Pathway to Japanese Literature

A School Graduate Live-In Apprentice “Subtract art from four, and zero remains.” “Do you know this kind of arithmetic?” Gin Takafumi-kun asked Master’s daughter Miss Miyoko. “What was that? Say it again.” “Subtract art from Master, and zero remains.”

“I don’t get it.”

“If you subtract art from Master, zero remains.” “Master minus art equals zero.” “Who would say such a thing?”

“I came up with it myself. There’s no one as dedicated to the artistic path as Master. Whether awake or asleep, he’s thinking about Gidayū.” “But in exchange, they say he doesn’t know the first thing about worldly matters.” “That’s why zero remains. If you subtract art, nothing remains.” “You’ve expressed what Mother said in an arithmetic equation, haven’t you?” “Yes, that’s precisely the point. M-Master… s-subtract a-art… u-u-u…”

“How silly.” “Ha ha ha…”

At that time, Gin Takafumi-kun had only just begun his apprenticeship. Miss Miyoko, the young lady of the house, was a second-year student at a girls’ school. Even if one spoke familiarly with the live-in apprentice, she was a carefree soul who posed no issues whatsoever, but even then, she had already become a significant presence. Admittedly, in Miss Miyoko’s household, everyone was a significant presence. Her father was Toyotake Shōdayū, a pillar of the Eastern Capital Gidayū world—a man who, whether judged by substance or stature, was by no means a small presence. Madam was the driving force behind her husband’s success, making her too a significant presence. The Master, single-mindedly devoted to his artistic discipline and ignorant of worldly affairs, had entrusted all matters to Madam’s management. Miss Miyoko was the only child of this couple—and since she had been born when her parents were relatively older, she had been a significant presence from the very moment she entered this world. In exchange, all others were small presences. In other words, live-in apprentices and maids—the latter were hardly acknowledged as existing.

For the time being, Gin-san was the sole live-in apprentice. His background—a commercial school graduate and company employee—was unusual for someone aspiring to this artistic discipline. His father had ruined his fortune by becoming obsessed with Gidayū. Because he had been the third-generation head, his time had probably already come. Gin-san had been working at his father’s shop, but as it had declined, there was nothing to be done. By now, finding employment elsewhere was difficult. Rather than that, he resolved all the more to become a Gidayū chanter and make a name for himself in the world. He had listened to and memorized his father’s chanting, having loved it since childhood. When he proposed it, his father not only had no objections but,

“That should be fine. “I’ll give it a go.” “If I were younger, I’d redo my training and dedicate myself to the profession properly, though.”

He still hadn’t awakened from that dream. Like father, like son. Because he was acquainted with Master Shōdayū, he had requested that Ginjirō be taken on as a live-in apprentice.

“A company employee?” “Impressive.”

“A company employee, eh? Impressive,” said the Master. “No, I was working at our family’s shop.”

“What about school?” “I graduated from Kōshu Commercial School.” “Now that’s impressive. I’d never make it as a proper Master.” “Don’t be absurd!” “But you’ve got formal education, haven’t you? You can’t master Gidayū unless you purge all that classroom learning.” “Since I never had any proper schooling to begin with, there’s nothing to purge.” “But commercial school means you know English, yes?”

“Well...” “Just a little.” “What do you call Gidayū in English?” “Hmm...” “And the shamisen?” “I don’t know.” “No good.” “You shouldn’t ask such foolish questions.” “Miyoko’s laughing at you.” Madam interjected. “Miyoko’s learned this at school—she must know.” “What do you call Gidayū?”

“Gidayū is Gidayū.”

Miss Miyoko answered with utter nonchalance. “It’s ‘Gidayū’ in English.” “Even in English, it’s Gidayū, right?” “How strange.” “And the shamisen?” “After all, shamisen.” “Then isn’t that the same as in Japanese?” “What exists in Japan but not the West is that Japanese suffices here.”

“Then in English too, you’re Toyotake Shōdayū?” “Yes.”

“I see,” “Is ‘Olympic’ still ‘Olympic’ even in Japan?” “That’s one lesson learned.” “Being taught by the child you carry on your back—this is exactly that situation.” And Madam too showed pride in Miss Miyoko.

