I felt a chill, as if pursuers were closing in from behind. However vacant our master may be, he at least understands that these three young ladies are girls. He also knows full well that being girls, they must somehow be disposed of. He is aware of this, yet he also knows himself to lack the ability to dispose of them. Thus, though they are his own children, he is somewhat at a loss with them. If he were at a loss, he had best not have manufactured them; but that is where humanity comes in. To define man, there is nothing else. It is enough to say that he is one who, unable to leave well enough alone, fabricates troubles and suffers thereby.
The children, to their credit, are remarkable. Dreaming not for a moment that their father is at his wits' end, they eat their meal with cheerful faces. The one beyond handling, however, is the baby girl. She is three years old this year, so the mistress, with some thoughtfulness, sets before her at mealtimes chopsticks and a bowl of diminutive, three-year-old proportions; but the baby will have none of it. She invariably snatches her sister's bowl and wrenches away her sister's chopsticks, awkward implements though they be, and manages them by force. Surveying the world, one sees that the more incompetent and talentless the petty man, the more he thrusts himself forward and covets office unsuited to him; that nature, however, sprouts precisely from this baby-girl stage. Since its roots lie so deep, it is best to resign oneself early that no education or nurture will cure it.
The baby monopolizes the great bowl and the long chopsticks won from her neighbor, and freely tyrannizes with her violence. Since she would wield what she cannot handle, she must needs make her violence the fiercer. First the baby grips the bases of both chopsticks together and rams them hard into the bottom of the bowl. The bowl is filled eight-tenths with rice, and over it miso soup spreads in a full flood. No sooner does the force of the chopsticks reach the bowl than what had with difficulty kept its balance tilts some thirty degrees under the sudden assault. At once the miso soup, without mercy, drips down over her chest. The baby is not the sort to be daunted by such a trifle. She is a tyrant. This time she flips the rammed chopsticks hard upward from the bowl bottom with all her might. Simultaneously she brings her small mouth to the rim and receives into it as many of the flipped rice grains as will enter. The grains struck wide miss the mouth and, mingling with the yellow broth, cling to the tip of her nose, her cheeks, and her chin, alighting only after a great cry. Those that miss and spill to the mat are beyond reckoning. A most reckless way of eating. I solemnly advise the famous Mr. Kaneda and the powerful men of the realm: if your handling of others be like the baby's handling of bowl and chopsticks, the rice that flies into your mouth will be exceeding scant. It flies not by necessity of course, but by blunder. I beg you reconsider. It ill befits even a worldly-wise man of ability.
Tonko, the eldest sister, robbed of her chopsticks and bowl by the baby, had borne with an ill-suited tiny set since earlier; but being too small to begin with, even what she thought a full serving she empties in three bites. Hence her hand reaches often to the rice tub. She has changed bowls four times, and this is her fifth. Tonko lifted the lid of the rice tub, took up the great wooden spoon, and gazed at it a while. She seemed to hesitate whether to eat or serve; but apparently deciding, she chose a spot free of scorched rice and scooped one ladleful—thus far unobjectionable—then turning it over and pressing hard above the bowl, the rice that would not fit rolled in a clump onto the mat. Tonko, with no look of surprise, began carefully picking up the spilled rice. One wondered what for; she put it all back into the tub. Slightly unclean.
Just as the baby made her great flourish and flipped the chopsticks, Tonko finished serving. The elder sister, true sister, unable to bear the baby's most disordered face, said, "Oh Baby, dreadful, your face is all rice grains," and at once set to cleaning it. First she removed what lodged at the nose tip—and, instead of discarding it, popped it straight into her own mouth, to my surprise. Then the cheeks; there clustered a fair number, both sides perhaps twenty grains. The sister painstakingly took one by one and ate, took and ate, until not a grain remained on the younger's face. Just then Sunko, who till now had quietly gnawed pickled radish, suddenly scooped from the simmering miso soup a piece of dissolved sweet potato and flung it vigorously into her mouth. As you know, nothing scalds the mouth like hot sweet potato in broth. Even adults, unwary, feel burned; how much more Sunko, inexperienced with sweet potato, must be flustered. With a cry she spat the potato from her mouth onto the table. Two or three pieces, by some chance, slid to before the baby and stopped at a fair distance. The baby, of course, loves sweet potato. Sweet potato flying before her eyes, she at once threw down the chopsticks, grabbed with her hands, and munched it all up.
