Pathway to Japanese Literature

I After crossing the railroad crossing at the shabby outskirts where oxcarts, horse-drawn carts, and trucks chaotically jostled, a small muddy farm path veered off to the left. From that point onward, the path turned to mud, and in the puddles on either side, tree frogs croaked energetically. The light rain soundlessly moistened the dusk marshland. As the two of them walked on in silence, the surroundings grew dark. Only the vicinity of the slaughterhouse remained dimly aglow. The pale electric glow cast a whitish light over the tips of rice stalks in the paddy fields, and tree frogs, startled by approaching footsteps, leapt into the water with noisy splashes. From the livestock shed, pigs occasionally raised shrill shrieks.

As the two were passing in front of the slaughterhouse, they encountered several men. “Heading back now, are ya?” Someone muttered thickly.

Genzaburō started to pause as if wanting to say something, but intimidated by the man accompanying him who glared with white eyes, he simply gave a hollow laugh and followed along. “Sendatsu, you’re nothing but beggars.” The man did not answer.

The earthen fortress corridor of the ancient battlefield stretched in winding succession not far away. Along the slope crawled densely packed earth-covered huts, their roofs patched with sticks and straw scraps. By the time the two reached there, all the earth-covered huts were already sinking deeply into the sodden rain. Drifting smoke hung here and there. The two cautiously threaded their way between the earth-covered huts and climbed up the earthen fortress. The towering poplar trees swayed and stirred the watermelon-colored sky. The evening wind sweeping across the western plains flapped their soaked clothes. The two slowly removed the carrying poles (shoulder yokes) from their shoulders and, cradling them in both hands, quietly disappeared into the western slope like shadows.

The old man approached his earth-covered hut, pushed aside the straw-covered bundle, and crawled his large frame inside. A lukewarm stench clogged his nostrils, and with each movement, the straw around his knees rustled. The straw bedding was soaked through. Groping around, the old man finally found a match and lit the hearth. The inside of the hut flared bright, and the flame began fluttering in the draft. The way he sat down heavily inside the small earth-covered hut resembled nothing so much as a large stone statue. His neck was grotesquely thick, his long mouth hung slack, and his vacant eyes stared with unsettling wideness. The firelight flickered starkly across his body, etching sharp shadows as it illuminated him. The old man quietly removed his soaked upper garment while hunching his back, then with strained grunts wrestled off his mud-caked tabi socks. Loose coins came clattering down onto the straw from within. Chuckling hoarsely, he picked them up and examined each one in his palm. Then, stretching his mouth wide in apparent satisfaction, he released an interminable yawn before shuddering violently through his entire frame.

Suddenly, an oddly shrill voice seemed to come from Sendatsu’s hut right next door. Genzaburō, who had been dozing off, started in surprise and crawled toward the entrance, straining to listen. He was somewhat hard of hearing and couldn’t make it out clearly—

When Sendatsu parted from Genzaburō and entered his own earth-covered hut, he found his five-year-old son crying violently. The woman raised the corners of her eyes, her gaze blazing with cold fire. After lowering his carrying pole, Sendatsu pleaded weakly. "Why did you make him cry?" "Hmph! Why did I make him cry?" the woman instantly snarled back. "Why don’t you ask the brat yourself? You blockhead! How dare you ask that so shamelessly!" she spat, then in a sudden fit grabbed the child’s leg, hoisted him up, and began mercilessly beating his back. Sendatsu flew into a rage. The woman’s doing such a thing was undoubtedly meant to spite him—him with his meager earnings from work.

“Cut it out! Haven’t you done enough?” he barked, raising his arm. Even so, she refused to loosen her grip, so he lunged at her, his face pale, and pinned the woman down. The woman screamed, the child was sent flying, and the hut erupted into complete pandemonium. “Ugh... Honestly...”

Genzaburō, who had been fretting, muttered to himself as if groaning.

Finally, the woman came rolling out as if fleeing. Yet even then, refusing to back down, she fanned Sendatsu’s anger and kept up her spiteful antics. “If you want to swagger about like the master of this house, why don’t you go earn something yourself? How dare you mooch off another’s rice day after day!” “...”

Involuntarily, the old man felt a thudding sensation in his chest and pulled his head back. In truth, even the rice Sendatsu had brought home today came from his own earnings—as usual, he’d been forced to buy it for Sendatsu. But Genzaburō held his breath, thrust his neck out again, and timidly peered through a gap in the entrance. Despite the rain, the woman wore nothing on her upper body. Watching its wobbling motion, the old man swallowed a glutinous mouthful of saliva. The woman approached muttering curses while clutching an earthen pot. The old man half-rose from his seat, then—as if reconsidering—rubbed his hands together and settled back down. Carrying that pot down to the river at the slope’s foot to rinse millet and fetch water had always been his duty, but now he suddenly felt guilty toward Sendatsu.

“Old man, go fetch water.” The woman shouted brusquely in a voice loud enough for even Sendatsu to hear. Sendatsu intensely disliked Genzaburō doing such things for his wife. Reflexively, Genzaburō crawled out of the earth-covered hut like a bear. As the rain beat down on his bare upper body, he let out a strange huhuhu-like cry. The rain grew heavier until visibility vanished. The old man, clutching the earthen pot, let out even more huhuhu-like comical cries as he trudged through the mud and descended toward the foot of the slope. The river was in tumult, battered by the rain. He tested the water by putting one foot in. It was cold. Slipping and nearly losing his footing, he thrust in his other foot and edged his way further in, little by little. Because it was a filthy ditch river, he had to wade in as deep as possible. When he was submerged up to about a shaku deep in the water, he rinsed the millet two or three times and filled it with gurgling water, then burst back out while letting out those huhuhu-like strange cries. At that very moment, the rain shifted to a torrential downpour, and a fierce gust of wind roared in with a howl. The old man recoiled slightly and staggered, but suddenly thought he heard the woman let out a scream from somewhere above. He thought that Sendatsu must have dragged the woman inside and was pushing her around. Thinking it was a crisis, he scrambled up to the hut in a flustered panic, pushing through the mud. But the roar of rain and wind only swelled louder, and Sendatsu’s hut lay as silent as death. He felt an abrupt, deflated sort of loneliness.

The old man stood motionless, blocking the way, and muttered in a suppressed voice that seemed displeased.

“Sister, I brought it.”

There was no answer from within. “Ah— It’s fine. I’ll bring it right here.” When he turned toward the voice, a black shadow was crouching in the shelter from the rain. “Oh, there you are.”

The old man broke into a grin and approached the woman.

Sendatsu had recently grown particularly weak in spirit; even when he shouldered his carrying pole and went into town, he increasingly spent time lying down beside warehouses or inside the wrecked boats along the beautifully flowing Taedong River. He couldn't even earn enough for their daily rice money. His eyes sank deeply into their sockets, his neck visibly thinned. As days passed, the woman grew increasingly harsh toward him. She would always shout as if to devour him.

“Whose fault do you think this is for everyone?” “What do you intend to do about this humble one?”

In the midst of this, Genzaburō had become both in name and reality the lifeblood provider for Sendatsu’s household. But for Sendatsu, this was an excruciatingly bitter reality. Though he usually remained silent, only blinking his eyes, a crimson flame always burned within his chest. Today again he had returned walking shoulder to shoulder with Genzaburō, but all along the way his mind had been anything but calm. His own figure stopping before the rice shop and making the old man buy millet. What a wretched thing that had been. And wasn’t his wife now hurling abuse at every opportunity—“Fleecing people’s rice every single day!”—all over again?

Indeed, when traced back to its origin, it was Genzaburō who had come to support Sendatsu. That was because the old man had built his earth-covered hut in the Earthen Fortress Corridor with Sendatsu’s help.

The old man had until then been serving as a bondsman for a local tyrant in a remote mountain valley. Since both his father and mother were slaves, from the moment he was born not a single thing—from the hair on his head to the nails on his toes—had ever been his own. Of course, he didn’t have a wife either. But after more than fifty years had passed, his master's household fell into ruin, and for the first time he became a free man. The world now opened anew. The loyal servant knelt beneath his ill-fated master’s mansion and wailed, then bowed deeply to each of the mountain villagers as he bid them farewell before setting off with a carefree air.

