Dwelling by the Moat

Author(s): Shiga Naoya

Source: Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 32, No. 2 (Summer, 1977), pp. 225-229
Published by: Sophia University
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2384029
Accessed: 14-02-2016 18:09 UTC

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 Dwelling by the Moat
by Shiga Naoya

Translated,withan Afterword,

I
by EDWARD FOWLER

livedalone one summerin Matsue,neartheJapanSea coast,in a housewhich

was outside the town and faced the castle moat. It was a modest dwelling,but it
suitedmypurposesadmirably.Stone stepsled fromitsyard directlydown to the
moat. A wooded area lay between the castle and the far bank. Large treesleaned
out over the bank, theirbranches stretchingjust above the water. The moat had
mellowed with the years, and the wild rice growingin its shallow water made it
look more like an old pond. Water birds were always about, threadingtheirway
throughthe wild rice.
I made it a point to live as simply as possible here. Exhausted fromlifein the
city and the constant dealings with people there, I found my new surroundings
utterlyrelaxing. My companions here were the insectsand birds,the fishand the
water, the grass and the sky-and lastly,other human beings.
I used to come home late at night.Wall lizards would be clusteredaround the
porch doorlight. I was the only residenton that streetwho turned his doorlight
on at night,and the lizards would gatherfromall around. As I hurriedthroughthe
door I inevitablyfelta tinglingsensationat the back of my neck. This was one sort
ofcompanionshipwithNature's creaturesforwhich I was not at all grateful.There
was another: if ever I forgotto turn offthe light inside beforegoing out, bugs of
everysortwould congregateinside the house. Moths and beetles swarmed around
the light in my room, while a familyof leopard frogs,squatting on the tatami,
would eye them from below. Startled by my footsteps,the frogswould all hop
back out to the moat, leaving perhaps a single green treefrogin theirwake. The
lone frog,clinging to a wall post, would twistitselfaround and glare at me-the
sudden intruder-its golden eyes rollingback and forth.And doubtless I was just
that: an intruder,who had disruptedthe abode of these creatures.

THIS translationwas made fromthe text of gratitude to Professor Sait6 Akira, Tokyo
Horibata no Sumai r**o{iAWrj:U in Shiga Naoya Inter-University Center, and ProfessorAtsuko
Zenshu
2, Iwanami, 1973, III, pp. Ricca Suga, International College, Sophia
191-9. The translatorwould like to expresshis University.

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226 Monumenta XXXII, 2
Nipponica,
I would regain possession of my home by clearing out all the bugs and frogs.
Then I would startwriting.I used to retireat daybreak, thoroughlyworn out. I
could hear carp jumping out in the moat, enjoying the quiet dawn all to them-
selves. It was the spawning season then,and theybroke the water again and again
near the banks. Listening to theirsplashes, I would slip into unconsciousness.
Ten o'clock. It would be too hot to sleep any more. When I got up the woman
living next door would bring over some hot coals. The charcoal stove I used for
cooking was under the plum tree that stood just beyond the veranda and it had
become quite a fixtureout in the yard. The woman would take some coal from
my kitchenout to the stove,starta firegoing,put some water on to boil and leave.
Afterputtingaway my bedding and then washing at the well, I would fix break-
fast. I had toast with butter (the buttercame fromthe local dairy farmsand was
excellent), tea, raw cucumbers, and once in a while pickled radishes.
Once, when I lived by myselfin Onomichi-my firstexperience away from
home-I had furnishedmy residence with more than enough household con-
veniences in order to live in comfortand to ward offthe loneliness.I never did use
anything,however,and that is why I resolvedthistime to live as simplyas possible.
For tableware I had only what I needed for tea and toast. If I had a guest
I would cook sukiyaki in an enamel washbasin. I did not consider using the
basin in this way as particularlyunclean. It was only when I had to use it again
as a washbasin that I thoughtof it as dirty.I washed the dishes and my clothes
in the same bucket. And when I boiled potatoes in the washbasin I would use the
small trapdoor in the kitchenfloorfora lid.
My landlord often came to fish for carp while I was still asleep. Sometimes
he would run a stringthroughthe gills of an eight-or ten-incherand leave it out
in the moat forme, tyingit up as one might tethera dog. Later I would chop it
into pieces and feed it to the neighbors' chickens.
The neighborswere a young carpenterand his wife.The carpenterwas usually
out of work, and he devoted most of his time to raising chickens. There was no
division between our two yards, and the chickens were always coming over to
my side. I would observe them, fascinated. The hens acted just like mothers,the
chicksjust like innocentlittlechildren,and the roosterjust like the sternpatriarch.
Each fit its role perfectly,and together they formed a well-knitsociety. They
were a delight to watch.
Sometimes, when a hawk flew out of the woods below the castle and circled
low overhead, the hens and chicks would panic and hide under a tree or in the
grass. The rooster,meanwhile, would strutexcitedly about the yard, making a
solitaryshow of strength.
I loved the way the little chicks followed their mother hen's every action,
scratchingat the ground, steppingback and pecking at the feed. And when a hen
started to bathe in the sand, its chicks would gather round and follow suit. But
what captivated me most were the three-month-oldchicks, with their small,
brilliantcombs and brightyellow legs. They were timid, agile, flightyand very,

