Pathway to Japanese Literature

A school-educated live-in apprentice. “Four minus art leaves zero.” “Are you familiar with this sort of arithmetic?”

Ginjiro asked the master’s daughter, Miss Miyoko. “What’s that? Say it again?” “Master minus art leaves zero.” “I don’t get it.”

“If you subtract art from the Master, zero remains.” “Master minus art equals zero.” “Who ever said such a thing?” “I came up with it myself.” “There’s no one as devoted to the artistic discipline as the Master.” “Even when asleep or awake, he’s thinking about Gidayū.” “On the other hand, they say he doesn’t know a thing about the world.” “That’s why zero remains.” “If you subtract art, nothing remains.” “So you’ve expressed what Mother said as an arithmetic formula.”

“Well, that’s about where it stands.” “Maaaster miiinus a-a-art… U-u-u-uh…” “Silly you.”

“Ha ha ha…”

At that time, Ginjiro’s apprenticeship had only just begun. Miss Miyoko was a second-year student at a girls’ school. Though she was a spirited girl who could converse familiarly with the live-in apprentice without any impropriety, she had already become a significant presence since those days. Admittedly, in Miss Miyoko’s household, everyone was a significant presence. Her father was Toyotake Shōdayū, a pillar of the Eastern Capital Gidayū circles—whether in substance or stature, he was by no means an insignificant figure. Madam, being the behind-the-scenes contributor who shaped her husband into what he was today, was likewise a significant presence. The Master—single-mindedly devoted to the artistic discipline and ignorant of worldly matters—left all affairs to Madam’s management. Miss Miyoko had been the only child between this couple, and as she was born when her parents were relatively advanced in years, she had been a towering presence from the very moment she entered the world. In contrast, all others were small presences. Namely, the live-in apprentices and maids—the latter were hardly acknowledged as existing.

For the time being, Mr. Gin was the sole live-in apprentice. His background—a commercial school graduate and company employee—made him an unusual aspirant to the artistic discipline. Father ruined his livelihood by obsessing over Gidayū. Because he was the third generation, his lifespan had probably already run its course. Mr. Gin had been working at his father’s shop, but as it had declined, there was no helping it. At that time, finding employment elsewhere was difficult. Rather than that, he resolved all the more to become a Gidayū narrator and make his name known throughout the land. He had listened to his father’s performances and memorized them, having loved it since childhood. When he proposed, Father not only had no objection but—

“That might work.” “I’ll give it a try then.” “If I were younger, I’d redo my apprenticeship and properly take up this profession myself, but…” he said, still clinging to his delusions. Like father, like son. Being acquainted with Shōdayū, Father had secured him a position as a live-in apprentice. “You were a company employee?” “Impressive.” said the Master.

“No, I was employed at my family’s shop.”

“What about school?” “I graduated from Kōshu Commercial School.” “Oh ho ho, impressive! I couldn’t manage being a Master.” “Not at all.”

“You must have some education.” “You can’t learn Gidayū unless you forget all that book learning.” “Since I never had any to begin with, there’s no problem.” “Since it’s a commercial school, you must know some English, right?” “Well... “Truly just a little bit.” “What do you call Gidayū in English?” “Hmm.” “And the shamisen?” “I don’t know.” “That won’t do.” “You shouldn’t ask such foolish questions.” “Miyoko is laughing.”

And Madam cautioned.

“You must know since you’re learning it at school.” “What do you call Gidayū in English?”

“Gidayū is Gidayū.” Miss Miyoko answered with utter nonchalance. “It’s English.” “Even in English, it’s still Gidayū, isn’t it?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” “And the shamisen?” “Still shamisen.” “Then it’s the same as Japanese, isn’t it?” “What exists in Japan but not in the West goes by Japanese.” “So in English I’d still be Toyotake Shōdayū?” “Yes.” “I see.” “Is ‘Olympic’ still ‘Olympic’ even in Japan?” “That’s one lesson learned.” “This is what they mean by being taught by the child you carry.”

And Madam too was proud of Miss Miyoko.

“This Sasaki crossing a shallow stream.” “I’m no sage like Moritsuna.” “Ha ha ha!” “Jokes aside, if you say educated people can’t learn Gidayū, that reflects poorly on your discernment.”

