by Donald Keene
“You, for sure, have no money.”
“That’s right.”
“You are poor men.”
“That’s right too.”
“So you proletarians. Understand?”
“Yes.”
The Russian, smiling, started to walk around. Sometimes he would stop and look over at them.
“Rich man, he do this to you” (gripping his throat). “Rich man become fatter and fatter” (swelling out his stomach). “You no good at all, you become poor. Understand? Japan no good. Workers like this” (pulling a long face and making himself look like a sick man). “Men that don’t work like this” (walking about haughtily).
The young fishermen were very amused at him. “That’s right, that’s right,” they said and laughed.
“Workers like this. Men that don’t work like this” (repeating the same gestures). “Like that no good. Workers like this!” (this time just the opposite, swelling out his chest and walking proudly). “Men that don’t work like this!” (looking like a decrepit beggar). “That very good. Understand? That country, Russia. Only workers like this!” (proud). “Russia. We have no men who don’t work. No cunning men. No men who seize your throat. Understand? Russia not at all terrible country. What everyone says only lies.”
They were all vaguely wondering whether this wasn’t what was called “terrible” and “Red.” But even if it was “Red” one part of them couldn’t help feeling that it sounded very right.
“Understand? Really understand?”
Two or three of the Russians started to jabber something among themselves. The Chinese listened to them. Then in a stuttering kind of way he began to speak again in Japanese: “Among men who no work, many make profit. Proletariat always like this” (a gesture of being gripped by the throat). “This no good! You proletarians, one, two, three, a hundred, a thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, all of you, all like this” (swinging his hands like children do when walking together). “Then become strong. It safe” (tapping the muscles of his arm). “You no lose. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Japan no good yet. Workers like this” (bending and cringing). “Men who no work like this” (pretending to punch and knock over his neighbor). “That no good! Workers like this” (straightening up his body in a threatening way and advancing; then pretending to knock his neighbor down and kick him). “Men who no work like this” (running away). “Japan only workers. Fine country. Proletarians’ country! Understand?”
“Yes, yes, we understand.”
The Russian raised a strange voice and began a kind of dance.
“Japan workers, act!” (straightening himself and making to attack). “Very glad. Russia all glad. Banzai! . . . You go back to ship. In your ship men who no work like this” (proud). “You, proletariat, do this!” (pretending to box, then swinging hands as before, and then advancing). “Very safe. You win! Understand?”
“We understand.” The young fishermen, who before they knew it had become very much excited, suddenly shook the Chinese’s hand. “We’ll do it . . . we’ll certainly do it.”
The head sailor thought all this was “Red,” that they were being egged on to do terrible things. Like this, by such tricks, Russia was making a complete fool of Japan, he thought.
When the Russian had finished he shouted something and then pressed their hands with all his might. He embraced them and pressed his bristly face to theirs. The flustered Japanese, with their heads pushed back, did not know what to do.
The sailors in the hold listening to this story were eager to hear more, in spite of occasional glances toward the door. The fishermen went on telling them many other things about the Russians. Their minds lapped it all up as if they were blotting paper.
“Hey, there, that’s about enough!” The head sailor, seeing how impressed they all were by these tales, tapped the shoulder of one young fisherman, who was talking for all he was worth.
TRANSLATED ANONYMOUSLY
TIME
[Jikan, 1931] by Yokomitsu Riichi (1898-1947)
Yokomitsu Riichi was one of the most brilliantly gifted of modern Japanese writers. His name is associated with a number of literary schools of the twenties and thirties, but he was essentially an independent. He disagreed both with the advocates of “proletarian” literature and the writers of autobiographical fiction, affirming his own belief in the purely artistic values of literature. European influences are detectable in his works, but in “Time” and some of his other stories we find not only the psychological insights characteristic of European writing, but an essentially Buddhist concern with the hell that man creates for himself on earth.
