Pathway to Japanese Literature

The unforeseen great earthquake had swept away the boundary between his modest rented house and the imposing neighboring residence.

The detestable brick wall—which they had clucked their tongues at since moving in, muttering "It’s a fine house, but that wall is far too high, gloomy, and damp"—had crumbled from its foundations and collapsed into the narrow garden of his rented house, blocking half of it. Plantings likely cultivated by previous residents for festival days, along with an amateurishly crafted gourd-shaped pond, were now buried beneath aged bricks.
Five or six long-bodied goldfish had been swimming there, but they too must have been buried in the earth.

The previous head of the neighboring house—said to have built his fortune through moneylending in a single generation—was a man people referred to with an unnecessary 'oni' (demon) character appended to his name.
The high encircling brick wall had been meant to block human resentment.
At its peak lay glass shards embedded without gaps.
When viewed from below, these countless shards had glittered menacingly in sunlight from their lofty height, but now lying shattered before observers, their true purpose became clear—they held no power to intimidate whatsoever.
It was as though something overestimated beyond its true capabilities now stood exposed in its actual powerlessness.

Because the high wall that had blocked sunlight collapsed, the neighboring house’s spacious garden became fully visible from his desk in the parlor-study. Beyond the shrubbery lay a lawn with a pond at its center; water reflecting the late summer sun glinted sharply between tree branches.

“Unlike our place, the neighbor’s seems to have been hit quite hard.”

My wife, enthralled by discovering this unseen world, kept gazing endlessly at the garden suddenly revealed before her. This showed unmistakable envy toward something beyond her reach.

“Oh! The stone lantern’s fallen over.”

“Where?”
“Huh? Mom, where was it then?”

“Right there, see?
“There’s an artificial hill and a large pine tree, you see.”

“Ah, got it!
“Hey! The stone lantern’s fallen over!”

The sound of my wife talking to the child at the back door could be heard close by.

“Ken-chan, you mustn’t do that.
Don’t go over to the neighbor’s house or anything like that.
You’ll get scolded.”

Beneath my wife’s scolding voice, the child clambered onto the collapsed bricks and, driven by that characteristic childhood curiosity, kept trying to take even a single step onto the neighboring soil.

Especially when he occasionally caught sight of the little girl playing on the neighboring lawn, Kenichi—driven by his desire for companionship—would try his hardest to catch her attention.

“Oh my, I had no idea there was such a lovely child next door—even though I’d never once laid eyes on her before.”

My wife too would become animated with particular interest whenever she glimpsed the little girl’s merino kimono through gaps in the trees.

About their neighbor—who appeared to live hidden behind a high brick wall without any community interaction—they possessed little knowledge, having only recently moved in.

It was true that the cold impression of that ridiculously high wall had provoked antipathy from the very start.
Thus when they saw that wall collapse, even amid the great earthquake’s threat, they felt something akin to exhilaration.
They had regarded those within the wall as people from another world entirely unrelated to themselves.
Now that the boundary’s primary elements had been removed and they could see through clearly, they couldn’t deny that a certain familiarity had begun emerging.

For the children, their own temptations were at work—before they knew it, the boundary was being freely crossed.

“Hey, move! That’s Mount Hakone.”
“If an earthquake hits, you’ll fall into the valley! A girl’s got no business going there!”

“It’s fine.”
“This is my home here.”

“No way!”
“Your house is here!”
“How could our house be up on some mountain like that?”

Peering in, I saw Kenichi acting bossily as he gave orders, while the neighbor's girl alternately obeyed and half-defied him, playing by pretending the collapsed wall was a mountain here and a valley there. While her bobbed hair fluttered softly, the girl—girlishly mindful of her disheveled hem—followed Kenichi's lead as she jumped down from high places and climbed back up again. She was a child with a seemingly weak respiratory system: slender-necked, pale-complexioned, and possessing disproportionately large eyes.

“The neighbor’s child doesn’t go to school, apparently.”

“But she’s still small.”

“No—apparently she’s just one year younger than Kenichi.”

“Huh? Seven years old? She’s still small though. Must be a late-born child.”

"But apparently that’s not the case," she said. "Her father says she doesn’t need to go to school or anything like that."

"Why’s that?"

"Why do you think? Doesn’t that neighbor’s house give you the creeps?"

"Is her mother not around?"

"It seems she’s passed away. Though I don’t ask—it seems too pitiful."

