Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Sasaki Kuni

Both of my immediate neighbors were Army Colonels.
I wasn’t sure whether they belonged to the reserves or retired reserves, but they spent their days tending bonsai trees, chanting Noh verses, and generally living lives of leisurely contentment.
In Meguro too, this neighborhood abounded with bamboo shoots and military veterans.
The thirty-some houses along one side of the hill’s base were modest dwellings housing Army officers up to half their number.
And most of these were Lieutenant Colonels or Colonels drawing military pensions.

When land prices in Tokyo’s outskirts had not yet soared to such heights, the owner of this entire area had divided his fields and Moso bamboo groves into lots of 100 to 200 tsubo for rental.
This was what one might call socially conscious land distribution of the sort recently practiced by city aristocrats.
Though advertised as being ten minutes from Meguro Station, it actually took fifteen or sixteen minutes—hence the cheap rent of four sen per tsubo.
The four sen rate appeared ideal not only for me, holding a mid-level company position, but also for those who’d retired midway through Army or Navy careers.
Given our respective standards of living, we at least wanted houses we could call our own, resigning ourselves completely to leaving actual land ownership for the afterlife.

I became acquainted with the man who would become my current southern neighbor one winter morning while inspecting this rented land.
He too had come to inspect the land because he was pleased with the four sen per tsubo.
We exchanged business cards, and I learned he was an Army Infantry Colonel.

The Colonel and I began construction almost simultaneously.
Because my company kept me busy, I would inspect the construction site every Sunday, but the Colonel was there every day.
He had probably just entered the reserves and found himself with free time.
Perhaps because of this, while his construction progressed steadily, my own made frustratingly little progress.
One day, while I was complaining to the foreman at the construction site, a person who had rented the north neighboring lot and begun construction came by to greet us.
This man too was military personnel, and turned out to be an Artillery Colonel.
I found it strange how I kept crossing paths with these pillars of the nation.
As neighbors, people of unknown character were undesirable.
Yet there was nothing as predictable in character as military men, and a childish notion that soldiers must be strong also played its part.
I returned home that day and,

“With infantry and artillery guarding both sides, at least we’ll be safe from burglars.”

I joked.

Not long after that, houses began to be built here and there.
By the time my house was finally completed that summer, all the leased lots had already been contracted.
And by year's end, nearly identical compact houses packed tightly around the base of the hill.
Though it was a mere decade or so ago, not a single Western-style house like those seen today could be found.
How people’s hearts could drift into frivolity and descend into superficiality in such a brief span of time was truly astonishing.

Apart from my immediate neighbors, I had absolutely no interaction with anyone else in the neighborhood.
Even faces grown familiar through daily encounters across go boards remained strangers whose roles I couldn’t discern.
They must have felt the same way.
It was a busy world.
Sparing us unnecessary weather-related pleasantries ultimately proved more comfortable and preferable.
When the five-year contract period neared its end, the landlord declared they would raise the rent to ten sen per tsubo.
Unlike noble families engaged in social service, these landlords knew no such concept.
Yet even so, doubling the rent seemed outrageous enough that tenants convened a meeting at a volunteer’s house.
This succeeded only as neighborhood mixer – land rent became ten sen regardless.
There I finally learned through introductions that military men weren’t limited to my flanking colonels.
Though teachers and company employees formed significant numbers too.
Both meeting organizers turned out to be educators.

“How did it go?”

When my wife asked about the meeting, I replied:
“No use at all.”
“Might as well have gone to make friends with the neighbors.”
“I was amazed how many military men there were!”

I answered.

To this,

“Mr. Tamaoki’s father is also a Colonel!”

“The Ōkōuchi household also has a navy lieutenant commander.”

the second son and eldest daughter said in unison.
The children were more sociable than the adults.
Moreover, because of their school connections, they had naturally become accustomed to it.

Another five years passed, and the land rent rose to fifteen sen.
This time, only a circular notice was circulated; no meeting was held.
Once the landlords had spoken, they all resigned themselves to the fact that there was nothing to be done.

