Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

As material for writing this long poem

I eagerly rummaged through the bookshelf but

the book I was looking for was not found -

a black-covered volume of just over fifty pages

by the poet Yoshida Rinko

titled *Tavern Window*.

There was something I couldn't bring myself to throw away.

Even when I sold off books while organizing the shelf from time to time,

because I always set it aside

It must have gotten mixed in somewhere without a doubt.
I have named her 'Queen of Miracles'.

II

When she suddenly appeared among the group of poets,

the poets gathered around her.

When one pinches up the center of a scrap of cloth,

the edges of the cloth gather in—,

Poets could not be flatly labeled as womanizers.

Poets were quite particular when it came to women—

if there was a single flaw,

some loathed that flaw as if it were a venomous snake or scorpion,

while others would arbitrarily beautify,

rationalize,

and worship what everyone else saw as imperfections.

III

——What marvelous curly hair!

When looking at her hair,

it was like gazing upon a desolate garden—

a sense of loneliness and melancholy welled up from nowhere.

For such reasons, even a curly-haired woman could be loved—

——I’d taken a liking to her on pure instinct,

The skin’s color isn’t in its normal state,

Utterly white and transparent,
not the white of porcelain—
it was the white of glassware.

In other words—the beauty of a consumptive woman
is what captures my heart most profoundly.
Here we welcome women with lung ailments—

IV

——The woman who discovered my abnormal beauty—

A woman in her third or fourth month of pregnancy.

Her cells had this sensation of renewing themselves,

the beauty of her skin’s color,

the panting breath

made the woman appear emotional.

The poet was on the train.

The poet found a woman of extraordinary beauty.

The gaze fixed on the woman’s face,

lowered from the chest to the abdomen.

Her obi swelled as if cradling a butterbur stalk.

It swelled plumply.

Pregnancy too is beautiful for poets.

V

Now, as for the female poet Yoshida Rinko—
What category of beauty did she embody?
There was nothing particularly special or unusual about her.
A petite frame, a woman who moved her legs briskly;
A small head, a dark face—for twenty-two,
Composed speech;
Modernizing the novelist Hayashi Fumiko,
Having stripped away the vulgarity from her—
A woman with the delicate sweetness of skimmed milk,
Who knew how to act appropriately seductive toward men,
She also understood how to put on an alluring act.

VI

A decisive, almost masculine way of speaking—

and yet there was no trace of malice in it.

She never lost her critical stance toward men.

This was her only weapon.

To be defeated by a woman—

for men who looked forward to

She is a female general,

The men were eager to become her orderlies.
What a stylishly done short haircut that must have been.
Not like a cliff,
But like the slope of a soft grassy hill,
Her hair was trimmed into a gentle slope.

VII

To tell the truth, I don't dislike her either.

To be more precise,
she did not belong to the category of women I disliked.

However, I seemed to have arrived a bit too late. At the ticket office, a long line of men stretched out,

When the line of men formed,

At the end of the line, I lacked the patience to wait.

Centered around her,

In the struggle for seats, the men had to fight,

It was a melancholy affair.

I was like a military attaché observing the men vie for women—

there was nothing quite like being that military attaché observing the fray.

VIII

Just by publishing a flimsy poetry collection—she who was not particularly beautiful—why were the poets making such a commotion over her? As if she were a woman who performed miracles, having adorned herself with a special aura, it was because she had appeared so suddenly. There were also significant period-specific reasons for this. She appeared and became the center—the unfolded battle of love’s types of victories and defeats rapidly changed the fate of the poets who joined these romantic battles.

She had rapidly transformed their fates;
she held them;
she was a mysterious woman who had appeared suddenly to decide.

IX

As a military attaché observing love's battlefield, I
At that time had been an unmanageable symbolist poet,

From around the time of her appearance, I had abruptly undergone an ideological shift and

I had joined the communist poets' camp.

In the middle of the ideological delta stood Yoshida Rinko.

“You—over there.”
“You—over there.”
She instructed each male poet about their class affiliations,
as if systematically organizing them one by one.
The poet Onishi Mitsuzo—he too had been granted entry into the communists—
had received this impetus from her.

X

A man without malice—

If someone were to ask,

I would unhesitatingly name Onishi Mitsuzo,

Reality is cunning and deceitful.

A person who cannot be corrupted—

The very existence of even one uncorrupted soul in this cunning world is itself a miracle.

He was twenty-five years old,
he had boyishly cute eyes.
He was modest toward women
and absolutely obeyed women’s orders.
As he would put it,
“Women are truth and truth itself—” he declared.
“To deceive women may be acceptable,

“I will let women deceive me—I will let them deceive me to the very end.”

What would become of that result,

Men truly and wholeheartedly

There isn’t even one man who has truly been deceived by a woman.

When many are on the verge of being deceived,

they cut it off—he said.

XI

Onishi’s manner of being deceived was thorough.

Women first deceived him.

When women had exhausted their means of deception,

she would just turn pure-hearted—

What a persistent man he was.

To the very end of women’s emotions,

He possessed the strength to follow along to the very end of women’s emotions.
As he had foreseen,
When women offered up their pure-heartedness,

He conversely assumed a position of superiority.
He stood like a brave man.
This time he did not retreat a single step.

He was deceived by several women

In the end, he was thanked by women.

XII

He withdrew from women like receding water,

cleanly pulling back his hand.

For women, the conception of victory remained eternal,

and Rinko's poetry collection publication party was

The party was held at a small café in Shinjuku,

Onishi had been given a poetry collection by her,

and since he had also heard rumors about her,

With considerable interest also spurring him on, he set off for the gathering,

About thirty poets gathered.
She looked around from her seat like a girl.