"Come to think of it, I don’t see anyone who looks like a servant either."

"There’s just one old maid, they say—in such a big house. The cleaning alone must be a huge chore."

Even my carefree wife had developed considerable curiosity. Being naturally a novelist with an observer’s disposition, he wanted to know more details and let his imagination flourish; yet owing to an ingrained indolence, he avoided taking any active interest in others’ private affairs. Still, between them both, talk of the neighbor would arise whenever occasion offered.

“Lately Kenichi’s been going over there every day to play.”
“Should we really just let him keep doing that?”

“It’s not ideal for children to wander into others’ homes unchecked—but since it’s just between children, I suppose it’s harmless enough.”

“But it just feels so creepy.”
“That girl’s father—they say he just stands there watching with a scary face, not saying a single word.”

“What a strange household.”

“It certainly is strange!”
“First of all, even though their wall has collapsed into our house like this, he hasn’t even come to greet us, has he?”
“Surely he doesn’t intend to leave it like this forever, though.”

“What’s wrong with that?”
“Having a tall wall standing right in front of us isn’t as good as leaving things open like this.”

“But it’s not safe!”

“The real security problem’s with the neighbor.”
“Even if a thief broke in here, there’d be nothing worth stealing anyway.”

Even as he said this, he too found himself occasionally troubled as he watched the collapsed brick wall remain untouched while autumn deepened around them, the view growing gradually more desolate.

He had taken on serialized works for newspapers and magazines, which was why he couldn’t leave his desk each day. Because he stayed up late at night, he often found himself staring blankly at his desk during the day.

“Excuse me.”

An unfamiliar man’s voice was heard in the garden.
When I opened the shoji, a man was standing beyond the collapsed section of the brick wall marking the boundary with the neighboring house.

“I am Inahara.”
“I understand that the collapsed state of my house’s wall has caused you considerable inconvenience, and I deeply apologize.”
“I intend to have it cleared away promptly, but since the entire Tokyo area has been affected and there’s a shortage of craftsmen, it has unfortunately remained in its current state.”
“It is by no means our intention to leave it neglected on purpose.”

He stood with his emaciated, bony frame deliberately held erect, speaking in a hoarse voice and with abrupt formality.
In his pale face—with its sparse beard growth and shadowed expression—there were wrinkles that repelled familiarity.

“Oh, no—on our side, since it’s not much of a garden to begin with, we don’t mind leaving it as is, but what a terrible misfortune this has been for you. However, the fact that we both survived is a blessing in itself.”

Because the other man appeared so tense that he gave off an oppressive feeling, he deliberately adopted a casual tone in his reply, but the other man seemed intent only on saying what he himself had come to say.

“It was early this morning.”
“A person claiming to be your landlord came and I was severely reprimanded.”
“On the grounds that you were extremely upset.”

“Oh, the landlord came by? That old man’s quite the stubborn one, so I’m sure he gave you an earful all by himself. But as for me, leaving things as they are poses absolutely no problem.”
“To be honest, since the wall was so excessively high, it was an eyesore, and I’d even cursed it a bit, wishing it weren’t there.”

“So you’re saying it’s better if it collapses?”

The neighbor unexpectedly broke into a smile.

“It’s not exactly as you say, but now that things have turned out this way, being able to look out over your spacious garden is truly splendid.”
“In truth, I think things like hedges or walls are unnecessary as long as we don’t invade each other’s space.”

“Yes, that is one possible perspective.”
“But can neighbors truly live without endangering each other’s lives?”

The neighbor spoke in a mocking tone. It was not mockery directed at any specific person or matter, but rather seemed to deride society as a whole, himself included.

“Would you care to take a seat here?”

He offered a zabuton cushion on the veranda with measured curiosity.
He probably wouldn't come anyway, given the rumors that this man never interacted with anyone—yet even as he thought this, he was fully determined to test him.
However, the neighbor—

“Excuse me.”

Saying this, he stepped over the collapsed wall without hesitation.

“Since you seem to have moved here only recently, you may not be aware, but this brick wall is one of my father’s legacies.”

As soon as he sat down, he spoke in a challenging tone.

