Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

In the village, the autumn harvest had ended. The fire brigade appreciation banquet, which had been postponed since summer, was held at the temple’s Main Hall. Finally, the sake made its way around the gathering.

At that moment, a single Chinese-style paper door made a violent sound and came crashing inward. At the same moment, the tangled mass of Akizō and Kanji tumbled into the Main Hall while still grappling. The members of the gathering rose to their knees.

After a moment, Akizō—his arms held by the people—glared at Kanji while thrusting out his bare shoulder, “Let go! Let go!” he shouted. Kanji stood rigidly silent, straining to push his way toward Akizō. “I won’t stand for this today!” “What the hell?!” The two men, like fighting cocks with bound wings, stood raging in the people’s grip. “Let me go! You think my gut’ll calm unless I finish off this bastard?!”

“Stop your blubbering!” “What the hell?!” Akizō wrenched free from the people. Then, aiming for Kanji’s chest, he lunged, and the two men collapsed once more into a tangled heap on the tatami. Sake spilled. A sweet potato rolled. “Throw him out!” “Hit him!” “Good grief.” Amid the commotion, the tangle of two men kicked down the waist-high sliding door. Then, rolling from there onto the raised veranda, four bare legs kicked through empty air and plunged into the red nandina bushes of the rear garden. The small pots of kudzu and ginkgo were kicked over. Kanji leapt to his feet. Then, as he dashed through the backyard toward the graveyard, Akizō thrust out his chest and chased after him from behind.

II When the young men in the Main Hall could no longer see the two figures, they began drinking while discussing the cause of their fight and rearranging the disordered serving. However, their accounts agreed on nothing except how the Chinese-style paper door had fallen and that Akizō had held the advantage. Yet this fight between them did not strike them as novel. According to their talk, the two houses stood in the village’s northern and southern parts; their mothers were sisters, and though Kanji’s mother was the elder sister, she had married into Kanji’s father’s household from Akizō’s family. But from the very night this kinship between the northern and southern houses was formed, they had become as good as severed. It began when Akizō’s grandfather refused the proposal of Kanji’s father—a man deemed impoverished and of tainted bloodline—prompting Kanji’s mother to take matters into her own hands and flee to that household. After his grandfather’s death, Akizō’s father squandered their vast family fortune and vanished. In contrast, Kanji’s father had prospered enough to dominate the village assembly. Thus, when Akizō’s household neared ruin and risked passing to outsiders, Kanji’s father thought “Now!”—a word laden with every shade of vengeance and recompense. And despite his wife’s protests, he rebuilt her ancestral home only to die the following year. From then on, Kanji’s household stood above Akizō’s in all things. And so those attuned to these youths’ unyielding pride—men who bowed to nothing—naturally concluded that even today’s brawl had sprung from little more than a drunken poke of chopsticks before lifting their sake cups again.

However, this rumor kept the village abuzz for many nights. And it continued until around the time when the villagers, as the first task of the approaching winter, began agonizing over selecting the brushwood mountain.

III

There was still time before dusk. Akizō boasted to everyone he met about the oak brushwood he had brought down from the mountain. And when he arrived home, a frail male beggar was crouching alone at the entrance, his back turned to him.

“We’re busy today. Come back another time.” As he tried to enter while still carrying the brushwood on his shoulder, “Akizō?” the beggar said. Akizō had no memory of ever being addressed so familiarly by a beggar. “You, do you know me?” “What does it matter if I know you or not? You’ve gotten so big, haven’t you?” Akizō gazed at the beggar’s face for a while. Then, the beggar looked up at Akizō obliquely with eyes fractured into three unfocused points, “I’m Anji.” “My heart’s done for, you know.” “Yeah, had a terrible time,” he said.

Akizō first recalled the scene of village sumo he had seen in his childhood—a scene where, only in matches that awarded prize money even to losers, a grappling man would rush out time and again regardless of his opponent, only to be instantly knocked down like a pole by anyone, yet still retreat from the ring while earnestly grappling anew. That man was Anji. After losing his parents and what little remained of his family fortune, Anji had soon vanished from the village with his despised body in tow. Nine years had already passed since then. But now, Akizō saw him again.

“So you really are Anji, huh?” “Look how filthy you’ve gotten!” “Touch you and moss’ll peel right off?” “Can you call your mother?”

“She ain’t here today.” “Where d’you plan on goin’ from here?” As he said this while lowering the brushwood, Akizō crouched down beside Anji.

“Where? If I had somewhere to go, that’d be just fine.” “Did you come back?”

“I’ve come back.” “The doctor said I wouldn’t last.” “It’s my heart.” “Heart, huh? That’s a mighty refined illness you’ve got there.” “Yeah, it’s time for Buddhist prayers now.” “Isn’t your mother here?” “What business do you have with my mother?” “I was thinkin’ of bein’ taken in at your place—could ya do me this one favor?” “You came to my place?” “Yeah, the quack said it wouldn’t last.” “So you came tumbling into my place, huh?”

“You tumbled out of a sake barrel, and now your foundation’s all ruined.” “Ask your mother.” “Isn’t she here?” “Cut it out already.”

Akizō stood up. “Hey, I’m begging you. Just tell your mother, could ya?” Akizō, remaining silent, tried to shoulder the brushwood when—

“Your place is my family’s main house, ain’t it? I’m beggin’ you—let me stay,” Anji said. “My place is the main house?”

“Exactly. Go ask anyone.” “Don’t spout such cursed nonsense.” “They say your place is Tanigawa.” “Mine’s Yamamoto.” At that moment, Akizō suddenly realized Kanji’s family and Anji’s shared the same surname—that aside from those two households, not a single home in the village bore the Tanigawa name. If he took Anji to Kanji’s house now under the pretext of them being relatives—what then? The more one knew about Kanji’s mother’s stinginess, the more vividly Akizō could picture her flustered state. To him, this was truly an entertaining game.

And suddenly, Akizō had lost his previous desire to escape the various hassles of caring for Anji and now felt interested solely in tormenting Kanji’s household for even a single day.

