Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

At Fumie and Yoichi’s house, there was a large persimmon tree in the back.
It was a splendid tree, so large that it would take a child’s full arm span to encircle.
There were many small trees, but only one stood exceptionally tall.
Persimmon trees typically bear fruit every other year, but this one produced annually—a fact Grandfather had proudly boasted of during his lifetime.
Indeed, no other village tree matched it.
As for its fruit’s size and sweetness? When harvest time came, Uncle Santarō would arrive beaming like a child to claim his share.

“Truly, even though persimmons tend to bear smaller fruit as they age, this one is quite remarkable. Next spring, I’ll have them graft a branch from this tree for me.”

Despite that, come spring, Uncle Santarō would always end up forgetting about the persimmons.

“You should tell Grandfather and get one of our small trees.”

One day, when Yoichi said that, Uncle Santarō smiled and,

“It’s fine. Since we’re family, it’s fine for me to come eat persimmons every now and then, right?”

he said.
Uncle Santarō’s house was in Fumie and Yoichi’s mother’s hometown, and he was her younger brother.
Moreover, Aunt Tsuneko was the younger sister of Yoichi’s father.
In other words, they had exchanged brides between their families.
Like Yoichi’s father, Uncle Santarō had once aimed to become a sailor and even entered a merchant marine school, but after falling seriously ill as a student, he had ultimately become a farmer.
Having no children of his own, Uncle Santarō doted on Fumie and Yoichi like his own and teased them at every turn, yet despite his teasing, the two liked him second only to their father and Aunt Tsuneko second only to their mother.
“Aunt Santarō” was an unconscious nickname the children had given her—her real name being Tsuneko.
Aunt Tsuneko too doted on them, competing with Uncle Santarō in her affection.
At Uncle Santarō’s house grew not only mandarin orange orchards but peach orchards, pear orchards, grape vineyards, and fig orchards too, with apricot and chestnut trees surrounding the house besides—so how could Fumie and Yoichi not adore him all the more for these trees?
Yet strangely, not a single persimmon tree stood there.
Not one.
Despite this, Uncle Santarō loved persimmons dearly and would pester them to bring some early, even when still unripe.
When they delivered them, he would peel and eat the fruit right before Fumie’s eyes while she still stood there on her errand.
Between bites he declared, “Delicious! Absolutely delicious.
Persimmons are the king of fruits.
Especially these persimmons.”

That’s why both Fumie and Yoichi loved running persimmon errands.
When they brought persimmons, Uncle Santarō would invariably,
“In return, when my mandarins bear fruit, you can eat your fill.”
Or,
“Don’t you need some sweet potatoes?”
While saying such things, he gave them lots of grapes and pears.
One day, Yoichi asked Uncle Santarō, who was intently eating persimmons.

“Uncle, if you love persimmons so much, why don’t you plant any?”

Then Uncle Santarō,

“Well, there’s a story behind that.—Ah, delicious!”

He swallowed the persimmon in his mouth with evident relish and began peeling another while continuing,

“Long ago, we had a persimmon tree at our place too.”
“One that could rival yours here.”
“But there was this greedy kid in our family who climbed the tree alone, stuffed himself sick, and died.”
“Dysentery’s what got him.”
“Then our grandfather—still alive back then—declared that tree his grandchild’s killer and chopped it down.”
“After that, no persimmon tree would take root no matter how many we planted.”
“Ancestors’ grudge or the tree’s curse—take your pick.”
“So listen here, Yoichi—if you go wolfing down too many yourself and kick it from dysentery, your grandpa might just hack this tree down quick as anything.”
“Stubborn old cuss through and through, that one.”

Since this was when he was about seven or eight, Yoichi took it completely seriously and resolved that from then on, he would never climb trees alone and gorge himself again.
If that splendid persimmon tree were to be cut down, he thought it would be a disaster.
As soon as he returned home, Yoichi secretly made a request close to Mother’s ear.

“Mother, I’ll take the stomach medicine now. So even if I get a stomachache later, make sure Grandpa doesn’t cut down that persimmon tree, okay?”

Mother laughed and said,
“What do you mean? Say that again.”

When Yoichi told her the story he’d heard from Uncle Santarō, she laughed aloud.
“I see. I suppose such things do happen,” she said. “Uncle Santarō told quite a good story.”

