“What did you send?”
“That’s why I said, I erased my name and became the one who dropped the letter in the box.”
“That’s hardly to the point. Who on earth did what?”
“I sent a love letter.”
“A love letter? To whom?”
“That’s why I say it’s hard to talk about.”
“Then you sent a love letter to some woman?”
“No, it wasn’t me.”
“Was it Hamada who sent it?”
“Not Hamada either.”
“Then who sent it?”
“I don’t know who.”
“This is getting nowhere. Then did no one send it?”
“The name on it was mine, though.”
“Only the name was yours—what in the world does that mean? I can’t make head or tail of it. Speak more coherently. First of all, who was the recipient of this love letter?”
“A woman named Kaneda, who lives in the side alley over there.”
“That实业家 Kaneda?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you mean by ‘only lent my name’?”
“Because their daughter is a modern, stuck-up thing, someone sent her a love letter. Hamada said we needed a name, so when they said to put yours, I said mine would be dull—better to use Furui Takeemon’s. And so in the end they borrowed my name.”
“And do you know this daughter? Are you even acquainted?”
“No acquaintance or anything. I’ve never even seen her face.”
“How reckless. To send a love letter to someone whose face you don’t even know—what on earth possessed you to do such a thing?”
“Just that everyone said she’s stuck-up and puts on airs, so we thought we’d tease her.”
“More and more reckless. So you openly wrote your name and sent it?”
“Yes, the text was written by Hamada. I lent my name, and Endo went at night and dropped it in their mailbox.”
“So the three of you did it together?”
“Yes, but afterward I thought, if it comes out and I get expelled or something, that would be terrible, and I was so worried I couldn’t sleep for two or three days, and I became quite muddled.”
“Well, that was a perfectly foolish thing to do. And so you wrote ‘Furui Takeemon, second-year, Bunmei Middle School’ or some such?”
“No, I didn’t write the school name.”
“Not writing the school name was at least fortunate. If the school’s name had appeared, why, it would concern the honor of Bunmei Middle School.”
“Do you think I’ll be expelled?”
“Well, I wonder.”
“Teacher, my father is a very strict man, and my mother is a stepmother, so if I were expelled, I’d be in real trouble. Will I really be expelled?”
“That’s why you shouldn’t do such silly things.”
“I didn’t mean to, but I went and did it. Can’t something be done so I’m not expelled?” Takeemon pleaded in a voice about to cry. Behind the sliding door, from a while back, the mistress and Yukie had been giggling. The master, putting on great airs, kept repeating “Well, I wonder.” It was quite amusing.
When I say it was amusing, someone may ask what was so amusing. The question is fair. Whether human or animal, knowing oneself is the great business of a lifetime. If one can but know oneself, even a human may be respected as more than a cat. At such a time I would feel sorry to write such mischief and would promptly cease. But just as one cannot tell the height of one’s own nose, what one is is hard to discern, and so they put such questions even to a cat they ordinarily despise. Humans, though arrogant, are somewhere lacking. They go about bearing “the spirit of all things” everywhere, yet cannot understand such a simple fact. And to be so calm and unperturbed about it almost provokes a smile. He bears the spirit of all things upon his back, crying, “Where is my nose? Tell me, tell me!” And if one thinks he might resign as spirit of all things, why, he would never let go even in death. To be so openly contradictory and yet at ease is almost charming. But in exchange for that charm, one must accept his foolishness as sweetness.
That I find amusement in Takeemon, the master, the mistress, and Miss Yukie at this moment is not merely because external events chanced to collide and that collision sent waves to a delicate place. It is because the reverberation of that collision raises distinct tones in the human heart. First, the master is rather indifferent to this incident. However strict Takeemon’s father may be, however much his mother may treat him as a stepchild, he is not much surprised. He need not be. Takeemon’s expulsion is quite different from his own dismissal. If nearly a thousand students were all expelled, the teacher might lose his means of living, but the change in fate of one Furui Takeemon hardly affects the master’s mornings and evenings. Where the relation is thin, sympathy is naturally thin. To furrow one’s brow, blow one’s nose, or sigh for a stranger is by no means natural tendency. It is hard to accept that humans are such tender, considerate creatures. They merely, as a tax of living in the world, now and then shed tears for society, or put on a sorry face. It is, so to speak, a deceptive expression, and in truth a rather laborious art. One who performs this deception well is called a person of strong artistic conscience, and is much valued by the world. Thus the more valued a person is, the more suspicious. Try and see—it is soon clear. In this regard the master belongs rather to the clumsy sort. Being clumsy, he is not valued. Not being valued, he reveals his inner indifference without concealment. His repeating “Well, I wonder” to Takeemon shows this well. Do not, because he is indifferent, dislike such a good man as the master. Indifference is humanity’s native quality, and not striving to hide it is honesty. If you expect more than indifference, you overestimate the human. In a world where even honesty is scarce, to expect more is as unreasonable as expecting Chinen and Kobungo to step out of Bakin’s novel and the Eight Dogs to move into the two houses next door.
