Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

In the village, the autumn harvest was over. The fire brigade appreciation party, which had been postponed since summer, was held in the temple's main hall. At last, the sake began to circulate among the gathering.

At that moment, a sliding paper door suddenly fell inward with a violent crash. At the same moment, the tangled mass of Akisaburō and Kanji rolled into the main hall still locked in combat. The members of the gathering rose to their knees. After a moment, Akisaburō—his arms gripped by the crowd—glared at Kanji while thrusting out his bare shoulder, “Let go! Let go!” he shouted. Kanji remained silent and rigid, persistently trying to press toward Akisaburō. “Not today! I won’t stand for this today!”

“Like hell!” The two men raged like fighting cocks with their wings bound, thrashing within the grip of the crowd.

“Let me go! You think the fire in my gut’ll die down unless I kill this guy?” “Quit your bawling!”

“Like hell!” Akisaburō broke free from the crowd. Then, lunging at Kanji’s chest, the two men collapsed into a tangled heap on the tatami mats. Sake spilled. A sweet potato rolled.

“Throw him out!” “Hit him!” “Good grief.” In the chaos, the tangled mass of two men kicked through the waist-high sliding door. Then, rolling back up onto the high wooden veranda from there, soon their four naked legs kicked through empty air and plunged into the red-berried ardisia bushes in the rear garden. The small pots of kudzu and ginkgo were kicked over. Kanji leapt up. Then, cutting through the backyard and dashing toward the graveyard, Akisaburō puffed out his chest and chased after him.

II

Once the two men were out of sight, the young men in the main hall began drinking again as they tidied the disordered serving arrangements and discussed the cause of their conflict. However, their accounts agreed on nothing except how the sliding door had fallen and that Akisaburō had held the upper hand. Yet this clash between them was no novelty. According to their talk, the two houses stood in northern and southern parts of the village; their mothers were sisters; and though Kanji’s mother was elder, she had married from Akisaburō’s house into Kanji’s father’s household. But from that very night of kinship’s forging, they had become near-strangers. It began when Akisaburō’s grandfather spurned a proposal from Kanji’s father—a poor man of tainted blood—prompting Kanji’s mother to take matters into her own hands and flee to that house. After his grandfather died, Akisaburō’s father squandered their vast fortune and vanished. In contrast, Kanji’s father had risen until he lorded over the village council. Thus when Akisaburō’s house neared ruin and threatened to pass to outsiders, Kanji’s father saw his moment—every sense steeped in vengeance and owed debts—and thought: “Now!” Despite his wife’s protests, he rebuilt her ancestral home only to perish the next year. From then on, Kanji’s house reigned supreme in all matters. And so those attuned to young men’s unbending pride naturally judged even this day’s brawl had sprung from mere drunken needling—a chopstick jab over sake—before raising their cups anew.

However, this rumor kept the village abuzz for many nights. And it continued until around the time when the villagers, as their first task for the approaching winter, began to agonize over selecting firewood mountains.

III

There was still time before evening. Akisaburō boasted to everyone he met about the oak firewood he had brought down from the mountains.

And when he arrived home, a frail male beggar was crouching alone at the entrance with his back turned to him.

“Today’s busy, so come back another time.”

As he tried to enter while still carrying the firewood on his shoulder, “Aki?” said the beggar. Akisaburō had no recollection of ever being addressed so familiarly by a beggar.

“You know me?” “What’s it matter if I know you or not? “You’ve gotten big, haven’t you?”

Akisaburō gazed at the beggar’s face for a while. Then, the beggar looked up at Akisaburō askance with a gaze split into three unfocused points and said, “I’m Anji. “My heart’s shot through. “Yeah… had a real bad time of it.”

Akisaburō was the first to recall the scene of the village sumo he had seen in his childhood. It was a scene where, time and again, only in matches where even losers received prize money would this squint-eyed man charge onto the dohyo regardless of his opponent, be instantly knocked down like a pole by anyone and everyone, yet still descend from the ring with utter seriousness, squinting all the while. He was Anji. After Anji lost what little remained of the family estate along with his parents, he soon vanished from the village with his despised body. By now, nine years had already passed since then. But now, Akisaburō saw him once more.

“Well, you really are Anji, huh?” “What a filthy wreck of a body you’ve become.” “Touch it and the moss’ll peel right off, won’t it?” “Can you call your mother?” “She ain’t here today.” “Where you plannin’ to go now?” Akisaburō crouched beside Anji as he said this, unloading the firewood.

“Where? If I had somewhere to go, that’d be just fine.” “So you came back?” “I came back. The doctor went and said I won’t last. It’s my heart.” “Heart, huh? A mighty refined illness you’ve got there.” “Hmm… It’s time for the death chants. Is your mother not here?” “Do you need something from your mother?” “I was thinkin’ of stayin’ at your place—can I ask you a favor, huh?” “You came to my place?” “Hmm… That quack went and said I won’t last.”

“So you tumbled into my place, huh?” “You—I tumbled off a sake barrel, and my foundation’s already shot.” “Ask your mother for me.” “She’s not here?” “Knock it off.”

Akisaburō stood up. “Hey—I’m begging you! If you could just tell your mother…” Akisaburō remained silent and tried to shoulder the firewood when—

“Your place—isn’t it our Main House? Let me ask this favor,” Anji said. “Our house is the Main House?” “Exactly! Go ask anyone you like.” “Don’t go spoutin’ cursed nonsense.” “Your lot’s called Tanigawa, ain’t ya?” “My place is Yamamoto.”

At that moment, Akisaburō suddenly realized that Kanji’s family and Anji’s family shared the same surname, and that aside from these two households, there wasn’t a single home in the village that went by the surname Tanigawa. If he considered this—if he were to take Anji to Kanji’s house now under the pretext of their being branch family—then what? The more Akisaburō knew about Kanji’s mother’s stinginess, the more vividly he could visualize her panicking. That was indeed a delightful game to him.