“My father was a countryman, born into a destitute family.”
“Even working from morning till night throughout the year, it was his ordained fate to never eat his fill.”
“For poor people, meekly accepting that might be what makes one a good person, but my father refused to bow to fate.”
“After coming to Tokyo and enduring several years of a slave-like existence, my father came to despise the world and became a man obsessed with money.”
“Money.”
“The notion that ‘if only I had money’ may not take such firm root in those blessed with inherited assets or within reach of status and honor. But for uneducated, crude individuals who’ve truly tasted poverty’s bitterness, it undoubtedly becomes their most powerful anchor.”
“Using a small sum as capital, he made moneylending his lifelong occupation.”
“I am aware that you are a novelist who writes fiction, but in my father’s case, I believe there was no cause with any novelistic flair.”
“You won’t find any convenient excuses like him cursing the world after some failed love affair.”
“It seems there’s no explanation but to say poverty made him do it.”
“It appears he had no thoughts beyond accumulating money.”
“Cruelty, harshness—and of course, ruthless usury.”
“You must have heard and are aware of this, but while his registered name was Inahara Gorouemon, not a single person ever called him Inahara.”
“They reviled him as ‘Onigorou, Onigorou.’”
“Without concerning himself with such matters, indulging in no hobbies or special luxuries, he simply accumulated money.”
“On the other hand, there were those who ended up selling their daughters into prostitution simply because they borrowed money from my father, and those who hanged themselves.”

“No, it’s absolutely true, I tell you.”

It was a cold winter dawn.
A grimy old man was hanging at the entrance of our house like a dried codfish, and even I, who had just turned five, peeked at him from behind the others.
“Though I didn’t fully understand the circumstances, I intuitively sensed that he had died facing our house and found his face utterly detestable.”
“But as for how many victims there were that I never knew of—my own father probably didn’t know either.”
“My father, once society spoke ill of him and he could no longer interact with people, came to value money even more and never concerned himself with what consequences that might bring.”
“Even I, an only child, became a sacrifice to the money my father accumulated, ending up living my entire life within these walls.”
“From childhood, I had believed that everyone outside the house was an enemy who hated me.”
“When I played in front of the gate, the town children would throw stones.”
“When I started attending school, the nickname I was given was ‘Little Demon.’”
“Whether they played tag, blindfold games, or capture the flag—all the children were my enemies.”
“Like a game meant to torment me, they would jostle me around, shove me violently, and spit in my face.”
“I refused to attend school and was raised receiving an irregular education from tutors.”
“Therefore, from the day I was born until now, I have never had a single friend.”
“From my own desire to ensure my safety as well, I lost any inclination to step beyond the wall my father had built.”
“No doubt my father too, as his wealth grew, felt increasingly threatened—that’s why he resolved to build such an imposing wall.”
“By shutting myself within it and severing all ties with the world, I finally managed to stop hearing the voices of ridicule and avoid having stones thrown at me or being slapped across the face.”
“It’s an embarrassing story, but I too found my marriage partner within the wall.”
“As for the mother of the girl who has been coming over here lately, she was a servant in our household.”
“Are you asking if she died?”
“No, that woman could no longer remain shut inside the wall and abandoned the child to run off with the errand servant who came and went.”

“I resolved not to expose even my child to the winds of the world—not sending her to school, never taking her outside, and raising her entirely within the house.”
“How long this will last, I cannot say. When she grows up, she may develop her own longing for the world beyond the wall through her own thoughts. But when that time comes, I will have no choice but to leave it to her own discretion.”
“As for me, I firmly believe that even if that child were to go beyond the wall, she would never find happiness.”
“Now consider this.”
“That damned earthquake collapsed the wall I had relied on right down to its foundation.”
“My child and I had to run out hand in hand to the outside of the wall I had constantly feared was dangerous.”

The neighbor became terribly agitated and spoke nonstop until his voice gave out.

“Ah, I haven’t spoken like this in ages. This is the first time in my life I’ve spoken this much. This must also be the earthquake’s handiwork.”

He said with a wry smile.

His chest tightened; unable to utter a single word of response, he could only watch the other man’s face.

From the collapse of the brick wall brought down by nature’s upheaval came a natural opening of communication between Mr. Inahara Tomikichi and him.
The neighbor, who had firmly believed everyone beyond his household to be enemies, entrusted all judgments to knowledge cultivated through books and newspapers.
He read every metropolitan newspaper and absorbed their reports—both lies and truths—without question.
He knew about his novels too.
He seemed almost startled that novelists—of all people—could remain so surprisingly ignorant.

