Pathway to Japanese Literature

Scene 1: Study Group

The clamor of a chaotic middle school classroom—"Hey, Kamei!"
"What’s up, Matsuoka?"
"You're pretty dark."
"What’s so funny about being dark? Hey, whitey!"
Quick exchanges like "What’s up, Blackie?" could be heard in the distance.
Mingling with these came the sound of someone stomping across the floor in clattering shoes while whistling the Patriotic March.

The sound of the school bell—could be heard even farther away.

△ BANG—the door slammed open again as students burst into the classroom: clattering footsteps, thuds of bags being thrown, and amidst it all—“Hey, where’s my seat?”
“Hey Yoshida! Over here, over here!”
“Huh, that’s weird… Why’s my desk here…?” came a hurried voice.

Ebihara: Ah! The teacher...!

The sound of the door clanking shut.

Mr. Oyama: "Ahem."

The entire class instantly fell silent. (Pause)

Mr. Oyama (rustling the attendance book open and shut): "Ah... everyone.
This class remains as lively as ever, I see.
During summer vacation, you must have had a truly delightful time."
Mr. Oyama, for one, had been somewhat preoccupied during summer vacation—(he caught himself)—ah, mumbled something unintelligible, ahem.
"Ah... Well then, at the start of this new semester, I must offer one stern admonishment to the entire class."

△ A large group of students buzzed with restless unease.

Mr. Oyama: “Ah... Well now, this class remains quite a lively bunch—and rather innocent too—I do think it's a good class—but ah... there's one thing I cannot commend.”
“That is to say—recently, even when I assign homework, the results have been rather poor, and when I conduct exams too, the quality of answers leaves much to be desired.”
“This is truly a troubling tendency.”

The entire class.
The entire class fell deathly silent. (Pause)

Mr. Oyama (in his sternest voice): “Now upon reflection—I believe this stems from all of you in this class becoming so absorbed in war games that you’ve utterly neglected your studies.
“War games are not inherently bad.
“However, you must place academics above all else.
“You are first and foremost students—that is your fundamental nature.
“Just as soldiers at the front have the duty to defeat enemy troops, students have the duty to study—’tis your mission.
“Do you second-tier citizens comprehend how your present neglect of studies will reverberate through the coming age?
“When war erupts in that future era, your academic failures will leave you unable to produce tanks capable of crushing enemy forces or craft superior aircraft—reduced to weeping in defeat.
“In short, you’ll be bested by foreign nations through scholarly weakness!
“Is this not a matter of utmost gravity?”

The sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and the sound of a door opening.

Janitor (panting): “Ah, Mr. Oyama!”
“There’s a call from your home.”
“Please return home immediately, they said.”

Mr. Oyama (startled): “Wh-wh-what’s happened?!”

Janitor: “They said it looks like the baby’s going to be born at your home.”

The entire class erupted with a thunderous “Whoa!”, pounding their desks and stamping their feet.

Mr.Oyama: “Huh… So it’s finally begun.”
“This constitutes an exceedingly grave crisis.”

The entire class erupted.

Mr. Oyama: "Now, now," he said while restraining the students, "Everyone, rejoice—after fifteen years, a baby is finally being born at my place. God has bestowed this baby upon us. In war, precious soldiers die; national power diminishes; what compensates for this is the birth of babies—this is no laughing matter. There's nobody to watch the house at my place. I'll be right back. Keep quiet."

The teacher's footsteps receded; the sound of the door.

Class Leader: "A truly grave crisis indeed?"

This time, no one laughed. (Pause)

Class Leader: “Hey everyone.”
“So early in the new semester, and we’ve already got ourselves a grave crisis.”
“Seems we’ve forgotten our fundamental duty as students, haven’t we?”

The students buzzed with mixed reactions.

Class Leader: “How about this, everyone? In order to break through this grave crisis, let’s create something called a Study Group for our class!”

The students buzzed noisily.

Student: “What’s a Study Group?”

Class Leader: “The Study Group is this—after school, we all stay at school together.”

“What are we gonna do by staying?”