And at once, Akisaburō’s earlier resolve to flee the myriad hassles of caring for Anji vanished, replaced entirely by an interest in tormenting Kanji’s household—if only for a single day. “Hey, why don’t you go to Kanji’s place down south? That guy’s your branch family.” “The Fishmongers? Those stingy Fishmongers aren’t our branch family!” “Even so—there’s only one Tanigawa household in this village, ain’t there? They’re your branch family, ain’t they?”

“To begin with, I don’t like that household.” “Don’t go spoutin’ about luxury.” “I’ll drag you there myself.” “Get up.”

“I can’t go there—it’s no good.” “There’s no ‘can’t’ or ‘won’t’ here! You—it’s only natural for you to go crawling over there.” “No, no!” Anji said, waving both hands beside his head as if swimming.

“Quit your whining!” When Akisaburō grabbed Anji by the nape and yanked him up, Anji thrust out his chest and let out strained cries: “Ah! Ah!”

“Hurry up and walk! What a damn nuisance of a beggar!” “I’m starving—won’t you carry me?” “Filthy wretch! You think I’d carry trash like you?” Anji was dragged along, clutching his chest with one hand while a torn three-foot-long strip of cloth trailed from his waist. The fierce anger in his emaciated shoulder mirrored how it had looked when his family still held secure status in this village during his childhood. And what remained unchanged were the steadfast mountains ahead—those same secure peaks that now framed his stumbling figure.

IV

A west wind began to blow. Kanji split mulberry stumps and lit the fire beneath the bathhouse. The smoke assailed Kanji’s eyes from beneath the bathhouse, then swirled into the inner garden and lunged at his mother, who was gazing out toward the front from the entryway step. And then, from beneath the smoke surging toward the store’s canned goods shelf that ran along the ceiling, she—

“Treasure ship! Treasure ship!” Akisaburō declared as he dragged the beggar into the store—a sight that seized her attention. “What’s this infernal noise?” she snapped. “Auntie! A grand prize has arrived! Celebrate!”

Kanji’s mother went out to the store area and looked at the beggar’s face. “Well, isn’t this a surprise! Anji!” “There’s no Anji or lantern here—what a grand highness he is!” Akisaburō looked all around the store area. However, he found meeting Kanji unpleasant. He decided to leave just like that and stepped out beyond the threshold,

“Is Akisaburō-san leaving?” Anji asked. “Enough outta you.” “Tell me! Tell me!” “You’re beggin’ ‘tell me’—ain’t you a damn treasure ship? Just plant your ass there and stay put.” “Wait—I’m comin’ too!” “Shut yer trap! Auntie—this guy’s got nowhere left to crawl. Take him in for a spell.” “You’ve got gall sayin’ that.”

As Kanji’s mother darkened her face and began to speak, Anji struck a pose like a sumo referee drawing his war fan,

“My heart... The doctor told you straight—it’s done for.”

“How in the world did you end up like this again?”

“I fell from a sake barrel, you see. I was working in Kameyama and got fifteen yen, but once it came to this, there was no saving it. The doctor told me straight—it won’t hold out. So I’ve made my peace.” “Hmm, that’s a pitiful tale indeed. It’s 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 truly been that long? Let’s see—that’d make you forty now?” “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 there then.” “And were you working at a sake shop in Kameyama?” “At the sake shop—fifteen yen I was getting—but then you go and tumble into a sake barrel.” “The doctor told you straight it wouldn’t last.” “My heart… It’s done for.”

When Akisaburō saw Kanji’s figure swaying by the water jar in the back, he silently stepped outside, making an effort to muffle his footsteps. But when he realized he was afraid of Kanji, he stuck out his tongue slightly and laughed, then walked off toward the north without another word.

When Kanji came from the backyard to the store area, the figure of Akisaburō—showing his back as he left in the shade of the nandina—caught his eye.

“Was that Akisaburō-san who just came?”

“You—Akisaburō brought Anji here for us.” Anji suddenly stood up from the garden, “Akisaburō-san! Hey, Akisaburō-san!” he called out loudly.

Kanji did not want to meet Akisaburō.

“Anji? You’ve aged like hell,” he cut off Anji’s call. “Yeah, once you start snivelin’ like this, it’s all over. “Not like I could go back, but…” “Finally got done in…” “My heart…” “That damn doc told you straight—it won’t last.” “No way around it.” “This is what I’ve come to.” “What’s wrong?”

“I fell from a sake barrel, you see, and got done in right here.” Anji pressed a hand to his chest. “Hmm… Still not dead and hanging around here?” “Dying’d be a blessing for you, but when luck’s rotten, it’s rotten—not a single scratch on me.” “Even if I thought about getting the boss to pay up, it’s just my own damn illness.” “He didn’t even cough up a single penny—went and fired me instead, you.” “I see. That’s why your face is so pale.”

“You’re telling me.”

“And where are you headed now?”

“What do you mean ‘where’? I’ve got nowhere to go! I came back thinkin’ to impose on the main house, but Akisaburō-san here—he goes and drags me over, spoutin’ how the South house is your branch family. I’m really sorry about this.”

“Did Akisaburō bring you here?” “Yeah, Akisaburō was spoutin’ how the branch family’s right here with you.”

“Go to the main house. To the main house!” “Who cares? I’ll take you there myself.” “That bastard’s a real snake!” “Can’t you ask ’em for me?”

“Sure thing. That brat’s a hopeless case.” “Please do that for me.” “I ain’t got no gifts or nothin’, but I’ve got two yen and fifty sen here—can’t you do somethin’ for me?” “As if I need that!” “You don’t want it? I’m beggin’ you.” “Go on, get going.” “Wait a second, Oshimo-san—you got any food? I’m starvin’, I’m starvin’.” “Food? “You—it’s almost dinnertime; we’re about to start cooking now.” “Even just a little bit’d do…”

“Then I’ll go check for you.”

Oshimo entered the kitchen.