“This Sasaki crossing the shallows.” “Not as shrewd as Moritsuna.” “Ha, ha ha.” “Jokes aside—if you insist educated people can’t learn Gidayū, it undermines your own discernment.”

“Why?” “Isn’t it precisely when educated people like Mr. Ginjirō become professionals that the status of tayū will be elevated?”

“There there.” “I understand.” “Mr.Ginjirō.”

“Yes.” “Let’s work with Gin-no-ji from now on.” “Yes.” “I’ll have you say ‘Hei.’” “Hei.” “I’m known for being strict.” “The live-in apprentices have all run away one after another, and now there’s not a single one left.” “Do you think you’ll last?” “He’ll be fine.” “You’ll need five or six years of rigorous training from now on, or you’ll never amount to anything.” “Even when things are hard, I believe it’s all for your own sake.” “Yes.”

“I’ll make sure to train you into a full-fledged tayū and have your father be thanked by you.”

And Master Shōdayū, taking interest in the other’s background, gladly accepted him.

Gin-no-ji was sharp-witted. Coming after a string of underperforming disciples, he clearly won the Master’s favor. Madam’s regard was equally favorable. Education must indeed make all the difference. Miss Miyoko also liked Ginjirō. There was no one as loyal as Gin-san. 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 what mattered most—his art—he remained a novice, leaving his future uncertain.

“Your voice sometimes sounds like a chicken being strangled.” And Miss Miyoko showed no restraint. “When I strain my voice, it gets hoarse. Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“But everyone’s like that at first. They say your nature’s the good kind.” “Is that what the Master says?” “Mother. In our household, they say Mother understands things better.”

“My voice is rather poor—inherited from my parents, I’m afraid.” “It’s not that it’s bad—they say you just haven’t found your true voice yet.” “That might be the case.” “I don’t find Gidayū interesting at all.”

“Why?”

“It’s old-fashioned. It’s not something a newcomer should do.”

“But if a newcomer emerges, even old Gidayū will become new.” “Then you’re saying you’re that newcomer?” “That’s exactly the plan.”

Entertainer and Artist

Around the time exactly one year had passed since Mr. Ginjirō moved in as a live-in apprentice, he happened to demonstrate his qualities as a newcomer, leaving a profound impression on both Miss Miyoko and Madam. This became the trigger for Master Shōdayū to gain a new awareness. Master Shōdayū now spoke differently. Alongside his growing reputation as an intellectual among peers, his popularity surged, and he became a star performer. For this purpose he even made an overseas trip to the West; however, let us begin at how it all began.

One day, Miss Miyoko returned from school wearing a troubled expression. When her mother asked about it, she said she’d grown to hate school because her classmates looked down on her. “What did they say?” “All of them?” “Just Miss Tsuruta and Miss Serizawa.” “But Miss Serizawa’s your close friend—didn’t she visit us recently?” “That was just her sizing up our household.” “She wanted to know whether we’re rich or poor.”

“Did she say we’re poor?”

“No. The Serizawa household appears to be even poorer than ours.”

“Then what did they say?”

“This Sunday, Miss Tsuruta, Miss Serizawa, and I were supposed to go visit the Ikedas’ place, you know.” “The Ōmori estate.” “The Ikedas are nobility, aren’t they?” “Yes…” “That’s why they have a steward, you see.” “Since that steward is terribly strict, only Miss Tsuruta and Miss Serizawa are going.” “What about you?” “They said I can’t go.”

“Why?” “……” “Why, I ask?”

“Why, I ask?” “But they said it’s because I’m an entertainer’s child.” And Miss Miyoko began to sob quietly. Madam taught her that there was not the slightest reason to feel ashamed of being an entertainer’s child. She said that all trades and businesses were fundamentally the same—that being the same meant they were one and the same, with no hierarchy between them. The Tsurutas were government officials; the Serizawas were painters; and just when Miss Miyoko had been feeling somewhat self-conscious in comparison, she was bluntly told it was because she was an entertainer’s child.

“You don’t have to associate with people who don’t understand.” “There are plenty of other good friends you can have.” Madam continued comforting her with these reassurances.

“Madam, I can’t stand this humiliation!”

And then Mr. Ginjirō burst in. Gin-san, Gin-no-ji, Gintayū—before anyone realized it, that name had stuck. The Master, being Shōdayū with the metal radical in his own name, had remarked that “Gintayū” would suit well, since silver too bore that radical. “Were you listening?”