“We’ll stay after school and review what we learned that day together,” said the Class Leader. “But it’s not just review. We’ll form committees and hold mock exams too. And if there’s someone who can’t keep up, we’ll all teach each other until everyone understands.”

“But we want to exercise after school,” a student objected. “Building physical strength matters too for us second-class citizens!”

“That’s right!” chorused many students.

“Then after dinner, let’s gather at someone’s house,” said the Class Leader. “My family’s company has a big conference room—I’ll ask my father to let us borrow it.”

A student muttered, “Do you think this’ll really work?”

“It’ll definitely work!” he shot back.

Another student protested, “But someone like Ebihara who can’t get it—no way he’ll manage even if you teach him.”

The Class Leader grinned. “Oh, I’ll make it work out. I’ve still got a good trick up my sleeve. With this trick, even the hopeless cases’ll manage! In other words, like this…”

Music signaling an abrupt scene change.

The students buzzed noisily.

The distant blare of car horns, a whistling pedestrian, and other street noises.

Class Leader: “It’s noisy out there right?”
“Though sweltering out there right?”

The sound of a window closing.

Student: “Ah! I did it!”
“This should be right…”
“X is 5, Y is 3, and Z is 12.”

Class Leader: “Hmm, let me see—X is 5, Y is 3, and Z…12?”
“Alright, the answer’s correct.”
“Here you go—one caramel.”

Student (joyfully): “Ah, thanks! This makes five caramels!”
(tossing it into his mouth and licking noisily) “Hey, Ebihara’s crying! Ebihara, can’t you do it?”

Ebihara (sniffling): “No matter how many times I try, I can’t get it.”

Student: “Tch, let me see that.”
“You’re still on problem two?”

Ebihara: “Ah... yeah.”
“I’ve only had one caramel so far.”

Student: “Well no wonder.”
“You haven’t even finished one problem yet.”
“During algebra today, you were just drawing airplanes. That’s why you’re stuck.”

Ebihara: “What’s wrong with that?”

The sound of the Class Leader's footsteps.

“You all mustn’t fight!” said the Class Leader.

“Hey, Ebihara really can’t do it after all,” said a student. “He’s still stuck on problem two. You should teach him!”

“Alright,” said the Class Leader. “Ebihara, how far have you gotten? Ah, this won’t do. You’ve forgotten the formula. That’s why you can’t do it. Didn’t I just teach you? Factorize A squared minus B squared—now, what does that become?”

Ebihara: “Umm... A squared minus B squared is... umm... umm... uhhh.”

Class Leader: “Hurry up and remember! Hey Ebihara—don’t you wanna eat a caramel? Look how pretty this color is!”

Ebihara: “I wanna eat it! If I eat that... maybe I’ll remember the formula.”

Class Leader: “No way! If you don’t remember it yourself, I’m not giving you anything! Oh right—to make you try harder, I’ll add a bonus.”
“Here—an extra chocolate! Don’t you wanna eat some chocolate?”

“I wanna eat it! I wanna eat it! My mouth’s watering like crazy!”
I can’t take it anymore—they’re too tempting!
I’ll just shut my eyes.
A squared minus B squared is... umm... uh... (A minus B) squared... No wait—A minus B and then caramel—no, that’s wrong.
Hmm... Ugh... Ah! That’s it! Got it! It’s (A minus B) times (A plus B)!

“Impressive work, Ebihara!”
“That’s correct.”
“Don’t forget this again now. Here—a caramel and a chocolate.”

“Thanks a bunch!” said Ebihara, immediately puffing out his cheeks and munching noisily. “Ahh, so good—my cheeks might just fall right off!”

“Now that you’ve remembered the formula, hurry up and solve the problem.”
“Look, here it is.”
“Since there’s another (A minus B) here, you can factor them out with (A minus B), right?”

“Ah, really!” Ebihara exclaimed. “After factoring out (A minus B), then... umm... 3A plus 2B and A plus B? Hey, what do I do next?”

The Class Leader sighed. “This is getting tiresome. That’s how you did it—that’s the answer.”

“Wait, this is the answer? Oh, is that all?”
“There’s nothing to it.”
“Heh heh... Algebra’s kinda fun after all.”

