Pathway to Japanese Literature

One was a woman called Sae who'd gone a bit soft in the head; she'd gone off to North China three years back and then without so much as a word suddenly turned up in the village again last summer. Sae's family used to burn charcoal for a living, but her father had died ages ago and her only brother got drafted into the army twice over—this second tour of duty had dragged on three years now, with talk saying he'd been shipped off somewhere near Burma. The household consisted of four souls: Sae's mother, her brother's wife Sugi, Sugi's nine-year-old boy Saburō and seven-year-old girl Ima. With no men around they'd given up charcoal burning four or five years back, making do since by raising a few silkworms and helping out at a hot spring inn down the way. All they owned was a scrap of farmland and a ramshackle thatched house. Then crazy Sae came home and suddenly the place got harder to live in than ever before—damp creeping into every corner and nothing but complaints hanging in the air.

Before Sae went to China, she had worked as a maid at a nearby hot spring inn, but on the pretext of running an inn in Beijing, she became involved with a man who had come to treat his skin condition for about a month, and before anyone knew it, Sae had gone off to Beijing with that man. At first after Sae disappeared, everyone in the village gossiped about her for a while, but before they knew it, even talk of Sae had faded away as though forgotten.

Around that time, even in this small mountain village of about sixty households, talk of Manchurian migration was being vigorously promoted—so much so that not only hot-blooded young men but even landless elderly who had spent their lives as tenant farmers gradually began aspiring to go to Manchuria, with about three families from this village already having sold their homes and fields to depart. It appeared that the propaganda from agencies like the Ministry of Colonial Affairs had taken effect, for those without land were now contemplating migration to Manchuria with even greater earnestness. Yet despite this, though their village was a small, impoverished one, the villagers loved it more than anywhere else. People from outside called this village Half-Day Village. Because it was a dark mountain gorge village where even at the height of summer, the sun only shone for half a day. After all, small mountains pressed in from the southeast, and it was simply a village that stretched out midway along what resembled tiered platforms.

A river flowed behind the village, but this was such a wild river that even a heavy rain would wash away the bridge leading to the neighboring village. Being a river near the upper reaches of the mountain gorge, its waters were clear and beautiful; in summer, kajika frogs would sing, and large fireflies swarmed in the bushes along its banks.—Sae had returned at the height of summer’s heat, yet through the daylight hours she would vacantly watch the water flow across the wide riverside along this bank, holding a faded parasol and dressed in a yukata. Because she was taller than average, from a distance she somehow appeared beautiful, but up close, her face was sallow, and her eyes lacked luster. She was said to be twenty-six, but she looked older than her years.

The other woman was named Chōko, a woman with a bad leg who lived near the public bathhouse at the village edge, raising her three-year-old son. The child Chōko had borne was illegitimate. Since its construction, the house had never been maintained—it leaked in places, its tatami mats frayed, its furnishings limited to an old Buddhist altar resembling an upright wooden box and a single rickety low table. Chōko sat on the grimy plank by the hearth, stretching out her stiff leg as she played with her child. The child’s father was said to be Chōgorō, whose house stood just across the road from Chōko’s, but this Chōgorō had an older wife named Saku and a grown daughter who worked as a nurse.

Chōko’s house was a simple traditional four-section structure, so they partitioned the two western rooms with sliding paper doors and rented each room to evacuees from Tokyo. Each room rented for about fifteen yen apiece, and women with children had come to occupy both rooms. In the front-facing room was a brash woman who had been a geisha in Ogu, bringing along her grown daughter. In the back room was a woman claiming to be a factory manager’s wife, living with her young daughter on frayed tatami mats—her household possessions limited to just a futon, shockingly sparse for a factory manager’s spouse. How the destitute Chōko survived remained one of the village’s seven mysteries, though people likely suspected Chōgorō occasionally slipped her money. Chōgorō had originally worked as a lumberjack, but now served as a clerk at the timber regulation company. On his bicycle returning from town, he would sometimes carry rare goods strapped behind him. A thoroughly decent man, Chōgorō remained well-liked by the villagers.

