichiwa…” The Russian turned toward him with a shrill voice. With an innocent, good-natured smile, he then nodded to Maruta too. Kakichi pulled out two slender paper boxes from his pocket. The Russian accepted them with a grin and immediately lifted the lids. He let out a delighted cry. Inside were hanafuda cards and shogi pieces. Aleksei dragged Kakichi off somewhere. After some time had passed, Kakichi returned carrying something wrapped in old newspaper under his arm.

“That’s all settled.” “Let’s get goin’.”

The two exited through the gangway they had come from onto the bright deck and leapt into the small boat. "What do you think this is?" Kakichi said smugly as he maneuvered the oar. "Bread? Or biscuits? Probably some sweet canned goods." "This ain’t no joke, I tell ya." "You think I’d let ’em catch me?" Kakichi said with a dismissive whistle. When they soon reached the stone-walled shore, they tied up the boat as before and hurried toward the red-brick warehouse. At that moment, the whistle blew. The two paid it no mind and briskly headed off in a different direction. There, new warehouses were being constructed, and the women handling the pile-driving cables were taking a slovenly rest.

When they spotted the two men, they showered them with abusive remarks, chattering away. “Hmph, you sluts,” Kakichi shot back. Then one of them with a red sash chased after him and clung to his back, begging for cigarettes. “Shut up! You’re all the same,” Kakichi retorted as he dumped the entire bat case.

Kakichi and Maruta disappeared into the entrance of one of the warehouses. There was a hunchbacked old watchman with a ridiculously short torso, spindly legs that seemed too long for his frame, and one arm missing. He had been a lathe operator in his youth, but after getting caught in a shaft and losing an arm, they’d taken pity and reassigned him as a warehouse watchman—and for thirty years since, this old man had been rooted in the dim recesses of this consumables warehouse. Kakichi conversed familiarly with this old man. Then they descended to the deepest basement. They lit the half-burned candle. There, a massive table riddled with cigarette-burn holes and two or three clumsily constructed stools came into view. Kakichi first placed the old newspaper-wrapped bundle he had carried under his arm on the table and began to open it.

“That’s vodka and dried grapes. The Russians gave us some plain stuff." “I’ll give some to the old man, but anyway, I’m leaving the whole bottle here so he can drink as he likes.” “Here, try a sip.” Kakichi found a chipped bowl and poured the bottle’s contents into it. “You can’t drink it straight like that. “You gotta mix in water.” “Right. “Then there should be cooled water in that kettle.” “There it is—just what you needed.”

The two began gulping it down, blinking at each other like warehouse mice. And gradually, they began feeling pleasantly at ease. Then the two began talking.

“Hey, you’ve already taken five days off as of today. If you take two more days off, it’s agreed I’ll impose the penalty. You hear?” Kakichi said.

“I know. But I ain’t gonna take a single day off from now on, so just watch me.” “Hmph, tough talk comin’ from you.” “Then if I do take a day off, let’s set it at twenty bats this time.”

“You’re on.” “Ain’t no mistake 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.” “Ain’t no mistake there.” “In return—if I don’t take a single day off from now on and keep showing up—what’re you gonna give me?”

“Hold on…” Kakichi hesitated briefly here, putting on a thoughtful air. “Well, fine then. Let’s just settle on you treating me to two days’ worth of your wages.” “Wait, wait— Then you’re gettin’ the better end of the deal here.” “Then one day’s worth’ll do.” “You really ain’t gonna take any more days off? Then I’ll treat you to two days’ worth myself.” Kakichi looked at Maruta with a challenging gaze. “If you just don’t take days off, the money’ll pile up. Unlike us, if you want to save up, you can save as much as you like. I wanna be a single man like you.” Kakichi said.

Kakichi was shouldering a family of four. Because of this burden, he had married late and now found himself a man with no choice but to report to the factory daily. He had no particular enjoyments either. Returning home, he would grow oddly silent, sitting cross-legged at the meal table still in his work clothes, casually yet quickly wolfing down his dinner. Then while skimming through discarded newspapers, the fatigue from the day would catch up with him, and when he began to doze off right there, he'd climb to the second floor, lay out his bedding, and immediately fall fast asleep—this being his nightly routine.

“But look, you. “People like me workin’ day after day nothin’ but this—gets to where there’s no feelin’ left in ya at all.” “You thinkin’ about takin’ days off? If you actually thought it through, you’d know better.” “I’m done with this ridiculous bet.” “No matter how much you scramble around, it’s all the same.” “I’m done with this bet.” “I’m done.” Kakichi suddenly changed his tone and said this, though what had prompted him to do so was unclear. “Don’t go spouting stuff that don’t suit you.” “You’re definitely the one who’ll end up taking twenty bats.” “I’m definitely gonna lose anyway, so quit your worrying already.”