“Hey, why don’t you go to Kan’s place in the south? That guy’s your relative.” “The fishmonger’s? That cheapskate isn’t any relative of mine!”

“But with Tanigawa—isn’t there just that one household?” “They’re your relatives.”

“To begin with, I don’t like that house.” “Don’t talk such nonsense.” “I’ll take you there myself!” “Get up! Get up!” “That place is absolutely no good.” “There’s no such thing as *can* or *can’t*! “It’s only natural for you to barge in there!” “No good! No good!” Anji said, waving both hands beside his head as if swimming. “Quit your whining!” When Akizō grabbed Anji by the nape and pulled him up, Anji thrust out his chest and let out strained cries: “Ah! Ah!”

“Hurry up and walk!” “What a nuisance of a brat!” “I’m starving, I’m starving—won’t you carry me?” “You’re disgusting! “As if I’d carry the likes of you!”

Anji pressed his chest with one hand and was dragged along, the torn end of a three-shaku cloth hanging long from his waist. The emaciated single shoulder appeared fiercely angry, just as it had when he was a child and his family was still secure in this village. And what remained unchanged was the sight of the serene mountains solidified ahead, against which his figure floated.

IV

A west wind blew in. Kanji split a mulberry rootstock and lit a fire beneath the bathhouse. The smoke, rising from beneath the bathhouse, first assailed Kanji’s eyes before swirling into the inner garden and lunging at his mother as she gazed toward the front from the raised threshold. And there she stood—Oshimo—peering through smoke that clawed at the shop’s ceiling-mounted canned goods shelves.

“Treasure ship! Treasure ship!” Akizō announced as he entered with a single beggar in tow, catching her eye. “What’s all this racket?!” she said. “Auntie, something splendid has arrived. Rejoice.” Kanji’s mother went out to the shop area and looked at the beggar’s face. “Well, what a surprise—if it isn’t Anji!” “There’s no Anji or lantern here—just Lord High-and-Mighty!” Akizō looked around the shop area. But meeting Kanji was unpleasant. He decided to leave as he was and stepped out over the threshold,

“Aki-kō, are you leaving?” asked Anji. “That’s enough already.” “Tell me, tell me.” “You’re the one saying ‘tell me,’ but aren’t you a treasure ship? Just sit there nice and quiet.” “Hey, hey! I’m coming too!” “Shut your trap, idiot! Auntie, this guy’s got nowhere to go and is in a real bind. Take care of him for a little while, will you?” “You come here saying that?” As Kanji’s mother started to say with a clouded face, Anji struck a pose like a sumo referee drawing his war fan,

“My heart... The doctor said it won’t last.” “How’d you end up like this again?” “Fell from a sake barrel, I tell ya.” “Was gettin’ fifteen yen workin’ at Kameyama, but from the start—now that it’s come to this—it’s all ruined.” “The doctor said it won’t last, so I’ve resigned myself.” “Hmm, that’s a pitiful story. Been so long since I last saw you, I’d clean forgotten what you looked like.” “How many years has it been now?” “Nine years.”

“Has it really been that long now? How old are you—so that’s forty?”

“Forty-two.” “Forty-two?” “Well, that’s your unlucky year.” “It’s my unlucky year—can’t be helped. This year, no matter what, I’ve got to become a burden.” “I see, forty-two? Well, sit down over there.” “And you were working at a sake shop in Kameyama?” “It was a sake shop—I was gettin’ fifteen yen, but I went and tumbled headlong into a sake barrel.” “The doctor said straight out you won’t last.” “My heart... It’s done something terrible.” When Akizō caught sight of Kanji’s figure swaying by the water jar in the back, he stepped outside silently, trying to muffle his footsteps. But when he realized that he himself feared Kanji, he stuck out his tongue slightly and laughed, then walked off toward the north as he was.

When Kanji came from the backyard into the shop area, he caught sight of Akizō’s figure departing under the shade of a nandina, his back turned. “Was that Aki-kō who just came?” “You—Aki brought Anji here for you.”

Anji suddenly stood up from the garden, “Aki-kō! Hey, Aki-kō!” he called out loudly.

Kanji did not want to meet Akizō. “Anji? You’ve aged something fierce,” he cut off Anji’s call. “Yeah, once I’ve gotten this run-down, it’s all over.” “Not like I can go back anywhere, though.” “It’s finally gotten me.” “My heart...” “You… That damn doctor said it won’t last.” “There’s no way around it.” “Look at this state of mine.”

“What’s wrong?” “Took a tumble from a sake barrel—see? That’s what did me in.” Anji clutched at his chest. “Huh. Still clinging to life here?” “You’d love me dead, wouldn’t ya? But when luck’s rotten, it’s rotten—not a scratch on me.” “Tried squeezing cash from the boss? He just sneered—said it’s my own damn fault for getting sick.” “Didn’t cough up a single bent sen—just kicked me out instead.” “Figures why you’re pale as ash.” “Ain’t that right.”

“And where are you off to now?” “Where? Like I’ve got anywhere to go. I’d come back thinkin’ to impose on the main house, but Aki-kō here, you see, went on about how the southern house was kin and dragged me over. Really, I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Did Aki bring you here?” “Yeah, Aki said you’re the only kin here.” “Go to the main house. Go on.” “Who cares? I’ll take you there.” “That bastard’s a real sly one!” “Can I ask this of you?” “Course. That brat’s a hopeless case.” “Please, do that for me.” “I’ve got no gifts, but here’s two yen fifty sen. Couldn’t you put this to some use?” “The hell I need that.” “Don’t you need it? I’m beggin’ you.”

“Let’s go, let’s go.”

“Wait a moment, Oshimo-san—is there any food? I’m starving, I’m starving.” “Food? You’re asking now? It’s right before dinner—we’re about to start cooking.” “Even just a little would be fine.” “Then I’ll go take a look.”

