“So he apparently gulped down the water from the F※nger Ball in one breath. Then all the officers present, not to be outdone, raised their cups of water and toasted the health of the non-commissioned officer.”
“Here’s another tale,” said Meitei, who disliked silence. “When Carlyle first had an audience with the Queen, being an eccentric unversed in court etiquette, he suddenly said ‘How do you do?’ and plopped himself down in a chair. Then the many attendants and ladies-in-waiting standing behind the Queen all began to titter—no, they didn’t begin; they were about to. But the Queen turned around and gave some slight signal, and before anyone knew it, all the attendants and ladies were seated in chairs, so Carlyle was spared his embarrassment. Quite the thoughtful consideration, wasn’t it?”
“As for Carlyle, he might have been fine even if everyone stayed standing,” offered Kogora with a brief comment.
“The self-awareness on the side of consideration may be well and good,” said Dokusen, pressing on, “but having self-awareness only makes it laborious to be considerate. A pity, really. It’s commonly said that as civilization advances, savagery disappears and personal intercourse grows gentler—but that’s a great mistake. With self-awareness this strong, how could things grow gentle? True, at a glance it seems quiet and uneventful, but between people it is exceedingly strained. It’s like two sumo wrestlers locked in a grip at the center of the ring, not moving. From the side it looks perfectly peaceful, but isn’t the wrestler’s belly churning?”
“In the old days, fights used brute force to oppress, so they were almost less guilty; nowadays they’ve grown so cunning that self-awareness only increases,” said the turn coming around to Mr. Meitei’s head. “Bacon says one can only conquer nature by following its force; today’s fights are mysteriously made exactly to Bacon’s maxim. It’s like jujitsu. Using the enemy’s force to bring him down…”
“Or like water power and electricity,” Kogora began, but Dokusen immediately took it up. “Thus in poverty one is bound by poverty, in wealth by wealth, in sorrow by sorrow, in joy by joy. The talented are ruined by talent, the wise defeated by wisdom, and a short-tempered fellow like Kusamori, if he but makes use of his temper, will leap right out and fall for the enemy’s trick…”
“Bravo!” clapped Meitei, and Kusamori, with a grin, answered, “It’s not so easily done as that,” and everyone laughed at once.
“By the way, what would bring down a man like Kaneda?”
“His wife is brought down by her nose, the master by his miserliness, the henchman nearly by detective work.”
“The daughter?”
“The daughter—I’ve never seen her, so I can’t say—but probably she’ll be done in by clothes, by food, or by drink. Hardly by love. She might end up dead by the roadside like a ‘stupa Komachi.’”
“That’s a bit harsh,” objected Tōfū, who had only offered a new-style poem.
“That is why ‘live with no abiding mind’ is such vital words. Without reaching that state, a human being cannot bear the suffering,” Dokusen muttered, as if enlightened alone.
“Don’t boast. You might just end up flat on your back in a flash of lightning.”
“Anyway, if civilization keeps advancing like this, I’d hate to be alive,” the master suddenly declared.
“No need to hold back—just die,” Meitei instantly pronounced.
“Dying I hate even more,” the master stubbornly insisted, making no sense.
“No one gives it deep thought when born, but all seem to fret when they die,” Kogora remarked with a detached aphorism.
“It’s like borrowing money without a care, but worrying when it’s time to repay,” said Meitei, who always had a reply ready for such moments.
“As those who never think of repaying borrowed money are happy, so those who do not fret over death are happy,” Dokusen said, transcendent and other-worldly.
“By your account, then, the thick-skinned are enlightened.”
“Yes. There is a Zen phrase: ‘The iron-ox face with iron-ox mind, the ox-iron face with ox-iron mind.’”
“And you are the specimen, then?”
“Not quite. But fretting over death only came after the invention of the disease called neurasthenia.”
“Indeed, you are a man from before neurasthenia, by any look.”
As Meitei and Dokusen kept up their strange duet, the master, with Kogora and Tōfū, was vigorously airing his discontent with civilization.
“The question is how to get by without repaying borrowed money.”
“There is no such question. What’s borrowed must be repaid.”
“Now, now, it’s an argument, so just listen. Just as the question is how to get by without repaying borrowed money, the question is how to get by without dying. Or rather, was. Alchemy was this. All alchemy failed. It became clear man must inevitably die.”
“It was clear before alchemy.”
“Now, now, it’s an argument, so just listen. Understand? When it became clear man must inevitably die, a second question arises.”
“Hmm.”
“If we must die anyway, how best to die. That is the second question. The Suicide Club is fated to arise with this second question.”
“I see.”
“Dying is painful, but being unable to die is yet more painful. To a neurasthenic nation, living is a suffering sharper than death. Thus they fret over death. Not because they dislike dying, but because they worry how best to die. Most, lacking wit, leave it to nature, and the world bullies them to death. But those with a quirk will not be satisfied being quietly bullied to death by the world. They must, after various studies on how to die, present some brand-new bright idea. Thus the world’s future trend will be more suicides, and those suicides will all leave this world by original methods.”