“Winning or losing don’t mean squat.” “I’m out.” “You ain’t thought this through one bit.” “We got no damn choice but to grit our teeth and work like this every day. Right?... Then you go makin’ bets with your body—just askin’ for divine punishment on that flesh of yours...”

Kakichi was getting quite drunk.

“Are you serious? What’re you trying to pull by saying that?” “Enduring’s better than not, I tell ya.” “Being lazy like me ain’t no fun.” “I can’t stand wanting to become an enduring man like you.” “You may say that, but I was up till midnight reading that book I borrowed from you—got me thinking deep.” “Never read anything that good in all my born days.” “So damn good I copied bits into my notebook—like this here.” Kakichi thrust out his notebook.

“Here—the end of Chapter Two.” “Well, you probably get it already, but I’ll read it out anyway—listen up,” said Kakichi as he began reciting the copied passage from his notebook. “There exist both slave relationships and free contract relationships; what we call today’s free labor system is in reality nothing but hypothetical.” “The freedom of laborers means life-and-death stakes; capitalists’ freedom is mere profit-and-loss calculations.” “Thus workers ultimately must submit to factory rules set freely by employers—when they question those regulations or demand safety measures, they find only despair everywhere.” “And needless to say, such workers won’t ever be accepted by factory owners unless there’s a worker shortage.” “So unless they choose starvation, workers have no choice but to keep conceding—ending up submitting to any exploitation.” “In this sense, even today’s free contracts fundamentally preserve old slave relations.”

“This is it.” “It’s exactly like this!” Kakichi declared triumphantly after finishing his recitation. “That’s right. “Our so-called freedom is just in name...”

The two men then engaged in a vigorous debate.

When the old watchman roused them, it was already five o'clock. Rubbing sleep from their eyes as they emerged from between the cotton waste bales, the two men slipped out and crept back toward the factory along shadowed paths. Soon after, the end-of-work bellow groaned.

Five

Several days passed. She busied herself each day with laundry and starching fabrics. Since mending her young siblings' winter garments and other tasks proved too much for the elderly mother alone, she devoted her nights to needlework until late. Remarkably filial toward her mother, she rose early each morning in the elderly woman's stead to see Maruta and Kakichi off to the factory. By the time the two finished breakfast and departed, her younger siblings—in truth, her deceased elder brother's children—would begin stirring from bed to prepare for school, following their daily routine. The morning kitchen would take shape around nine o'clock. The half-senile old father daily set out for a distant town's medicinal bathhouse clutching a rice ball. There his elderly cronies gathered—steeping in pungent mineral waters until languid, then sprawling across wooden planks to chant sutras or trade gossip through the day. Since her arrival, the old father often ventured out accompanied by his small grandchild. At home, these hours became prime time for mother-daughter talks between the elderly woman and herself. Their chief topic remained her marital household— the miserly mother-in-law, the hysterical sister-in-law with her warped stubbornness, the perpetually dull-witted husband, and recent upheavals.

“The all-merciful God knows everything; fret though you might over matters, so long as we simply entrust all to Him...” the elderly mother would often say.

Her married home was in a rural area six ri away, situated in the riverside district of S Castle Town. In that area, several small iron foundries emitted thin wisps of smoke. She was the wife of a small ironworks owner's younger brother among them. Previously, her husband had worked at this shipyard, but after his older brother started a small-scale factory on his own, he too had gone over there to work together. And now, though modest in size, this brothers' ironworks had begun to show prospects of growth.

“After all—a man who built himself up through sheer skill alone makes for capable stock...” The elderly mother had developed a habit of extolling this supposed paragon’s merits whenever Kakichi was present. And every time she did so—without fail—Kakichi’s face would darken,

“Even if he looks like some big shot through Mother’s eyes, that story don’t fit through my glasses, heh...” he spat out.

“Now, now—you may say such things, but if some misfortune were to befall us... If I were to take ill or some such, who’d be there to lend a hand but that brother? You know full well how much we rely on him even now—what else can I say?” the elderly mother admonished. And Kakichi would invariably fall silent at that. However, the fact that his sister had returned this time intending to stay for a while must have had some circumstances behind it. Kakichi knew that.

"Oh Mother, look—this scrap of arrow-feather fabric has turned up…" she said to her mother, having discovered what seemed to be a cherished memento among the rags. “Ah, that’s because I found it the other day and set it aside there.” “Oh my, it’s quite old.” “I was so terribly excited—so terribly excited—to wear this to school on Tencho Festival days... That sort of pure joy simply doesn’t exist anymore...” She spoke with nostalgic warmth.

