Pathway to Japanese Literature

That morning, a young journalist from ×社 named Tsuda Benkichi—a fellow with screws loose—was holed up in the parlor next to the entryway.
I had just pulled an all-nighter to finish the manuscript for ×社 and was thinking I’d have a drink and get some sleep, then wake Benkichi once the meal was ready.
That Benkichi properly tidied himself up and came sauntering in.

“Hey Sensei—a strange woman’s shown up.
Might be crazy, you know.”

A magazine journalist accustomed to literary circles—even one who’s young and has screws loose in the head—doesn’t botch guest receptions.
Just as I was feeling relieved, Benkichi smirked slyly—

“Hey Sensei—you should meet her.
Like the sea’s... wait, no—fish! She talks like a fish—y’know, with this... this fishy way of speaking!”

“Does she flap her mouth like a fish?”

“That’s not it, I’m telling you.
You won’t know unless you meet her.
Anyway, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?
Ha ha ha.
She’s incredibly sensual.
Well, y’see—got something in my eye, ha ha ha! I’m weak to beauties, I tell ya.
Well, you’re in the middle of writing that manuscript for the magazine, right?
Normally you’d have to drive her away, but I promised to handle that part for her—y’know, do her a favor, ha ha ha.
So c’mon, just meet her already, will ya?
Oh, perfect timing—it’s done already.
The manuscript—it’s all done!
Ha ha ha! Things are moving right along!”

Just then, the wife and maid who had brought in the meal preparations saw Benkichi, clattered the tray onto the table, clutched their stomachs, and doubled over laughing.

“Ha ha ha! We caught him standing like that!”

Glaring down at the two women whose laughter showed no sign of stopping, Benkichi smirked slyly again and again,

“Ha ha ha! So I heard you write novels.”
“So then—you’re a student?”
“Doorman?”
“She had the nerve to ask me that, I tell ya.”
“I said, ‘I’m the editor-in-chief!’”
“She wasn’t even surprised, I tell ya.”
“So y’see, I’m actually a hotshot new poet—top-class, I tell ya—and I was gonna offer to give her my pen name, Ahaha! But then I got all flustered thinkin’, if she actually asks, whose name should I even give? But Ahaha! She didn’t ask a thing in the end!”

The two women’s laughter grew increasingly uncontrollable, but Benkichi remained utterly unperturbed.

“It’d be a shame to keep her waiting too long. Guess I’ll bring her in then.”
“The parlor’s still got the bedding laid out, y’know.”
“But y’know, if we make her wait a bit—take advantage of the situation—it’ll be more fun.”
“I mean, when I asked ‘What’re you doing here?’ she goes ‘You shouldn’t be asking such absurd questions!’ Ha ha ha! Says she repatriated from Hong Kong—claims she was a spy there too! Not for the Japanese Army, mind you, but as an operative for the Allies! Had the gall to say she’d been stringing Japanese officers along like puppets!”
“She goes, ‘Japanese people have no discipline!’”
“She says it’s boring, y’know.”
“So y’see, Sensei—she thought you were a bit off your rocker and came to check you out, or so she says.”
“She’s got the nerve to come empty-handed, I tell ya.”
“Because she’s carrying a bundle, when I asked if it was a souvenir, she says it’s a duck bento, I tell ya.”
“Guess she got bored with the zoo too, huh?”
“Ahaha!”
“Might be crazy, you know.”

Without a shred of concern for my response, he calmly turned back and brought the woman in.

“Hellooo.”

At the room’s entrance, the woman let out a shrill cry, but then sat properly, placed three fingers on the floor, and bowed with utmost formality.

“Ahaha.”
“There’s a zoo that doesn’t charge admission fees, huh? Ahaha!”
With that, Benkichi said smugly,

“Now then, Japanese hippos drink alcohol—they’re perfect hypnotics for all-nighters.”
“Do you drink?”
“Shall I pour you some?”

“Is this creature insane, Sensei?”

Having said this, the woman smiled sweetly at me.
I began laughing at the absurdity, but Benkichi beamed with delight,

“I’ve been to Matsuzawa Hospital to gather material, you know.”
“Then get this—the patients pointed at me from every window, laughing ‘Crazy! Crazy!’ I tell you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ah! There was a business card—Sano Tatsuyo-kun? So Tatsuyo-san was hospitalized in Hong Kong?”