“So, does that mean novels are written entirely from imagination? Then even someone confined inside a high wall could write any story, couldn’t they?”

He said this as though making a grand discovery, which caused him to smile faintly.

Despite having always viewed the vast world beyond the wall as an enemy, once he let his guard down, it seemed they were approaching him with a childlike heart.
Because he had never stepped beyond the wall, there might have been an untainted virtue in his obstinacy—a purity unmarred by worldly interactions.

"Isn’t the neighbor quite a decent person, even if society calls him a demon or whatnot."

“That’s right. Even those who speak ill of him don’t actually know him personally. He’s being bullied unfairly because of his heartless old man. If he didn’t have money, he probably wouldn’t be hated so much—it’s precisely because he does that it’s a problem. That’s why a place like ours is the most peaceful and better off.”

“What are you talking about? I’d rather be hated a little and have money. A life where you can’t even buy what you want—let the devil take it all, I say.”

His wife—still resentful over having been refused when told not to be extravagant after asking for a child’s outfit using the post-earthquake catchphrase “at a time like this”—pouted coldly but upon realizing her own childish complaint immediately let a smile play at her lips and shot him a sidelong glance.

As the cold deepened and thieves grew rampant, a proposal arose to post one night watch per household to ensure the neighborhood’s safety.
The neighborhood spokespeople—the butcher, rice seller, stable master, and barber—donned formal haori coats and went persuading from house to house.

With no servants besides his wife and child—and he himself having to sit at his desk day and night writing manuscripts as long as his stamina held out—he had been opposed to this proposal from the start.
When night deepened and both the outside world and his household grew quiet, his mind cleared and his eyes sharpened, making his pen move swiftly. It was common for him to write straight through until dawn, which made the midnight hours precious.
To be dragged out for something like night watch duty was equivalent to blocking the path to his very sustenance.

“As you can see from everyone’s households, there are no young men, and apart from myself, there are no able-bodied individuals here. So even if it’s not every night, maintaining all-night vigilance would be quite troublesome.”
“Rather than doing such a thing, wouldn’t it be wiser for everyone to contribute their fair share and hire a professional night watchman?”

“That is certainly a reasonable point.”
“That is certainly reasonable, but we too don’t intend to leave it to the young men—we ourselves plan to step forward, given the circumstances at hand…”

“So it’s for the sake of the neighborhood’s mutual coexistence and prosperity, then…”

The barber—a habitual gambler who had often been reported—showed threatening force even through polite words, while the butcher master, who had once stood as a ward councilor candidate, wielded his skilled eloquence to make refusal impossible.
People’s hearts had grown coarser, and this was a “time like this” where one might unwittingly face who-knew-what kind of lynch law.
He found himself flustered, unable to give a clear response, and before he knew it had ended up consenting.

“Well then, I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“But isn’t our neighbor Mr. Inahara also facing difficulties?”

He called out to stop the spokespeople as they were about to leave and borrowed his neighbor’s name for his own indecisive pretext.

“Huh? You mean that Demon Tomi next door?”
“There ain’t no guy more nonsensical than that Demon Tomi.”
“Even though we all showed up proper-like, he starts yappin’ ‘bout how everyone should just mind their own damn homes! Now I’m a hotheaded fella—if you folks hadn’t held me back, I’da slapped that bastard clean ‘cross the jaw...”

“That fella don’t grasp what social duty even means.”
“If folks only care ‘bout themselves, the country can’t stand.”
“We all talked to him nice an’ clear together, ended up lettin’ him keep his answer on hold till tomorrow.”
“‘Course when we say ‘on hold,’ it ain’t him askin’—it’s us showin’ mercy by givin’ him till then to wise up, see?”

“Well now, I’m sayin’ there’s no point tryin’ to reason with those demon-like bastards—but seein’ as I ain’t some young hothead no more, I held myself back from gettin’ rough. If that demon dares to refuse even once, we’re ready to burn his whole damn house down to teach him a lesson.”

The neighborhood spokespeople returned home, each asserting their presence as they left.

“This has turned into quite a mess.”
“Our line of work doesn’t require much thinking—we could always nap the next day if needed—but walking around all night clacking wooden clappers would be beyond me.”

He looked back at his wife, who had been waiting behind him, and scratched his head.

“Why don’t you ask someone to take your place instead?”

“But no one would take on a job like that.”

“Of course they won’t if you just ask outright. Why not hire one of those rickshaw boys?”