•
The manager of our troupe failed to return for a whole week after stepping out one evening. Takagi decided to open the suitcase he had left behind. It was empty. Then we were really at our wits’ end. When the truth dawned on us—our manager had run off, leaving us without a penny—we were all too dumbfounded to make any suggestion as to how to deal with the room and board bill. I was finally chosen as delegate for the group to face the landlord. I asked him please to allow us to continue as we were for the time being, and assured him that remittances would be forthcoming from our families. I earned us thus a temporary reprieve. Two or three money orders did in fact come, and each time we acclaimed them with joyous shouts. What happened, however, was that the money which arrived was the exclusive possession of the man receiving it, and it simply led to his making off immediately with whichever actress of the company he liked best.
Finally there were twelve of us left—eight men and four women: six-feet tall, amply built Takagi, who assumed as a matter of course that women had eyes for no one but him; Kinoshita, who liked gambling better than three meals a day and whose every thought was directed towards inventing a means of seeing dice through the box; pale, gentle Sasa, whom everyone called Buddha, and who, mysteriously enough, licked the windowpanes when he was drunk; Yagi, who was a little peculiar, and collected women’s underwear; Matsugi, a champion at hand and foot wrestling, always on the lookout for billiard parlors in whatever town we went to; Kurigi, who was forever forgetting and mislaying his belongings, and whose only talent was for losing whatever came into his hands; Yashima, who, miser that he was, hated to return borrowed articles; and myself—eight men, plus the four women, Namiko, Shinako, Kikue, and Yukiko. In our cases it was not so much that remittances were unconscionably slow in arriving, as that little or no possibility existed of any money coming to us. Knowing this all along, we had placed our hopes on the money of others more likely to receive it.
The landlord’s looks turned unfriendly, as he too began to doubt whether he would see his money, however much longer he waited. His surveillance over the remaining twelve of us was eagle-eyed, to say the least. For our part, we each-felt that it was preferable for no money to arrive at all than to have some come to any one of us—whoever received it was sure to sneak off by himself, and make the burden on those who remained all the heavier. Our suspicions grew so strong that soon we were spying on one another secretly, wondering who would be the next to run off. But it was only at the beginning that we could afford the luxury of this mutual spying. Before long we had more pressing matters on our minds than who would be the next to escape—the landlord stopped giving us even one meal a day. We gradually turned pallid and unwell, and our days were spent drinking water to fill our stomachs and discussing interminably what we should do. At length we reached agreement: we would all escape together. If, as we reasoned, we escaped in a group, we would have little to worry about even if a couple of men were sent in pursuit of us. There lurked also in our minds the specter of the fate which lay in store for anyone who happened by mischance to be the last left behind. These considerations led us to swear up and down to make a joint escape. However, if we were simply to make a wild break for it, or in any way attract the attention of the local bullies in the landlord’s employ, we would have chance of success. We decided therefore to take advant
age of our sits to the public bath, the one freedom we were allowed, and some ainy night when the watch over us was least strict to make our escape. We would have to follow the road along the coast rather than an easier route, for unless the way we took was the most difficult and unlikely, we were certain to be caught. With these matters settled by way of preliminaries, we resolved to await a rainy night.
In the room next to the one where our escape plans were being discussed, Namiko lay all alone. She had suffered a severe attack of some female sickness during a performance, and was still unable to move from her bed. Whenever the question of what to do with her arose, we all fell silent. On this one topic, no one had a word to say. It was quite clearly—if tacitly—understood that we had no alternative but to abandon her. As a matter of fact, I was also of the opinion that we would have to sacrifice Namiko for the sake of the eleven others of us, but after we had finished our discussion I happened to pass through her room. She suddenly thrust out her arms and seized my foot. She begged me in tears to take her along, insisting that she must escape when we did. I managed eventually to extricate my foot by promising to discuss the matter with the others.
I called everyone together again to reopen our discussion. They were all perfectly aware of my reason for summoning them. In their eyes flashed repeated warnings not to propose anything foolish. I asked if they would not consent to taking Namiko along. First of all, I explained, she was passionately anxious to escape with the rest of us. There was also the sentimental consideration that, after all, she had shared rice from the same pot with us for such a long time. Yukiko, who was standing next to me, capitulated first. She declared that she didn’t feel right about leaving Namiko behind. She had once received a pair of stockings from her. Shinako remembered that she had been given some lace cuffs, and Kikue had been given a comb. The women thus were at least not opposed to taking Namiko along. Not one of the men spoke openly. Instead, one after another they took me aside to urge that I drop the subject. “Come on,” I said, in an attempt to persuade them, “let’s take her. Something good is bound to come of it.” They began for the first time to come around to my point of view, and finally agreed that we might as well take her.