“Why?” “Isn’t it precisely when educated people like Mr. Ginjiro become professionals that the status of Gidayū narrators will improve?” “Alright, alright.” “I know.” “Mr. Ginjiro.” “Yes.” “Let’s work with Gin no Ji from now on.” “Yes.” “I want you to say ‘Hei’.” “Hei.” “I’m renowned for being strict.” “The live-in apprentices have all run away one after another, and now not a single one remains.” “Do you think your patience will last?” “He’ll be fine.”

“Unless you train rigorously for five or six years starting now, you won’t amount to anything.” “Even if there are hardships, you should think they’re all for your own sake.” “Hei.” “I will definitely make you into a full-fledged tayū and have you express your gratitude to your father.”

Master Shō, taking an interest in the other party’s background, gladly accepted.

Gin no Ji was sharp-witted. Because there had been a succession of poorly performing apprentices before him，he visibly pleased the Master. Madam’s impression was also favorable. Education after all speaks volumes. Miss Miyoko also liked Ginjiro-kun. There was no one as loyal as Mr.Gin. He not only handled all errands but also helped with homework and predicted exam questions. In short，as a live-in apprentice，he was beyond reproach. However，when it came to the most important aspect—his art—he remained a novice，leaving his future uncertain.

“Mr. Gin’s voice sometimes sounds like a strangled chicken, doesn’t it?” Miss Miyoko was blunt. “When you push your voice, it goes hoarse. It’s strange, isn’t it?” “But everyone starts out like that. They say he has a good disposition.” “Is that what Master says?” “Mother. They say Mother understands the household best.” “His voice seems bad because it’s inherited.” “It’s not bad—they say his true voice hasn’t come out yet.” “That may be so.”

“I don’t find Gidayū interesting at all.” “Why is that?” “It’s old-fashioned.” “It’s not something a newcomer should do.” “No—if newcomers emerge, even old Gidayū will become new.” “Then are you a newcomer?” “That is my intention.”

Entertainers and Artists

Around the time exactly one year had passed since Ginjiro-kun began living as a live-in apprentice, he coincidentally displayed his potential as a newcomer and left a profound impression on Miss Miyoko and Madam.

This became the catalyst for Master Shōdayū awakening to a new consciousness. Mr. Shō spoke differently. With a reputation as an intellectual among his peers elevating his popularity, he became a star.

For this reason he had even gone abroad; however，the account would begin at its origin.

One day, Miss Miyoko came home from school looking gloomy. When her mother asked, she said she had come to hate going to school because she was mocked by her friends. “What did they all say?” “It’s only Ms. Tsuruda and Ms. Serizawa, though.” “Ms. Serizawa is a close friend—didn’t she come to visit just the other day?” “She came to see how we live, you know. To check if we’re rich or poor.” “Are they saying we’re poor?”

“No. Ms. Serizawa’s household seems even poorer than ours.” “What exactly are they saying?” “This Sunday, Ms. Tsuruda, Ms. Serizawa, and I were supposed to go visit Ms. Ikeda’s place. It’s the Ōmori mansion.” “Ms. Ikeda is an aristocrat, isn’t she?” “Yes. That’s why they have a house steward, they say. Since that house steward is a very strict person, they say only Ms. Tsuruda and Ms. Serizawa are going.”

“What about you?” “They said I can’t go.” “Why?”

“…………” “Why?” “But they say it’s because I’m an entertainer’s child.”

And Miss Miyoko began sobbing quietly. Madam taught her that there was absolutely no reason to feel ashamed simply for being an entertainer's child. She said all occupations were fundamentally alike—that their sameness rendered them equal, with no inherent hierarchy. Ms. Tsuruda's family were government officials; Ms. Serizawa's were painters. Just as Miss Miyoko had been feeling somewhat inferior in comparison, they had bluntly told her it was because she came from entertainer stock.

“It’s perfectly fine not to play with people like that who don’t understand.” “There are plenty of other good friends out there for you.” And Madam continued to comfort and coax her further. “Madam, I’m so frustrated I can’t stand it.” And just then, Ginjiro burst in. Gin-san, Gin no Ji, Gintayū—before anyone knew it, such names had come to be attached to him, and since the master himself was Shōdayū with the metal radical, he had said Gintayū would be fitting.

“Were you listening?” “Yes ma’am.” “Please tell me the addresses of Ms. Tsuruda and Ms. Serizawa’s houses.” “I’ll go now and say exactly what needs saying before returning.”