“Yes, ma’am. Please tell me the addresses of Miss Tsuruta and Miss Serizawa’s homes. I’ll go now and say what needs to be said.”

“My! What’s gotten into you? You’re making such a frightening face…”

“Since the young lady has been humiliated, I can’t just stay silent.”

“Young lady.” “……” “Young lady, please do speak your mind. The whereabouts of this seal case’s owner…” “How foolish.” “It’s true.” “Going to pick fights won’t solve anything.”

“No, this is a serious matter.” “This is all because the education provided by Master and you, Madam, has been deficient.” “‘The education is deficient,’ you say?” “Yes.” “Gin-san, don’t you dare speak such impertinence.” Madam drew herself up rigidly. Gin-san bobbed his head in repeated bows. In manner alone, he maintained unbroken deference.

“Miss Miyoko is so pitiable.” “As a child, one should be able to take pride in one’s parents.” “With all due respect, she hasn’t been properly taught that her father does Japan’s most honorable work.” “……” “When told she was an entertainer’s child, the young lady should have retorted, ‘Why is being an entertainer’s child bad?’ That’s only natural.” “What are they, anyway?” “They’re merely the daughters of poor painters and petty office workers.” “They’re not highborn princesses—so how exactly are they any different?” “Madam, why are painters and petty office workers any better than entertainers?”

“It’s no use directing your arguments at me.” “If Gidayū chanters are called entertainers, then painters are craftsmen. Isn’t that precisely the same thing?”

“That’s precisely why I’ve been teaching her they’re the same.” “While painters create with their brushes, Gidayū chanters express through their voices—there’s absolutely no difference. If painters are artists, then Gidayū chanters are splendid artists too.” “That’s the logic of it, then.” “It’s the same with officials. Government officials may seem prestigious, but since their salaries come from taxes paid by the people, they’re effectively employed by the public. They’re a type of servant. That’s why in English they call officials ‘public servants’—servants of the people, you see.”

“You’re quite the scholar, Gin-san.” “Young lady, do you understand now?” “Yes.” And Miss Miyoko had already come to accept it. She understood the reasoning. There should be no distinction of nobility or baseness in occupations. Even when making the same point, Madam’s explanation had sounded like mere consolation, but Gin-san’s argument—presented with the conviction of one newly entrusted with responsibility—possessed a logical strength.

“The times have changed.” “Both Gidayū chanters and shamisen players are artists.” “They are not entertainers.”

“I understand.” “I’ll tell Mr. Tsuruta and Mr. Serizawa tomorrow.”

“As expected of Miss Miyoko.” “No way, don’t flatter me!” “Ha ha ha!” “I really don’t like the word ‘entertainer.’” “To avoid any misunderstandings, I’ll stick to ‘artist.’ The shamisen is instrumental music; Gidayū is vocal music. Since I’m aiming to be a vocalist, I’ll produce a voice like a chicken being strangled without holding back.”

“That’s just an excuse.” “Oh ho ho!”

“I can’t compete with clever people.” “Ha ha ha!” Gin-san was quite the sly one.

That evening, when Master returned from a gathering of their peers, Madam immediately—

“You need to get your act together, or we’ll be in real trouble.”

insisted Madam. This was always the premise of their problems.

“What is it?”

“Our household’s education isn’t getting through.” Madam recounted how Miss Miyoko had been slighted for being an entertainer’s child. Seemingly impressed by Mr. Ginjirō’s argument, she added that as well. However, the Master showed no surprise. “That’s because you’re putting on airs, Otsuta. And that Silver Character’s talking nonsense too.” “Why would that be?” “If you compare noble families with Gidayū chanters, there’s no question—the chanters are beneath them.”

“No, noble families are a separate matter.” “This concerns painters and officials.” “Painters must hold higher status.” “Because they’re artists.” “Gidayū chanters are artists too.” “It’s troubling that even you would show such misunderstanding.” “Where painters manifest through brushes, we express through voices.” “Voices disappear instantly.” “They’ll endure through records.” “Ah, I see.”