“You’re such a creep.”
“Sensei, what sort of literary man are you? All your disciples are madmen like this!”

“Ha ha ha! I’m a perfectly sound human being, you know.”
“It’s simply that I’m not Japanese enough.”
“Hong Kong doesn’t have people either, right?”
“It’s the countryside after all.”

“Hong Kong this, Hong Kong that—all you’ve been spouting is nonsense about it from the start, aren’t you?”

“So it wasn’t in Hong Kong, was it?”

“You’re such an idiot, you are.”
“You’re just some punk claiming to be an editor-in-chief or a poet, yet you don’t even realize you’re mocking me as a Hong Kong spy?”

“This is bad news.”
“Ha ha ha! That’s the trick, huh?”
“You weren’t completely crazy after all, huh.”
“Well then, hmm—so that’s how it is. You’re actually clever, huh? The fact that you border on madness is proof of that.”
“Because you’re a beauty, huh.”
“A beauty isn’t crazy to begin with.”
“Beauty, y’see—it’s normalcy itself, I tell ya. That’s how it is. Ha ha ha!”

With that, Benkichi remained composed and unflinching.
Ms. Sano Tatsuyo appeared visibly irritated by the monstrous demeanor of the zoo’s gatekeeper, but with the punk in such a state—rendering the habits of her targeted beast unpredictable—she remained uncharacteristically silent.

Ms. Tatsuyo was said to be twenty-six.
It was only natural that Benkichi removed his cap—such exquisitely sculpted beauty was scarcely found on this earth.
The fairness of her skin, the precision and vividness of her features—they could only be described as carved marble.
The kimono was tastefully arranged and elegant in quality, and when she sat silent with downcast eyes, she appeared genuinely modest and demure.
Yet once she opened her mouth, she abruptly transformed into something shrill and boisterous.

Benkichi said, "She talks like a fish from the sea, y'know," but indeed—if a fish were to speak, it might just as abruptly transform into something shrill and boisterous.

Ms. Fish, unable to discern the true nature of the beast, had initially maintained her composure, but once the alcohol took effect and I revealed my hand, she relaxed and began to speak.

“I’ve moved into the neighborhood, you see~ee.”
“It’s an air-raid shelter, you see~ee.”
“Even so, it’s got a proper roof, and the walls floor to ceiling are all thickly reinforced with concrete.”
“It belonged to an Army Major—cement was easy to come by for his sort. Over four-and-a-half tatami mats! Quite something.”
“Do come visit sometime.”
“I’m what they call a kept woman~oo.”
“At this point, that’s preferable.”
“The man’s sixty-three~oo.”
“Old ones are better.”
“They’re hardly human-like.”
“No different from oil drums or empty bottles.”
“People are vile things—don’t you agree?”
“Are you one too—a lecher?”
“Oh! How horrid! Eek!”

As for that air-raid shelter, I knew it well.
In this area’s most notorious shelter, infamous during the war for the misdeeds of the Okayaki gang, even someone like me—hounded by bombs—would glare sideways at their outrageous antics.

Exhausted and drunk, I crawled into bed and fell asleep first, but Benkichi apparently escorted Ms. Fish to her air-raid shelter for a visit.

Then she declared, “The well was too far away—I couldn’t clean properly~oo,” and made Benkichi haul buckets of water to meticulously wipe down every surface of the concrete shelter—scolding him if a single drop spilled: “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? This isn’t some aboveground building!”
“You don’t understand hygiene, you moron!”
she scolded him, yet still boiled water and poured tea for him,

“There，good work.”
“You’re plenty with just one.”

She placed an unappetizing-looking daifuku on a plate for him，then helped herself to yōkan and kanoko from the large sweets tray.

“Give me some yōkan too.”
“No.”

With that cold remark, she ate her fill and tidied away the sweets container,

“Hey, you.
At your company—how much would you pay to employ me?
It’s so dull.
And my allowance isn’t enough either.”

“Hmm...
About three thousand yen, maybe?”

“That’s a month’s salary!”

