Country Teacher by Tayama Katai Excerpt
Country Teacher by Tayama Katai Excerpt
Context.Tayama Katai’s novel Country Teacher, based on the diary of Kobayashi Shūzō, achieved popularity for its realistic descriptions of the lives rural commoners at the beginning of the 1900s. Seizō, the teacher, lived in his hometown of Gyōda, which was dominated by the ruins of the medieval Oishi Castle some 45 miles north of Tokyo. In his early months of teaching, he lived at home, walking to and from the school in Miroku village nearly 10 miles away. As his experience illustrates, the rapid expansion of Japan’s education system left teacher candidates in short supply in rural areas, meaning that teachers often had only a bit more education than their oldest students. At home in Gyōda on weekends, Seizō spent his free hours with male friends such as Ikuji and Ishikawa, mentioned here, talking about his dream of studying in Tokyo—a dream blocked by poverty. Like the diarist on whose life this work was based, Seizō would die of tuberculosis in 1904 just as he was beginning to think brighter prospects lay ahead—and as Japan was rejoicing over victory in one of its early battles in the Russo-Japanese War.
The previous afternoon Seizō had received a fortnight’s pay. His purse jingled with silver and copper coin. That old, dirty, frayed purse! It had never held so much money before. And there was a special significance in the fact that it was the first money he’d ever earned. He called to his mother just as she was about to go into the kitchen, took the purse from his pocket, and set out the three yen eighty sen in notes and coin. His mother stared at him clearly overcome with joy, and said, with much feeling, “I’m so happy that you’ve gone out and earned this for us.” Seizō told her that he expected the other half of his month’s pay in another four or five days’ time, and added, “Unfortunately that’s the way it is in the countryside. Everything seems to come in dribs and drabs. It’s because they’re so stingy.”
Seizō’s mother took the money with a great show of reverence, then made an offering at the household altar. There was a little vase there, with azaleas and yellow roses arranged in it. From behind, Seizō stared at her little head with its hair in the rounded chignon style; the number of grey hairs had increased of late, and he felt sorry for her to think that her kind heart had been so cruelly treated by life’s adversity. It was typical of his parents to make such a happy fuss over so small an amount of money. He couldn’t help thinking about the feelings of jealousy that had raged within him toward his friends when he heard of them going straight from middle school to Tokyo, and about the lot in life of a son bound in affection to parents as poor as his. . . .
That evening he bought some cakes and went off to Ikuji’s house. . . .
At the back of the town was a little temple. As you went in through the gate you could see the thatched roof and black, weatherbeaten rain shutters of the priest’s quarters. The Buddha image in the main building stood out black and bold, and the wooden drum had been set down on a mat of red muslin. The cemetery to the rear of the temple was divided off from the neighboring ground by a grove of bamboo, and the gravestones bore clear traces of the crawling passage of slugs. Among the many headstones was the grave of Seizō’s younger brother. He had died in the spring two years ago, aged fifteen. His illness had been protracted. He had grown gradually thinner and weaker, and the color drained from his face with each passing day. The doctor’s certificate stated pulmonary tuberculosis, but his parents wouldn’t believe it, and said there was no history of such an illness in the family. Seizō sometimes thought about his young brother. Rather than the sadness of his death, he thought about how nice it would have been if his brother had lived, so that they could have had each other for company. The thought always prompted him to take flowers along to his brother’s grave.
On Sunday morning he set out carrying anise and roses. He borrowed a bucket from the priest’s quarters and, filling it with water, carried it round to the cemetery at the rear. A stone was still to be erected over his brother’s grave. And the blackened, weatherbeaten grave marker stood forlorn over the earthen mound. It looked as though his parents hadn’t visited for some time either, for the flower vase was cracked. Pouring water in was just a waste of time.
Seizō stood there for a long time. The greenery of May now made the surroundings fresh and vivid, and a nightingale sang in the bamboo grove.
That afternoon he went to the printing shop, and also called on Ishikawa. He knew that if he didn’t go back to Miroku today he would have to set out at the latest at four o’clock the next morning to be in time for classes, but he simply didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to forsake the pleasure of talking with old friends to head back to a place where there was no one with whom he would find such easy conversation. Without his really being aware of it, the time just slipped by.
After his evening meal he went off to the bathhouse, and called on Ikuji again on his way back. They went for a walk across the still-bright evening fields.
The ruined castle had lost so much of its original appearance that at a casual glance it would not have been recognized for what it was. In the little meadow of the dairy some half-dozen cows were lowing, and from the adjoining long and narrow building of the Aojima Cloth Weaving Company came, mingled with the sound of the looms, the clearly audible singing voices of the female workers. The evening sun shone brightly and picturesquely from where the old castle gate used to be across to the marsh, which was reclaimed increasingly each year for paddy fields and was now reduced in appearance to a narrow stream. Reeds and rushes and miscanthus were putting forth new buds there, the water was rich and still, and some parts lay in darkness while others were bathed in light. Beyond the wooden bridge over the marsh a narrow little road wound its way through the fields. A farmer was approaching pulling a cart, his face colored red in the evening sun.
The two young men threaded their way through the fields of wheat and mulberry. Their conversation flowed on and on, showing no sign of stopping. Eventually the road came out near some former samurai residences.
The houses were scattered here and there. Nowadays there were not many old samurai families still holding their own. In olden times they had occupied row upon row of houses, but now their houses were reduced to just a few, scattered thinly among the fields like stars in the morning sky. The old-style black weather boarding and white walls, the tall chestnut and persimmon trees, the distinctively shaped wells—these could be seen clearly. . . .
In such residences, then, lived members of former samurai families, fallen behind the times. Some worked in village offices, others worked as elementary school teachers. Some had wealth and spent their days at ease, others made a living by running small-scale silkworm businesses. There were others still who lent out money.
Source: Tayama Katai. Country Teacher (Inaka kyōshi). Trans. Kenneth Henshall. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1984, 43-47.
Questions.
1. Reading Country Teacher, how would you describe life in Japan’s villages early in the 20th century? Describe the economic situation, the nature of social and family life, and the material conditions of the village.
2. Describe all of the ways, both good and bad, in which nature shows up in this passage, explaining what impact nature had on Seizō’s life.
3. The Meiji government’s policies had been all about change. Describe the contrast between new and old institutions and patterns in Gyōda.
Terms.
Three yen eighty sen. His salary of 11 yen a month was low: about the same as a starting Tokyo police officer then; new public officials averaged 50 yen a month. There were 100 sen in a yen.
Chignon. This hair style, worn by most rural women, bares the neck, usually with the hair tied into a bun or knot at the back of the head.
Bathhouse. Public bathhouses were a leading feature of most Japanese neighborhoods then, when homes did not have baths. People went there not only to get clean but to relax and to socialize with friends.
Pulmonary tuberculosis. Primarily a disease of the lungs, tuberculosis was called “consumption” and feared as Japan’s leading cause of death before World War II. Vaccinations and antibiotics reduced its risk after the 1950s.
Female workers. At this time, women and girls made up the majority of Japan’s factory workers, providing the textiles that fueled international trade. Their pay was meager and their working conditions were terrible, often cruel; so they sang songs that expressed solidarity with each other and resentment of employers and managers.
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