And she promptly told Grandfather outside the window about it.
Grandfather laughed out loud in a booming voice that reached the top of the persimmon tree,

“It’s fine.
This persimmon tree won’t die from some trivial thing, I tell you.
This tree’s the guardian of our house, you see.
For decades now, there hasn’t been a single year your grandfather hasn’t eaten its fruit!
Yoichi, go tell Uncle Santarō this:
In our house, there’s no glutton.
And there’s no hot-tempered old man here either.
So we won’t cut down the persimmon tree, I say.
First off, if we did cut it down, Uncle Santarō would weep, I tell you.
Go on and tell him that.”

Yoichi was so happy that he immediately dashed off.
“Grandfather says he won’t cut down the persimmon tree.”
“If it were cut down, Uncle Santarō would cry.”

When Uncle Santarō heard this,

“I see,” he said with relief. “That’s a weight off my mind.”
“Then go get some more.”
“Because I’ve already eaten the ones from earlier.”

Yoichi dashed back again,

“Uncle Santarō said that since he’s relieved, we should give him a few more persimmons.”

Both Grandfather and Mother burst out laughing.
That was the very year when those things had happened.
That year was a bumper year for persimmons everywhere; the branches bent under the weight of so much fruit that the trees looked as though they had spread out.
As if connected to that year’s persimmon bounty, the drought persisted, and through the sweltering summer, not a drop of rain fell for dozens of days.
In every household, the well water began to dry up, and the villagers were greatly troubled.
The crops in the fields withered to husks, and the heat was so intense that even the grass dried up.
Amidst all this, the persimmon tree alone remained vigorous, growing more splendid as autumn approached.
Even so, the rain still did not fall.
The villagers gathered and discussed digging a large well.
Selecting spots with good water veins, they dug wells in three locations throughout the village.
In the vacant lot behind Yoichi’s house as well, that large well was dug.
So that they wouldn’t struggle with drought hereafter, on Grandfather’s advice, they dug the well large and deep.
It was a mikan-bori well—so named because its interior widened in the shape of a mandarin orange.
It seemed they had luckily struck a water vein, for among the three wells, the one at Yoichi’s home produced the most water.

The well was deep, but no matter how much they drew from it, by the next day it would be filled to the brim again.
Everyone was overjoyed.

“Now we don’t have to worry about drinking water anymore!”

Grandfather rejoiced as if it were his own accomplishment and boasted to the villagers coming to draw water.
Then using the leftover stones from the well’s stone wall, he single-handedly hauled them to the base of the persimmon tree with rhythmic heaves.
There remained about fifteen stones of a size that one person could roll alone.

However, it was the following year.
When spring arrived and the trees were beginning to bud, they still hadn’t noticed anything amiss; but by the time the persimmon’s young leaves had grown quite large, Grandfather stood beneath the tree gazing up at its branches. Eventually climbing into it and touching them, he remained lost in thought for a long while.
Every single day, he would gaze up at the persimmon tree and tilt his head in puzzlement, but one day, after changing into his work clothes, he began hoeing and set about removing the stones from around the tree’s roots.

“Grandfather，what’s wrong?”

When Yoichi asked，

“Grandfather did a bad thing，I tell you.”
“Because I carelessly placed stones here without thinking，this year the persimmon tree hasn’t borne a single fruit.”
“Being a persimmon tree，it must’ve been so hard for it.”
“Grandfather did a pitiful thing，I tell you.”

Grandfather, sweating profusely, removed each and every stone from the base of the persimmon tree with muttered curses of “Goddammit, goddammit.” Sweat streamed down his forehead like rain, and Grandfather looked utterly exhausted. Then, when just two stones remained, he suddenly collapsed beneath the persimmon tree. After that, he never regained consciousness—he slept on with loud snores for two full days until finally passing away. It was May 18th of last year. For Fumie and Yoichi too, it was a sorrowful, unforgettable event, every bit as much as for the adults. Later, Grandmother explained,

“He’d always been one to cherish the persimmon tree, I tell you.”
“Whether it was fish bones or anything else, he’d bury them himself at the roots.”
“They say when he was little, his own grandfather had grafted it, so he must’ve thought of that persimmon tree like a sibling.”
“When he realized them stones were too heavy for it to bear fruit, he must’ve felt that hardship like it were his own kin suffering—forgetting his poorly health to take them away for its sake.”