“Ahahaha! Ebihara here says algebra’s kinda fun!”
“Ahahaha!”

“Algebra’s fine and all, but caramel tastes better, right?”
“Ahem—this calls for utmost gravity! All hail the Study Group!”

A great many students laughed cheerfully—"Ahahaha!"

From the distant town, the chorus of “Ama ni Kawarite” sending off departing soldiers drew near.

……―Curtain―……

Scene Two: Mock Exam in a Dream

Music.
*Dream Music* (like *Träumerei*)

Exam Candidate Aoki: Hmm, this place looks unfamiliar.
Why am I walking through this field at a time like this... Hmm, that’s strange.
Suddenly, a signboard appeared right before my eyes.
What’s this?
It says "Mock Exam Hall".
If this is a mock exam, taking it would build confidence—so I might as well take it—but where could it be?

“Excuse me, Mr. Aoki—please come here.”

“Huh? …When did you get here, Ma’am?”
“Ah, there are desks and chairs here too.”
“Ah, I see.”
“So this is the mock exam hall.”

“Now then everyone—since we’re all assembled, I shall present the problem. Are we ready?”
“There was an old egg seller who placed a number of eggs in her basket and went to town to sell them.”
“At the first house, she sold half of her eggs plus half an egg.”
“At the next house, she sold half of the remaining eggs plus half an egg.”
“Then at the final house, she sold half of what was left plus half an egg, thus selling out completely.”
“How many eggs were originally in the basket?”
“Note that she never actually split any eggs—she sold whole eggs at all three houses.”
“Solve this using algebra.”

Aoki: "Ma'am, could you please repeat that one more time?"

Female Examiner: "Yes, I will repeat it... The old egg seller placed a certain number of eggs into her basket and went to town to sell them. At the first house, she sold half of the eggs and half of one egg; at the next house, she sold half of the remaining eggs and half of one egg; and at the final house, she sold half of the remaining eggs and half of one egg, thereby completely selling out all her stock. How many eggs were originally in the basket? However, she always sold the eggs without breaking them. Please solve this using algebra."

Aoki found this rather intriguing.
It was exactly like a riddle.
Having to solve it through algebra made it all the more fascinating.
First he set the total number of eggs as X and then...

Fusa: "Yes, Ma'am. I've finished."

Aoki: "Huh? Someone's already done?"

Female Examiner: "Yes, Ms. Fusa—you've completed it?"
"What equation did you formulate? Read it aloud here."

Fusa: "Yes, ma'am."
"First, the number of eggs sold at the initial house equals X divided by two plus half an egg. Combining these gives a fraction with denominator two and numerator X plus one."
"Let's define this as A."

Female Examiner: "You're setting it as A? Then..."

“Now, since the number of eggs sold at the next house was half of the remaining eggs, this equals X minus A divided by two plus half an egg.”
“Since A was already established earlier, substituting it results in the number sold at the second house becoming a fraction with four as the denominator and X plus one as the numerator.”
“Let’s call this B.”

“That much is correct. Then…”

“At the final house, the number of eggs sold equals X minus A minus B divided by two, plus half an egg added there. This results in a fraction with eight as the denominator and X plus one as the numerator.”
“Let’s call this C.”

“And the solution?”

“Since X equals A plus B plus C, solving this equation gives X as seven eggs.”

“An exemplary solution.”
“The basket initially contained seven eggs.”

(Sound effect: Clap-clap—a crowd applauded.)

Aoki was utterly astonished.
Even though she was just a kid, she was really something—he needed to study algebra more.
Ugh—another teacher had appeared at Kyōdan; this time, it was a bearded old instructor.

“Now now, you lot—from what I see, you’ve let textbooks conquer you and exams swallow you whole. That won’t do.”
“You must study with more leisurely minds.”
“Now I’ll give you an unconventional problem.”
“Do this answer well and you’ll pass.”
“This is a solid geometry problem—hmm—‘Prove ghosts exist through geometry.’”
“Well? Understand? Again: ‘Prove ghosts exist through geometry.’”
“That’s the whole problem.”

