So, even though I'd firmly resolved to make a book no matter what, I couldn't get my hands on any paper.
From a Japanese person's intuition, you could walk into a home center and pick up five hundred sheets of copy paper for around two hundred yen. But in the world where I now lived, a single sheet of parchment would swallow an entire month of my father's salary.
One sheet of parchment referred to the largest hide from a sheep that had been skinned, shaved, and put up for sale as parchment. When cut into usable sizes, that yielded roughly one sheet. The one I'd spotted at Dad's workplace was about the size of A4 paper.
Even if I somehow cut that single sheet of parchment and used it, I'd get maybe five to eight pieces at most. Put simply, parchment was far too expensive for a commoner to buy enough to write a book.
In other words, before I could make a book, I needed to make paper.
But here's the thing — my knowledge of papermaking was limited to what I'd read in books. After all, paper was something you could just buy at the store.
What a luxury it was to live in a world where paper came that easily.
Long live
On top of that, even if I wanted to make paper, there was not a single machine to be found here. With no machines, every step of the process would have to be done entirely by hand.
Sure, you'd expect that in a world reborn without machines, right?
You'd think, "Well, you've read about it, so you've got the knowledge — just go for it!"
...But please, think about this for a moment.
Here I was — a hopeless, good-for-nothing Japanese person who, despite loving to read, couldn't even be bothered with daily household chores that required electronics. Could someone like that suddenly make paper by hand? And to make matters worse, my body right now was that of a small child — frail and sickly, with an extremely narrow range of what I could do and what I was allowed to do.
Conclusion.
There was no way I could pull it off.
However, it was still too early to give up.
Politically and economically, records had been kept throughout
The older the history, the more likely it was that I could reproduce the methods with what I had now.
Hmm, what did people do before machines?
I furrowed my brow and spread the hand of a five-year-old girl — body-wise, barely the size of a three-year-old's — as wide as it would go.
Ancient civilization, ancient civilization... Speaking of ancient civilizations, the Egyptians!
Speaking of the Egyptians, papyrus!
Long live Egyptian civilization!
Through that chain of association, I hit on the idea of making papyrus-like paper using Egyptian civilization as my model. If it was an invention from ancient times, maybe even a small child like me could manage it somehow.
They'd used some kind of plant — straight fibers from trees or grass, I was pretty sure... probably. There were plants here too. There had to be plenty of plants suitable for use as papermaking material growing wild in the forest.
Right. The forest. Let's go to the forest.
I was a woman whom even my family and
Once an idea hit, I moved on it immediately. So I promptly went and begged Turi to take me.
"Turi, I want to go to the forest too. Together—"
"Eh?! You, Mine?! No way!"
I was shot down before I could even finish. The reflex speed said there wasn't even room to consider it.
And the fact that she said "no way" instead of just "no" made it sound like "there's absolutely no room for reconsideration," which stung.
"Why not?"
"Because you can't walk that far, Mine! You can't even make it to the Gate, so the forest is totally out of the question. When you get to the forest, you're picking up firewood and foraging for nuts, you know? There's no time for nice leisurely breaks. Plus, you can't climb trees, right? And on the way back, you're tired AND carrying heavy loads while walking! You have to get back before the Gate closes, so no matter how exhausted you are, you can't rest! See, it's impossible for you, Mine!"
As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, Turi started counting off the reasons Mine couldn't go to the forest on her fingers. A few too many, maybe, but every single one boiled down to "no stamina."
"On top of that, winter's almost here, so there's less and less to forage in the forest..."
Turi said that we might go all the way there exhausted and come back with almost nothing.
That was pretty brutal.
Either try the forest on the off chance we'd find something, or give up on papermaking entirely...
This was way too hard.
"What are you looking for? I don't think there are many Meriya fruit left?"
Turi tilted her head, seeing me deep in thought.
Meriya fruit was what I'd used to make Simple-chan Rinshan. The fruit Turi had picked had all been preserved as oil since none of it was edible. I occasionally put some in my hair for moisture.
Meriya was a blessing, but what mattered more than beauty was the book. I needed plant fibers to use as the raw material for my papyrus-like paper.
"Um, is there any kind of plant where the fibers separate easily?"
"Huh? What?"
She asked me back with a suspicious look on her face. This was definitely a face that said "that makes zero sense in Japanese."
Hmm, I thought for a moment and tried to rephrase it in the simplest terms possible.
"...A grass with sort of thick, straight stems. I only need the stems."
Turi heard my words and went "Hmm," thinking it over. Maybe something was jogging her memory. I waited intently for her answer.
