Pathway to Japanese Literature

In that village there were two women with nothing to do. One was a woman called Sae who'd gone a little mad—she'd left for North China three years earlier and suddenly reappeared last summer without warning. Sae's family had once burned charcoal for a living, but her father had died long ago, and her only brother had been drafted twice into military service—this second stint at the front had now lasted three years, with rumors placing him somewhere in Burma. The household consisted of Sae's mother; Sugi, her brother's wife; Sugi's nine-year-old son Saburō; and seven-year-old daughter Ima—four souls in all. With no men left to work, they'd abandoned charcoal-burning four or five years back—Sae's mother and the others now scraped by doing laundry and odd jobs at a nearby hot spring inn. All they owned was a small patch of farmland and their crumbling thatched-roof house. Then when Sae—now mentally unstable—returned, daily life grew harder than before—the interior turned damp and gloomy—a place now thick with complaints.

Before going to China, Sae had worked as a maid at a nearby hot spring inn but became involved with a man who had come for about a month under the pretext of treating his skin disease while claiming to run a lodging in Beijing; before anyone knew it, she had gone off to Beijing with him. When Sae first disappeared, everyone in the village talked about her rumors for a while, but before long even stories of her seemed to fade away and be forgotten.

Around that time, even in this small mountain valley village of sixty households, talk of Manchurian migration had been introduced with great fanfare. Impetuous young men and even landless elderly who had spent their lives as tenant farmers were beginning to aspire to go to Manchuria—already three families from this village had sold their homes and fields to depart. It appeared that propaganda from the Ministry of Colonial Affairs had taken effect, for those without land were now considering migration to Manchuria with renewed earnestness. And yet, though it was a small, poor hamlet, the villagers loved their own village more than any other place. People from elsewhere called it Half-Day Village—for even at midsummer’s peak, sunlight only reached this dark mountain valley for half a day. With small mountains crowding in from the southeast, it was nothing more than a village stretched lengthwise as if caught midway down a terraced slope.

A river flowed behind the village, but this river was so wild that when heavy rains fell, it would wash away the bridge leading to the neighboring village. The river was close to the upper reaches of the mountain gorge, its waters clear and beautiful; in summer, river frogs would sing, and large fireflies swarmed in the thickets along its banks.—Sae had returned at the height of summer’s heat, yet day after day she would sit vacantly watching the water flow on the wide riverside, clutching a faded parasol and dressed in a summer kimono. Because she was taller than average, from a distance she somehow gave the impression of a beauty, but up close, her face was sallow, and her eyes lacked luster. She was said to be twenty-six, but she looked older.

The other woman was named Chōko, a disabled woman who lived near the communal bath at the edge of the village, raising her three-year-old son. The child Chōko had given birth to was illegitimate. Since the house had never been maintained since being built, the roof leaked in places and the tatami mats were tattered; as for furnishings, there was only an old Buddhist altar resembling an upright wooden box and a single rickety low dining table. Chōko sat stretching her unbending leg on the grimy hearth boards while playing with her child. The child’s father was said to be Nagorō, whose house stood just across the road from Chōko’s—but this Nagorō had an older wife named Saku and a grown daughter who worked as a nurse.

Chōko’s house followed the traditional four-room layout shaped like the field character 田, so she had partitioned the two western rooms with shōji screens and rented each one to evacuees from Tokyo. Each room went for about fifteen yen in rent, with women accompanied by children occupying both quarters. The front room housed a temperamental woman who had worked as a geisha in Okubu and brought along an older girl. The rear room contained a woman claiming to be a factory manager’s wife, living with her young daughter amid furnishings shockingly meager for her purported status—nothing but a single futon on fraying tatami mats.—How the impoverished Chōko sustained herself ranked among the village’s seven mysteries, though they must have vaguely suspected Nagorō periodically supplied her money. Nagorō’s original trade had been mountain prospecting, but he now served as a clerk at the lumber regulation company. Returning from town by bicycle, he often carried unusual items strapped to the rear rack. Thoroughly decent by nature, Nagorō maintained good standing among the villagers.