(Sound effect:) A crowd buzzed and murmured.

“Quiet down now!”
“Hey Aoki—you try solving this one! Come on, stand up! Stand up like a man!”

“Haah... Proving ghosts through geometry? I can’t solve such an absurd problem.”

“Just stand up already—doesn’t matter how!” barked the Old Examiner. “If you stand, I’ll beam radio waves from here to teach you.”

“You’ll... teach me?” Aoki rose hesitantly. “First, let’s consider a two-dimensional world.” His eyes widened mid-sentence—this felt wrong. The words kept flowing unbidden from his mouth.

“First consider the plane world,” echoed the examiner gruffly. “Then what? Keep going!”

“Yes sir,” Aoki continued mechanically. “In the plane world, length and width exist—but no concept of height. We three-dimensional beings comprehend all three axes.” His finger traced an imaginary surface. “Take a calm water surface as your plane world example. Imagine a realm confined solely to water’s skin—and picture organisms dwelling there.”

Old Examiner: “Good, good. Then…”

Aoki: “There is now one egg here.”
“This egg is three-dimensional, of course.”
“I pinch it with my fingers and bring it close to the water’s surface.”
“Then I gently let go.”
“Now—what do you think will happen?”
“Naturally, the egg passes through the water’s surface and falls into the depths.”
“So—how would this appear to the creatures of the plane world when the egg passes through?”

Old Examiner: “Hmm, how would this appear, I wonder? In the plane world, they cannot comprehend that the egg possesses height.”

Aoki: “First, let’s consider the instant when the egg touches the water’s surface. In the plane world, this appears only as a single point—after all, they cannot see anything above or below the water’s surface.”

Old Examiner: “Hmm, I see.”

Aoki: “Gradually, the egg becomes submerged in the water and falls. In the plane world, how would this appear? In the moment they think a single point has suddenly appeared before their eyes, it swiftly grows into a large circle, spreading outward. And when that circular shape finally reaches its maximum size, it then begins shrinking in reverse. In other words, when more than half of the egg becomes submerged, its midsection narrows—so the area in contact with the water’s surface gradually decreases. Within that, it finally becomes a point and then vanishes completely. In the plane world, they do not know that the egg has fallen through. First, a point appeared before their eyes; it rapidly expanded into something large, then just as quickly began shrinking smaller and smaller until it finally vanished in a flash. They had seen something they couldn’t make sense of. They would think this must be what they had long heard referred to as a ghost.”

“A rather muddled way of putting it, but I suppose that’s roughly correct,” said the Old Examiner. “And then what happens?”

Aoki continued: “And then... this time I’ll prove ghosts appearing in our three-dimensional world.”
“We humans only know length, width, and height—but let’s suppose there exists here a hyper-dimensional world containing another element imperceptible to us.”
“If an egg from this hyper-dimensional world were to suddenly pass right before our eyes—how would that appear?”
“First, a single point would materialize.”
“It would swiftly swell into something like a rubber ball, then gradually expand further until reaching the size of a gas tank.”
No sooner had this happened than it began rapidly shrinking—before anyone could react, it returned to its original rubber ball size and vanished in a flash.
“Now humans would be utterly astonished! What would they call this? ‘Ah! I just saw a ghost there!’”
“That’s what they’d exclaim!”

In other words, when things from the hyper-dimensional world intersect with our three-dimensional world, they appear as ghosts.

△A ghost vanished with sound effects and eerie music trailing off...

Third Scene: Parents of Exam Candidates

△A radio begins to play in the distance.
(Naniwa-bushi or Gidayū?)

“Um, cephalopods consist of five types: octopus, giant octopus, true squid, Japanese flying squid, and spear squid.”
“When you read their initials, it spells *ta-i-ma-su-ya*.”
“Next is gastropods—there are four types: abalone, top shell, turban shell, mud snail. When you take their initials, it spells *a-to-sa-ta*.”
“Um, *ta-i-ma-su-ya* and *a-to-sa-ta*…”

△Around this point, a loud snoring sound began to be heard.