She lamented in that way.

Even when autumn arrived that year, the persimmon tree truly did not bear a single fruit.
And then another year began.
Grandfather’s death anniversary was approaching.

Fumie and Yoichi stood beneath the persimmon tree, gazed up at its branches, and remembered Grandfather.

“There are flowers! Look—over there, and there too.”

When Fumie pointed out the small blue buds scattered here and there on the slender branches of the persimmon tree, Yoichi’s voice grew animated as he looked at them,

“Oh, it’s true! I’ll go check up higher.”

No sooner had he said this than he scrambled up the persimmon tree with practiced ease, his feet finding familiar holds.

“One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… Ah! It’s covered in them!”

“Ah, thank goodness.
“Thank goodness, Yoichi.”

Fumie said, looking up at the top of the tree.

“Grandmother, the persimmons are bearing fruit!”
“Mother! Mother! The persimmons are here!”

Yoichi called out into the house.
Whether Grandmother and Mother weren’t there or not, there was no reply from inside the house, but the two of them were already so happy they could hardly contain themselves.

“Thank goodness, Yoichi.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not doing well.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“It doesn’t look happy.”

“If Grandfather were alive, it’d be even better.”

“That’s right.”
“But there’s nothing to be done.”
“Should I offer persimmon flowers?”

The two of them were having such a conversation beneath the persimmon tree.
The young leaves reflected the light, and their faces appeared tinged with blue as though they were inside a blue mosquito net.

Two

At Fumie’s house, when it came to farmland, they didn’t engage in farming beyond growing vegetables in the vacant lot out back. This was because Father had been a sailor. Since Mother had never done such work herself, she took in sewing from others. She had always loved sewing and was apparently quite skilled at it—so much so that people even came from neighboring villages to place orders. The cupboard in the middle storage room was always packed with sewing projects, keeping Mother constantly busy with work. Whenever Fumie and her siblings woke up at night, they would invariably see Mother under the dimmed electric lamp, diligently plying her needle. However, when Mother became pregnant again after a long interval and the day drew nearer, she stopped taking orders and began tidying the house. She attached tags with customers’ names to the remaining projects in the cupboard, delivered completed items, and said to Fumie who was helping with these tasks,

“It has long been said that childbirth is a matter of life and death for women.”
“So that if the worst happens, no shame will remain.”
“Fumie, since you’re a girl, you must remember this well.”

At Mother’s solemn words, Fumie nodded while tears welled up in her eyes.
She thought—what would we do if something happened to Mother?
But Mother remained calm,

“You don’t need to make such a worried face.”
“They say giving birth is easier than fretting about it—so your mother isn’t worried one bit.”

So Fumie finally felt relieved.
It was the following day.

After dinner, Mother,

“Given how things seem tonight, I humbly ask for your assistance.”

Mother said to Grandmother.
Then, with Fumie’s help, she spread out bedding in the back storage room and arranged wicker baskets and other items in a corner of the room.
Fumie and Yoichi knew full well that the wicker baskets contained clothes and diapers for the baby soon to be born, so they could hardly contain their joy.
Yoichi slipped closer to Mother and,
“Hey, it’s a boy,”
he whispered.
Mother burst out laughing, then immediately turned serious,

“You shouldn’t say things like that—be happy no matter which one is born.”

Fumie didn’t say anything herself, but in her heart she thought a sister would be better. If it was a boy, Yoichi would act like it was his own brother alone, and she figured he probably wouldn’t let her hold him much.

Before long, when the midwife arrived,

“Well, today you’ll be in Grandmother’s room.”
“It’s already past eight, don’t you think?”
“Go to sleep now.”

In tune with Mother’s words, the midwife, while fastening a white apron,

“When you open your eyes tomorrow morning, there’ll be a baby waiting, so go to sleep looking forward to it.”

Fumie and Yoichi carried nightwear and took their respective pillows to the annex.
Grandmother had already arrived first and was laying out bedding for them.
It was a detached room of six tatami mats and four and a half tatami mats connected to the main house by a single corridor approximately two meters long.
However, since that corridor led to the back storage room, they were prohibited from using it that day and instead descended to the dirt-floored entranceway, going to the annex via the path beneath the persimmon tree.
Because the corridor door had been shut tight, no sounds from the main house could be heard at all.
Grandmother arranged their bedding,

“Now, go to sleep quietly.”

