The River
Ni’imi Nankichi
I
“Whoever can stay in the river the longest gets this persimmon,” said Otojirō, a plump orange fruit in his hand. Until now he had silently followed the other four boys to the water’s edge.
His friends didn’t pay his words much heed. Otojirō, son of the chemist, was a strange boy, and on the rare occasion he did speak up, it was with bizarre stuff like this. They were far more interested in the prize. It was well-shaped, glossy orange, and plump. It was the biggest, sweetest persimmon you could find around here. Otojirō lived on a large estate with all the fruit trees a boy could want: persimmons, oranges, pomegranates. In spite of his strangeness, boys were always coming over to Otojirō’s house to play, because it meant they’d get some fruit.
Though the persimmon was a perfectly acceptable prize, was it worth braving the river? Autumn was fast approaching and the water was still and stagnant. And the river, though narrow, cut deeply into the clay below. The waters looked chilly. The boys often played in the river in the summer, so they knew that the water would reach up to about their belly buttons.
The boys shared a brief skeptical glance with each other, and then answered with an affirmative look just as quickly. Tokuichi, the folk doctor’s son, undid his belt. He had a glint in his eyes, as he always did when he was getting up to no good. Heitarō, dressed in more traditional garb, rolled up his kimono to his waist and kicked off his underwear. Not to beaten to the water, Kyūsuke took off his trousers and tossed them into the yellow-green grass.
They moved around more freely after undressing. The wind was chilly on their feet.
Tokuichi, who was in the lead, slid down the bank to the river’s edge. He dipped a tentative foot into the river. The water came up to above his knee. His body language told his friends all they needed to know: it was freezing.
The thought of the persimmon was not the only motivating factor. It would be fun to bare all and take a dip in the river. Without a word to Otojirō, they plunged into the middle of the river. Everything was as they had expected. The water gently lapped at the shore and it came to within a centimeter of Kyūsuke’s navel.
The three of them stood opposite each other in the water, looking at their own belly buttons as well as at each other’s, giggling at the silliness of the act. However, their teeth were chattering, and Kyūsuke felt like his strength was being drained. Even moving made the cold worse.
There they stood for a while. Cattle heralded the sunset with a mournful baying. For Tokuichi this was enough, and without a word he started to wade towards the shore. He moved carefully so as to not get any more of his body wet. Kyūsuke and Heitarō looked at each other. They weren’t smiling.
With just the two of them left, Kyūsuke had started to feel like this was an incredibly stupid game, so even though he still had strength left in him, he decided to throw the match to Heitarō. Like Tokuichi before him, he trudged towards the shore and grabbed a handful of grass to pull himself up.
The soles of his feet were so numb that Kyūsuke couldn’t feel the grass beneath him. He wiped his feet and hips with a towel, then donned his underwear and trousers. He was shivering so hard that as he staggered around trying to put his pants on, he bumped into Tokuichi, who was doing the same thing.
And Heitarō was still in the river. He didn’t need to pretend he could take it any longer; after all, he had already won. He just wanted to show off in front of his friends. What a stupid braggart, Kyūsuke thought as he looked at Heitarō in the river. He acted cool as he looked out to the south.
The forfeited boys started to cheer on their friend with mock enthusiasm. “Hang in there, man!” For some reason, Otojirō joined in.
Tokuichi whispered to Kyūsuke, “Maybe I’ll just eat the persimmon!” with a roguish twinkle in his eye. Kyūsuke would feel really bad for Heitarō were that to happen, but, at the same time, it would be really funny. They all knew from past experience how fun it was to make Heitarō mad.
“No fair!” Heitarō shouted from the river. They had to move quickly!
In one swift motion, Tokuichi snatched the persimmon from Otojirō’s hand and took a big bite out of it. Just as he had thought, the fruit was plump and sweet. Kyūsuke bit into the opposite side of the fruit from Tokuichi. Then they passed the remainder along to Otojirō. When Heitarō saw Otojirō take a bite from the persimmon, too, he realized that they had all been in on it.
