Pathway to Japanese Literature

Whenever the President launched into this refrain, everyone around him would wince in exasperation. Yet there he’d be, scanning the room with expectant eyes—so inevitably someone would “Yes, sir.” they had no choice but to oblige. The President had been given the nickname “the Sycophant Sage.” After someone else’s remarks, he would inevitably dredge up some recollection,

“Now, about that…” he would launch into it. At times, these digressions bore no relation whatsoever to the original topic. On one occasion, Mr. Hoshino, an outside director, happened to mention— “I was born in the Year of the Monkey.” When Mr. Hoshino said this, the President— “Hmm, the Monkey?” “When it comes to monkeys, I too have my own well-formed opinions.” “Yes, sir.”

“Now when it comes to Shikoku monkeys—their true home ground is my own birthplace. Their numbers have dwindled considerably these days, I hear, but there used to be quite a lot of them back in the day. For training them in tricks, Shikoku monkeys are unmatched. You can catch them in the South Seas too, but those ones have poor retention. The monkeys those trainers bring around are all from my hometown. Why, even the monkey that studied Confucianism under Kato Kiyomasa must have been Shikoku-born. To capture those brutes from the mountains and tame them...” He would occasionally launch into these monkey-related lectures. On such occasions, the entire staff had to set aside their work and listen attentively, laughing at all the appropriate moments. Being a company employee was quite an ordeal. Though truth be told, when you heard nonsense about monkeys learning the Analects from Kato Kiyomasa, you simply couldn’t help bursting into laughter. The frequent typographical errors were a relief.

The President had recently returned from touring Europe and America, and his stories had grown all the more plentiful. Eagerly lying in wait to parcel out his newfound knowledge, I couldn’t risk speaking carelessly. Even if I stayed silent, he would fabricate some connection to seize an opening.

Just the other day,

“Mr. Hoshino, have you been indulging in an evening drink these days?” “Well, sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.” “Over there in America, Prohibition’s making quite a ruckus these days.”

With that, he immediately launched into his American anecdote. In such moments, he wasn’t merely the Sycophant Sage—he verged on being a highwayman.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Hoshino was good-natured. “……An utterly idiotic law. “There’s no way to enforce it properly. “In the end, it’s nothing but making people drink bad liquor at inflated prices to line the pockets of smugglers. “In the lower classes, they mix dubious substitutes and drink them, leading to many accidents. “They often die. “They’re peddling liquor so strong it’ll make your eyes pop out after just one drink, you see. “If left unchecked like that, the health of the laboring society will deteriorate completely. “And there’s even a theory among experts that Prohibition will be what destroys America.”

It took him a full thirty minutes to reach this conclusion. Having recently been promoted to the president’s secretary, I now had to endure these interminable monologues from start to finish—endless soliloquies where he held forth without ever yielding the floor. There was a time when being privy to the President’s lofty discourses directly counted as one of life’s honors, but when it became a daily obligation as of late, it grew wearisome. Moreover, owing to his advanced age, the President’s mental faculties had deteriorated somewhat, leading him to forget things and repeat the same stories multiple times. When Mr. Hoshino and Mr. Tsukamoto fixed me with looks that seemed to say "Not again...", I was the one who truly deserved their sympathy. I’d already been made to listen to this four or five times over.

During his travels, the President cultivated a close relationship with a certain duke, and even after returning home, he joined a golf club with the duke as its honorary president to maintain their association. As a result, anecdotes about this Duke began to surface frequently. “When I crossed from America to Britain, I had the honor of meeting him for the first time aboard the ship. “The Duke may be a lord governing a million koku, but he’s renowned as a gentleman of democratic principles.” “When he saw my business card and said, ‘Ah yes, I’ve heard much about you,’ I was thoroughly humbled.” “He was remarkably approachable.” “He comported himself without any pretension, addressing others as ‘you’ while calling himself ‘I’.” “But one day on deck, something rather amusing occurred.”

At this point, the President would habitually glance at his listener’s face.