Kanji stepped outside and looked north, but Akisaburō’s figure had already vanished beyond the bamboo thicket. He thought he would have to fight Akisaburō again. And in his mind, he tried to reason that he wasn’t objecting to taking Anji in—it was Akisaburō’s cunning that had him so furious. But in reality, just as Akisaburō and his mother Oshimo had done, he instantly calculated all the various unpleasantries and expenses involved in keeping a sick beggar as a charity case.

Oshimo mixed barley flour with tea and gave it to Anji. "There’s not a grain of food left. If you’ll settle for this stuff, go ahead and eat." "Is that so? Thank you kindly, thank you kindly." "If there’s not enough salt, just say so." "That’s fine, that’s fine." Anji raised his eyes from the bowl and moved his mouth. "This is good—is it barley flour?" "This is barley. How’s the salt?"

“The salt’s just right—this is tasty! Oshimo-san, I’ve got a good tongue for gauging sake strength, y’know? Back in Kameyama, when I wasn’t around, that warehouse couldn’t hold together.” Kanji grew impatient waiting for Anji. He even considered going out alone to confront Akisaburō’s cunning, but upon realizing that would backfire on himself, he grew furious again at Akisaburō’s shrewd maneuver of dragging Anji here now and clinging to him.

After Anji finished eating, he gazed at the canned goods shelf for a while,

“Barley’s 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 off.

“Oshimo-san. Could you let me have one puff of tobacco?” “Anji, let’s go.” Kanji said.

“Can’t you go there and come back by yourself?” “If you don’t go, nothin’ll get settled.” “Can you even walk, draggin’ yourself along like that?” “It’s barely any distance! Once we get there, they’ll have shut us out.” “You think spoutin’ that kinda talk while actin’ all shameless is gonna get you anywhere?” “Endure it.” “You might just croak by tonight or somethin’.”

“You think spouting that kinda talk’ll settle anything?” “I can’t deal with you anymore.” “Let’s go, let’s go! If things go bad, I’ll take care of it myself!” “Enough outta you.” “Let’s go already! What’re you waitin’ for?!”

Kanji took Anji’s wrist. Anji stood up with his legs splayed out.

5

Akisaburō thought of going out to sow barley seeds. But when it struck him that Kanji would undoubtedly bring Anji soon, he couldn’t bring himself to go far. And splitting firewood under the eaves, he idly kept an ear on the voices inside the house.

Akisaburō’s well-fed mother, Orui, shouldering a bundle of old clothes, made the rounds of the villages and returned home.

“Today, a horse fell off Tanuki Bridge.” She entered the inner courtyard where no one could see her and announced this loudly, then set her bundle down on the veranda and wiped her face. But when she remembered she’d meant to use the toilet, she hitched up her hem and turned toward the back door—only to spot the kitchen kettle and realize her throat had gone dry again. She tilted the kettle back and drank hot water. Just then, Kanji brought Anji inside. “Is Akisaburō here?” “Today, you know—a horse fell right off Tanuki Bridge! What a disaster that was!” Orui said.

“Akisaburō—! He just came to my place, but—” “I’ve no idea.” “I just got back now.” “You should’ve seen it—when that horse tipped over and plunged into the water with a splash! Horses are such dramatic creatures!” “Without anyone lifting a finger, it just flipped right back up in one go!” “Oh!” “What’s this—you’re Anji?!” “You came earlier, but you’re not wanted.”

Anji sat down on the veranda, stroking his angrily squared shoulders. "How’re you holdin’ up?" "What do you mean? It’s exactly as you see." "I see. Anji. Where’ve you been all this time?!" "Kameyama."

“Kameyama? If you were that close by, what’s wrong with you—wasting away like this! You look like death itself has taken hold of you!” “It’s no good.” “No good? What’s gotten into you?” “The doctor already told you—my heart can’t hold on anymore. It was doomed from the start.” “Your heart? That’s trouble indeed. Just wait here a moment.” Orui scurried off to the outhouse. When she returned, she pulled blank paper from a cupboard drawer, wrapped one yen inside it, and wordlessly pressed the bundle into Anji’s hand.

“No good, no good! I can’t have you doing this for me anymore.” Anji said, pushing it back.

However, Orui forced the banknote into his hand. “Are you taking medicine?” “Nah, I haven’t felt like takin’ any lately.” “Auntie, Akisaburō came by earlier sayin’ I should keep Anji at my place, but we can’t handle ’im.” Kanji blurted out.

“What’s this? I don’t know a thing about it.” “Akisaburō’s a real bastard—dragging this sick guy over to my place as if he’s some kinda burden.”

“Is that so? Where’s he gone off to now?” “That guy’s truly a bastard—dragging himself all the way to the Main House to beg for help, then hauling him over to my place—no matter how you look at it, this is too damn much!” “He can just stay at my place.”

“Shut your damn mouth!” Akisaburō shouted as he barged in through the back door. “Akisaburō-san, you’re going too far,” Kanji said. “What’s cruel about it?” “Your place is the branch family—what’s wrong with them taking him in?” “Aren’t you supposed to be the Main House?” “Since when does acting like the Main House mean dumping things on us branch folk?!”

“Main House? You idiot—since when’s this place been the Main House?!” “Go verify that first, then come back spouting your nonsense.”

“If Anji keeps going on about ‘Main House,’ that settles it.” “What reason would he have to come begging here when there’s no Main House?!” “Who the hell knows how many generations back that Main House was?” “If my place is the Main House, then anywhere’s the Main House.” “Where d’you think a half-dead roach like this should go kick the bucket?” “Just cut it out already.” “Fighting in broad daylight!” Orui cut in.

“Mother, you should just keep quiet.” “Akisaburō-san... please.” “It’s fine… Just let me sleep anywhere,” Anji said. “Cut it out.” “You of all people—why the hell are you callin’ my place the Main House?!” “Where’d you hear that?” “If you’re gonna come to someone else’s place, at least have the decency to act right when you do.” “There’s no need to raise such a loud voice,” Orui said. “No—if I don’t scare him into line with my voice, who knows what this bastard’ll do.”

“Stop your foolish talk and let him stay.” “Rather than keepin’ this guy around, I’d sooner wear a stone hood.”