Chōko had a bad leg since childhood, so she never married. Her father had wanted to adopt a son-in-law for his only daughter, but due to their poverty as clog menders, no one would come to their household; Chōko spent her prime being hired for sewing and laundry work at nearby hot spring inns until the autumn she turned twenty-eight, when she conceived Chōgorō's child. When Chōko became known to be pregnant, her father cut his stomach in the storehouse and committed suicide. The fact that the doctor from the neighboring village who rushed over had said, "Uncle, did you imitate General Nogi?" became the talk of the village. Chōko was thirty-one this year yet retained a surprisingly youthful build—large-framed with curly hair and slightly deep-set eyes that gave her the appearance of a South Seas woman. She told villagers the child belonged to a road laborer. She claimed it all happened because she'd let him stay one night, recounting the story with a ha-ha laugh as if amused by it. Though everyone knew the truth, they discussed Chōko's circumstances like examining a double-exposed photograph—layering her account with their own assumptions while pretending acceptance. Chōko's child bore strong resemblance to Chōgorō, who nevertheless lived as though unaware.

As the war gradually intensified, even in this village women began gathering from early morning to practice with bamboo spears, and Chōko too, dragging her lame leg, made her way to the National School grounds. The mentally disturbed Sae too, always being made to substitute for family members, would take a bamboo spear and go to the National School. As night began fading into dawn with mosquitoes still swarming thickly around them, throughout the lengthy lecture the village women had to endure the irritation of insects biting their faces and legs. Chōko didn’t understand who they were fighting against, and she found the headband-wearing figures of women clutching bamboo spears absurdly comical. The women’s shouts of “Ei! Ei!” echoed through the mountains and came reverberating back. Among them mingled four or five seventy-year-old grandmothers. Many had brought children along. Even Sae swung her bamboo spear without understanding what she did. Each time she thrust the spear skyward, she would sometimes gaze transfixed at large stars glittering brightly. Then a young officer-instructor came running to yell at Sae. Startled, Sae swung the spear with desperate vigor once more.

"The women’s voices chanting 'Destroy America and Britain! Ei! Ei!' echoed over the village." When the bamboo spear drills finally ended and another lecture began, the women grew distracted thinking of their household duties. As small birds began chirping and cicadas joined frogs in loud chorus, the gathering at last concluded, and the women hurried home with bamboo spears slung over their shoulders.

On the way back, the slow-footed Chōko and Sae always ended up together. “How’s Rice-boy doing?” “He’s still sleeping.” “Ah, I’m starving.” “I’m hungry too. I’ll hurry back and cook some kabocha rice or something…” “Even so, Chō-chan’s fine—it’s just the two of us.” “Just because there are two of us doesn’t mean we eat any less!” “Yeah, even so we can eat plenty.” The two of them walked slowly along the two-kilometer mountain path, talking as they made their way back. In this mountain village where bamboo did not grow, both Chōko and Sae struggled to make bamboo spears, resorting to using old clothes-drying poles as their weapons. They never thought such worn-out bamboo spears could kill anyone, but since the town office’s regulations required bamboo spears, it had to be something bearing the name “bamboo.” Both Chōko’s and Sae’s bamboo spears already had cracks.

“Sae, why don’t you stop by my place? I’ll grill some senbei.” “Yeah, maybe I’ll stop by.”

When Sae ascended to Chōko’s hearthside, Chōko immediately lit the fire. The child slept comfortably inside a mosquito net riddled with patches. From the public bathhouse came the boisterous voices of men. Sae stared fixedly at the hearth fire burning with vigor.

Chōko was kneading rationed flour mixed with bran in a bowl. “At your place, I hear Ms. Kahiko’s been real successful this year.” “Yeah, I wouldn’t know.” “Don’t you get any help?” “Nah, just some mulberry pickin’, really.” “In your house though, your sis works hard—must help your ma plenty.” “Ms. Chōko, you ever eat Shina soba?” “Shina soba?” “Don’t know nothin’ ’bout that stuff.” “So damn good though.” “Had it in Beijing—damn thing’s so good.”

“Hmm, so there’s something that damn good in Beijing, huh?”

“Yeah, still got so damn many good things there. I’m thinkin’ of headin’ back to Beijing again real soon.” “Now that’s a damn envious story. I wanna tag along too. Just once I’d like to see a place like that.” While baking kneaded wheat in a flat pan, Chōko looked thoroughly envious. Over the river on Maemura’s mountain, the morning sun blazed down. Eventually, when the senbei had finished baking and the two were drinking tea, Chōgorō—wearing a headband made from an old hand towel—slowly peeked his face in from the entrance.

“Oh, Sae’s here too? Damn early.” “Ah, we had bamboo spear practice this morning.” “Oh, I see. Saku came back earlier too.” “What’s this—so early? That’s unusual for you…” Chōko laughed with a hint of coquetry.