Having said this, she pulled the cord attached to the electric lamp, and the room suddenly shifted to a dim two-candle glow. When Grandmother's footsteps could no longer be heard, the two of them conversed in hushed voices beneath the faint light about the baby soon to arrive. These were all matters they had discussed countless times before. Yet no matter how often they spoke of it, each conversation felt like the very first. And now that this night finally brought their sibling's birth—whether brother or sister—they found themselves far too restless to settle into quiet sleep.

“I think it’s a boy.”

“I think it’s a girl.”

After repeating this exchange many times, to put an end to it, they decided to make a bet and go to sleep.
They covered themselves with the futon and closed their eyes tightly, but even with their eyes shut, laughter kept bubbling up.
Yoichi, who could no longer hold back, called out to Fumie.

“Hey Sis—if it’s a boy, I win so you’ll give me a hundred yen.”

“I’ll pay up—but if it’s a girl, then you have to give me.”

“Yeah.”

“Pinky swear.”

When Fumie extended her little finger, Yoichi entwined his own with it.

“Pinky swear! Money shear! Fly away to Kari Mountain!”

They waved their hands with all their might, and then—resolved that this time for sure—truly pulled the futon over themselves, soon beginning to breathe quietly in sleep. Whether they won or lost, it was a joyful wager.

How many hours they had slept they couldn’t tell, but when the two awoke, it was already past six—later than their usual waking time. Fumie was first to spring up suddenly, and sensing this movement, Yoichi—who had woken too—leaped to his feet. Exchanging glances and listening intently, they heard a baby’s cry coming from the main house. The two hurriedly shoved their feet into zōri sandals and raced toward the main building. The back door stood open, where Grandmother tending the hearth fire saw them and silently swept her hand sideways through the air. Understanding this meant “Don’t make noise,” they froze in their tracks. Grandmother then beamed and beckoned them closer. Her wordless smile quietly carried joy into both their hearts. Muffling their footsteps, they approached and crouched on either side of her.

“It was a boy.”
“And twins at that.”

Upon hearing this, both Fumie and Yoichi were so startled that no words came to them right away.
Because their shock was so great, the joy of their brothers’ birth did not immediately well up from the depths of their hearts.

“Does ‘two’ mean twins?”

When Fumie asked anxiously, Yoichi also blinked his eyes and waited for Grandmother’s answer.
Grandmother, however, replied as if it were nothing.

“That’s right—the twins.”
“Take Plasterer Matsu-san and Carpenter Ume-san—and Soy Sauce Seller Ichitarō-san’s wife is also one of a pair of twins.”
“I hear they sent one of ’em away.”
“There are more.”
“Confectionery Shop’s Hanako-san and Yukiko-san must be twins too.”

Yoichi wore a slightly troubled expression,

“Hmm,”

he let out a groaning voice,

“Grandmother, is it okay even if they’re twins? People won’t laugh?”

he asked.
Grandmother, with a calm face,

“Good or bad, it’s just that your happy occasion has doubled, hasn’t it?
Such a joyous occasion isn’t something that happens often.
Who in the world would laugh?”

This time, Fumie asked.

“Grandmother, why were there twins?”
“After all, wouldn’t it have been better to have just one?”

Then Grandmother said, as calmly as ever,

“As for why—well, you could say it’s something like the gods have bestowed them upon us, you know.”
“In our house, where no child had been born for ten years, maybe two came at once, you know.”
“After all, twins are such a cute thing.”
“Mother has her hardships, but there’s also twice the joy—dressing them in matching clothes, getting them matching clogs when they’re older, and buying matching toys too.”
“They’ll start walking together, go to school together,”
“They’ll grow up together too.”
“Isn’t that something to see?”

As they listened to Grandmother’s words, joy gradually began overflowing within their hearts.
The fact that twins—such a rare occurrence—had appeared in their own household was so unexpected that the two of them didn’t know how to properly express their joy.
When they listened to Grandmother’s words, they came to understand that it was truly adorable, truly auspicious, and truly joyous.
And they wanted to go see those twin younger brothers as soon as possible.
When they told Grandmother this, she, while feeding new firewood into the hearth,

“Now hold on, hold on. Because Mother gave birth twice at once, she’s exhausted and has only just now fallen asleep. We need to let her rest quietly. If the babies start crying now, she’ll wake up, you know.”