Leaving the master thus, next are the women laughing in the sitting room; they have stepped one pace beyond the master’s indifference into the realm of comedy and are delighted. To these women, the love-letter incident that has Takeemon ailing with worry is as precious as the Buddha’s gospel. No reason—simply precious. If forced to dissect, it is precious that Takeemon is troubled. Ask any woman, “Do you laugh to see others in trouble?” She will call the questioner a fool, or if not, say he insulted a lady’s character by such a question. The insult may be real, but the laughing at others’ trouble is also real. Then it is like saying, “I shall now insult your character before your eyes, so don’t say a word.” A man says, “I am a thief. But you must never call it immoral. To call it immoral is to smear my face with mud, to insult me.” Women are quite clever; their reasoning is coherent. Born human, one must be prepared not only to be stepped on, kicked, beaten, and ignored, but to take pleasure in being spat upon, defecated upon, and laughed at loudly. Without that, one cannot consort with such clever creatures called women. Mr. Takeemon, from a slight impulse, made a terrible blunder and is deeply apologetic, but he may think it rude to laugh behind the back of one so apologetic. That is but childishness of youth; when one is rude, the other calls it timidity, so if you dislike that, behave quietly. Lastly, a word on Takeemon’s state of mind: he is the very incarnation of worry. His great brain, like Napoleon’s filled with ambition, is near to bursting with worry. The occasional twitch of his dumpling nose is worry transmitted to the facial nerve, unconsciously active as reflex. He has swallowed a great cannonball; a helpless lump sits in his belly, and for these two or three days he is at a loss. In his anguish, having no other source of wisdom, he came to the teacher called supervisor, thinking he might be saved, and lowered his big head in an unpleasant house. He has utterly forgotten teasing the master at school and stirring classmates to trouble him. However he teased or troubled, since the man is “supervisor,” he surely will worry for him—so he seems to believe. Quite simple. The master did not willingly become supervisor; by the principal’s order he reluctantly took it, like the high hat of Meitei’s uncle—merely a name. A name alone can do nothing. If a name alone worked in a pinch, Yukie could have a miai by name only. Takeemon is not only selfish, but proceeds from the overestimation that others must be kind to him. He likely never imagined being laughed at. Coming to the supervisor’s house, he must have discovered a truth about humans. By this truth he will become more truly human: indifferent to others’ worries, laughing loudly at their trouble. Thus the world will be filled with future Takeemons, with Kaneda and his lady. I earnestly hope Takeemon soon awakens and becomes a true human. Else, however he worries, regrets, or earnestly seeks good, he will never gain the success of Kaneda. Nay, society will soon expel him beyond human habitation. Not mere expulsion from Bunmei Middle School.
While thus thinking it amusing, the lattice slid open with a clatter, and a face thrust half out from behind the entrance sliding door.
“Teacher.”
The master, amid repeating “Well, I wonder” to Takeemon, was called from the entrance, looked that way: the face half askew from the sliding door was surely Kangetsu. “Oi, come in,” he said, and stayed seated.
“Have you a guest?” Kangetsu asked, still half-faced.
“Nothing, just come up.”
“Actually I came to invite you out a bit.”
“Where to? Akasaka again? That direction I decline. The other day I was made to walk so much my legs turned to sticks.”
“Today it’s safe. Haven’t gone out in a while?”
“Where are we going? Come on up.”
“I thought we’d go to Ueno and hear the tiger roar.”
“That’s dull. Come up instead.”
Kangetsu, perhaps thinking negotiation hopeless at a distance, took off his shoes and shuffled in. He wore the usual gray trousers with a patched seat; not from the times or the weight of his buttocks, but by his own account from recently practicing bicycle, giving local friction. Unaware he is the rival in love who wrote to the woman eyed as future wife, he gave a light nod to Takeemon and sat near the veranda.
“Hearing a tiger roar is dull.”
“Yes, not now. We’ll stroll about and at eleven at night go to Ueno.”
“Hm.”
“Then the old trees in the park will be deep and eerie.”
“Well, a bit lonelier than daytime.”
“And walking where trees are thick, where even by day none pass, one soon loses the sense of living in a city of red dust, and surely feels lost in mountains.”
“What good is that feeling?”
“In that feeling, standing awhile, suddenly in the zoo the tiger roars.”
“Will it roar so nicely?”
“Surely. Its roar reaches the Science University even by day, so in deep night, silent, none in sight, ghostly chill on skin, when demons assail the nose…”
“What is ‘demons assail the nose’?”
“Don’t say that, in such fear.”
“Is that so? Rarely heard. And then?”
“Then the tiger roars with force to shake all old cedars of Ueno. Eerie, isn’t it?”
“That would be eerie.”
“How about an adventure? I think it’d be pleasant. Unless heard at midnight, one can’t say one has heard the tiger.”
“Well, I wonder,” the master was as indifferent to Kangetsu’s expedition as to Takeemon’s plea.
