Pathway to Japanese Literature

One morning, when Mr. Iguchi began preparing for work and couldn't find his pants, he remained in his white shirt,

"Hey!"

he called his wife.

“Yes?”
“Pants... pants!”
“Oh dear, I had forgotten.”

His wife, Fumiko, brought the pants from the next room,
“There was a hole in the pocket, so I mended it,”
she said apologetically as she handed them over.

“Right, right.”
“It was on the right side, wasn’t it?”

Mr. Iguchi was long past the stage of thanking her for every little thing like this.
Rather, the lack lay in its absence where it should have been; though a rebuke had risen to his lips, he held back due to a valid reason.
But at the same time, it made him think a little.

“What are you thinking about so intently?”

“I was just thinking about how you found that hole in my pants.”

“Oh ho ho ho!”

His wife gloated triumphantly.

“What’s so funny?”

“But it’s only now you’re finally noticing, after all.”

“So you’ve been doing it all along? That explains why I sometimes thought the numbers didn’t add up!”

Mr. Iguchi deliberately misunderstood and tried to turn it into a joke.

“Oh dear, I absolutely did not take anything. I was only inspecting the contents.”

“Well, I’m shocked. Since when?”

“There, you see? Your complexion has changed, hasn’t it?”

“There’s no way that’s true!”

“You didn’t tell a single lie during the first three months. But starting from the fourth month, you began deceiving me continuously. When you say you stopped by a friend’s house, if I check the purse and wallet, there’s always a loss of about five or six to ten yen. If you have to go out drinking for social reasons, that can’t be helped, but couldn’t you at least avoid telling lies? When you keep so much hidden from me like this, I feel an indescribable sadness.”

His wife, too, had reached a point where she could no longer remain silent indefinitely.

"But last night was the truth, wasn't it?"

"Yes. The purse had 1 yen and 20 sen less, but the wallet hasn't been touched these past few days, has it?"

“You’ve been investigating things quite precisely, haven’t you? I’m thoroughly impressed.”

“Oh ho ho ho! ‘This here’s the truest measure there is,’ she says.”

“Who says such a thing?”

“Mrs. Nakagawa.”

“Hmm.”
“Well, can’t be helped then.”

Mr. Iguchi couldn’t even voice a complaint.
Nakagawa referred to the colleague who had undertaken the role of matchmaker for this couple.

Mr. Iguchi went to work with his tail between his legs.

Mr. Nakagawa’s wife had been classmates with Mr. Iguchi’s wife’s older sister at girls’ school, making them extremely close.
She had practically single-handedly arranged and carried out the matchmaking through those connections, but she wasn’t the type of woman to be satisfied with just that.
Taking advantage of living nearby, she would occasionally pay visits after long absences and offer all sorts of well-meaning advice.
She was no ordinary matchmaker who believed matched pairs would remain inseparable.

“Fumiko, if you ever have any troubles, please do tell me anytime.”
“I’ll come right away once I hear from you.”
“Oh ho ho ho!”

Mrs. Nakagawa declared.
Fumiko had recently purchased a Singer sewing machine on installment.
Mrs. Nakagawa had been present on that occasion, so she recalled the salesperson’s tone.
She would take responsibility for it indefinitely.

As proof that she equated the sewing machine with her husband,

“After all, since it’s something you’ll use your whole life, it’s better to get one that’s solid.”
“It’d be too much trouble to replace later anyway, not to mention they’ll make you pay extra.”
“Even if it looks a bit plain, you should stick to something sturdy that won’t break down.”

Given this, she had settled on the kind used by tailors.
Mr. Nakagawa was precisely that.
Sturdy and magnanimous.
His appearance wasn’t much to look at, but he was solidly constructed throughout.
It went without saying that he performed his duties at the company admirably, and even when his wife treated him quite harshly, he remained unperturbed without losing composure.

On the day when Mr. Iguchi and Fumiko had their pocket interrogation, Mrs. Nakagawa,

“Madam, I must apologize for my prolonged absence.”

With those words, she appeared around noon.
Because she had time to spare and nothing better to do, she’d rush over the moment an idea struck her.

“Oh, how kind of you to come!”
“Please, do come in.”