“It’s an old thing indeed. This was from when you were about five or six—when Uncle Gen went up to Tokyo, he bought it as a souvenir for you. But whenever we dressed you in it, Father would get cross... Back then, I too had endless troubles just like what you’re going through now...” The elderly mother squinted her eyes and sniffed. The mother and daughter’s conversation came to a halt there for some reason.

Six

The night was already past eleven. Maruta abruptly awoke to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Everyone had gone to bed, but she and the elderly mother were still up doing something.

“I thought night boats would be more relaxed work, but turns out there’s too many passengers...” the guest said while shoveling down tea-soaked rice from the hastily prepared meal tray. The crisp sound of him crunching takuan pickles carried strangely through the air. Lying awake, Maruta listened through the paper screen to the guest’s deep-throated voice, gradually conjuring an image of a flabby, soft-bodied man who seemed amiably vacant. He wondered if this might be her husband arriving unexpectedly. Yet something about that insubstantial tone left him dissatisfied with the notion of this being her spouse. His eyes and ears grew steadily sharper.

"So it was true after all..." The day had arrived for her to return home. "They'd be going back together within a day or two at most..." he realized only when the guest was about to retire to bed. Though his face remained buried deep in the quilt collar at that moment, that inexpressible expression could still be read in the sliver of forehead left visible.

He had already begun envisioning in his mind the days after she would be gone. Everything had been clear from the very beginning. He now realized the foolishness of having hoped for something despite that.

"I had focused too much on seeing only her good points…" "I should have focused on her unpleasant aspects instead—so that no matter when she left, I could remain completely unaffected..." he now even thought. For the safest means to cleanly discard these unacknowledged, hopeless feelings was none other than becoming disillusioned with the other’s flaws.

"What kind of man could he be…?" Maruta now found himself feeling a certain curiosity about inevitably facing the husband come morning. If the man were several degrees inferior to himself, might some new confidence and satisfaction arise within him? He even imagined how that person might feel upon seeing him for the first time. He even worried that he might already be perceived as her illicit lover. Furthermore, he considered the scenario where that person was a man who stood several degrees superior to himself. Rather, he even thought it would be cleaner that way—how that scenario seemed poised to pulverize his foolish sentiments into motes of dust.

Amidst such thoughts, the clock struck two.

The next day was a holiday, and the factory was closed. As he had anticipated the previous night, he encountered that person at the meal table during breakfast. His prediction proved fairly accurate. The husband was a man of about thirty-two or thirty-three—plump, and at first glance could not be perceived as anything but good-natured. Moreover, in everyone's eyes he appeared a fair-complexioned handsome man surpassing even Maruta. His eyes were large and imposing like artificial ones, but across his entire face it was his nose that stood most magnificent. His profile bore the classically handsome lines one might see on a playing card king, ascending smoothly up to his forehead.

And hanging from one side of that grand figure-6-shaped nose was a large wart that reminded Maruta of dried grapes he'd once seen. In that instant, he nearly burst out laughing. This strikingly magnificent nose would quiver unnervingly every five seconds or so with a sound like an automobile horn... The noise stood out so glaringly that the young mother beside him seemed to color faintly with embarrassment. Maruta, recognizing this, felt pity. "What an odd mannerism..." he thought. Yet such a habit seemed an indispensable appendage to this man who appeared so genial.

“You, this is Mr. Maruta.” “This gentleman works at the same factory as Brother,” she introduced Maruta to her husband. At this moment, Maruta felt an inexplicable sensation. A shadow fell as though they had already formed an improper relationship and she herself had resolutely presented him like this to avoid detection. Therefore, he bowed even more politely, as though conveying deep respect.

“Ah, so that’s how it is,” the husband said and left it at that. He briskly finished his meal. “What a hasty way this man eats... Still no favorable impression of me...” Maruta remained consumed by these thoughts. Perhaps because he thought this way, a strange mood seemed to linger more faintly across the other man’s face. Yet however he considered it, nothing about his demeanor suggested more than what might be called an amiable eccentric. Moreover—for reasons unclear—when even the elderly mother and younger siblings began revealing subtle contempt toward this man, Maruta found his feelings becoming intolerable. Yet Kakichi alone appeared to truly understand and sincerely engage this brother-in-law.

“It’s a fine day today. Shall we take a walk around there?” Kakichi suggested after the meal, and the brother-in-law immediately agreed. “Shō-chan, I’ll take you along... so have Mom put on your tabi socks and your hat...” said the husband to his child. It was decided that Maruta would accompany 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 bathed every corner. Kakichi and his brother-in-law talked about work as they walked. Maruta walked while tending to lag behind the two. Kakichi remained utterly indifferent to such matters. Yet from atop his father’s shoulders, the child kept looking back at Maruta. It seemed that even in his childish heart, he wondered: “Why won’t Uncle talk to Daddy...?”