“A rickshaw boy?”
“I wonder how much we’d have to pay.”

“It’s not like they’d demand some fortune.”

“That’s not how things work these days.
“Even for hauling you two or three blocks, they demand fifty sen now.
“And while other houses have their masters doing it—if we were some grand estate, maybe—but sending a substitute from our place? The neighbors would never stop talking.”

The couple exchanged an unpleasant conversation.

To him, this scheme seemed utterly unreasonable in every aspect.
Those who owned homes and had assets could form associations and conduct night patrols if they wished, but renters—people who wouldn’t bat an eye even if thieves broke in—had no need to engage in labor that interfered with their livelihood.
Rather than that, it would be better to pool money and hire a guard; those with more property worth protecting should contribute more, while those with less could give smaller amounts.
After these formidable figures had left, he found an outlet for his dissatisfaction by venting to his wife—who was, of course, certain to agree with his own views.

That afternoon, the neighbor came once again with excuses for the delay in cleaning up the remains of the collapsed wall.
In a few days, laborers would finally come and clean it up.
After that, he said he was considering erecting a simple fence only on the boundary with our side.

“Thanks to the earthquake, I’ve emerged from behind my father’s legacy wall.”
“Though it may trouble you, I’d like you to visit me occasionally.”

“What if you took a bold step further into society’s broad path?”

He felt both fascination and pity for his neighbor’s remarkably stubborn disposition and event-marked life, while simultaneously believing that sharing worldly joys and sorrows with others might bring happiness.
But these feelings naturally failed to reach the neighbor himself.
What did “stepping into society’s broad path” mean? The neighbor remained perplexed.

“For a more immediate example—participating in this neighborhood’s agreed-upon night watch, wouldn’t you?”
“To tell the truth, I don’t approve of such things either.”
“It’s less about disapproval and more that I’m at my wit’s end having my precious nighttime hours taken away, but if I consider this one of the peculiar quirks of human society, I can endure it.”
“First of all, ever since the earthquake, social order has collapsed and people have grown violent—if you carelessly refuse them, there’s no telling what they might do.”
“Since they’ve gone as far as cutting and stabbing people without cause, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to smash things or set fires either.”
“Rather than that, why don’t we preempt those bastards and go meet them head-on ourselves?”
“Let’s patrol the neighborhood together clapping wooden clappers.”

In stark contrast to how he had vented to his wife, he completely transformed his own mindset out of interest in softening this stubborn neighbor’s heart.

The neighbor had been inclined to show defiance against the violent threats of not knowing what the townspeople might do next, but he listened with a faint smile to the proposal of patrolling the night together while clapping wooden clappers.

"If there comes a time when you yourself don’t want to go out again, it’s fine to have someone substitute for you."

“No, I won’t do something like hiring people.
“If I were to join such a group, of course I would do it myself.”

“Then let’s go out together.
“You take the lantern and lead the way; I’ll follow behind clapping the wooden clappers.
“Isn’t that fine?”

In response to his buoyant manner, the neighbor too let out a laugh.

The turn for night watch came around.
The gatehouse of a certain former daimyo family’s residence was designated as the guardhouse.
He, wearing a coat and scarf, pulled along the neighbor—dressed in a double-layered kimono—as they set out.

“Good evening.”

As they entered,

“Good work.”

they responded.
Besides him and the neighbor, the tailor and the sweetshop owner were on duty.
But there was a larger crowd gathered in the guardhouse.
From among the neighborhood’s influential figures, those with no official duties had brought in shogi boards and go boards, and were engaged in idle chatter.
Their eyes all at once focused on the neighbor's solitary figure.

The neighbor immediately sensed those malicious, crowd-emboldened gazes fixed upon him.
He merely removed his hat, without bowing his head, sat down in a corner, and fell silent.

Likely the work of the previous night’s crowd, sake bottles and teacups lay scattered about, and an unidentifiable stench hung thick in the air.

The four on-duty members split into pairs and took turns patrolling the neighborhood. His and the neighbor’s pair also took turns holding the lantern and clapping wooden clappers as they patrolled. He, though inwardly thinking it all foolish, chattered idly and put on a show of cheerfulness to lift the neighbor’s spirits—but the neighbor maintained a stubborn silence as though his very soul remained confined within his brick wall, now clearly regretting having ventured out to this thoroughfare.