After a little while, Turi gave a helpless shrug and opened her mouth.
"Well, I'll try asking
"Huh?"
Try asking for their help — not asking, but trying?
When I tilted my head in confusion over the wording, Turi seemed a bit surprised by my reaction. She blinked several times and tilted her head as if to say, "What are you talking about now?"
"Ralph's family keeps chickens, so they've got tons of feed stored up for the winter, right?"
Well, even if you say "right?" — I wouldn't know.
Turi was saying it as if it were common knowledge, so I hid my inner thoughts and just went along with it, giving an "I see."
"So, I'm thinking of offering to help them gather grass in exchange for some of the stems. But the grass-gathering season is already over, so there won't be that many."
"That's still fine. Thank you, Turi."
As expected of Turi. What a good big sister.
The next day, I went downstairs with Turi before she headed to the forest and asked Ralph and Lutz too. I was relieved they agreed, but I couldn't just leave everything to Turi and the others.
I'd go gather grass myself too. Fortunately, around the well, there was grass growing everywhere except on the cobblestone patches. Maybe I could use those stems.
"Mom, I want to go with you to the well."
"Oh, you want to help?"
"No. Not that."
Sorry for bursting your bubble there, Mom, but I had to set the record straight. If I was helping with laundry, there'd be no way I could collect grass.
"I'm going to gather grass."
I said that and showed her the small basket Turi had made before.
"Alright, do your best."
Even though I'd flat-out turned down helping with laundry, Mom didn't refuse my coming along — maybe she didn't want to crush my sudden burst of motivation, or maybe she was just happy that I had the energy to move.
With Mom carrying the laundry, I descended the stairs once again. This was already my second round trip today, and just that alone left me winded, let alone picking grass.
I took a short break beside Mom, who was scrubbing away with a foul-smelling animal-fat soap that produced absolutely no lather. Just as Turi had said, there was no way I could make it to the forest without improving my stamina.
"Oh my, if it isn't Mine!"
"Good morning."
"Oh,
I didn't recognize her, but an aunt named Karla called out to me in a friendly tone. Mom was chatting with her warmly too, so she was definitely someone Mine knew. Who was she? I tried to keep that question off my face while digging through my memories.
She was someone I did know after all. According to my memories, she was — of all people — the mother of Ralph and Lutz. A rather, well, sturdy-looking woman who radiated an air of utter reliability.
What was I supposed to say here? "You've always been so kind to me"?
No, no, no matter what, that wasn't very five-year-old of me.
What did kids actually say to the friendly aunt of someone they were supposed to know?
Somebody help me!
While my thoughts spun in circles, Aunt Karla set to work pumping water from the well without looking like it was any effort at all and began doing her laundry. Sure enough, she was using that stinky animal-fat soap.
"You're full of energy today! It's rare to see you outside."
"I'm gathering grass. Ralph and Lutz said they were collecting some for the chickens."
"Oh my, for our place? How sweet of you!"
She answered in a breezy tone that didn't sound like she felt the least bit sorry about it. Aunt Karla scrubbed and scrubbed away, chatting the whole time with a group of mothers that included my own.
Incidentally, every single mother was chatting away without their hands ever stopping. Impressive.
And still — that soap stank to high heaven.
Would it help to try some kind of deodorizing herb? Or would mixing scent on top of scent just create an even worse stench?
While improvement ideas floated through my head, I got up and started tearing at the grass around me. I tried to pick ones with thick stems that looked like they had sturdy fibers, but whenever I found one, I was too weak to actually tear it.
Bare hands were a no-go. Somebody bring me a sickle!
Of course, no sickle was going to materialize, and there was no way I could tear the stuff bare-handed either.
Forget it. I'd just leave it to Turi, who was heading to the forest, and to Ralph and Lutz, who were working hard for the chickens.
I gave up early on getting stems for myself and instead started picking soft leaves and buds that the chickens might eat. This much, even I could handle without a problem.
"Mine, time to go!"
Mom had apparently finished the laundry already. She stood there holding the tightly wrung bundle of clothes and called for me. My small basket was barely half full, but Mom had work today, so I couldn't exactly throw a tantrum.
I hugged the small basket and headed home.
"Ready? Then let's go."
"Mm."
Ever since I'd become Mine, between having fevers and Mom taking time off to care for me, I'd been living an indoor life, so I hadn't known this — but when I wasn't feverish and was healthy, I'd apparently been left in the care of a neighborhood babysitting aunt.
That was the only way Turi could go off to the forest. It made sense.