From her seat, she looked around.
Her relationships with individual men must have been numerous,
However, the fact that so many men had gathered around her like this—
The first experience was unusually rare for her.
Her face glowed chestnut-colored.

XIII

She gazed at the attendees.

To acquaintances and those who held goodwill,
she cast an intensely meaningful gaze.

The gathering was not enjoyable; it had become completely deflated.
To praise her was to fall in love with her.
Criticizing had come to be considered a bad thing,

The poets were hoping the gathering would end quickly.
They were hoping it would end,
the personalities of the poets—gentle yet gloomy, their movements erratic—

They waited restlessly for that moment of breakthrough. Someone with a splendid table speech—if they didn't make the situation dynamic—it seemed likely to end in mime-like silence.

XIV

Six poets gave table speeches.

Onishi Mitsuzo also muttered something under his breath that was unclear even to himself and others.

"Erotic! Erotic!"

The word stood out clearly among his many utterances.

People burst into unified laughter for the first time,

and for a while, the gathering flowed more smoothly.

Among the many words he had chattered,
the one that stood out particularly clearly to the people
was “Erotic! Erotic!”
The people burst into unified laughter for the first time,
and the gathering flowed somewhat more fluidly.

But by then, they had to close the gathering.

XV

Even after the gathering had closed, the people lingered reluctantly—
not leaving the venue was
the custom of literary gatherings—
greeting their seniors or attending to their juniors,
saying they would go have a drink somewhere on the way back,
tacit discussions in the interim and such—
these were conducted during the departure time from the venue.

Rinko’s gathering was unusually—
The people had left the venue like the tide receding.
With Rinko at the center, ten poets

They trooped into the café.

By the time they left that place and next entered a bar,

The ten had been whittled down to six.

XVI

Rinko and the men were drunk,
the bar hostesses' service
to the point where they didn’t need,
in the corner wild antics erupted,

They left the bar; night had fully fallen.

“Ms. Rinko, where do you plan to return tonight?”

“I do have a home to go back to.”

“No, no—my apologies.”

To ask where she would return—

To pose such a question amounted to profound contempt,

That she—beautiful—might have nowhere to stay—

To even imagine it was an act of stupidity.

In a world inhabited by men—

There ought to be a place for her to stay—

XVII

“No—actually, Ms. Rinko—”

“Please do not misunderstand―”

“How about it, gentlemen? Tonight―centered on ‘The Window of the Bar’s...”

He wanted to hold an all-night discussion centered on the author but―

“Gentlemen, I implore you to agree―”

What a splendid proposal this was—
they would talk through the night centered on the woman.
When their topics ran out, the men—
if they started brawling, their boredom would be relieved.
Apparently, this was turning into just such a dangerous symposium.
Frightened, two poets left.
Thus, the six were whittled down to four.
Those who remained were all brave and chosen individuals.

XVIII

“Isn’t there a bachelor among us?”
“Let’s rent that room there,”

“They’re all bachelors,”

“Those living with parents or renting rooms won’t do,”

“Since we’ll be talking all night,”

“We can’t go disturbing the neighbors.”

“Isn’t there anyone renting a proper house?”

"Oyama Seinosuke, your place would do."

"Right, agreed."

Since Oyama had recently become a bachelor,

They reached a unanimous resolution.

Oyama had lost his wife about a year earlier.
a six-year-old girl named Sakurako
he lived with the orphaned child

The four heroes,
while mutually caring for Rinko,

they crowded into Oyama’s house in Higashi-Nakano.

XIX

Oyama’s house had the chilly feel of a male-only dwelling,

Oyama had entrusted her to the neighboring house.

He had brought back his child Sakurako.

Sakurako, faced with the sudden crowd of guests,

opened her eyes wide in astonishment,

Before long, she began to frolic about.

Rinko also found herself in an oddly settled mood, boldly settling into a formal seated posture as she chattered animatedly,

Kusakari Shinta, who had published *Animal Poetry Collection*,

Trying desperately not to leave Rinko's side,

He was making a tremendous effort. Oyama, in the loneliness after losing his wife, welcomed an unexpected female guest and seemed to be enjoying the room's warm atmosphere. Furuya Norikichi, the anarchist poet, loved her only halfway; the remaining half was appalled by her attitude. He remained silent as if it were something bitter. Onishi Mitsuzo was simply innocent, brimming with the joy of female youth and conversation.

Gradually, the night deepened.
Contrarily, people's eyes grew ever keener,
and silence came to dominate.

XX

Night was a prankster and mean-spirited.
The plans made at night could not be executed by night itself,
But what was planned by day could be done at night.

Among the four poets were some who
had devised plans during daylight hours.

The fact that they wanted to exclusively love her—
Night had come; they had to execute their plans—
The chosen heroes numbered four.
They had to narrow it down to one.
The four men's feelings toward Rinko—
Their mutual probing of hearts had run its course.
Yet the contest still could not be decided.
For there can always be unexpected leaps.

Twenty-One

The man who didn't love Rinko the most

Because there could also be cases where victory went to him.

The idea that those who don’t love could win—
Such a thing defied truth itself.
To protect truth required waging war.
To fight until spent and be vanquished became life’s purest purpose.
A hero’s passivity stood as comedy’s pinnacle.
The underdog’s desperate vigor
Might yet topple champions at times.
Loving a woman demanded no hesitation.
Fight—fight! Tonight’s battleground spanned but these hours—
As if some war god roared through the darkness.
Oyama’s house held six tatami rooms and four-and-a-half mats with a corridor,
Where gas lines and electric lamps had been severed four months prior.

Having lit candles, they held impassioned debates about poetry.
Ultimately pitting anarchist poet Furuya Norikichi against
Onishi Mitsuzo—it erupted into vehement argumentation.

