He probably said it quite coolly: since one intends to sketch as faithfully as possible all the interesting happenings under heaven and use them for future reference, one must not let personal feelings like pity or sympathy pass the lips of a man such as myself, who is faithful to learning. I thought he was an utterly heartless fellow, so I tore his sketchbook to pieces with my mud-covered hands."
"The reason my promising artistic talent was set back and never flourished thereafter is entirely because of that moment. You broke my edge, you see. I bear a grudge against you."
"Don't be ridiculous. If anything, I'm the one who should resent it."
"Meitei was a braggart even back then," said the master, having finished his yōkan, and again cutting into the two men's conversation.
"He never kept a single promise. And when pressed about it, he never once apologized—something about a mosquito or whatever. When the crape myrtles were in bloom on the temple grounds, he said he'd write a treatise on aesthetics before those myrtles shed their petals, so I told him no, he'd never manage it. Then Meitei answered that though he might look this way, he was a man of willpower unlike his appearance, and said if I doubted him so, let's wager. I took it seriously and we settled on something like my treating him to Western food in Kanda. I thought he'd never write any such book, so though we wagered, inwardly I was a bit frightened. I had no money to treat him to Western food, you see. But the fellow showed no sign of starting a manuscript at all. Seven days passed, twenty days passed, not a single page written. Even when the crape myrtles finally fell and not one blossom remained, he was perfectly calm, so I thought I'd surely get my Western food, and pressed him to fulfill the contract—but Meitei coolly ignored me."
"Did he make up some excuse again?" Mr. Suzuki chimed in.
"Yes, truly a brazen man. He stubbornly insisted: I have no other ability, but in willpower I yield to no one. "
"Even though he hadn't written a single page?" This time Meitei himself asked.
"Of course. You said this then: In the single point of willpower, I yield not one step to any man. But regrettably, my memory is twice as poor as others'. I had ample will to author a treatise on aesthetics, but forgot it the day after declaring that will to you. Therefore, the book not being done before the myrtles fell is the fault of memory, not will. Since it is not the fault of will, there is no reason to treat you to Western food—and he puffed himself up saying so."
"Indeed, displaying Meitei's trademark style—amusing," said Mr. Suzuki, for some reason finding it funny. His tone was quite different from when Meitei was absent. Perhaps that is the mark of a clever man.
"What's so amusing?" The master still seemed angry.
"Well, my condolences to you, but isn't that why he's now hunting for a peacock's tongue with money and a drum to make amends? Just wait without getting so angry. But speaking of writings—you know, I've brought a great piece of rare news today."
"You're a man who brings rare news every time he comes, so one can't let one's guard down."
"But today's rare news is truly rare. Genuine rare news, not a fraction off the marked price. Do you know Kogora has begun drafting his doctoral thesis? I thought a man who puts on such airs of discernment as Kogora would never bother with such unrefined labor as a doctoral thesis, but it seems he too has ambitions—funny, isn't it? You should notify that nose of his, by the way. He might be dreaming of becoming a Doctor of Horse-Chestnuts these days."
Hearing Kogora's name, Mr. Suzuki signaled to the master with chin and eyes: must not speak, must not speak. The master entirely failed to grasp the meaning. When he met Suzuki earlier and heard the sermon, he only felt sorry for the Kaneda daughter, but now that Meitei mentions the nose, he recalls the quarrel the other day. Recalling it, it seems both ridiculous and a bit unpleasant. But Kogora having begun drafting his doctoral thesis is the finest of tidings; in this alone, as Meitei proudly claims, it is indeed a rare news of late. Not merely rare news, but happy, pleasant rare news. Whether he marries the Kaneda daughter or not is now quite indifferent. At any rate, Kogora becoming a doctor is splendid. A botched wooden statue like myself may remain raw and smolder in the corner of the sculptor's shop until worms eat it, with no regret—but for a sculpture one thinks well-finished, one wishes to gild it at the earliest date.
"Has he truly begun writing the thesis?" Ignoring Suzuki's signals, he listened eagerly.
"You're a man who doubts others' words. —Though I'm not certain whether the subject is horse-chestnuts or the mechanics of hanging—but being Kogora, it must be something to make that nose humble."
Each time Meitei bluntly said "nose" from a while ago, Suzuki looked uneasy. Meitei noticed nothing and remained unconcerned.
"Since then I've studied the nose further, and recently discovered a discourse on noses in Tristram Shandy. Had they shown Kaneda's nose to Sterne, it would have been fine material—a pity. Though fully qualified to leave its name for a thousand ages, that it should rot away as is is most pitiful. Next time he comes, I'll sketch it for aesthetic reference." He went on spouting nonsense as always.
"But that girl wants to come to Kogora's, it seems," the master stated just as he'd heard from Suzuki, whereupon Suzuki made a troubled face and kept winking at the master, but the master, like a nonconductor, showed no electrical response.
"Rather charming—that even the child of such a man falls in love. But it can't be much of a love; probably something like nose-love."
"If it's nose-love, Kogora may as well take her."
"May as well take her—weren't you dead opposed the other day? Today you're strangely softened."
"I'm not softened; I am by no means softened, but..."
"But something's up. Hey Suzuki, as one who soils the lower ranks of practical men, I'll tell you for reference: that fellow Kaneda. To revere the daughter of that fellow as the honored wife of the genius Mizushima Kogora is, so to speak, lantern and bell mismatched; as his friends, we cannot coldly overlook it—surely even you, a practical man, have no objection."
"As lively as ever. Fine. You're admirable, unchanged in the least from ten years ago," Suzuki parried with willow-like evasion, trying to gloss over.