When we actually reached the point of making our escape, we faced the necessity of following a trail over the cliffs along the sea for some fifteen or twenty miles before we could get through the pass. The thought of carrying a sick woman on our backs loomed as a staggering undertaking. In order to fool that scoundrel of a landlord we would have to leave the rooming house one by one, swinging our towels as part of the pretense of visiting the public bath in a storm. If we took too much time over our departure we would have no chance to eat, and would be obliged to set out with empty stomachs. In that case we would have no choice but to risk making our way, under cover of darkness, to the next station.
I asked Namiko to try and stand, as a test of her ability to walk. She made an effort, but immediately collapsed limply over the bedding, moaning that her eyes felt as if they were swimming in her head. She seemed utterly without bones. I, who in a moment of sympathy had urged the others to take Namiko along, now could not help thinking that in her condition it would be best for all of us to leave her behind. “Wouldn’t you really prefer to remain here by yourself?” I said. “I can’t imagine that the landlord would do anything bad to a sick person like yourself. We promise to send you money.” Namiko burst into tears. “I’d rather you killed me than left me here alone.” She persisted, and I could do nothing to change her mind. After having convinced the others to take Namiko along, I could not bring myself to be so irresponsible as to propose now that we abandon her. So, I too began to wait for the next rainy night. I made no mention of Namiko again. But even waiting for the rain was not easy for us. Anyone who went to the public bath would always pawn an article of clothing and buy buns to be shared with the rest of us. We realized, however, at this rate we might use up the money needed for our train fare, and then face real disaster. We stopped smoking altogether, and limited ourselves to only one bun a day. The whole time was spent lolling around, drinking water to keep ourselves going. There was nothing else to do. Fortunately, the autumn rains began to fall a few mornings later, and by late afternoon an increasingly violent storm had developed. We determined to stage our escape that night, and each of us completed whatever preparations were necessary. We waited for the dark. One thought obsessed me—assuming that we all managed to reach the railway station safely, which man would eventually go off with which woman. The fact that eight men had remained behind with the four women was not only because they had no money. Each of the women had had relations with two or even three of the men, I rather suspected, which made separation extremely difficult. I felt certain that sooner or later, somewhere, there would be trouble. However, no one betrayed any presentiment of this as night approached and the time set for our escape drew upon us. Soon, one or two at a time, the members of the troupe began going out, towels in hand. It crossed my mind that, unknown to me, the matter of which man would go with which woman had already been decided. My share of the escape preparations consisted merely of bundling together changes of clothes for all of us and throwing the bundles over the wall to the others waiting on the opposite side. I was conscious of the danger that, if I was the last to leave, since it had been my idea to take Namiko along, I might well be left to figure out an escape for the two of us. Were such a proposal to be made, the others were only too likely to agree with it. I therefore contrived that Takagi should be the last to leave. With my towel slung over my shoulder I took Namiko on my back and set out in the rain for the bamboo thicket where I was to join the others.