“Yeah, I finally got my draft notice.”

Chōko remained silent for a while, her mouth hanging open in a shock that seemed to sink her into the earth. “I was surprised too.” “Didn’t Saku tell you?” “I had no idea! Ms. Saku kept that quiet…” “I leave the village on the eighth…” “I hate this.” Chōko made a tearful face and slowly thrust her legs out onto the floorboards. Sae had a blank expression on her face. “I hate this—I hate you goin’ to war.”

“Quiet down, will ya?! Now that the draft notice’s come this late, ain’t no use fussin’ over it!” “Even so, I hate it. “I hate it! I do!” Chōko was shedding large teardrops. Without wiping those tears, she added firewood to the stove.

“With this damn smolderin’ green wood, can’t help but tear up.” Chōgorō said that and reached for the baked rice crackers. Chōko stood up, went over, and closed the entrance sharply. The child choked on the stove smoke and opened their eyes. “Mama…” “What’s this—you’re awake? The one from before’ll be here soon…” Chōko detached one side of the mosquito net’s hanging hook and came out cradling the child sideways. Sae was silently eating rice crackers. The water in the kettle on the adjustable hook began to boil over with plopping sounds. Three bicycles glided down the sloped road toward the riverbed as if flowing.

“Well, can’t stay like this. I’ll come again.”

“You should stay and talk a bit more.” “Yeah, I’ll come by tonight to talk more. Kid—you listen proper to what Mama says now. Keep bawlin’ like that and I won’t bring you no treats, got it? Stay healthy…”

Chōgorō smiled broadly and firmly grasped the child’s grimy hand. The child, annoyed, let out a wail. Chōko hurriedly hugged the child and, while still holding them, began making tea. Sae stirred the fire. “Today looks hot again. How’s your head been lately, Sae?” “Yeah, ain’t clear. I wanna get outta here too.” “That bein’ unclear’s the worst part. Ain’t there some kinda medicine or somethin’?” “There’s no medicine for me… If I go to Beijing, I’ll get better…”

When the tea was poured, Chōgorō blew on it noisily while sucking it up with a high-pitched slurp. After draining every last drop of tea, Chōgorō slapped his knee like a gesture, opened the front door, and left without speaking.

After Sae eventually returned home as well, Chōko, holding Yoneo, entered the mosquito net and lay down. Because she wanted to cry her heart out. The child, having woken from their nap, played by pulling on one of the detached mosquito net strings while muttering to themselves. A painful emotion, as though abruptly severed by something, welled up profusely.

A voice called out loudly from the road: “Hey, Chōgorō! When you leavin’?” When Chōko heard that voice, tears suddenly overflowed again with aching intensity. For a long time, keeping up appearances with Chōgorō had been painful. It was a desolation as though she were being laid bare all at once.

After finishing lunch, Sae went to the public bathhouse to do laundry. Because the fields were busy during daytime hours, no one had come to bathe. She stretched out luxuriously in the water and began washing by soaking dirty laundry. In the bathwater floated a viscous substance resembling algae. Through latticework like that of a ramshackle hut drifted white clouds. Weathered paper amulets clung to dark ceiling beams. Slowly—so slowly—the sky’s hue seeped into water’s surface. Though scalding enough to numb flesh, Sae entered calmly while clutching both breasts. Gaudy fabric bled vivid colors across steaming water until they shone like velvet.

Sae sang a song. She was singing in fragmented tones that didn't belong to any particular song. "Sae?" "Yeah." "Is the water hot?" "It's just right... Come on in..."

Chōko entered the bathhouse bringing a naked child along. The child immediately tried to dip their foot into the bathwater but cried “Mama, it’s hot!” and lifted their reddened foot into the air. “Hey, Rice-boy, it ain’t hot. Get in now.” Sae picked up the child from behind and put them into the bath, but the child immediately let out a cry like ignited fire and wailed. “Sae, it’s fine—let them out. This kid hates the heat.”

The child leapt out to the washing area, their entire body turning bright red as if boiled. Chōko too dipped her hand into the bathwater, but finding it scalding after all, immediately settled at the washing area and kept pouring water over herself. The child must have cried themselves raw, for their eyelids were swollen crimson at the rims. Sae's song came through as fragmented muttering. Though she'd submerged in the searing water, Sae's body now climbing onto the washing ledge took on a livid pallor, giving her the unwholesome look of some cold-blooded creature. Chōko, older by years, bore skin smooth and vibrant in contrast.