“Oh! What’s gotten into you? You’re making such a scary face.” “Because the young lady was humiliated, I can’t just stay silent. The young lady.”

“…………” “The young lady—here, please have her speak.” “The whereabouts of this *inrō*’s owner—” “Don’t be absurd.”

“It’s true.” “It’s no use going to pick a fight.”

“No—this is a serious matter. It’s entirely because the education from Master and yourself has been deficient.”

“Are you saying our education is lacking?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Mr. Gin, don’t go saying such impertinent things.”

And Madam drew herself up rigidly. Mr. Gin bowed his head repeatedly. In demeanor alone, he remained thoroughly deferential. “The young lady is to be pitied.” “As a child, shouldn’t one take pride in their parents?” “If I may speak bluntly—the teaching that her father performs Japan’s most honorable work hasn’t taken root.” “…………” “When told it was because she was an entertainer’s child, it’s only natural that the young lady would ask back, ‘Why is being an entertainer’s child bad?’” “What are they?” “They’re merely the daughters of poor painters or low-ranking clerks.” “It’s not like they’re princesses from high society—how exactly are they any different?” “Madam, why should painters and low-ranking clerks be any better than entertainers?”

“It’s no use directing this at me.” “If Gidayū narrators are entertainers, then painters are craftsmen.” “Isn’t that fundamentally the same?”

“That’s precisely why I’ve been teaching her they’re the same.” “Since Gidayū narrators express through voice what painters depict with brushes, there’s absolutely no difference.” “If painters are artists, then Gidayū narrators are every bit as much artists.” “That’s some logic you’ve got there.” “It’s the same with government officials.” “Though government officials may seem impressive, their salaries come from the taxes paid by the people, which means they’re effectively employed by the populace.” “They’re a type of servant.” “That’s why in English they call government officials ‘public servants’—literally ‘servants of the people.’”

“What a scholar you are，Mr．Gin．” “Young lady，do you understand？” “Yes．”

And Miss Miyoko had already come to accept it. She knew the reasoning. There should be no hierarchy among professions. Even when making the same point, her mother’s explanation had sounded like superficial comfort, but Mr. Gin’s arguments—put forth with the authority of a new apprentice—carried logical rigor.

“The times have changed.” “Gidayū narrators and shamisen players are artists.” “They are not entertainers.” “I understand.” “I’ll tell Tsuruta-san and Serizawa-san tomorrow.” “As expected of Miss Miyoko.” “Oh, stop it with the flattery.”

“Ha ha ha!” “I really don’t like the word ‘entertainer.’” “To avoid any misunderstanding, I’ll stick to being an artist.” “The shamisen is instrumental music; Gidayū is vocal music.” “Since I intend to be a vocalist, I don’t hold back—I produce a voice like a strangled chicken.” “That’s just an excuse.” “Oh ho ho!” “I can’t compete with clever people.” “Ha ha ha!” And Mr. Gin was quite the schemer.

That evening, as soon as Master returned from a gathering of colleagues in the same profession, Madam,

“You need to get your act together, or this will become a problem.”

she pleaded. This was always the root of the problem.

“What’s this about?” “Our household’s education fails to reach her.”

Madam related the circumstances under which Miss Miyoko had been belittled on the grounds of being an entertainer’s daughter. Seeming impressed by Mr. Ginjiro’s arguments, she added that as well. However, the Master was not the least bit surprised.

“That’s because you’re too high-handed, Otsuta. Gin no Ji’s being absurd as well.” “Gin no Ji’s being outrageous as well.”

“Why do you say that?” “If you compare the nobility with Gidayū narrators side by side, what does it amount to? We Gidayū narrators are beneath them.” “No, the nobility are a separate matter. This discussion concerns painters and government officials.” “Painters still rank higher.” “Because they’re considered artists.” “Gidayū narrators are artists too. It’s troubling that even you hold such dismissive views. While painters use brushes to create their art, we express ours through our voices.”

“A voice vanishes immediately.” “It remains preserved in records.” “I see.” “It’s the same thing.” “Whether painters or Gidayū narrators.”

“So does that make *naniwa-bushi* art too?” “Well…” “Splendid art!” “Government officials are the same.”