Oshimo entered the kitchen. Kanji went out front and looked north, but Akizō’s figure had already vanished beyond the bamboo thicket. He thought he would have to clash with Akizō once again. And in his heart, he tried once to construct a rationale—that he was not objecting to taking Anji in but was instead enraged at Akizō’s cunning. But in reality, just as Akizō and his own mother Oshimo had done, he calculated in an instant all the various unpleasantries and expenses involved in keeping a sick beggar as a dependent.

Oshimo mixed barley flour with tea and gave it to Anji. “There’s not a speck of rice here. If you’ll have this sort of thing, go on and eat.” “Is that so? Thank you kindly, thank you kindly.” “If there’s not enough salt, say so.” “It’s quite alright, quite alright.” Anji peered over the edge of the bowl and worked his mouth. “This is good—is it barley flour?”

“This here’s barley. How’s the salt?” “The seasoning’s spot on—this is delicious, Oshimo-san. I’ve got a sharp tongue for liquor strength, you know. Back in Kameyama once, even when I wasn’t around, the warehouse managed just fine.” Kanji found waiting for Anji grating. He briefly considered going alone to challenge Akizō’s underhandedness, but realizing this would backfire on him too, he seethed anew at Akizō’s cunning ploy—dragging Anji over to cling to him now of all times.

Anji, having finished eating, gazed at the canned goods shelf for a while. “Sardines are tasty stuff,” he muttered to himself.

The smoke came swirling in again from the direction of the bathhouse. Oshimo stood up upon hearing the sound of the laundry pole coming loose. “Oshimo-san. Could you let me have a puff of tobacco?”

“Anji, let’s go.” Kanji said. “Can’t you just go by yourself?” “You won’t get anywhere if you don’t go.” “Can I even walk anymore—so terribly weak?” “It’s just that short distance—once we get there, it’ll be wrapped up.” “You think acting shamelessly like this is gonna get you anywhere?”

“Just wait. “I might not last through tonight.” “You think saying that will get us anywhere?” “Oh, I can’t take this anymore.” “Let’s go, let’s go. If things go wrong, I’ll take the blame.” “Enough already.”

“Let’s go, let’s go! What’s the matter!” Kanji grabbed Anji’s wrist. Anji bent both legs into a diamond shape and stood up.

Five

Akizō had thought of going out to sow barley seeds. But since it seemed certain Kanji would soon bring Anji over, he couldn’t bring himself to go far. And so, while splitting firewood at the eaves, he intermittently listened for voices inside the house.

Orui, Akizō’s well-fed mother, returned from making the rounds through the villages, carrying a bundle of old clothes on her back.

“Today, a horse fell from Tanuki Bridge.”

After entering the inner courtyard where no one could see her and announcing this loudly, she set down her bundle at the edge of the veranda and wiped her face. But when she remembered she was supposed to go to the toilet, she hitched up her hem and started toward the back door, but when her eyes caught sight of the earthenware teapot in the kitchen, she noticed that her throat was parched again. She tilted the earthenware teapot and drank the water. At that moment, Kanji brought Anji in. “Is Akizō here?” “You know today, a horse fell right off Tanuki Bridge—now that’s something!” Orui said.

“Hey, Aki-kō! He just came over to my place.” “I don’t know a thing,” she said. “I just got back myself though. You should’ve seen that horse—toppled sideways and plunged into the water with a splash! Horses are something else! Don’t you go springing back up now! Oh! What’s this—you’re Anji!” “He came a while ago,” she added, “but you don’t need to be here.” Anji sat down on the veranda edge while stroking his tense shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” “It’s exactly how it looks.”

“I see.” “Anji.” “Where have you been all this time!” “Kameyama.” “Kameyama? So you were nearby all this time? What’s wrong with you—you’ve gotten so thin! You look like you’ve been possessed by the Grim Reaper, don’t you?” “No good.” “No good? What’s wrong with you?” “The doctor already told you it won’t last—my heart.” “It’s hopeless from the start.”

“Your heart... That’s a real problem, isn’t it?” “Just gimme a sec.” Orui, flustered, went to the toilet. Then, upon returning, she took out a blank sheet of paper from the cupboard drawer, wrapped one yen in it, came back out, and silently pressed it into Anji’s hand.

“I can’t, I can’t! Can’t have you doin’ this no more,” Anji said, pushing it back. But Orui forced the bills into his hand. “You takin’ medicine?” “Nah, ain’t got no mind for it these days.” “Auntie,” Kanji cut in, “Aki came ‘round earlier sayin’ I gotta keep Anji at my place. Can’t be doin’ that.” “What’s this now?” “I ain’t know a lick ‘bout it.” “Aki-kō’s a right bastard—draggin’ this sickly thing into my place whether he will or no.”

“Hmm, ain’t sure. Where’d he go off to, I wonder.”

“That guy’s truly a piece of work! Even though he went out of his way to come begging to the main house, he drags him over to my place—no matter how you slice it, this is going too far!” “I can just stay at my own place.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Akizō shouted, barging in through the back door.

“Aki-kō, you’re goin’ too far!” Kanji said. “What’s cruel about that? You’re the branch family. What’s wrong with your lot takin’ him in?” “You’re the one from the main house, ain’t ya? Actin’ all high-and-mighty like the main house, then tryin’ to palm him off on the branch family—how d’you even stomach that?”

“Main house? You idiot! What part of this looks like a main house?” “Go verify that first before spouting your nonsense!” “If Anji kept yammering about the main house, you should’ve figured it out then!” “What reason would he have to come begging to someone who ain’t even the main house?”

“What kinda main house from how many generations back? Who’d even know!” “If my shack counts as a main house, then anywhere’s a main house!” “You think anyone cares where some deadbeat roach like this croaks?” “Cut it out already!” “Brawling in broad daylight?!” Orui snapped.

“Mother, wouldn’t it be better if you just kept quiet?”

“Aki-kō, I’m beggin’ ya.” “Anywhere’s fine—jus’ lemme sleep there,” Anji said. “Quit yer yappin’!” “You lot—why’re ya callin’ my place the main house?” “Where’d ya even hear that?” “If yer gonna come to another’s home, do it proper-like.” “No need to holler so loud,” Orui said. “Nah—gotta scare this bastard straight with our voices, or who knows what he’ll pull.” “Enough o’ this nonsense! Leave ’im be!”