Then, about two years later, the Great Earthquake struck.
The following evening brought the so-called Korean unrest.
Both neighbors, true to their military background, had these men—armed with Japanese swords and pistols—guard my house’s gate not only,

“Hey now! What do you all think you’re doing running away?”
“If you abandon your homes, they’ll be torched!”
“Even if thousands come, we must hold them back here!”

With that, they restrained the villagers trudging back in disarray. I recalled how I had considered military men to be stalwart pillars of reliability. Thanks to this, my household was spared from making any panicked evacuation into the city.

If I recall correctly, it was two nights later that discussions were held at the reservists’ association’s initiative to systematically organize night watches. I too appeared at the vacant lot beneath the cliff. It was then that I became certain half our neighborhood consisted of veteran officers. A stooped, wizened old man wore a navy lieutenant commander’s uniform, while a middle-aged fellow I’d always taken for a farmer sported a military sword at his waist. While it seemed natural that dozens of soldiers from farming families would gather from nearby homesteads, I marveled at over a dozen field officers waiting solemnly in reserve—medals gleaming on their chests. Among them stood a single major general. Everyone addressed this elderly man as Excellency, Excellency.

“Excellency, with this, everyone is now assembled.”

When a certain officer stepped forward and saluted, Excellency ascended to a slightly elevated position and began expounding to us lined up below on the necessity of the night watch.
Thanks to his considerable eloquence, I thought military personnel shouldn’t be underestimated.

The night watch subsequently became a nightly duty.
Our shifts came around every third day.
Whether assigned to midnight, early evening, or predawn hours, I was always Excellency's partner alongside both neighboring colonels.
Since everyone called him Excellency, and since Excellency himself seemed to have no objection to it, I too came to address this old man as Excellency, Excellency.
Despite maintaining a stern expression, Excellency was quite an interesting person.
Having been entirely unfamiliar with military society, I had assumed someone called Excellency would be quite domineering, but that was a misconception.
On the contrary, he carried himself more humbly than the executives at my company.

Since keeping midnight watch when nothing suspicious ever came our way was tedious, we shifted our time to idle chatter. Excellency also spoke often. It seemed he was concerned about not having made his son a military man,

“No matter what you do, you just can’t suppress that damned thing called natural talent.”
“He ended up becoming a writer.”
“I have been working tirelessly to guide the ideological betterment of our reservists.”
“That son of mine writes novels working hard to corrupt public morals.”
“Just look.”
“He doesn’t even come out for the night watch.”
“Our approaches are completely different.”

He would often grumble in this manner.

“Instead, both daughters have married Army personnel.”
“Both have had grandchildren, and since they’re both boys, I’m truly grateful.”

he said delightedly.
He seemed intent on bequeathing that all his male grandsons be trained as Army personnel.
Though, he was not yet of such an age.
Excellency appeared to be no more than fifty-six or fifty-seven.

“I’ve recently uncovered something utterly disgraceful.”
“There are Navy officers who wear civilian suits en route or on trains, only changing into uniform upon reaching headquarters.”
“If soldiers ever become ashamed of their military attire, it’ll be our undoing.”
“The Army may still be free of such delinquents, but these corrupting influences spread like wildfire.”
“We can’t afford complacency!”

When Excellency spoke solely to both colonels—whom he regarded as subordinates—his language naturally turned brusque.
Both colonels again offered no rebuttal to Excellency’s arguments.
To be sure, Excellency—who always prided himself on being a man of reason—rendered judgments that were invariably fair and impartial, so much so that even I, as a third party, found no opening to challenge them.

“Even the night watch becomes tedious when it’s this uneventful. I seem to have irritated my throat somewhat from smoking nothing but tobacco.”

One evening, Excellency muttered as if to himself.

“Excellency, you do smoke rather a lot.”

As I would grow sleepy if I remained silent, I welcomed the conversation.

“Mr. Kobayashi, you don’t smoke much, do you?”

“Well, I used to smoke quite heavily in the past, but I was told it’s bad for the heart and ended up quitting altogether.”