And Fumiko welcomed her briskly.
When two young childless wives gathered, their talk would chiefly revolve around their husbands’ affairs.
Though Mrs. Nakagawa thoroughly dominated her husband, it seemed not entirely a bad arrangement after all.
Even if he were merely a sturdy set of parts, staying together would naturally foster affection over time.

“Madam, does your sewing machine ever act up?”

Mrs. Nakagawa asked with a sly smile.

“I just bought it, and I’ve hardly used it yet.”

And Fumiko answered truthfully.

“No, I meant the living one.”

“Oh my! Oh ho ho ho!”

“The one at home has been acting up these past few days.”
“I got so angry that I gave him a good shake.”

Mrs. Nakagawa was all honeyed words and quick gestures.
Since Fumiko was being schooled in such ways by her matchmaker, Mr. Iguchi too would find himself increasingly cornered.

“Madam, this morning I also just…”

“Oh? What happened?”

“I told him straight out.”
“My heart was pounding so!”

And with that artless opening gambit, Fumiko had made her first move.

“He’s so spineless! What did you tell him?”
“What exactly did you say?”
“About that secret technique I learned from you, Madam.”
“Which secret technique do you mean?”
“The meter.”

“Oh? Is that so?”
“Even Mr. Iguchi has things that don’t sit right with him?”

“Since he’s started telling little lies, I’ve been thoroughly inspecting him every night lately.”
“But I was a bit clumsy.”
“Since I went ahead and mended the tear in his pants pocket while I was at it.”

“Did he catch on?”

“Yes. He pondered for a moment, asked why I’d discovered the hole in the pocket, and made such a frightening face.”

“So you ended up confessing every single thing in detail, didn’t you?”

“No, that’s completely wrong.”
“Since I thought he’d caught on, I suddenly turned the tables and laughed with a ‘Ho ho ho!’”

“How daring!”
“That counterattack was a stroke of genius.”
“The sense of timing is what matters most.”

“Even then, when he tried to deflect with a joke, I made my voice quiver and pressed him firmly.”
“Then he suddenly grew flustered and said, ‘My deepest apologies!’”

“Goodness!
“A complete victory!”
“I’ll inform your sister at once.”

“Oh, please don’t, Madam!”

“But your sister never stops singing your praises.”

“The other day, I advised him to follow Madam Nakagawa’s example a little.”

“Oh my, I’m quite put out.”
“But Madam, it was good that you told your husband.”
“After all, it’s no good just silently controlling him.”
“I have to make him realize, ‘I’m the one controlling you,’ you know.”

And Mrs. Nakagawa was not satisfied with mere results.
Of course, if she thought that was all there was to it, she’d be a model wife.

“But Madam, there’s something I must apologize to you for.”
“I accidentally let it slip and ended up saying it was your teaching, Madam.”
“Oh my, what a nuisance you are!”
“But I would never claim it was solely my own idea.”

“Fine. Nakagawa may seem that way, but he’s quite the chatterbox, so I’m certain he’s been telling you all sorts of things about me.”

“Iguchi might be telling you about me as well. When men gather among themselves, they end up making women out to be villains, don’t they?”

“Madam, have I been made out to be such a villain?”

“No, that isn’t the case, but…”

And Fumiko found herself at an impasse.

Now, the company where Mr. Nakagawa and Mr. Iguchi worked had no shortage of mischief-makers.
Among them was a bachelor named Akiyuki who wielded considerable influence.
This man, perhaps seeking to justify his own circumstances, took every opportunity to disparage married colleagues.
He likened households to battlegrounds.
He viewed marital life as nothing more than perpetual conflict between a man and a woman.
Approaching his observations from this perspective invariably led him to extreme conclusions.
Yet because these conclusions were often quite novel and piercingly insightful, his married coworkers occasionally found themselves suppressing wry smiles.

“During the European War, they say for every one married man among the American volunteers, there were nine single men.”
“Since that coincidentally backs up my argument, isn’t it just perfect?”

He blurted out this cryptic remark.

“What sort of twisted logic is that supposed to be?”

One of the colleagues asked.