“If we’re gonna keep this guy around, we’d be better off wearing stone helmets.”

Kanji thought now was the time to withdraw. And then, just as he was about to leave in silence, Akizō called out to stop him. “Kan-kō, what do you plan to do with this guy?” “What do you mean, ‘what to do’? I don’t know anything about this mess.” “Don’t know?!” “Say it again!” “I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t know nothin’ about this mess.”

Kanji left without looking back. Akizō took two or three steps as if to chase after Kanji but then turned back, grabbed the collar of Anji—who lay sprawled on the veranda—and yanked him up.

“Quit lying around, you!” “Just give it a rest already.” “Patience? A loofah? Like hell there is! Get your ass to the south! To the south!” “You’re about to drop dead already.” “If you can stand, then stand the hell up!”

Anji, still crouched with his angry shoulder thrust upward, was dragged scraping across the ground to the doorway. “Instead of all that, just let him rest here,” Orui said.

“What’s this brat pulling with his fake illness? No way he can’t walk that short distance!” “It hurts! It hurts! It really hurts!” Anji said. “Shut your mouth! Walk! Walk!”

Akizō hurriedly dragged Anji and, while keeping watch on Kanji, made his way south once more. When Orui saw the one-yen bill she had given Anji lying fallen in the garden, she considered running over to return it to him—but then worried this might seem like she was trying to drive him away instead, and—

“Well, that’s fine,” she muttered. Rather than that, she thought it would be better to give him another yen next time—that way, offsetting her son’s cruelty might even earn her some merit. She returned to the kitchen and, tipping the earthenware teapot, drank some more hot water.

Six Kanji keenly felt Akizō’s gaze chasing him from behind against his back. His pace gradually quickened. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to look back. As he rounded the bamboo thicket, he suddenly broke into a run—but by the time it struck him that unless he relented first, they’d be stuck passing Anji back and forth forever like this, his legs had already gone sluggish. And when it occurred to him that seizing the initiative to magnanimously take Anji from Akizō might serve as a masterstroke—both making his enemy acutely feel the weight of his wealth’s authority and tormenting that same enemy’s conscience with his own immorality—he was already home, testing the bathwater’s heat with his fingertips. But then he recalled his lover’s face and pondered further. If she were to learn of this charitable act— Surely it would hasten their blessed wedding day.

Akizō arrived. Like a groom clutching insufficient wages, he dragged Anji roughly, While calling out, “Kanji! Kanji!”, he came inside. Kanji silently greeted him. “Hey Kan-kō, don’t you dare run away.” “Apologies for making you come all this way, time and again.” Akizō couldn’t quite grasp the intent behind Kanji’s sudden calm smile and his manner of presenting himself. “Anji, you settle in here. If you come to my place again next time, I’ll beat the hell out of you.” Anji remained crouched at the doorway and looked down,

“Just do whatever you want with me,” he said in a small voice. “For now, you can stay here. You’ll get better in there.” When Kanji said that calmly, Anji suddenly spoke up in a lively, rapid voice. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He continued to kowtow repeatedly while saying this. The calmer Kanji became, the more crisply the depths of his chest began to stir. But when Akizō saw through Kanji’s feelings, the anger that had been rising within him suddenly snapped and twisted into a sense of insult. At the same time as he felt a deep-seated hatred toward Anji’s weakness welling up from his gut, his palm suddenly struck the cheek of the kowtowing Anji with a smack.

“Get well soon.” Akizō flashed a mocking smile at Kanji. “Alright? I’m counting on you,” he said, then stood up energetically and headed out front. Kanji felt a coldness like a chilly wind from Akizō’s smile. He remained motionless for some time, staring at the garden. “I’m sorry for causing such trouble. Thank you kindly, thank you kindly.”

The more Anji kowtowed to him, the more Kanji strangely felt a growing contempt. He silently moved to stand by the back well. Yet recalling Akizō’s cold smile made his body stiffen rigidly. He wanted to chase Akizō down and pummel him with every ounce of his strength. He even wished to postpone his marriage to his lover forever as things stood. And if he could cast Anji out in the cruelest way possible, he believed he might instantly overturn Akizō’s mockery.

Seven Anji came out to the back entrance while tying the strings of his loincloth and sat down on the stone pedestal beside the puddle. He stretched his neck slightly as if listening to a distant sound, a habitual faint smile playing on his lips as he gazed at the water greens field. A flock of several chickens circled around the straw hut and, one by one from under the pear tree, quietly approached him. “Nice bantams,” Anji muttered while gazing at the flock of chickens. Oshimo appeared from behind the straw hut, chasing a lagging chicken with one foot while carrying a daikon radish.

“You’re here again?” “I’ve become a burden again. I’m sorry, but please take care of me.” “Nice bantams.” “This one lays pretty big eggs, doesn’t she?” “Where’s Kan?” “Well… He was just wandering around over there a moment ago.” Anji took out the rolled-up bills from his loincloth. “Oshimo-san. “Could you keep this for me?” “There’s two yen and fifty sen here. Maybe it could help with something.” “If I keep this much for you, what’ll you do if you go and spend it all?” Oshimo said with a laugh.

“If you use it for something, that’d be just fine.” “Please keep it. I feel bad it’s just leftovers, but that’s all I’ve got.” “Well, you just take it.” “If people say Oshimo-san took Anji’s money, that’d be a problem.”

Oshimo entered the house and cut the daikon. Anji rolled the bills into his loincloth again,

“Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck.”

while calling out, he reached his hand toward the chickens. The sound of a hoe digging up soil could be heard somewhere. From above the vegetable garden rose a wisp of white smoke, swaying gently westward. When Kanji came out of the storehouse carrying a straw bag, he noticed Anji sitting alone on the stone pedestal, ignored by everyone. It was the air of a frail, abandoned person, and it suddenly came pressing upon his heart. Then Kanji abruptly began to feel an entirely different kind of affection toward Anji.