The two nodded obediently and handled every task from drawing water to washing their faces with the caution of keeping a secret. In the storeroom, Mother and the babies appeared to sleep deeply—not a single sound reached them. They suppressed their eagerness to see them and started their morning meal. Then the baby suddenly began crying, which roused Mother too. They stood up and glanced at Grandmother like hunters awaiting permission. When she gave a confirming nod, they trailed behind her into the storeroom. First they noticed the twins lying side by side in one bed—tiny newborns. As they stared transfixed, Mother smiled faintly through her pallid face—

“Look at them for me. Two were born so that you two wouldn’t fight.”

Fumie and Yoichi muffled their footsteps and drew near the babies.

“He looks just like Yoichi.”
“When Yoichi was born, he had exactly this same face too.”
“And he was that red back then.”
“And look—there’s a cowlick on his forehead, see?”
“It’s the same as Fumie’s, right?”

As they watched, the babies’ sweetness gradually swelled in their hearts.
That joy was one that couldn’t find its way into words.
A joy that felt like speaking it aloud would somehow lessen it.
They gazed in wordless wonder, never looking their fill.

“Alright, that’s enough now. Hurry on and eat your breakfast so you can get to school.”

When driven out by Grandmother, Yoichi suddenly did a handstand and, spinning round and round while flipping over, slipped out into the dirt-floored room.
This was Yoichi's habit—something he did during happy moments or awkward times.

“Yoichi, that’s dangerous! What would you do if you fell on the babies?”

When Grandmother scolded him, Yoichi only spun round and round all the more to show off,

“It’s fine—I’m just showing off for the babies. If I couldn’t do this, my gymnastics would be a total failure.”

Everyone started to laugh.
As if they had somehow understood that, the babies started crying energetically again.

III

The sixth day after birth was called rokuzari, when babies received their names.
It was customary to invite the midwife as an honored guest and prepare the first ceremonial meal tray for the infant.

Second Son: Hinode

Third Son: Shinnosuke

When they wrote both names side by side on a sheet of hanshi paper and pasted it to the household altar, it felt as though they had formally announced to all creation that this house had truly welcomed its second and third sons.
Since Father was away, Yoichi had written the characters with desperate determination.
They weren’t skillful characters—but they were bold, thick strokes filled with earnestness.
Beside the tokonoma pillar in the dirt-floored room sat today’s guests of honor: Hinode and Shinnosuke’s meal trays.
To wish for strength like stone and celebrate good fortune, small round stones lay arranged on the babies’ trays like ceremonial dishes.
Seated alongside these trays in the place of honor nearer the storeroom was today’s other main guest—the midwife—while Uncle Santarō sat by the shōji window in his role as ceremonial assistant.
From Uncle Santarō’s position down toward the lower seats sat Yoichi and Fumie.
Grandmother and Aunt Tsuneko served as attendants.

The sliding doors between the dirt-floored room and the storeroom had been removed, and today Mother sat on the futon and kept everyone company. Mother had recovered well from childbirth, and though the babies were smaller than average, they were nevertheless plump and round. The babies, unaware that everyone was rejoicing for their sake, would have one start crying—as if prompting the other to imitate—and when one drifted off to sleep, the other would follow suit. The babies were laid out side by side with their heads turned this way. Shinnosuke’s futon was one Aunt Tsuneko had hastily made, with a boyish pattern, while Hinode’s—prepared before birth—had a red floral design that looked almost girlish. When Uncle Santarō brought Shinnosuke’s futon, he said in an eager tone,

“I’ve brought my son’s futon,” he said.

Yoichi, who had been peering into the babies’ faces and intently comparing them, suddenly stood up.

“No way!”

and lunged at Uncle Santarō in a frenzy.
And when everyone started laughing, he grabbed the small futon Uncle Santarō had brought and tried to throw it outside.
“I won’t let you! I won’t let you!”
Yoichi said tearfully.
“Yoichi, it’s not true! It’s not true.”
“This is for celebrating the baby.”
“Otherwise when he grows bigger he won’t fit in one futon anymore!”