Chōko had had bad legs since childhood and had never married. Her father had wanted to adopt a son-in-law for his only daughter Chōko, but no one would come to their impoverished household of clog repairers, so she spent her prime years working merely as a seamstress and laundress hired by a nearby hot spring inn until that autumn when she turned twenty-eight and conceived Nagorō's child. When her father learned of Chōko’s pregnancy, tormented by it, he slit his belly in the storeroom and killed himself. The doctor from the neighboring village who rushed over had said, “Uncle, did you pull a General Nogi?”—a remark that 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 sunken eyes that gave her the look of a woman from the South Seas. She told villagers her son belonged to some road laborer. She still recounted this story with apparent amusement through peals of laughter—how letting someone stay one night had ruined her. Though everyone in the village already knew better, they discussed Chōko’s circumstances like examining a double-exposed photograph—wondering if her tale too might hold some hidden truth. Her child bore striking resemblance to Nagorō, yet he went on living as though oblivious.

As the war grew increasingly fierce, even in this village women began gathering at dawn for bamboo spear training, and Chōko too hobbled out to the National School yard. Even Sae, who was mentally unstable, was always made to substitute for her family members and went to the National School carrying a bamboo spear. As dawn’s first light began to seep into the sky, mosquitoes still swarmed thickly in the air, and throughout the long lecture, the village women had to endure mosquitoes biting their faces and legs. Chōko didn’t know where they were fighting, and she couldn’t help but find the sight of the women with bamboo spears and their headbands absurd. The women’s commands—shouting “Eii! Eii!”—turned into mountain echoes and came reverberating back. Among the women, there were also four or five seventy-year-old grandmothers mixed in. Many had come with children as well. Even Sae, brandishing her bamboo spear, had no idea what she was doing. Each time she thrust her bamboo spear skyward, there were moments when she would gaze in a daze at the large stars glittering brightly. Then, a young officer instructor ran up and yelled at Sae. Startled, Sae once again swung her spear with all her might.

“Destroy America and Britain! Eii! Eii!”—the women’s voices resounded over the village. When at last the bamboo spear training ended and another lecture began, the women grew restless thinking of all that needed doing at home. When small birds began twittering and cicadas and frogs started clamorously croaking, the gathering finally ended, and the women hurried home, shouldering their bamboo spears.

On the way back, the slow-footed Chōko and Sae always ended up together. “How’s Rice Boy doing?”

“He’s still sleeping.”

“Ahh,I'm starving!” “I'm hungry too.” “Gotta hurry back 'n cook up some pumpkin rice...” “Still better off than me though—just two mouths t'feed.” “Two mouths eat same as any other!”

“Yeah, even so we can eat plenty.” The two women walked slowly back along the two-kilometer mountain path, talking as they went. Since bamboo didn’t grow in this mountain village, both Chōko and Sae had struggled to make their bamboo spears, repurposing old clothes-drying poles into spears. They never thought these weathered bamboo spears could kill anyone, but since the town office’s regulations demanded bamboo spears specifically, they had to use anything bearing the name of bamboo. Both Chōko’s and Sae’s spears already had cracks running through them.

“Sae, why don’t you stop by my place? Let’s bake some rice crackers.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll stop by.” When Sae climbed up to Chōko’s hearth, Chōko immediately lit the fire. The child was sleeping peacefully inside a mosquito net full of patches. From the communal bath came the lively voices of men. Sae stared fixedly at the hearth fire burning vigorously. Chōko was kneading the rationed flour mixed with bran in a bowl. “I hear Kahiko-san’s had a hard time at your place this year.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” “Don’t you have any help?” “Yeah, just some mulberry picking.” “In your house, your sister-in-law works hard—ain’t that a help?” “Miss Chōko—have you ever eaten Chinese noodles?” “Chinese noodles? “I don’t know anything about that.” “It’s so damn good!” “I had it in Beijing—it was so damn good!” “Hmm, so Beijing’s got stuff that’s damn good like that, huh?”

“Yeah, there’s still tons o’ damn good stuff there. I’m thinkin’ of headin’ back to Beijing again real soon.” “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to tag along—ain’t never been anywhere like that even once.” While baking kneaded wheat dough in a flat pan, Chōko looked thoroughly envious.

The morning sun was blazing down on the mountains of the village across the river. When the rice crackers were done and the two were drinking tea, Nagorō—wearing a headband made from an old hand towel—slowly poked his face in from the entrance.

“Oh, Sae’s here too? You’re up real early.” “Ah, there’s bamboo spear trainin’ this mornin’.” “Ah right—Saku came back earlier too.” “What’s this now? You here so early… That ain’t like you…” Chōko gave a faintly coquettish smile. “Yeah… I finally got my draft notice.” Chōko stayed silent for a spell, mouth hangin’ open like the shock’d sunk her clean through the floorboards.