“Anji, how about I treat you to a feast tonight?” “No—that’s quite all right.” “The bath’s ready—why don’t you get in?” “It’s no good—if you go in there, you’ll get done in.” “Even so, you can’t go without entering forever.” “Well, you haven’t gone in for near two months now.” “Two months?” Anji took out the bills from his loincloth again and offered them to Kanji, who had approached. “Could you take this?” “There’s two yen and fifty sen here. Maybe it could help with something.”

“Why don’t you just keep it yourself?” “This thing’s such a nuisance—can’t stand it anymore.” Kanji became uncomfortable again seeing Anji’s fawning manner. He entered the inner garden and set down the straw bag, where Oshimo—who had been by the sink—approached him with a stern face. “What exactly d’you think you’re doin’, bringin’ someone like that in here?” “Just leave him be.” “If you’re tellin’ me to leave him be, where exactly you plannin’ to put him?” “Disgusting!” “I don’t know about this.” “You take care of him yourself then.”

“Fine.” “There’s nothing ‘fine’ about this! Where exactly d’you plan to put him up? If it’s just feedin’ him, I could still stomach that! But if he plants himself down and we can’t move a muscle—what then?!” “Just leave him be already!”

“If leaving him be would settle things, that’d be just fine.” “More importantly—where’re you gonna have him sleep? The inner room?”

“Just leave him in the shed.” “You fool—if he dies there on you.” “When May comes and we need to raise silkworms at night—who’d dare go there scared stiff?” “Your idiocy never ceases to astound me.” “Wasn’t it Aki who brought him here? Take it up with Aki.” “That Aki brat’s beyond hopeless.” “Not knowing an ounce of gratitude—dragging that wretch over here! Tonight I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind!” Oshimo muttered as she resumed cutting daikon.

“How much rice are we to give?” “If there’s no one bringing anything, you go and drag in some beggar patient like that!” “The rice.”

“One *to*’s enough,” Oshimo barked at her son.

Eight When Oshimo proposed taking Anji to Akizō’s house that night, Kanji recalled the generous front he had put up when taking Anji in earlier in front of Akizō. This was troubling. Yet when he considered that it wasn’t himself rejecting Anji, he felt a measure of relief. What’s more, knowing his mother alone stood no chance of persuading Akizō, he concluded Anji would inevitably wind up back at his own house anyway. As for Oshimo heading out, he—wanting to avoid a parent-child spat—stayed silent to let her alone know he outwardly shared her stance. But he objected to taking Anji along. Still, unless he made Akizō aware of his true feelings, what purpose would all his efforts serve? With that thought, Akizō’s taunts materialized vividly in his mind. But so long as he resolved to take Anji in, he believed the strength to defy his rival’s scorn would arise of its own accord.

Nine Akizō’s mother finished shelling a colander of beans. Then her sister Oshimo wordlessly stepped inside alone.

“Oh Sis! Perfect timing! Listen—there’s this raw silk crepe *maruobi* sash going cheap! You oughta buy it!” Orui said. “Forget that! That Aki brat of yours—utterly useless! First he blathers about Kabunai kinship ties, then drags that Anji wretch to my doorstep! If your house can’t handle him, mine shouldn’t either!” snapped Oshimo.

“No matter how much you tell Aki, he won’t listen.” “Don’t pay any mind to what someone like that says.” “Even if he was dragged here, how am I supposed to stay quiet about it?” “Bring him over to our house.” “It’s the same anywhere, isn’t it?” “Hey Sis, if you bring that secondhand one over, I can really show it to you, you know?” “There’s a small stain on the Ori-tome one, but I’ll set it at two yen fifty sen.” “Don’t want it. I don’t have the money.” “It’ll sell out quick, so you’ve got to act now.” “The money can wait anytime.” “Mrs. Sansō from Kamimura has asked for it. If you don’t want it, Sis, I’ll take it over there.”

“Even if we had the means, there’s nowhere to show it off.” “If you keep talking like that, you might as well go naked—why don’t you just take a look once?”

After Orui went and stood in the inner room, Akizō returned from the front carrying the cattle gruel. “Aki, you’re really something, aren’t you? You’ve finally gone and foisted Anji on my household,” Oshimo said.

Akizō realized Oshimo’s reason for coming, and a gratifying feeling spread through his chest. He said with a smirk. “Foist him on you? Kan was the one who took him in.” “Wasn’t Kan the one who took him in?” “Go ask Kan. Ask Kan.” “If you don’t bring him here, who’ll take him in?” “That’s you—since your place is Kabunai*, it’s only natural that I bring him over.” “You keep yapping about Kabunai* this and Kabunai that—even if we share the same surname and that makes us Kabunai*, you go and selfishly drag him over to my place, causing trouble for us right off the bat!”

“Even if it’s settled, how could we not get stuck with trouble from someone like that?” “Then why’d you bring him to my place?” “A stingy old hag like Auntie oughta look after that guy at least once.”

“You’re such a hopeless bastard—boil you or roast you, you’re still inedible!” “You karma-cursed wretch!” “You’re fighting again.” “Just stop it already,” Orui said, coming out holding the sash. “Who’d fight with such a stingy old hag?” Akizō laughed. “I’m telling you to shut up!” “What am I supposed to do with this brute?!” Oshimo glared at Akizō and said.

“Look at this, Sis.” “It’s got a nice luster, see?” “It’s just a shame there’s a small stain on it.” Oshimo did not even glance at the offered maruobi sash,

“I’ll make you regret this, remember that,” she said again.

“Go home, go home,” Akizō said, and started heading toward the inner garden.

“What’re you saying?!” “Sis, quit botherin’ with that bastard—just take a gander at this sash here.” “I don’t give a damn about that.” “Forget it—if we don’t sort out Anji’s mess, my place’ll be stuck with him.” “If it’s Anji, just dump him here.” “C’mon, get your hands on it.” “Even secondhand, come nightfall it’ll pass for brand-new.” “Fine—I’ll haul Anji over.” “You can show me that sash proper-like later.”