Kanji thought now was the time to withdraw. Then, as he started to leave silently, Akisaburō stopped him.

“Kanji, what’re you plannin’ to do with this guy?”

“What d’ya mean ‘what to do’? I ain’t got a clue.” “The hell you don’t! Say that again.” “That’s what I’m sayin’—I don’t know a thing.”

Kanji left without looking back. Akisaburō took two or three steps forward as if to chase after Kanji’s departing figure but then turned back, grabbed Anji by the collar—who lay sprawled across the veranda—and hauled him upright. “Quit lying there!” “Please… just stop.” “Mercy? Don’t make me laugh.” “Get your ass to South! South!” “You’re about to drop dead yourself.” “If you can stand, then get up.” Anji, remaining crouched with his one angry shoulder still raised, was dragged scraping to the doorway.

“Instead of that, just let him rest here,” Orui said. “What’s this? This brat’s putting on a fake illness act—there’s no way he can’t walk that far!”

“It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” Anji said.

“Shut up! Walk, walk!”

Akisaburō dragged Anji along busily while keeping watch on Kanji and made his way back down southward. When Orui saw the one-yen bill she had given Anji lying in the garden, she thought of running over to hand it to him, but that would have looked like she was chasing him off instead, and—

“Well, it can’t be helped…” she muttered.

Rather than that, she thought it would be more meritorious to give him another yen next time—offsetting her son’s heartless treatment through this balance of karma. She returned to the kitchen and lifted the teapot once more to drink hot water.

6

Kanji felt Akisaburō’s pursuing gaze burning into his back like a physical weight. His steps grew steadily faster. Yet somehow, he couldn’t turn to look behind him. When he rounded the bamboo thicket and broke into a sudden sprint, his legs had already lost their vigor by the time he realized this stalemate—that unless he yielded first, they’d be condemned to shuttle Anji between their houses endlessly. By the moment he conceived this stratagem—that magnanimously accepting Anji from Akisaburō might both amplify his rival’s awareness of his material superiority and torment Akisaburō’s conscience over his own moral failings—he’d already returned home and was testing the bathwater’s heat with a dipped fingertip. Yet then he found himself envisioning his lover’s face. What if she learned of this charitable act? Surely it would accelerate the arrival of his wedding day.

Akisaburō arrived. Like a groom who’d been shorted his wages, he dragged Anji roughly,

Calling “Kanji, Kanji,” he entered. Kanji silently came out to greet him.

“Hey Kanji—don’t you dare run off now.” “My apologies for making you come all this way—time and again.”

Akisaburō couldn’t make sense of Kanji’s sudden calm smile and the way he presented himself.

“Anji, you stay put here. If you come to my place again, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

Anji remained crouched at the doorway, bowing his head, “Just… do whatever you want with me,” he said in a small voice. “You can stay here for now, but get better while you’re at it.”

When Kanji said that calmly, Anji suddenly began speaking in a lively, rapid voice, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

As he said this, he kowtowed repeatedly. The calmer Kanji became, the more a refreshing surge welled up from deep within his chest. But when Akisaburō saw through Kanji’s feelings, the anger that had been rising suddenly broke and transformed into a sense of insult. At the same time that he felt a deep-seated hatred toward Anji’s weakness, his palm suddenly slapped the cheek of the kowtowing Anji with a sharp crack. “Take good care of yourself.”

Akisaburō flashed a mocking smile at Kanji.

“Got it? I’m counting on you,” he said, then stood up energetically and headed out front. Kanji felt a coldness like a frigid wind emanating from Akisaburō’s smile. He stood motionless for a while, staring at the garden. “I’m sorry for all the trouble—truly, thank you kindly.”

The more Anji kowtowed to him, the more Kanji found himself strangely compelled to despise the man. He silently walked over to stand by the well at the back. But when he recalled Akisaburō’s cold smile, his body stiffened and froze. He wanted to catch up to Akisaburō and strike him down with all his might. He wanted to postpone his marriage with his lover indefinitely just like this. And if he were to expel Anji in the most cruel manner possible, it seemed he could instantly retaliate against Akisaburō’s mockery.

7

Anji came out the back entrance while tying his loincloth strings and sat down on the stone platform beside the puddle. He stretched his neck slightly as if hearing a distant sound, gazing at the watercress field with a faint, habitual smile playing on his lips. A flock of several chickens circled the straw hut, then from beneath the pear tree they quietly approached him one by one.

“Nice chickens,” Anji murmured, gazing at the flock.

Oshimo appeared from behind the straw hut while chasing a lagging chicken on one foot and clutching a radish.

“You’re back again?” “I’ve become a burden again—I’m sorry, but please take care of me.” “They’re fine chickens.” “This one must lay pretty big eggs, yeah?” “Where’s Kanji?”

“Well… he was just wandering around there earlier, I think.” Anji took out rolled-up paper money from his three-shaku pouch.

“Oshimo-san. Could you hold onto this for me? There’s two yen and fifty sen here—maybe it could help with something?”

“If I keep so much for you and you end up spending it all, what’ll become of you?” Oshimo said with a laugh. “If you use it for something, that’d be just fine.” “Take it and keep it—it’s bad enough being leftover money, but that’s all there is.”

“Oh, just take it already.” “If people start saying Oshimo-san took Anji’s money, I’d be in a real fix.”

Oshimo went into the house and cut the radish. Anji rolled the paper money back into his three-shaku pouch and, “Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck.”

"Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck," he called while reaching toward the chickens. Somewhere came the sound of a hoe turning soil. Above the vegetable garden, a thin white wisp of smoke rose and drifted gently westward. Kanji emerged from the storehouse clutching a straw sack when Anji’s figure caught his eye—sitting alone on the stone platform, ignored by all, staring vacantly. That aura of a frail, abandoned soul abruptly pressed against his heart. Then Kanji suddenly felt an entirely new kind of affection toward Anji, unlike anything before.

“Anji, how ’bout I treat ya to a feast tonight, yeah?” “Nah, I’m good as is.”