In the men’s bath, perhaps some passersby had entered—the sound of water was unusually present. Chōko silently gazed vacantly up at the lattice.

“Earlier, Mr. Chōgorō was wearing a crested haori.” “Maybe he borrowed a summer haori from the village head or something.” “Did he go to your house?”

“Yeah, he came to say hello.” “Even here in the village, all the men are leaving now, you know.”

“Yeah, Saku’ll cry for sure. They say the daughter’s back from the town hospital too.”

Chōko was silent again. The child, finding the bath too hot, kept using an empty tin can to carry water from a small stream and pour it into the bath. “I’ll be seein’ him off to town on the eighth, so you better come with me, Sae.” “Yeah.” “How ’bout it?” “Yeah, I’m goin’ to Beijing. I’ve already packed my things.” “You can’t get tickets that easy, you know.” “Nah~, I’ll just fly there. It’s fine.” “Nothin’ to it~ Ain’t like I got no kid tyin’ me down…” Sae’s eyes held a suspicious glint. Chōko felt something peculiar and chuckled under her breath.

That night, around one o'clock, Chōko went to the nunnery atop the mountain. Chōgorō had peeked through Chōko's house window in the early evening and whispered, "Come to the nunnery at one o'clock." That was why.

A light rain fell. In the mountain paddies, frogs croaked furiously as if waging war. Chōko dragged her lame leg along the pitch-black path to the nunnery. At the cedar-lined path stood Chōgorō, hunched like a stone lantern in what looked like a marked happi coat. “Run into anyone?” “Didn’t run into anyone.” “Rain’s working in our favor.” “……” “You endure this now. Hear me?”

“It can’t be helped.” “At a time like this, if you try to run and hide, they say the military police will come shoot you dead with their pistols.”

Chōgorō felt for Chōko’s hand and pressed a paper bundle into it. “What is this?” “It’s money.” “Ain’t enough, I reckon, but make do with this somehow.” “I don’t need this.” “No need? You’ll be stuck if you can’t even buy rationed goods starin’ you in the face.” “Can I take this?” “Course you can. Three hundred’s in there—use it careful-like.” “Once I’m with the soldiers, I’ll be thinkin’ on you.” “All so sudden—Saku’s stuck too.” “She’s flounderin’, sure—but built right for runnin’ errands.”

“I’ll take half, maybe?”

“It’s fine. I wish I could leave you even more than this…” “As long as you come back healthy, that’s all that matters. Even if they call you a coward, you mustn’t go showing any courage.”

“I know. I don’t want to die.” “I’ll find a way to come back.”

A mountain bird called from above the forest. The nunnery too, its lights extinguished, sank densely into the darkness. Neither Chōko nor Chōgorō knew how to show their final affection for each other. Silently, the two of them stood in the rain. “Tomorrow I’m going to the neighboring village to have them hold a celebration, so we won’t be able to meet. Don’t let Rice-boy get sick now……” “I’ll… I’ll come see you off at the station on the eighth……” “There ain’t no need to come see me off. I’d feel better if you stayed home. There ain’t no need to come see me off.”

Chōgorō grabbed Chōko's right arm with an awkward gesture, as if overwhelmed by emotion. Chōko stifled her voice and wept for a time. “You go back first.” “No, you go back first.” “I’m a man—I’ll take my time going back later.” “This is really the end.” “As long as you stay healthy, we’ll meet again.” “Things’ll work out—you just wait now.”

Chōko stood as if in a daze but soon resigned herself and silently made her way back along the heavily muddied mountain path while hobbling toward her house. When she returned home，the factory manager’s wife—whose husband had arrived from Tokyo—was eagerly recounting stories of air raids over there. Chōko wiped her feet and quietly slipped into the dark mosquito net.

“No matter how much they keep shouting 'air raids,' there’s no way they wouldn’t have come by now—I’d thought even a woman could manage and forget all about these mountains.” “It’s just so infuriating—I feel completely tricked into being banished here. If you hadn’t come in another two or three days, I’d have gone straight back to Tokyo without a ticket, I swear.” “Just thinking about it makes me wretched.” “This sort of life simply won’t do!” “There’s a limit to how heartless one can be, I tell you…”

Because it was late at night, even their hushed voices carried clearly to Chōko’s ears. Chōko was clutching the money-stuffed paper bundle tightly against her chest.

