七 1

I moved out of my lodgings that very night. When I got back to the inn and started packing, the landlady said, "Has something displeased you, sir? If there is something that angers you, tell me and I shall mend my ways." I was utterly taken aback. How is it that the world is filled with such hopelessly obtuse people? One can't tell if they want you to leave or to stay. They're completely mad. Picking a fight with such folk would disgrace the name of an Edo man, so I had a rickshaw summoned and briskly got out of there.

Out I was, but I had no particular destination in mind. When the rickshaw man asked where to, I told him to shut up and follow me, that he'd find out soon enough, and strode off. I considered going to Yamiyacho for the trouble-free option, but since I'd only have to move again, it was simply a bother. As I walked, I figured I'd keep an eye out for some boarding house or other with a sign, and wherever I ended up, that would be my lodgings by heaven's will. Wandering round and round through quiet, pleasant-looking streets, I somehow ended up on Kajiya Street. This was a district of samurai residences, not the sort of place with boarding houses, so I thought of turning back toward the livelier parts, but then a good idea struck me. My revered friend Uranari lives in this neighborhood. Being a local whose family has held its estate for generations, he must surely know the lay of the land. If I called on him, he might point me to a decent lodging. Fortunately I'd paid a visit once and knew the way, so no trouble of searching was needed. Figuring it was about here, I took a rough guess and called out "Excuse me, excuse me" a couple of times. From the back, a fifty-ish old woman came out with an old-fashioned paper candle lit. I don't dislike young women, but seeing an old woman always gives me a nostalgic feeling. Probably because I love O-Kiyo, and her spirit possesses old ladies here and there. This must be Uranari's mother. A dignified woman with a formal hairstyle, she greatly resembles Uranari. When she said "Do come in," I said I just wished to see him, and had the master called to the entryway. I asked, "The truth is such and such—do you happen to know of a place?" Uranari's mother said, "Mr. Uranari must be in quite a fix," thought a moment, then said, "In the back lane there is an old couple, the Haginos, living alone. Once they asked me to find them a tenant, saying it was a waste to keep a room empty with no one sure to come. I don't know if they still let it, but let us go together and ask." She kindly took me there.

That night I became a lodger at the Haginos'. What astonished me was that the day after I vacated the silver room at Ika's, Noda moved in without a blink, occupying the very room I'd had. Even I was floored by this. The world is all swindlers, perhaps all taking each other in. I grew sick of it.

If the world is such, I too must not lose, must live by its standards or be undone. If it's settled that one can't eat three meals without skimming the top off pickpockets' takings, then living itself is questionable. But with this hale and hearty body, hanging myself would wrong my ancestors and look bad besides. Thinking it over, rather than entering the Physics School and learning useless arts like mathematics, I'd have done better to start a milk business with six hundred yen capital. Then O-Kiyo needn't have left my side, and I wouldn't worry about the old woman from afar. While we lived together it didn't seem so, but coming to the country like this, O-Kiyo is after all a good soul. A woman so gentle is rare in all Japan. Old woman, when I left she had a slight cold; I wonder how she is now. She must have been delighted to get my letter the other day. Even so, a reply should be due soon—I spent two or three days with such thoughts.

Because it nagged at me, I'd ask the lodging's old woman from time to time, "Any letter from Tokyo?" and each time she'd say none had come, with a sorry look. Unlike Ika's, this couple were both refined, being of samurai stock. The old man's nightly weird-voiced singing is a nuisance, but unlike Ika's they don't barge in with "Tea?" which is a great relief. The old woman sometimes comes to my room and chats. She asked, "Why did you not bring your wife and come together?" "Do I look like I have a wife? Poor thing, I'm only twenty-four," I said. She replied, "Even so, at twenty-four having a wife is only natural, zo na mo shi," and citing half a dozen examples—so-and-so took a bride at twenty, what's-her-name had two children at twenty-two—tried to refute me, which quite floored me. I mimicked the country tongue and asked, "Then shall I take a bride at twenty-four? Will you arrange it?" The old woman honestly asked, "Truly, zo na mo shi?"

"Truly truly, I'm just dying for a bride."

"So it is, mo shi. In youth all are thus." To this greeting I was so pierced I could not answer.

"But sir, you surely already have a wife. I see it plainly, zo na mo shi."

"Eh, a sharp eye. How do you see it?"

"How? You ask if letters come from Tokyo, if letters come, daily pining for post, zo na mo shi."

"This is a shock. A terrible sharp eye."

"It hits, mo shi."

"Yes. It may have hit."

"But modern women differ from old; one must beware, zo na mo shi."

"What, does my wife keep a lover in Tokyo?"

"No, your wife is certain..."

"Then I'm relieved. What to beware, then?"

"Yours is certain—yours is certain, but—"

"Where is the uncertain one?"

"Many about here. Sir, know you Miss Tōyama, zo na mo shi?"

"No, never heard."

"Not yet? She's the greatest beauty hereabouts, zo na mo shi. Such a beauty the school teachers all call her Madonna, Madonna, zo na mo shi. Not heard, zo na mo shi?"

"Hm, Madonna? I thought it a geisha's name."

"No, sir. Madonna is a foreign word for beauty, zo na mo shi."

"Perhaps. Astonishing."

"Likely the art teacher named her, zo na mo shi."

"Noda did?"

"No, Mr. Yoshikawa did, zo na mo shi."

"Is that Madonna uncertain?"

"That Madonna is an uncertain Madonna, mo shi."

"Troublesome. Women with nicknames are never any good since olden times. Perhaps so."

"Truly so, zo na mo shi. Like Demon O-Matsu, like Daji O-Hyaku—fearsome women there were, zo na mo shi."

"Is Madonna of that ilk?"

"That Madonna, sir. She was promised to Mr. Koga who arranged your stay here, zo na mo shi—"

"Eh, strange. I never thought Uranari such a lucky rogue. Man is not by looks. I'll take care."

"But last year her father died—till then money and bank stock, all well—then suddenly the living went ill, Koga too good-hearted, deceived, zo na mo shi. Amid delays of the bridal, the head teacher came and pressed to wed her, zo na mo shi."

"That Red Shirt? Vile wretch. I thought that shirt no ordinary shirt. And then?"

"Through go-betweens, Tōyama owed Koga face, could not answer quick, said think on it, zo na mo shi. Then Red Shirt sought entry to Tōyama's, and lo, tamed the daughter, zo na mo shi. Red Shirt is Red Shirt, but the girl is the girl, all speak ill, zo na mo shi. Having agreed to Koga, now a bachelor comes and she'd switch—how answer to today's gods, zo na mo shi, sir?"

"Truly no answer. Not today's gods nor tomorrow's nor the next, never in eternity."

"Then pitying Koga, friend Hotta went remonstrate the head teacher; Red Shirt said, 'I mean not steal the promised; if broke I might take, but now only social with Tōyama, no wrong to Koga,' so Hotta returned helpless. Since, Red Shirt and Hotta ill-matched, the talk, zo na mo shi."

"You know much. How so detailed? Admirable."

"Narrow place, all known, zo na mo shi."

Known too much, a nuisance. At this rate they may know my tempura and dumplings. Troublesome place. But thanks I learn Madonna's meaning and the Yamakaze-Red Shirt tie, much instructive. Only trouble: which is villain unclear. Simple me needs black-or-white or knows not whose side.

"Red Shirt and Yamakaze, which is—

“Stories of the world, in your language.”