Takeemon, who until then silently listened with envy to the tiger talk, at the master’s “Well, I wonder” seemed to recall his own case: “Teacher, I’m worried, what should I do?” he asked again. Kangetsu looked at the big head with puzzlement. I, with reason, excused myself to the sitting room.
There the mistress, giggling, poured coarse tea into a cheap Kyoto bowl and set it on an antimony saucer.
“Yukie, excuse me, take this out.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?” the mistress stopped laughing, slightly surprised.
“Just because,” Yukie made a prim face and dropped her eyes on the Yomiuri newspaper beside her. The mistress tried again.
“Oh, strange one. It’s Kangetsu. No need to mind.”
“But I don’t like it,” not lifting eyes from the paper. She could read not a word then, but if thought not reading, she’d cry again.
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” the mistress laughed and pushed the bowl onto the paper. Yukie, “Oh, you’re mean,” tried to pull the paper from under the bowl, caught the saucer, and the tea flowed freely from paper to tatami seams. “See?” said the mistress; Yukie, “Oh dear,” ran to the kitchen—to fetch a rag, no doubt. The farce amused me.
Unaware, Kangetsu spoke strangely in the room.
“Teacher, you re-papered the sliding door. Who did it?”
“The women. Done well, no?”
“Yes, quite. That young lady who visits sometimes?”
“Um, she helped. She brags that if she can paper like this, she’s fit to marry.”
“Hm, I see,” Kangetsu gazed at the door.
“This side is flat, but the right end has extra paper, wavy.”
“That’s the fresh part, done when least experienced.”
“I see, a bit clumsy. That surface is a transcendent curve, impossible by ordinary function,” said the physicist, and the master replied vaguely, “Well, yes.”
Takeemon, convinced no petition would avail, suddenly pressed his great skull to the floor, silently bidding farewell. The master said, “Leaving?” Takeemon, dejected, dragged his Satsuma clogs out the gate. Poor thing. Left alone, he might write cliff-edge verses and leap from Kegon Falls. The root is Miss Kaneda’s modern arrogance. If Takeemon dies, let him haunt and kill her. One or two such vanishing from the world would not trouble men. Kangetsu should get a more ladylike one.
“Teacher, was that a student?”
“Um.”
“A very big head. Does he study well?”
“For his head, not really, but asks odd questions. The other day, ‘Translate Columbus,’ and I was stuck.”
“With such a big head, extra questions. What did you say?”
“Eh? Just roughly translated.”
“You translated? Impressive.”
“Kids won’t trust if you don’t translate anything.”
“Teacher, you’re quite a politician. But he seemed low-spirited, not like one to trouble you.”
“He’s a bit off today. Foolish fellow.”
“What happened? Just looking, I pitied him. What was it?”
“Foolishness. Sent a love letter to Kaneda’s daughter.”
“Eh? That big head? Modern students are something. Surprising.”
“You’d worry, but…”
“Not at all. Rather funny. However many love letters arrive, I’m safe.”
“If you’re at ease, fine…”
“Fine, I don’t mind. But that big head wrote one—surprising.”
“It was a joke. Because she’s modern and stuck-up, they teased, three together…”
“Three wrote one letter to Miss Kaneda? More absurd. Like three sharing one Western meal.”
“But divided: one writes, one posts, one lends name. The one here lent name—foolish. And he’s never seen her face. How could they be so rash?”
“Recent masterpiece. That big head writing to a woman—funny.”
“Hope it’s not a blunder.”
“Whatever, it’s Kaneda.”
“But she might be yours.”
“Because she might be, I don’t mind. Kaneda? I don’t mind.”
“If you don’t…”
“Kaneda? I don’t mind, safe.”
“Anyway, later his conscience struck, he feared, and came to consult me.”
“Hm, that’s why he was glum. Timid. What did you say?”
“He worries most about expulsion.”
“Why expelled?”
“For such immoral deed.”
“Not so immoral. Kaneda would boast.”
“Surely not.”
“Poor him. Even if wrong, to worry him so may kill a young man. Big head, but not bad-faced. Nose twitching, cute.”
“You sound like Meitei, easygoing.”
“This is the modern tide. You’re old-fashioned, over-interpreting.”
“But foolish—sending love letters to unknown, defying common sense.”
“Pranks mostly defy common sense. Save him. Merit. He’ll go to Kegon.”
“I suppose.”
“Do. Greater, wiser priests do worse and pretend ignorance. To expel him while not exiling them is unfair.”
“That’s so.”
“Then, Ueno for the tiger?”
“Tiger?”
“Yes, let’s. I must return home in a few days, so can’t accompany later; today I came to walk together.”
“Going home? Business?”
“Yes, business. Let’s go.”
“Then let’s.”
“Come. I’ll treat dinner—then exercise to Ueno, good timing,” he urged, and the master agreed, and they left. Behind, the mistress and Yukie laughed loudly without restraint.