“Government officials are superior.” “There are ministers.” “Even a vice-minister is impressive.” “Master, whether they’re ministers or vice-ministers, all government officials are public servants.”

interjected Mr. Gin. Miss Miyoko had given a meaningful look. “What did you say?” “They are public servants.” “In England and America, that’s what they say.” “In Japan as well, if you write ‘large *tsukai*,’ it becomes ‘ambassador,’ but if you write ‘small *tsukai*,’ it becomes ‘janitor.’” “This is because it inherently carries the nature of a servant, I suppose.”

“I see. Interesting.”

“If the young lady comes home crying after being condescended to by officials’ and painters’ daughters—with all due respect—there must be something amiss in your family’s upbringing.” “Don’t talk so grandly!” “Right.” “You. “I too got angry when Mr. Gin said that, but upon reflection, this responsibility lies with us.” “It’s not just us.” “There is also a need for our peers in the profession at large to awaken to the times.” “It seems Gin no Ji has been whispering ideas into your ear—you’ve been spouting such convoluted nonsense lately.” “What’s that?” “What’s this ‘awakening to the times’—”

“Just look at actors and you’ll understand. The days when people lamented ‘Brocade-clad beggars upon tatami’ are long gone—now that we’ve awakened to the times, we don’t lose to the nobility.”

“Hmm.” “Whether it’s Gidayū narrators or shamisen players, it’s the same logic. You simply must become more resolute, or we’ll be in trouble.” “I know that. What am I supposed to do?”

And Master Shōdayū could only sit there, thoroughly confounded.

Master’s Modernization

“Gin no Ji, teach me English.” It wasn’t long after that when Master made this declaration. Having accepted Madam and Miss Miyoko’s persistent entreaties, he had begun striving to awaken to the times.

“Right.” “However, I’m not skilled enough to teach you.” Though Mr. Gin had been asked by Madam beforehand, he lacked confidence. “What was it again?” “That...” “Huh?”

“The ABCs of English.”

“Do you mean the ABCs?”

“That’s it.” “But I won’t learn the ABCs—they’re a hassle.” “Let’s start with the real characters.” “Just memorize the real characters in katakana and you’ll be fine.” “Right…”

“What’s an ‘artist’?” “The proper English term for it…” “Artist.” “And entertainers?”

“Well.” “Still ‘artist,’ I suppose.” “Is it the same over there?”

“Right.”

“I see.” “It’s exactly the logic you described.” “So entertainers become artists then.”

“I do think they’re probably the same.” “People keep yammering ‘intellectual’ this and that—does that mean scholar?” “No, it refers to the educated class.” “No wonder everyone’s been calling me an *intellectual* lately.” “You’re quite the talk of the town.” “Among my crowd, there’s not one *intellectual* who knows English.” “By the way—‘amateurs’ in English?” “What about amateur Gidayū gentlemen?” “Amateur.” “Sweetie?” “It’s ‘Amateur,’ sir.”

“And professionals?”

“It’s *Professional,* sir.” “It’s the same as baseball.” “Let’s call it a day here—write down today’s real characters for me.” “Every day, please.” “Right.” “I’m no Kan Shūsai, but if you learn one character a day, that’s 365 teachings.” “While vocabulary is necessary, wouldn’t it be quicker to prepare applied excerpts instead?” “When you say ‘excerpts,’ you mean dialogue?” “Right.” “Learning dialogue from a disciple is mortifying, but if it’s a shortcut, there’s no help for it.” “Prepare a sample and show it to me.”

Shōdayū rapidly awakened to the times. There was some superficial polish to it all, but being inherently resourceful and a Gidayū narrator at heart, he delivered with conviction. He memorized every line of dialogue thoroughly. “Amateurs’ Gidayū may be technically slipshod, but their inspired improvisation makes it surprisingly listenable.” “It’s passion, in short.” “No matter how skillfully crafted, Gidayū without inspiration is like beer that’s lost its fizz.” He posed it as a riddle.

“Mr. Shō’s suddenly become quite the intellectual, hasn’t he?” “Hmm. When you rattle off English like that, it leaves me all turned around.” And the patrons too grew apprehensive. The one who had to keep pace with Mr. Shō’s modernization was Mr. Tomosaku, the shamisen player. This man proved troublesome due to his advanced age. “Mr. Tomosaku.”

“Right.”

