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322 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 30, 1929

‘Instead of the dusty air that made her throat itch, a faint mint-like fragrance—permeated deeply into her lungs. ‘Just our sleeves brushing against each other is a sign of a tie from a previous life,’ they said to each other. Searching through the list item by item, she found it: Tempura noodles. Sprinkling the noodles with chili pepper and blowing at the steam, they began to ply their chopsticks. The letters—Rosa was a woman, just as she was. The women opened the package of natsumikan—.’
‘The movie began. First they saw footage of famous sights—Matsushima, Enoshima, Kyoto—but the projector was rattling and at times they could see nothing. Images began suddenly to overlap, doubling and tripling in a dizzying confusion until the projector light went out and the screen abruptly turned blank.’
‘Next they showed one foreign and one Japanese movie, but the celluloid was so badly scratched that everything seemed streaked with rain. What was worse, the film seemed to have broken in places and been spliced together, imparting jerky movements to the actors. Yet no one cared about that. Everyone was completely engrossed in the film. When a shapely foreign actress appeared, they snorted like pigs and whistled.’
‘The foreign movie dealt with the history of “developing the West.” Though relentlessly attacked by savages and struck down by merciless nature, settlers bounced back to their feet and went on extending the railroad yard by yard. Along the way towns were erected overnight, springing up like railway spikes. And as the railroad advanced, more and more towns kept cropping up. The movie showed the manifold hardships that arose from all this, weaving into the narrative a ‘love story’ of a labourer and a corporation director’s daughter.’
‘The movie climaxed with an embrace between the corporation director’s daughter and the labourer, who had magically mutated into a gentleman. This was followed by a short foreign film, mindless buffoonery that made everyone laugh.’
‘Masses of such surplus people, like beans scooped up in a pan, were driven away from the countryside and flowed into the cities. All of them dreamed of saving up a bit of money and returning home. But once they began to work—they struggled like fledglings trapped in sticky rice–cake until they were thrown out of work as stark naked as the day they were born. They could not go home again. To survive the winter in snowy Hokkaido—they had to ‘sell’ their bodies as cheaply as dirt. Though they had done it over and over, they would calmly (if such a word is appropriate) do the same again the following year.’
‘Among the company of fishermen there were some from Hokkaido’s cultivated interior, others who had been sold into railway construction, wanderers who had gone broke in countless places, and still others who were content so long as they could just get enough to drink. Mixed among them were also farmers from around Aomori—It was highly convenient for the employers to assemble such a crew of unorganised migrant workers.’
‘—Shukutsu lighthouse, flashing each time it revolved, penetrated the grey expanse of sea-like fog. Endless threads of brown viscous rain fell into an opaque sea of the same color—Entering the Sōya Strait—Workers wilted, their eyes looked unhappy and seasick, and they vomited. The hard outline of the snowy mountains of Karafuto could be glimpsed now and then through the round porthole windows streaked with spraying waves—crashing against them and breaking up into torrents of foam, then flowing away, sliding past the windows like a diorama.’
‘Whenever the fishermen and workers ‘lost’ to the seamen by killing fewer crabs, they were made to feel that they had failed—although the work brought them no benefits at all. The manager clapped his hands with delight. Winning one day, losing the next, vowing not to lose again—days of absurdly intensive work continued, till their hands oozed blood. The manager knew even better than they did just how much abuse a human body could tolerate—simply used up tens of thousands of workers whom they could buy more cheaply than guinea pigs, then throw away. It was easier than discarding used tissues! Women and children did not even raise an eyebrow at such sights. Accustomed to them all, expressionless, they merely pushed—churning out profits.’
‘When men who support a family by selling themselves as labour power become unable to sell that commodity, the only way for that family to survive is for its women to take on much cheaper forms of wage labour agonisingly close to prostitution. The only choices are working at an eatery or a cheap noodle restaurant, and after that, selling one’s body. Yamada thinks that unless millions of women—can be helped, the movement will not truly take root.’
‘—the town stretched like a snail embracing the sea. One of them spit out a cigarette he had smoked down to his fingertips. The stub fell skimming the tall side of the ship, turning playfully every which way. The man reeked of liquor. Steamships with red bulging bellies rose from the water; others being loaded with cargo leaned hard to one side as if tugged down by the sea. There were thick yellow smokestacks, large bell-like buoys, launches scurrying like bedbugs among ships. Bleak whirls of oil soot, scraps of bread, and rotten fruit floated on the waves as if forming some fabric. Blown by the wind, smoke drifted over waves wafting a stifling smell of coal. From time to time a harsh rattle of winches traveling along the waves reverberated against the flesh. The air was stifling, filled with the sour stench of rotten fruit.’
‘In June 2008, on a stroll through the sloping grounds of a lovely Buddhist temple in Kyoto’s western hills, the subject of Takiji came up in a conversation—the infernal atmosphere of The Crab Cannery Ship struck millions as a fitting metaphor for their own predicament—My approach to the translation has been extraordinarily simple: I have tried to imagine and construct the sort of literary text that Takiji himself would be most likely to produce were he writing now, and in English.’