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 SHIGA: 'Dwellingby the Moat' 227
very lively-no different,really, from a group of animated young girls. I was
strucknot so much by their beauty as by theircoquettish ways.
While I ate breakfastsittingcross-leggedon the veranda, the dark, sinister-
looking rooster,escortinghalf a dozen hens, would come over without fail and
loiterrightin frontof me. It cocked its head expectantlyand peered at me out of
one eye. When I tossedit a fewbread crumbs,it would hurriedlybeckon the hens
over to eat. Now and then it would nonchalantlytake a crumb foritself.
One day it pelted with rain, and I idled away the hours in my dark, shuttered
room. The air inside was sultry,and I feltgloomy and stale. In the afternoonI
finallyslipped on some shoes and a raincoat, and stepped out aimlesslyinto the
drivingrain. Not wanting to returnhome the same way, I strode ahead recklessly
along the road by the railroad tracksas far as the next station,Yumachi, the rain
beating against my face. I got soaked to the skin, and steam rose fromunder my
raincoat; but the stalenesshad gone and the blood surged throughmy veins.
The water lilies I saw on the way growing in a reservoirwere a trulylovely
sight.The steel-graywater, nestled in a wood, was dotted with the white flowers,
faintlyvisible in the rain. One could not hope to see more beautifulflowersin a
rainstorm.
Tamatsukuri spa is about half a mile up the glen fromYumachi, but the train
came rightaway and I took it into town. On my way home I stopped at a private
boarding house, located in a back alley of Tonomachi in Matsue. The place was
run by a woman with her child and I always ate my evening meals there. By
sundown the rain had subsided. I left the boarding house a while later, and
although it was still windy, the rain had stopped-after I had gone ahead and
borrowed a cottonrobe and an umbrella and a pair of rain clogs. The mugginess
had leftthe air and the night was cool and fresh. A dull white half-moonshone
dimlyabove the commercialdisplay center,an old Western-stylebuilding painted
white. Patches of clouds, pale against the night sky, blew restlesslyacross the
heavens.
I felt pleasantly tired and replete and unusually relaxed. In fact I felt too
relaxed to stay up the whole night working. All I wanted to do was fall asleep
reading an easy book. When I got home I spread out my bedding and lay down.
Nothing I had in the way of reading material really appealed to me and I ended
up leafingthrougha translatednovel that I had already begun, intendingto doze
rightoff.Being accustomed to stayingup so late at night,however, I had trouble
fallingasleep. The more I tried,the wider awake I became.
I had read I do not know how many pages when suddenly I heard a chorus of
squawks coming fromthe chickencoop along with a thrashingsound in one of the
wooden cages and finallythe carpenter and his wife, who came yelling out of
their house. I raised my head frommy pillow and listened carefully.No doubt
a weasel or cat had been caught tryingto raid the coop, I thoughtto myself.The
racket died down at once and I could hear only the hens clucking. The couple
talked fora while outside,but presentlytheywent back in and all was quiet again.