“Married people understand war all too well,” Akiyuki said.
“They’ve experienced it daily at home and know full well how miserable it is, so they’ve no desire to go marching off to Europe on purpose.”
“But singles grow weary of peace.”
“They even get the urge to give war a try.”

“Color me impressed,” Mr. Nakagawa said.

“What do you think, Mr. Nakagawa?” Akiyuki pressed.

“Well, color me impressed.”

And Mr. Nakagawa would not take the bait.

“Do you know Barnum, the world’s greatest show troupe?”

And Mr. Akiyuki launched into it again.

"I don't know."

"America."
"America may claim to be number one in everything, but this here is truly the world's best in reality."
"Their zoo is so magnificent they even handle wild beast transactions."
"A story about them auctioning off a tiger recently appeared in their local paper."

"Does this have any connection to your argument?"

"Absolutely!"
"Just listen."
"Someone apparently bid it up to four thousand five hundred dollars and won."
"Tigers should only interest carnival showmen."
"But since the buyer was a proper gentleman, Mr. Barnum grew uneasy and asked, 'Pardon me, but who might you be?'"
"The reply came: 'I'm from New York.'"
"'Are you in show business then?' 'Not at all.' 'So you're buying this tiger for personal amusement?' 'Hah.' That's how it went."

“Are we still on about tigers?”

“Exactly,” Akiyuki continued. “Mr. Barnum grew increasingly uneasy and pressed him: ‘If you only meant this as an amusement, there’s no obligation to follow through with the purchase. Many experts are willing to take it at the current price.’
“‘No, I won’t back out now,’ the man insisted. ‘But why would someone unconnected to show business buy such a dangerous creature?’
“‘You see...’ The gentleman’s voice faltered. ‘My wife—she passed away three weeks ago. After ten years together, everything reminds me of her.’ Tears streamed down his face as he concluded, ‘That’s why I bought this tiger.’
“‘Ah, I understand,’ Mr. Barnum replied sympathetically. ‘My deepest condolences.’
“What do you all make of that?”

“What a sarcastic man.”

“Mr. Nakagawa, what do you think?”

“You keep dragging me into this every single time.”
“It’s not like I’m the only one here with a family.”

And Mr. Nakagawa was troubled each time.

Mr. Akiyuki was still thoroughly researching which wives were tigers and which were cats.

“You, Mr. Yonezawa’s Adam’s apple is getting more prominent by the day, don’t you think?”
“That’s the effect of constantly being grabbed by the lapels.”
“Every time he’s jabbed there, it hits the spot—so his cartilage naturally develops.”

and,

“You, you—today Mr. Iguchi’s all mopey.”
“Over there, it’s already about time for the first sparks of skirmishes to begin.”
“After all, Mrs. Nakagawa is serving as their strategist.”

And so he never neglected his daily observations of such matters.

One evening at a banquet gathering,

“Want me to have a cat scratch Mr. Yonezawa’s hand?”

Akiyuki once proposed.

“That sounds interesting.
But how would you do it?”

And his partner-in-crime, Mr. Oki, showed interest.

“Since this trick requires finesse, first get him thoroughly drunk—if you’d be so kind.”

“Even without getting him drunk, he’s already sloshed.”

“Not yet.
You’ve got to let him sleep it off first.”

“Is that so?”

The pranksters crowded around and made Mr. Yonezawa drink.

The next day was Sunday, but when they checked Mr. Yonezawa’s hand on Monday, there were indeed two scratch marks on the back.

“Mr. Yonezawa, what happened to your hand?”

Mr. Oki asked.

“What of it?”

“No—you tell me.”

“This is because I have a kitten at home—it scratched me.”

With that, Mr. Yonezawa stuffed his hand into his pocket.

“A ‘female cat’ over five feet two inches?”

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

“Ha ha ha ha!”

And Mr. Akiyuki was laughing in the distance.

Then again, at a certain farewell gathering,

“What do you think? Why don’t we have Mr. Nakagawa get scratched this time?”

And Mr. Oki, having gotten a taste for it, proposed.

“Mr. Nakagawa is a tricky case.”

“Why?”

“With that wife of his around, she’d go straight for the jugular—it’s downright deadly.”

And Mr. Akiyuki likened Mrs. Nakagawa to a tiger.