"He’s such a sharp child—hasn’t he already noticed everything?" Maruta thought. To conceal his feelings, Maruta blew a piercing finger-whistle that echoed across every corner of the drill ground. The child brightened. From afar came a white dog racing toward them—— The three smoked cigarettes there awhile before soon retracing their steps.

“Sho-chan, shall Daddy and I go home together today?” “Is Mommy coming too?” “Mommy doesn’t have to come—let’s just go home together, you and me,” the father said. The child on his shoulders fell silent as if overwhelmed by thought and stared into the distance. “Are you leaving today? How about staying a couple days to enjoy yourself?” Kakichi said. “Since work is so busy right now, I can’t do that.” “Before long, you should come too…”

The guest seemed intent on returning alone by day's end. Hearing this, Maruta found his surroundings abruptly appearing bright and clear. The sky, mountains, and town's tall buildings—all seemed at last to side with him, letting him feel relief for the first time. She would remain his for several days yet—a vivid hue in Maruta's monochrome existence. He walked lagging behind as before, sensing an inexpressible happiness beneath the discomfort of having his feelings exposed. Yet at that moment, he suddenly noticed the child's desolate face and felt his chest tighten. It was a sorrowful countenance poised to burst into tears.

"Daddy came all this way but wasn't welcomed by anyone, so he had no choice but to go back alone again." "Why won't Mommy go home with Daddy and me?" The child now seemed tormented by this question weighing on his little heart. Maruta felt as though the melancholy he had tasted in his own childhood were being laid bare before him.

The guest left alone that afternoon.

But those who laugh on Saturday cry on Sunday—and the next day proved to be an extremely ill-omened one for Maruta. When he went to the factory that morning and began work, he was soon summoned by the Military Police. First returning to his lodging to change into work clothes, he then reported in. The corporal at reception took down his name, and without allowing a moment's delay, another corporal promptly hauled him toward the detention cell at the corridor's end. Before the cell sat a crude chair that creaked with every movement. The corporal jabbed a finger toward it, snapped "Wait here," and strode off. He sat facing the cell and surveyed his surroundings. Just yesterday at this hour, even the sky, mountains, and town's tall buildings had all seemed aligned in his favor. Yet today, every visible object around him appeared to level counterattacking spears in his direction. Even the clatter of carts from the town he'd just traversed now transmitted beyond the wall an utterly disinterested rhythm—the aftermath of having delivered him to his required destination. After being made to wait there over two hours, he was dragged before the captain. The summons concerned his failure to complete procedures for petitioning attendance at his registered residence's simplified muster, thus being registered as one of this year's muster absentees.

“State your official name and rank.” The Captain suddenly commanded in an unnerving low voice, glaring upward at him with piercing eyes. “Army Transport Soldier, Maruta Yoshinosuke,” he declared, adopting a semblance of military bearing. “Recite the Five Articles of the Imperial Rescript.” “First—a soldier shall hold loyalty as his fundamental duty. Second—a soldier shall...”

“Do you think just reciting that does any good? Why don’t you put that into practice? Why won’t you act on it?!” The Captain slammed the table as if to shatter it and continued to bellow nonstop. Even Maruta was startled and staggered backward. The Captain had no sooner seemed to soften his tone for an instant than he resumed shouting endlessly. Maruta’s face had lost all color. And at that moment, for some reason, he felt as though even that matter regarding her—which should have been entirely unrelated—was being upended from the very foundation.

“That’s not all! You’ve been nursing indecent notions about a married woman, you insolent wretch…!” The Captain seemed to be laying bare even that matter as part of his interrogation, leaving him utterly mortified. It felt like being charged at once with evasion of muster and criminal adultery. All through this ordeal, her form kept materializing nearby only to recede into nothingness. In such circumstances—depending on how he maintained manly composure and defended himself—it almost seemed she was weighing whether to embrace or spurn him.

The Captain’s tone soon softened a little. "Well, you see, sir... yes... The truth is, I had been thinking of leaving this area... yes... So regarding the residency paperwork... yes... yes... I had no choice but to put it off under the circumstances... yes... This time, I beg for your mercy, Captain sir... yes..." He explained his situation while bowing repeatedly in apology. The Captain wrote down every word. Thus after over two hours, the interrogation concluded and he was released back temporarily.

When he returned to the lodging, it was already past two o'clock. "How did it go?..." she suddenly asked him. "Oh, it's finally over. It was nothing serious," he said offhandedly. "Well, that's a relief then. My, you must be quite hungry." As she spoke, she began preparing the meal. The elderly mother had apparently just gone to the dyer's shop, creating a scene that seemed almost crafted for him. If this person had seen me in that state back then... he thought while looking at her profile. Then the Captain's face floated up vividly before him again as he sat eating. 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 had wanted to say “transport soldier” but couldn’t.

