BAMBOO-LEAF BOATS / Kawabata Yasunari
Akiko placed the bucket beside the hollyhock. She picked some leaves from the small bushy bamboo growing beneath the plum tree, made a number of bamboo-leaf boats, and put them on the water in the bucket.
“See! They’re boats! Aren’t they fun?” The tot squatted down in front of the bucket and peered at the bamboo-leaf boats. He looked up at Akiko and broke into a smile.
“They’re nice boats, aren’t they? She gave them to you because you’re a good boy. Now go and play with Akiko,” instructed the boy’s mother, and she went back into the house. She was the mother of Akiko’s fiancé. She seemed to have something to discuss with Akiko’s father, so Akiko had gotten up to leave and, the child being cranky, Akiko had taken him out into the yard with her. The child was the youngest brother of Akiko’s fiancé.
The child plunged his little hand into the bucket and said as he swirled the water, “Look, Akiko. The boats are fighting a war.” He was amused by the flotilla of bamboo-leaf boats darting crazily about.
Akiko left the boy to the bucket. She wrung out the yukata she had been laundering, and she passed the clothespole through its sleeves.
The war was now over. Still, her fiancé had not returned.
“Fight harder! Fight harder!” said the child, swirling the water more and more violently. He was splashing his face.
“Oh, no, you mustn’t do that! Your little face is getting all wet,” said Akiko as she stopped him. The child cried, “But the boats won’t sail.”
It was true. The boats were not sailing. They were just bobbing in place on the water.
“I know what. Let’s go to the stream out back. The boats will really sail there,” said Akiko.
The child took the bamboo-leaf boats. Akiko dashed the water against the roots of the hollyhock and returned the bucket to the kitchen.
Perched on stepping stones at the bottom of the levee, they each launched a boat into the current; the boy clapped his hands with delight.
“My boat’s ahead. Look. Look.” The child took off downstream to keep the lead boat in sight. Akiko hurriedly launched the remaining bamboo-leaf boats and chased after the child.
She suddenly became conscious of herself and made an effort to walk with her left foot properly meeting the ground.
Akiko had been stricken with infantile paralysis. The heel of her left foot did not reach the ground; it remained small and flaccid. The instep rose high. She was unable to jump rope or go on outings. She had intended to live quietly and remain single all her life, but she unexpectedly became engaged. Resolved to overcome her physical handicap with sincere effort, she practised—more earnestly than ever before—walking with her left heel meeting the ground. Her left foot quickly became sore from the thong of her zôri; still, Akiko went on punishing herself. But then after the war was lost, she gave up this practice altogether. The sore left a scar that made it look like she had had a bad case of frostbite.
It was because the boy was the younger brother of her fiancé that Akiko was trying to walk with her left heel touching. It had been a while for her.
The stream was narrow and weeds drooped into the water, causing several of the bamboo-leaf boats to get snagged.
The child stopped about twenty meters ahead of Akiko, and unaware of her approach, he was seeing off the bamboo-leaf boats as they drifted away. He did not see how Akiko was walking.
With the deep groove in the nape of the tot’s neck reminding Akiko of her fiancé, she could barely resist taking him up in her arms.
The child’s mother came out. She thanked Akiko and pressed the child to say his farewell. The child just said, “Sayonara.”
Either her fiancé had died in the war or their engagement had been broken off, thought Akiko.
That they would offer to marry their son to a cripple was no doubt due to wartime sentimentality.
Akiko did not go inside, but went to look at the house being built next door. It was rare to see such a large house in these parts; passers-by would unfailingly gaze at it. Construction had been suspended during the war and weeds had grown tall around the lumber pile; but recently the work suddenly resumed. A pair of nervous pines were now planted outside the gate.
Akiko thought the house appeared to lack kindness, to be cruel. Moreover, it was unreasonably full of windows; the parlor, for instance, was window on all four sides.
There had been neighborhood rumors about what sort of people would be moving in, but Akiko did not know exactly.
“See! They’re boats! Aren’t they fun?” The tot squatted down in front of the bucket and peered at the bamboo-leaf boats. He looked up at Akiko and broke into a smile.
“They’re nice boats, aren’t they? She gave them to you because you’re a good boy. Now go and play with Akiko,” instructed the boy’s mother, and she went back into the house. She was the mother of Akiko’s fiancé. She seemed to have something to discuss with Akiko’s father, so Akiko had gotten up to leave and, the child being cranky, Akiko had taken him out into the yard with her. The child was the youngest brother of Akiko’s fiancé.
The child plunged his little hand into the bucket and said as he swirled the water, “Look, Akiko. The boats are fighting a war.” He was amused by the flotilla of bamboo-leaf boats darting crazily about.
Akiko left the boy to the bucket. She wrung out the yukata she had been laundering, and she passed the clothespole through its sleeves.
The war was now over. Still, her fiancé had not returned.
“Fight harder! Fight harder!” said the child, swirling the water more and more violently. He was splashing his face.
“Oh, no, you mustn’t do that! Your little face is getting all wet,” said Akiko as she stopped him. The child cried, “But the boats won’t sail.”
It was true. The boats were not sailing. They were just bobbing in place on the water.
“I know what. Let’s go to the stream out back. The boats will really sail there,” said Akiko.
The child took the bamboo-leaf boats. Akiko dashed the water against the roots of the hollyhock and returned the bucket to the kitchen.
Perched on stepping stones at the bottom of the levee, they each launched a boat into the current; the boy clapped his hands with delight.
“My boat’s ahead. Look. Look.” The child took off downstream to keep the lead boat in sight. Akiko hurriedly launched the remaining bamboo-leaf boats and chased after the child.
She suddenly became conscious of herself and made an effort to walk with her left foot properly meeting the ground.
Akiko had been stricken with infantile paralysis. The heel of her left foot did not reach the ground; it remained small and flaccid. The instep rose high. She was unable to jump rope or go on outings. She had intended to live quietly and remain single all her life, but she unexpectedly became engaged. Resolved to overcome her physical handicap with sincere effort, she practised—more earnestly than ever before—walking with her left heel meeting the ground. Her left foot quickly became sore from the thong of her zôri; still, Akiko went on punishing herself. But then after the war was lost, she gave up this practice altogether. The sore left a scar that made it look like she had had a bad case of frostbite.
It was because the boy was the younger brother of her fiancé that Akiko was trying to walk with her left heel touching. It had been a while for her.
The stream was narrow and weeds drooped into the water, causing several of the bamboo-leaf boats to get snagged.
The child stopped about twenty meters ahead of Akiko, and unaware of her approach, he was seeing off the bamboo-leaf boats as they drifted away. He did not see how Akiko was walking.
With the deep groove in the nape of the tot’s neck reminding Akiko of her fiancé, she could barely resist taking him up in her arms.
The child’s mother came out. She thanked Akiko and pressed the child to say his farewell. The child just said, “Sayonara.”
Either her fiancé had died in the war or their engagement had been broken off, thought Akiko.
That they would offer to marry their son to a cripple was no doubt due to wartime sentimentality.
Akiko did not go inside, but went to look at the house being built next door. It was rare to see such a large house in these parts; passers-by would unfailingly gaze at it. Construction had been suspended during the war and weeds had grown tall around the lumber pile; but recently the work suddenly resumed. A pair of nervous pines were now planted outside the gate.
Akiko thought the house appeared to lack kindness, to be cruel. Moreover, it was unreasonably full of windows; the parlor, for instance, was window on all four sides.
There had been neighborhood rumors about what sort of people would be moving in, but Akiko did not know exactly.
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