“It’s the same thing. Whether they’re painters or Gidayū chanters—” “Then is Naniwa-bushi also art?” “Yes…”

“Art? Fine then.” “Even government officials are the same thing.” “Officials are superior.” “There are ministers.” “Even vice-ministers are impressive.” “Master, whether they’re ministers or vice-ministers, all officials are public servants.”

Gin-san cut in. Miss Miyoko gave a meaningful glance. “What did you say?”

“They’re public servants.” “That’s what they call them in Britain and America.” “In Japan too—write ‘big messenger’ and it becomes ‘ambassador,’ but write ‘small messenger’ and it becomes ‘janitor.’” “This must be because they inherently carry the nature of servants.” “I see. Interesting.” “If your daughter comes home crying after being bossed around by officials’ and painters’ daughters, then with all due respect, there must be something wrong with your family’s education.” “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” “Yes, sir.”

“You.” “I too became angry when Gin-san said that to me, but upon considering it, this responsibility lies with us.” “It isn’t only us.” “There is also a need for our peers in general to awaken to the times.”

“It seems Silver Character has been whispering ideas into your ear—you’ve been spouting all sorts of convoluted nonsense lately.” “What’s that?” “And what exactly is this ‘awakening to the times’ supposed to mean?” “Just look at how actors carry themselves nowadays and you’ll understand.” “‘A brocade-clad beggar upon the tatami’—that old lament belongs to the past! In this age of awakening, we needn’t defer to noble families!” “Hmm.” “The same principle holds true for both Gidayū chanters and shamisen players, you know.” “You really must pull yourself together, or I’ll be at my wit’s end!”

“I know that.” “What am I supposed to do?”

And Master Shōdayū could only be left speechless.

Master’s Modernization

“Gin-no-ji, teach me English.” It was not long after that the master made this demand. Having accepted the earnest pleas of Madam and Miss Miyoko, he had begun making efforts to awaken to the times. “Yes, sir. However, I’m not capable enough to teach you.”

Gin-san had been asked by Madam beforehand, but he lacked confidence. “What was it again?” “That was…” “Yes?” “The ABCs of English, you know.” “Do you mean the ABCs, sir?” “That’s it! That’s it!” “But I won’t learn the ABCs—they’re a hassle.” “Let’s start with proper words.” “I’ll just memorize the proper words in katakana.” “Oh?” “What’s an artist?” “And the proper English term for that is…?” “Artist.” “And entertainers?” “Well.” “Still Artist, I suppose.”

“Over there, they’re the same?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right.” “Exactly as you say—your logic holds.” “Since entertainers will become artists.” “I do think they’re essentially the same, though.” “Everyone keeps harping on ‘intellectual’—does that mean scholar?” “No, it refers to the educated class.”

“That explains why everyone’s been calling me an intellectual lately.” “It’s quite the reputation you have.” “Not a single intellectual among our peers knows English. “Now then—what do they call amateur Gidayū patrons? “The gentlemen who practice amateur Gidayū—” “*Amateur*.” “Sweetie?” “It is *Amateur*, sir.” “And *Professional*?” “It is *Professional*, sir.” “Same as baseball. “That’ll do for today. Write down these proper terms for me. “Make it a daily task.”

“Yes, sir.” “I’m no Kan Shūsai, but learning one character daily makes three hundred sixty-five teachings yearly.” “Though vocabulary is essential, mightn’t compiling practical excerpts be swifter?” “By ‘excerpts,’ you mean dialogue?” “Yes, sir.” “Mortifying to learn lines from my own disciple—but if it’s a shortcut, so be it.” “Prepare a sample for my review.” Master Shōdayū awoke fiercely to modernity’s call. There was gilding at the edges, but his innate versatility—coupled with being a Gidayū chanter to the bone—lent his art authenticity. He mastered every line.

“Amateurs’ Gidayū may be slipshod in technique, but their inspired improvisations make them unexpectedly listenable.” “It’s about fervor—that’s what matters.” “No matter how polished the skills, Gidayū without inspiration is like beer gone flat.” He framed it as a riddle.

“Master Shō has suddenly become an intellectual.” “Hmm.” “Because you rattle off English so fluently, we end up bewildered.” And the patrons too were in awe. The one who had to keep pace with Shō-san’s modernization was Tomosaku, the shamisen player. This person was troublesome because he was elderly.