…………

“I do so wish I could have seen you in your soldier’s uniform.” “Were you a sergeant… or a corporal?” “Oh, let’s leave it at that, please,” he said with an awkward chuckle. “You conceal all your commendable qualities so completely that I truly must mind my words.” “My own husband—such as he is—was a soldier too.” “Now there was a shameful soldier indeed…”

“I thought that did seem to be the case,” he said. “What rank was he? He must have been a sergeant or something, I suppose.” “Oh, you’re terrible! Mr. Maruta, if there were such an oafish sergeant, that would be truly dreadful. That person was a transport soldier—a mere baa-baa replacement recruit at that. Oh-hoh-hoh… It’s simply mortifying for this one…” she laughed. As he listened, even the transport soldier was overcome until the very roots of his ears burned crimson.

“Does she know I’m a transport soldier…?”

VII

Winter came. The year was drawing to a close.

One day, her husband’s brother stopped by on his way back from Osaka where he had gone on business. He was around forty, his face largely resembling that of his younger brother who had come before, yet with features hardened by worldly shrewdness; listening to his impeccably smooth manner of speaking made him seem every bit the elder brother. For the elderly mother and the rest of the household, he was the most honored guest. “My, welcome Brother…” she said, having somehow smoothed down her hair and stepped before their guest with a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she completed the formal greetings before asking after affairs over there.

“My, you bring such fine things every time you visit…” The elderly mother pressed the gifts to her forehead in gratitude before first placing them before the family altar. Soon the younger siblings returned from school too, and upon seeing their uncle there with many gifts, they immediately knelt down and bowed politely. “My, how they’ve grown!” “My, how children change when you’re not looking, I tell you.” As he compared the two youngsters, he’d already slipped silver coins into their hands.

“Oh my… Please don’t go givin’ each of ’em somethin’ separate like this…” The elderly mother tried interrupting him as soon as she noticed his actions, but to no avail. “Now then, do help yourself, Brother—though I fear there’s naught here fit for your palate…” She had somehow retied her obi in the interim, and as she began serving drinks with neat propriety, dusk had already settled. “Well now, you keep sayin’ you oughta be off soon—here I’ve gone an’ kept you so long through my own selfishness. My son-in-law must think me awful rude, I tell you.” “Do forgive me—when you reach my years, your eyes grow so dim you can’t sew a single stitch no more.” “But even so, thanks to this visit, everything’s finally been sorted proper-like…” the elderly mother offered explanations regarding her daughter.

“Now now, there’s no need for you to fret over such things. “I’ve still got womenfolk back home—they don’t mind a bit. Since year’s end’s nigh anyway, better to return nice an’ easy after New Year’s come. “It’s not like she’s taken a lover or anythin’, Ha ha ha!” the guest joked with a crude pun. At this moment she too joined the elderly mother in bursting into loud laughter. The guest then turned toward the old man and began talking about his various new plans.

“Next year I intend to expand the factory, I tell you.” “If that comes to pass, we’ll naturally have Mr. Kakichi leave here and come over, won’t we?” “We’ll make it the top factory in Kansai with our brothers’ combined strength, I tell you, old man.”

“Indeed, that’s precisely how it is, I tell you,” the retired man said. “Please make sure to do it while we’re still alive, I tell you,” the elderly mother chimed in from the side, encouraging him. “And Kakichi here—unless he receives your patronage, he’ll never rise above his current station in life, I tell you.” “But as you well know, he’s a difficult one to handle, I tell you.” “Even at his age, he’s a country bumpkin who knows nothing of common courtesy or worldly matters—I tell you, his future worries me something fierce. Not even you could manage to make something of him, I tell you—there’s simply no hope at all,” the elderly mother lamented about Kakichi.

“Now now, there’s no need for you to fret over such things, I tell you.” “Why, if he were to take a wife, he’d change completely, I tell you,” said the guest.

Thus night fell. Kakichi and Maruta too soon returned from the factory. When Kakichi entered through the gate, he immediately sensed something amiss; changing out of his work clothes first—contrary to his usual habit—he then went to the parlor and performed the customary greetings to the guest. He exchanged a cup or two of sake, but soon came to the kitchen and began eating with Maruta.

“Goodness, child—at times like these, there’s no need to go wolfing down your food in such a fluster. If you’d just keep Brother company instead, you’d surely come to understand such things once you’ve reached a certain age…” the elderly mother came to the kitchen and admonished Kakichi in a low voice. “But I can’t just not eat after coming back from work,” Kakichi snapped irritably and wolfed down his food. And he immediately went out somewhere.

“Mr. Maruta, even if it’s troublesome, could you please come over here and keep him company?” “A drinker always wants at least one companion, I tell you.” “Kakichi’s being difficult too, I tell you.” The elderly mother dragged Maruta to the parlor. And she introduced him to the guest. The guest immediately offered Maruta a cup with an air of familiarity.