“I was surprised too.” “Didn’t Saku say anything?” “I didn’t hear nothin’ ’bout that... Saku-san kept quiet…” “I’ll leave the village on the eighth…” “I hate this.” Chōko thrust her legs out onto the board with a face that looked ready to cry. Sae wore a blank look.

“I hate this… I hate you goin’ to war!” “Quiet down, will ya! Now that the draft notice’s come this late, there ain’t nothin’ we can do about it!” “Even so, I hate it. “I hate it!”

Chōko was shedding large teardrops. Without even wiping those tears, she added firewood to the hearth. “This damn green wood’s smoking so bad—can’t help the tears comin’ out.” Nagorō said that and reached for the burnt rice cracker. Chōko stood up, went over, and firmly shut the entrance. The child opened their eyes, choking on the hearth smoke. “Mama…”

“What—you’re awake? The old man from before is here…”

Chōko detached one side of the mosquito net's hanging hook and emerged cradling the child sideways in her arms. Sae kept silently eating rice crackers. The water in the pot suspended from the adjustable hook began boiling over with thick plopping sounds. Three bicycles streamed down the sloped road toward the riverbed like liquid flowing.

“Well, can’t stay like this—I’ll come back.” “You should stay and talk a little longer.” “Yeah, I’ll come by tonight to talk more. Rice Boy—listen to your mama, got it? If you keep bawlin’, I ain’t bringin’ you no treats. Alright? Stay strong…” Nagorō grinned broadly and firmly grasped the child’s grimy hand. The child got annoyed and let out a cry. Chōko hurriedly hugged the child while making tea. Sae stoked the fire.

“Looks like another scorcher today. How’s Sae’s head been lately?” “Yeah… [Her mind] ain’t clear… I wanna get outta here too.” “That’s the worst part about her head ain’t clear. Ain’t there any medicine or somethin’?” “There ain’t no medicine for me… If I go t’Beijing, I’ll get better…” When the tea was poured, Nagorō blew on it noisily and slurped it down with a loud sound. After gulping down every last drop of tea, Nagorō slapped his knee, opened the front door, and wordlessly left.

When Sae eventually returned home too, Chōko entered the mosquito net holding Yoneo and lay down. She had wanted to cry without restraint. The child who had slept their fill was playing by tugging at one of the detached mosquito net cords while muttering to themselves. A heartrending feeling—as though something had been severed—surged up thickly within her. From the road came a loud voice asking, “Hey, Nagorō! When you leavin’?” When Chōko heard that voice, tears painfully overflowed anew. For a long time now, keeping up appearances with Nagorō had been agonizing. It felt like desolation itself—as if she were growing destitute all at once.

After finishing her lunch, Sae went to the communal bath to do laundry. Because farm work kept everyone busy, no one had entered the bathhouse during daytime hours. She stretched leisurely in the steaming water before soaking her dirty laundry. Thick algae-like clumps floated across the bath's surface. Through gaps in the ramshackle latticework, white clouds drifted across visible sky. Faded paper charms clung to beams in the shadowed ceiling. Gradually, gradually, the sky's hue seeped into the water's sheen. Though scalding enough to numb flesh, Sae gripped her breasts and waded in unfazed. Gaudy fabric bloomed vivid through the water, gleaming like velvet.

Sae sang a song. She sang in a fragmented voice that didn’t resemble any recognizable song.

“Sae?”

“Yeah...” “Bath too hot for ya?”

“It’s just right… Come on in…”

Chōko entered the bath with the naked child in tow. The child immediately tried to dip their foot into the bathwater but, crying “Mama, it’s hot!”, lifted their reddened foot into the air.

“Hey, Rice Boy, it ain’t hot. Get in.” Sae lifted the child from behind and put him into the bath, but he immediately let out a cry as if set ablaze.

“Sae, that’s enough—let him out. This child hates the heat.” The child leapt out to the washing area, his entire body turned bright red like a boiled lobster. Chōko dipped her hand into the bathwater but, finding it too hot, immediately sat down at the washing area and kept pouring water over herself. The rims of his eyes were red and swollen as though he’d cried his heart out. Sae’s song came through as fragmented muttering like delirious speech. Though she’d been in scalding water, Sae’s body—now climbed up to the washing area—had taken on a bluish pallor that made her look eerily cold-natured. Chōko, who was older, had smooth skin with a vibrant glow.