“Mr. Tomosaku.” “Yes, sir.” “Gidayū chanters and shamisen players require teamwork, just like in baseball.” “You mean ‘teemwuck’?” “It means working together.” “It’s a collaborative effort.”

“We’ve been teamed up from the start, haven’t we?” “That’s precisely why it’s an organized effort.” “Teemwuck.” “Or should we just remember it as ‘mismatched’?” “Ha, ha, ha…” “If you renew your perspective, your mindset will renew as well.” “Much obliged.” “Let us both awaken to the times and go at it full throttle.” “Yes, sir.”

“Therefore, I must ask you to wear Western clothes as well.” “Me?” “Come now.”

“At my age?”

“What do you mean ‘at your age’? Take a look at Westerners.” “They all wear 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.”

“I’m grateful for our renowned duo.” “That’s Tomosaku’s hit.” “You mean ‘hit’?” Master Shōdayū’s medicine had taken effect. Being inherently progressive by nature, he had quite naturally liberated himself from the conventional label of “entertainer.” Both Madam and Miss Miyoko were satisfied.

“Gin-san, it’s all thanks to you, truly.”

Madam expressed her gratitude. “You’re welcome.” “The medicine worked a bit too well.” “Now he insists even I must wear Western clothes.” “Isn’t that splendid? “They’ll suit you perfectly, Madam.”

“Don’t be absurd.” “An old woman like me—” “No, Madam—you’re still young.”

Gin-no-ji responded tactfully. Lately, a hint of ambition had begun to stir within him. As the master couple’s favor grew ever more auspicious, Miss Miyoko began to catch his eye. He was their only live-in apprentice. If he inherited his master’s professional name, he could claim Miss Miyoko as his own. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be disliked. “You’re truly devoted to Master, aren’t you?” she said admiringly. His sincerity was getting through. There exists in humans something called an antenna of the heart. If I could become a full-fledged Tayu in five more years—I’d be twenty-nine then—and Miss Miyoko would be twenty. Perfect timing.

One day, Madam summoned Gintafu,

“Gin-san, we can’t have this sort of conversation where Miyoko is present, you know.”

she said, lowering her voice. There it comes, Gin-san thought. Being sharp-witted, he caught on quickly.

“What is it? Madam.” “Thanks to you, Master has fully awakened to the modern age and become contemporary, but there’s one problem—he’s acting recklessly youthful.”

“Ah…”

“First of all, aren’t they too flashy? The patterns on his Western clothes—” “But since he’s a newcomer to this style, it’s only natural he’d try to act young.”

“But it’s a matter of degree,” she said. “He claims it feels 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 fifty already—is this really an age to play at being youthful, no matter how ‘awakened to the times’ he claims to be?”

“Well…” “Since you’re usually the one accompanying him everywhere, I must insist you take responsibility.” “Don’t you think Master is being flattered by young women around Kagurazaka?”

“Well…” “If you persist in devoting your loyalty solely to Master while keeping secrets from me, I too have my considerations, you know.” “Madam, I would never dream of hiding anything from you.”

“He goes to Kagurazaka to give lessons to the geisha.” “The lessons are during the daytime.” “Since geisha work at night.” “And isn’t it strange for them to last until ten or eleven at night?”

“…………” “You need to get your act together a bit, or this won’t do.” “Yes. I’ll be careful.”

Ginjirō had thought it was a consultation about taking Miss Miyoko as his wife in the future, so his expectations were dashed. But that wasn’t all. He had been entrusted with an irksome duty—it meant he had to report every woman Master encountered on his outings. Master cut a dashing figure. He had known Madam was wary of the visiting female Gidayū chanters and disciples because of this, but he hadn’t imagined it would go so far. The plan Madam had in mind was dismissal. If he were expelled, Miss Miyoko too would be left with nothing.