There were about ten of us huddled together in the thicket, protected only by three oil-paper umbrellas. We waited for the others. Kinoshita, who had taken our bundles to the pawnshop, did not appear. No one actually voiced anything, but an expression of uneasiness gradually crept over our faces, as much as to say, “Kinoshita has run off with the money.” We stood in silence, staring at each other. Soon, Kinoshita returned with ten yen in his hand. Our next problem was to eat before we started. Takagi was the last to arrive and suggested we all go together to a restaurant. Matsugi pointed out that it would be best to go one at a time, since we were sure to be discovered if we went in a crowd. We agreed to this. We decided to divide the money, but all we had was a ten yen bill. We could have sent someone to change it, but the unspoken fear that anyone who went for change might run off with the money prevented us from letting the money out of our sight. Someone said, “Having the money is just the same as not having it. What are we going to do?” For a while there was silence, then another remarked that if we delayed any longer people from the rooming house would catch up with us. And still another voice: “What could we do if they really came after us? I’m too hungry to move.” When we reached this impasse Yashima suggested that the money be turned over to me, since I was the one person who could not run away or hide, what with a sick woman on my back. To this everyone assented. However, I knew that if I were entrusted with the money the others would constantly be spying on me, and this would be extremely disagreeable. I thought it would be better if in front of everybody I gave the money to Namiko. As guardian of our money, she would certainly, at least for the time being, be carefully protected. I thrust the bill into her kimono. With this, the sick woman, who up until now had been treated as a disgusting nuisance, suddenly became an object of value, a reassuringly dependable safe-deposit vault. Automatically we began to formulate regulations around her. First of all, the men in the group were to take turns carrying Namiko on their back, each one taking a hundred steps. The women were not required to carry the burden, but to take turns counting. Next we settled the order of carrying her, while the women laughingly watched and backed one or another of us in our choosing games. Those of us who were to go in front began to walk out of the bamboo thicket.
There were only three umbrellas for the twelve of us, and the rain whipped by a gale beat h
eadlong into our faces. We struggled forward in single file, four to an umbrella, and drenched by the rain. In the middle was Namiko, guarded like a holy image in procession, immediately behind her the women, and farther back some of the men. Sasa, who was near the middle, suddenly called out, “We seem to have forgotten all about eating.” There were cries of assent, and again the column came to a halt. But there was hardly time now for eating: if we were overtaken we would be finished. Several favored making a desperate attempt to cross the pass tonight in the hope that tomorrow would be safe, and by tacit consent our column began to wriggle caterpillar-like ahead in the darkness. The starch had drained from the women’s felt hats, which began to make a loud spattering noise. At first we thought in terror that it might be the sound of pursuers. From time to time, as if by a prearranged signal, we all would turn to look behind us. But as Kurigi said, even supposing that the landlord discovered what had happened and sent people out after us, they would never choose this terrible road at first. This observation was reassuring, but the fact remained that none of us had ever traveled on the road before. We had not the least idea what lay ahead, not even whether we were to pass through cultivated land or barren desolation. The road, from which the sand had been washed by the rain to expose frequently the raised heads of stones, was only dimly visible at our feet. Uneasiness akin to desperation mounted steadily within us. Only Kinoshita, who chattered on with his usual socialistic talk, displayed any energy. “The next time I meet that damned manager who’s responsible for all our suffering, I will really give him a beating,” he swore, and at his words the hatred of the group for the already half-forgotten manager suddenly flared up again. “Beat him? I’ll shove him in the ocean!” shouted someone else; and another voice chimed in, “The ocean’s too good for him! I’ll split his head open with a rock.” “I’ll stick burning hot prongs down his throat!” “Burning hot prongs are too good for him,” another man was saying when the sick woman, who up until that moment had not uttered a sound, suddenly burst into loud wails. Yagi, who was carrying her on his back, stopped in his tracks. There were cries from behind. “What’s the matter? Can’t you move any faster?” Namiko was weeping convulsively, and she began now to beg us to go on without her. At first we were at a loss to tell what had caused this outburst, when we discovered that she was losing blood. We stood there in the rain, bewildered and helpless. I suggested that the women be left to deal with this female disorder, and one of the women thereupon said that a dry cloth was needed immediately. I felt obliged to offer my undershirt. The sick woman felt sorry for us, and all the while that Matsugi, whose turn was next, was carrying her, she begged him in tears again and again to go on without her. Matsugi finally lost his temper and threatened to leave her then and there if she kept whining, and this only made her wail all the more hysterically. Uppermost in our minds, however, was the fear of being overtaken. Finally we reached a point where even that ceased to worry us, when thoughts of our hunger assailed us. “Tomorrow,” began one of us, “when we get to a town the first thing I’m going to do is eat pork cutlets.” “I’ll take fish.” “I’d rather have eels than fish.” “I’d like a steak.” Then we all started to talk about food, not listening to what anyone else had to say, but elaborating on what we liked to eat and places where we had once had a good meal. We were becoming like voracious beasts.