“The bath’s ready—you gonna get in?” “Can’t do that. If I get in with him, he’ll do me in.” “Even so, you can’t keep avoiding it forever.” “Well… you know—it’s already been two months since I last went in.” “Two months?” Anji took out paper money from his three-shaku pouch again and offered it 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?” “It’s such a bother, but there’s no helping it.” When Kanji saw Anji’s fawning manner, he became displeased again. He entered the inner courtyard and set down the straw sack, whereupon Oshimo—who had been by the washbasin—approached him with a stern face. “What exactly are you planning, bringing someone like that in here?”

“Just leave him be.” “If you leave him be, then where exactly are you planning to put him?” “Disgusting!” “I don’t know a thing! Don’t ask me!” “You handle it yourself!” “Fine.”

“There’s no ‘fine’ here! Where exactly do you plan to make him sleep? Feeding him I could still stomach, but what’ll you do when he’s bedridden here and we can’t move a muscle?!” “Just leave him be!”

“If leaving him be would settle things, fine by me! Where you plannin’ to make him sleep—the inner room?” “Just stick him in the hut.” “Don’t be daft! If he croaks there... Come May, we’ll be up all night tending silkworms—who’d set foot there spooked? Even for a fool like you, this is too much.” “Wasn’t it Aki who dragged him here? Take it up with Aki.” “That Aki brat—utterly hopeless! No gratitude in his bones, dumping that wretch on others! I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind tonight!” Oshimo muttered, hacking at the radish again.

“How much rice should we give out?” “If you’ve got nothing better to bring home, you end up dragging in some beggar patient like that!” “The rice.” “One to’s enough,” Oshimo barked at her son.

Eight

That night, when Oshimo declared she would take Anji to Akisaburō’s house, Kanji recalled how magnanimously he had taken Anji in right before Akisaburō. This troubled him. Yet when he realized it wasn’t himself rejecting Anji, relief washed over him. Knowing his mother alone could never sway Akisaburō, he concluded Anji would inevitably settle back into their own house. As for Oshimo leaving, he—unwilling to quarrel—stayed silent merely to let her know he outwardly shared her view. Still, he opposed taking Anji along. But unless he made Akisaburō aware of his true feelings, what use were all his efforts? At this thought, Akisaburō’s jeers flashed vividly before his eyes. Yet so long as he himself was willing to take Anji in, it seemed the strength to defy his enemy’s scorn would naturally arise.

Nine

Akisaburō’s mother had finished peeling a basketful of beans. Thereupon, her elder sister Oshimo entered silently by herself.

“Oh, Sis.” “Perfect timing.” “So, a raw silk formal sash has come up—it’s cheap, so you ought to buy it,” Orui said. “Forget that—your Aki’s a hopeless fool.” “After ranting about branch families, he had the nerve to drag someone like Anji over to my place!” “If your house is in trouble, mine’s no better off.” “No use telling Aki anything—he won’t listen.” “Don’t pay any mind to someone like that.”

“Even so, now that he’s been brought here, how could I just stay quiet?” “Bring him over to our house.” “Wherever it ends up, it’s all the same anyway.” “Hey Sis—it’s secondhand—want me to really bring it over and show you?” “There’s a tiny stain on Oridome’s part, but I’ll set it at two yen fifty sen.”

“Don’t want it, don’t want it.” “I don’t have the money.” “It’ll sell out fast—you’ve gotta buy it now.” “Money’s no problem anytime.” “It’s been requested by Mr. Sanzō of Kamimura’s wife, you know. If you don’t want it, Sis, I’ll just take it over there.”

“Even if we did something so fine, there’s nowhere to show it off.” “If you keep saying that, you might as well go naked! Why don’t you just take a look at it once?”

After Orui went into the inner room, Akisaburō returned from the front carrying the cattle gruel. “Aki, you’re just like yourself—you’ve finally foisted Anji on us,” Oshimo said.

When Akisaburō realized the purpose of Oshimo’s visit, a thrilling sensation spread through his chest. He said, grinning slyly.

“Foist him on you?” “Didn’t Kan take him in?” “Go ask Kan—ask him!” “If you don’t bring him, who’ll take him in?”

“Well you—since your house is the branch family, it’s only natural I’d take him there.” “You keep going on about ‘branch family’ this and ‘branch family’ that—but with our shared surname, that’s not even settled! Then you drag him to my place on your own, causing us trouble right away!”

“If it’s all settled, there’s no household that wouldn’t be troubled by someone like that!” “Then why did you bring him to my place?”

“Auntie, you’re such a miser—taking care of trash like that once won’t kill you.” “You’re the bastard who’s useless boiled or roasted!” “A walking curse!”

“You’re fighting again. Just stop it already,” Orui said as she emerged holding the belt. “Who’d fight with a stingy old hag like her?” Akisaburō laughed. “Why can’t you just keep quiet like I told you?!” “What am I supposed to do with this bastard?!” Oshimo glared at Akisaburō and said. “Sis, take a look.” “See how fine the sheen is?” “There’s just a small stain here—such a shame.”

Oshimo did not even glance at the offered maruobi sash,

“I’ll make you regret this—mark my words,” she said again.

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

“What are you saying?!” “Sis—don’t bother with that guy! Just take a look at this sash here.”

“I don’t give a damn about that thing. Instead of that—if we don’t settle Anji’s situation, our household’ll be in trouble.” “If it’s Anji you’re worried about, we could’ve just brought him to our place. Here, take it in your hands and have a look. Even if it’s secondhand, at night it’ll look like you just bought it new.” “Then I’ll bring Anji over. I’ll take my time looking at the belt later.”

“No good! No good!” Akisaburō shouted, then came running from the inner garden holding a ladle.

“We could just keep him at our place, you know,” Orui said.

“No good.”

“If you keep talking like that, there’ll be no settling this!” “No good! No good!”

“You’re such a strange one. That poor soul has nowhere left to go—how pitiful.” “If you stay with that rotten sardine of a guy, maggots’ll crawl out!”