“Well look—
Even that’s too much.
Generally speaking, three girls together can’t handle one man’s job.”

“Hmph!
What do you make?”

“Around six thousand yen.”

“What rubbish!
You idiot!
If you’ve got eyes, look at me properly.
I could bewitch some smut-peddling writer with a single glance.
My sidelong looks have over ten variations—but for literati, even the second one’s more than enough.
You’re a worthless hack.
No sense at all.”

and apparently flew into a terrible rage.

Such was the uproar of Ms. Fish’s first visit.

★

Since her first appearance had been so dramatic, I swung between fearing daily visits would plague me and secretly growing impatient for her return—yet she never appeared.

Three or four times, I met her on the street.
Then came: “Oh! Sensei! Good day! Good morning!”
“Oh no! This won’t do! What a mess!” she’d babble in a fluster, her rants always circling back first to Benkichi’s faults.

Benkichi was visiting Ms. Fish for about three days each week.
In between those visits, he would occasionally drop by my place to chat idly with my wife, but he never breathed a word about it.

“Benkichi is so pushy.”
“Give me some yōkan~oo.”
“Give me castella~oo.”
“Even when you’re here, he doesn’t mind~oo.”
“Such a delight, ha ha!” she’d say, smirking, and wouldn’t budge for three whole hours.
“That guy’s such a pain, I tell ya.”
“He brings his own lunchbox and eats his lunch here before leaving~oo.”
“He’s supposed to come to Sensei’s house to pester you for manuscripts~oo, but says there’s no point going there~ee! It’s easier just to laze around here~aa! Then he struts into the office like, ‘I stuck around at Sensei’s place for three hours!’ and everyone feels sorry for him~aa! Ha ha! ‘Sooorry about that~ee!’ or whatever~ee!”
“But Sensei, that’s a lie~oo.”
“Hey, Sensei.”
“He wants to see my face~oo.”
“You know that, don’t you?”
“C’mooon, Senseeei.”

As long as it was just such talk, things were still manageable, but one day, after we had parted ways once, she came chasing after me,

“Sensei, where are you off to for your stroll~oo?”
“I’m coming along too~oo.”
“Hmm? Don’t want me to?”
“Oh my, that can’t be true.”
“Oh my! Heh heh, I said it! Ha ha! Silly me! Tsk!”

She turned bright red, slapping her forehead and sticking out her tongue, and in the midst of all that busyness, she treated me to sideways glances up to the third level.

“I’ve been writing a novel lately, Sensei~oo.”
“Once I finish that, I’ll come visit you~aa.”
“You’ll read it for me~oo?”
“I’m terrible at it~oo.”
“But you know… it’s really something~aa!”
“Heh heh.”
“Isn’t it funny~aa?”
“Is it funny~aa?”
“Oh! No! Gyah—!”

Novelists, as a breed, were unwittingly menaced by such coercion, but this time, even my own heart and guts turned to ice.

“Is that an I-novel?”

When I asked, she immediately turned crimson and twisted her body,

"Oh my! Sensei, how mean!"
"Oh my, I'm so embarrassed."
"Oh, Sensei! Calling it an I-novel—oh my, that's—well—how embarrassing!"
"Oh my! Senseeei."
"Noo!"
"That's so mean!"

It was such a commotion that here again, she treated me to sideways glances escalating from the fourth level up to about the fifth and sixth.
In the midst of her busyness, sure enough, only her sideways glances moved with practiced ease.

“Why are you embarrassed?”

“But Sensei! Oh my! Sensei, that’s perverted~aa! Oh my! Sensei! Gyah—! Calling it an I-novel—making me write about my own affairs~oo, to me~ee! Oh my! Gyah—! Writing such things—oh my! Senseeei, you’re telling *me* to write them too~oo? That’s so perverted~aa! Gyah—!”

She turned bright red, writhing in agony, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper only for a sudden “Gyah—” to erupt from the crown of her head—leaving passersby gaping in astonishment and glaring at me as though I were some kidnapper—until I found myself at a complete loss,

“Alright, you—I get it.”
“Once you finish the novel, please bring it.”
“Well then—goodbye.”

