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Finding motherlike solace in the solid three foot-square pillars, against each pillar a war orphan was planted, having gathered at the station perhaps because it was the only place they could get into, perhaps from a certain yearning for the ever-present crowds, or that there they had water to drink, or yet from the expectation of some capricious handout soon into September first it was burnt sugar dissolved in water poured into drum cans, one full cup for 50 sen that started the black market in the underpass of San’nomiya, in no time steamed potatoes, potato meal dumplings, rice balls, bean paste rice cake, fried rice, red bean soup, bean jam buns, noodles, bowls of rice and fried fish, rice curry-then cake, rice, barley, sugar, tempura, beef, milk, canned goods, fish, cheap spirits, whisky, pears, orangesrubber boots, tire tubes, matches, tobacco, rubber soled tabi, diapers -military blankets, army boots, uniforms, half-length boots-along with men who thrust out just as their wives had packed them that morning alumite lunch boxes stuffed with barley rice, "OK 10 yen, OK 10 yen," then those holding out, dangling on the fingers of one hand, the worn-out shoes they were wearing, "how about 20 yen, 20 yen"-Seita, attracted solely to the smell of food, straying aimlessly about, by selling at a used clothing booth consisting of one laid out straw mat a long woman’s undergarment, an obi, a collar for the undergarment, a waistband, keepsakes from his mother, all soaked in water in an air-raid shelter, their color bleached out, he had managed to keep eating for half a month next his staple fiber middle school uniform, his leggings, his shoes had disappeared, as he thus hesitated about selling even his trousers he became accustomed to passing the nights inside the stationfamilies, parents and children, dressed in full regalia, probably coming back from evacuation in the country, the hoods for warding off sparks still neatly folded, hanging from their canvas bags, rice mess kits, tea kettles, iron helmets dangling from the rucksacks on their backs, in the sense of relief of having made it to their destination would give him as if throwing off their excess baggage the half-rotten rice bran dumplings presumably prepared as emergency rations for the train ride, or he gratefully accepted from the sympathy of a repatriated soldier or the pity of an old lady who had a grandchild of about the same age some left-over bread or parched soybean curd twisted into paper wraps, always laid stealthily in more or less out-of-the-way places as if an offering to Buddha-at times he was chased out by the station employees, but the supplementary military police standing guard at the ticket gate on the contrary drove them away, protecting him, at least there was plenty of water, settling there he became rooted, after half a month he had lost the ability to move.
1 Middle, khaki colored dress carrying white cloth wrappers, Ichiritsu Middle, knapsacks on their backs, Ken’ichi, Shinwa, Shoin, Yamate, and the crowds, feet passing continuously by his side, no need to take notice of him, but suddenly dropping their eyes at the strange smell they hastily jumped aside to avoid Seita -Seita had already lost the power to crawl to the toilet right before his eyes and nose. At night he gazed at the silhouettes of men huddled around their bonfires like pirates, puffed up with self-importance? abusing each other in loud voices, as if nothing had ever happened in the morning girls on their way to school though all wore the same pantaloons he picked out through the shape of the collars of their middy blouses Kobe No. He leaned stoop-shouldered against a bare concrete pillar-its mosaic tile now peeled off-inside the San’-nomiya station of the public intercity line shoreside exit, sitting on the floor, both legs stretched straight out he was burnt to a crisp by the sun, had not washed himself for nearly a month, but the color of Seita’s emaciated cheeks was yet pale, sunken.
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