“Stop talking such nonsense.”

"Ain't no good means ain't no good. If the South takes him in, that settles it." "If maggots crawl out at your place, they'll crawl out at mine too," Oshimo said.

“Kan’s taken him in. If you’ve got complaints, toss him out wherever. What’s that got to do with my household now?!” “Even if Kan took him—you’re the one who dragged him here and dumped him! That’s all there is to it!”

“Go ask Kan how he put it.” “Kan said he didn’t know anything about it.” “He doesn’t know? Fine then—call Kan here! I’ll beat him to a pulp!”

“Just be quiet already, Akisaburō!” Orui scolded. “Oh no you don’t! You brazen-faced brat—acting all high and mighty when you took him in, but if you’re gonna spout that kind of nonsense, then I’ve got my own plans too.” “Enough already—that’s enough now.”

“If you don’t spit out everything that needs saying, how’s anyone s’posed to get it?!” “Call Kan here—Kan!”

“Sis, now that it’s come to this—there’s really no end to this.” “Sis, just for tonight—keep Anji at your place.” “We can’t be dealing with something like stepping into a birdlime trap,” Oshimo said. “One night’s fine.” “Then tomorrow we’ll build a hut somewhere—like by the persimmon tree in Kiyomizo—just throw it together with straw—no big deal. It’ll be up in half a day.”

“Even so—wouldn’t you say it’d cost fifteen or sixteen yen or thereabouts?” “Well, that much’d cost you. But it’s not like we’ve got so much as a tile shard—if we build it with just straw, it’d do for now, wouldn’t it? Hey now, why don’t we just do that?”

“You’d need twenty or thirty bundles of straw alone, wouldn’t you?” “That’s nothing—the cost is trivial, you know.” “If you care for someone like Anji, it’ll earn you merit.”

“Can it even be built by midday?” “If we just put our backs into it, couldn’t we get it built in half a day?” “Why don’t we all pitch in?” “Then I’ll bring him rice gruel every day—we can just leave him at your place, Sis.”

“Fine—let’s do it. But will thirty bundles of straw even be enough, you?” “Of course it will.” “A small one, about three tatami mats in size—it’ll do just fine.” “With that, Anji can settle down proper for the rest of his life—something to be grateful for, isn’t it?” “Just leave him be.”

Akisaburō said with a laugh.

“Stop talking such nonsense!” Orui scolded. “That worthless wretch should just be left to die where nobody’ll see him.” “You’re nothing but a walking curse!”

“If I’m cursed by the gods, then Auntie from the South and her lot would’ve been struck dead ages ago.” “Right, Auntie?”

“Look at that!” Orui said, looking at her sister.

Oshimo seemed to be thinking about something and remained silent, but “If you’re building a hut, shouldn’t we have the association do it?” she proposed. “If the association builds it, that’d be fine, I suppose…”

“Of course they’ll build it. Why don’t we consult the association head once?”

“Do whatever the hell you want!” Akisaburō said and went back into the inner garden. “If you keep this up, it’ll just drag on again,” Orui said. “But listen—truth is, *they* gotta take him in! You’ve been crowing about bein’ the ‘main house’ for ages, but you never had squat to do with Anji!” “Call ourselves a branch family all you want—there’s nothin’ to show for it. The association’s gotta handle this.” “Ain’t that right?” “Till then, I’ll keep Anji at my place.”

“Do you really think it’ll go that smoothly?” “Well—might as well give everything a shot, eh? Let’s go talk to the association head then.” “Well… should we try that?”

“Hey?” “I’ll go now—gotta tackle every damn thing head-on.” “Even if you keep yappin’ about ‘Main House’ this and ‘Branch Family’ that—they’re just empty titles.” “I’ll just go take care of this now.”

Oshimo went outside.

“Stingy bastard!” Akisaburō shouted from the inner garden. However, Oshimo’s increasingly confrontational stance toward Kanji delighted him even more.

“This is rich, this is rich,” Akisaburō exclaimed, clapping his knees in delight. Orui examined the stain on her obi under the lamp. When she lightly rubbed it with the nail of her little finger,

“This should’ve been taken to Sister,” she said as she went into the inner room.

Ten When Kanji learned that Anji’s hut had been officially decided to be built by the association, he regretted sending his mother to Akisaburō’s house that night. Yet even though that approach was now the most advantageous for all parties, must he go so far as to forcibly dismantle it just to flaunt his own charity to Akisaburō? But more than that—just what kind of man *was* Akisaburō? Thinking this, he felt his own cunning intensify further. If he could boldly and openly shift all future burdens that ought to fall on their household onto Akisaburō’s shoulders, he imagined how cruelly that vivid act of betrayal would pierce Akisaburō’s heart.

For the first time, he felt a cheerful satisfaction, as though he had finally exacted his revenge on Akisaburō.

Eleven

A week later, a small straw hut was built beside the ditch. That place was a vacant lot belonging to Akisaburō’s house.

By that day, Anji could no longer even walk freely. He was hoisted onto a door plank and carried from the shed at Kanji’s house to the new hut. When Kanji thought about how Anji had now completely slipped from his grasp, he realized that all his previous conduct toward Anji had been nothing but mental maneuvers orchestrated by Akisaburō. But he felt no particular remorse. Yet after he had profoundly regretted losing the chance to make his lover aware of his benevolence, his own timidity at having been so thoroughly manipulated by Akisaburō began to irritate him. But where in his heart must he seal away that magnanimous performance—that single dance he once performed before his enemy? His irritation grew steadily.

“Good riddance to that nuisance.” “If someone like that stays here, we’ll catch his sickness.”

Oshimo said this to Kanji while cleaning up after Anji had left. Kanji, for some reason, felt like lunging at his mother but remained silent. “Even so—thanks to *you*, I tell you—we wasted three futons! “Even that futon’s hand-woven—and it hasn’t even been used that much yet!” “You lot never do anything right.” “Who’d bring him here on purpose?!” the son snapped. Oshimo wondered why her son had suddenly erupted in anger,

“If you hadn’t done all that useless crap, he’d never have come here!” she shot back.