Snow still lay pristine white upon the mountain pass. He could not forget how he had stood there on the ridge, battered by icy winds, gazing with boundless emotion at the beloved mountain village. But the Pyongyang of his dreams lay twenty ri distant. After three days walking, when he finally reached it at duskfall, everything he saw and heard left him utterly disoriented. And the north wind at twilight in that second lunar month—still honed by lingering snow and frost—flayed his flesh.

The old man wandered through the market on the outskirts of town, his teeth chattering. However, due to his somewhat foolish demeanor and strange appearance, he found himself surrounded and tormented by the Carrying Pole Corps (porters) around him. For them, who had been lazing about with no cargo to carry, it was a welcome diversion. “He’s like a bear that came down from the mountains!”

One of them shouted. They began to snicker. “Nah, he’s a tiger!” “U-uh, I-I’m—” The simple-minded old man panicked and bowed his head frantically in every direction. “Chō Genzaburō is my name. “U-uh, I-I’m from the mountains,” he said, this time circling around to bow before each one of them in turn. “He’s no better than a flour-mill ox!” The Carrying Pole Corps erupted in raucous shouts. Genzaburō grew increasingly flustered, rolling his eyes wildly as he flailed about in confusion over how to handle himself. The Carrying Pole Corps found it increasingly amusing, snickering mockingly, taking turns to threaten him and jab at him.

Unable to watch this any longer, a middle-aged carrying pole man led the old man to a quiet corner. The man asked the old man in a thin voice where he had come from. He was a sharp-eyed man with a pallid complexion. Around his dangerously spindly legs clung tattered hakama trousers. Genzaburō trembled violently as he bowed deeply again and again. “From Mangsan, that’s where. “Chō Genzaburō’s the name…” “You’d best not linger here—go to the sake shack (cheap inn).” “I-I... uh... ain’t got no money, see.”

“What do you mean you came here?” “I-I... uh... I’m gonna work from now on.” The man squinted his small eyes and was lost in thought for a while, but finally led the old man to the Earthen Fortress Corridor and arranged for an earth-covered hut to be built.

Thus began the relationship between Genzaburō and Sendatsu’s family.

The nightmare-like past was buried, and Genzaburō began his new life. The old man was elated. Like the other earth-hut dwellers, he now possessed his own shack. Having spent all his savings to thatch the roof with straw, it stood out among the hovels roofed with rush mats, wood scraps, and corrugated iron—a fact that secretly swelled his pride. Yet this wasn’t all. While most denizens of the Earthen Fortress Corridor begged for scraps, his own figure—setting out each dawn with a carrying pole on his shoulder and lightness in his step—seemed bathed in celestial radiance. He could scarcely contain himself when walking through town. At times he’d hoist a hundred-kin load with ease and dash off laughing—“Heh heh!”—as if racing trolleys. Conductors slammed their brakes, bellowing “You damn fool!” Still he ran on—“Heh heh!”—waving one arm wildly. Elderly clients would screech “Thief! Thief!” like squawking ducks. Pedestrians snickered as they gawked at this grotesque spectacle.

Genzaburō also took secret joy in helping Sendatsu’s family. As for his circumstances, repaying what might be called debts of gratitude was where he excelled most. And so when returning home, he always bought rice. He took immense delight in moving the Sendatsu couple to tears of gratitude. Whenever the wife exhausted her words of gratitude, the old man would wave both hands as if to dismiss such impropriety. “Heh heh, what’re you sayin’…” And he fixed his eyes to stare vacantly into space. “U-uh, it’s not like there’s any mutual obligation here… U-uh, if only I still had several acres of fields like in the old days…” Then he licked his lips with a slurp. “Swear I din’t know nothin’ ‘bout such a thing happenin’…”

And he laughed—heh.

But amidst all this, conflicts arose ceaselessly between Sendatsu and his wife. Sendatsu began hating Genzaburō for no reason. When that happened, the wife would hold up the diligent old man as an example, further provoking her husband whose vitality had been waning. Sendatsu grew increasingly enraged and vented abuse upon his wife, until even the loyal Genzaburō became an object of his resentment. Yet strangely enough, it was precisely around that time that the old man began dimly realizing his heart was beginning to tilt toward Sendatsu’s wife. Before he knew it, the initial excitement had softened, perhaps because he had begun to grow weary of merely scraping by each day. Far from that, the old man even came to feel a husband-like pleasure in the fact that he himself was actually the one providing for the woman.

Whenever the old man remembered Sendatsu’s wife, he would hunch his back into a curve and gaze vacantly at the azure sky,

“I oughta go fetch a wife too,” he would always mutter. “Uh… well… I’m fifty-seven now.” “Ain’t got no heir neither.” The carrying pole colleagues often teased Old Man about getting him a wife. Genzaburō’s jaw went slack just hearing “wife.” “What kinda bride we gonna get ya?” “Heh heh… heh heh…” “How ’bout that sake woman from Satchonkoru?”

“Heh heh... I ain’t young no more, but that’s alright,” “Back then I had me a young wife too, y’know. We even had two kids... but uh, they all went and died in the epidemic.” “Struggled and struggled, we did!”

One time, anyway, the old man was taken by his colleagues to the sake woman from Satchonkoru’s place. The small-eyed, big-toothed sake woman, amidst their boisterous urging, embraced Genzaburō’s back and pressed sake upon him. At that moment, the old man’s body seemed to melt away as his head swam. It was truly the first time in his life. But suddenly, the old man thudded to his knees right there and pressed his forehead against the heated floor,

“U-uh, I-I am Tei Genzaburō.” “U-uh, this humble one’s first time havin’ the honor of meetin’ ya…”

Having delivered his well-practiced routine, everyone doubled over in uproarious laughter, their bellies shaking with guffaws. That day, Genzaburō returned home somewhat sullenly, muttering to himself that indeed, when it came to women, Sendatsu’s wife was the only one worth considering.

II

For the Rainy Season that had poured nearly daily, it was an unusually starry night. Here and there atop the Earthen Fortress, earth-hut dwellers formed circles to take the evening cool. The moon—like a pale slash—faintly illuminated an old man’s neck bent like rusted ironwork, a stuttering man’s back hunched like a silkworm cocoon, a dozing woman’s exposed breastbone, and Sendatsu’s pallid shoulders drawn taut as bowstrings. When someone lifted their eyelids, gray eyes burning with anguished heat flashed sharply. Genzaburō dragged his feet as he climbed toward Sendatsu’s group,

“What’re y’all talkin’ about?” he asked. “Today I rode this great contraption, y’know. At that big store in town—when I got on at the first floor, heh heh, didn’t I go flyin’ right up…” But sensing some harsh undercurrent flowing through the air, the old man abruptly clamped his mouth shut and quietly settled down beside the woman. For a while, the gathering fell into an awkward silence. Old Man Tokuichi, who had been holed up like a trapdoor spider in his earth-covered hut, had crawled out tonight and was now ranting and raving nonstop. Around this time last year, the old man had his only son taken away on a robbery charge, and because of that, his wife had gone mad. The moment she spotted a suited man, she would fly into her usual fit, shrieking “Kidnappers! Kidnappers!” as she rampaged about. He stubbornly believed his son’s conviction to be a complete miscarriage of justice, and whenever he remembered this, he found himself unable to suppress his boundless fury and despair.

“...My son went off to prison, and then my wife went mad.” The old man let out a deep sigh. “Truly, humans are such grand things. “I don’t even know myself what I’m living for... but here I am living so splendidly, ain’t I?” “Calm your heart now—then your mind’ll ease up too.” Sendatsu’s wife cast a fleeting glance at the old man’s face as if to console him. His face—twisted with broken teeth bared like a skull—sent a shiver through the woman.

“It’s not like I’m angry or anything…” The old man, shuddering as he gnawed on the ends of his words, was indeed still furious. Genzaburō suddenly thrust his head toward the woman and pretended to roar playfully at the child she was holding. Because the child was startled and began to cry, the old man, looking embarrassed, chuckled awkwardly while running his hand through his unkempt hair.

