六 3

"I was just reminiscing about that lady." "Greece again?" the master sneered. "Well, most things that give a sense of beauty trace their origins to Greece, so it can't be helped. An aesthetician and Greece are simply inseparable, you know. — Especially when I watch those dark-skinned schoolgirls exercising with such single-minded devotion, I always recall the anecdote of Agnodice," he prattled on with a knowing air. "You've brought up another difficult name," said Kogora, still grinning. "Agnodice was a remarkable woman; I was truly impressed. At the time, Athenian law forbade women from practicing as midwives. Most inconvenient, wasn't it? Surely Agnodice felt that inconvenience too." "What, this—what's-it-called is—" "A woman, a woman's name. This woman pondered and thought: it's truly pitiful and supremely inconvenient that women cannot become midwives. I must somehow become a midwife; is there no scheme to that end? — and she sat with folded arms for three days and nights in deep thought. Precisely at dawn on the third day, hearing a baby's cry of 'wah' from the neighboring house, she went 'ah, I see' and was suddenly enlightened. Then she promptly cut her long hair, put on men's clothes, and went to attend the lectures of Hierophilus. Having successfully completed the lectures and deemed herself fully competent, she at last opened practice as a midwife. And then, my, how popular she became! Here a 'wah' was born, there a 'wah' was born — all under Agnodice's care, so she made a fortune. But as they say, human affairs are like the old man of Sai's horse; after seven falls come eight risings, and trouble invites further trouble — this secret was at last exposed, and she was charged with violating the imperial prohibition, facing severe punishment." "It sounds just like a street storytelling performance." "Rather good, isn't it? But then all the women of Athens petitioned jointly, so even the magistrate of the time could not give such a wooden-nosed reply, and at last the person was acquitted, with an edict even issued permitting women thenceforth to practice midwifery freely — and thus it ended happily." "You really do know all sorts of things; how admirable." "Oh, I know most things. The only thing I don't know is my own foolishness. But even that, I vaguely know." "Ho ho ho, nothing but amusing things..." As the mistress broke into unrestrained laughter, the lattice door bell rang with the same sound as always. "Oh, another guest," said the mistress, withdrawing to the sitting room. Wondering who it was that entered the parlor just as the mistress passed through, it turned out to be the familiar Ochi Tōfu.

With even Tōfu here, one cannot say that all the eccentrics who frequent the master's house are fully assembled, but at least one must say that enough heads are present to console my boredom. To complain of insufficiency would be ungrateful. Had I been unluckily kept in another house, I might have died without ever realizing that even one such master existed among humankind. Fortunate to be born a kitten under the tutelage of Mr. Kushami, I lie and observe the deeds of not only the master but also Meitei, Kogora, and even Tōfu — a band of one-in-a-thousand heroes rare even in vast Tokyo — an honor beyond my wildest dreams in a thousand ages. Thanks to them, even swaddled in my fur bag in this heat, I forget my plight and pleasantly pass half a day — for which I am deeply grateful. Surely with such a gathering, nothing ordinary will happen. Something will arise, I watch reverently from behind the sliding door.