“The narrator and shamisen require teamwork, same as in baseball.” “Teemwark?” “It means working together.” “It’s collaborative work.” “We’ve been working together from the start, haven’t we?” “That’s precisely why it’s union work.” “Teemwark.” “Should we just remember it as ‘Mismatched’ then?” “Ha ha!” “If you renew your way of looking at things, your feelings will renew themselves as well.” “Much obliged.” “Let’s both awaken to the times and go full throttle!”

“Right.” “Therefore, you should also wear Western clothes.” “Me?” “Yeah.” “At my age?” “What does age matter? Just look at Westerners.” “Everyone wears Western clothes.”

“I see.” “It suits you.” “Whether it suits me or not, you and I are a renowned duo, so there’s no helping it.”

“A famous duo is truly a blessing.” “Mr. Tomosaku’s hit.” “A hit, you say?” Master Shō’s medicine had taken effect.

Being inherently progressive by nature, he had quite naturally liberated himself from the conventional role of an entertainer. Both Madam and Miss Miyoko were satisfied.

“Mr. Gin, it’s truly thanks to you.”

And Madam expressed thanks.

“Don’t mention it.”

“The medicine’s just working a bit too well.” “He even insists I wear Western clothes now.” “Isn’t it splendid?” “They’ll suit you splendidly, Madam.”

“Oh, come now.” “This old woman...” “Not at all—you’re still quite young, Madam.”

Gin no Ji was as tactful as ever. Lately, a bit of ambition began to rise in his mind. As the master couple’s favor flourished, Miss Miyoko became increasingly noticeable. He was the sole live-in apprentice. If he inherited Master’s professional name, he could marry Miss Miyoko. Fortunately, it seemed he wasn’t disliked.

“How devoted to Master you truly are.”

she said admiringly. The sincerity was getting through. Humans have something called an antenna of the heart. If it took five more years to become a full-fledged Tayu, he would be twenty-nine and Miss Miyoko twenty. Perfect.

One day, Madam summoned Mr. Gintafu and,

“Mr. Gin, this sort of conversation wouldn’t be possible where Miyoko is present, you know.”

she said in a hushed tone. There it came, Mr. Gin thought. Being smart, he caught on quickly.

“What is it?” “Madam?” “Thanks to you，Master has awakened fully to this modern age—but there’s one problem：he’s acting downright juvenile.” “Uh-huh.”

“First of all—the patterns are too flashy.” “The patterns of his Western clothes—” “But as he’s a newcomer to this, isn’t it only natural he’d try to act youthful?” “But it’s a matter of degree.” “He even says it’s awkward to walk with Miyoko!”

“Why would that be?” “He says he doesn’t want people thinking he has such a grown daughter.” “He’s already exactly fifty.” “Even if he’s awakened to the times, is fifty really an age to act so youthful?” “Well...” “Since you’re usually the one accompanying him everywhere, you simply must take responsibility.” “Master is being flattered by young women around Kagurazaka, don’t you think?”

“Well…” “If you keep devoting your loyalty solely to Master while hiding things from me, I’ll have my own measures to consider.”

“Madam, I would never dream of keeping anything from you.” “He goes to Kagurazaka to give lessons to geishas.” “The lessons are during the day.” “Geishas work at night, you see.” “And isn’t it strange for it to last until ten or eleven at night?”

………… “You really must pull yourself together a bit more, or this will become quite troublesome.” “Right. “I’ll be more careful.”

Ginjiro had thought it would be a discussion about him marrying Miss Miyoko in the future, so his expectations were dashed. But that wasn’t all. He had been assigned a troublesome duty—to report every woman Master met while out. Master cut a striking masculine figure. While it was understood that Madam kept wary watch over visiting female Tayu and disciples due to this, he hadn’t imagined her vigilance would extend so far. The plan Madam had in mind concerned dismissal. If driven out, Miss Miyoko too would be left with nothing.

The Peril of Serving Two Masters

Master Shō abounded in romantic rumors. In his youth, during his apprenticeship in Osaka, he had been fancied by his master's daughter there—one such episode. However, unlike Mr. Ginjiro, being the eldest son meant he couldn’t be adopted into another family. The other party had been an only daughter. Thus he resolutely declined and returned home. When it came to Gidayū, Osaka reigned supreme. The fellow apprentices from those days had risen in status and were living splendid lives. There, the affluent class maintained many disciples. Gidayū stood as the art of patrons. They said monthly fees reached five hundred yen, six hundred yen—such figures. Occasionally a colleague returned from Osaka would visit, spread such talk, then depart—

“If only I’d stayed there as I was…” Master inadvertently reminisced. “What do you mean, ‘if I’d stayed there’?”