“Ain’t the brat cryin’?” the woman snapped sharply at Genzaburō. Sendatsu honked into his hand to clear his nose，then fussed over Old Man Tokuichi in a transparent attempt to smooth things over. “He’ll be back any day now．Innocent folks don’t stay locked up long．” But for some reason，the stuttering man who had been hunched next to Genzaburō suddenly jerked upright． He must have felt intense dissatisfaction with what Sendatsu had said． Old Man Tokuichi began to tremble violently． His sunken eyes glowed red like the flame of a sooty lamp．

“What the hell did you say?” Old Man Tokuichi wheezed. “How dare you say such a thing. “Then what crime could my son possibly have committed? “You think I don’t wanna know? Huh? “Why the hell hasn’t he come out yet?”

“H-huh? He’ll come out?” The Stuttering Man shrieked at Sendatsu in a mockingly shrill tone, his words snapping like a starved dog’s bite. “Innocent folks d-don’t stay locked up long, long?” It had been three years since this stuttering man fled his village—after his moonshine operation was exposed, landing him in prolonged detention. To scrape together the fifty-yen fine, he’d sold off his ox and every last household possession. The Stuttering Man had likely fallen into that familiar spiral of bitter recollection again. “I-I used my own rice to brew liquor! “I-I’m clean as snow… slaved away since I was knee-high… I-I’m… still a proper farmer…”

“What’re you spoutin’, huh?” Sendatsu’s wife yelled. “Y’all’ve truly lost your minds lately!” “C-crazy? Crazy? How... how’s anyone s’posed t’keep sane ’round here?!” Everything went deathly quiet.

Just then.

In that eerie moment, from a spot several yards to the north came an inexplicable shrill "kek-kek" laughter that rumbled forth like distant thunder. It was truly an unexpected occurrence.

The surroundings were dim, and until now they hadn’t realized someone could be so close by. And all their eyes snapped toward that spot. The man who had been lying prone hauled himself up with an exaggeratedly mocking wobble. When they peered through the darkness, it was none other than their neighborhood’s Lame Beggar. “Heh heh, truly fine humans, ain’t ya—workin’ so hard, puttin’ on airs like that, heh heh.” He followed it up with a heart-stopping laugh that erupted raucously. With that, he flumped back down onto his belly and let his clamor die.

The group helplessly exchanged glances and fell silent. From the southern part of the Earthen Fortress came Tokuichi’s Mad Wife’s voice, ceaselessly shouting something. She was talking with the water spirit of Im Saeng-won’s young daughter—the one who had been swept away by the current. That girl had been such a pretty, quick-witted child that no one could fathom how deeply her death had grieved the people of the Earthen Fortress Corridor. The silent Im Saeng-won would go down to the river that had stolen his child and listlessly stir the water with a stick.

Right around that time, the eviction issue concerning the Earthen Fortress Corridor earth-covered hut dwellers reignited. Because the Korean Peninsula Trunk Line ran before the Earthen Fortress Corridor, it was absolutely imperative—both for international prestige and urban aesthetics—that this matter could not be left unattended. The earth-covered hut dwellers gathered at one spot of the Earthen Fortress and clamored.

It was that night.

When the Mukden-bound express train approached the Earthen Fortress Corridor, it came to a sudden halt with a shrill whistle. It had come within a hair's breadth of overturning. Stones were piled mountain-high on the tracks, and when they directed a lantern toward them, they were dyed crimson with blood. Since then, Im Saeng-won had disappeared. Yet in this way, his father and daughter came to be regarded as guardians of the Earthen Fortress Corridor. The madwoman’s shrieks gradually faded into the distance. The madwife would make her daily circuit of the Earthen Fortress without fail, shrieking as she roamed from north to south.

An ice-cold silence hung over the group. From the slaughterhouse, the groans of livestock—torn by the wind—constantly echoed mournfully. The sound of airplanes circling could also be faintly heard. In the direction of the castle town forming a distant sea of lights, searchlights cast blue beams that raced through the air. When an airplane became ensnared within those overlapping beams, the engine roar grew even more thunderous, making them flash like a swarm of mosquitoes. The group raised their faces and stared blankly upward.

“War drills,” Sendatsu muttered with bitter resignation. Old Man Tokuichi struck his long bamboo pipe against the stones on the ground two or three times. Red sparks scattered. “Long ago, this place was a battlefield too. The whole Earthen Fortress was covered with soldiers’ corpses scattered everywhere. Why, wasn’t that a frightful thing, truly—and that Kōgoran business has gotten close to fifty years now…” Suddenly, Sendatsu’s wife sneezed with a sharp “Achoo!” The Stuttering Man paid no attention to this and suddenly sprang up as though a fire had ignited within him.

“I-I… back then… Q-Qing soldiers burned down m-my house.” “My brothers an’ my old lady got slaughtered.” “……Damned bastards.” “W-what… what sin’ve I-I even committed?” “I-I barely survived… But I-I… I can’t go on livin’… Ever’thin’s a graveyard, a graveyard!” “What’re you makin’ such a racket for?” Sendatsu finally lost patience and let out a shrill cry. “Nah, I-I’m makin’ noise.” “What’m I s’posed t’do if I ain’t makin’ noise?!” The Stuttering Man filled his mouth with foam and shook his head wildly.

“He’s gone clean out of his mind…” When Sendatsu muttered this with such visible irritation, the group laughed helplessly. Yet the Stuttering Man remained stubbornly gripped by a solemn intensity. As though driven by some invisible, terrifying force. When he realized they were laughing at him, he grew even more irate, savagely kicking his seat as he stood up. Muttering resentfully, he turned to leave—then suddenly halted and wheeled around, eyes blazing with anger,

“Damn brutes!” he shouted. “Y-You’re m-making a fool of me!”

Sendatsu’s wife dozed while nodding her crow’s-nest head, the child still clutched in her arms. She drew two or three deep, gulping breaths. Her cow-dung-like breasts sagged down, legs splayed limply from the mud-caked hem of her skirt, shoulders tracing a smooth arc. When the child whimpered again, she scrunched her long horselike face and shook her head. “Tch—useless brat.”

Genzaburō was staring at her drowsing form with fiery eyes as though possessed. He kept running his tongue over his lips, but they remained parched.

The moon was already sinking low. The poplar leaves fluttered golden and rustled. "If that crescent moon stays red like this... mark my words, we'll get a hellish downpour..." Old Man Tokuichi muttered. The group gazed at the moon as though seeing it anew, yet no one broke the silence.

III

The Earthen Fortress Corridor was assailed by a violent storm.

From Genzaburō’s hut resounded a roaring voice singing brokenly through the storm. The old man was bellowing a song at full throat. Then came quivering bursts of laughter from the woman and men. For it was said to be Chūbuku Festival, so the old man had gathered three or four souls to treat them to celebratory drink. The longing he’d always nursed—to play generous host to his neighbors—had at last been fulfilled that day. Drenched by rain, he’d gone out to invite nearby hut-dwellers.

“Heh heh, why don’t you come over to my place? Got some sake here too. What kinda godawful rain is this anyway?”

The Stuttering Man just sat cross-legged, muttering some strange incantation, and offered no reply. Genzaburō had peered into the Stuttering Man’s hut—that was the first time he had done so. In the dim light stood an altar made from a kerosene crate, with a vessel of clear water placed atop it. He was still a believer in Shangdiism. By thus coming into contact with Shangdi’s spirit and believing that once an earthly paradise was established, he would then receive abundant blessings.

“What’re you doin’ there?”

“Jiao duo jiao duo Taiyi Tianshang Yuanjun……” The Stuttering Man still did not cease his strange incantation.

Genzaburō reluctantly went to invite Sendatsu and his wife this time. Sendatsu abruptly flushed. He’d even bought sake under the pretense of celebrating Chūbuku Festival—and all just to please his wife… The thought sent a crimson tide burning from his ears. And leaping from cheeks to forehead, it finally flew to the corners of his eyes.

“You think this is the time to be guzzling sake?!” Sendatsu shrieked in a shrill voice. “You’re the one swilling sake like a bloated toad—why don’t you just drop dead already!” And then he suddenly tried to hurl something. And so Genzaburō fled in a frantic scramble. But Sendatsu’s wife scrambled after him. Sendatsu’s hands trembled violently as he glared at her retreating figure. Lord Ox!