Twenty-Two

So, look here, Mr. Onishi—

You keep attacking anarchism, but

“Just what ideology do you adhere to as a poet, Mr. Onishi?”

I don’t adhere to any ideology.
But anarchism’s freedom—
I believe it isn’t true freedom.

I believe true freedom is—
the disciplining of the spirit and its standardization in daily life—
I believe it is something that is applied.

I want to believe in such an ideology.

——How could such nonsense exist?

Discipline—standardization—order—morality—such things hold no necessity,

That’s complete annihilation.

That’s what they call freedom.

——I absolutely refuse to recognize that kind of freedom—

I refuse to recognize it as freedom.

Anarchism is freedom in the conceptual world.

A horse ridden without reins—that’s what it is.

Since you all lack even the power to control human instincts—

Since you lack even the power to control them—

Under orderly freedom—

you cannot possibly wage a genuine battle.

“No—I’ve got it all figured out,

Mr. Onishi Mitsuzo seems to have begun developing—

Mr. Onishi Mitsuzo seems to have begun developing a rather dubious ideological system—
However, those who possess an ideological system—
Without collective action, it’s meaningless—

“We anarchist poets take organized action under the bonds of friendship,”

"By the way, you claim not to adhere to any ideology. You haven't carried out any collective action. In other words, yours is just personal boasting."

Twenty-Three

――I am a true liberalist.

If you insist on making me declare an ideology—

“If you insist on making me declare it, then I’ll declare it.
I am an anti-anarchism advocate.”

“What the— Onishi! Say that one more time!”
“You remember how the anarchist poet Tsubokawa Mokichi—”
“betrayed our camp and—”

“defected to the Communists—
And do you remember how we broke their legs?”

Onishi raised a knee from his cross-legged position—
—So you’ll break my leg too?
Are you going to snap mine as well?

“To you people—this freedom to shatter others’ limbs—
If you claim that right, then damn well do it!”

Even Tsubokawa showed spine—
To march toward his convictions—
He kept fighting uncompromised after they smashed his leg—

As their endless debate dragged on—
Rinko’s saccharine voice cut through—

“Everyone—it’s late already—stop staying up.”

At her voice’s intervention,
the two ideological opponents—
as though shaken from some dream—
exchanged looks and smirked conspiratorially.

“Everyone, it’s late—you shouldn’t still be up.”

The two men once again—in their mouths—
tried repeating her words.

Twenty-Four

The candle was about to burn out,
crackling with a sound like nails being clipped.
The reason was clear,
but the group couldn't put it into words.

——Who would sleep closest to her?

Fundamentally, love is geographical,

Securing advantageous ground was of utmost necessity.

Oyama, like an elder,

Oyama had already perceived the concerns of the people present there—everything was to be left entirely to her free will. Where and what sort of trenches she would create to ward off the men, or would she throw open the castle gates entirely?

Twenty-Five

It was necessary to ascertain her will as a tactician.

“Ms. Rinko, where will you be sleeping?”

Her answer was vigorous.

“Please give me the six-tatami room.”

“It’s my own room.”
“Everyone can sleep in the four-and-a-half-tatami room.”

Oh, what a fair measure this was.

She was astute.

Rinko tried to pull out bedding from the closet.

In the closet was only a single futon.

"If you're cold, anything—"

"Just pull it out and use it."

"There was one blanket."

We were all sleeping rough,

For the sake of a single queen

The four soldiers were in a camping state.

That was probably for the best—to serve their monarch wholeheartedly, as they said.

The psychology of fools is happy because,

Twenty-Six

Rinko laid out the bedding in the center of the six-tatami room, warming her hands over the brazier’s fire while she started reading some magazine. The men and Sakurako were packed like sardines in the four-and-a-half-tatami room, talking in low voices with barely contained excitement.

“You—the woman called Yoshida Rinko,” Kusakari Shinta began to address Furuya Norikichi in a low, stammering voice, “what do you think? Doesn’t seem like a villain, does she?”

“I like that woman,”

“By the way, Mr. Onishi also—”

“He isn’t entirely indifferent to that woman either—confess!”

Twenty-Seven

At Kusakari’s question, Onishi Mitsuzo made a sorrowful face.

“Now, wait a moment—”

“As for a man like me...”

Until I come to like a woman,

It takes a lot of time.

That’s a sad thing.

As for Rinko—whether I like her or dislike her

I still can't decide.

Amid vague anxieties—
There were times when I felt terrifyingly courageous, but
That kind of sprightly woman—
I’ve never had any experience dating...

“Is that so? And what are your thoughts, Mr. Oyama Seinosuke?”

Oyama did not answer.

While putting beloved child Sakurako to sleep,
He was only chuckling quietly.
Sakurako gradually grew drowsy,
adorable black-lashed eyelids,
Eyelids closing and opening until before long she had fallen asleep.

Twenty-Eight

Now, as for me—
I like that woman.
She always had the emotional tenderness of a wet otter
and combined it with a fierce tenacity.

The author of *Animal Poetry Collection*, Kusakari Shinta,
seemed to be struggling with words of high praise
and made a vividly earnest expression.
Kusakari’s metaphor hit the mark.
Her small body—
filled with intense emotion—
resembled an otter moving in and out of water.
And though her small frame appeared terrifyingly strong and fiercely intense,
it seemed to conceal an embracing power.
The anarchist Furuya gradually—
his expression turning melancholic—
sank into a silence befitting a true man of action,
quietly letting out occasional thick, assured breaths.

He was quietly letting out occasional thick breaths.

Twenty-Nine

The candles in the men’s room were extinguished,
Somewhat later, the candle in Rinko’s room also went out.