“No good! No good!” Akizō shouted, then came running from the inner garden carrying a ladle. “We could just keep him at our place, you know,” said Orui. “No good.” “If you keep saying things like that, there’s no way to handle it, is there?” “No good. No good.” “You’re such a strange one. That poor thing on death’s doorstep has nowhere left to go. It’s pitiful.” “If I have to stay with a rotten sardine like that, maggots’ll crawl out.”

“Stop talking such nonsense.” “I said no good!” “If the southern one takes him in, that’s all that matters.”

“If maggots infest your place, they’ll infest mine too,” Oshimo said. “Kan’s the one who took him in.” “If there’s a shortage, just toss him out anywhere.” “How the hell does that have anything to do with my place now?” “Even if Kan took him in, Kan—you’re the one who dragged him here by force and dumped him. That’s all it is, isn’t it?” “Go ask Kan how he put it.” “But Kan said he didn’t know anything about it.”

“He doesn’t know? Fine then! Go call Kan here! I’ll beat the hell out of him!” “Aki, just be quiet already!” Orui scolded. “No! That Kan-brat put on his big act of taking him in, but if you’re gonna spew that crap, I’ve got plans too!” “Enough already! That’s enough already.” “You think they’ll understand if you don’t spell it out? Go call Kan here! Kan!” “Sis, now that it’s come to this, there’s truly no end to it. Let Anji stay at your place just for tonight.”

“We can’t be expected to step into a tar pit like that,” Oshimo said. “One night’s fine.” “Then tomorrow let’s build a hut somewhere—like next to the persimmon tree in Kiyomizo. If we just throw it up with straw, it’s no trouble at all. It’ll be done in half a day.”

“Even so, you think it’ll cost around fifteen or sixteen yen?” “That much would be needed.” “But since there aren’t even tile fragments left, building it with just straw will hold up fine later on. Why don’t we do that?” “Wouldn’t that require twenty or thirty bundles of straw?” “That’s nothing—it’s a trifling cost.” “If you take care of someone like Anji, it’ll earn you merit, you know.”

“Do you think it can be built by midday?” “If we just focus on that, it should be built in half a day, don’t you think? Why don’t we all build it together? Then I’ll bring him rice gruel every day or so, and we can just leave him at your place, Sis.” “Shall we do that? Will thirty bundles of straw be enough, you?” “It’s more than enough. A small one about three-tatami-mat-sized would do just fine. Then Anji can settle down there for life. Isn’t that a blessing?”

“Just dump him.” Akizō said with a laugh. “Quit your idiot talk!” Orui scolded. “Let that worthless thing die unseen somewhere.” “You’re cursed for this!” “If I’m cursed, then Auntie from the south’s whole lot should’ve dropped dead from divine wrath years ago.” “Eh, Auntie?” “Look at this!” Orui said, glaring at her sister. Oshimo sat silent as if calculating something, but

“If you’re going to build a hut, why not have the association do it?” she proposed.

“If the association builds it, that’d be just fine.” “They’ll build it alright.” “Why don’t we consult the group leader once?” “Do whatever you please!” Akizō said and retreated into the inner garden. “If you go about it like that, this’ll drag on forever,” Orui said. “Even so—truth is, the association’s gotta take him in. Your lot’s been crowing about being the main house since olden days, but that’s just empty talk. You never had any special ties with Anji.” “And even if we call ourselves relatives, there’s nothing solid about that either. The association’s gotta take him.” “Right? That’s how it is.” “Meanwhile, I’ll keep Anji at my place.”

“Do you really think it’ll work out that neatly?” “Well, let’s just take on whatever comes our way.” “We’ll go talk to the group leader.” “Should we try that?” “Hear me?” “I’m heading out now. I’ll handle whatever crops up.” “All that ‘main house’ and ‘relatives’ talk—just empty titles.” “I’ll be back shortly.”

Oshimo went outside.

“Stingy hag!” Akizō shouted from the inner garden. However, Oshimo’s growing defiance toward Kanji delighted him all the more. “This is priceless! Absolutely priceless!” Akizō exclaimed, slapping his knees in glee. Orui held her maruobi sash under the lamp to inspect the stain. She gave it a light scratch with her pinky nail. “Why don’t you take this to Sis?” she said, retreating back into the inner room.

Ten

When Kanji learned that Anji’s hut had been definitively decided to be built by the association, he regretted sending his mother to Akizō’s house that night. However, even though this was now the best course for everyone, must I go so far as to forcibly destroy it just to demonstrate my benevolence to Akizō? But more than that—just who was Akizō? As he thought this, his own cunning seemed to intensify. If he could now brazenly shift all future burdens that his family ought to bear onto Akizō’s shoulders, he imagined how sharply that vivid act of betrayal would pierce Akizō’s heart.

For the first time, he felt a buoyant cheerfulness, as though he had finally exacted his revenge upon Akizō.

Eleven

A week later, a small straw hut had been built beside the ditch. There was vacant land belonging to Akizō’s house.

By that day, Anji could no longer walk freely. He was carried from the shed at Kanji’s house to the new hut on a door plank. When Kanji thought that Anji had completely slipped from his hands, he realized his attitude toward Anji until now had been entirely a performance orchestrated by Akizō’s manipulations. But he felt no particular regret. However, after coming to bitterly regret having lost the chance to showcase his benevolence to his lover, he grew furious at his own timidity for being so thoroughly puppeteered by Akizō. But where in his heart must he lock away that single magnanimous act—the one he had once performed before his enemy? His displeasure deepened.

“Since that nuisance has left, I feel so relieved.” “If someone like that stays at my place, I’ll catch a disease myself.” Oshimo said to Kanji while cleaning up after Anji had left. Kanji felt an urge to lash out at his mother for some reason but remained silent. “Even so, thanks to your doing, I lost three of my quilts.” “Those quilts are handwoven, and they aren’t even that worn out yet.” “You never do anything right.” “Who’d bring him here on purpose?!” the son said sharply. Oshimo wondered why her son had flown into a rage.