Mama— Kūriyo Īīitsu, Kuriyō

As soon as he finished singing, Genzaburō grinned while wiping his sweat-drenched neck with his hand. "I’ve laid out six in my time. That there—my wife was one hell of a singer." Just uttering the word "wife" made the old man happy. "When I think about her not being here… I just can’t bear the sadness…" "Where’s your wife now, eh?" Taking a sake cup with hands trembling from paralysis, Old Man Tokuichi pressed on.

“You must’ve sold her off, I tell ya.” The usual Lame Beggar cut in maliciously. The woman snorted.

“No way!” Genzaburō glared. “Haven’t I told you a hundred times she died of the plague?!” “Oh?” “That’s right! Yeah, three brats together with her—cute little things, they were my heirs, you know.” “Everyone dying like that… What a goddamn terrible fate.” “Ugh, what’s the use of talkin’ ’bout it now—” The old man looked about to cry. “Enough already. Enough.” “I ain’t lyin’,” Sendatsu’s wife dismissed him with tipsy cheer.

“What’d you say?!” The old man flung his pipe aside. “Why’d I be lyin’?! “Uh—you don’t even know! “No way! It ain’t a lie—ain’t a lie at all!”

“Well, well,” the woman laughed as if thoroughly exasperated. “...Old man, wasn’t there a time you said you had two brats?” Genzaburō let out a scream and turned around, then erupted in an awkward, boisterous laugh. Somewhere, lightning flashed blue and thunder rumbled, pressing down on the earth. In that moment, he tried to turn his head again to steal a glance at the woman’s face—but when their eyes met—he grinned awkwardly. Perhaps because the alcohol coursing through his body made him restless and his heart race—she too looked especially beautiful today.

Outside, the storm raged on with ever-increasing fury, shrouding everything in its haze. A ferocious wind sweeping across the fields roared at the Earthen Fortress Corridor. Thousands of earth-covered huts were swallowed deep within the watery haze. The poplar grove swayed heavily, as if about to snap. From atop the earthen fortress, water came cascading down in a relentless torrent.

Suddenly, with a chirp, a mouse darted into the box in the corner, so Genzaburō—thinking it calamitous—tumbled backward and lunged at the box. The mouse flustered about inside with frantic clattering before darting out. Terror-stricken, it froze momentarily before attempting to slip through the straw bedding beneath Sendatsu’s wife’s knees. The woman let out a shrill scream. Genzaburō chuckled breathlessly and lunged toward her this time. The mouse had already slipped away unnoticed, wriggling its back as it fled headlong—but in that instant, something utterly astonishing happened to Genzaburō. For he had embraced the woman. Somehow, he found himself clutching her fleshy hips. At once his breath caught and his entire body convulsed as if seized by spasms. With a groan steeped in despair, he flopped down heavily and pressed his face against her hips, melting into her completely. The woman flailed her hands in panic. But Genzaburō managed only a faint gasp—

“A rat! A rat!” he gasped. Tokuichi and the Lame Beggar doubled over laughing. The old man, having finally regained his senses, released the woman’s thigh and stood up, awkwardly brushing his hands together. The woman also clapped her hands and doubled over laughing. “That mouse is a clever one, I tell ya.” Genzaburō forced a laugh. “If I go buy some celebration rice, ugh, how’d they sniff it out and come stealin’ it, I wonder?”

"They’ve sniffed it out—might not just be rats, y’know," the Lame Beggar and Tokuichi thought, gulping down saliva as they considered this.

After a while, they began shouting noisily again while exchanging cups as before. The old man inadvertently slipped back into his usual manner and rattled on nonstop—boasting about his carrying pole earnings, declaring he’d soon find a four- or five-yen rental room in the city, and so forth. “What’re ya gonna do once ya find a rental room, huh?” the woman asked half in jest. “We’ll call you over,” Old Man Tokuichi teased her, grinning foolishly. Then Genzaburō flusteredly waved his hands. “Why’s that? Ain’t true?” Sendatsu’s wife said with suggestive insistence, shaking her alcohol-slackened body.

Genzaburō thought he messed up and kept turning over what the woman had said afterward. To the old man, it just couldn’t sound like an ordinary joke. The old man felt his chest growing hotter.

“Heh heh heh, spoutin’ yer damn lies again!” the Lame Beggar suddenly sneered, his nose wrinkling as he burst into laughter. “You lot really think you can crawl outta here with that? The moment you take a step out—it’s hell! A whole pack o’ demons squirmnin’ around just waitin’ to pounce!”

However, the Lame Beggar suddenly quieted his laughter, widened his eyes, and strained his ears—for a dull, ominous thudding had begun to reach them. Somehow, it seemed to be coming from nearby. They all involuntarily held their breath and exchanged anxious glances. Then came another sound: a heavy *crunch* reverberated through the air as if something massive had shattered.

“Yeah, someone’s smashing up the earth-covered huts again, I tell ya.” Tokuichi muttered resentfully.

“Who is it…?” Genzaburō scooted closer to the entrance and peered out into the storm. Rain lashed against his face; at first he couldn’t see a thing. But suddenly, something appeared silhouetted like a shadow puppet about four or five meters ahead. It was slashing through the air as it moved. The old man jolted in surprise and suddenly dashed out. Slipping in the mud, he lurched forward again and again as he crawled up. The rain fell without mercy. The wind howled and slammed into his body. Clinging from behind as if about to collapse, the man—in a terrifying frenzy—raised a hut stake while grinding his teeth and shouted, “Let go! Let go!”

It was the Stuttering Man.

“What’s happening?!” Genzaburō let out a wailing cry as he clamped down with lion-like ferocity. “Uff, what’s happening?!”

The man descended into utter frenzy and leapt up with both feet off the ground. From the momentum, their two bodies tumbled over together and collapsed with a sodden thud.

“Hold on! Just hold on!” Genzaburō screamed like a madman.

The torrential rain, whipped into even greater fury by the gale, swirled wildly above the two.

As dusk approached, the rain ceased and the wind died down. Parting the veil of drizzling mist, the poplar grove rose steadily into view. Across the earthen fortress with its crimson underbelly laid bare, lay scattered remnants of earth-covered huts ravaged by the bamboo-lashing rain. Beside them crouched people transformed into sodden rats, staring vacantly into nothingness. The Stuttering Man’s hut lay shattered into kindling fragments. When vermilion floodwaters breached the retaining wall above and plunged down waterfall-fierce, this God-worshiper had erupted in madness—tearing out hut stakes and battering his shelter to ruinous splinters. But of the Stuttering Man himself, no trace remained.

Gradually, the earth-covered hut dwellers began crawling out of their huts. Just as chickens caught in a downpour had each shaken their wet feathers and emerged from under their shelters. The sky darkened. The plain was shrouded in rain mist, and the river flowed with fierce force.

Before anyone noticed, Sendatsu and his wife had begun violently grappling in that corner. Just as Sendatsu had dragged his sickly body out intending to work in town, his wife came swinging the rice bag received from Genzaburō, her face flushed and swollen. He swung his carrying pole down at her shoulder without warning, too enraged to speak. She fell backward into the mud, striking her head hard with a dull thud as she let out a choked cry. The bag flew from her grip and burst open on the ground, vomiting white grains across the mire. From their earth-covered hut came the child's terrified wail. His wife surged upright and lunged at him like a leopard going for the kill.

“You damn beast! Kill me! Kill me!” “Kill me!” “Kill me!” Sendatsu reeled for an instant. Sendatsu’s wife’s hair hung tangled, her shoulders heaving violently. “Kill me! Ah—ow! Ah—kill me!” Sendatsu kicked, struck, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged his wife across the ground. Mud splattered in all directions. In the blink of an eye she must have been thrown—staggering wildly with legs flailing before collapsing with a thud.

“Sendatsu, what in the world’s gotten into you?”