“Don’t start nagging after it’s done!” “Oh, I’ll say.” “I’m appalled even by your stupidity.” “Don’t you go running your mouth!” “You do nothing but useless things.” “You lot never think beyond draining your own family’s wealth.” “What’s the fuss over one stray like Anji?” “And you go marching off to the association without even realizing how pathetic you looked?!” “What the hell are *you* saying?!”

Oshimo stared fixedly at Kanji. “Stingy bastard!” Kanji went out of the hut.

Oshimo had no idea why Kanji was angry. But had there ever been a single act of her own stinginess that sprang from a thought that disregarded Kanji? She wanted to chase after him and pour out all her anguish onto Kanji. Then tears overflowed.

Twelve

When Oshimo went to check on Anji’s hut, the association members had already left. “All I’ve done is cause trouble—I’m so sorry.”

When Anji saw Oshimo, he said in a weak voice. When Oshimo sensed genuine gratitude in his voice, she felt cheerful for the first time.

“The weather’s nice today—must feel good. If you stay here, you’ll make a proper retired man.” She glanced briefly at the futon she had lent Anji, which he was using. Then she considered whether it would still be usable after he died, but the better she felt, the more grateful she became—for it seemed her own 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. Deep shadows settled and grew still in the hollows of the patient’s cheeks, eye sockets, and throat.

Oshimo sat down on the floor and, in a daze, gazed at the well-trimmed rounded swells of tea fields spread before her eyes. The sound of water flowing through the bottom of a deep ditch behind the hut reached her ears. The clop of a packhorse’s hooves crossing the stone bridge sounded too. And the sated sparrows—still twittering needlessly on sagging power lines—puffed themselves fuller yet and grew still.

“Sister, I’m sorry—I just went to see the doctor.” “He should be coming soon.”

After a while, Oshimo was awakened by Orui and looked at her. “How about it—feeling a little better?” Orui asked, peering at Anji. “I’m sorry for causing trouble for everyone.” Oshimo detected a feeling of gratitude even in Anji’s voice as he spoke those words to her sister. Then, as anxiety arose—the fear that she might end up sharing even this “Buddha’s blessings” she was entrusted with with her sister—she felt a faint jealousy toward Orui’s gesture of having gone to fetch the doctor before she could.

“Is there anything you want?” Oshimo asked Anji. “That’s quite all right.” “You had some cash the other day—what happened to it? With that money, wouldn’t it have been better to buy something you actually wanted?” “I burned it all up in the fire.” “Burned it!” “It’s just a useless burden.” “That’s absurd. So what? You burned something like that, and it’s done you no good at all!”

“He’s half out of his mind already,” Orui said. 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 strange, distant world far removed from their own. But immediately afterward, Oshimo regretted not having kept the paper money when he had asked her to hold onto it for him. But when Orui remembered the money envelope she had kept aside to give to Anji—still untouched—she concluded that forgetting about it until now had ultimately been the Buddha’s way of bestowing that very sum upon her, and she was delighted.

Thirteen

Frost had settled. When dawn began to break, soon the day would clear up completely. Over the mountains’ withered forms flowed a green haze. The usual sparrows, from early on, plucked the straw strands from Anji’s new hut and returned to their nests. But a single hungry sparrow alighted before the hut and, scattering frost with quick kicks, slipped through the gap in the sagging straw-mat door into the hut.

Inside, Anji lay with his shoulders—angrily mottled purple—protruding from the futon, his fingers stretched out to either side and bent sharply like the claws of a strangled crane, now cold. But the sparrow could not find even a single grain of food. Then, after chirping softly while circling inside the hut, it came back out and flew off toward the tea fields, kicking up frost with each hop as it bounded away.

Fourteen

On the country paths, the frost pillars began to crumble.

Oshimo clutched a small bowl of rice porridge, “This is dreadful! This is dreadful!” “Anji’s died!” “I brought him hot porridge to eat—and he was already gone!” she cried out as she rushed through Akisaburō’s back door.

At Oshimo’s shout, Orui emerged from the storeroom. Akisaburō burst out from the straw hut. And when the two ran to Anji’s hut, Oshimo immediately ran back to her own house and said to Kanji: “You’re in big trouble! “Anji has died.” “I went to all the trouble of bringing him porridge, and now it’s gone cold while he’s died on me.” “He’s dead?!” “This is terrible, this is terrible!”

After placing the small bowl in the kitchen, Oshimo found herself at a loss for what to do next—but then realized no significant event had occurred, and she alone was panicking needlessly. Yet she herself hadn’t noticed that somewhere within that panic flowed a brighter feeling than usual.

Fifteen

Kanji and Oshimo immediately went back to Anji’s hut. Kanji initially had no desire to go, finding it unpleasant to face Akisaburō—but that would only make it seem like he feared him—and in the end, without even understanding when he had resolved himself, he came to the hut feeling dragged along by his mother. “Hey, rejoice—he’s passed away.” As soon as Akisaburō saw Kanji, he formed an ironic smile and said. Kanji, sensing the same derision he’d once known in that smile, felt indignation surge in his chest. But he found it unpleasant to have that seen through. He tore off the straw-mat door hanging at the entrance,

“We don’t need this kind of nuisance,” he tried to cover up. “Why don’t you ask Auntie? Maybe she’ll even hang it on the household altar.” Kanji shot Akisaburō a brief glare but then silently laid the straw mat over the wet, thawing path and stepped on it.

“If you all keep dawdling like this, what’ll become of things?” Oshimo said. “Should we call the priest?” Orui said. “Forget that—the coffin’s what matters most. What about the coffin?” Akisaburō said. “When our father died, we used a coffin too—even that one cost eight yen,” Oshimo said. “That’s three-quarter-inch planks, right?” “Those’d cost about that much.” “If we use cedar quarter-inch planks, it could be made for five yen,” Orui said.