Heitarō realized that all he could do from where he stood was shout. He trod towards the shore, like his friends had done already. He took hold of the grass on the bank. But then he just stood there, grass in hand. He had an idea.
The three friends on the shore exchanged a look. The mischievous expressions on their faces first wavered, then vanished. They were dead silent.
Heitarō grimaced, his face pale. Then he clenched his belly as if he had a stomachache.
Tokuichi hesitated for a moment. “What’s wrong, Hei?” he asked.
“Get out!” said Kyūsuke.
Hand still grasping at the grass, Heitarō could not move. The pitiful paleness of his friend’s cheeks was reflected in Kyūsuke’s eyes. Kyūsuke knew that something bad had happened.
The three friends approached and hauled Heitarō up by his clammy hand. He looked like he had one foot in the grave already. Though he was out of the water, his face was all wrenched up, and he stood statue-still. The boys had to get to work. Tokuichi and Kyūsuke got out their washcloths and started wiping down Heitarō’s feet. Otojirō retrieved Heitarō’s underwear. Heitarō offered no resistance whatsoever, even when they put a hat on him.
Though Heitarō could dress himself, he couldn’t walk. His face screwed up into a grimace and he would clutch at his stomach, like he was being overcome with constant pain.
The other boys looked silently at each other. This is bad news, their expressions said.
But they were not sure if they really believed that something bad had happened to Heitarō. Their friend was extremely good at playing dead, pretending that he had a terrible stomachache. They had seen Heitarō head-butt a ball out of the air during a game. He staggered around dizzily, then crumpled to the ground, like he had been hit in some vital area and suffered a fatal wound. It was acting worthy of acclaim. Kyūsuke had never seen anybody die from being hit in the head by a soccer ball, but if it were to happen, he was sure it would look just like what Heitarō had done. Though Heitarō had fooled them in the past, for just a moment they were sure that Heitarō had died for real this time. Usually, Heitarō would determine just when everybody was really starting to worry and then come back to life with a blood-curdling scream. So the three of them figured that their friend might be pulling the same trick here. And because Heitarō had been swindled out of his persimmon he might be laying it on extra thick today.
But Heitarō was paler than usual. And he was going on much longer than when he had been hit by the ball. His stomach was cold to the touch. It really was possible he had taken ill.
If Hei really is sick, Kyūsuke thought, we were in that same water; the same thing might happen to us. He suddenly felt like there was a throbbing below his belly button.
“Hey, get on.” Tokuichi squatted down and motioned for Heitarō to ride piggyback. Limp, Heitarō got onto Tokuichi’s shoulders.
Otojirō took Tokuichi’s bag, and Kyūsuke grabbed Heitarō’s filthy sandals from where they had fallen. Kyūsuke looked at the half-eaten persimmon, which, in the confusion, had fallen to the earth and become smeared with mud, and gave it a good kick into the river. They all headed home.
II
The next morning, as he fed the goats damp grass from the barn, Kyūsuke thought about what had happened yesterday at the river. Heitarō weighed heavy on his mind.
He forgot just as soon as he remembered. But the anxiety persisted.
Kyūsuke left the house at half past seven, as usual. He left the road that ran behind the school and saw Otojirō, the chemist’s son, who was clapping the back of his right hand as he walked. He looked bored.
Kyūsuke ran towards him, thinking he could air his anxieties with Otojirō instead of letting them fester. But Otojirō didn’t seem to have the slightest interest in what had happened yesterday. I’m just a worry-wart, Kyūsuke reassured himself. It didn’t mean anything.
Though Otojirō was walking with Kyūsuke, he kept on doing his clapping game, looking bored. Kyūsuke heard the familiar scraping sound of a backpack against a back from behind him. It was Tokuichi, the folk doctor’s son. The visor of his brand-new hat was glimmering in the sun. “Morning!” he called out cheerfully as he approached. “No math homework today!”