For a long time, the men’s eyes remained open in the darkness. Sleep stroked their eyelids with soft fingers as if whispering "Goodnight—", but their eyes stayed defiant. Yet even those rebellious eyelids were conquered by the night, shut like iron shutters. They whimpered like puppies, neighed low like horses, purred like cats—and through these animal noises, the poets fell asleep.

Thirty

Onishi Mitsuzo suddenly received a shock somewhere in his body,

He convulsively jumped up.
He didn’t know the exact time, but it was undoubtedly midnight.
He heard a sleeping breath like a broken flute.
a mumbling, grumbling sort of

A sniffling sound could be heard—
Who could it be—that sinusitis sufferer—

He muttered to himself while

He went to the toilet along the corridor.

In her room, on the brazier, the iron kettle

was making a tinkling, delicate sound.

Then, with her lively voice—

“Who’s there? You’re still awake,”

“You must be cold. Please come in.”

Onishi Mitsuzo crisply answered “Ha!” in military fashion and—

He opened the sliding door and entered the woman’s room.

Onishi’s principle was always—

Because he was obedient to women—

Thirty-One

What a cacophony of snoring from these fools in the four-and-a-half-tatami room! Leaps and miracles arrived all at once for the pleasure of entering disarmed enemy territory. Onishi's kneecaps faintly clattered like castanets. Whether she was an otter or a goose didn't matter.

Beside me, a desolate bachelor,
the fact that a living creature would sleep for me—
what supreme happiness this must have been,

Ah, splendid!

Starting tomorrow, my fate was bound to take a turn.
The dullness of indolence and melancholy had departed.
My beautiful life was bound to unfold.

Onishi was obedient in her bed.

Thirty-Two

Now, somehow, inside the bed—

The situation was uncanny.

When he moved to her side,

her body, like an inchworm that had received a shock,

stiffened completely.

Onishi, like a radio engineer,

kept knocking on her body but

ah, there was no response from anywhere in the world.

My Arctic expedition ship

enveloped in the desolation of ice, unable to advance or retreat,

had fallen into a predicament where it could do neither.

His long-asserted 'vague unease toward women'—
such things had long since been obliterated.
There could be no clearer anxiety than this.
"Stop that."
"Go back."

She said in a beautiful voice,

She issued a perverse eviction order to Onishi.

Thirty-Three

――Ha! My deepest apologies.

Like a private reprimanded by his commanding officer,

Onishi Mitsuzo withdrew from her bed with a thud.

One, two, one, two—in military cadence,

he withdrew to the four-and-a-half-mat room.
There exists such a thing as strange time.
Between what might be called supreme happiness and deepest despair—

The seam—

Was it truly so indistinguishable?

Certainly she—

“You must be cold—do come in...”

Though she had said that, and though he had obeyed,

The valiant knight mounted his steed,

Certain he’d cleared the obstacle in glory,

The horse leapt splendidly yet

The rider tumbled from the saddle

Landing astride that accursed barrier

How cruel—

A midnight jaunt might pass unnoticed

But in daylight’s merciless gaze

He’d clutch his hat to hide his face

He had no choice but to flee the racetrack.

O once-foolish snores of my friends in the four-and-a-half-mat room!

Now—the peaceful men’s

Now they could only be heard as wise-sounding snores.

Thirty-Four

Into the bright room of a spring morning,
the broad-minded queen was awake.

The men lumbered sluggishly,

They emerged from the four-and-a-half-mat room like gloomy animals.

Looking over, they saw that beside her lay bundled nightclothes and other belongings.

To everyone's surprise, Kusakari Shinta—

He filled his entire face with custom-made dignity and happiness,
he sat as if snuggling up to her.
Unnatural.
Overnight, Kusakari Shinta had taken on the airs of a husband.
The refraction of the sun’s light had shifted position.
Why, then, was it only Kusakari’s damn face that—
A harmonious, peaceful pale iridescence—
Because the light had converged there,
Kusakari chattered away with her, his face glowing.

Thirty-Five

Rinko looked over the group.
In a voice unusually dignified for a woman,
“As for our communal life—”

“—It must be properly organized, you understand?” she continued.

“Mr. Furuya, you’re on cleaning duty—”

“Mr. Oyama, you’re on cooking duty—”

“—Mr. Onishi, you’re on childcare duty,”

Anarchist Furuya Norikichi made a pitiful face.

“So I guess that means I’ll be cleaning toilets too.”

“Of course, you’ll also take care of the garden and repair what’s left of the drainage board in front of the entrance.”

“Very well.”

“Since you’re on childcare duty—”

Onishi took Sakurako along.

“Take her out to play all day.”

Onishi gladly accepted her command.

“But Ms. Rinko.”
“For looking after the child,”

“We’ll need snacks—that means extra expenses.”

Rinko reached into her purse.

With a sharp clack, she tossed down a single fifty-sen coin.

“I’ll pay your full day’s childcare fee.”

“How generous.”
Onishi Mitsuzo grinned sardonically.

Cook-duty Oyama went out to the market to do the shopping.

Thirty-Six

By the way, Mr. Furuya of the cleaning duty lodged a complaint.

—Ms. Rinko.

“There remains one man whose job assignment hasn’t been settled.”

“What role is Mr. Kusakari assigned to?”

Rinko coquettishly declared,

“Mr. Kusakari is my husband.”

Furuya Norikichi was astonished.

“Ms. Rinko, that’s too harsh!”

“You’re driving us into menial tasks,
while that Kusakari bastard alone gets to wear a *tanzen* and settle in—”
Kusakari being your husband—ah, I see,

He gulped audibly.

"The very notion of a 'husband' is preposterous—"

"Moreover, in our communal life—"

"There should have been no feudalistic animals like husbands in our communal life," he thought.

