Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

“It’s coming! It’s coming!”

“Whoa, it’s coming! It’s coming!”

“It’s a train! It’s a train!”

“Comrades, prepare! This train’s carrying Zhang Zuolin!”

The children scrambled onto the railroad tracks. The quicker children had already hiked up their hems, stripped off their sandals, and stuffed them into their shirtfronts or under the sashes at their backs.

“Alright, stay calm and plant the bombs quickly! Understood? Hurry up and do it! Once you’re done, get out fast!”

Leader Yoshi leapt onto the rail and issued commands.
A large crowd of small children sprang to their feet and, amidst the commotion, began burying acorns beneath the rail.

It was a single straight stretch of railroad track.
It was in the middle of a grassy field.
One end of the railroad tracks continued into a lively, hazy town, while the other disappeared into a lush, dense cedar forest.

The train gradually approached from the direction of the town.
At first it was a black dot no bigger than a pencil tip, gradually growing to bean-sized, then beetle-sized, then suddenly swelling like a shaggy dog until it drew near enough to reveal eyes, nose, and even short legs.

The children scrambled out of the railroad tracks in a flurry.
And flattened themselves against the embankment.
But Leader Yoshi still remained alone on the railroad tracks.

Yoshi disliked that train more than he did Zhang Zuolin.
Because that thing always looked down on children, acting all high and mighty like it owned the place—snorting like a beast, bouncing up and down, charging ahead with its whole frame shaking as if to say, "This here's my road, scram!"

“Alright, today I’ll definitely stop you!”

Yoshi ran out a couple of yards toward the approaching train.
And facing the train, he stared wide-eyed and frantically slashed a cross shape.
And he let out a single guttural groan.

But the ninjutsu didn't work.
When the train whistle shrieked sharply, the young ninjutsu user went flying off the tracks as if blasted away, clinging to the embankment's grass just like everyone else.

The train rumbled closer with earth-shaking vibrations, its front nearly scraping the ground as it charged forward, then twisted its back and swaggered its tail pompously as it disappeared into the cedar forest.

“Let him escape, did we? Zhang Zuolin!”

“They’re all duds!”

With a whoop, the children leaped up onto the embankment.
The autumn sun glittered brightly.

“Enough! Since it’s come to this, there’s no choice but to press forward!”
“Comrades, charge!”

Yoshi thrust his right hand high into the air and shouted, then took the lead and charged straight along the railroad embankment toward the cedar forest.
The children followed.

2

When the railroad tracks reached the point where they entered the cedar forest, the children became completely exhausted and gradually began to lag behind.
This was because none of them had ever gone beyond that point before.

When he saw this, Yoshi took up the very rear.
And while swatting the backsides of those who lagged with ears of silver grass, he bellowed at the top of his voice.

“You spineless cowards!”
“Cowards are bourgeois!”

The children, unable to bear being called "spineless cowards," "weaklings," and "bourgeois," ran on even as their legs tangled beneath them.

At last the cedar forest ended, and they came out into a wide field.
Then the two or three who had been charging ahead energetically suddenly stopped and peered down at the open lot.

"What's the matter?!"
"Advance!"
"Vanguard, advance!"

But the vanguard didn't budge an inch.
Yoshi, furious, swung up the silver grass plumes and rushed forward.
But when he reached them and looked, he froze in astonishment.

First of all, he had never even dreamed there could be such a vast field beyond the cedar forest. Moreover, beyond the field stretched an expanse of houses—small dwellings jumbled together haphazardly—and even on their roofs, signs reading "Well Pump Repairs," "Tinware," and "Geta Storage" stood out clearly. But what astonished him even more was seeing fifteen or sixteen boys darting about through the silver grass of that vast field.

Upon closer inspection, it was war games.

Yoshi swallowed saliva and stood rooted, staring down intently.

The ears of silver grass swayed in the wind.
The children darted in and out of sight as they ran through it.
They were each holding a stick.
Among them, some thrust their sticks at their waists or slung them over their shoulders, bending slightly at the waist as they crawled forward to approach the enemy.

A piercing whistle resounded from the thicket.
From both directions, black heads emerged between the white ears of silver grass and raised a triumphant battle cry with a roar.
From the opposite side emerged a unit wearing vines as sashes.
A dawdling game of chase began.
And they clashed swords.

“Come on, I’ll cut you down!”

“What insolence!”

“Hey! Hey!
“Hey! Hey!”