In the men’s bath, perhaps even passersby had entered, for there was the unusual sound of water splashing. Chōko silently gazed vacantly up at the lattice.

“Earlier, Mr. Nagorō.” “He was wearin’ a crested haori.” “Maybe he borrowed a summer one from the village head or somethin’?” “Did he go to your place?” “Yeah, came by to say howdy.” “In the village too—all the men’re goin’ now.”

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

Chōko remained silent again. The child, because the bath was hot, kept carrying water from the small stream using an empty can and pouring it into the bath.

“I’ll be going to town on the eighth to see him off—come with me, Sae.” “Yeah.” “How about it?” “Yeah, I’m goin’ to Beijing—already packed my things.” “You can’t just buy tickets that easy.” “I can fly there~Ah, no trouble.” “Ain’t nothin’—I ain’t some kid anymore…” A strange light glinted in Sae’s eyes. Chōko felt something peculiar and stifled a laugh.

That night, around one o'clock, Chōko went to the nunnery atop the mountain. It was because Nagorō had peeked through Chōko’s window early in the evening and whispered, “Come to the nunnery at one.”

A light rain was falling. In the mountain paddies, frogs were croaking awfully, as if engaged in a frog battle.

Chōko dragged her lame leg along the pitch-dark path as she went to the nunnery. At the row of cedars, Nagorō—wearing what appeared to be a marked coat—stood hunched like a stone lantern. “Did you meet anyone?”

“I didn’t meet anyone.” “The rain’s turned out convenient.” “...” “You’ll have to endure this—got it?” “It can’t be helped.” “In times like these—if you try t’run ’n’ hide—they say the military police’ll come shoot you dead with their pistols.”

Nagorō groped for Chōko’s hand and made her grip the paper bundle.

“What’s this?”

“It’s money.” “It probably ain’t enough, but make do with this, alright?”

“I don’t need this.” “You do need it—you’ll be stuck if you can’t even buy rationed goods staring you in the face.” “Can I really take it?” “Course you can—there’s three hundred yen in there. Use it wisely.” “Once I’m off with the troops, I’ll be thinking of you.” “Everything’s so rushed—Saku’s struggling too.” “She’s lost herself over it, but... well, that woman’s made for running errands anyway.”

“Maybe I’ll take half?” “It’s fine, I tell ya. I wish I could’ve left ya even more…” “Just come back alive. Even if they call you a coward, you mustn’t show any courage.” “I get it—I don’t wanna die. I’ll find a way to come back.”

A mountain pheasant cried out above the forest. The nunnery too, its lights extinguished, sank darkly massed into the darkness. Neither Chōko nor Nagorō knew how to show their final affection to each other. The two stood silently in the rain. “Tomorrow I’m going to the front village for them to hold a send-off celebration, so we won’t be able to meet.” “Don’t let Rice Boy get sick, you hear…?” “I’ll… see you off at the station on the eighth…” “There’s no need for you to come see me off.” “It’d put my mind at ease if you stayed home.” “You mustn’t come to see me off.”

Nagorō grabbed Chōko’s right arm with clumsy hands, as if overwhelmed by emotion. Chōko stifled her sobs and wept quietly for a time. “You go back first.” “No, you go back first.”

“I’m a man—I’ll take my time headin’ back later.” “This’s the last time then.” “Long as you stay healthy, we’ll meet again.” “Just wait—things’ll work out.”

Chōko stood as if in a daze, but soon resigned herself and silently made her way back home along the treacherous muddy mountain path, dragging her lame leg. When she returned home, the factory manager’s wife was saying that her husband had come from Tokyo and was going on about the air raids there. Chōko wiped her feet and quietly crawled into the dark mosquito net. “No matter how much they keep crying ‘air raid, air raid,’ there’s no way they wouldn’t come after all this time! I thought even a woman could manage things here in the mountains, but they’ve forgotten all about us.” “Somehow it’s so infuriating—I feel like I was tricked into being driven out to this place, and if you hadn’t come when you did these past few days, I was going to hurry back to Tokyo even without a ticket.” “Even if I think about it, it’s just miserable.” “This isn’t any kind of life!” “There’s a limit to heartlessness, I tell you…”

Because it was late at night, even their whispered conversation reached Chōko’s ears clearly. Chōko clutched the paper bundle containing money firmly against her breast.