“Oh my~aa! Sensei, how cruel~aa!”
“Let’s have some tea together.”
“If it’s with me, it’s embarrassing~oo.”
“Oh my! No one would ever think we’re lovers~aa!”
“They wouldn’t think that.”
“Do they think so~aa?”
“Do they think so~aa?”
“Do they think so~aa?”
“Never mind~aa.”
“As if~oo.”
“Tsk.”
“What’s that~aa?”
“Oh my~aa.”
“But Sensei, since you look young, maybe we’d make a somewhat balanced pair~aa.”
“But Sensei, you’re balding though.”
“That’s strange~aa.”
“I’m so embarrassed~aa! Gyah—!”

Suddenly, she jumped onto my arm and hung there.
She herself seemed startled and started to pull her hand back slightly, but then appeared to reconsider, grabbed my sleeve hard enough to tear it, and began walking while swinging our arms together.

“This kind of thing means nothing at all~oo.”
“Sensei, I’m so embarrassed~oo.”
“You mustn’t misunderstand~oo.”
“Men get so full of themselves~nee.”
“They jump to conclusions right away.”
“They really do~nee.”
“But it’s fine~aa, things like this~oo.”
“Hey~ee, Sensei, I’m writing detective novels~oo.”

I was too flustered with shame to hear Ms. Fish’s words anymore.
I’d meant to stroll to the market to buy books, but couldn’t face the crowds.
If I went to a café, there was no predicting what she might blurt out or how far things might go.
If I walked toward the deserted ruins, I’d surely be mistaken for some third-rate Kohei lookalike.
With every option exhausted—

“Ah! That’s right—I forgot something!”

I brushed off Ms. Fish’s hand and bolted in a panic.
I hadn’t run for my life like that since the wartime bombings.

The next time we met on the street,

“Oh my!”
“Sensei! Oh Sensei, you’re surprisingly naive~nee.”
“To get so embarrassed and run away like that—how utterly mortifying~oo!”
“Oh my~aa.”
“Sensei! You’ve gone bright red~oo!”
“Oh my—! Gyah—!”

She herself turned bright red, writhed in agony, and then gave me another sideways glance.

★

The second time Ms. Fish came to visit me was on a stormy spring night.
At that time, there were three guests at my house drinking sake.
In such a storm, the kind of person who would visit someone must either be an overly busy reporter or an eccentric with too much time on their hands.

One was Benkichi.
He didn't drink alcohol.
Since he was fundamentally unhinged from the start, he probably had no need for alcohol.

The remaining two were eccentrics of a different caliber altogether, which explained their larger physiques.
With shells polished smooth from experience, they presented themselves as distinguished gentlemen.
One was a critic called Hekisai Kyōsuke, the other a novelist named Hannya Yūkō.
The rotund one was Hekisai, while the gangly one was Hannya.
A hulking rogue of a man sat spread-eagled, enveloped in an alcoholic haze, while beside him Benkichi perched primly, his face twitching with perpetual smirks.

Ms. Fish,

“Oh my! Gooood evening~aa!”

Having said this, she widened her eyes in surprise, but when I introduced the two rogues—Hekisai Kyōsuke and Hannya Yūkō, literary men who were my friends—she suddenly grew affectionate,

“Oh my! I’ve been an avid reader of yours!”
“That newspaper serial of yours!”
“How wonderful it is!”
“So skilled!”

Hekisai and Hannya didn’t write for newspapers or anything of the sort.
It was all nonsense.
Ms. Fish knew next to nothing about pure literature—there was no way she could’ve recognized names like Hekisai and Hannya.
Yet she remained utterly unperturbed,

“What an honor to meet such distinguished gentlemen~aa!”
“But oh my~aa! You’re every bit as remarkable as they say~aa!”
“Truly remarkable~aa!”
“How magnificent~aa!”
“My, you’re quite sturdy~ee.”
“And you’re so towering~aa! My, how true~ee.”
“Pardon me, but you must weigh around twenty-two or twenty-three kan.”
“Oh my~oo! And how many meters tall? Haa~ah! Oh my~aa! Really~aa? My~aa!”