The Trouble of Serving Two Masters

Master Shōdayū was no stranger to romantic entanglements. One such episode occurred during his youth while training in Osaka, where he caught the eye of his local master’s daughter. But unlike Ginjirō, being the eldest son barred him from becoming an adopted heir. The girl happened to be an only child. He consequently made a clean break and returned home. Gidayū’s true home would always be Osaka. Back then, his fellow apprentices had climbed the social ladder to enjoy lavish lifestyles. There, disciples sponsored by affluent patrons abounded. Gidayū reigned supreme as the favored art among society’s elite. Rumors swirled about monthly fees soaring by five hundred yen, six hundred yen—such extravagant sums. Whenever colleagues returned from Osaka bearing these tales,

“If only I’d stayed there as I was…” Master inadvertently reminisced. “What if you had stayed there?” Madam immediately pressed. 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 lately. “It’s nothing serious.” “No. Isn’t it precisely because there’s something going on? You still can’t forget your Osaka master’s daughter.” “Don’t be absurd!”

“I’m a fool anyway.” “Haven’t I known that from the very beginning?” “After all, I’m the one who turned down a man bound to become a company executive and reluctantly came to you.”

“Are you holding a grudge? You—” “Even a fool like me would resent it if provoked!” “How trivial.” “What’s ‘trivial’ about this? You—I demand you explain every tedious detail.” “Do whatever you want!”

Since Master had raised his voice, Ginjirō, who had been waiting on the side, “Now, now, Master.” interjected.

“What?” “Now, now.” “Are you taking Otsuta’s side?” “No, not at all.” “Then keep quiet.” “Yes, sir.”

“You, I’ll have you tell me all about these circumstances.”

the Madam repeated.

“There’s no ‘circumstances’ or anything. It’s a story from twenty-five years ago.” “How detestable that you remember it so precisely—twenty-five years exactly. Do you count them every year?” “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve long since stopped making an issue of it—or anything else.” “No. It’s precisely because you *are* making an issue of it that it slips out, isn’t it? What’s this about your bald head?”

“I’m not bald! It’s merely thinned a bit.” “It shows right through, like a pig’s rind.” “Enough! We’re not discussing my head.” “I’m explaining basic principles here. Those of advanced age should comport themselves accordingly. When your crown’s as bare as a straw trivet, it’s far too late for ‘if only I’d stayed over there’ fantasies.” “They claim I’d have risen higher had I remained.”

“If you’d stayed over there, you’d be married to your Master’s daughter now, wouldn’t you? So isn’t this talk just heartless rejection that humiliates someone like me?” “It’s purely about career advancement.” “I’ve no lingering attachments.” “If it’s career success we’re measuring, I wouldn’t have fallen short either had I not come to you.” “When you began chasing after me, I had marriage offers pouring down like rain.” “Then do you regret coming to me?”

“That isn’t so.”

“Then that should be fine.” “But if people were to say I should’ve stayed in Osaka like that, then all my efforts would’ve been for nothing.” “Then I won’t mention it anymore.”

“Let’s have it that way then.”

“I won’t mention Osaka anymore, but I still don’t consider myself an old man. I’ll make that perfectly clear upfront.” “You’re elderly, aren’t you? At fifty years of age, in the old days one would already be well into retirement.”

“By age, I might be considered elderly, but I still consider myself young. When people see Miyoko, there are those who don’t think she’s my child.” “Who exactly? That—” “They’re all over the place.” “How presumptuous—taking seriously all that flattery about being young wherever you go.”

“People mustn’t let themselves grow old.” “You aren’t yet what you’d call an old woman either.”

“Oh my, you only say such things because you know my real age.” “Until two or three years ago, when I went out with Miyoko, people mistook me for her older sister.” Ginjirō-kun thought they were both as bad as each other. Madam was also approaching fifty. Only Master knew her true age—not even Miss Miyoko was aware of it. Gin-san found it amusing when he thought such things.

“Gin-san.” “Here.” “What’s so funny?” “You—” Madam keenly spotted Ginjirō-kun’s discreet smile.

......

“Gin-san, do I look like such an old woman to you, without any pretense?” “Not at all.” “If that’s the case, then you needn’t laugh while people are having a serious conversation, need you?” “My apologies.” “This fool.”

Master was also glaring at Ginjirō-kun. “He doesn’t seem very bright.” “He’s three brain cells short.”

“A monkey?” “Monkey intellect.”

“Gin-san, you really must get your act together, or this will become a problem.” “I’ll be more careful.”

All Ginjirō-kun could do was apologize. Not only that.

Madam, after Master had stood up, “Gin-san, what did you just say?” “Well...”

“You said ‘certainly not.’” “You said ‘I certainly won’t take your side.’”