"If you praise me as admirable, let me show you a bit more erudition. The ancient Greeks greatly valued physical training, offering precious prizes in all contests and devising every encouragement. Yet strangely, records show they gave no reward for scholars' knowledge—which I had long found most suspicious."
"Indeed, rather odd," Suzuki matched his tone to the end.
"But just two or three days ago, in aesthetic study I suddenly discovered the reason; my years of doubt melted at once. Like pulling a plug from a lacquer pail, I gained a refreshing enlightenment and reached a state of joyous delight."
So grand were Meitei's words that even the adept Suzuki looked as if to say, this is too much for me. The master, as if to cry "here he goes again," bowed his head and clinked the edge of the candy dish with ivory chopsticks. Only Meitei, vastly pleased, continued his oration.
"Now, who do you think explained this contradictory phenomenon, recording it clearly and saving our doubt from the abyss for a thousand ages? It is he, the Greek philosopher called scholar since learning began—Aristotle, founder of the Peripatetics. His explanation says—hey, stop tapping the dish and listen respectfully.—The prizes the Greeks gained in contests were more precious than the arts they performed. Hence they served as reward and encouragement. But what of knowledge itself? If to reward knowledge one would give something, one must give something of greater value than knowledge. But is there a treasure above knowledge in this world? Of course not. Give something inferior, and you only damage knowledge's dignity. They piled chests of gold before Olympus and exhausted Croesus's wealth to reward it fittingly, but perceiving no possible match, thenceforth cleanly gave nothing. That yellow, white, and copper coin is no match for knowledge, you understand well enough. Now, holding this principle, face current affairs. What is Kaneda? A man with eyes and nose pinned to banknotes; in keen phrase, he is but a walking banknote. A walking banknote's daughter would be about a walking stamp. Turn to Kogora—what then? He graduated top of the highest hall of learning, and without a trace of weariness hangs the cord of a haori from the Chōshū expedition era, studies the stability of horse-chestnuts day and night, yet shows no satisfaction, and soon will publish a great thesis to overwhelm Lord Kelvin. He once happened to pass Azuma Bridge and botched a suicide dive, but that is but a fitful act common to earnest youth, no event to trouble his being a wholesale house of knowledge. In Meitei's style, Kogora is a walking library. A twenty-eight-carat bullet kneaded of knowledge. Once this bullet finds its time and explodes in the academic world—if it explodes—it will explode—" Here Meitei, finding his self-styled Meitei-style adjectives not coming as wished, showed slight shrinking at the anticlimax commonly called dragon-head snake-tail, but at once said, "Why, even ten million walking stamps would be blown to powder. Therefore Kogora must not have such an ill-matched woman. I object. It would be like the wisest elephant among beasts marrying the greediest little pig. Don't you agree, Kusamori?" Having thus dismissed it, the master again silently began tapping the dish. Suzuki, somewhat deflated, answered helplessly:
"That's hardly likely." Having just badmouthed Meitei at length, he feared the lawless master might blurt anything if he spouted nonsense here. Best to humor Meitei's sharp edge and escape safely. Suzuki is clever. Avoiding needless resistance is his way; needless debate he deems a relic of feudalism. Life's purpose is not speech but action. If events proceed as one wishes, life's purpose is achieved. If they proceed without toil, worry, or dispute, life's purpose is attained in paradise style. Suzuki, after graduation, succeeded by this paradise doctrine, hangs a gold watch by it, took the Kaneda couple's request by it, and by it smoothly persuaded Kusamori, bringing the matter to eight or nine tenths done—when Meitei, a wanderer whose psychology seems beyond ordinary human law, burst in, and Suzuki is a bit thrown by the suddenness. The inventor of paradise doctrine is a Meiji gentleman; its practitioner is Suzuki Tōjūrō; and he who is now troubled by it is also Suzuki Tōjūrō.
"You, knowing nothing, put on airs saying 'hardly likely,' and uncommonly fall silent in refined reserve—but had you seen the state when that nose's owner came the other day, even you, a practical-man partisan, would be aghast. Hey Kusamori, you fought hard, didn't you?"
"Even so, I hear my reputation is better than yours."
"Ahaha, a confident man. Without that, you couldn't face school calmly while teased as 'Savage Chee' by students and teachers. I too think my will yields to none, but I couldn't be so thick-skinned—I admire you."
"What is there to fear if students and teachers mutter a bit? Sainte-Beuve, unrivaled critic of all time, was much disliked when lecturing at the University of Paris, and to answer students' attacks carried a dagger up his sleeve for defense when going out. When Brunetière attacked Zola's novels at the Paris university..."
"But you're neither a university teacher nor anything. A mere teacher at a cram school citing such greats is like a minnow comparing itself to a whale; saying such only gets you more teased."
"Silence. Sainte-Beuve or I, we are scholars of about equal rank."
"What presumption. But walking with a hidden blade is dangerous, so don't imitate. If a university teacher hides a sword, a cram teacher hides about a small knife. Even so, blades are threatening; go to Nakamise and buy a toy air gun to sling on your back—that's charming. Hey Suzuki?" At this Suzuki, relieved the talk left the Kaneda affair, breathed easy and said:
"As innocent and pleasant as ever. Meeting you both for the first time in ten years, I feel as if I'd stepped from a cramped alley to an open field. Our circle's talk allows no letting down; one must guard every word, worrying, cramped, truly painful. Talk without sin is best. And talking with friends from student days is most unreserved and good. Ah, meeting Meitei today was a pleasure. I have business, so I'll take my leave." As Suzuki rose, Meitei also said, "I'll go too; I must head to the Japan Bridge entertainment reform meeting, so let's walk together that far." "Perfect, let's stroll together for the first time in ages." The two linked arms and went home.