Completely startled, Genzaburō timidly approached, his words trembling. But they emerged fragmented—barely more than a whispered groan. The simple-minded old man remained unaware that he himself had made Sendatsu a prisoner of that terrible rage. The man flared up like sparks and yanked Genzaburō by the scruff of his neck. “Sendatsu, what’d I do?”

The old man gasped. But suddenly, he saw Sendatsu’s head thrust upward toward his face. In that instant, fire burst from his eyes, and his head began to swim. The old man flailed wildly like a black bear pierced by a spear and collapsed.

Sendatsu’s wife remained collapsed on the ground, pounding the earth as she wailed.

“Oh god! What have I done to deserve such bitterness? What sin did I commit?” “Who’s making me live like this beggar... Dear heavens-hens-hens!”

The Lame Beggar muttered as he picked up grains of white rice that had spilled into the mud and put them back into his bag.

“Yeah. As long as you’re alive, might as well pick fights while you can.”

On the darkening earthen fortress, the black procession of earth-covered hut dwellers stretched out in a long line. The torrential rain continued to fall, transforming the low marshland to the east into a great river, and they clamored to find a path leading all the way to the railway tracks. They set out toward the fortress town, their empty stomachs driving them to claim their evening meal. Old people leaned on canes and stood hunched over, children kept whining, and women pressed forward urgently, whispering to one another with worried faces about something.

Gray hunting caps. An old fedora pulled down deeply over the nose. A straw hat with a hole in the crown. Wet, disheveled hair. Women’s headscarves……and all were barefoot.

In the distant north, a freight truck blared its horn boldly as it raced across the stone bridge of Kita-no-te.

IV

All through that night, Sendatsu did not sleep a wink. No sooner had he lain down than he sat up again, choking on a hacking cough. He stared down at the bloodstained phlegm spat onto the back of his hand, his face deathly pale. In the darkness, it glinted sharply.

When the first rooster crowed the hour, he muttered as he shouldered his carrying pole and went out. Sendatsu’s wife absently watched her husband’s figure disappear dejectedly. The rain had completely stopped by midnight, but ominous clouds still drifted across the dawn sky. Upstream must have encountered even fiercer torrential rains, increasing the water volume, for cold vapor hung thickly over the river’s surface. Sendatsu’s wife stuck out her neck and let out a long yawn, then cast her eyes toward the murky torrent. Then, with an irritated huff, she spat and flopped back down onto the straw mat.

Before they knew it, night gave way to dawn. When the hazily overcast morning sun began dazzlingly reflecting off the river’s surface, two men in Western clothes appeared at the Earthen Fortress Corridor. They wove their way between the earth-covered huts, carrying a large ledger and a black leather bag. The visibly swelling red current, increasing its volume moment by moment, gnawed at the base of the Earthen Fortress. Twelve or thirteen shaku below the earth-covered huts was already a swirling current. Most of the earth-covered huts, now mere moments from being swept away by the flow, stood visible. The mountains of filth that had piled high on the opposite bank had become black dotted islands, while from lower areas, the muddy torrent licked its way into the fields. In midstream, white foam and straw scraps drifted abundantly as five or six swallows chasing them flashed their wings, appearing eerily beautiful.

Genzaburō gazed vacantly at such a scene while thinking sorrowfully that life in the Earthen Fortress Corridor might truly be coming to an end. A sense of loneliness and despair tightened around his chest for reasons he couldn’t name. But he could never forget. He had been wondering all along—the mysterious words the woman had spoken yesterday. What meaning was he supposed to take from them? If I could find a rented room within the fortress town, would the woman really come to me? The old man finally regained a sense of happiness, his chest throbbing with excitement.

So when the two rent collectors appeared at the hut, Genzaburō finally broke into a broad grin to welcome them. “Uh, I’ll pay up proper—just want t’ask for one room in th’inner fortress town soon.” The rent collectors stood dumbfounded and gave no answer. The old man hunched his back, groaned “uun uun,” and pulled off his old tabi socks. About three white copper coins clattered out from inside. After hurriedly picking them up one by one,

“Uh, ten sen, five sen, ten sen…” he confirmed as he handed them over. “Uh, twenty-five sen that is, ain’t no mistake… ’Cause I’m Tei Genzaburō, paid up proper-like.” Then he thrust his foul-smelling, disheveled head over the rent collectors’ ledger and flashed his thumb as if earnestly trying to locate his own name. The rent collectors sat up as if drawing near to a hot stove and fixed the old man with a piercing glare. Genzaburō finally bared his yellowed teeth in an awkward grin and chuckled “kukuku.” “Ain’t none comin’ from Mitsuke, I s’pose?”

The rent collectors laughed too. Then, suddenly stiffening their faces and twisting their mouths tightly, they left in silence.

“Right, I’ll go ask Sister now.” The old man thought. But the moment he shouldered his carrying pole, trudged through the mud, and reached the hut where the woman was, Genzaburō suddenly remembered Sendatsu. Fear gripped him, and his courage crumbled. “I’m heading out now, Sendatsu.” The old man said.

………… “This flood’s really something...” …………

The old man, finding the lack of response strange and peering suspiciously into the entrance, found himself unconsciously pressing his body flush against the hut’s wall. Sendatsu’s Wife was lying on her side, half-naked, with her nipple in the child’s mouth. Sendatsu had already left. His chest throbbed violently. As though ambushers were springing forth, the splashes of emotion he’d suppressed came lapping up against him. His throat was parched, and he couldn’t muster his voice properly.

“Sister,”

Sendatsu’s wife seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep.

“Sister,” The old man tried shouting again with a choked voice.

And with that, Sendatsu’s wife startled and jolted upright. “Who is it?” The old man froze rigid. It was over. “Uh... It’s me... Uh... Genzaburō.” “What’s gotten into you?” “I... Uh...” The old man didn’t know what to say and floundered incoherently, but then he recalled—that’s right, he was supposed to ask her something now—and smiled faintly to himself. “...Uh... well... this sorta thing... uh... I mean... I... I got somethin’ I wanna ask ya.”

“What is it?” “Uh… I mean… well… this might be a bad way t’ask, but… uh… Sister… do ya really mean t’go… uh… t’the inner fortress town?” “Old man, what on earth are you saying?” Sendatsu’s wife asked suspiciously. “N-no… uh… Sister… didn’t ya say last night… uh… if I found us a room in th’inner fortress town… uh… ya’d come…? I’m… I’m gonna go look now…” “Oh, you old man!” Sendatsu’s wife formed a faint smile and sighed. “If we were fine enough folk to manage that, there’d be no need for worry…”

“Ah, never mind that!” The old man opened his eyes wide and shouted. “Well, uh... I’ll go take care of it...” The baseless rumor that Genzaburō and Sendatsu’s wife had gotten together spread through the Earthen Fortress Corridor only after Old Lady Tokuichi witnessed this scene. The madwoman cackled shrilly with a lewd voice, her filthy wrinkled face gleaming with black bean-like eyes. Startled, Genzaburō turned to look, and the old woman fled upward along the earthen fortress as though she’d sprouted wings.

From then on, every time the madwoman encountered someone,

“Hey, you,” she whispered, waving her brown hand. “You know?” “What is it?” “What do you mean, you still don’t know?” The old woman widened her eyes, drew closer, pressed both hands against the listener’s ears, and whispered. “Genzaburō and Sendatsu’s wife have hooked up.”

Since hearing that rumor, Sendatsu’s illness had visibly worsened. His eyes glinted ever more suspiciously from their sunken depths, his lips perpetually chalky and parched.

He had changed completely from before; these past two or three days, he’d even braved the rain to venture out early at dawn. And he trudged through dawn streets where deep rain mist formed pale yellow halos around streetlights, through markets bustling with carts selling vegetables and muskmelons, through the quietly drenched docks of the Daidō River. He would sometimes stop suddenly, as if startled. Then he would mutter to himself in bursts.

Lately—he didn’t know why—memories of his hometown kept resurfacing with particular intensity. Even as he shook his head quietly trying to escape the hateful recollections, the vast fields of his homeland would flicker before his eyes unbidden. At the foot of the hill stood a village where acacias grew. That path between the rice paddies where he’d ridden calves home from grass-cutting as a boy, singing in a voice clear enough to pierce the sky. Spring meant preparing seedlings. Summer meant weeding. Autumn meant harvest. Farmers bent double in the fields moved in lines, engrossed in work songs traded back and forth. Girls balancing large baskets on their heads approached the ridges between paddies, waving their hands as they called out in voices bright as new-struck copper.