Tokuichi didn’t think anything of yesterday, either. Maybe it really was nothing after all, Kyūsuke thought. Things like that simply don’t happen.
The three of them entered the classroom. Most everybody had gotten there already. There were about ten of them. Kyūsuke realized with a glance that Heitarō was not there.
Tokuichi’s seat was right next to Heitarō’s. In the same glance, Kysuke saw that Tokuichi had also discovered their friend’s absence. Otojirō was looking at Heitarō’s empty seat, too.
Kyūsuke realized that all of his friends had been feeling the same anxiety he had.
Tokuichi peeked inside Heitarō’s desk. Kyūsuke was aware of the throbbing of his heart. There was nothing inside.
Heitarō never showed up for school that day.
The days passed—the fifth, the seventh, the tenth—but Heitarō did not come back. But nobody was talking about it. Kyūsuke found this strange. Their classmate of five years had up and vanished and nobody seemed to care. It seemed like this was normal. It was just himself, Tokuichi, and Otojirō who seemed to be wounded by Heitarō’s absence. And yet, they did not speak a word about it to each other. More than that, they tried to avoid each other.
Kyūsuke was confused about a great many things. What if, for instance, he were to come clean to the teacher about the whole episode? To say that it was an accident? It might alieve some of his guilt. But if Heitarō’s illness was really a result of being in the river, there was no reason his friend would keep quiet about it. It would be the same story Heitarō would have told his mother or father. And one of them would have sent word to Kyūsuke’s teacher. Perhaps the teacher knew everything already. Maybe he was just pretending not to know, waiting for Kyūsuke to turn himself in! Kyūsuke took a guilty peep at his teacher, his head drawing close to his shoulders.
The urge to surrender himself grew stronger. Kyūsuke usually loved to listen to the teacher talk about history, but, doubled over by the agony in his soul, Kyūsuke couldn’t take away anything interesting from the lecture. All I have to do, Kyūsuke thought, is let go of my secret and I’ll be free. He wanted to stand up straight and shout: “Sir! The three of us tricked Heitarō, and now he’s taken ill!” But the atmosphere of the room, totally unchanged from its normal state, seemed somehow to suppress his urges. Kyūsuke was sure of what he saw next: another Kyūsuke, right next to him, who leapt to his feet.
There were three or four phantoms now in the broad daylight, all saying, “Sir!” Kyūsuke’s ears were ringing and his clenched hands were beaded with sweat.
Two months passed, and then three. Heitarō never came back to school. Kyūsuke hardly heard a thing about his friend. Just once, he heard two classmates talking when he walked into the classroom. They were just leaving.
“Who?” one of them asked.
“You know, Hei,” replied the other.
That was it. And there was one other similar event. One afternoon, Otojirō was waiting for Kyūsuke outside the rear entrance to the school. He invited Kyūsuke to come along with him to Heitarō’s house, since his father, the chemist, had prepared some medicine. Surprised, Kyūsuke tagged along. It seemed that the medicine was something called aspirin, which could break a fever. Hei had taken ill, Otojirō explained with the confidence of a trained professional, and if his fever could be broken he would recover. But then why didn’t I know? wondered Kyūsuke. And if this medicine is as good as Otojirō says, why didn’t Heitarō get it sooner?
They went all the way out to the edge of town and came to a temple. There was a small house that stood next to (or rather, leaned against) the southwest corner of the wall surrounding the temple. This was Heitarō’s house. The two of them walked along the wall and stood in front of the dwelling. The door was open and inside was darkness. It was as silent as a grave. Kyūsuke couldn’t tell whether or not there was anybody inside. The only section of the house illuminated by the sun was the doorway, where a cat was cleaning its forelegs. Its hind legs were not stationary; rather, they were moving even faster than usual. It passed them by and they did not see it again.