The ears of silver grass swayed like waves.
The children darted about like wild rabbits.
A piercing whistle sounded from ahead, and a cloud of dust erupted with a boom from the thicket to the left.
They had wrapped them in newspaper and thrown them.
Then dust clouds rose from both the right and ahead.

Clashes were breaking out here and there.

“Hey! Hey!”
“Hey! Hey!”

“What do you think you’re doing?!
“Touch me and I’ll cut you down!”

“Men, keep at it!”

“Understood!”

Yoshi could no longer contain himself and finally, at this moment, unconsciously raised his voice and called out to the comrades across the way.

“Hey, wait a second!”
“Let me join too!”

Then, as Yoshi’s voice rang out so loudly and unexpectedly, the children from the opposing war games—still brandishing their wooden swords—all turned in this direction to see what had happened.

Yoshi felt somewhat embarrassed, but since there were seven or eight of them on his side, he steeled himself and raised his voice once more.

“Hey, let us join your group too!”
“What’s the name of your leader?”

Then from the thicket across the way emerged three or four children, and among them one who appeared to be their leader—a boy with ears of silver grass tied around his forehead—shouted back in a loud voice.

“Where’d you come from?”

Yoshi stood rooted where he was and, while pointing in the direction they had come from, shouted once more.

“We came from over here!”

“So you’re Culture Village kids? Or are you not?”

“We ain’t! We came from beyond the cedar forest, I tell ya! Let me join! If ya don’t let me in, I’m outta here!”

“What’s your leader’s name? You?”

“Yeah, me! The name’s Yoshi!”

“That’s it?”

“The truth is, it’s Sakamoto Kichirō!”

“So that’s it! I’m the leader here!”
“The name’s Yoshikawa Matsuo!”
“I’ll make everyone comrades, so come on down!”
“But no mean-spirited persistence, got it?!”

“Alright, got it!”
“Understood!”
“Comrades, press on!”

Yoshi was first to head down to the vacant lot. And to everyone he encountered, he raised his right hand in salute. Everyone followed Yoshi.

3

After the two groups joined forces, their war games grew even livelier and more intense.
This was because neither side could bear to lose.

Since Yoshi was tall, he was quickly made one of the leaders, though his approach to war games differed significantly in style.

Whenever defeat seemed imminent, Yoshi would rally his allies at once and make them discard their guns and swords right there.
Then they linked arms and charged into the enemy stronghold with a heave-ho, trampling everything underfoot and kicking it all aside.

Then Leader Matsuo from the opposing side declared there were no such war games and started getting angry.

"But our fathers do this too!"
Yoshi puffed out his cheeks.

"What's your old man?"

Matsuo got angry and glared with ears of silver grass tied around his forehead.

"My father's a laborer.
"He's a worker!"

"That's why you don't know about war games!"
Matsuo said with a grin.
"If someone gets slashed with a sword, you all gotta drop down!"

“But proletarians mustn’t fall from just a wound like that—they have to get back up and fight as many times as it takes till they die—that’s what my dad says.”

“What’s a proletariat?”

Matsuo had never heard such a word before, so he found himself getting drawn in.

“Proletariat means poor people.”
“Those who aren’t bourgeois.”
“We’re all proletariat—me and you lot!”

Then Matsuo puffed out his cheeks and protested.

“But my family isn’t poor!”
“We’ve got money too!”

Yoshi faltered.
But seeing the boy wore neither fine kimono nor Western clothes,

“But you’re no big shot, right?”
“Don’t live in some grand mansion either?” he pressed.

Matsuo silently narrowed his eyes.

Then one of the children spoke up from the corner.

“Matsuo-kun’s father is a carpenter．He’s hardly ever home，you know．Mother and older sister are raising chickens．At the path’s exit there’s a sign saying ‘Freshly Laid Eggs This Way’！”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Matsuo, embarrassed, retorted to the child.

“What’s your house? You’re doing Tomoe-yaki!”
“There’s ‘Tomoe-yaki’ written on your torn shoji screen!”
“Listen up, everyone!”
“It’s true, I tell you!”

Everyone burst out laughing again.

Then Yoshi said.

“So everyone’s proletariat.
“We’re all proletariat! Comrades!”
“So let’s all stick together and crush the bourgeois!”

“Objection!”

“Agreed!
“Agreed!”

“Banzai!”

“Charge!!”
“Everyone, grab hold!”

Matsuo abruptly pointed at the railroad embankment and issued a command.

Everyone suddenly took off like small birds and scrambled up the embankment like mice.

A train was coming from the opposite direction.