“He must’ve suffered quite a bit.” Kanji said this while fiddling with Anji’s fingertips, which had turned purple, “He must’ve been in agony.” “Poor thing—there wasn’t anyone to give him even a full drink of water.” “After all, if you live a life of crime, you can’t even die decently,” Oshimo said. “What about the coffin?” Akisaburō said again. “A box coffin should do.” “With that one, you could make it for about three yen.”

“What about a flat coffin? Wouldn’t that be cheaper?” “A flat coffin is expensive, so expensive.” “No matter how cheap it may be, a flat coffin would cost ten ryō.” “Is that so? “Then it’s the box coffin. “Well, Auntie? “How about you splurge for once?”

“Auntie.” “Auntie here sure dumps every loss-making task onto me, doesn’t she?” “Our household already provided the futons, didn’t we?” “Have your household do it.” “But come on—didn’t Kanji really take on everything?” “Yet you still went and dumped it all on your group.” “You could at least handle the coffin.”

“Our household can handle it,” Orui rebuked Akisaburō. “I’ll do it,” Kanji said. “There, see?” Akisaburō said coaxingly, and the more he saw the lines of anger emerging on Kanji’s forehead, the more effortlessly his sardonic words seemed to pour forth.

“Kanji, there were plenty of beer crates at our place—how about making it with those?” Oshimo proposed. Akisaburō grinned slyly, “That’s perfect. That’s eight-quarter lumber—if you make it with that stuff, he’d be guaranteed a one-way ticket to paradise. After all, if it weren’t for you, Auntie, we’d never get such a brilliant idea.” “Hey now—that’s actually a good idea! Three should do it.” “Two would be enough. If we have them make it with that, even Anji won’t rot so easily.” “That’s splendid,” Orui said.

“Kanji. You go home now and put something together real quick, will ya?” Kanji returned home in silence. When he thought about how his mother was being manipulated, he considered having a carpenter make the coffin instead. But opposing Akisaburō every single time also seemed rather childish. Yet he could no longer endure Akisaburō’s attitude—the way he kept prodding at his weakness, *this* weakness: the fact that he’d shoved Anji onto the group’s hands. Even if he alone denied it and claimed ignorance, there was no escaping it. He took down the beer crates from the shelf and pried off each plank one by one with a hammer. As he pried them loose, imagining himself striking Akisaburō, his strength only grew fiercer.

“You brat! You brat! You brat!”

He kept raising the hammer and striking down. Before long, he had dismantled three crates into scattered planks while forgetting he was even building a coffin, lost in the gradually intensifying thrill of his task. And an hour later, the large square box coffin with the Asahi crest embossed on it had been transported to Anji’s hut.

Sixteen

“Now this is first-rate! If it’s like this, even I’d want to crawl in. Well, Auntie—why don’t you try getting in for a bit?” Akisaburō said to Oshimo, knocking on the box coffin Kanji had made. “Stop joking around and hurry up putting Anji in,” Oshimo said. “I don’t know this filthy bastard.” “Just keep saying ‘I don’t know’ to everything!”

Oshimo rolled up Anji’s futon and urged Akisaburō, “Hurry up.”

“Hey, let’s just shove him in already—filthy thing.” After saying this to Kanji, Akisaburō toppled the coffin sideways and moved it close to Anji’s corpse. The two men rolled Anji’s body while trying to drag it into the coffin. But the corpse’s stiffened limbs caught on the edge and wouldn’t fit inside. Akisaburō crushed the joints of Anji’s limbs with his knees, as if snapping stiff brushwood. And when he set the coffin upright, the body slid with a heavy thud sideways to the bottom.

Akisaburō tried lifting the coffin alone. “This guy’s light as pumice.” “That’s right—you mustn’t put him in the coffin now. We have to get the doctor’s certificate and submit the death notice to the village office, or we’ll be scolded,” Orui said. “Then, should we burn it again?”

When Akisaburō gazed at Oshimo and asked this, Oshimo picked up the futon Anji had been wearing and looked it over. “Burn that filthy thing,” Akisaburō said. “Look who’s talking!” “Even this—if you wash it properly—it’ll do just fine.” “You still plan to sleep in that?” “Course I do.”

“Stingy bastard!” “Who’re you calling a stingy bastard?!” “Come on now—you being all stingy like Auntie here? That’s just too much.”

Then, Oshimo straightened her posture, glaring at Akisaburō with an unusually stern expression. “Don’t you dare talk like that! You think you can eat under your own roof—whose doing do you think that is? It’s all thanks to this stingy aunt here! Since you don’t even realize that much, think about the favors you owe before calling me ‘stingy bastard’!”

“Cut the crap! The one my family’s indebted to is your old man.”

“If I weren’t here, who’d be showing *you* any favors?!” “Quit blabbering about ‘favors’ in that big loud voice! You’ve got your own place to worry about—don’t go sullying mine with your so-called ‘favors’! If that’s how you’re gonna be, take your charity and shove it whenever!”

Kanji began trembling with rage. Then he silently struck Akisaburō’s face from the side. Akisaburō staggered. But grabbing the straw door behind him, he steadied himself, “What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted, whirling around. Kanji swung his fist sideways again. Akisaburō lunged. In an instant, the two men grabbed each other’s collars and exchanged blows as if hammering countless nails. They abruptly stopped and grappled. The mothers screamed. They each tried to pull their own sons apart. But the tangled mass of men stood rigidly, emitting faint growls while swaying left and right like a sluggish pendulum.

“You damn brat!” “Damn bastard!”

Kanji’s body, grappling Akisaburō, toppled the coffin behind them with a crash and overturned it onto the futon. Anji’s upper body flew face-down out of the coffin. Four legs thrashed against each other. Each time the two kicked Anji’s corpse, it waved its broken arms and thrashed about. And then, moments later, the two men sprang up like burst chestnuts. Blood flowed from both men’s noses. “Damn it!” “What the hell?!”

The two men grappled once more. Then， once again， the two men came crashing down onto Anji and， soaked in blood， began kicking each other atop the corpse.

(Taishō 10)