“The mountains are cool, aren’t they? In Tokyo it’s so hot you can’t even take baths.” “No matter how dreadful Tokyo is… I must go back……” “Air raids aren’t something to take lightly, I tell you.” Chōko shuddered at their words. When she thought of the man heading off to that fearsome battlefield—no trivial matter—she felt overwhelming pity. A sense of guilt and restless frustration kept her from sleeping.

Early on the morning of the eighth, Chōgorō left the village, seen off by the village’s elderly and women. Chōko took the child and climbed the slightly elevated potato field at the back, watching Chōgorō’s procession making its way along the riverside path. The tall figure of Chōgorō could be seen wearing a national uniform with a sash bearing the national flag. About twenty people seeing him off were also trailing along. “Rice-boy, try shouting ‘Banzai’.”

The child pretended not to notice and kept watching the procession. Sae’s mother and Sugi, her brother’s wife, appeared picking mulberries and came up behind Chōko. Chōko was flustered. Sugi was leading her daughter by the hand.

“Mornin’. Mr. Chōgorō already gone?” “Ah.”

Chōko replied in a casual manner. Next to Chōko’s potato field was Sae’s family’s mulberry field. “They say you hit the jackpot this year.” “Ain’t really like that. Better off plantin’ wheat instead, but diggin’ up roots is such a chore.” “How’s Ms. Sae doin’?” “Ah, Sae… She went to see Mr. Chōgorō off.” “Ain’t you goin’ to see Mr. Chōgorō off?” “I ain’t got good legs, so I asked to be excused.”

“Mr. Chōgorō’s had it rough too.” “Saku must be having a hard time being left alone too.” “The daughter still can’t send money either.” That the deranged Sae had been the one to see Chōgorō off left Chōko with a guilty feeling. “The village—with things like this, it’s all women now and we’re in trouble.” “My brother ain’t comin’ back anytime soon either.”

Sugi set down the basket from her back and picked mulberry leaves. Chōko stood silent. Holding a branch of mountain shrub heavy with red berries, an unfamiliar man descended along the edge of the mulberry field.

“That an evacuee?” “A man we ain’t seen before, eh?”

Shimo looked back and was watching the retreating figure of the man who had put on airs of being fashionable.

Chōko glanced casually toward the riverbed, but Chōgorō’s procession had already crossed the bridge on the opposite side and was nowhere to be seen. Throughout the village’s houses, national flags hung.

Just at that moment, someone could be seen climbing the observation ladder next to the public bathhouse. “There’s another plane! Someone’s climbing up to ring the bell!” Before long, bells began ringing from both near and far. Two large silver airplanes were flying through the cobalt-blue clear sky, their bright engines emitting a deep, resonant drone. As they watched in astonishment, the large airplanes disappeared as if sucked into the eastern mountain edge.

“What magnificent airplanes those are!” “Mom, I saw an enemy plane for the first time. That one just now must be what they call a B.”

Chōko too was startled and looked up at the sky.

That night, the bells of villages all around rang out again. Chōko and the evacuees also quietly ventured outside to look. The area beyond the western mountains was tinged a pale red like sunset.

While running along the dark road, someone said, "Nagaoka’s being hit right now." The pale red glow tinged with rainbow hues spread out and stretched sideways across the sky beyond the dark mountains. She felt as if she could hear the screams of people fleeing in panic. Chōko felt a profound unease. She had always thought of war as something distant, but once Chōgorō left for the frontlines, it suddenly felt terrifying; as she watched the faint flames beyond the mountains, Chōko’s entire body began trembling uncontrollably.

“Ms. Chōko, hasn’t our Sae come by?”

Sugi emerged unexpectedly from the darkness and inquired. "She hasn't come by." "Sae isn't here either?" "Isn't she at the bathhouse?" "Hmm, she isn't anywhere." "We know she went to see Mr. Chōgorō off and came back halfway across the bridge with Ms. Saku and the others, but after that, everyone was so distracted they didn't keep an eye on Sae..." "Then how's she been getting by without eating lunch or dinner..."

The pale red flames had spread ever more fiercely. The eerie village bells kept clanging ceaselessly, as if crushing Chōko’s sentimental feelings. The flames consuming Nagaoka—said to be forty ri beyond the mountains—continued to faintly redden the night sky.

Even after many days had passed since then, Sae did not return to the village.