Mother: "Um, next are bivalves."
"Clams, corbicula…"

△The snoring grew even louder.

Mother: “Oh my, what could this be?”
“Oh, it’s snoring.”
Whose snoring could this be?
Father isn’t home yet, the maid is out—so then it must be Michio.
Ah, it’s Michio.
To neglect your exam preparation studies and take a nap... My, what a pitiful person you are.

△SFX: She stepped on the tatami mats and opened the sliding door to the adjacent room.

Mother: “Oh my, Michio, why are you taking a nap? If you keep this up, you won’t pass the high school entrance exam! Come on, wake up. Cheer up.”

Michio: “Ugh... Aaah... I’m so sleepy today, Mom—it’s ’cause we did so much running during gym class. That’s why I’m tired.”

Mother: “Oh, is that so? This won’t do. There are still tons of problems you have to do. If you don’t do at least seventy-five problems a night, you’ll never finish all the exam prep books by the entrance exam. Cheer up. I’ll pray for you.”

“But I’m sleepy,” Michio protested, his words slurring with exhaustion. “My brain feels like I borrowed it from someone else—it doesn’t work at all.”

“Oh dear, this won’t do,” his mother clucked. “Well, I suppose there’s no helping it. You mustn’t damage your brain, so off to bed with you now.” Her clinical tone sharpened as she produced a small vial. “Sleep deeply. Take this sleeping medicine and rest.” The glass clicked against the table as she finalized her prescription: “Understood?”

Michio (looking increasingly sleepy) Ugh... Aaah...

△The sound of a futon being taken out.

Mother closed the sliding door, returned to the living room, and plopped down heavily.

"I really wish I could take Michio's place... I'm not sleepy at all... Come on, I should study ahead some more."
To verify how much Michio had studied, she needed to remember everything even more thoroughly than he did. Was every mother of an only child this fretful?
(Changing her tone) "Um—bivalves include clams, corbicula, oysters, short-neck clams, Agemaki clams, scallops, ark shells, and fool clams."

△SFX: The lattice door grated open.
(Father returned home)

Father: “What’s this?”
“Ark shells and fool clams? Quite the feast.”
“But cut out the ‘fool clams.’”
“There’s the stylish name Aoyagi, isn’t there?”

“Welcome home. Have you already had dinner?”

“Don’t mention it. First I’ll take off my clothes, then have myself a feast in front of that long brazier—that’s the proper order of things, I reckon.”

“Oh my….”

△He undressed, and the clothes hanger clattered.
Simultaneously came the clatter of meal preparations—the kettle’s hiss and the rice container’s clank.

Mother: “Here you go.”

Father: “Hup... harrumph... Ah—what about Michio?”

“Well, he says he’s terribly sleepy and his brain is about to turn to tofu, so I let him go to sleep early.”

“Oh, is that so.”
“Michio’s been worn out so pitifully from his exam prep lately.”
“To have put him to sleep right away—that’s quite an achievement coming from you.”

“Here you go.”

“Ah.”
“Serve me a heaping portion.”
“Ah, I’m starving.”

△SFX: The clink of a bowl being placed on a tray.
Following that came the sound of the rice container being opened.

Father: “Huh? There’s no Aoyagi clams with the ark shells. Hey, what’s going on here?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Oyama-sized.”

△Father stuffed his cheeks with rice.

Father: “Ark shells... Aoyagi clams...”

Mother: “Oh my, no!”
“That was me reciting zoology.”

Father (stuffing his cheeks): “Zoology?”

Mother: Yes.
"In other words, when speaking of bivalves as animals, they include clams, corbicula, short-neck clams—and then ark shells and fool clams—you see."

Father: Oh come now.
"So it wasn't a feast after all?"
"That's downright boring."
"(Shifting tone) But why d'you need to memorize ark shells an' fool clams?"

Mother: "You! Ah... Y-you!"

Father: "W-w-what the—"
"Suddenly—h—had to go and let out a shrill voice like that."

Mother: "I do apologize."
"However, you are being terribly cold toward Michio."
"Michio has even given up listening to his favorite records for his exam preparation, yet you aren’t the least bit concerned about his entrance exams."