“Where y’all at?―Lunchtime!”

When winter came, the men would head cheerfully to the city to sell unhulled rice, the oxcart bells ringing clearly through the air. But such a tranquil and pleasant life did not last long. Some invisible, colossal force gradually gnawed away at the foundation of their lives, and their livelihood only grew more impoverished. Even the small plot of land he owned passed into others’ hands, reducing him to a mere destitute tenant farmer. Eventually, the tenant farming rights transfer notice arrived at his doorstep as well. That was likely around summer’s end. The rice stalks stretched high, their heavy heads bowing low. Sendatsu ground his teeth in utter despair and fury, his eyes glinting crimson. Sendatsu’s wife went to plead with Shaon—the Agricultural Superintendent. But when she crept home late that night—her hair disheveled from weeping—her jacket crumpled and pale skin peeking through its gaps……

He suddenly snapped back to himself from his reminiscence. He shook his head. As if trying to escape a nightmare. And slowly took out a small pipe from his pocket. That’s right—when that sulking wife of mine sold herself and got our tenant farming rights restored, I should’ve killed her then and there and died with her. But wasn’t it I who dragged myself away from the village with her in tow?

At that moment, something suddenly caught at his feet, startling Sendatsu into leaping back. It was under the eaves of a riverside warehouse where someone lay sleeping beneath a straw mat. The figure twitched slightly. When the man who had been stepped on groaned deeply and thrust his head out from under the mat, Sendatsu staggered back in shock and scrambled away as if tumbling. It was the Stuttering Man. Somehow feeling he’d been shown a premonition of his own final moments, he ran off at full speed. As if fleeing terrifying delusions, he threw himself frantically into whatever work came to hand. Thus for these past few days, even without Genzaburō’s help, he had managed to earn his own rice money.

One evening, in an uncharacteristically good mood, he muttered to his wife.

“I’ve got warehouse work starting in two days.”

His wife widened her eyes in surprise. The warehouse work was something done only by union members, and the wife knew it wasn’t permitted to vagrant laborers like the Carrying Pole Army. "You think you can handle that kind of work?"

“There’s a man looking out for me.”

In truth, Sendatsu had encountered Heikichi—a man from their old village—by chance on his way home. He was a man of imposing spirit and sturdy build who had once worked as a servant for a neighboring household but now belonged to the union and worked there. Perhaps moved by strong pity at Sendatsu’s wretched state, Heikichi had even strained his own position to promise getting him into the warehouse work crew. At that moment, Sendatsu could not say anything. When he thought that now he had to rely even on such help from a former servant, he could only feel bitterly sorry for himself.

“Come the morning after next at four—that’s fine.” Heikichi patted his frail shoulder two or three times with his large hand in comfort, then strode off somewhere while letting out a hollow laugh. “Heikichi said they’re giving three yen—that’s what he told me.”

He whispered to his wife, his face glowing.

His wife let out a faint cry. “No—did you even meet that Heikichi?”

Sendatsu peered through the darkness and watched his wife intently. Then he nodded quietly in assent.

5

Then it rained for two more days.

The Earthen Fortress Corridor swam through the deluge like a whale surfacing in the open sea. The poplar trees stood quietly towering along the ridge. A cold, damp wind occasionally made them dance. Mist flowed all around, and atop the pale drifting haze sat the midday sun. The opposite bank submerged like a sea, and the vigorous muddy torrent crept far across the vegetable fields, rice paddies, and millet fields. Only telegraph poles and old trees stood here and there above the current. The avenue of acacia trees lining the north was also submerged by the flood, leaving only the stone-built long bridge floating stark white.

The crimson-silted Muddy Torrent assaulted the Earthen Fortress with terrifying force, foaming white and swirling into eddies. The Earth-Covered Hut submerged in the current had its foundation soil crunched away with a crash; it staggered for an instant, then creaking and groaning, crumbled and fell into the torrent. The straw-bundle roof stood inverted in the Muddy Torrent. Rats thrown into the cold water scrambled in panic toward the shore. From nearby huts, the blackened necks of startled people would appear... and then vanish……. The midstream still swelled high. This was undoubtedly a harbinger that the water would rise ever higher. Pillars, furniture, livestock—even farmhouse roofs—bobbed up and sank down as they flowed away like arrows. And beyond where they raced southward, a vast vista stretched gleaming like the open sea.

The marshland on the eastern side of the Earthen Fortress had become like a lake from rainwater with no outlet, and the Slaughterhouse was flooded, appearing to float on the water. Dozens of men were trying to drive pigs out from within the wooden fence they had erected around them. As they dashed about in the muddy swamp shouting something with fervor, the herd of black pigs surged toward the towering railway embankment across the way, raising a clamor with their piercing shrieks. Just now, the black train passing by was cautiously sounding shrill peeps of its whistle while leisurely drawing an arc, as the flood encroached right up to the tracks. In the distance beyond, the red and imposing high-rise of the Prison and the ash-gray city sky studded with chimneys stood silently watching this scene.

A hawk descended from the vast sky, spreading its wings toward the Slaughterhouse. It thrust its greedy beak forward to wheel in a circular dance around all sides, then suddenly tucked its neck, sharpened its beak against its talons, closed wings that had spread like folding fans, and assumed a vertical diving posture. It moved with arrow-like speed. But just as it seemed to have descended near the group of piglets, it abruptly soared upward, ascending high into the distant sky. In the sky, there were no longer any dense clouds; only a wet, damp wind drifted over Mizuno. Tens of thousands of dragonflies darted back and forth over the Earthen Fortress as though trying to weave a net.

Genzaburō could not focus on anything. The old man occasionally sighed as he packed a wooden pillow, torn rubber boots, and tabi socks stained soy-sauce brown into an oil drum while preparing to evacuate. And yet try as he might, he could not bring himself to roll up the straw mat and clear out neatly like the others. It wasn't as though he had secured a rental room in the city either. But these past few days - how many houses had Genzaburō wandered through in town, inquiring at each one?

“Please rent me a room.” The old man bowed deeply and wrung his hands as he pleaded time and again. He believed that a monthly rent of four or five yen would be nothing for him to pay. But not a single person paid him any attention. Once, an old woman from a ruined household eyed him suspiciously, “How many are in your party, I wonder?” the old woman asked. “Oh,” the old man gushed with froth in his mouth, utterly delighted, “we’re a family of four even countin’ the brats—our house got washed away in the flood, see.”

He had carelessly let slip about being a family of four. The old man had been flatly refused, but whenever he thought about why he hadn’t said it was just him and Sendatsu’s wife alone, he burned with frustration. “What a disaster,” muttered the old woman as she went inside, swaying her hips. The old man stepped through the gate of another house. He told himself that this time he would definitely say it was just the two of them, but afterward they drove him out without even engaging. The old man had no choice but to trudge through the streets once more. Beside government offices, next to banks, around pavilions—everywhere here and there—people from the countryside who had lost their homes and crops to the flood huddled like tangled roots. To the old man, that didn’t seem like someone else’s affair. Even if he clung to the last clod of earth, he grew increasingly stubborn in his resolve not to abandon the Earthen Fortress Corridor.

The Earthen Fortress was struck by catastrophic floods once every year without exception. Each time this happened, the earth-hut dwellers scattered through the fortress grounds, becoming utterly homeless. When the waters eventually receded, newly displaced people would come trudging into this Earthen Fortress Corridor. Thus began another cycle of survival—even Genzaburō now clearly understood his earth-covered hut would soon be washed away. Five or six feet below his and Sendatsu's huts, the Muddy Torrent already churned violently. A chill rose through him that brought goosebumps, making his whole body shudder uncontrollably.

The old man crawled out sullenly and began staring vacantly at the sky, but when his gaze fell upon the collapsed wall, an indescribably bleak feeling welled up within him. The wall was thoroughly soaked by the rain, so even when he kneaded mud and tried patching it with new clods of earth, they would just crumble away with a dry crack. In an attempt to prevent runoff from above from cascading down, he even tried building up around the lower wall. But try as he might, he couldn’t throw himself into the work.