“That’s remarkable.
“That’s impressive.
“A person with the willpower to quit smoking could accomplish any great undertaking.
“I say, Colonel Mizutani.”

“Ah, that’s perfectly reasonable.
“As for the likes of me, we’re the type who can’t quit even while knowing full well it’s bad.”

Colonel Mizutani humbly remarked.
The other Artillery Colonel, whom I thought wasn’t saying anything, was dozing off.
However, this person did not smoke.

“As for me, I truly believe that if I were to resolve to quit, it wouldn’t be entirely impossible—but somehow, it just doesn’t work out. When I was young, I swore an oath before my subordinates and resolutely quit, but before long I had a grand realization and started again.”

This seemed to mean Excellency was not smoking without reason.

“Excellency, invoking some grand realization to explain such matters is most unbecoming.”

Colonel Mizutani, however, could not accept being singled out as the sole weak-willed one.

“It wasn’t so much a realization as something I invented, you see.”
“At the time, the regiment commander was suffering from neurasthenia and had been idle for a long time.”
“The army doctor’s prescriptions just wouldn’t cure him.”
“So he went all the way to Tokyo University Hospital for a consultation, but it turned out to be something simple.”
“It was said that if one were to stop drinking, stop smoking, and cease all other things deemed unfavorable, they would naturally recover.”
“By following that regimen and enduring for about half a year, he indeed made a full recovery.”
“This is it.”
“Colonel Mizutani.”

“Where is it?”

“What I realized was this:
“The inventive part lay right here.
“The regiment commander drinks alcohol and enjoys tobacco.
“Most other unfavorable habits are generally indulged in as well.
“Since this was the regiment commander—a man with many vices to quit—he achieved what might be called a full recovery. But had it been a paragon of virtue like myself, I concluded there’d be nothing to do but sit idly by and wait for death.
“If one lacks weaknesses, even university doctors would find no way to treat them.
“Thus I made a sudden resolution to at least keep smoking—something I could quit in case of emergency.”

Excellency was rather adept at pressing his points home.

“Ah, I see.”
“So as expected of the Man of Reason, you’re partaking after all.”

Colonel Mizutani smirked.

“Exactly so! Precisely—as the Man of Reason, I must consider my health…”

“Excellency, if that’s the case, may I ask—how fares the other matter? They do say you’re quite the practitioner in that regard!”

“Ha ha ha ha!”
“Now you’re launching an assault, eh?”

Excellency laughed heartily and,

“If alcohol were something divinely bestowed through heavenly cups, then it would be absolutely impossible to quit. As the Man of Reason, I may occasionally overindulge for social propriety’s sake, but I never take solitary evening drinks. I’ve established it as a household precept that I absolutely won’t drink unless guests come. So what manner of men does that make you two—Colonel Mizutani and Mr. Kobayashi?”

“Excellency, you would have been better suited as a three-hundred-tongued lawyer.”

When I teased him,

“You’ve spoken rather harshly now, haven’t you? Colonel Mizutani—even allowing for hyperbole—isn’t three hundred tongues somewhat excessive?”

“No, I’m in complete agreement.”

Colonel Mizutani answered earnestly.

In this manner, Excellency and we became quite close during our night watches.

When public order had been restored and the night watch was no longer necessary, I often went to Excellency’s house to play go. Excellency too launched frequent offensives. This was because the earthquake disaster had not only burned down the company where I worked but had truly demolished it, leaving me temporarily idle.

One day, after playing a game from noon until evening, when I tried to take my leave, Excellency—

“Mr. Kobayashi, it’s nothing fancy, but do stay for dinner before you go today.”

—he said, attempting to detain me.

“Oh, no—it’s just a stone’s throw away, so I’ll go home and come back again tonight.”

I surmised that he, still frustrated from his loss, probably wanted to keep playing.

“Well, the go game is all well and good, but with no rare guests coming by lately, I’ve been running rather low on oil.”

Excellency shaped his left hand into a hook and pantomimed pouring in what he called oil.