Though Aunt Tsuneko’s mediation finally put Yoichi at ease, he couldn’t shake the fear that if he let his guard down even slightly, Uncle Santarō would sneak into his absence and take the baby away.
But more than that, what worried him even more was this: even if Uncle Santarō didn’t take him away, it felt like Shinnosuke would end up being given to Uncle Santarō’s household anyway.
As days passed, that worry grew more intense.
Even when he thought about how Grandmother had once said, “Since Tsuneko can’t have children anymore, they’d have to give one child away,” and even though they hadn’t said anything since then, whenever he saw Mother’s expression, he couldn’t help feeling that somehow, behind his back, the adults had already made such an agreement.
That air had lingered since around the day after the babies were born.
Moreover, it was Uncle Santarō who had given Shinnosuke his name.
By a strange coincidence, the baby’s birthday fell on the same day as Grandfather’s death anniversary, so they took one character from Grandfather’s name, Shinzō.
It was Uncle Santarō who had come up with that idea.
One day, Yoichi asked Fumie about that.

“What do you think, Sis?”

Then Fumie said, as if it were nothing special,

“I think it’s okay if it’s Uncle Santarō’s place.”

Because she had said it so plainly, Yoichi suddenly felt anger surge through him and wanted to hit her. He had thought Fumie was his only ally, but realizing he alone opposed this made him loathe her intensely. The moment this thought struck him, he suddenly remembered the hundred-yen bet he’d made with Fumie on the night the babies were born. Yoichi brought this up,

“Come on, didn’t we make a pinky promise? You’ll give me a hundred yen. No—it’s two hundred yen because there’s two of them.”

“Come on, give me two hundred yen right now.”

Then Fumie didn’t back down either.

“I won’t. I never pinky promised about twins. If it were just one, I’d give you a hundred yen, but since there’s two, I’m not giving anything.”

“But they were boys, weren’t they?”

The argument between the two seemed to reach Mother in the storeroom, and Mother burst out laughing with a “Ha ha!”

“Now now, you two and your hundred yen?”
“What cheap little things you are!”

And the voice addressing the babies could be heard.

The two felt awkward and stopped their quarrel, but Yoichi firmly resolved that no matter what anyone said, he would not give Shinnosuke to Uncle.
However, Uncle Santarō would sometimes come and tease Yoichi.

“Hey Yoichi, you don’t wanna give me Shinnosuke, huh? In that case, Hinode would be fine too.”

Even though he knew he was being teased, Yoichi still became agitated,

“No way! I won’t give you either of them.”

“Then I guess Yoichi will do.”

“Then don’t.”

“Hmm, I see.”
“What a stingy brat you are!”
“First off, your family and our house have been exchanging things back and forth since way back.”
“Think about it—your mother was given to your family from ours.”
“And my wife was taken from here, right?”

“Well, they were women—it’s only natural for them to marry into another family.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s not a woman.”
“Just look—the babies have the same face.”
“Since there are two of them, what’s wrong with giving one away?”

“If I say no, then it’s no! They’re not like summer oranges or persimmons.”

At this, everyone there burst out laughing, clutching their stomachs.
After the laughter subsided, Uncle Santarō looked genuinely impressed,

“Got it.”
“Hats off!”
“Won’t ever say ‘Gimme that baby’ again—cross my heart.”

Having said that, he placed his hands on the ground before Yoichi and bowed deeply, setting off another round of uproarious laughter from everyone present.

After that, Uncle Santarō truly never asked for Shinnosuke again.
However, the babies seemed genuinely adorable, and on his way back from the fields, he would stop by almost daily to gaze at their faces for a while before leaving.
That was something he had done even when Fumie and Yoichi were babies, but since Yoichi and the others didn’t know this, they simply thought he was doing it out of a desire for Shinnosuke.
As for Aunt Tsuneko, she seemed to find them even more adorable—there wasn’t a single day she didn’t come by at least once.
She would unravel old yukata to make diapers and sew baby clothes.
After all, they hadn’t prepared more than a single baby’s worth of diapers and clothes, so they had to rely on receiving those to manage.
Then too, to help Mother’s breast milk flow well, she would make handmade udon and bring it over, or bring all the eggs produced at her home, taking care in various ways.
Each time this happened, Yoichi worried, but at times he felt so sorry for them that he even reconsidered, wondering if he should say he’d give just one after all.
However, whenever he saw those two identical faces lined up, he would recall the story about twins that Grandmother had told him on the day they were born, and his resolve would waver.