“If you hadn’t done unnecessary things, who would have come?!” she retorted. “Don’t go griping about it after the fact!” “I said it! I said it!” “I’m appalled even by your stupidity!” “You’re the one ranting on your own!” “You’re always doing unnecessary things.” “You never think of anything except reducing your family’s fortune!” “What’s the big deal about one measly Anji?” “And you don’t even realize how humiliating it is to go shuffling off to the association like that?!” “What are you saying?!”

Oshimo stared at Kanji. “Stingy hag!” Kanji went outside the hut.

Oshimo had no idea why Kanji was angry. But had there ever been an instance of her own stinginess that arose from a thought that didn’t consider Kanji? She wanted to chase after him and hurl all her vexation at him. Then tears overflowed.

Twelve

When Oshimo went to see Anji’s hut, the association members had already left. “I’ve done nothing but cause trouble for you. I’m truly sorry.”

When Anji saw Oshimo, he said in a weak voice. When Oshimo sensed what seemed like genuine gratitude in his voice, she felt cheerful for the first time. “The weather’s nice today, so you must be feeling good. But if you stay here, you’ll make a proper retiree, won’t you?” She briefly glanced at the quilt she had lent that Anji was wearing. She briefly considered whether the quilt would still be of use after he died, but the better she felt about herself, the more grateful she became, believing that her virtue in caring for Anji might even obliterate her late husband’s “suffering in the afterlife.” She rolled up the straw mat door at the entrance. Sunlight streamed into the new hut, filling it completely. Deep shadows settled into the hollows of the patient’s cheeks, eye sockets, and throat. Oshimo sat down on the floor and, enraptured, gazed at the well-trimmed, undulating rows of tea fields spread out before her. From the depths of the deep ditch behind the hut came the sound of flowing water. The sound of a pack horse’s hooves crossing the stone bridge could also be heard. And the sated sparrows, perched on the sagging power line, continued their futile chirping even as they swelled ever more plumply and settled in place.

“Sis, sorry, I just went to the doctor’s place.” “They’ll probably be coming soon.”

After a while, Oshimo was awakened by Orui and looked at her.

“How’s it going? Feeling a bit better?” Orui peered at Anji and asked.

“I’m real sorry for causing trouble to everyone.” Oshimo detected a sense of gratitude even in Anji’s voice as he spoke those words to her sister. And now, as anxiety arose within her—wondering if the “Buddha’s blessings” she had been entrusted with might be unfairly diverted toward her sister—she felt a faint twinge of jealousy toward Orui, who had gone to fetch the doctor before she could.

“Is there anything you want?” Oshimo asked Anji. “I’m fine.” “You had some money the other day—what happened to it? Wouldn’t it have been better to buy whatever you wanted with that much?” “I burned it all up in the fire.” “Burned it!”

“It’s become such a nuisance.” “How pointless! What did burning all that even accomplish?” “What good came from torching any of it?!” “He’s half mad already,” said Orui.

The two of them silently gazed at Anji’s emaciated face for a while. Then, both of them, in the same way, began to feel terrified as they sensed that the patient was already in a mysterious, distant world far removed from their own. But right afterward, Oshimo regretted not having kept the paper money when the patient had asked her to hold onto it for him. But when Orui remembered the money envelope she had set aside to give to Anji and still left untouched, she felt happy, thinking that having forgotten about it until now was ultimately how the Buddha had granted her that much.

Thirteen

Frost had fallen.

As dawn began to break, the day would soon clear up completely. Over the withered forms of the mountains drifted a green haze. The usual sparrows had been plucking straw strands from Anji’s new hut since early morning and returning to their nests. However, a single hungry sparrow landed before the hut and, kicking up frost in quick little steps, slipped through a gap in the sagging straw-mat door into its interior.

Inside, Anji lay with his shoulders—mottled purple and rigid—jutting out from the futon, his fingers splayed to either side and curled sharply like the claws of a throttled crane, gone cold. But the sparrow could not find even a single grain of food. Then, after circling inside the hut while chirping faintly, it came back out and flew off toward the tea fields, kicking up frost as it hopped away.

Fourteen On the country paths, the frost pillars began to crumble. Oshimo, clutching a small bowl filled with porridge, “This is terrible, this is terrible! Anji’s dead! I brought hot porridge to feed him, but he’s already dead!” she cried as she rushed in through the back door of Akizō’s house.

At Oshimo’s shout, Orui came out from the storeroom. Akizō came rushing out of the straw hut. When the two ran to Anji’s hut, Oshimo ran straight back to her own house and said to Kanji: “You’re in a real fix now.” “Anji’s dead.” “I went to the trouble of bringing him hot porridge, but it’s gone cold and he’s dead.” “He’s dead?!”

“This is terrible, this is terrible!” After placing the small bowl in the kitchen, Oshimo hesitated over what to do next—but no major incident had occurred after all. She realized she was just flustered all on her own. But she failed to notice that, somewhere within that fluster, a feeling clearer than usual had been flowing.

Fifteen

Kanji and Oshimo immediately went back to Anji’s hut. Kanji had not wanted to go at first—he found it unpleasant to face Akizō—but since refusing would only make it seem like he feared him, he ended up coming to the hut with a feeling of being dragged along by his mother, unsure even himself when he had resolved to do so. “Hey, rejoice! The guy’s kicked the bucket.”

As soon as he saw Kanji, Akizō smiled a sardonic smile and spoke. When Kanji detected the mockery he had once known in Akizō’s smile, fury surged through his chest. But having that seen through grated on him. He ripped off the straw-mat door hanging at the entrance, “We don’t need this damn nuisance,” he deflected.

“Why don’t you ask Auntie? She’d probably hang it on the god shelf.” Kanji glared briefly at Akizō but then silently spread a straw mat over the frost-thawed damp path and stepped on it. “What the hell are you going to do if you all just stand around like this?” said Oshimo.

“Should we call the priest?” said Orui.