“This train’s got Lenin riding in it! Listen up, everyone! You’ve gotta shout ‘Banzai!’”

This time Yoshi issued the command.

The children lined up on both sides of the railroad tracks.

“Everyone drop your hems!”
“Take off your sashes!”
“Sniff back your snot!”

The train approached, its front drawing near.

“Banzai!”

“Banzai!”

“××××× banzai!”

“Proletariat banzai!”

The freight train passed slowly before the children like a weary cow, its protruding black belly clunking from side to side as it swayed. Some cars clunk-clunked along, others creak-creaked, and still others clang-clanged in rhythm as they went.

“Cut it out! Stop the Banzai!”

When the train had gone off in the opposite direction, Matsuo shouted like this.

The sun had already sunk beyond the cedar grove.

“That’s all for today!”

Matsuo addressed everyone.
Then he came over to Yoshi’s side,

“Won’t you come again tomorrow?” Matsuo said.

Yoshi thought for a moment before answering.

“Come on Sunday instead of tomorrow, from the morning.”

“That’s it!” Matsuo shouted in a boisterous voice.

“Alright then, let’s go see the Culture Village on Sunday. It’s right near the station across the way. A village of rich folks. We’re always getting spit on by those kids over there. From the train windows. They go to some fancy town school, see? So we gotta track ’em down and give ’em a proper thrashing. Hey, you better come—and that village’s real pretty too. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s so pretty!”

“Alright.”
“So it’s a Bourgeois village.”
“Alright.”
“Bring a bag.”

“What for?”

“Acorns! Acorn bombs!”

“Hey, bombs? Fantastic!”
“That sounds like fun!”
“And everyone—everyone must come!”
“Bring the girls too—the more the better, see?”

“Alright.
I’ll definitely bring a whole crowd.
And—a demo!
Demo!”

In the sky, clouds like red shoes were flying.

The children beneath it split into west and east along the railroad tracks and went noisily homeward.

4

Sunday was fine weather from the morning.
In the upper reaches of the cedar grove, kites cried out while quietly dancing across the vast sky, tracing the shapes of 6s, 8s, and 9s.
The seventeen children led by Yoshi, noisily making a racket all the while, advanced along the railroad embankment toward the cedar grove.

The children from the opposite side were making just as much noise.
Altogether, there were as many as twenty-five or twenty-six of them.

“They’re here! They’re here!”

“The Western Army’s coming! Here they come!”

The children jumped up and raised both hands.
Among them were girls, a boy with thinning sideburns, a lame boy, and others.
The girls, even after General Matsuo gave the order, still clung gleefully to the utility poles at the edge of the tracks, spinning around in groups of two or three and squealing noisily.

“Keep it down, will you! Today we’re storming the Culture Village, so everyone better listen to what we say! Those who don’t obey—I won’t care if you get lost!”

Everyone quieted down.

“Advance!”

And then they set out.

But it was a strange procession.
Some kept slipping and falling as they walked over the gravel, while others deliberately balanced along narrow rails like tightrope walkers with peculiar flair.
Then again, there were others lightly hopping along, skipping every other railroad tie.

Everyone couldn’t wait to see the Culture Village—this village full of wealthy people.
What kind of children lived there, and what sorts of trees, grasses, flowers, and fruits grew there?
Perhaps there might even be a zoo or a park or something like that, they thought.

They all began to hurry eagerly.

The white station came into view.
The poplar trees stood tall and straight like yellow banners planted in rows.
The sun glittered down.

To its right lay a gentle hill.
The town extended beautifully all the way up the hill.
It glittered brilliantly.
It was the Culture Village.

The children involuntarily came to a halt and gazed.

The town atop the hill was surrounded by trees resembling hung scraps of cloth in assorted colors, so that the entire hill looked like a mound—or perhaps a hill—of gathered merino scraps. Here and there stood houses roofed with red-, blue-, yellow-, light blue-, leaf green-, and chestnut brown-tiled roofs—strange as patchwork—that glittered in the sunlight. Among them were houses with red roofs rounded like opened women’s parasols, blue roofs, and others with dappled roofs resembling patterned paper balls. Then again, there were pointed roofs like closed black men’s umbrellas thrust upward, and others with deep eaves resembling the flipped-up lid of a geta box or the dislocated jaw of an Echigo lion. And the entire town snapped into focus under the orange autumn sun, glowing as if lifted into the air.

The children involuntarily shouted “Banzai!” all at once.
And they hurried even further ahead, pressing onward with eager competition.

From somewhere, the sound of a piano came echoing.