“That gets rather dangerous.”
“It does. Surely it will. In a play by one Arthur Jones there is a philosopher who keeps advocating suicide…”
“Does he commit it?”
“Regrettably, he does not. But a thousand years on, all will surely practice it. Ten thousand years later, ‘death’ will be thought to exist only as suicide.”
“That would be terrible.”
“It will be. Then suicide, much studied, becomes a fine science, and middle schools like Rakunen Hall will teach suicide studies as a regular subject instead of ethics.”
“How odd. I’d almost attend as an auditor. Mr. Meitei, did you hear? Master Kusamori’s splendid theory.”
“I heard. In that era the ethics teacher at Rakunen Hall would say: ‘Youth of the world, do not cling to the barbaric relic called public virtue. Your first duty as the world’s youth is suicide. And since doing as one likes may be done to others, suicide may be extended one step into homicide. Especially a fellow like the pauper before the gate, Chinno Kusamori, appears in much pain to be alive, so it is your duty to kill him at once. But unlike old times, this is an enlightened age; do not behave cowardly with spear, halberd, or firearm. Only by the refined art of innuendo, tease him to death—a merit to him and an honor to you…’”
“What an interesting lecture.”
“There’s more. Today police protect the people’s lives and property as their first aim. But in that era, constables walk about clubbing citizens to death like dog-killers…”
“Why?”
“Why? Today people prize life, so police protect it; but then the people suffer to live, so the constable in mercy clubs them dead. Of course, the clever mostly suicide, so those clubbed are only the spineless or idiots and cripples without suicide ability. Those wanting death post a sign at the door—‘Man here wishes to be killed,’ or woman—and the constable comes round at convenience and does as wished. The corpse? The constable carts it away. More interesting things happen…”
“Mr. Meitei’s jokes truly have no end,” Tōfū greatly admired. Then Dokusen, as usual fussing with his goatee, slowly spoke.
“Joke if you will, but it may be prophecy. Those not thorough in truth are apt to be bound by the phenomenal world before their eyes and take bubble dreams for permanent fact, so they laugh off anything far-fetched.”
“The swallow and sparrow know not the great peng’s ambition,” Kogora said in awe, and Dokusen, with a face all but saying ‘just so,’ went on.
“In old Spain there was a place called Cordova…”
“Isn’t it still there?”
“Maybe. Be that as it may, by custom there, when the temple bell rang at sunset, all the women came out and went swimming in the river…”
“Even in winter?”
“That I don’t know, but anyway, high and low, old and young, all plunged in. No men joined; they only watched from afar. From afar, on the darkening waves, white skin moved dimly…”
“Poetic. Fit for new-style verse. What was it called?” Tōfū leaned forward at any mention of nudity.
“Cordova. So the local youths, unable to swim with the women, nor even clearly see them from afar, felt sorry, and played a trick…”
“Oh? What kind?” Meitei, hearing ‘trick,’ was much delighted.
“They bribed the bell-ringer to sound the sunset bell an hour early. The women, shallow, cried ‘The bell!’ and gathered at the bank in half-robes and drawers, splashing in. But unlike usual, the sun had not set.”
“The fierce autumn sun blazing?”
“On the bridge stood many men watching. Ashamed, but unable to do aught, they blushed deeply.”
“And?”
“And that is: man, bewildered by habit before his eyes and forgetting first principles, is undone if not careful.”
“Indeed a fine sermon. Let me tell one on being bewildered by habit before the eyes. I read in a magazine a novel of such a swindler. Suppose I open a shop of paintings and antiques. I display scrolls by masters, tools by famous hands. All genuine, honest top-grade, no fakes. Being top-grade, all pricey. A connoisseur comes and asks the price of a Motonobu scroll. I say six hundred yen; he wants it but hasn’t the cash, so regretfully passes.”
“Does it always go so?” the master, unchanged, lacked theatricality. Meitei, undaunted:
“Now, now, it’s fiction. Suppose so. Then I say, ‘No matter the price, take it if you like.’ The customer hesitates. ‘Then by installment—long, thin; you’ll favor me henceforth—no need to stand on ceremony. How about ten yen a month? Or five, if you like,’ I genially say. After some talk, I sell the Motonobu scroll for six hundred, by installment of ten a month.”
“Like the Times encyclopedia.”
“The Times is reliable, but mine is quite unreliable. Now comes the clever fraud. Listen: ten a month for six hundred—how many years to clear, Kogora?”
“Five years, of course.”
“Of course five. Now, is five years long or short, Dokusen?”
“One thought, ten thousand years; ten thousand years, one thought. Neither long nor short.”
“What’s that, a road song? A senseless one. So for five years, ten a month, sixty payments. But habit is terrible: repeat sixty times and at sixty-one you still feel like paying ten. At sixty-two, ten. As rounds pile, you must pay ten when the date comes. Man seems wise but has the great weakness of forgetting roots in habit. I exploit that and profit ten a month forever.”
