Something Like an Autobiography - Akira Kurosawa [43]
Finally the boys set a condition on allowing me to dive into the whirlpool. They would all tie their kimono sashes together and tie this sash rope around my waist. That way, if anything happened, they would have a hold on me and could pull me out of the water. But this rope of sashes nearly proved to be the death of me.
I had taken lessons in the Kankairyŭ swimming style from the time I entered middle school. I had been made to swim under a huge cargo junk as part of these lessons. At that time exactly what the teacher had told me would happen occurred. When I reached the midpoint under the belly of the ship, I was suddenly sucked against its bottom boards. But, exactly as the teacher had told me, I did not panic. Instead, I turned over. My back had been pinned to the junk but now I pushed off with all four limbs and swam on.
Since I had had this experience with the junk, a mere whirlpool seemed like nothing to me. But no sooner did I dive into the whirlpool than I was pinned to the bottom of the river. Recalling the junk, I repeated over and over to myself, “Don’t panic,” and I tried to crawl along the river bottom, away from the whirlpool. But the boys on the bank were pulling on the sash rope tied around my waist with all their might, so I couldn’t move at all. I did panic. But I still couldn’t move. I had no choice but to try crawling in the direction from which I was being pulled by the waist, against the current. After what seemed like hours of extreme pain and abject terror, I began to float toward the surface. I kicked my feet and shot out of the water. Once again the village boys were all standing there with pale faces and staring at me with eyes as round as saucers.
There was a reason I gave them such adventures. As I have explained already, it was only on rainy days in Toyokawa Village that I was not turned out of the house after breakfast with a two-meal lunchbox. My life-style was the exact expression of the phrase “working in fair weather and reading in wet.” When it rained, I’d read books or occasionally look at my homework but not really do much of it. On these days I had the use of the small room where the shelf for the Shinto gods was. One day while I was reading, the head of the household came and took from a drawer or bookshelf under the god shelf what he said was the Kurosawa genealogy chart.
Looking at the family tree, I saw the name Abe Sadato (1015–1062), who died in that Battle of Zenkunen that no longer has a train station named after it. From his name there extended a number of lines, but the third one was Kurosawa Jirisaburō. From his name extends one Kurosawa after another. Apparently Abe Sadato’s third son—Kurosawa “Tail End Number Three Son,” to treat his name literally—was the progenitor of my family. It was the first time I had ever heard the name Kurosawa Jirisaburō, but Abe Sadato was a very familiar name. In the history books he is mentioned as a famous warrior of northern Japan. His father was the Genji warrior Yoritoki, and his younger brother, Abe Muneto. He defied the orders of the imperial court and went to war with Minamoto Yoriyoshi, where he met his end. The fact that he was a traitor and died in a losing battle was a little disappointing, but he was Kurosawa Jirisaburō’s father, and if I had to pick an ancestor to admire, it was Sadato who cut the best figure. And somehow I became courageous.
The result of my newfound courage was climbing the waterfall tunnel, slipping and going over the falls and later diving into a whirlpool. Not very smart. But even though I pursued such foolishness, in the course of this one summer vacation this particular descendant of Abe Sadato became considerably more robust.
My Aunt Togashi
AS I FINISH my stories about Akita Prefecture, there is one person I must write about. This person is my father’s older sister, who married into the Togashi family in the