Transcription
The Dancing Girl of Izu by Yasunari Kawabata
Chapter One
About the time the road began to wind and I realized that I was finally near Amagi Pass, a curtain of rain swept up after me at a terrific speed from the foot of the mountain, painting the dense cedar forest white. I was 20 years old. I wore my school cap, hakama over my indigo-dyed kimono, and carried a student's bag over my shoulder. It was the fourth day of my solitary journey down the Izu Peninsula. I had stayed at Shuzenji hot spring one night, then two nights at Yugashima, and now, wearing high clogs, I was climbing Amagi. Although I had been enchanted by the layers upon layers of mountains, the virgin forests, and the shades of autumn in the deep valleys, I was hurrying along this road, my chest pounding with a certain expectation.
Before long, great drops of rain began to pelt me, and I bolted up the steep, twisted road. I was relieved to reach the tea house on the north side of the pass at last, but stopped short in the doorway. My expectation had been realized all too splendidly. The troop of itinerant performers was inside, taking a rest. As soon as the dancing girl noticed me standing there, she pulled out the cushion she had been kneeling on, turned it over, and placed it near her.
"Yes, that's all," I said before I sat down. The words "Thank you" stuck in my throat. I was out of breath from running up the road and from my astonishment. Sitting so close, facing the dancing girl, I fumbled to pull a cigarette from my kimono sleeve. The girl took the ashtray sitting in front of her female companion and placed it near me. Naturally, I did not speak.
The dancing girl looked to be about 17 years old. Her hair was arranged elaborately in an unusual old style, unfamiliar to me. Although it made her striking oval face look quite small, it created a beautiful harmony. She gave the impression of the girls from illustrations and old romances who were depicted with an emphasis on their extravagant hair. The dancing girl was accompanied by a woman in her 40s, two older girls, and a man of about 25 who was wearing a jacket with the insignia of Nagaoka hot springs on it.
I had seen this troop twice previously. The first time, I encountered them near Ugawa Bridge. I was on my way to Yugoshima hot springs, while they were going to Shusenji. There were three girls in the group. The dancing girl was carrying a drum. After we passed, I looked back at them again and again. I had finally experienced the romance of travel. Then, my second night at Yugoshima, the entertainers had come to the end to perform. Sitting halfway down the ladder-like stairs, I had gazed intently at the girl as she danced on the wooden floor of the entryway. If they were at Shuzenji the other day and Yugashima tonight, then they would probably go to Yugano springs on the south side of Amagi Pass tomorrow. Surely, I could catch up with them along the 15 miles mountain road over Amagi. Thus, I had been daydreaming as I hastened along the road that day. Now, we had ended up taking shelter from the rain at the same tea house. My heart was pounding.
In a moment, the old woman who ran the tea house led me to another room. It appeared it was not used regularly and had no sliding paper doors. When I peered down into the magnificent valley outside the window, I could scarcely see the bottom. It gave me goosebumps. My teeth chattered and I shivered. The old woman came back to serve tea. I told her I felt cold.
"You're all what, aren't you, sir?" she spoke with great deference. "Come in here for a while. Draw your clothes." Reaching for my hand, she led me into her own parlor. There was a hearth in the middle of the floor of her room. When she opened the sliding door, the hot air flowed out. I stood at the threshold, hesitating.
An old man sat cross-legged by the fire. His body pale and swollen like a drowning victim, he turned his languid eyes toward me. They were yellowed to the pupils, as if putrified. Around him lay piles of old letters and scraps of paper. They almost buried him. I stood stiff, staring at him, wondering how he could be alive.
"This mystery in the mountains. I'm embarrassed to have you see him this way. Don't worry. This is my old husband. He may be unsightly, but he can't move. Please be patient with him." After thus apologizing, the old woman explained that her husband had suffered from palsy for many years, and now his whole body was almost paralyzed. The mountains of papers were actually correspondents from every possible source, describing treatments for palsy, and packets of medicine the old man had ordered from throughout the country. Whenever he heard of a treatment from travelers who came over the pass or saw an advertisement in the newspaper, he never failed to send for it. He kept the papers around him in heaps, staring at them, never disposing of a single one. Through the years, he had accumulated mountains of aging scraps of paper.
Without a word to the old woman, I bent over the hearth. An automobile navigating the pass rattled the house. I wondered why the old man did not move down to a lower elevation with the autumn already this cold and snow soon to cover the pass. Steam rose from my kimono. The fire was hot enough to scorch my face.
The old woman went back out to the shop, commenting to one of the female entertainers, "So this is the little girl you had with you before. She's turned out to be such a nice girl. That's good for you. How pretty she's become. Girls grow up so fast."
About an hour later, I heard the entertainers preparing to leave. I had not settled in to stay either, but I was so anxious that I did not have the courage to stand up. Although they were seasoned travelers, they would be walking at a woman's pace, so I was certain I could catch up, even if I left a mile or so behind them. Still, I grew impatient sitting by the hearth. Once the entertainers had left, my daydreams began a vivid, reckless dance.
The old woman returned from seeing the entertainers off. "Where are they staying tonight?" I asked.
"There's no way to tell where people like that are going to stay, is there, young man? Wherever they can attract an audience, that's where they stay. It doesn't matter where it might be. I don't think the likes of them would have a place already planned." The scorn that lurked in the woman's words so stirred me. I thought to myself, "If that is true, then I'll have the dancing girl stay in my room tonight."
The rain abated, and the mountain peak cleared. The old woman tried to detain me longer, telling me the sky would be completely cloudless if only I would wait 10 more minutes, but I just could not remain sitting there.
"Please take care of yourself," I said to the old man. "It's going to get colder." I spoke for my heart as I stood up. His yellow eyes lolled in his head, and he gave a slight nod.
"Sir, sir," the old woman followed me outside. "This is far too much money. I just can't accept it." She picked up my bag in both hands and refused to give it to me. She would not listen, no matter how much I tried to dissuade her. The old woman told me she would accompany me up the road a bit. She repeated the same words as she tottered along behind me for a hundred yards. "This is much too generous. I'm sorry we didn't serve you better. I'll make certain to remember your face when you pass this way again. We'll do something special for you. Be sure to stop by next time. I won't forget you." She seemed so overwhelmed, as if she were on the verge of tears, just because I had left a 50-cent coin. But I was eager to catch up with the dancers, and the old woman's dawdling pace hindered me.
At last, we reached the tunnel at the pass. "Thank you very much," I said. "You'd better go back now. Your husband is there all alone." The old woman finally released my bag. Cold drops of water plopped inside the dark tunnel up ahead. The tiny portal to southern Izu grew brighter.