"Mom's heading to work, but Mine, I need you to behave yourself here, okay?"
"Mm."
"
"Yes, yes. Come here, Mine."
At Gerda's place — where babysitting was her profession — several children around my age had been left in her care. Most of them were barely past the toddler stage, tottering around on unsteady legs.
In this town, once you passed the age of three and your stamina improved, older brothers or sisters would take you to the forest, or you could help around the house and watch over things by yourself.
In other words, my current stamina was on par with a toddler's, and my family apparently didn't trust me to stay home alone.
What the—!?
I was stunned by my family's evaluation of me, and right in front of me, a little boy was trying to put a toy he'd picked up off the floor into his mouth. Next to him, a tiny girl had started crying after getting hit by the boy.
"Hey, that's dirty! Don't put things in your mouth!"
"Oh dear."
"You can't just hit someone! What did you do that for?"
"There, there."
Even though I was supposedly one of the kids being babysat, being the oldest meant I ended up watching over everyone around me.
"There, there" and "oh dear" weren't going to cut it!
Gerda, do your job!
While helping Gerda put the smaller children to sleep, I thought about how to make papyrus-like paper from the stems once they arrived.
Honestly, I couldn't remember how papyrus was actually made.
Because that kind of thing never showed up on exams.
I vaguely recalled a note in the corner of a page saying that papyrus looked pretty stiff, with fibers running both vertically and horizontally, and since the fiber direction differed between the front and back, you could only write on one side and it wasn't suitable for folding. But how to actually make it — naturally — wasn't mentioned.
The problem was, I couldn't recall anything about how to make papyrus beyond what I'd seen in pictures.
I remembered that the fibers seemed to run in straight lines somehow, but how did they stick together? Did you need something glue-like, the way you did with Japanese paper?
I tilted my head, trying to recall the lackluster history reference material I'd seen.
For now, how about I take the fibers from the stiffest-looking stems and weave them in a crosshatch pattern, like fabric? Without anything glue-like, this might work.
Parchment was basically fabric anyway, and this was my first attempt at papyrus-like paper — as long as I could write on it, that was good enough.
"Mine, we came to pick you up!"
"Turiiii!"
That evening, Turi and the others stopped by on their way back from the forest to fetch me.
Saved. I was so happy they'd come for me. Still riding that feeling, I threw myself at Turi in a crushing hug.
Gerda's idea of babysitting wasn't so much looking after kids as it was leaving them in a place where they wouldn't get hurt. If someone wet themselves, she'd wipe it with a damp cloth and then just... leave them. The whole room smelled of filth.
With my Japanese common sense still clamped firmly in my brain, witnessing the childcare situation here was genuinely painful.
And to charge a babysitting fee for that — outrageous.
But even if I wanted to do something about it, it was beyond my capabilities. My tiny hands couldn't manage proper childcare, and I wasn't even sure if Gerda's methods were considered normal around here. If I reported her, I might come across as the weird one.
The time I spent desperately wishing for the pickup to come sooner so I could escape this wretched environment was nothing short of agony.
"What's wrong, Mine? Were you lonely since it was your first time being left behind for a while?"
"If only Mine had a bit more stamina, she could come to the forest with us."
"I hope you can build up your stamina by spring."
Turi patted my head, and Ralph and Lutz comforted me too. I realized with full force that I truly needed to build up my stamina. It was all because of my lack of strength.
"Oh, right! The grass stems we promised — we got 'em!"
Ralph thrust a fistful of stems from the basket in my face. In that instant, Gerda vanished from my mind entirely.
Forget the old lady. Books. Paper.
"That's a lot! I'm so happy! Oh, and today I gathered some grass near the well too!"
When I reported this with my chest puffed out, all three of them patted my head for some reason.
On top of that, Lutz — Mr. Condescending Look — gave me a lukewarm smile and said, "Good job."
Hey, just how little of a worker do you think I am?
...Well, okay, I really hadn't been doing much.
I exchanged the grass in the small basket Turi had gathered for me with the bundle of stems the three of them had collected.
Alright — time to make papyrus-like paper!
Papermaking: First Challenge — Papyrus-like Paper.
For actual papyrus, you thinly shave the stems. Soak them in water for about two days to let bacteria multiply. Layer them on top of cloth repeatedly. Cover with more cloth, crush the fiber structure with a mallet or similar tool, then press with a roller or press for several days to dehydrate. Let it dry slowly in the shade. Finally, smooth the surface with shells or stone, trim the edges, and you're done.
Mine, who doesn't know the proper method, decided to just weave it like fabric.
Next time: entering Winter Preparations!