“The mountains are cool, see? In Tokyo it’s so hot you can’t even get in a bath.” “No matter how hateful Tokyo is... I just have to go back...”

“Air raids ain’t no walk in the park.”

Chōko shuddered at what she heard. When she thought about the man heading off to that horrific battlefield—no trivial matter at all—she couldn't help but feel pity. A guilt-like feeling kept her from sleeping—this helpless, frustrated state.

Early on the morning of the eighth, Nagorō was escorted out of the village by its elderly and women. Chōko brought her child and climbed to the modestly elevated potato field behind the house, watching Nagorō’s procession advance along the riverbank path. Nagorō’s tall figure stood visible in his wartime national uniform, a sash bearing the national flag across his chest. About twenty people from the send-off party straggled along behind him. “Rice Boy, try shouting ‘Banzai!’”

The child pretended not to hear and kept watching the procession.

Sae’s mother and Sugi, her brother’s wife—who had been picking mulberry leaves—suddenly came up behind Chōko. Chōko was flustered. Sugi was holding her daughter’s hand. “Mornin’—has Mr. Nagorō already left, huh?”

“Ah.”

Chōko replied in a nonchalant manner.

Next to Chōko’s potato field was Sae’s house’s mulberry field.

“They say your household hit the jackpot with silkworms this year.” “It’s not really like that. Planting wheat would’ve been better, but digging up roots is such a hassle.”

“How’s Sae-san doing?” “Ah, Sae... She went to see Mr. Nagorō off.” “Aren’t you going to see Mr. Nagorō off?” “With this bad leg o’ mine, I begged off goin’.” “Mr. Nagorō must be havin’ a hard time of it, I tell you.” “Saku must be in a bind too, all alone now.” “And her daughter still can’t send any money either, I tell ya.” That Sae—unstable as she was—had gone to see Nagorō off made Chōko feel apologetic. “With the village like this too, we’re in trouble now that it’s all women.” “My brother just won’t come back either, I tell you.”

Sugi set down the basket from her back and picked mulberry leaves. Chōko stood silent. Holding a branch of mountain dogwood laden with crimson berries, an unfamiliar man made his way down past the mulberry field.

“Is that one of them evacuees?” “I’ve never seen that man before.” Shimo turned around and watched the retreating figure of the man who had struck a fashionable pose. Chōko glanced casually toward the riverbank, but Nagorō’s procession had apparently already crossed the bridge on the opposite side and was no longer visible.

National flags hung from every house in the village. Just then, someone could be seen climbing the lookout ladder beside the communal bathhouse. “Another plane! Someone’s going up to ring the bell!”

Soon, bells began ringing from both near and far. Two large silver airplanes flew through the cobalt-blue sky, their engines roaring with a deep resonant drone. As they watched in astonishment, the aircraft vanished as if swallowed by the eastern mountain ridges.

“That’s one magnificent airplane, I tell ya.” “Mom! I saw an enemy plane for the first time!” “That must be the B they talk about.” Chōko too, startled, was looking up at the sky.

That night, once again, the bells of villages here and there rang out. Chōko and the evacuees also stealthily ventured outside to look.

The area beyond the western mountains was dyed a pale red like a sunset glow.

While running along the dark road, someone said, “Nagao is being destroyed right now.” The pale red rainbow color spread and stretched sideways across the sky beyond the dark mountains. Chōko felt as though she could hear the screams of people fleeing in panic. She was gripped by an unease that defied easy handling. She had always thought of war as something distant, but now that Nagorō had left for the frontlines, it suddenly loomed terrifyingly close; watching the faint flames beyond the mountains, her entire body began trembling violently.

“Chōko, hasn’t our Sae come here?” Sugi emerged suddenly from the darkness and inquired. “She ain’t come here.” “Ain’t Sae there?” “Ain’t she at the bathhouse?”

“Well… She ain’t anywhere.” “I knew she’d gone to see Mr. Nagorō off and come back partway across the bridge with Saku and the others, but after that... seems like everyone just... just up and forgot to keep an eye on her...”

“Then... What’s she been doin’ without eatin’ a single meal day or night...”

The pale red flames spread ever more fiercely. The eerie village bells clanged on and on, as if trampling over Chōko’s sentimental feelings into oblivion. The flames burning in Nagao—said to be forty *ri* beyond the mountains—kept the night sky glowing a pale red indefinitely.

Sae never returned to the village, no matter how many days passed.