“Excuse my asking, but where might your home province be?” he inquired. “Kyushu.” “Oh, that’s... quite a distance indeed. You can’t be thirty yet, and from what I hear, the factory pays quite decent wages indeed.” “Not at all—it’s barely enough to get by.” “I too used to commute to this shipyard here, carrying my lunchbox, I tell you,” said the guest with an air of wanting to talk about his present circumstances.

“However, I’ve long heard that you’re now enjoying great success.” Maruta steered the conversation in a way that seemed to please the guest. “Oh no, I’m just running an embarrassingly small operation now, I tell you.” “Well, thanks to you all, our gas engines at least have gained some renown, I tell you.” The guest gradually transitioned into boasting. The guest spoke of producing an average of five or six gas engines each month, yet still struggling to keep up with orders, plans to expand the factory next year, and how without him present, only a third of the work could be managed.

“Though there’s only twelve workers total, when I’m around we get twice the work done of others, I tell you.” “Even callin’ ’em twelve workers—only two’re proper craftsmen; the rest’re all apprentice lads, I tell you.” “My policy’s to keep pushin’ on with nothin’ but these homegrown craftsmen I trained myself—down to the last man, I tell you.” “Wouldn’t be able to handle our proper work otherwise, I tell you.” “Always got them down-on-their-luck drifters beggin’ to work for any wage after wanderin’ the roads—but my place don’t hire no migrant laborers at all, I tell you.” “Them so-called migrant types? Can’t make heads nor tails of ’em, I tell you.”

"If we're talking about migrant laborers... well, I'm one too..." Maruta fleetingly thought. The guest continued his monologue undisturbed. "Well now—training apprentices these five years since founding the factory's been grueling work, I tell you." "Now all ten trainees have become proper craftsmen—not that I mean to boast about mere apprentices—but even bumbling journeymen can't hold a candle to 'em." "Once those lads start learning a trade, their progress comes quick as anything." "With proper training methods alone, by their third year they gain skills rivaling seventy-sen craftsmen." "Take Toku here—my top apprentice—facing his military exam next year but already a master craftsman." "Finishing work? Lathe operation? Forging? Whatever you set him to—outshines others every time." "Even I find myself marveling at this one." "This lad's father served under me at this very shipyard—died tragic during No.106's trial run—so I took him in at twelve and trained him myself." "A crying shame they'll draft him now." "But what can you do? Government business." The factory owner spoke like a livestock breeder evaluating his herd.

“As you say, craftsmen you’ve trained yourself wouldn’t give you any trouble to employ. And having such skilled apprentices must be truly splendid indeed.” “They wouldn’t need proper wages—just biannual work clothes would likely suffice…” Maruta added. In Maruta’s eyes flickered the image of an unseen small ironworks beneath S Castle Town, conjured through imagination’s lens. Pitiful figures of fifteen- or sixteen-year-old apprentices materialized—clad in tattered, oil-soaked work clothes, driven relentlessly while occasionally being slapped by this master. The lives of these youths who knew no joy beyond three meager daily meals and early sleep——their small bodies exhausted from night work until nine or ten, huddled together like stray pups in the factory’s pigeon-nest mezzanine (a scene lifted straight from Maruta’s own memories as an ironworks apprentice)——this wretched tableau now burned vividly behind his eyelids.

The guest drained his cup and offered it anew to Maruta. “I can’t have any more. I ended up keeping you company longer than intended,” Maruta declined. “Now now, this here’s a fresh cup to our newfound acquaintance, I tell you. If you ever grow tired of this factory, feel free to come work at my place anytime, I tell you. As I mentioned earlier, we plan to add four or five more lathes next year, I tell you. I’ll match whatever wages you receive here at my place, I tell you,” said the guest.

“Oh no... That’s... very kind of you... But we’re just migrant laborers after all, truly...” Maruta said, scratching his head. However, having said it, the words now sounded strangely caustic to his own ears, and when he glanced at the guest’s expression, he indeed appeared to have taken some offense. At that moment, an unpleasant premonition assailed him—what if after leaving this place, should he ever fall into such dire straits and utter destitution, he might end up crawling tearfully to this man’s factory in his final extremity?

Before long, the guest took the children and her and headed out into town. The elderly mother also obediently threw on her haori and went along as instructed.

The entertainment district blazed with countless electric and gas lights, colorful billboards lining both sides. The crisp strains of a novel circus troupe's band pierced the night sky. A human tide flowed slowly through. "My, what a lively place! Even though it's right under our noses, we ain't come round these parts but once a year..." The elderly mother gazed dazzled at the scene. "If you go to Dotonbori in Osaka—now that's real commotion! The crowds there're something fierce, I tell you," the guest boasted with exaggeration.