The babies were gradually growing bigger, and it was becoming clear that Mother’s milk alone would soon no longer be enough.
Mother’s milk was said to flow more abundantly than usual, but by no means could it keep up with two.
Fumie and Yoichi had to take turns going to the pharmacy in the neighboring village to buy powdered milk.

One day，it just so happened that it was Yoichi’s turn to buy milk．When he returned from school，Yoichi immediately went out．Having left the village and reached where the Inari shrine stood，he saw someone leading a goat approaching from beyond a roadside thicket of reeds．Looking closely，it was Uncle Santarō．Yoichi involuntarily dashed forward and，

“Uncle, what’s with this goat?” he asked excitedly.
Yoichi had heard that goat’s milk was good for babies, and he also knew that Mother and the others had been saying how they wanted a milk-producing goat.
The goat Uncle Santarō was leading was a nanny goat, its large udder hanging from the belly immediately noticeable.

“I bought her.”

Uncle Santarō said, wiping his sweat.
Yoichi could hardly contain his happiness.
He felt certain Uncle Santarō would share the goat’s milk without being asked.
Though he knew he ought to make the request, Yoichi fidgeted, suddenly feeling terribly greedy.

“Where are you going?”

Uncle Santarō asked.
When Yoichi answered that he was on his way to buy milk, Uncle Santarō burst into laughter,

“What’s this? Now, now. That’s enough. I hear this one gives a whole two liters of milk a day. It can feed two or three babies, you know.”

Yoichi became truly happy and thought what a wonderful person Uncle Santarō was. When he thought about why he had refused to give the baby to such a kind person, he truly couldn’t help but see himself as a miser. However, he couldn’t bring himself to offer Shinnosuke there and then, for after that day, Uncle Santarō truly never once asked for Shinnosuke again. Whether he knew or didn’t know that Yoichi was thinking such things, Uncle Santarō held out the rope tied around the goat’s neck toward Yoichi.

“Come on, take her home. She’s yours.”

“Really, Uncle Santarō?”
“Of course. The goat belongs at your place, doesn’t she?”

Yoichi was on the verge of tears. Since he was still not accustomed to the goat, he timidly gripped the rope, but the goat seemed not to notice at all and continued walking slowly while eating grass along the roadside.

“Uncle, how about I give you Shinnosuke?”

Yoichi gathered his courage and tried saying it. Uncle Santarō, without even a smile,

“I suppose so.”

he answered.

“Uncle, I’ll give him.
I don’t mind giving him.”

“Is that so.”
“However, I’ve thought about it too.”
“Once Shinnosuke grows up, there’s no telling how he’ll turn out.”

As the two were having this conversation, the goat suddenly started running—startled by something—and Yoichi, pulled along, hurriedly quickened his steps.
The sun had already sunk low, casting elongated shadows of people and the goat across the ground.

IV

The goat was always tied to the persimmon tree.
While they were preoccupied with the babies and had neglected it, the persimmon fruits had grown large before anyone noticed, their color beginning to turn from green to red.
Under the persimmon tree, cool breezes blew in summer, and warm sunlit spots formed in winter.
From the time they were small, this persimmon tree’s shade had been Fumie and her siblings’ year-round playground.

Since the house’s back door was closer to the main street, whether going out or returning home, they usually used the back door.
When they opened the back door, the persimmon tree’s branches had already stretched up to the roof eaves there, so the tree had a full view inside the house.
Whether going to school, heading to the wellside, or visiting the storage shed, they had to pass under the persimmon tree.
It is said that persimmon trees are planted where people often pass.
It is said that persimmon trees grow sturdy when their roots are often trampled.
Coming and going under the persimmon tree, the family spent each day watched over by it.
The persimmon tree had witnessed everything from the days when Grandfather was a child to the day he turned gray-haired and collapsed beneath its branches.
Thus, it had seen everything: Grandmother’s arrival as a bride long ago; Father and Aunt Tsuneko being born; that same Aunt Tsuneko gradually growing up and being married off; the children’s mother coming as a bride from Uncle Santarō’s household; and then Fumie and Yoichi being born one after another.
The persimmon tree must also remember that time long ago when Yoichi threw a tantrum and was tied to its trunk.
When Father was little, it is said there were still no candy stores in the village, and when it came to sweets, it was brown sugar.
When Father was a child, he looked forward to receiving brown sugar, and it is said that he would receive that brown sugar placed atop persimmon leaves.
There’s a story once told that when he was little, Father used to call persimmon leaves “sugar leaves.”
Those smooth, glossy persimmon leaves are truly well-suited for holding brown sugar.
When autumn came, they found it unbearably sad to watch the persimmon leaves gradually fall, but Aunt Tsuneko had once remarked how strange it was that though the fallen leaves meant no more brown sugar could be received, the persimmons would still reliably turn red in their stead.