Kyūsuke grew to dislike talking and laughing with his other friends. He would often just stop and stare into space. He became increasingly forgetful. He would suddenly forget what he had been doing. He would realize that a book he had held in his hand was no longer there, and no amount of racking his brain would make him remember where it had gone. If he were sent out on an errand, he would forget what he was supposed to buy and come home with a random assortment of items. He had become a stock character from a comedy sketch.
Kyūsuke had long felt like the sights and the people he saw every day appeared terribly dull and dreary, like his soul was a hand thrust carelessly into a briar patch. But he now felt like this more often, and it was more severe. At the heights of his distaste and tedium, he would look out at the road in from of the garden and think, why are we born? Why are we made to live? If a five-minute dip in cold water was enough to kill a person (for Kyūsuke could only imagine that Heitarō had died), what wretched creatures we must be.
At the end of the semester, Kyūsuke finally heard that Heitarō had died. After lunch, he was leaned up against the teacher’s desk, trying to get some sunlight, when he heard a group talking in the corner.
“So I heard Hei died.”
“Bull!” The second voice didn’t seem particularly surprised. Kyūsuke wasn’t surprised. He no longer had the strength to be surprised.
“You should have seen the way he played dead out by the shack. Can’t believe he’s dead for real,” the first person continued. As the other kids laughed, he started to tell a story about Heitarō’s excellent mimicry of death.
Kyūsuke wasn’t listening anymore. I guess it finally happened, he thought. Quietly he walked his hand over to the sunny place on the floor. He looked worn-out and pitiful.
III
The sun was setting.
There was an unplaceable air of sadness within Kyūsuke. His feelings did not quite fit together, like that queer time when the light of day and the dark of night are at odds in the sky. As he wandered from place to place, his soul ached from the weight of the chains of grief upon it.
A June evening held all kinds of strange sounds coming from the outside, but it was quiet inside.
Kyūsuke was leaning against the post. He felt like something good was about to happen. Though this did nothing to extinguish his sadness.
From far-off he heard a sound mixed in with the clamor, the single bleating of a baby goat. Dammit, Kyūsuke thought. He had taken the kid, only twenty days old, to the river to drink, but he had gone off chasing a butterfly and forgotten all about it. Dammit. The kid found his way back himself, he thought confidently.
Kyūsuke took off running for the barn. He looked towards the river. The goat was coming back.
All Kyūsuke was looking at was the kid. His white coat, and the distance between the goat and himself.
The goat came to a stop to snack on some grass near the water’s edge. He dashed a little more towards the barn, then stopped to frolic. He was taking his sweet time. He clearly had no thought of coming to Kyūsuke. He would come no further.
The kid was past the railroad tracks. He paid them no heed. He nimbly made it through the break in the berm, as well, without falling in the river.
There was a great pressure in Kyūsuke’s chest, and big fat drops splashed out of his eyes.
The kid found his way back alone.
Though it was already June, Kyūsuke felt like spring had come at last.
IV
Kyūsuke believed with a renewed conviction that Heitarō was not dead, and thus he was not taken by surprise.
When he got to class, sitting in Heitarō’s usual seat was a pale-faced boy in Western clothes with a big smile on his face.
Kyūsuke put down his backpack at his own seat, then stood shock-still as he goggled at Heitarō. Then his expression cracked, and both he and Heitarō burst into laughter.
It turned out that Heitarō had been sent to relatives on the other side of the bay, but it didn’t work out, so he came back. That’s what Heitarō said, anyway. He didn’t know if Heitarō had taken ill, and if he had, if it was from standing in the river. But it didn’t matter. Heitarō had found his way back.
As he watched from the window as Heitarō ran barefoot out to the playground for recess, Kyūsuke marveled at the preciousness of the world. And at how marvelous a creature was man, who endured stupid mistakes and kept on going.
There was one more thing he was thinking, too. Kyūsuke recalled one day last summer when he had gone down to the river with Heitarō. After they had gotten out of the water, their bodies still glistening, they had wrestled and rough-housed naked in the thick grass, and laughed endlessly.