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228 Monumenta XXXII, 2
Nipponica,
Anyway, the chickenswere safe, I thought,and I soon dropped offto sleep.
The next day was clear and windless.As usual the carpenter'swifebroughtover
some hot coals as soon as I had slid open the shutters.When she saw me she said:
'A cat killed one of the chickenslast night.'
I made no reply.
'It was a hen,' the woman continued. 'It could have gottenaway easily enough,
but it died tryingto protectits chicks.'
'How dreadful,' I said.
'Those are its chicks over there.'
'What about the cat?' I asked.
'It got away.'
'I'm sorryto hear that.'
'We'll trap it forsure tonight,though.'
'You really thinkso?'
'We'll get it, you'll see.'
The chicks, huddled in the butterbursgrowing by the moat, were peeping
forlornly.They looked up at me when I approached, and as soon as one of them
got up theyall followedsuit. Craning theirnecksforward,theynearlytrippedover
themselvesin theirhurryto get away.
'Will they be all rightwithout theirmother?' I asked the woman.
'Oh, they'll make it,' she said.
'Won't any of the other hens take care of them?'
'No.'
The otherhens made no effortat all to befriendthe orphaned chicks. One hen
pecked excitedly at their heads and rumps and chased them away when they
tried to join its own, slightlyolder chicks and burrow with them under its wing.
The orphaned chicks banded togetherby themselves,a helpless lot, and looked
uneasily about the yard.
That evening the chicken that the cat had killed was served for dinner at the
carpenter'stable. I noticed the head, bloodied and gashed, which had been tossed
out into the yard. Its half-openeyes and beak seemed to be pleading forrevenge.
The orphaned chicks gathered timidlyaround the head, but they apparently did
not realize that it had once belonged to their mother. One of the chicks took a
peck at the flesh,which looked like a ripe pomegranate that had split open. The
head bounced in the sand with every peck. I hoped that my neighbors would
succeed that nightin catching the cat.
Late that night the cat was finallytrapped. The couple tied some straw rope
tightlyaround the cage which they had used to trap the animal in, talking ex-
citedly all the while. 'It won't get away now,' I heard the carpenter say. 'I'll
drown it, cage and all, in the moat tomorrow.'
They went back inside. I turned again to my writing,but the cries of the cat
strugglingto get out of the cage bothered me. I began to feel sorryforthe animal

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 SHIGA: 'Dwellingby the Moat' 229
when I thoughtthat it had but one nightto live, but thereseemed to be nothingI
could do about it.
The cat quieted down fora momentonly to startup again suddenly,struggling
and howling forall it was worth. It clawed noisilyat the cage. When it realized
finallythat its strugglingwas to no avail, it raised a plaintive, incessant meow.
With every meow I found myselfgrowing more and more sympatheticwith its
plight. I wanted to help it in some way if it were at all possible.
The cat kept up its meowing for a very long time, but when it realized that
this too was useless it began screeching at the top of its lungs and struggling
furiously.It tried one tack, then the other, over and over again, until finallyit
gave up altogetherand sank into silence.
It made me feeluneasy to thinkthat somethingcompletelyalive at that moment
would turn into a dead object at the firstsign of daylight. The only thingscon-
scious then,in those stillhours beforedawn, were the cat and myself.It saddened
me to thinkthat one of us was fated to have its lifesnuffedout the next morning.
What cat, especially a vagrant alley cat, would notkill a chicken if it had the
chance? It was only natural that it would try to. That is why people prepare
for such contingencieswhen raising chickens. Rather than blame the cat for
raiding the chicken coop, one ought to blame the person who forgotto close the
cage lid because therehappened to be a downpour. It seemed to me that the cat
ought to be pardoned just this once and set free. I saw these things now in a
very differentlight than I had done when watching the orphaned chicks earlier
that day.
But the factremained, therewas really nothingI could do. This was something
about which I could not so much as lifta finger.I was quite at a loss what to do in
such a situation. I feltsorryforthe orphaned chicks and I feltsorryforthe dead
motherhen. And now that the cat had been caught I feltsorryforit as well-the
cause of all the misfortune.But knowingthat the-couple next door had no inten-
tion whatsoeverof sparing the cat's life,I feltthat I lacked the freedomto act on
my sympathiesforthe animal. I could only stand aside and let events take their
course. It was not out of indifferencethat I did this. If it was indifference,I
thoughtthat thisindeed was what divine indifferencemustbe all about. I suppose
that I-a mortal afterall, a human being endowed with free will-could justly
be criticizedforpresumingto look on, godlike, with such cold indifference.But it
all seemed to me to be the workingsof immovable Fate, and I could not bring
myselfto lifta fingerin the cat's defense.
By the time I awoke the followingday, the cat was dead and buried, and the
cage used forthe trap was airing in the sun, nearly dry.

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