City Youth Summer

Author: (Japanese) Sato Sanmu
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-12-01
Features: This is the sister novel to Toki no Kagi no Uta, a profound and thought-provoking work by Professor Sato Sanmu that deeply portrays Izu culture. The novel is set against the backdrop of the beautiful Tōkai Mountain and, through the perspective of "I" (Kazushi), a child, meticulously describes the grandfather's journey from illness to death and the subsequent funeral process, revealing the complex social relationships and emotional journeys within a large family.
One summer afternoon. From that day on, I bid farewell to my youth. That summer was unusually hot. Days of relentless scorching heat had dried up the entire country of Japan, making it feel as if it were turning into a desert. TV news reported that all weather forecasts were inaccurate, with some places even holding ceremonies to pray for rain. The farmers, who had been desperately trying to combat drought and protect their crops, were bewildered and at a loss. "This is getting serious," my father whispered to my mother before retreating back inside. "Shouldn’t we notify the relatives?" my mother asked quietly behind him. But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.
At that time, I was particularly fond of playing. As usual, I was about to go swimming with my friends when I returned home to get my swim trunks. Suddenly, my father called me over. "Kazushi, your grandfather is ill." "What’s wrong with Grandfather?" I didn’t know what had happened to him, but I followed my father into the large room with tatami mats. Upon entering, the white coats of the doctor and nurse who frequently treated my grandfather immediately caught my eye. For a moment, the white coats made the room feel cooler, but they also filled it with a tense atmosphere. However, I felt relieved because the doctor had arrived, and that was the first thought that crossed my mind. But the doctor didn’t even glance at us; instead, he swiftly moved the stethoscope over my grandfather’s still body as if performing a prescribed action. Grandfather remained motionless. I quietly sat behind my father, nervously peering inside. The room was filled with the unusually loud snoring of my grandfather. I thought he was just sleeping. That snoring revealed his strong vitality, and I felt as if he would soon open his eyes and speak to me. His voice was a bit hoarse, and his eyes still seemed playful.
As a child, I often snuggled into Grandfather’s bed, urging him to tell me stories about the past. When he was drunk or drowsy, the story would suddenly stop in the middle of an interesting part. I’d look up and realize he had already fallen asleep. When Grandfather told stories about his own childhood, he would become animated, transporting me to one magical world after another. The stories he told about mountains and rivers were like fairy tales, making them so unbelievable that I couldn’t help but doubt them. Wasn’t it? My grandfather knew Tōkai Mountain like the back of his hand. He knew where to find the best mountain vegetables and herbs, and he knew where the birds and animals were most abundant. Once, I asked Grandfather to take me to Tōkai Mountain to see the blooming azaleas. The excitement I felt then remains unforgettable. Grandfather said that in spring, the rivers were so full of fish that you could grab them by hand by sticking your fingers into the gaps in the riverbed stones. I couldn’t understand his excitement or enthusiasm, but I just stared at his face in admiration. Grandfather hated lying, so I was always captivated