“However, I’m a regular guest, not a rare one…”

“Well—the fact is, you’ve already been officially designated a rare guest. If you were to leave now, it would mean I’ve deceived my wife.”

“In that case, I shall humbly accept your kind offer.”

And so, unable to refuse, I was treated to a meal.
Excellency ate heartily.

About a week later, Excellency again tried to keep me from going home.
I couldn’t keep being treated as a rare guest so frequently, so I stood up to make a break for it, but Excellency came chasing after me and,

“Mr. Kobayashi, do you mean to insult me?”

Excellency whispered.

“Not at all.”

“If you leave, I’ll lose face with my wife.”
“It will look as though I schemed this whole affair out of sheer thirst!”

“Very well, I’ll accept your hospitality.”

And I surrendered.
I had no choice—my arm was being held.

One time, I told my neighbor Colonel Mizutani about this matter and,
“The Man of Reason seems rather dubious, I must say,”
I said.

At this, Colonel Mizutani—

“To tell the truth, Excellency has driven even me to distraction.”
“The other evening when I dropped by briefly, he declared, ‘Since I missed out on a rare guest yesterday, I won’t let you escape today,’ and refused to release me.”
“When I tried to force my way home, he glared at me and barked, ‘Hey! You dare defy my orders?!’”
“After all, he still considers himself a general and me a colonel.”
“You shouldn’t go there in the evening.”

he said, trembling as if facing a haunted mansion.

Even though he occasionally displayed such selfishness，Excellency remained truly approachable.
Our association had continued unchanged up to that time.
However，since I had recently resumed commuting to Marunouchi and become busy，there wasn’t as much coming and going as before.
Even so，we never missed holding our go matches two or three times a month，and among these，at least once—

“Excellency, shall I become a rare guest today?”

I took the initiative to make such arrangements.

Now, this Excellency had recently contracted typhoid and was hospitalized at the Red Cross Hospital. He was already in the convalescent period, so there was no danger to his life, but he kept insisting on being that “Man of Reason,” which made things rather difficult. His wife and daughter—even the nurses—were at their wits’ end. When I went to visit him the other day, there had already been some commotion.

"Mr. Kobayashi, whether it's the nurses, my wife, or my daughter, none of them understand how to comfort a patient. This is most trying."
"Surely letting me see some sweet bean soup wouldn't adversely affect my condition?"

Excellency appealed to me while remaining seated on the bed.

"No, you didn't say you wanted to see it."
"He insists on having sweet bean soup and has been plaguing us with this demand."

His wife strove to clarify the facts.

“Is it sweet bean soup?”
“Sweet bean soup? Now that’s quite an unusual request.”

“No—the other day we received some pocket sweet bean soup as a get-well gift.”
“He got wind of that and started throwing a tantrum just as you see.”
“He’s just like a child.”

“Excellency, after typhoid, food is what you must be most careful about indeed.
“You must endure just a little while longer.”
“If you mishandle this, it could cost you your life, you know.”

And I admonished.

“Mr. Kobayashi, you may be a rare guest, but under these circumstances, there’s no help for it. Oyanagi, serve Mr. Kobayashi some sweet bean soup and have everyone join him. I shall content myself by viewing the spectacle from afar.”

“Excellency, I’m quite all right.”

“No—I implore you to assist me.”
“I’ve been making this request every day for some time now.”
“If they insist on eating it, then yes, that would indeed be unreasonable, but as a man of reason, I wish to find satisfaction in observing everyone enjoying it so sweetly.”

And Excellency continued making excuses, determined to persist in his argument to the bitter end.

In truth, it had been a standing request for several days now, and since he was making the concession of not eating it himself, his wife finally relented and made use of the pocket sweet bean soup.
I found eating in the typhoid ward disagreeable, but given the camaraderie forged since the earthquake, I reluctantly partook of a bowl along with everyone else.
Excellency watched this intently from his bed, sweating profusely, but soon—

“Oyanagi, I shall gargle.”

Excellency commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

And Madam brought the gargle medicine.