As the night deepened, the gawkers dwindled one by one, two by two, until only the four on-duty members remained in the guardhouse. From the kitchen of the daimyo aristocracy, flour dumpling stew was brought, and from the sweetshop owner’s own home, his wife came carrying his wares arranged on a tray.

“Well then, shall we dig in?”

“How about it?”

“Do you have something delivered every night in this manner?”

“At this mansion here, not only have they lent us this tenement free of charge, but they also provide things like tea and sweets.”

"Of course, this mansion benefits most from the night watch," I said. "They own many rental properties, and keeping things this way ensures their safety above all—so it’s only natural they’d provide some modest offerings."

"Oh, it’s not just this mansion," someone countered. "People bring all sorts of things from other places too. Last night with the barber and fish shop master’s group—all the neighborhood bigshots gathered—they served sashimi, they brought out sake, it was practically a festival!"

The sweetshop owner and the tailor, while keenly aware that this could not compare to last night’s feast, nevertheless gratefully picked up their chopsticks for the flour dumpling stew.

“Well now, how about it? Let’s have some while it’s still warm, shall we?”

He felt vaguely uncomfortable, but fearing that objecting would make him seem pretentious and worrying about their feelings, he reached out.

“How about it?”

He whispered with a vague sense of pity, but the neighbor shook his head and refused.

“Aren’t you going to have any? What a waste.”
“They went to all that trouble to give it to us.”
“Let’s split your portion and have it ourselves, then.”

The sweetshop owner divided the neighbor’s portion with the tailor and finished it off.

The second turn came around.
He once again paired with the neighbor and faithfully performed his duties.
From the daimyo aristocracy came another offering of udon noodles; the sweetshop owner, the tailor, and he ate, but the neighbor firmly refused, so in the end the sweetshop owner and the tailor divided it equally between them and finished it off.

As the night deepened, it grew markedly colder.
Those gathered around the brazier talking had nothing to do with him; the neighbor remained darkly silent.
Having joined the night watch at his urging, he seemed to increasingly regret this decision.

As he and the neighbor completed their rounds for what must have been the umpteenth time—carrying lanterns and clapping wooden clappers—a boisterous crowd’s voices spilled from the guardhouse into the street.

“Good work.”

“You must be tired.”

There were also those who called out with friendly remarks.

Outside the sweetshop owner and the tailor, a few onlookers had gathered. They were all under the influence of alcohol.

“You came at just the right time. We were just discussing how borrowing the mansion’s tenement every night like this must be quite troublesome for them, and we feel bad about it too. So we’re planning to collect money in the neighborhood and build a separate guardhouse.”
“In other words, instead of relying on others forever, we neighborhood folks will organize our own self-governing body and set up proper night watch facilities.”

“Also, need to mention this while we’re at it—yesterday I got summoned to the mansion and had the honor of meeting his lordship face-to-face. He personally said since it’s good work us neighborhood folks are doing night watch, he wanted to chip in something to help out—so I was given a hefty sum.”
“Saying ‘given’ sounds odd, but I’m keeping it safe for everyone in the neighborhood.”
“Then I immediately consulted with the big shots.”
“Half went toward building the guardhouse, and since it’s a disgrace having night watchmen looking shabby, I bought two sets each of raincoats and military-style hats for us to wear.”
“Check this—you put this hat on like so, wear this coat, see? When you’re all dressed up, you look sharp—not half bad, eh?”
“Hey, Mr. Tailor! Go on, try it on quick. Hah! Suits you fine!”
“Your Excellency! Ha ha! Exactly so—that’s how it’s done!”
“Makes you look proper sharp!”

The barber master untied the furoshiki bundle, took out a youth group-style raincoat and a military-style khaki hat with white lines from inside, and abruptly placed it on the tailor’s head.

“This here’s good!”

“It suits you!”

Surrounded by onlookers each trying to say something clever, the tailor himself was roaring with laughter without any hidden intent.

“Ain’t that just grand? Now me, I ain’t got no learnin’, so I don’t understand all that bothersome logic—but when folks with status step up and put up the cash, that’s how you keep society in order. I mean, socialism ain’t got no room to sprout. Right? That’s the logic I was talkin’ about. I ain’t got no head for troublesome matters though.”

The barber master, seeing that not a single person objected to his arrangements, became fully intoxicated and swept his gaze across the entire gathering. But when his eyes finally settled on the neighbor sitting darkly silent in the corner with folded arms, he deliberately furrowed his brow into deep vertical creases.