“Yes, sir.” Since he was being prompted to respond, there was no helping it. “Yes, sir.” “The Duke seems delighted to be called democratic and does everything on equal terms.” “When I take out a cigarette from my pocket, he’d grab a match from the table and strike it for me.” “This was rather humbling.” “In return, I’d wait for the Duke to take out a cigarette and light it for him.” “But one day when His Grace took a matchbox intending to light mine, he opened it only to find it empty.” “What do you suppose he did?”

“Yes, sir.” “Don’t just ‘Yes, sir’ me!” “Well, what happened then?” “The Duke made a slightly displeased face and snapped at me, ‘You there, stop dawdling and go fetch one from over there!’” “I see. And then what did you do?” “When I went to the neighboring table and brought back matches, the Duke said, ‘Good job,’ and lit it for me.” “In that case, it would’ve been quicker if he’d just done it himself.” “I couldn’t help but secretly admire such remarkable democratic principles.”

“Ha ha ha…” At this point, everyone had to laugh. “Aristocrats’ so-called democratic principles are all like this.” “They play at being commoners only when it suits them but show their true colors at the slightest inconvenience.” “They’re just gilded through and through.” “Absolutely.”

“But he’s such a fine gentleman.” “When it comes to the upcoming expansion, we’ll have him contribute plenty.”

And so the President would go to the golf club to conduct business.

It was primarily the executives and section chiefs who were tasked with keeping up with such idle chatter. Regular employees remained unaware; under the impression that important meetings had been frequent since the President’s return, they had been diligently applying themselves. At the company, the busier an employee was, the worse their compensation. The more leisure one had for idle chatter, the better their treatment. However, even when going out to play golf, he was preoccupied with getting the Duke to acquire shares—so despite being the President, his mind knew no respite. Even executive directors like Mr. Hoshino and Mr. Tsukamoto occasionally said they couldn’t sleep at night. After all, they were exercising their minds appropriately. As for the section chiefs, sandwiched between those above and below, they were earnestly busy. Since each of them had their own concerns to attend to, devoting themselves solely to listening to the President’s lengthy discourses would inevitably lead to a backlog of work. Thus, both the executives and section chiefs made every effort to avoid getting involved. Of course, since the section chiefs were in separate rooms, they wouldn’t get caught unless they came.

“Ahem, ahem, ahem.”

One day, the President raised his voice while reading the newspaper. When the other party remained silent, he would employ this tactic.

“A certain industrialist’s wife has eloped with her chauffeur. Who could it be?”

The one who muttered this loud enough to be heard intended to bring up the newspaper article directly as a topic. "That was reported."

Mr. Tsukamoto raised his head from his desk.

“Regarding elopements with chauffeurs, I heard an interesting story in America.” The President removed his glasses.

“Yes, sir.” Mr. Tsukamoto had no choice but to say.

“The president of a major bank over there was advised by his doctor to relocate alone to the coast for three months of absolute rest,” “Just like me, he has elevated blood pressure and arteriosclerosis.” “So during that period, he completely cut off all contact with both the bank and his home to devote himself to recuperation.” “Forgetting everything and being in a daze is the best medicine.” “Indeed, even someone like me could certainly use that.” “Absolutely.” “We’ll handle company matters as recommended, so how about beginning your rest soon?”

as Mr. Hoshino recommended.

“But I can’t keep idling about like this forever—let’s postpone it until next year.” “Now then, that bank president made a full recovery and returned.” “When he arrived at the station, only a student attendant had come to greet him.” “He originally had no children—there remained only his young second wife, a former actress he’d taken in marriage, and her mother.”

“Welcome back.” “How did it go? Nothing out of the ordinary?” he asked—a natural concern after leaving home vacant for three months. “Yes, sir.” “The student attendant had been instructed not to relay any news, so he answered, ‘Nothing to report.’ But thinking it acceptable to mention at least one dog, he added, ‘Actually, John has died.’” “John died? Was he killed by a dogcatcher?” “No, he ate some burnt horse...” “Burnt horse?!” “Hmm, where on earth did he go to eat such a thing?” The bank president’s puzzled head tilt was only natural. “Because in high society over there, they don’t eat horse.”