Madam immediately shot back. Master had simply meant that the demand for art differed between here and there, but Madam was reading too much into it. She had been somewhat oversensitive for some time now. "It's nothing."

“Not at all.” “That’s exactly why such things keep happening.” “You still haven’t forgotten that Osaka master’s daughter.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” “After all, I’m a fool.” “Didn’t you realize that from the very beginning?” “I turned down someone who would’ve become an executive to resolutely come to you in the first place.” “You’re resentful, are you?” “You—” “If you make me angry, even a fool would resent it.”

“How tedious.”

“What exactly is so tedious?” “You—let me hear these tedious details of yours.”

“Do as you please!”

Since Master had raised his voice, Ginjirō, who had been waiting nearby,

“Now, now, Master.”

he interjected.

“What?” “Now, now.” “Are you taking Otsuta’s side?” “Not at all.” “Then keep quiet.” “Right.” “You—let me hear those details.” Madam repeated.

“There’s nothing to tell. It’s a story from twenty-five years ago.” “I detest how you remember it so exactly—twenty-five years. Do you count it every year?” “It doesn’t matter. I’m not making an issue of it anymore.” “Not at all. It’s precisely because you’re making an issue of it that it slips out, isn’t it? What’s this all about, even though you’re balding?”

“I’m not going bald at all. It’s just gotten a little thin.” “It’s practically see-through, like a pig’s back.” “Shut up! We’re not talking about my head!” “I am stating the logical course of things.” “Old people should behave like old people.” “Since the middle’s gone transparent like a kettle stand, it’s too late now to start saying ‘if only I’d stayed over there’.”

“You’re saying that if I’d stayed over there, I would’ve advanced further in life.” “If you’d stayed over there, you’d be with the master’s daughter by now—isn’t this an insulting betrayal that humiliates me?” “It’s purely about advancement.” “I have no lingering attachments.” “If we’re talking advancement, I wouldn’t have lost either had I not come to you.” “When you started pursuing me back then, I had marriage proposals raining down like snow.”

“So are you saying you regret coming to me?” “That’s not quite the case.” “Then that should suffice.” “But if you go around saying things like ‘if only I’d stayed in Osaka,’ then all my efforts would be for nothing, you know.” “Then I won’t say it anymore.” “Then let us leave it at that.” “I won’t bring up Osaka anymore, but I still don’t consider myself old.” “I’ll make that much perfectly clear upfront.” “You’re old, aren’t you?” “Fifty years old—in the old days, you’d already be an honorable retiree living leisurely, aren’t you?”

“I may count as old by years, but I still feel young at heart. There are those who see Miyoko and doubt she’s my daughter.” “Who exactly? Name them—” “They exist here and there.” “How vain! Gulping down all that ‘so youthful’ flattery you get everywhere—” “People mustn’t surrender to age. You’re not exactly a granny yourself yet.” “Oh, you only say that because you know my true age. Until recently, when I went out with Miyoko, people thought we were sisters.”

Ginjiro thought that both were in the wrong. Madam was also nearing fifty. Only the Master knew her true age, and even Miss Miyoko was unaware of it. Mr. Gin found it funny when he thought about such things.

“Mr. Gin.” “Yes?” “What’s so funny? You—”

Madam quickly spotted Ginjiro’s smile.

………… “Mr. Gin—without any pretense—do I truly appear so much like an old woman to you?” “Oh, not at all.” “Then you needn’t laugh when people are speaking seriously.” “I’m terribly sorry.” “This fool’s hopeless.” The Master glared at Ginjiro in agreement. “Not particularly bright, are you?” “Three hairs short of a full head.” “A monkey?” “A monkey’s brains.” “Mr. Gin—if you don’t start conducting yourself properly, I truly won’t know what to do with you.”

“I’ll be more careful.”

Ginjiro could do nothing but apologize. But that wasn’t all. After the Master had stood up, Madam

“Mr. Gin, what did you just say?” “Oh…” “You said ‘never’.” “You said you’d never take my side.” “……” “How very clear you’re being.”