The persimmon tree must have seen Father and the others in their childhood too.
Where does the persimmon tree keep such memories?

“Why are the persimmons soooo sour?”

“Because they’re still astringent, soooo sour.”

Under the persimmon tree, Fumie and Yoichi repeated the song they had sung last year—their song.

“Why are the persimmons soooo red?”

“Because they’re sweet, soooo red.”

“Why are the persimmon leaves soooo sour?”

“Because they’re green, soooo sour.”

“That’s not why—it’s because they’re not ripe yet.”

“That’s not true—there are already red fruits, soooo many.”

“Then there are red leaves too, soooo many.”

The two of them were completely absorbed in gazing up at the persimmon tree.
The persimmon tree that had borne fruit even at the cost of shortening Grandfather’s life appeared somehow different to them than it usually did.
The fruits were small.
The entire tree’s form too seemed somehow different than usual.
There, catching hold of Uncle Santarō who had just arrived, Yoichi said worriedly,
“Uncle, this year’s persimmons are small.”

“Hmm.”

Uncle Santarō was also looking up at the persimmon tree but
“I see.”
“It’s just growing old.”
he said.
“I don’t like this...”

When Yoichi said this in clear displeasure,

“It’s all right—this was Grandfather’s brother, after all.”
“There’s Yoichi’s too.”

Uncle Santarō said encouragingly.

"There is one, but it only has about five fruits so far."

"Of course they don’t bear much from the start."
"As they say—peaches and chestnuts take three years, persimmons eight—everything has its appointed time."
"This tree growing old is all part of the natural order."
"It’s the same as humans."
"When you grow up, the small persimmons will grow big too."
"Ah, right—will you give Shinnosuke one too?"

Uncle Santarō, as if struck by an idea, brought the matter up with Yoichi.

“Yeah, I’ll give him one. There are three small trees, after all.”

Today was the day Shinnosuke was to be taken into Uncle Santarō’s household.
Since it was Sunday, Aunt Tsuneko had also come from the morning to help prepare the farewell feast.
The matter of giving Shinnosuke away had been put on hold due to Yoichi’s strong opposition, but with Mother’s body gradually weakening from raising two babies at once and Yoichi’s eventual consent, the discussion suddenly returned to its original plan.
The babies, knowing nothing, slept facing each other in their cradle under the persimmon tree.
Eventually waking up, one of them would be held by Aunt Tsuneko and leave this house, accompanied by a goat and a single persimmon tree.

As for the goat—I’ll be the one to take it along—

While Yoichi was thinking such things, Hinode woke up and suddenly began to cry loudly.
Then, as usual, Shinnosuke also woke up together, opened his mouth wide, and cried out while flailing his arms and legs.

“Oh, milk! I’ll bring it right now, okay?”

Fumie ran into the house.

The persimmon tree seemed to be looking down at this scene with a warm smile.
To the tree, the daily sights beneath its branches—children exchanging words, songs ringing out, babies crying inconsolably at times, and the figure of a goat tethered by a long rope grazing grass all the way to the roadside—must have been an endlessly fascinating view.
Then, perhaps overcome by amusement, it would burst into laughter through some voice beyond human perception—ha! ha!—and with that jolt, its leaves might scatter.
A faint rustling sound whispered through the air as two or three crimson persimmon leaves came fluttering down.
Though all others remained green, these leaves had turned completely.
They were beautiful persimmon leaves mingling reds, blues, yellows and countless other hues.
Yoichi looked up at the persimmon tree before turning toward the babies, his entire body nodding in their direction.

“Why are persimmons soooo red?”
Yoichi cooed to them.
The babies, now full after getting milk from Fumie, wriggled their entire bodies in delight.
“Because they’re red—sooo red!”

When Fumie answered that, they giggled again—kyah, kyah!
A few more persimmon leaves fluttered down in flickering dance.
They truly seemed to be laughing along with them, drawn in by the babies’ mirth.