“Ain’t that just grand?”
“When we ask folks ourselves these days, they don’t give us squat—but ain’t it grand how those above us feel like showerin’ us with generosity?”
“Ain’t it grand how some folks lend out money at sky-high rates—squeezin’ tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands outta dirt-poor peasants in a single lifetime—but when it comes to local shrine festivals or neighborhood affairs, no matter how many times we bow our heads and beg, that tightwad won’t cough up a single copper? Yet here’s those who actually get it!”
“Hey, if we had five or six folks like this around, the whole neighborhood’d brighten up, eh?”

Among the gathering, some were somewhat exasperated by the master’s customary persistence, but far more pervasive was the usual dissatisfaction toward the neighbor. Malicious gazes fixed directly upon that person.

“Come on, shall we make another round?”

He stood up holding the wooden clappers himself—fully aware it wasn’t their turn—to save the neighbor from his vulnerable position.

“It’s our turn now.”

“No need,” Inahara Tomikichi replied. “Since it’s a fine moonlit night, let’s make another round.”

He urged the neighbor and stood up.

“Hey—hold on a sec.”
“I take it there’s no objections to that guardhouse construction matter I brought up earlier.”

The butcher stopped them both.

“Yes—if everyone agrees, I’ll contribute my fair share.”

He had meant to shield his neighbor by answering for them both.

“Mr. Inahara also agrees, I take it?”

The butcher pressed with sarcasm.
The neighbor maintained a cold silence, deliberately refusing to answer.

“Yes, he does.”

He answered as if substituting himself, stepping backward as he replied, then strode out into the street.

“Hey, hold on a sec!”

Once again, the barber master called out from behind.

“His lordship of this mansion gave it to us, you know.”
“Starting tonight, the night watch folks will wear this and put this on, you know.”

The barber master came chasing after, holding a youth group-style coat and a military-style hat.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

He made a perfunctory refusal.

“Ain’t happenin’, ain’t happenin’.
“Can’t look proper without gear—makes you useless through and through.
“Gotta wear this and act like real Japanese men.”

Without ceremony, he plopped the military hat on his head, yanked off his overcoat, and shoved a youth corps raincoat onto him.
He fought himself inwardly but couldn’t muster the will for open defiance.

“Come on, let’s get you fitted out too, eh?”

The barber master’s attitude was far more oppressive toward the neighbor than toward him, and downright confrontational.

This was bad—just as he sensed imminent danger and tried to throw himself into the fray, the neighbor had already slammed the military-style hat that had been placed on his head onto the ground.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut your mouth!”

“Beat him up!”

“Usurer.”

“Enemy of society.”

“Demon.”

“Bastard.”

While cursing in unison, before the group could rise to their feet, the barber master swiftly lunged forward and struck the neighbor across the face.

The scuffle ended in an instant.
The frail "Enemy of Society," who had never had playmates in his youth and thus lacked any training in fighting, crumpled to the ground in an instant.

“Stop it, stop it! Don’t attack someone who isn’t fighting back!”

His words were admirable in themselves, but their tone was exactly like profusely apologizing.
He shielded the neighbor, removed the military-style hat that had been forced onto him, and kept bobbing his head in bows toward everyone.

Finally receiving forgiveness, he helped up the neighbor who remained collapsed on the ground.
The neighbor turned pale and did not utter a single word.
He too could do nothing but apologize in his heart as he trudged along.
He delivered the wounded master into the gatepost bearing a small nameplate inscribed "Inahara."

The next day, he went to visit his neighbor’s house, but an elderly maid servant with utterly immobile facial muscles came out. She refused him, saying, “The master is resting and cannot see you,” then immediately closed the shoji screens and withdrew.
Apart from the rhythmic sound of the girl bouncing a ball in the corridor maintaining a perfect cadence, there were no other noises.

"I’m truly sorry.
It was my mistake to drag him out to that worthless thoroughfare—he apologized inwardly like this, and though no one stood before him, bowed courteously and withdrew."

A few days later, laborers came and cleared away the bricks of the collapsed wall. But soon after, the towering brick wall—inherited by Mr. Inahara Tomikichi as part of the legacy from the late Gorouemon, along with assets worth tens of thousands or perhaps millions of yen—was reconstructed: sturdier than before, taller than before, with glass shards glittering atop its summit.