“Forget that—the coffin’s what matters most.” “What about the coffin?” said Akizō. “When my old man died, we had a coffin too, but even that cost eight yen,” said Oshimo. “It was six-bu planks,” “Well, that one would cost around that much.” “If we use cedar four-bu planks, we could make it for five yen,” said Orui. “He must’ve suffered something awful.” Kanji said this while fiddling with Anji’s fingertips, which had turned purple,

“Must’ve been agony for him, don’t you reckon? Poor soul—not a soul around to even give him a proper drink of water,” said Orui. “Live like trash, die like trash—that’s how it goes,” said Oshimo. “What about the coffin?” Akizō pressed again. “A box coffin’ll do.” “Three yen oughta cover that.” “How ’bout a sleeping coffin? Cheaper, yeah?” “Sleeping coffins cost a fortune! Ten ryō even if you skimp on everything!”

“Oh really?” “Then it’s the box coffin.” “Well, Auntie.” “Can’t you splurge just this once?” “Auntie.” “Auntie—when it’s something that’ll bring a loss, you just dump everything on me.” “Our house already gave a futon, didn’t we?” “Your household can do it.” “But come on, didn’t Kan handle everything?” “Yet you’re still shoving it all onto their group.” “It’s fine to at least make a coffin.”

“If our household does it, that’s fine,” Orui scolded Akizō. “I’ll do it,” said Kanji. “See there?” Akizō goaded him—and the more he saw the veins of anger surfacing on Kanji’s forehead, the more effortlessly his sarcastic words seemed poised to flow. “Kan,” Oshimo proposed, “we’ve got plenty of beer crates at home—what if we made one from those?” Akizō grinned slyly. “Perfect.” “Eight-bu planks—if they build it with that scrapwood, he’ll be soaring straight to paradise.” “Well now—if it weren’t for Auntie here, we’d never get a decent idea.”

“Hey, that’s really good—three should do it.” “Two would do just fine.” “If they make it with that, even Anji won’t rot so easily.” “That’ll do just fine,” said Orui. “Kan.” “You go home now and put it together real quick, can you?” Kanji returned home in silence. When he thought about how his mother was being manipulated, he considered having a coffin made by a carpenter instead. However, to resist Akizō at every turn also seemed rather childish. Yet he could no longer endure Akizō’s attitude—Akizō, who kept trying to poke at his weak spot: this very weak spot of having foisted Anji onto the group, a point he could not escape even if he alone denied it as something he hadn’t known about. He took down the beer crates from the shelf and, one by one, removed the planks with a hammer. While prying them apart, imagining himself striking Akizō, his force only grew stronger.

“You brat!” “You brat!” “You brat!” He raised the hammer and struck it down again and again. Then, forgetting entirely that he was supposed to be building a coffin, he soon reduced the three crates into scattered planks amid the increasingly pleasant excitement welling up within him. And, after an hour, the large square box coffin emblazoned with Akizō’s crest had been transported to Anji’s hut.

Sixteen “This is top-notch! If it’s like this, even I’d want to get in though. How about it, Auntie? Try getting in for a bit,” Akizō said to Oshimo, knocking on the box coffin Kanji had made.

“Enough with the jokes. Hurry up and get him in,” said Oshimo. “I don’t recognize this filthy bastard.” “Just keep on saying you don’t know anything.” Oshimo pulled back Anji’s futon and urged Akizō: “Hurry.” “Hey—let’s shove him in. Filthy.” Having said that to Kanji, Akizō knocked the coffin sideways and dragged it toward Anji’s corpse. The two of them tried to haul Anji’s body into the coffin while rolling it. But the corpse’s rigid limbs caught on the edge and refused to fit. Akizō snapped the joints of Anji’s limbs with his knee like breaking dry branches. When they stood the coffin upright, the body slid sideways to the bottom with a hollow thud.

Akizō tried to lift the coffin alone. “This thing’s light as pumice.” “Now now—you can’t go stuffing him in the coffin this early,” said Orui. “We need a doctor’s certificate and to file the death notice at the town office first—or we’ll get scolded.” “Then want me to give it another whack?”

When Akizō gazed at Oshimo and asked this, Oshimo picked up the futon Anji had been wearing and examined it. “Burn that filthy thing up,” Akizō said. “Don’t act so high and mighty! Even this, if you wash it properly, will do just fine.” “You still plan to sleep in that thing?”

“Obviously.” “Stingy hag!” “What do you mean ‘stingy hag’?!” “Oh, come on! With Auntie’s level of stinginess, there’s just no dealing with it.”

Then, Oshimo stretched her back while glaring at Akizō with a harsher expression than usual. “Don’t you dare talk like that! “You! Who do you think you owe being able to put food on your table under your own roof? “It’s all thanks to this stingy aunt here! “Since you don’t even realize that much, quit calling me ‘stingy hag’ without first thinking about the favor someone’s done you!”

“Cut the crap!” “The one my household owes a favor to is your old man.” “If I weren’t here, who’d be granting you lot any favors?!” “Quit bellowing about favors! “You’ve got your own damn place yet go fouling up mine too! If that’s how you dish out favors, take ’em back whenever you damn well please!” Kanji trembled with rage. Then he wordlessly smashed his fist into Akizō’s face from the side. Akizō reeled back. But grabbing the straw door behind him to steady himself,

“What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted, turning around. Kanji swung his fist sideways again. Akizō lunged. In an instant, they grabbed each other’s collars and struck one another as if driving in countless nails. They stopped abruptly and grappled. The mothers screamed. Each tried to pull her own son away. But the tangled pair stood rigid, emitting faint groans as they swayed left and right like a dull pendulum. “You damn brat!”

“Damn you!” Kanji’s body collapsed backward into the coffin while grappling Akizō, overturning it onto the futon with a thud. Anji’s upper torso flew face-first out of the coffin. Four legs thrashed against each other. Each kick from the two men sent Anji’s corpse jerking—its broken hands flailing as if dancing. Then they sprang apart like chestnuts bursting from a fire. Blood streamed from their nostrils. “Agh, damn it!” “What the hell?!”

The two grappled together once more. And then, the two fell heavily onto Anji once more and, drenched in blood, began kicking each other atop the corpse.

(Taishō 10 [1921])