At times, the old man would gaze at Sendatsu’s collapsing hut and sigh. He fretted that he must tend to it immediately, yet soon found himself wavering again. What on earth could Sendatsu be planning to do? Even though the earth-covered hut was on the verge of collapsing any moment now, he had been heading out to work at the warehouse since three in the morning. Sendatsu’s wife had once again remained lying face down in the hut without even showing her face. Ever since that rumor had started, the old man had never once opened up to Sendatsu and his wife to discuss what lay ahead. Every time Genzaburō approached, Sendatsu’s wife would panic, thrust both hands forward, and make her voice tremble.

“Don’t come near.” “Can’t you see there are people watching?”

The old man crossed his arms tightly. Then, exposing his broad chest, he nodded his unshaven chin up and down. Five or six earth-hut dwellers evacuated toward the stone bridge in the northern section, carrying scraps of belongings on their backs. A single small-statured old man with a darkened face bent at the waist and poked around inside the collapsed hut with a stick fragment, searching for anything left to take out. Seeing this, the old man was finally struck down by a despair so profound it seemed to plunge his vision into swirling darkness.

Suddenly at that moment, Genzaburō became aware of an unusual commotion behind him. The instant he turned around and looked up at the Earthen Fortress, he froze in place as if nailed there. Amidst earth-hut dwellers filing past with altered expressions, a laborer-looking man carried a bloodied figure on his back. An ominous premonition flashed through his mind, and the old man reflexively dashed forward. The one being carried was indeed Sendatsu. The head swathed in coiled bandages swayed over the shoulders like a squirming mosquito larva.

“Move aside! Move aside!” Someone barked. They descended toward Sendatsu’s earth-covered hut like a cloud. Some of them blocked the entrance, jostling each other and clamoring noisily.

Struck by terrible anxiety, Genzaburō remained frozen in place, unable to move for some time. His breath wheezed, agonizingly labored, and the old man nearly thudded down to sit right there. But he lumbered closer as though resolved to something. And then, standing blocking the front of Sendatsu’s earth-covered hut, he muttered in a quiet, oppressive voice.

“Move aside.”

The misfortune had arisen because the warehouse work had been discovered by the other laborers. The work—begun around four o'clock by over thirty people holding their breath to avoid prying eyes—had already made considerable progress by dawn's first glimmers. Were they to destroy over a third of the stored grain, no one else could join afterward. Yet around seven that morning, belatedly discovered by union members it was. The warehouse job being such a rare windfall, those excluded seethed with natural murderous rage from jealousy and hatred. Thus did thirty-odd men cower under scornful glares and curses while shuffling about. Two men wordlessly made another shoulder a rice-hull sack; illuminated by electric lamplight from below, this bearer descended along creaking gangplanks. Needless to say Sendatsu grew ever more agitated. From inception unqualified for this labor was he. Already doubly anguished at being relegated to lamp duty for frailty's sake—now unionists came clamoring too. Tormented by discovery's dread and self-loathing so fierce he'd crawl into any hole. But when detected by some ruddy-faced man who seized his arm—reflexively he punched him away. At once they grappled down while others surged with curses and war cries.

Nevertheless, Heikichi swiftly rushed over and intervened, so the brawl subsided without difficulty, and in truth, the hot-tempered Sendatsu bore no injuries worth mentioning. But when he stood up with his body supported by Heikichi, he suddenly could not hold back the surging sadness. He grimaced fiercely and clenched his teeth, but hot tears streamed down to the edge of his mouth. Sendatsu staggered unsteadily up the gangway. He absolutely had to earn money today.

“Let me carry it!” he said. The men were startled, but intimidated by Sendatsu’s ominous intensity, they silently allowed him to shoulder the load. He staggered. Indeed, it was an astonishing display of physical strength. With large beads of sweat oozing on his forehead and an agonized expression as if his breath might cease at any moment, he descended the gangway step by step. Was it that he wanted to make everyone think he too was doing a full day’s work? His spine crept with a sensation as if cracking apart, and his footing began to waver. For him, it was simply too heavy a load. A fleeting instant. He felt dizzy, as if standing on the edge of a thousand-foot cliff. Everything went suddenly pitch black. And that was Sendatsu’s end.

Over Sendatsu’s corpse, a swarm of large black flies gathered and buzzed away. The encircling people, like the dead themselves, made no move to brush them aside. A blood-soaked jacket and trousers. A thin torso wrapped in bandages. Legs like splintered sticks. From beneath the bandages, his half-closed eyes glistened with blood, cotton wads crammed into his nostrils. Before Sendatsu’s wretched form, Genzaburō sank into profound sorrow, eyes fixed with timidity, utterly unable to move.

Heikichi, who had carried Sendatsu there, sat cross-legged with his hands planted on his thighs and stared vacantly at the woman wailing in grief. His face—pockmarked near the bridge of his nose—twitched intermittently. The skin of his hollowed cheeks convulsed.

Sendatsu’s wife wept, her eyes red and raw from relentless blinking. Collapsed over her husband’s corpse, she felt as though apologizing and praying for everything. The child had cried himself out. Tears trailed down the grimy cheek, flowed over the ribs-bare chest, and crawled downward toward the swollen belly.

“You… why did you have to go and die?” “What’re you tellin’ me to do now?”

The woman’s shoulders heaved violently as she sobbed. “You gotta endure this, I tell ya,” Heikichi said as though he could bear it no longer. “Now that it’s come to this, there’s no use cryin’. You won’t have to go starvin’ from here on out neither.” Finally she let out a loud wail and wept. Genzaburō lightly trembled his hands while his complexion changed, staring sharply at Heikichi. What manner of man was this? The old man wanted to know that. Heikichi wore a faint, inscrutable smile at the corner of his mouth. Genzaburō scooted closer to the woman and, panting with hurried breaths half in a fluster as he intended to comfort her, launched into a torrent of words.

“How sad this is—I don’t even know myself.” “But I’ll make sure t’bury Sendatsu proper for ya tomorrow, I will.” “Ya should come along.” “I’ve been t’Bemi Mountain plenty o’times for folks’ funerals, I tell ya.”

Sendatsu’s wife seemed to have stopped crying a little.

The old man continued with growing self-satisfaction. Though she had wailed all the more at the stranger's words of comfort, he thought she'd stopped crying quickly at his own consolation. "And since this place ain't safe no more, we oughta move into the castle town later." "I been searchin' real hard these days too, but ain't found nothin' suitable yet, uh—but I swear I'll find somethin' for ya!"

There, convinced that what he had said was surely three times longer than Heikichi’s words, the old man steeled his resolve all the more.

Old Man Tokuichi, who had been hunched over mutely mourning Sendatsu’s tragic death, suddenly winced as if something had begun throbbing painfully somewhere. And clenching his teeth, he rearranged his paralyzed legs, then fidgeted restlessly like a broken old clock that had long stopped ticking before speaking.

“What kind of karma have we all brought upon ourselves?” Sendatsu’s wife tried to forcibly suppress her emotions and let out a deep, shuddering breath. But convulsive wailing resumed once more.

On the earthen fortress, a rescue team appeared and were waving red flags.

“Head toward the bridge! “The Earthen Fortress is gonna collapse! “Hurry up and get out!”

The earth-covered hut residents climbed up to the Earthen Fortress one after another from all directions. Though they thought a water burial would have been far preferable, they still formed a column and walked toward the stone bridge. Life merely dragged them along like iron chains. While passing near Sendatsu’s hut, the earth-covered hut residents heard the woman wailing profusely.

The Lame Beggar dragged one leg heavily while muttering over and over under his breath like a curse.

“It’s over… it’s over… it’s over.” On the other side of the Earthen Fortress, the madwoman’s gong-like hoarse voice rang out wildly.

“You kidnappers, vanish, vanish!”

It was probably pursuing the men in Western suits into the distance, growing fainter and fainter.