“That’s how it must be, I ’spose...”

At this moment she drew close to the guest and whispered succinctly: “Let’s quickly get the children and elderly mother into the show here...then we can be alone together.” The guest immediately appeared to understand. Then this time, walking slightly behind, she whispered to her mother: “I have something I want Brother to buy for me—so Mother, please take the children in to see the show...”

“Ah, well in that case, that’ll do just fine, I ’spose.” The elderly mother immediately grasped. “Mama will be right along, so go watch the horse show with Grandma and Sister, there’s a good child.” The child listened earnestly. Not long after the guest and they had gone out into town, Maruta too wandered out of the house. Kakichi had gone out somewhere at nightfall with no sign of returning, so staying home felt lonely. So now he planned to check a couple of low-end bars where Kakichi might possibly be, and if he found him there, have a drink himself before going home together to sleep. However, Kakichi was nowhere to be found there. Since he had no other leads, he had no choice but to walk on toward the entertainment district as he was. As he passed through the show street for the first time in ages, there before him were the same female sword dances, armless beauties, and monkey theater performances he had seen three years prior during his three-day stay in Sasebo before being sent off to the battlefield. He stopped and gazed nostalgically. Thinking he’d likely never get another chance to see such things, he found himself inclined to go inside. The state of his own mind from three years prior was recalled through these shows. Just then, the armless beauty was singing Buddhist hymns in a beautiful, plaintive voice. Unaware that among the many people walking about there—that a man more deeply connected to this show than any other spectator present had now unexpectedly stopped to listen raptly—she kept singing. When he passed through the show street, all sorts of hustlers there were rolling out clever spiels. Vendors performing iaijutsu quick-draws while peddling tooth powder, sellers of artificial gold rings, student-type men hawking quick-study memorization technique books—then in dim back alleys under utility poles, blindfolded violinists singing for coins beneath drooping hat brims—all these formed a swirling crowd of people. As specimens of the fate of humans who half-heartedly yearn for freedom, the winter night’s moon illuminated the figures of those street singers. Maruta turned left there and entered a quiet street. He passed before the military police station where he had once been summoned. And when he had gone a bit more than a block past it, he found himself slowing his steps at the sight of figures—a man and woman—several yards ahead.

The man in a cloak and bowler hat was tonight’s guest. Walking alongside him was she. At this moment, Maruta immediately grew suspicious that the figures of the elderly mother and children—who had left home together—were nowhere to be seen there.

"Aren't they walking like husband and wife or something..." he thought. At that instant, a repugnant notion suddenly coursed through his mind. And within that thought's flash, her husband's face materialized—that prominent nose, those glass eye-like pupils looming distinct. His chest constricted. This tightness doubly compounded both the visceral reality her husband himself should have experienced and his own unbearable grief of disillusionment.

"What am I jumping to conclusions about... How can I even say such things now..." he sneered at himself in his anguish. But once he had convinced himself of this, he couldn't possibly regain peace of mind until he had obtained some solid counterevidence to overturn it.

He followed them while keeping as much distance as possible. From the square where Hakuhinkan stood, their figures turned right. He had to suddenly quicken his pace. However, their figures remained within his field of vision. At that moment, she glanced back. Maruta thought he'd been caught. But he was relieved. It was because they had not properly looked back but had merely turned sideways. The two finally entered the department store. Here he came to an abrupt halt.

"Am I trying to confirm something exists between them—or am I actually trying to confirm that nothing does...?" Maruta muttered to himself at this moment, as if interrogating his own thoughts. Even if there were something improper between the two of them, he had come to feel it would be utterly impossible to grasp the truth of it directly tonight. For their familiar behavior up to a certain point could be validated under the special pretext of family relations. Even if they had walked brazenly side by side, even if they had disappeared into the entrance of a secluded little restaurant...

Thinking this, he could not help but realize that his actions from the very beginning had been utterly futile.

"They had 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 exactly was wrong with that?" "So what if that happened…?" Given that they were family, such facts were permissible. When he thought that no matter how far he pursued it, the truth remained elusive, he felt utterly foolish and promptly turned back. Then, he stopped by his usual bar—the one he had only peeked into without entering about two hours prior—let a hot drink pass down his throat, and returned home to sleep.

VIII

The next morning had a lighter frost than usual.