Ms. Fish, knowing that dwelling on literary topics would expose her ignorance, swiftly diverted the conversation to weight and height—but Hekisai and Hannya, oblivious to her ruse, basked in the flattery of a beautiful woman: Hekisai grinned ear to ear, while Hannya sank deeper into brooding melancholy, each privately pleased with themselves. Benkichi alone, owing to his long-standing association, had fully grasped Ms. Fish’s temperament; having seen through the truth, he smirked repeatedly in amusement.

“Don’t you know, Ms. Tatsuyo?”
“This Mr. Hekisai here—”
“There’s a magazine called *Madness Baseball*, right?”
“He’s their editor-in-chief—see?”

Ms. Fish looked startled.
She seemed to shoot laser glares at Benkichi from her eyes, but he kept feigning ignorance with perfect composure.

“You know about Mr. Hekisai, don’t you? See? Dark Cat’s pitcher Futamata Chōhan—right? That guy, see—”

“Shut up, you punk!”

Shouting was futile.

“Ahaha. That guy, see— They say this guy’s her lover—see— Ahahaha.”

“So then—”
“This guy—”
“Ended up as some sixty-three-year-old geezer’s sweetheart—see—”
“So then—”
“Futamata Chōhan got mad—see—”
“Got drunk—see—”
“Went and whacked this guy—see—”
“This guy—”
“Using his old tricks—see—”
“Grabbed a wooden club—see—”
“Took this stance—‘Hiyah!’—see—”
“Trouble was his control was too damn sharp—see—”
“Smacked right into Futamata Chōhan’s elbow.”
“So then—”
“Since last winter, Futamata ain’t stepped up to the plate—see—”
“Ahahahaa!”

“Eh? What’s that? What’s that?”
“Wahahahaa!”
“Hmm, this is…”

When it came to this kind of gossip, Hekisai Kyōsuke was utterly defenseless.
This man had his literary friends in tears—so it went.
While he didn’t take on the role of mastermind creating gossip himself, once gossip reached this man’s ears, within two days it would spread to every corner of the land.
He sent thirty postcards by express mail every day.
All of them were postcards filled with utterly trivial gossip, and the man himself simply couldn’t contain his delight in spreading it to others.
That a man with sixteen sons and fifteen daughters could be behind such deeds was utterly unbelievable—yet this strange fellow, who forgot all restraint and love the moment gossip arose and couldn’t help but lean in, now immediately flushed crimson, trembling violently with delight as he thrust his knee forward.

Then, the table lurched forward with a scraping sound and thudded against his stomach.

“Oh my, do forgive me.”

Ms. Fish mechanically muttered this and nothing more.
She had been extremely busy since the middle of Benkichi’s story.
Though her purpose was unclear, she had been busily clearing the items from the table.
In my bewilderment, I wondered if this was her petty revenge for not letting them drink more, but when Hekisai guffawed with delight and leaned forward, she promptly pulled the now-cleared table toward her and thudded it against his stomach.

“That didn’t hurt a bit, did it oo?”

Muttering something like a hummed tune—*“That didn’t hurt a bit, did it oo?”*—she continued briskly without even glancing aside, this time wiping down the table.

“Wahahaha!”
“Is that so?”
“Kekekeke!”
“Was it you who beat Futamata’s elbow?”
“Hee-hee-hee!”
“Oof—!”

Once again, the table had collided with Hekisai’s stomach with even greater force than before.
Hekisai clutched his stomach, once again,

“Ugh... Grk...”

He groaned, and seemingly having become aware of others’ feelings, forced an embarrassed laugh before falling silent with feigned composure.

Ms. Fish had come through the storm dangling some large cloth-wrapped bundle.
Having confirmed Hekisai’s silence,

“Oh my, do forgive me oo.”

With a smirk, she took three Piita boxes from the cloth-wrapped bundle and lined them up on the table.

“Gentlemen, you know what these are.”
“It’s a side job I just started, you see.”
“Benkichi has no money, so he’s out of the question, you see.”
“But it’s a good thing aa.”
“It just wouldn’t do to have only Mr. Sakaguchi here alone, you see.”
“Mr. Hekisai and Mr. Hannya honoring us with your presence—how lovely ee.”
“You gentlemen must be wealthy.”
“You’re regulars at backdoor dealings, oo.”
“You know all about this sort of thing, don’t you oo?”

