A little before noon, I arrived at Port Kodomari. This port was the furthest north on the west coast of Honshu. Just over the mountain this far north is Tappi on the eastern shore. The hamlets on the west coast end here. In other words, this place was the reason I unexpectedly returned from Port Fukaura on the western shore of the old Tsugaru domain and came without resting to Port Kodomari on the northern end of the same shore centered on the Goshogawara area. This modest fishing village had a population of about two thousand, five hundred. From the Heian era, ships from other provinces entered and left this port. The boats passing through Ezo, in particular, always entered and anchored at this port to avoid strong easterly winds.
During the Edo period, mounds of rice and lumber were often shipped out from the nearby Port Jusan. I intended to write about that many times. Even now, the only port constructed in this village is splendid and does not fit the village. The paddy fields on the outskirts of the village are few, but the marine products are abundant. In addition to fish like pike, greenling, squid, and sardine, there are many marine plants like varieties of kelp and seaweed.
I got off the bus and began to approach people walking in the area to ask, "Do you know a woman named Koshino Take?"
"Koshino Take?" replied a middle-aged man wearing a government-mandated national uniform who may have been an official at the village hall. He looked puzzled and said, "A lot of families in this village have that last name Koshino."
"She used to live in Kanagi and should be around fifty years old," I eagerly said.
"Ah, I know her."
"Is she here? Where is she? Where is her house?"
Following his directions, I found Take's home. It was a small hardware store with an eighteen-feet-wide front. It was ten times more fabulous than my hut in Tokyo. The curtain was down at the shop front. It can't be, I thought. I ran up to the glass door at the entrance and, as expected, a small padlock was locked. I tried to open another glass door, but it didn't budge. She was out. At a loss, I wiped off the sweat. There is no possibility she has moved away.
Could she have gone out for a short time? But where? No, this is not Tokyo. When you step out for a little while in the country, you don't drop the curtain and close the doors. Maybe she'll be away for two or three days or longer. This is bad. Take went to some other village. It's possible. I was stupid to believe that knowing where she lived was enough. I tapped on the glass door and called, "Koshino-san! Koshino-san!" I didn't expect a reply. I sighed and walked diagonally across the street and into a tobacco shop. I said it seemed like nobody was at home at the Koshino's and asked the proprietress if she had any idea where Koshino-san had gone. The gaunt old woman nonchalantly said she was probably at the sports field day. I braced myself.
"So where is the field day being held? Is it nearby?"
She said it was close and to go straight down the road, past the paddy fields to the school. The field day is being held behind the school.
"She went out carrying a picnic box with the children this morning."
"Is that so? Thank you."
I followed her directions and came upon the paddy fields. I took the path between the paddy fields to the sand dunes. A national elementary school stood above the dunes. I went around to the back of the school to see and was stunned. I felt like I was dreaming. In this fishing village at the northern edge of Honshu, before my eyes appeared a lively festival so beautiful and little changed from long ago I was almost brought to tears. First, the flags of all nations flew high. Young women were gaily dressed. Daytime drunks were scattered here and there.
Around the perimeter of the athletic field, almost one hundred temporary huts were erected close together. No, there looked to be no empty places left around the field. The huts crowded together stood on straw mats on the small and large hills overlooking the field. They seemed to be taking a noon break. In the rooms of the one hundred small houses, a family spread out its picnic boxes. While the men drank sake, the women and children ate and talked and laughed under the clear skies. I couldn't stop thinking, Japan is a blessed country. It is surely the Land of the Rising Sun.
Even with the fate of the nation at stake in a major war, a lonely village on the northern edge of Honshu mysteriously holds this huge, merry banquet. The ancient gods observe the courageous smiles and the generous dances in this remote part of Honshu. I felt like I had become the hero in a fairy tale. In this fairy tale, I searched over seas and over mountains for my mother. I walked seven thousand miles and ended up in this province where splendid music and dance were being performed on these sandy dunes. I was compelled to search for the caretaker who raised me somewhere among the cheerful crowd playing music and dancing.
It's been close to thirty years since we parted. She had big eyes and red cheeks. She had a small red mole on her right or left eyelid.