"Ms. Rinko, we are dissatisfied."

“Please speak more calmly.”

Rinko corrected her phrasing at that point.

“In our communal living company—”
“Since I am the female president,”
“Let’s have Mr. Kusakari be my secretary then,”
“—By the way, your Secretary Kusakari—”
“What kind of work does Secretary Kusakari do for you?”
“No, that pertains to our company’s confidential matters—”
“As they are classified within the company, they cannot be disclosed.”

Thirty-Seven

The poets’ breakfast began.

Cook-duty Oyama Seinosuke

made Hampen miso soup.

When they ate, a protest arose from Secretary Kusakari.

“Since when is Hampen considered human food?

Since when has Hampen been considered food for humanity—

It remains unknown when exactly it first began to appear in history,

However, to eat such a bizarre thing—

The problem lies in how numb must be the nerves of those who eat this without hesitation.”

Cook-duty Oyama fumed.

“That’s completely wrong—you’re attacking Hampen.”

“It’s your nerves that are out of order. When it comes to food, one should never choose anything hard that burdens the teeth and tongue. In other words, Hampen is a food softer than the tongue.” The more civilized people were, he argued, the softer things they ate.

“Behold! The cuisine of Westerners—”
“Jam! Mayonnaise! Milk!”
“Butter! Cheese! Cream puffs!”

“What’s this ‘cream puff’ nonsense you’re tacking on?”

“No—I simply adore them.”

Thus did civilized people increasingly favor fluid foods—
Hampen stood at modernity’s forefront
as solid sustenance’s softest incarnation.

Oyama Cook-duty and Secretary Kusakari argued.

"Kusakari, then I shall resign as Cook-duty."

"Starting tomorrow, you shall become Cook-duty."

“Since I shall be Ms. Rinko’s secretary,”
When Oyama said this—“There’s no need for that,”

Secretary Kusakari ended the discussion.

Night came,

Onishi Mitsuzo returned from caring for Sakurako, his fatigue hanging about him like cotton wool. Night had arrived—secrets subdued, fate made plaything—this convenient night for parading frail wills with counterfeit solemnity.

A convenient night arrived.

President Rinko emitted a fragrance in the six-mat room.

The men in the four-and-a-half-mat room faced toward the scent's direction.

They slept with their muzzles aligned.

Thirty-eight

The second night ended and morning came, and fate had reversed.

Yesterday's secretary Kusakari Shinta sat dejectedly,

Furuya Norikichi had newly donned a tanzen coat,

and sat beside Rinko with a husband's authority.

Secretary Kusakari had been deposed and reassigned to janitorial duty.

Kusakari was at the toilet's wooden seat,

He muttered as he scrubbed and washed with a brush,

A woman was like a deep abyss—
To claim her heart was unfathomable—that was the height of falsehood.
A woman’s heart was shallower than a plate.
Men tried to steer women—
But failed by wielding too long a rod.

For a shallow river, a small boat and a short rod are best.

Yesterday’s secretary was today’s laborer—
Love had been snatched away in a single day by that Furuya bastard, but—
Tomorrow I’d take it back again.
Very well—if love reaches its zenith in a single moment,
First and foremost, my love had been perfect.
From now on, I’d regard women as—
No, I wouldn’t think too seriously—
With a lonely heart chasing scattered clouds,
I just needed to pursue them with zeal.

Thirty-nine.

Secretary Furuya hovered obsequiously beside Rinko.

Oyama Seinosuke was in the kitchen, grumbling as he grated daikon with a grater.

Onishi Mitsuzo was on the engawa,

Onishi Mitsuzo played marbles with Sakurako.

When the meal ended, Childcare Duty Onishi

He took Sakurako and abruptly dashed out of the house.
Along the suburban embankment,
The two began walking, letting their feet lead the way.

They suddenly stopped to watch an ant war.

“Sakurako, which ants do you think will win?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, even Uncle doesn’t know.”

But in the end.
The stronger one is bound to win,

That is the truth.

“Well then, Uncle—”

“What happens if both ants are weak?”

Hmm... Such a thing certainly does exist.

There, Onishi fell into deep thought—

He could not come up with a suitable answer.

Forty

At that moment, they found a toad attempting to cross the road,

“Uncle, it’s a big frog, isn’t it?”

"That's a toad," he said.

I'll sing like this for this fellow.

“O toad, you’re no animal—
A squirming old shoe,
A tough one who fears no death.” And...

Truly, the old shoe didn't think about trying to die or trying to live—

Because it didn't bother with troublesome things.

"Uncle, what are you talking about?"

"Uncle, which is stronger—you or the toad?"

"Of course, humans are stronger."

"Then go ahead and fight it!"

“Alright, I’ll fight it! Sakurako-chan, watch closely—”

“I’ll be on your side, Uncle.”

No—I can handle this alone.

Onishi Mitsuzo immediately took off his suit jacket,

circled around to the front of the toad,

and glared at it with an intense gaze.

He fixedly glared at the toad.

41

First and foremost, he needed to attempt a surprise attack.

Onishi began urinating splashily onto the toad’s head.

The toad repelled the falling stream with its greasy skin,

sometimes using its hands

to wipe its face in apparent annoyance.

At that moment, Onishi felt

a physical pleasure akin to beating a small drum.

The toad half-opened its eyes and stared fixedly

at the grotesque object dangling between Onishi’s legs,

glaring relentlessly.

When Onishi suddenly noticed, Sakurako too—

Sakurako—with a puzzled look and curious fascination—was peering at the thing at Onishi’s crotch.

He noticed her tilting her head and gazing intently,
remembered the childcare duty,
and flustered, abruptly halted the surprise water assault.