"I have been remiss in visiting; it has been a while," said Tōfu with a bow, his face as cleanly shining as before. Judged by his head alone, he might look like a curtain-role actor, but the stiff white ogura hakama he dutifully wears with solemn air suggests nothing but a live-in disciple of Sakakibara Kengo. Thus, the only ordinary-human part of Tōfu's body is from shoulder to waist. "My, out you come despite the heat. Come right in, this way," said Mr. Meitei, greeting him as if it were his own home. "I have not seen you in a long while, sir." "Indeed, surely since that recitation gathering this spring. Speaking of recitations, are they still flourishing? Have you not become a palace performer since? That was fine. I applauded heartily — did you notice?" "Yes, thanks to you I gained great courage and rowed all the way to the end." "When is the next event?" the master interjected. "We rest in July and August and hope to do something lively in September. Have you any interesting ideas?" "Well," the master replied indifferently. "Tōfu, won't you perform one of my creations?" this time Kogora took him on. "If it's your creation, it should be interesting, but what is it?" "A play," said Kogora, pushing as firmly as he could, and as expected, the three were somewhat deflated and looked at the man in unison. "A play is impressive. Comedy or tragedy?" Tōfu stepped forward. Mr. Kogora, still composed, said, "Neither comedy nor tragedy. Lately there's much fuss over old theater or new theater, so I thought to strike a new vein and devised what I call 'haigeki' — a haiku-taste drama." "What's haigeki?" "I compressed 'drama of haiku taste' into the two characters 'haigeki.'" The master and Meitei, somewhat befogged, held back. "So what's the concept?" it was Tōfu who drew it out. "Since the root is haiku taste, I thought overly long and vicious things unsuitable, so made it a one-act piece." "I see." "First the setup — this too should be extremely simple. Plant one large willow at center stage. Then thrust one branch from the trunk to the right, and perch a crow on that branch." "Fine if the crow stays still," the master muttered worriedly. "No problem; tie the crow's feet to the branch with thread. Then set out a bathing tub below, and a beauty sits sideways using a towel." "That's a bit decadent. First of all, who'll be the woman?" Meitei asked. "That's easy too; hire a model from the art school." "The police might object," the master worried again. "But as long as we don't stage it publicly, it's fine. If we nitpick that, life drawing at school would be impossible." "But that's for practice; just viewing is different." "If gentlemen say such things, Japan is hopeless. Painting, theater — same art," Kogora flared. "Well, enough debate; then what happens?" Tōfu, perhaps intending to perform, wanted the plot. "Then from the flower path enters the haiku poet Takahama Kikō, with cane, white rush-woven hat, translucent ayasugi haori, and Satsuma kasuri half-boots with raised heels. Though his attire looks like an army purveyor's, as a haiku poet he must walk leisurely, inwardly absorbed in composing a verse. When Kikō finishes the flower path and steps onto the main stage, he lifts his verse-seeking eyes and sees before him a great willow, and in its shade a white woman bathing. Startled, he looks up: on the long willow branch a crow perches, looking down at the woman's bath. Kikō is moved by haiku mood for about fifty seconds, then loudly recites 'The crow that loves the woman — kana,' and at this signal, the clappers sound and the curtain draws. — How's that for a concept? Don't you like it? Better you play Kikō than a palace lady." Tōfu, with a dissatisfied look, seriously answered, "It's too abrupt. I'd like some more human-interest event." Meitei, who had been relatively quiet, was not the man to stay silent forever. "With just that, haigeki is fearsome. According to Mr. Ueda Bin, haiku taste and comedy are negative, sounds of a dying nation; he spoke well for such a man. Try such boring stuff and you'll just be laughed at by Ueda. First, is it drama or farce? Too negative to tell. Excuse me, Kogora, better stay in the lab polishing your beads. A hundred or two hundred haigeki — sounds of a dying nation won't do." Kogora flushed slightly. "Is it so negative? I thought it quite positive," he began to defend what needn't be defended. "Kikō, you see — when Kikō makes the crow love the woman via 'the crow that loves the woman,' I think that's quite positive." "New theory. Do explain." "From a science graduate's view, a crow loving a woman is irrational." "Quite so." "That he states the irrational without strain, sounding not forced at all—" "Is that so?" the master interjected doubtfully, but Kogora paid no mind. "Why it sounds not forced is psychologically clear. Loving or not is the poet's own feeling, unrelated to the crow. Yet feeling 'the crow loves' means not the crow but himself loves. Seeing the beautiful bathing woman, Kikō was struck and surely fell at once. Through his loving eyes, the motionless crow gazing down seemed to him 'ah, he's smitten like me' — a mistake, but a literary and positive one. Extending his own feeling to the crow without note, feigning ignorance — is that not positive? What say you, sir?" "Indeed a fine argument; Kikō would be shocked. The explanation is positive, but perform that play and the audience surely turns negative. Eh, Tōfu?" "Er, I think it's too negative," Tōfu answered seriously.

The master, seeming to want to shift the talk, asked, "How about it, Tōfu; any masterpieces lately?" Tōfu said, "No, nothing worthy to show, but I thought to publish a poetry collection soon — I happen to have the manuscript, so please critique." From his bosom he drew a purple furoshiki packet, from which he took a notebook of fifty or sixty manuscript sheets and placed it before the master. The master put on a grave face and said, 'Let me see,' then on the first page—

“Stories of the world, in your language.”