“Ha ha ha, surely one wouldn’t forget that far,” Kogora laughed, but the master, serious: “Such things do happen. I repaid the university loan monthly without counting, and at the end was told to stop.” He proclaimed his own shame as mankind’s.
“See, such a man sits here, so it’s true. Thus those who laugh at my future history as joke are the sort who’d pay installment forever and think it right. Especially inexperienced youths like Kogora and Tōfū must heed us and not be fooled.”
“Understood. Installment strictly limited to sixty.”
“Seems joke, but truly instructive, Kogora,” Dokusen turned to him. “Suppose Kusamori or Meitei advises you to apologize to a man named Kaneda for marrying without leave—what then? Apologize?”
“I’d beg off apologizing. If they apologize, special; I’ve no such desire.”
“If the police ordered you?”
“All the more beg off.”
“A minister or peer?”
“All the more beg off.”
“There. Men have changed that much. Old times, the ruler’s awe did all. Next, an era where even that awe could not. Now, not even Highness or Excellency may press on personal dignity beyond a point. Sharply put, the more power they have, the more the pressed resent and resist. So now, unlike old, appears the new phenomenon: ‘It can’t be done, it’s the ruler’s awe.’ From the old view, unthinkable things pass as reason. The shift of manners is strange; Meitei’s future tale, joke if called, but as explaining this, has savor.”
“With such a confidant, I must continue the future tale. As Dokusen says, today’s ruler’s awe and two hundred bamboo spears are but a backward fool—a model ignoramus, like Master Kashim of Ukin—so we may watch in silence. But my tale is no petty matter; it’s social fate of mankind. Surveying civilization’s trend, I divine: marriage becomes impossible. Be not shocked—impossible marriage. Thus: as said, today is individual-centered. When a master represented a house, a governor a district, a lord a country, none else had personality—or none recognized. Then it flipped: every being asserts individuality, each ‘you are you, I am I.’ Two meeting on the road, inwardly pick a fight: ‘If you’re human, so am I,’ and pass. Individuals grew strong, and equal-strong means equal-weak. Harder to harm self, surely stronger; but hardly meddling in others, clearly weaker than old. Strong pleases, weak none thank, so one guards strength against all trespass, yet forces weak side to expand to trespass a hair. Thus space between vanishes, living grows cramped. Each stretches self near to bursting, suffers. Suffering, seeks margin between persons. First scheme thus devised: parent-child separation. In Japan’s mountains, a whole clan rolls in one house; no individuality to assert, or none asserted, so it passes. But civilized, even parent-child must assert or lose, so for safety they separate. Europe, advanced, practiced early. Even co-living sons borrow at interest or pay rent like strangers. Only by the parent respecting the son’s individuality does such fine custom stand. It must come to Japan. Kin part, parent-child part; with individuality’s growth and respect unbounded, still more parting needed. But with kin, parent, sibling already parted, none left—so last scheme: husband-wife part. Today thought: together means married. Great mistake. To be together needs fitting individualities. Old times, ‘different bodies same mind’—look two, inside one—thus ‘grow old same grave,’ even as dead moles one hole. Barbaric. Now not so. Husband is husband, wife is wife. The wife, trained in girl-school in stiff individuality, enters topknotted; hardly bends to husband. A wife that bends is no wife but doll. The wiser the wife, the fiercer individuality. The fiercer, the less she fits. Unfit, clashes by nature. So a ‘wise wife’ clashes morning to night. Fine, but the wiser the wife, the more both suffer. Like water and oil, a clear divide; if calm and level, well, but both act, so the house quakes like a great earthquake, up and down. Thus man learns co-living loses for both…”
“Then they part? Worrying,” said Kogora.
“Part. Surely. All couples part. Once together meant married; henceforth cohabiters are seen as unqualified.”
“Then I’d be grouped unqualified,” Kogora sweetly said at the edge.
“Born in Meiji, fortunate. I, making future tales, with head one or two steps ahead, stay single now. Men cry ‘love failed,’ but the nearsighted see pitifully shallow. Anyway, the tale continues: a philosopher descends, proclaims a revolutionary truth. He says: Man is an individual animal. Destroy individuality, and you destroy man. To complete man’s meaning, at any cost, preserve and develop it. Bound by foul custom to marry unwillingly is barbaric against nature; in unenlightened ages maybe, but in civilized today to sink so and not care is grave error. In this high tide of progress, no reason two individualities link beyond ordinary intimacy. Yet uneducated youth, driven by base passion, rashly wed—a most immoral act. For humanity, for civilization, for youth’s individuality, we must resist this barbarism…”
“Sir, I wholly oppose that theory,” Tōfū firmly slapped his knee. “To me nothing is nobler than love and beauty. They comfort, complete, and bless us; they refine our sentiment, exalt character, train sympathy. So in any age we cannot forget them. As real, love becomes marriage; beauty becomes poetry and music. So long as man walks the earth, marriage and art shall never perish.”
“If they don’t, fine, but as the philosopher said, they neatly perish, so resignedly accept. What, art?” } # JSON formatting issue: there is a stray opening brace before