“No—I’ll do it with the sweet bean soup.”

“What do you think?”

“That won’t do. Excellency will surely eat it if given the chance.”

The nurse refused.

“Then I’ll smell the fragrance.”

The Man of Reason remained stubbornly fixated.

“If it’s merely the fragrance, there should be no issue. However, relying on a woman’s strength risks having it taken away, so I shall hold it.”

Feeling sorry for him, I took Excellency’s side.
Excellency smelled the fragrance of the sweet bean soup, but—
“Just as I thought—it does have a sweet fragrance. However, if all I can do is smell it, I’d rather have you make it sake,” he whispered.

Thinking he must have recovered quite a bit by now, I stopped by again today to visit.
Excellency was asleep, but he had put on considerable weight since my last visit, and his complexion had improved comparatively well.

“Thanks to your help, it seems he can be discharged around the day after tomorrow, but if he keeps making such selfish demands as this, I’m worried about how things will be once he returns home. In fact, I’m beginning to think it might be safer to keep him deceived a while longer.”

And Madam promptly began to voice her concerns.

“So you finally let him gargle with the sweet bean soup, then?”

And I recalled the recent incident.

“No, it’s perfectly acceptable for him to have the sweet bean soup now—but then he begins making one unreasonable demand after another.”
“Since this is a hospital, he appears to have resigned himself to abstaining from alcohol.”
“But once he returns home, it will prove dangerous.”

“In that case, let’s find some way to keep him convinced until he’s fully recovered.”

“Oh, Mr. Kobayashi?”

And at that very moment, Excellency—who had woken up—might perhaps have been feigning sleep all along.

“Excellency, I-I’ve been remiss in my visits. You appear significantly improved in health—how do you fare?”

“My constitution strengthens daily thanks to your concern, yet this konjac lodged within my mouth persists as an intolerable nuisance.”

“Konjac, you say?”

And I found myself somewhat intrigued, wondering if this was another preposterous request akin to his recent sweet bean soup gargle.

“That is indeed the case.”
“He keeps saying there’s konjac in his mouth—it’s been troubling me these past two or three days.”

And Madam said worriedly.

“Is such a thing actually in there?”

“No, I looked thoroughly, but there’s nothing there.”

“Excellency, do you feel as though there’s something in your mouth?”

“It’s not just a feeling—there’s actually a piece of konjac stuck in there that I simply can’t remove.”
“If I could just forget about this, full recovery would be all but assured… but…”

And Excellency let out a sigh.

“Hmm.”

And I felt slightly uneasy.

They say that with certain types of typhoid, the toxins invade the brain. I’ve heard that as a result, some start declaring their heads are made of glass and cause no end of trouble for those around them. I thought Excellency might be developing some mental disturbance himself.

“Mr. Kobayashi, would you mind taking a look?”

And Excellency seemed utterly serious through and through.

“May I take a look?”

I glanced at Madam as if seeking her agreement.

“Please take a look and convince him there’s nothing there.”

Because Madam had requested it, I slid my chair closer to the bed.
Though I thought it best not to reach out lest I get bitten, I kept my hands to myself.
Excellency opened his mouth wide.
I tilted my head and peered in, but could detect no foreign object whatsoever.

“There’s absolutely nothing there, you know.”

“There is, you know.”
“No, there isn’t.”

“There is.”
“This is it.”

With a whisper, Excellency flicked his tongue back and forth.

“Aha!”

And I found myself utterly impressed.

“Did you find anything?”

And Madam seemed astonished.

“No, there’s nothing at all.”

And I hurriedly denied it.

Even during his typhoid convalescence, Excellency never abandoned his tactical maneuvers.
The truth was, he wanted a drink.
He wanted to eat sashimi.
He wanted to savor karasumi.
However, as a Man of Reason, he simply couldn’t bring himself to voice it.

“Mr. Kobayashi, I implore you to read between the lines.”
“Excellency, I must ask for just a bit more of your patience.”

(August 1925 [Taisho 14], Omoshiro Club)