She turned over the three lined-up Piita boxes and showed them.
The center of the middle box had been torn out.
It was the kind of scam that had become popular in markets these days.

“Oh my, Madam, you must forgive me.”
“Would you be a dear and fetch Sensei’s wallet?”
“I truly am sorry.”
“I’m poor, you see—it’s simply agonizing.”
“Oh my, truly-truly—I’m ever so grateful.”
“Madam, you’ll play along too, won’t you?”
“But Madam—I’m truly suffering here.”
“Now then gentlemen—five hundred yen per person per round.”
“Are we agreed? Let’s begin.”

My wife was another of those women who never held back in absurd situations, and whenever something foolish arose, she would instantly break into a grin and jump right in to play her part.
Hurriedly opening the wallet, she made a bundle of five hundred yen notes,

“Oh my, that’s enough now.
“Let’s see… This one.”

“Oh my, not yet yo.”
“Aah!”
“Whoa!”
“More, more! Aah!”

The two women’s eyes instantly gleamed with intensity, but the gentlemen, true to their status, refrained from producing their wads of cash.
My wife suddenly noticed and, with an eager air, hurriedly counted out bills and bundled them,

“Here you go, Mr.Heisai. Here you go, Mr.Hannya. Here you go, Mr.Benkichi.”

The one who’d end up losing was just me, wasn’t I?
Benkichi grabbed the bundle of bills and leaned forward,

“Alrighty.
“I’ll make a killing here, right?”
“Ha ha haa!”

“No cheating now.”

Ms.Fish shot Benkichi a ferocious glare, then suddenly beamed and picked up the Piita boxes—two in one hand, one in the other.

“This—you get it?”
“You get it now?”
“One—there’s a hole.”
“Look close.”
“Get it now?”

Fluttering her fingers deftly, she arranged them on the table and rearranged them.

“Put up the money.”
“There’s a hole—you win, see?”
“Hand over the cash.”
“This one’s got a hole.”
“No hole—you lose, right?”

Everyone placed their bets on the same one.
Ms. Fish flipped over that box.
There was no hole.
Ms. Fish swiftly grabbed the bundle of bills and tucked it into her obi.

“Hmm…”

Benkichi glared suspiciously at the remaining two boxes, then reached out and flipped them over one by one.
I too had found it suspicious.
However, there was indeed one box with a hole.

Ms. Fish, utterly scornful, pushed Benkichi’s hand aside, grabbed the box, and swiftly tucked that into her pocket as well.

Ms. Fish removed the table.
Then, she untied the furoshiki bundle and took out a bamboo skewer with an apple impaled on it and a round piece of paper.
It was the densuke.
Once it was assembled, she pulled out a Go board, sat down,

“This is the densuke~. Are we all agreed~?”
“Madam~, this time, be firm~.”
“I’ll spin it~.”

It started whirling round and round.
Ms. Fish swiftly braced herself, flushed crimson, and opened her mouth wide—then,

“They’re placed! They’re placed! There—they’re placed!”
“If the bets go wrong, blame the old man’s thick skull!”
“Gotta bet to eat, you suckers!”

She let out an earsplitting shout.
Since there was a storm outside, it might have been acceptable, but I was so embarrassed I couldn’t bear to listen.
I grew sleepy and excused myself early to fall asleep.

In my house there were only enough futons for two people.
In summer we could accommodate any number of guests, but on a stormy day in early spring, only one could stay.

The last train the three could have taken home had already departed.
At that time, due to power-saving measures, the last train was early.

Ms.Fish, having gotten her way, guided the three of them to the air-raid shelter and kept them playing Densuke and the three Piita boxes until daybreak.
The three gentlemen had been completely cleaned out.
The troublesome thing was that even my wife—damn her—had eagerly tagged along and emptied out my wallet.

From that day onward, Mr. Hekisai Kyōsuke began visiting me frequently.
You must already grasp the reason without my needing to explain it.

Benkichi stroked his chin,

“Ahahaha! Even a forty-year-old’s romance turns out surprisingly modest, eh? Hahahaa!”

He was grinning smugly about such things, but the man himself was likely in much the same state of mind.

The course of events remained unclear, but it was bound to end in some absurd conclusion.