This time, he brought a large rock from somewhere.
He attempted to hurl it and brought it up over the toad's head.
The toad was truly an old boot that knew no fear of death.
It proceeded with leisurely composure.
"There is no death within life.
Death is something that comes from outside life."
With a philosopher-like pretense of perspicacity,
he advanced while occasionally glancing sideways up at the rock.
Onishi lifted the rock, but
he had lost the strength to drop it onto the toad due to mental fatigue.

Sakurako-chan... Uncle lost to the toad.

42

If the toad was an eternal paragon of strength that knew no fear of death,
Poets must properly become as strong as that.

What of this creature’s thick, insensitive skin?
Like an iron mask
In sunken depths shone eyes
that appear in Western historical tales—
leather coats for unruly prisoners, constricting garments
Both toad and poets since birth
had been made to wear fate’s straitjackets
At that moment the toad seemed to say:
“As long as bodies exist, action persists”

Now, when it came to both fate and action, the poets—
Ah—weaker than toads, frogs, even tadpoles.
Onishi Mitsuzo paid his respects to the departing toad and
took Sakurako’s hand and started walking.

43

The surroundings were growing dark.

They had come to an unexpectedly desolate suburban field,

In the distance, a gas tank stood black and towering.

Houses were scattered at a distance.

He had spent an unexpected amount of time fighting the toad,

The city lights glimmered faintly in the distant sky.

"Sakurako-chan... We’ve gotten so late."

Let’s hurry back.

Onishi pulled Sakurako along.

Sakurako shook her kappa-like hair sideways,

“I’m not going home,” she declared.

Onishi, surprised and flustered, pulled her hand—
Sakurako plopped down onto the grass.
“Why don’t you want to go home, Sakurako-chan?”
“I hate home now!”
Her mother had died.
“Papa doesn’t dote on me anymore,”
“Another Auntie-chan”
“took my blanket.”
“That’s why I’m sleeping here with you, Uncle.”

It couldn’t be helped—if she was intent on sleeping outdoors, he had no choice.

44

Onishi gathered dead grass and spread it out.

He laid Sakurako on top of it.

He made her use his arm as a pillow.

They spread a single raincoat over themselves.

With that, it seemed they could avoid the night chill, but—

Mind and eyes only grew increasingly sharp.

“Hey, Uncle, tell me a story.”

“Uncle doesn’t know any stories at all.”

“Just tell me any kind of story!”

“Isn’t there something... anything short would do?”
“Anything’s fine!”
“Then I’ll tell one—once upon a time there was—”
“There lived an old man and an old woman.”
“The old man grew old and died.”

“Then the old woman grew old and died.”

“Well—how interesting—”

45

The beauty of the night sky seen while lying on her back

Sakurako had already discovered.

Onishi was struck by the swiftness of a child’s sensitivity to beauty—

the adult poets were no match at all, he thought.

When lying on the ground and gazing at the star-filled sky,

he was seized by a physical illusion.

If Earth too was floating in space,
He was carved in relief on Earth’s outer surface, unable to move,
Even as he lay there gazing up, the sky studded itself with stars.
a single vertical wall

Moreover, he felt as if standing directly facing it.

“Uncle, those stars are beautiful, aren’t they?”

At the tip of Sakurako’s pointing finger,
as if holding hands and helping one another,
seven stars swayed unsteadily.

“That’s what they call the Big Dipper.”

“Look, there’s the shining parent star over there, see?”

“There’s a small star shining next to it, see?”

“In China, they call the smaller one ‘Minister Star.’”

Maybe I should try doing a star reading.

As for how they referred to the parent star in China,

in China they called it the Son of Heaven,

while the adjacent Minister Star was called “Prime Minister”—that is, the Cabinet Prime Minister.

That’s how they saw it.

Now then, which one was shining?

The ancient Chinese tested this and divined.

They said it like this:

"If the Minister Star shines bright while the Dipper remains dim,
then the minister grows strong while the ruler weakens."

"If the Dipper shines bright while the Minister remains dim,
then the ruler grows strong while the minister weakens."

"If the Minister Star shines bright and large,
when it meets the Dipper, then the nation’s soldiers rise violently."

While gazing at the stars, they divined the social conditions of the world.
The Chinese who divined were a romantic race, huh.

46

With Sakurako-chan’s pure and innocent eyes,

Try guessing which star shines brighter.

But that was right—

Making such a young child speak the truth—

Adult imposition ought to be hated.

We adults must speak the truth.

“Uncle, why’re you talking to yourself all alone?”

“Sakurako’s sleepy—Uncle—sing something,”
“Mama always used t’ sing t’me at bedtime,”
“She’d sing songs t’Sakurako,”
“Like this—see?—she’d fold th’ futon f’me.”

“Sakurako,”
“In that case—since Uncle learned it from a Korean friend—”
“I’ll sing you this Arirang song I was taught.”
At that, Onishi Mitsuzo

While gazing up at the stars, he began singing in a low voice.

“Arirang

Arirang

Arariyo

Crossing over Arirang Pass

Though stars fill this azure sky,

Our hearts are

“Thus empty.”

When he finished singing, Onishi—lying down—tsk※(small katakana ヱ)ed—

He spat toward the sky

“Though stars fill this azure sky,

wondered if “Our hearts are thus empty”

He repeated it under his breath,

While lightly tapping Sakurako’s shoulder with his hand,
thinking she had probably fallen asleep, he peered at her face—
Sakurako had wide-awake eyes.
She pleaded for him to continue singing.

47

“Alright then, just one more part of the Arirang song.”

“I’ll sing for you, so this time you need to sleep peacefully.”