This particular morning alone saw the elderly mother rise early to prepare breakfast. Maruta had awakened before Kakichi as was his custom. The truth was he'd scarcely slept at all through the night. Caught in unspeakably foul and mournful thoughts until dawn's approach granted him but one brief spell of sleep. When he'd returned from the bar last night, only the elderly mother and children were home already abed. He too retired straightaway. Then past midnight came the soft creak of the back door opening. There stood the guest and her. The pair ascended to the second floor. With each passing moment Maruta felt his initial vile suspicions confirmed beyond doubt. Yet rising this morning - washing his face - settling at the circular dining table - there sat the elderly mother unchanged from her usual self. As if he were family she performed her pious ritual: making him receive divine rice offerings for auspicious fortune while intoning "May no harm come at the factory today...", then losing herself in protracted prayers. Unbearable pathos gripped him; tears welled unbidden. But however he strove to purge those abhorrent imaginings now proved futile. All day he labored with lifeless countenance. Come noon he joined Kakichi for their customary meal together. Yet his mind seethed with guilt toward these two trusted companions. That his own rash conjectures born of selfish uncertainty might tarnish their fellowship became intolerable. This man of unyielding principle could find no peace until restoring all to immaculate purity. But most crushing of all remained Kakichi's face - its undiminished virile vigor overwhelming Maruta's fragile composure.

“Hey, I took that book to the station waiting room last night and read it. “When I go to the station at night, somehow it feels like I’ve traveled to a distant country—and that’s a good feeling.” “What I read last night was Chapter Three—then after getting home I copied it 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 the living standard required for their preservation...’ That’s the passage.” “If wages in the labor market were to rise above the natural price, ordinary laborers would become able to support numerous families through their eased living standards, ultimately increasing the number of workers and creating an excess of labor supply. Before long, the market price of wages would decline, resulting not only in a return to the natural price but even occasionally falling below it as a reactionary phenomenon—such cases being far from rare――.”

“This matches exactly,” Kakichi exclaimed with deep admiration after finishing his reading. But today, even that failed to stir Maruta’s interest.

"So that's how it is—then why weren't you at home last night?" Maruta said.

“Yeah, I can’t fucking stand seeing that bastard’s face.” “And hearing his voice makes my skin crawl.” “The younger brother ain’t so bad though.” “After that, I took your place and got treated.” “Sorry ’bout that—having to listen to that bastard’s bragging—nobody could stand that.” “But since he managed t’accomplish that much, he’s a great man, I suppose.”

When the two returned from the factory at dusk, it turned out that the guest had departed this evening.

“O-Sayo went to carry Sho-chan on her back to see him off at the wharf and still hasn’t returned,” the elderly mother said to Kakichi. For Maruta, it was somehow a dinner lacking vitality.

“He asked me to pass along his kind regards to you and left.” “‘You’re quite someone who’s endured your share of hardships,’ he said in praise,” the elderly mother told Maruta.

“He said they’re expanding the factory next year and want you to come work there—I think that’d be better than staying stuck like this forever—but you probably don’t know what kind of terms that’d involve.” Kakichi remained silent and did not respond. While taking two or three puffs of his after-dinner cigarette, Kakichi’s face gradually grew stern.

“You mothers think clinging to others solves everything—that’s your big mistake.” “Ain’t like I ain’t workin’ myself raw here keepin’ y’all fed...” “Nobody said otherwise.” “I know I work hard—know that full well. But your brother says this ’cause he cares ’bout our family—oughta at least talk it through.” “How you know what he’s really thinkin’? Keep that naive shit up nowadays—that’s how disasters start.”

“Fine then. ‘Fine then—do as I please.’ The elderly mother sharpened her tone. ‘But you—why’s it you gotta oppose every damn thing I say lately?’ ‘I’m only sayin’ all this ’cause we care ’bout your wellbein’!’ ‘The way things are now—even if y’ took yerself a wife—y’d still end up sufferin’.’ ‘Well, you can’t stay single forever at that age.’ ‘Parents gotta have their own considerations—been frettin’ over every which way—but why’s it whenever I speak up, you gotta go all stubborn on me?’ ‘If y’find me so bothersome, then I won’t say nothin’ more to you—ain’t gonna say another word from now on!’ ‘Do as you damn please then—go on! If I’m such a bother, don’t trouble yerself with me no more—do whatever hell you want! Go on—you ungrateful wretch!’”

The elderly mother continued speaking, her voice breaking into tears. "If only Longjiro had lived, there wouldn't be nothin' left to say." "Same brothers, but why you gotta be so damn stubborn?" "Last night too—when your brother came after all this time—you couldn't even bother to properly receive 'im! He ate 'n' left right quick! Ungrateful wretch! You think this world lets folks get by without leanin' on others? You'll see—mark my words—you'll see...!" she shrieked, voice trembling. The old father remained silent by the hibachi. The children crouched small in the dark three-mat corner, watching wide-eyed like something grave had happened. Maruta Yoshinosuke knew no way but to keep calming her. Then Kakichi stood up, shoved that book into his pocket, and vanished somewhere. Maruta figured he'd probably gone to the station waiting room again. There was a warm stove there—and always that feeling like you might reach some endless free country, lingering like an old memory you can't shake.

(July 1918)