The master, witnessing this spectacle from first, said not a word, devoted only to his own rice and soup, and by now was picking his teeth. He seems resolved on absolute noninterference in his daughters' upbringing. Even if all three turn into some brown-tea or gray mistress and, in concert, take lovers and elope, he will likely still eat his rice, drink his soup, and look on composed. Useless, he is. Yet the men of action of today, on inspection, seem to know naught but lying to hook men, circling ahead to gouge the horse's eyeball, bluffing to frighten, and setting traps to ruin. Even middle-school boys, by imitation, wrongly think they must act so to have sway, and complacently do what should shame them, deeming themselves future gentlemen. These are no men of action; they are ruffians. As a Japanese cat I have some patriotism; each such sight makes me want to strike. Each such one bred weakens the state. A school with such pupils is the school's disgrace; a nation with such citizens is the nation's disgrace. That they roam the world unabashed is beyond me. Japanese men seem to lack even a cat's spirit. Pitiful. Beside such ruffians, the master must be called far the better man. His spinelessness is superior; his incompetence is superior; his lack of cleverness is superior.
Having thus breakfasted in useless fashion, the master donned Western clothes, took a carriage, and presented himself at the Nihon-zutsumi police substation. When he opened the gate and asked the driver if he knew Nihon-zutsumi, the driver gave a silly laugh. That the mistress stressed it was the Nihon-zutsumi near Yoshiwara with its pleasure quarter was a bit comic.
After the master, unusual in leaving by carriage from the front, was gone, the wife finished her meal as ever and urged, "Come, to school, or you'll be late." The children, unconcerned, showed no sign of readying. "But today's a holiday," they said. "A holiday? Hurry," she scolded; the eldest, unruffled, said, "But yesterday the teacher said it's a holiday." The wife, perhaps slightly puzzled, fetched the calendar from the cupboard and turned pages; in red it plainly read "Festival." The master, unaware it was a festival, had sent an absence notice to school; the mistress, unaware, had dropped it in the post. As for Meitei, whether he truly knew not or pretended, is somewhat doubtful. Astonished at this discovery, the wife told them to play quietly, and as usual took up her sewing.
For thirty minutes thereafter the house was peaceful, no event worth my note; then suddenly a strange visitor came. A schoolgirl of seventeen or eighteen. She wore crooked-heeled shoes, trailed a purple hakama, and with hair puffed like abacus beads entered unannounced by the back door. This is the master's niece, a pupil, who sometimes comes Sundays and leaves after quarreling with her uncle—a pretty-named miss called Yukie. Her face, though, matches not the name; the sort one meets within a block or two outside.
"Auntie, good day," she stepped into the sitting room and sat by the sewing box.
"Oh, so early..."
"It's a great festival, so I thought to come in the morning and left home at half past eight in haste."
"I see. Something needed?"
"No, just hadn't visited, so came by."
"Stay and play at leisure, not just a bit. Uncle will be back soon."
"Uncle's gone somewhere? Rare."
"Yes, today he went to a strange place... the police, strange, no?"
"Why?"
"The burglar this spring was caught, they say."
"And he's summoned? What a nuisance."
"Oh, goods return. Since stolen things turned up, they told him to come get them; a policeman came specially yesterday."
"My, then, else Uncle wouldn't leave so early. Usually he'd still be abed."
"None sleeps like Uncle... and when roused he's furious. This morning too he said wake him by seven, so I did; he burrowed under the covers, no answer. Worried, I woke him again; from the sleeve he mumbled. Truly exasperating."
"Why so sleepy? Surely neurasthenia."
"What's that?"
"He gets angry awfully. How he keeps at school."
"Oh, at school he's meek."
"Worse then. Like a konnyaku demon."
"Why?"
"Just is, like a konnyaku demon, isn't he?"
"Not only angry. If one says right he says left, left he says right; never does as told—stubborn, he is."
"A woman who probes heaven, then. Uncle's fond of that. To make him do something, say the reverse and he'll do as you wish. When I got him to buy a parasol, I said don't want, don't want, and at once he bought it."
"Ho ho, clever. I'll do so too."
"Do. Else you lose."
"The other day an insurance man came, pressed him to join, explained this benefit, that benefit, talked an hour, but he wouldn't. We've no savings, three children, if only he'd insure we'd be easier, but he cares naught."
"Yes, if something happened, unsafe," said the seventeen-year-old, world-worn beyond her years.
"Listening hidden, it's funny. He admits need of insurance; necessary, else companies wouldn't exist. But while he lives, no need to insure, he stubbornly says."
"Uncle?"
"Yes. The man said, of course if you don't die you need none, but life seems strong yet is frail, danger may come unawares. Uncle said, I've resolved not to die—lawless, no?"
"Resolve or not, you die. I meant to pass for sure, yet failed."
"The agent said so too: life's not yours; if resolve gave long life none would die."
"Agent's right."
"Right, yet he won't see. Says he'll never die, swears he won't, and brags."
"Odd."
"Odd indeed. Rather bank than pay premiums, he coolly says."
"Has he savings?"
"Has he? He cares nothing for after his death."
"Truly worrying. Why such? Among us none like Uncle."