Father: "Don’t be ridiculous!"
"I’ve been worrying so much—"

“Now, do listen properly to what I have to say,” said Mother. “Why—*I* am studying for entrance exams alongside Michio myself! When I memorize cephalopods, gastropods, bivalves and such—it’s because I believe Michio will study harder if his own mother knows more than him! Furthermore—every day I scour every corner of newspaper advertisements! Whenever there’s some new excellent exam prep book published—off I dash to buy it! Then *I* read through them first—pick out problems not found in other books—and make Michio work on them day after day! If even a single practice problem printed in our nation exists that I haven’t made him attempt—why—I couldn’t sleep soundly if my life depended on it! Thanks to all this—you can’t imagine how much easier his exams will be! After everything I’ve...”

And yet—

Father: “Hey, grub’s ready. Seconds time.”

The clatter of rice bowls and wooden tub.

Mother: “You’re being utterly heartless.”

Father: “Quit yappin’ nonsense. I’ll grant you’re earnest enough, but this method of yours—can’t say I admire it.”

Mother: “What preposterous things you do say.”

“Oh come on—I’m telling the truth,” said Father. “This reckless memorizing and mindless hoarding of exam books is the height of foolishness. Such cramming methods aren’t just useless—they’re downright harmful. All you need is to properly remember the essential principles of common sense. One exam prep book’s more than enough. When I counted the other day, you’d gone and collected twenty-seven classical Chinese exam books alone. You’re a regular collection maniac!”

Mother: “A collection maniac? How cruel!”
“If one follows your fundamentalism, not a single one of those difficult high school problems can be solved.”

Father: “If you’re studying so hard, let me ask you this—a typhoon’s approaching, right? The wind’s blowing from due east.”
“In that case, in which direction is the typhoon’s center located?”

Mother: “The typhoon’s center? That sort of thing isn’t in any exam problem collection.”

“Look at that—you don’t know, do you? In future exams, questions like this—ones you must know as common sense—will appear! For your reference, I’ll teach you. Listen here—if the wind is blowing from due east, the typhoon’s center lies in a direction slightly west of south-southwest. Roughly speaking, stand with the wind at your back and extend your left hand diagonally forward. That roughly points to the typhoon’s center. How about that?”

Mother: "Heh-heh, is that so? Then it’s my turn to ask you."
"In Oriental History, in what year was the Queue Order issued in China?"

Father: "Don’t know."

Mother: "Oh my, you don’t know? That occurred in 1645 by the Western calendar, I’ll have you know."
"Ohoho, then in what year did the Battle of Chibi occur?"

Father: "Don’t know."

“Ahem. 208 by the Western calendar,” Mother said. “And what about the Treaty of Nerchinsk?”

Father: "I don't remember every single one. Such things can be quickly understood by flipping through a chronology."

Mother: "But if you don't know these things, he won't pass the entrance exam."

Father: "Idiot! Such pointless memorization is meaningless. What possible use could knowing the year of the Queue Order be?"

Mother: "That is precisely why I say you are cold-hearted."
"If by any chance the year of the Queue Order appears on the exam and Michio cannot answer it, that will mean failure."
"To think you'd let your only son fail—are you a demon or a snake? Truly, what kind of..."

The sliding door to the adjacent room clattered open (Michio got up).

Michio: “You’re both so noisy, Dad and Mom—now I can’t sleep at all.”
It’s been a while—maybe I’ll put on a record.

“Here, Michio.”

“Oh come now—let him play it,” said Father. “I meant to console you by buying this record here.”

“My goodness,” said Mother. “What sort of record did you go and purchase?”

Michio’s studies being interrupted—

“Oh, don’t fret so much,” said Father. “I thought I’d make Michio happy and have him study enjoyably, so I bought this. This is what you might call the ‘Parental Heart Record.’ Michio, go ahead and play it. It’s the one labeled ‘Arithmetic Song’.”

“Yes, the one labeled ‘Arithmetic Song,’ right?”

△ Record “Arithmetic Song”
The “Arithmetic Song” record spun merrily.