As Onishi absentmindedly stroked the sky with his gaze,

His gaze was at a corner of the sky where a single star was heading toward the earth,
transformed into a pale line of light,
His gaze collided with one streaming down.
His eyes received a strong stimulus.
Then weariness, fear, and fatigue

Weariness, fear, and fatigue dragged him all at once into sleep.

Onishi fought against sleepiness while making a tremendous effort,

he began singing the Arirang song intermittently,

“Arirang

Arirang

Arariyo

Crossing over Arirang Pass

"Wealth and poverty are

Wealth and poverty are things that shift and turn,

“Ye, lament not

“Someday it will come to Ye too.”

When he finished singing, sleep completely seized him

He heard Sakurako’s voice somewhere far away.

Sakurako had been listening intently to Mr.Onishi’s song—

“Uncle, now it’s my turn to sing!”

“Uncle! Uncle!”

―Good little boy, go to sleep now.

―Where has the little boy’s amulet gone

“Uncle! Uncle! Oh, you’ve fallen asleep?”

―Crossing that mountain, went to the village,

“What did you get from the village as a souvenir?”

Sakurako, with her small hands on Onishi’s chest,
singing in a drowsy state while lightly tapping,
put Onishi the caregiver to bed.

Soon Onishi began to snore like thunder,
then Sakurako’s little nostrils twitched,
but before long both had fallen into deep sleep.

Then the surrounding grass, under rushing wind,
jolted by the impact, began moving like a living creature,
at the hour when people fall soundly asleep,

As though Nature had seized its moment to rage,

48

The next morning—over the vacant lot—the sun

Even though it had risen high,

The two of them lay asleep as if dead,

Before long, Sakurako woke up,

At the bedside of Onishi, who was sleeping,
Properly, primly, she remained seated.
She waited endlessly for Onishi to wake up,
Onishi flusteredly sprang to his feet.

He looked around as if ashamed,
Then the two of them began walking in silence.
A sudden, unexplained anger welled up,

“We slept outdoors,”

Who had done such a thing?

Poor Sakurako, who had lost her mother,

Poor Sakurako, who had the lazy poet Oyama as her father,

Sakurako—adorable-looking Sakurako—who had tasted first life by sleeping in a field,

Who would raise this child from now on,

“Build nurseries!”

Onishi’s eyes snapped open as he glared at the sky.

At that moment, the morning sun—

“That’s none of my business,

“You’re barking up the wrong tree—take the nursery issue up with the government!”

The sun seemed to roar with laughter,

“Uncle, why are you making such a scary face?”

“Sakurako wants to go home now.”

“Let’s go home—and I’ll lodge a stern protest.”

“First off—Sakurako’s blanket! I’ll take it back from that lecherous female poet! Then I’ll slam down my resignation from childcare duty! And demand that Oyama fulfill his legitimate duty as a father!”

49

When he arrived at Oyama’s communal living house,
Onishi had completely lost his energy.
“Where did you all stay last night?”

Rinko called out from the six-tatami room like this.

“We slept outdoors.”

“Oh my!” followed by Rinko’s voice,

From Oyama came the plea: “Mr. Onishi, I implore you—don’t do that.”

Onishi answered, “Isn’t that educationally unsound?”

When he went up to the room, fate had shifted again.

Yesterday’s Furuya had been ousted; Oyama Seinosuke now—

He sat beside Rinko wearing a tanzen heavy winter kimono.

So now it’s my turn to wear the tanzen.

When Onishi had this thought, something unsettling—
as if some creature were racing from his chest to the space between his shoulder blades—
made him shudder involuntarily.

50

The next morning arrived,

Onishi had lost his chance to wear the tanzen,

Moreover, the situation had taken an abnormal turn.

It was still Oyama Seinosuke.
The next morning and the morning after that, Oyama kept his winning streak.
Furuya Norikichi and Kusakari Shinta left the communal living.
However, Onishi Mitsuzo slammed down his resignation from childcare duty.
He lacked the courage to retrieve the blanket from Rinko.
Whenever Sakurako pleaded with him, he would go out for a walk every day.
Yesterday it was Shinjuku; today Ginza.

When they arrived in front of the clock shop in Ginza Owari-cho,
Sakurako suddenly turned to Onishi.
“I want to dance,”

With an adorable face, she pleaded,

"Go ahead and dance."

"I'll dance, Uncle—you sing something for me, okay?"

"Alright, here goes—what should I pick?"

"Shall we do 'The Blue-Eyed Doll'?"

In the middle of Ginza’s daytime bustle,

Onishi began singing "Blue-Eyed Doll" in a booming voice,

The passersby, startled, looked at the man’s face and—
At his feet was a little girl
tilting her head and putting her sleeve in her mouth—
they discovered Sakurako dancing with her hand raised to shade her eyes.

51

In the spectacle-hungry city,

a perfect diversion to save passersby from their boredom

appeared wordlessly upon the pavement,

forming a human ring around Onishi and Sakurako.

At the circle's center stood Onishi singing with utmost fervor,

gravity carved into his features,

while Sakurako danced on in artless delight,

limbs stretching freely with childish charm.

What possessed Onishi in that instant?

He tore off his hat,

shouted "Gentlemen!" at the crowd,

“Gentlemen! I am the one tasked with caring for this child who lost her mother. This child’s father was infatuated with a lecherous female poet—he does not care for this child. Moreover, that woman took away this child’s blanket. We had to sleep outdoors. Gentlemen! For households where mothers are working,”

"For households who have lost their mothers,

'Build nurseries!

'Build nurseries!'"

Having shouted thus through the crowd's circle at high speed,

Onishi began to spin his hat,

Clink, clink—metallic sounds leapt into the hat.

Onishi spun the hat two or three times with nimble movements, snatched up the collected money without counting it in a rough grab, and dropped it into his trouser pocket.