“…………” “How very clear you’re being.”

Three rivals locked in a three-way struggle.

Ginjirō learned the art from his master while striving to cultivate the master’s intellectual side. Master Shōdayū was self-centered by nature yet remarkably good-hearted. He might fly into rages but never held grudges. Madam operated much the same way. Once they aired their grievances openly, tensions dissipated completely. Ginjirō not only served both masters but also kept Miss Miyoko contentedly pleased through four or five uneventful years. He devoted himself earnestly to his craft and achieved respectable mastery. “You don’t sound like a strangled chicken anymore now,”

Miss Miyoko expressed her respect through these words. That Miss Miyoko had already graduated from girls' school and begun applying white powder thickly. She was no longer a schoolgirl. She was a beauty with bright eyes and pearly teeth. Thinking about this and that, Gin-san found himself lately unable to settle. The situation of those four or five years had completely transformed.

What was particularly striking was how the Master’s status had since risen and how Gin-san’s footing had recently begun to deteriorate rapidly. The Master had naturally been elevated to the pinnacle due to the deaths and retirements of his seniors. The opportune moment had arrived. His trip to America on a goodwill visit to compatriots also served as excellent publicity. It was rare for a Gidayū narrator to make an overseas trip. The newspapers had played it up for him. Gin-san accompanied him and sent dispatches from various quarters. His education had come in handy. Even after returning, Master Shōdayū’s activities were remarkable. Gidayū came to bear the imprint of Master Shōdayū. He also frequently appeared on radio. In short, ever since the Intellectual’s rise, nothing but good things had followed. Lately, he had taken on theater work in addition to his main profession and published a magazine. When it came to Gidayū matters, it had reached the point where anything and everything was brought to Master Shōdayū. Work was gathering in one place.

“I’m a trio act.” “On top of that, I’m planning to start a Gidayū school, so I’m swamped.”

Master Shōdayū was thoroughly pleased with himself. With the patronage of benefactors, a Gidayū school was to be established within it. Master Shōdayū was officially appointed as principal. Under these circumstances, Ginjirō-kun alone as the live-in apprentice was no longer sufficient. They had moved to a larger house, and recently two apprentices named Abumi and Kazari took up residence. Before that, another one had come, but Madam took a dislike to the man and drove him out. Another named Suzutayū commuted from outside. They all received names with the metal radical. It went without saying that this was in keeping with Master Shōdayū’s name, but the talismanic wish for financial prosperity also held considerable sway. Abumi had fled from Osaka’s Bunraku-za. He was one year younger than Gin-san.

“It’s no good. I was just a bean server,” he remarked modestly. In group performances, one would be relegated to the lowest seat in the back, mouthing along silently—yet becoming a bean server at the Bunraku-za required five or six years of training. As for Kazari, since the master’s colleague had suffered a stroke, he had taken on his disciple. Though younger than Gin-san, he was more advanced in the art. He was already performing on stage. “If I’d been with this Master from the start, I’d have risen much higher by now.”

And this guy didn't hold back. For Ginjirô both were formidable rivals. The master—whose art minus art equaled zero—would trust anyone with true skill. If he took a liking to someone there arose subsequent complications. When he thought about it he was beside himself with worry. “Gin-san given your age you're the foremost senior brother.” “As the senior brother you simply must be more dependable.”

Madam had cheered him up. “Yes.” “You haven’t been a bit absentminded lately, have you?”

“I have something worrying me, you see.” “What exactly worries you?”

“It’s nothing serious, but I can’t stop thinking about it.” “I might be suffering from neurasthenia.”

“That won’t do.”

Ginjirō devoted himself to editing the magazine. Since he had even written dialogue for the Master, he was quite skilled with the pen. However, in his main profession, he tended to feel inferior to the junior disciples. He didn’t think he was that much worse, but in art, everyone has their self-conceit. If you subtracted that, what remained might be nothing but empty form. In that regard, Miss Miyoko’s assessments left him uneasy. Miss Miyoko, too, placed importance on the artistic discipline.

“Miss Miyoko.” “Yes?” “Am I very different?” “In what way?” “Am I significantly different from Abumi-kun and Kazari-kun? When you were listening from upstairs.” “They seem the same.” “But the one who resembles Father is still you.” “I might even mistake you for him, you see.” “If that’s truly the case, I’d be grateful, though…”

“Why do you ask such a thing?” “I think I’m no good.” “You’re so timid, Gin-san.”