“Hey, I hear a weird sound coming!”
“Do you think the enemy found out?”

“Idiot!”
“A piano’s just an organ!”

After walking for a while, a girl ran up to Matsuo and said.

“Hey, there must be a park too, right?”

“A park?
“There is! There is!”

This time, another girl ran up and asked Matsuo.

“Is there a zoo?”
“There is! There is!”
“What about swings?”
“Of course there are! Of course there are! There’s everything there! There’s even a slide!”
“Oh! They even have things like that?”
“Of course there are! There’s everything there! It’s a village of wealthy people, after all. There’s absolutely everything there, I tell you.”

“Then what about a wooden horse? A wooden horse?”

“Wooden horse? What’s a wooden horse?”

“A horse made of wood.”
“You can ride it.”
“It has ears and a back, and you straddle it there.”

“There are! There are!”
“There are hundreds of those!”
“There are wooden cows and elephants and everything!”

“Ha ha ha ha!”

But Matsuo remained undaunted.
He walked at the very front alongside Yoshi, side by side.
Yoshi was carrying a bag of acorns.
Both of them felt as though they wanted to try smoking like adults.

5

When they crossed the railroad crossing in front of the station and finally reached the main street at the entrance to Culture Village, both of them made sullen faces and fell completely silent.

Along both sides of the storefronts, large shaggy dogs and big, slender-legged dogs were lounging about.
The shopkeeper peeked out while muttering.

“Are they on an excursion?”

“Looks like there’s no teacher with them!”

“Where could they be going?”

“First graders?”
“No，there are some big ones too!”

Matsuo and Yoshi remained silent.
The children had formed into groups—boys with boys and girls with girls—and both clusters walked huddled together.

Gradually climbing the hill, they entered Culture Village.
The clear sound of a piano began reaching them.
Peculiar houses started emerging everywhere.
Yet it remained a town of curiously sparse foot traffic.

In one house's broad grassy garden stood swings and a slide.
But not a single child lingered there, nor could any human voices be heard.

In one garden, a crane-like bird with burns from the neck up croaked hoarsely, but as expected, there seemed to be no one around, and the entrance door was tightly locked like a storehouse.

Again, there were many vacant houses.
Ivy had climbed from the entrance all the way up to the high windows, and on the stone gate pillars, ceramic guardian lions stood watch.
But strangely enough, on the poles of the drying racks in the back hung freshly laundered kimonos and Western clothes.

"You—are there actually people here or not?"

Yoshi asked Matsuo, their guide.
But Matsuo didn't know for certain either.

"Seems there are lots of vacant houses."

“That’s right. This one’s vacant too, and that one over there as well.”

The children grew gradually more energetic and cheerful.
Then they began making a commotion.

“Where’s the park?”
“Is the zoo still far away?”
“I’m hungry!”
“The kids aren’t here at all.”
“If I found them, I’d slap them around, but...”

Yoshi asked Matsu as they walked.
“Where’s the park, Matsu?”

Then Matsuo stopped, shaking his head as he thought,

"Wait, I forgot!" he said, craning his neck to look around in all directions.

At that moment, from what appeared to be a vacant house right in front of them, two lion-like shaggy dogs came rushing out while barking fiercely.

With a roar, the children raised their battle cry.

“Get ’em!”

“Charge!”

“Bombs!”

The boys each grabbed stones and hurled them.
The small stones went flying into gates, walls, and even front entrances.

As the dogs retreated, the maid came out.
The children had not yet stopped throwing.

When the maid withdrew, a second-floor window opened, and from behind pink curtains peered out a doll-like girl, a boy, a bob-haired young woman, and a bride-like face.

"Charge! Charge!"

The children joyfully jumped up.

Then, from the entrance, a man with a thin mustache came rushing out barefoot and shouted violently.

“Ba-ba-baka!”

The children raised a battle cry and fled.
While fleeing, they shouted “Banzai!”

Someone started shouting, “Heave-ho! Heave-ho!”
Yoshi shouted, “Demo! It’s a demo!
“Demo! It’s a demo!” he shouted.

And before they knew it, everyone kept running while shouting, “Heave-ho! Heave-ho!
“Demo! Demo!”

they were shouting, "Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Demo! Demo!"

The people of Culture Village were surprised.
And trying to see the commotion racing from street to street, everyone opened windows and peered out.

The children grew even more delighted, for from every house human faces clustered like bunches of grapes were looking down at them.
And then, linking arms in groups of three or four, they ran even more energetically and wildly from street to street.