“Sakurako—total success! You can stop dancing now.”

and briskly cut through the crowd's circle to leave the spot,

52

They leaned slowly against the entrance of the railway bridge,
When he counted the money, it came to one yen and seventy-five sen in mixed silver and copper coins,
A café match and three caramels,
They triumphantly boarded the suburban train but,
The passengers were many and the train was packed to bursting,
When they looked there was one spot where the seat gaped wide open,
There lay vomit that a drunk person had spewed,
Scattered radially across a one-mat space,

No one was sitting in front of it.

With fragments of fried shrimp and udon mixed in the vomit,

likely beer, awamori, and sake,

it was likely the work of a bad drunk brought on by mixing drinks—

Onishi took Sakurako and

in front of that vomit, seating for ten people

they occupied it together with a hustle and bustle,

stretching out leisurely with composed expressions, they rode back home.

53

When Onishi and Sakurako arrived home,
Even though it was still bright,
Strangely, all the storm shutters in the house were closed.
Just when they thought Oyama and Rinko had gone out and left the house empty,
Flickers of light leaked sporadically through the gaps in the storm shutters.
There was a sense that someone was present.
Thinking "This is suspicious," Onishi muffled his footsteps.

When he peered inside through the gap in the storm shutters, it was a strange sight.

Even though it was daytime, the storm shutters were closed tight.

The large Seto brazier in the center of the room,

Oyama and Rinko were sitting flanking it.

Oyama held a fire iron.

Rinko held a fire iron.

Each held a fire iron

Like a mime play, they remained stubbornly silent and hung their heads.

They stirred the ashes in the brazier with them.

On the nearby chabudai sat candlelight,

Having exhausted all things to discuss, only the weariness of fate remained.
When Oyama wrote an A on the ashes with a fire iron,
Rinko wrote a B on the ashes.
When Oyama wrote a Z on the ashes,
Rinko drew a circle in the ashes and sobbed quietly.

Onishi peered intently at it through the gap in the storm shutters,

54

Onishi thought that all catastrophe—the "final act"—had arrived.

Should he drive that woman out,

take back Sakurako’s blanket,

let that woman and Oyama get married,

or slam down his resignation from childcare duty—

he thought that the time requiring the final courage had come,

“You’re all so strange, closing the storm shutters in broad daylight—
“—glaring at each other like that!”
With that, he threw open the storm shutters with a clattering slam,
took money from his pants pocket,
and scattered it roughly onto the tatami mats,

“Sakurako-chan suddenly said she wanted to dance,”
“The place was right in the middle of Ginza,”
“There I sang and Sakurako-chan danced,”
“When I passed around the hat,”
“The crowd moved by my ‘Build nurseries’”
“Moved by my great speech threw in this much money!”
Then a dark shadow swept across Oyama’s face—
“Mr.Onishi I beg you stop that at least!”
“Isn’t that educationally unsound?”
“That’s not it—it’s simply troubling.”

55

Onishi began to get agitated.

“Mr. Oyama—as a father—you must not despise your own child Sakurako-chan and your friend here, this Onishi Mitsuzo. Are you saying our actions were even those of beggars? Sakurako-chan wanting to dance is a pure expression of innocence,

“I keenly felt the necessity of nurseries,”
“I merely passed around a hat and collected widespread donations,”
“For the sake of worker and farmer families with working mothers,”
“For families of lazy poets like you who have lost their mothers,”
“For families as well—”
“The construction of nurseries is absolutely necessary,”
“As the childcare provider for your child, I keenly felt that.”
“I’ll go out to Ginza again tomorrow,”
“If that’s wrong, I’ll resign as childcare provider.”

“I understand your feelings,”
“I too, as Sakurako’s father, feel ashamed.”

“But at least spare me from going out to Ginza.”

“In that case, I will resign”

“Mr. Oyama, Sakurako... A mother is urgently needed now. Your romantic relationships should progress to marriage, and Ms. Rinko should fulfill her duties as a mother.”

At that moment, the female poet Yoshida Rinko suddenly stood up,

And while walking toward the entrance,
“Mr.Onishi—I do recognize freedom in love—but women must bear maternal obligations

“I don’t have such feelings!”

Then Onishi Mitsuzo slammed his palm against the Seto ware brazier—

Slapping violently with his palm—
From behind her, he barked, “Get out!”
“All women can become mothers, you neutered woman, you womb-retrovert wench!”
Yoshida Rinko said, “Goodbye,”
in a quiet voice and left.
Then, after ten minutes had passed, Onishi Mitsuzo—who had resigned—also

At the entrance, to Sakurako seeing him off,

He blew a kiss and wandered off somewhere.

56

Dear readers, this poem could end here, but—
Because even when the poem ends, ten lines of reality still remain—

Kindly allow me to let it speak.

Afterwards, Oyama and Yoshida Rinko married and left the capital to return to the countryside. Oyama abandoned his ill-fated poetry and took over the family business. According to the doctor’s diagnosis, her internal organs were perfect and flawless; she gave birth to three children with Oyama and, with Sakurako added, became a splendid mother of four.

“All women can become mothers!” Onishi Mitsuzo, who had shouted this, remained single while composing poetry and drifting from city to city—unable to become an anarchist, communist, fascist, or liberalist.

he remained unable to fully become any of them

Occasionally, he appeared in the bustling night districts of the city,

He got drunk on cheap whiskey from a ten-cent stand and suddenly grabbed a hostess. “Every last one of you women can become mothers, I tell you!” When he roared this, the hostesses made indescribably disgusted faces.

Staggering, he opened the bar door and stepped outside.
Above the neon signs of the night,
When he saw the scattered shining stars,

“Build nurseries!” he screamed,
then leaned against a nearby utility pole and retched.