“No way.
“But it does seem like an extraordinarily divine secret technique.
“What on earth are you going to do?”

“If I carelessly teach you, you’ll go applying it recklessly, you see.”
“Nah, I’ll be careful.”
“It’s so accurate that even I, the inventor, am surprised by it.”
“When you act all mysterious like that, I just want to hear it even more."
“I’ll go to the after-party with you, so please do teach me your technique.”

And Mr. Oki attached a condition.

“Alright, I’ll teach you the trick, but I won’t take responsibility.”
“It’s dead simple.”
“Get two or three strands of a geisha’s hair and entangle them around the buttons of a white shirt.”
“The more the better.”
“When the wife finds it while changing his clothes tomorrow, all hell will break loose.”

“I see.”

“To keep them from falling off, you’ve got to get the mark thoroughly sloshed.”
“And if you leave early, suspicion won’t land on you.”

“Genius, genius!”
“I’ll put it to work right away.”
“You handle getting Mr. Nakagawa smashed, will you?”

“Alright, alright!”

And so Mr. Akiyuki and several pranksters plastered Mr. Nakagawa with drink, but Mr. Iguchi, who had been sitting beside him, also got caught up in the fallout and ended up so drunk that both had to be nursed in the adjacent room.

“Since they’re together, this works out perfectly.”

And everyone carried the two of them into the car.

The next morning,

“You!”

With a shrill cry, Mrs. Nakagawa flew to where her husband still lay asleep and seized both his hands, yanking him upright in one swift motion.

“You… you… how dare you mock me like this!”

“Oww! Oww!”

When Mr. Nakagawa awoke, his wife’s nails were already digging into his wrists.

“I’m so furious———!”

“Oww! Oww! Oww! Heeey! What the hell do you mean by this?”

“Playing dumb won’t work.”

And the wife finally released her grip,

“Otsuji, you go over there.”

After driving away the maid who had been wiping the veranda with a rag, she launched into her argument.

“That’s utterly ridiculous!
At least acknowledge my character a little.”

“You’re always going on about your precious ‘personality,’ aren’t you?
I won’t fall for that trick anymore, you know.
I have the evidence, you know.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Shall I show it to you?”
“By all means, show me.”

And Mr. Nakagawa, having no recollection of the matter, wasn’t surprised in the least.

“What is this, may I ask?”

And the wife came carrying a white shirt,

“Isn’t this some glamorous woman’s hair? Since I removed two of them, there were five strands in total.”

and thrust it at him.
Mr. Oki, unable to obtain a geisha’s hair, had apparently gotten a maid’s instead, leaving him with an abundant supply of material.

“Ah, this?”
“I see.”

“So you do remember?”

“It’s the same trick as Mr. Yonezawa’s.”
“My dear! This is my colleagues’ prank.”
“Mr. Yonezawa also said that at the previous banquet, he was targeted and given an earful by his wife.”

And Mr. Nakagawa realized.

“You—is that the truth?”

“It’s the truth. Look—each and every one of these hairs is wrapped around a button.”

“That does seem to be the case. I did think it was odd when I took them out.”

“Look, this one’s tied up.”
“They must’ve been drunk after all.”

“How sloppy of you.”

“They make sure to get them drunk first before pulling these pranks.”

“But what grudge could they possibly hold to go through such an elaborate prank?”

“It’s Oki’s doing. Even Mr. Yonezawa’s wife is quite the beauty, isn’t she?”

“Oh my, Ohohoho!”

And the wife began to regain her good mood.

“It’s cruel to scratch you this much and then laugh, isn’t it?”

“My apologies. Does it hurt?”

“It hurts.”
“It stings.”

“Shall I apply some Mentholatum for you?”

“That’s not even necessary, but from now on, avoid visible spots.”
“It’d be a problem if you get teased at the company.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

“Oh, I can’t just sit idly by like this.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Since Mr. Iguchi was also with you, he might have been targeted.”

With that, Mr. Nakagawa soon left, but returned after about twenty minutes and,

“What a fool I was.”
“They’re both still asleep, apparently.”
“I get scratched by you.”
“It’s just terrible.”

he muttered.

(September 1926 [Taishō 15], Omoshiro Club)