Because the three youths—Gin, Abumi, and Kazari—were evenly matched in their mastery of the artistic discipline, they soon became known as the Three Crows of Master Shōdayū’s school. Abumi and Kazari, who had begun viewing themselves as equals to Gin-san, naturally began considering the same issue. If the three stood as equals, then one among them would inherit the master’s professional name and take Miss Miyoko as his wife—such was the tradition. Abumi-kun and Kazari-kun instinctively started asserting themselves. Their first tactic was to speak ill of their senior brother. Their second was to vie against one another. The two often escalated beyond arguments, at times even coming to blows. When Gin-san heard the noise and rushed over, he found Abumi and Kazari locked in a glare.

“What happened here?”

Gin-san asked, but the two didn’t answer. In truth, even they themselves didn’t understand what their fight was about. In short, they were incompatible because they were incompatible.

Amidst this, the three had come to firmly recognize they were each other’s enemies. It was wretched, but unavoidable. Though sharing the same living space, they neither sought affection nor hoped to be liked—each instead willing the others to stumble. Thus they never recommended one another, striving rather to undermine. Amid this tense rivalry, Ginjirō-kun—while receiving training from the Master one day—grew distracted whenever shaking his head sent hair tumbling into his eyes, resulting in repeated blunders.

“Gin-no-ji, your hair is too long.”

“Yes.” “How about cutting it short?” “Applying some hair tonic would solve it.” “What?” “It’s cosmetic.” “It’s merely something the Master has no need for.”

“…………” “I must apologize for my impertinence.” “Ginjirō!”

“Yes.”

“Get out! You’re expelled!” With that, the Master shouted and stood up. Ginjirō was left stunned. He followed, but the Master entered the tearoom and roughly shut the sliding door. While he was loitering around there, Madam came rushing out.

“Gin-san, why did you go and say things like ‘bald head’ to that youth-obsessed Master of yours?” “I would never say such a thing.” “Then what did you say?” “I said, ‘Hair tonic is something the Master has no use for…’”

“Isn’t that the same thing? Because he’s bald—that’s what you meant by him having no use for it, isn’t it?” “Ah, my bad. I thought you’d laugh—it was just a joke.”

Master was in a foul mood. To be fair, he seemed to age backward year by year—to such extremes of youthful affectation that he fretted about being mistaken for a lover whenever walking with Miss Miyoko as she came of age. Given that this had now forced him to confront associations with baldness, his fury was perhaps only natural. Mortified, Ginjirō-kun entreated Madam’s mediation and withdrew to the apprentices’ quarters. Even when dinner arrived, he kept himself confined as an act of contrition. Soon after, the sliding door opened without a sound. He hadn’t noticed—so absorbed was he in brooding—but Miss Miyoko had entered.

“Gin-san.” “Huh?” “You mustn’t lose your temper like that. Because I do understand your feelings.” “I truly didn’t mean any harm when I said that. I thought the Master would laugh.” “That’s not what this is about.”

“What do you mean?” “Then…”

“I’ve understood your feelings from the very beginning. Since my fourth-grade year. Since back when you helped me with my school readings.” “Oh…” “You did mention the ‘antenna of the heart,’ didn’t you? Every human has what’s called an antenna of the heart, you said.” “Oh…” “I’ve known since then. Through the antenna of the heart, I understand your feelings. Mother is also fully aware of your achievements and all you’ve done for Father up to now.”

“I’m grateful.” “I’ll make sure Father regains his good mood.” “Please do.” “If Mother and I join forces, we’ll manage it.” “Only Mother knows I don’t dislike you.”

“…………”

Miss Miyoko went around behind Gin-san and rubbed his back. Gin-san, overwhelmed with joy, burst into choked sobs. The memory of that evening etched itself into his very soul, remaining unforgettable even now. Even now, having inherited Master Shōdayū’s professional name,

“There exists such a thing as tears of joy among humans.” “Just as Matsuō has tears of both joy and sorrow—what if we made Sawaichi and Osato from Tsubosaka Valley shed tears of joy?” he was saying.

(Shōwa 12, January – Modern Times)