There was an elderly couple who lived in the mountains. They were the type to offer wandering travellers a place to spend the night. Even when years were tough and the couple had little to eat for themselves they would still hold out their hands to the weary wanderer.

This couple had no children of their own. None of them who lived, that is. It was said that they once had a son who went off to the city to make his fortune. Years after the couple had sent him off they had heard nothing of his well being.

They tried to grasp news from passersby, from their friends down in the valley village, from people they knew were headed off to the city. It was unfortunate that no one knew what had happened to their son.

So the old couple was left to wonder what had become of him. Was he dead or alive? If he was dead then how had he died? Had he made friends who could send his body home for burial? Or have him buried in the city for his parents to come and visit? If he was still alive, then why had he not sent word home? Why had he not come to visit them?

The old mother was distraught, and spent many years weeping through the four seasons. Her husband could only do his best to comfort her, for he, too, was worried that their son had met his end.

One winter, however, when the couple neared their sixtieth years, they heard a knock at the door to their small one-roomed house. The old mother went to answer it, pulling the door open.

She was met with a gust of bitter wind that filled the house. Over by the sunken hearth in the floor the old father shivered and called, "What is the matter?"

But from the door the old mother said nothing. Her guest had to be addressed first.

A small boy no older than ten years stood before her, dressed in a thick, straw coat and hat. He wore high geta sandals that lifted up off the snowy ground. His skin was blue with cold and his little body was trembling feverishly.

Immediately, the old mother invited the boy inside. She and her husband quickly moved to help the boy remove his frozen clothes. They hung the boy’s clothes over the hearth to dry, and dressed him in one of the old father’s kimono.

The little boy looked even smaller wearing the old man’s clothes, but he nestled into them and grinned, bringing his face close to the hearth.

"Who are you, Little One?" asked the old fellow to the child.

The boy reached her hands out to the fire and sighed in relaxation. "I'm your grandson," he told them flatly. He flipped his palms up from the flames so his knuckles could thaw.

The couple was shocked, but upon closer inspection the little boy did somewhat resemble their son. He had the same narrow face and rounded eyes, pale skin and jagged hairline. There was no other indication that they were truly related, so the couple proceeded to ask the boy of his family.

“What is your name?” they asked, and the boy replied with a shrug, “Papa calls me Matsu after the mountain pines.”

“Where is your father?”

“He is out somewhere else tonight.”

“Why did you come here alone?”

The boy turned to face both of them. “Papa said that you would welcome me, so I came alone because he is busy.”

The couple found that his way of speech was similar to that of their son’s. Both had spoken so vaguely, not a word or breath wasted. Perhaps this truly was their little grandson after all.

Over the rest of the night the couple proceed to prod answers from the boy, who eventually told them of his life in the city. His father had gone to work as a clerk for a small bookstore. According to the child the couple's son sat behind the counter every day selling books. The little boy, Matsu, seemed rather happy to talk about his father, almost as though he hadn't seen him in a long while.

When the boy finished his tales, the couple told little Matsu of his father’s childhood. They recalled how one day their boy had tried to climb one of the great pines and gotten stuck in the branches. Too scared to climb down, his father had had to climb up to get him. This made little Matsu laugh, for he’d not known his father had been so silly in his boyhood.

In the meantime, the old mother tended to the fire, making them a small meal of rice and dried plants. She scooped little Matsu's portion in the same bowl his father had eaten from when he was young. How nostalgic it was to have this little boy sitting between them for a meal.

“You must bring your father to visit soon,” they told their grandson.

Matsu gave them a worried look. “Ah, I would, but he’s afraid to come home.” When asked why again little Matsu shook his head. “He won’t tell me why. I think it’s because he went to the city to make his fortune, but ended up not earning a lot of money. I think he'll come back when something good happens, but he said it was alright if I came to visit. He said you must’ve been very lonely without him.”

“We’ve been awaiting his safe return,” said the old mother, who pressed her hands to her heart. She was relieved that her boy was alright.

As for the old father, he hid his tears as he now had a grandson, a new member of the family to love.

That evening, the three of them settled into their straw beds by the dying embers of the hearth. The evening had been quite exciting and they were all tired out.

As the three of them fell asleep, the cold winter wind howled outside their house, carrying down from the mountain a great snowfall.

––––––––––

When spring returned and life returned to the mountain, a woman trekked up to the valley, a clear destination in mind. As she passed a couple of farmers she was asked who she was and where she was going.

The young woman said she was headed up to the mountains, for her in-laws lived there though they did not know who she was. She further explained that her husband had grown up in this village since he was a boy, but he had come to the city looking for work. They’d had a son who lived in the city with them, but he was not with her now.

“Can you point me in the right direction?” the woman asked.

The farmers exchanged uneasy glances, making the woman very confused. “You shouldn’t go up there,” said the first, leaning against one of his long tools.

“And why not?” asked the woman, slightly irritated that they were keeping her from going.

The second farmer shook his head. “They’ve gone,” he said. “Last winter. The old couple has died.”

“Died?” the woman was more confused than ever. “I suppose they were old, but for them both to have died?”

The first farmer nodded solemnly. “They were good people, but they missed their boy. We hadn’t heard from them a while since midwinter, and when someone finally went up to see them they were found cold and dead, curled up around the fire holding onto what looked like a child's robe.”