A trio locked in triangular rivalry

Ginjiro learned the art from his Master while striving to intellectually edify him in turn. Master Shōdayū was a self-centered man, yet possessed a remarkably good-natured disposition. He might fly into rages, but never nursed grudges. Madam operated on similar principles. Once they’d vented their complaints, their moods would clear like storm clouds parting. Ginjiro served both these demanding patrons while keeping Miss Miyoko appeased, enduring four or five years without major incident. Through dedicated practice, his artistic skills matured considerably.

"You no longer make that strangled chicken sound, do you?" Miss Miyoko expressed her respect. That Miss Miyoko had already graduated from girls' school and begun applying white face powder more thickly. She was no longer a little water sprite. She was a bright-eyed beauty with pearly white teeth. Thinking about this and that, Mr. Gin found himself unable to rest easy these days.

The situation had completely changed over four or five years. What stood out most was how the Master’s status had subsequently risen while Mr. Gin’s footing had recently grown precarious. The Master had naturally been elevated to the pinnacle due to his seniors’ deaths and retirements. The time had arrived. His trip to America to console compatriots made excellent publicity. It was extraordinary for a Gidayū narrator to travel abroad. The newspapers gave it prominent coverage. Mr. Gin accompanied him and dispatched reports from various locations. His education proved useful. Even after returning, Shōdayū’s endeavors remained remarkable. Gidayū became synonymous with Shōdayū. He made frequent radio appearances. In short, since the intellectuals’ emergence, favorable developments kept unfolding. Recently he had ventured into theater productions beyond his main craft and launched a magazine. Regarding Gidayū matters, everything now went through Shōdayū. All work converged in one place.

“I’m a threefold artist. On top of that, I’m planning to establish a Gidayū school—that’s why I’m so busy.” Mr. Shō looked quite pleased with himself. Through the patronage of influential supporters, a Gidayū school would be established within it. Master Shō had been officially designated as principal. Now that things had reached this point, having only Ginjiro as the live-in apprentice wasn’t sufficient. They had moved to a larger house, and recently Abumidayū and Kazaridayū had taken up residence there. Before that, there had been another who came, but that man was driven out because he didn’t please Madam. There was another named Suzudayū who commuted from outside. They all received names with the metal radical. While their names naturally derived from Master Shōdayū’s, the auspicious charms wishing for financial prosperity were also fully at play. Abumidayū had fled from the Bunraku-za in Osaka. He was a year younger than Mr. Gin.

“I’m no good.” “I was only a bean-eater, you see.” he modestly downplayed. When performing with a large group, he would be seated at the end, only moving his mouth—yet becoming a Bunraku-za bean-eater required five or six years of training. As for Kazari, it was because the master’s colleague had suffered a stroke that he took on that disciple. He may be younger than Mr. Gin, but he was senior in the art. He was already performing on stage.

“If I’d been with this Master from the start, I’d be way further along by now.”

And so this fellow had no reservations. For Ginjiro, each one was a formidable rival. The Master, who equated subpar artistry with worthlessness, would trust those with genuine artistry. If he took a liking to them, then came further complications. When he thought about it, he couldn’t rest easy. “Mr. Gin, given your age, you’re the senior apprentice here.” “As the senior apprentice, if you don’t steady yourself, I’ll be in a bind.” And Madam gave him encouragement. “Yes.” “You’ve been a bit absentminded lately, haven’t you?”

“There’s something on my mind.”

“What’s worrying you?” “Even though there’s no real reason for it, I can’t help worrying. I might be suffering from nervous exhaustion.” “Hopeless.”

Ginjiro devoted himself to editing the magazine. Since he had even written dialogue for the Master, he was quite proficient when taking up the brush. However, in his main profession, he couldn’t help feeling inferior to the junior apprentices. He didn’t think he was that inferior, but in art, everyone has their self-conceit. When that was subtracted, what remained might be nothing more than form. In that regard, Miss Miyoko’s considerations felt uncertain. Miss Miyoko also placed great importance on the artistic discipline.

“Miss Miyoko.” “Yes?” “Am I really that different?”

“In what way?” “Am I really that different from Abumi-kun and Kazari-kun?” “When you were listening upstairs…”

“They seem the same.” “But the one who resembles Father is still you.” “I might even mistake you for him.”