VI

Hearing the rescue team’s shouts, Genzaburō came fidgeting out. There was no one left in the Earthen Fortress; feeling somehow frightened, the old man began crawling haltingly up toward the higher area. And in that corner, he stood rigidly, his mouth clenched tightly. Upon the endlessly drifting muddy torrent, the crimson reflection of the setting sun was splashed in vivid streaks. A vivid spectrum sliced vertically through the flow as it bore down upon the Earthen Fortress. Far to the west, rain clouds brooded over Ryūgakusan’s jagged peaks, while above them the sun floated softly like a helmet cast off by some magician.

Genzaburō squinted against the glare, his cheek muscles bunching up as he contorted his face into a severe grimace. His thick, heavy lips were tightly pursed in distortion. Around the rims of his large eyes, something white glistened. A flock of swallows darted back and forth above the midstream. Countless swallows would suddenly flutter up, only to have their wings pierced by the golden backlight midair, and just as one thought they were flapping, this time they would flutter down again like leaves scattered by a storm. Straw-thatched roofs flowed into the whirlpool that churned and raged, rolling sideways and vertical like hippopotamuses. Seeing this, the flock of swallows swept down all at once upon it.

And then, for some reason, the crimson light of the setting sun abruptly dimmed. The Earthen Fortress Corridor lay utterly still, like death itself. Not a single soul remained visible, and the madwoman’s shrieks had vanished without trace; from the slaughterhouse came not even the bellowing of livestock. The poplar trees swayed quietly without making a rustling sound. Only the muddy torrent kept flowing, jostling and whirling into eddies as it roared and tumbled onward. It was a single moment of stillness. But perhaps it was just his imagination—after a moment, an eerie noise began to rise from somewhere with a sinister swishing. And it seemed to grow gradually stronger. Had the southern end of the Earthen Fortress also begun to collapse? Could it be the sound of the torrent rushing into the eastern marshland? As the old man stared vacantly at the torrent, he suddenly felt a dizzy spell as though he too might be swept away. He steadied his faltering footing but his chest throbbed violently as if bound by a tourniquet.

"Sendatsu has died." "What'll become of Sister and that brat now?" Genzaburō, his features tensing into a fearsome grimace, muttered to himself. "I really gotta repay Sendatsu's kindness and save 'em." The old man desperately wanted to cling to that belief. By doing so, I could still repay Sendatsu. And he concluded that he truly had no choice but to save these two survivors himself. "Sister... Sister..." Then, before he knew it, the old man felt a new joy welling up and let a faint smile break across his lips. Before he knew it, warm feelings toward the woman had quietly seeped into his chest. But immediately, his fantasies were mercilessly torn apart. The old man startled. As if parting a thin veil—Sendatsu's swollen blood-caked lips had barely begun to twitch spasmodically when a phantom appeared: Sendatsu himself trying to roar something through clenched red teeth, forcing it out from between their crimson rows.

The old man staggered back three or four steps and held his breath. And finally composing himself, he looked around uneasily.

It was unclear who they were, but two figures seemed to be approaching from the distance. By now, the surroundings had grown quite dim. One appeared to be an elderly man with unsteady steps, supporting his bent body on a cane as he shuffled forward. The companion appeared to be an old woman. Carrying a large bundle on her back, she muttered something under her breath from behind. The hanging Ajinomoto tin can glinted red once. That was Old Man Tokuichi and his wife. As expected, the two of them were also evacuating toward the stone bridge to beg for their lives.

Genzaburō still stood rigidly as though something had pierced him. When Old Man Tokuichi realized it was Genzaburō of the Carrying Pole Corps, he drew so close that his nose nearly touched the man’s face, wheezing as he fluttered his charcoal-black hands before Genzaburō’s eyes.

“You plannin’ some p-p-pointless stunt, are ya?” “You’re goin’.” “I tell ya, you’re goin’.”

The madwoman suddenly bared her teeth in a broad grin,

“Lecher… hee hee hee… Doesn’t it make ya just a lil’ sad?”

With that, she let out an eerie, shrill laugh and ran off.

The two figures disappeared northward, threading through the dim light. Perhaps their dragging feet stumbled; now and then came the eerie clatter of a tin can. Over by the Stone Bridge in that direction, faintly glowing bridge lamps aligned at equal heights drew a line across the floodwaters. The castle town suddenly lit up as if startled into a sea of lights.

For a long time, Genzaburō remained motionless as though in a faint, having forgotten even to stir. Only the roar of the muddy torrent devouring and crushing the earthen fortress grew increasingly clamorous. Occasionally, the sound of nameless birds flapping their wings as they settled into their nests atop the poplar trees could be heard quietly. But by some impulse, the old man, startled by something, reflexively flattened himself against the ground. And pierced by terror, he pressed his face against the ground and held his breath.

A thunderous ground roar resounded.

At that moment—

The section of the Earthen Fortress thirty to forty ken south finally could no longer hold out and, before their very eyes, crumbled and began toppling into the torrent. The spray of water shot up more than ten feet high. It glinted silver in the darkness. This time, the nearby soil seemed to cave in with a light splashing sound of water, and once again, a tremendous roar shattered the stillness and reverberated. The Earthen Fortress now began to collapse in earnest. The looming muddy torrent found an outlet there and surged forth, raising a roar as it rushed with a tumultuous crash toward the eastern lowlands. Ground roar, thunderous roar, the cascade’s tumult.

A shudder ran through him as icy confusion raced down his spine. Genzaburō had somehow collapsed into a prone heap, curled up with his mouth panting violently and his hands groping at the mud on the ground. He struggled to raise his body. He thought he must quickly go to Sister's place and get her out. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't rise. He lifted his hips, planted his feet forward, and leaned out toward the lower slope. His hand slipped on the mud, and before he could react, he slid helplessly down two or three feet. It was soaked in muddy water and treacherously steep. Below raged a terrifying torrent. The old man frantically tried to rise again by getting his knees under him, but this time they gave way and sent him tumbling.

“Sister!” Genzaburō screamed. Startled by the unnatural noise, Sendatsu’s Wife thrust out her head. But by then, before she could even scream “Ah—!”, something black had already come tumbling down with heavy thuds. Sendatsu’s Wife and Heikichi reflexively sprang out as if tumbling. They were too late. There was only the dull splash of water.

“Genzaburō! Genzaburō!” What resembled him was already being swept several ken downstream. Sendatsu’s Wife ran along the bank while shouting. Heikichi splashed into the current and pursued. The old man was a mountain dweller who knew nothing of water. Still not far from shore, he would occasionally plant his feet on the ground in attempts to right himself, flailing wildly. He seemed to be trying to cry out. He let out choked, guttural screams. In the struggle, he must have swallowed great gulps of water. Yet several distinct cries could indeed be heard.

“Sister… run… run away… u… u…” “Genzaburō! Genzaburō!” Sendatsu’s Wife ran on, shouting with all the voice she could muster. Sometimes slipping, tripping, or staggering; she thudded down only to rise again. “U... u...”

“Genzaburō, hold on! Genzaburō!” “U... run... run away...” The choking voice was heard no more after that. The water ran red; the river ran black. Several times something white surfaced only to vanish again, now drawn ever deeper as it was swept away. The swirling muddy torrent did not pause to lick its chops. Sendatsu’s Wife still staggered onward, running desperately after him despite everything.

“Ah! Look out!” “It’s dangerous there!” Heikichi, who had been running ahead, stopped Sendatsu’s Wife and held her tightly. Sendatsu’s Wife struggled to shake him off. But one ken ahead lay the collapsed cave of someone’s earth-covered hut. And it was already too late. Genzaburō had already been swept dozens of ken downstream before anyone knew it. But perhaps he had suddenly been caught in a violent whirlpool—after flashing two or three times like a flicker, he vanished from sight entirely.

Sendatsu’s Wife leaned against Heikichi and covered her face. The man stared blankly, endlessly, at the direction where Genzaburō had vanished. The muddy torrent roared powerfully onward, still maintaining its vast, indistinct flow. At times, only the thunderous crash of a section of the Earthen Fortress collapsing in the distance echoed all the more ominously.

Before long, the sixteenth-night moon emerged, and the torrent, bathed in golden moonlight, performed its demonic dance.