"None. Peerless."
"Have Mr. Suzuki advise him; such a calm man would be easier."
"But Suzuki's ill-thought-of at home."
"All reversed. Then that calm one—"
"Yagi?"
"Yes."
"Yagi rather tires us; yesterday Meitei came and spoke ill, so may not avail."
"But fine, so composed and grand—he lectured at school."
"Yagi did?"
"Yes."
"Yagi is Yukie's school lecturer?"
"Not teacher, but invited by the淑徳 women's association to lecture."
"Interesting?"
"Not so. But he has that long face and a Tenjin-like beard, so all admired."
"What spoke of?" the wife asked, when from the veranda the children, hearing Yukie's voice, tramped into the room. They had been playing outside the bamboo fence.
"Oh Yukie's here," the two sisters cried gladly. The wife said, "Quiet, sit, Yukie's about to tell a tale," and put her work aside.
"Yukie, what tale? I love tales," said Tonko. "Kachi-kachi mountain?" asked Sunko. "Baby tale too," said the third, thrusting knees between sisters—not to hear but to tell. "Oh Baby's tale again," the sisters laughed; the wife coaxed, "Baby later, after Yukie." Baby would not heed. "No! Ba-bu," she cried loud. "There, Baby first, then. What?" Yukie deferred.
"See, Baby, Baby, where go?"
"Fun. Then?"
"Me to field to reap rice."
"Yes, well known."
"You come and hinder."
"Not come, come," Tonko corrected. Baby, unchanged, "Ba-bu," silenced the sister. But interrupted, she forgot the rest. "Only that, Baby?" Yukie asked.
"See, after, no burp. Poo, poo-poo."
"Ho ho, horrid, who taught?"
"Omi."
"Bad Omi," the wife smiled wryly. "Now Yukie's turn; Baby listen quiet," she said; even the tyrant, seeming convinced, fell silent a while.
"Yagi's lecture was this," Yukie began. "Long ago at a crossroads stood a great stone Jizo. But it was a busy spot for horses and carts, so in the way; the townsfolk met and pondered how to move it to a corner."
"True?"
"Who knows, he didn't say. The strongest man said, easy, I'll move it, went alone, bared arms, sweated, pulled, but it wouldn't budge."
"Heavy Jizo."
"Yes. He tired, went home, slept; they met again. The cleverest said, leave to me, brought a box of rice cakes, showed them, 'Come here,' thinking to lure by appetite; not a move. He tried a gourd of sake, a cup, 'Want a drink? Come,' for three hours; still."
"Yukie, Jizo not hungry?" Tonko asked; "I want rice cake," Sunko said.
"The clever failed twice; then made fake bills, 'Want? Come,' waved them; no use. Stubborn Jizo."
"Yes, like Uncle a bit."
"Exactly Uncle; at last the clever gave up. Then a great boaster came, 'I'll move it, fear not,' as easy."
"What did he do?"
"Fun. First he wore a policeman's suit, false beard, came, 'Here, move or police won't stand it,' bluffed. Today none heed police bluff."
"True. Jizo moved?"
"Move? He's Uncle."
"But Uncle fears police greatly."
"Oh? That face? Then not so scary. Yet Jizo unmoved. Boaster raged, shed suit, threw beard in waste, came as rich man—like Baron Iwasaki's face. Funny."
"Iwasaki face?"
"Just big face, said naught, walked round Jizo with big cigar."
"What then?"
"Smoked him out."
"Like a storyteller's pun. Succeed?"
"No, stone. He fooled moderately, then posed as a prince. Fool."
"A prince then?"
"There was, Yagi said so. Surely a prince, impious but he posed—first disrespect, a boaster's station."
"Which prince?"
"Which? Any prince is disrespect."
"Yes."
"Prince no use. Boaster surrendered, 'Beyond me.'"
"Serves him."
"Yes, should've jailed him. Townsfolk worried, met again, none would take it."
"End?"
"Not yet. Last they hired cartmen and ruffians to mob round Jizo, vex it day and night."
"Troublesome."
"Yet no heed. Jizo stubborn."
"Then?" Tonko asked keenly.
"Then, no effect, all weary, but cartmen and ruffians paid by day, gladly mobbed."
"Yukie, paid?" Sunko asked.
"Paid is money."
"Money for what?"
"Take money... ho ho, silly Sunko. —Auntie, daily they raged; in town was Baka-take, a fool none heeded. He saw and said, why rage? Years yet not move one Jizo? Pitiful."
"Fool yet great."
"Quite great fool. They heard, thought try him, hopeless but let him. He agreed, silenced the cartmen and ruffians, came serene before Jizo."
"Yukie, serene—Baka-take's friend?" Tonko asked at the crucial point; wife and Yukie burst laughing.