“If that’s truly the case, I’d be grateful.” “Why do you ask such things?” “I think I’m hopeless.” “You’re so timid, Mr. Gin.” Since the three youths—Gin, Abumi, and Kazari—were evenly matched in their mastery of the artistic discipline, they soon became known as Master Shōdayū’s Three Crows. Abumi-kun and Kazari-kun, who had begun seeing themselves as equals to Mr. Gin, naturally pondered the same matter. If the three stood equal, it meant one among them would inherit the master’s artistic name and take Miss Miyoko as his wife. Abumi-kun and Kazari-kun instinctively asserted themselves. Their first tactic was badmouthing their senior apprentice. Their second was fighting each other. The two would often argue, and when words proved insufficient, they resorted to blows. When Mr. Gin rushed over at the sound of commotion, Abumi-kun and Kazari-kun stood glaring at each other.

“What happened?” Mr. Gin asked, but the two did not answer. In truth, even they themselves didn’t understand what they were fighting for. In short, they were incompatible simply because they were incompatible. Within that situation, the three of them had come to firmly acknowledge that they were each other’s enemies. It was pathetic, but there was no helping it. While living and sleeping in the same room, they did not wish to be liked and instead hoped that he would make a mistake. Therefore, they would never recommend each other. They strove to do the opposite. Amidst such tense circumstances, one day while receiving instruction from his Master, Ginjiro repeatedly fumbled whenever he shook his head, distracted by his hair hanging down to his eyes.

“Gin no Ji, your hair is too long.” “Yes.” “What if you cut it short?” “I could just use some brilliantine.” “What?” “It’s brilliantine.” “It’s something a master like you wouldn’t need.” “..................” “I deeply apologize.”

“Ginjiro!” “Yes.” “Get out!” “You’re expelled!” And with that, the Master bellowed and stood up. Ginjiro stood dumbfounded. He followed, but the Master entered the tearoom and roughly shut the sliding door. While he was loitering around that area, Madam came hurrying out. “Mr. Gin, why on earth did you go and say things like ‘bald head’ to that youth-obsessed Master?”

“I would never say such a thing.” “Then what did you say?” “Brilliantine is something the Master would have no use for...” “Isn’t that the same thing?” “Because he’s bald—that’s what you meant by ‘no use,’ isn’t it?” “Ah, I’m sorry. “I thought he’d laugh—I said it as a joke.”

The Master was in a foul mood. Admittedly, he had been aging in reverse year by year—as Miss Miyoko reached marriageable age, he couldn’t bear being mistaken for her lover when they walked together—such was his desperate clinging to youth. Having now been forced into this association with baldness, it was only natural he resented it. Ginjiro, thoroughly chastened, asked Madam to intercede on his behalf and retreated to the apprentice quarters. Even when dinner came, he kept to his room as self-imposed penance.

Before long, the sliding door quietly opened. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed, but Miss Miyoko entered.

“Mr. Gin.” “Huh?” “You mustn’t lose your temper.” “I do understand your feelings, you know.” “I never meant any harm by what I said.” “I thought the Master would laugh.” “That’s not what I’m talking about.” “What do you mean?” “Then...” “I’ve known your feelings from the very beginning.” “Since fourth grade.” “Since you helped me with my school readings.” “H-hee?”

“You mentioned the antenna of the heart, didn’t you? In every human—every single one—there exists an antenna of the heart.”

“Oh?” “I’ve known since then.” “Through the antenna of the heart, I have understood your feelings.” “Madam also knows all about your achievements—everything you’ve done for Father until now.” “Thank you.” “I will have Father’s mood improved—I will.”

“Please.” “If Mother and I team up, it’ll be alright.” “Mother alone knows that I don’t dislike you.” “……”

Miss Miyoko went around behind him and rubbed Mr. Gin's back. Mr. Gin, overwhelmed with happiness, began to sob with hiccups. The events of that night sank deep into his being, and he still cannot forget them. Even now, having inherited Shōdayū's artistic name,

“There exists such a thing as tears of joy among humans.” “Just as Matsuō possesses his mingling of tears and laughter, I wonder what would happen if we made Sawaichi and Osato of Tsubosaka Valley shed tears of joy.” he says.

(January 1937, Modern Day)