The fact that the President could utter such contradictions with nonchalance was indeed a sign of arteriosclerosis. “In Japan, we don’t eat that either.” I pointed out to him. Even if I am a secretary, if I remain overly deferential, I won’t have my presence acknowledged. “Indeed, now that you mention it, that’s true. By the way,” he continued, “the student attendant explained: ‘Actually, the stable caught fire and both horses burned to death. That rascal John ate them.’” “What? Did the stable burn down?” “That was quite a blunder.” “What happened?” “It was flying embers.” “Flying embers?! Was there a fire that close?!” “Yes... actually...” “The main building burned down.” “The main building?!” “Completely destroyed.” “This is shocking—though at least there’s insurance.”

“President, is that a factual account?” Mr. Tsukamoto asked. “I can’t vouch for that.” “Why did you cause a fire?” “It was a genuine accident—the candle flame spread to the curtains.” “But we only use electric lights at home, don’t we?” “They were candles placed around the coffin.” “Coffin? “Who died?” The bank president turned pale. He had ordered that he not be informed no matter what happened, but he never anticipated a life-or-death situation would arise. “Actually, your wife’s mother passed away suddenly.” “I see.” “Then that’s fine,” said that rather mercenary man.

“Mr. Tsukamoto, this is quite the fairy tale.”

Mr. Hoshino took up his fountain pen, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to tear himself away.

“It’s just a little longer, so bear with it, I command you.”

And the President pressed on,

“What did he die of? What illness?” he asked. “It wasn’t an illness.” “She died from too much shock.” “What shocked her so much?” “Well, actually...” “Actually what?” “‘Having another “truth” beneath your first “truth” won’t do!’ ‘The truth is, your wife ran off with the chauffeur,’ said the student attendant, trembling as he reached the end of his revelations.” “‘Ugh...’ groaned the General, who then promptly passed out—that’s how the story goes.”

he concluded. “Ha ha ha...”

I let out a hearty laugh.

However, because there was no room left for further promotion, the executives wore wry smiles.

One day, Mr. Tsukamoto—unusually of his own initiative—challenged the President’s esteemed pronouncements. To be sure, it had begun simply enough,

“Mr. President, you’re quite the robust eater.” He had said this by way of expressing gratitude during the previous evening’s invitation. “That’s owing to this substantial frame of mine, you see.” “That must be because you’re in sound health.” “When I consider it, I doubt I’ll live to reach your age, President.” “Why utter such dispiriting words? “Eat heartily and sleep heartily. “Do that and you’ll become hale.”

And this was the President’s health method. Because he was healthy—so his logic went—he could eat heartily and sleep heartily. This muddling of cause and effect was surely another symptom of his arteriosclerosis.

“No, that’s not quite the case.” “Lately I haven’t been sleeping well again.” “Not sleeping is the worst possible thing. Could it be neurasthenia?” “That may be part of it, but there are other causes too.” “What kind of causes?” “Since I enjoy tea and water so much—though it’s rather indelicate to mention—I inevitably have to get up twice each night to relieve myself.”

“So that’s why you can’t sleep? If you can’t solve something like that, what are you going to do?” “But I can’t give up the things I like.” “No—let the drinking be as it may, but manage the indelicate matter properly.” “Do you have any splendid suggestions?”

“Use the chamber pot, I command you—the chamber pot!” “The chamber pot?”

“Exactly! That’s a truly convenient contraption,” declared the President. “Being the indolent sort I am, I’ve employed it since my prime years. That sensation of drowsily attending to nature’s call while luxuriating in bed—why, it’s positively regal! You must try it at once, I insist. This foolish habit of yours—rising every single time—is precisely what robs you of proper rest.” “An inspired proposal,” replied Mr. Tsukamoto with excessive deference. “I shall implement it without delay.” The executive appeared genuinely tormented by his nocturnal predicament. Five or six days later,

“Mr. Tsukamoto—how goes it?” “And how fares our nobleman?”

the President asked. “Ah… “That is truly nobility itself.” “Thanks to you, I can sleep well.” “That’s splendid.” “As expected, Mr. President, you certainly know what’s best with age.” “I was impressed.” “It’s strange that I hadn’t thought of such a simple solution until now.” And Mr. Tsukamoto held the President in deep esteem. “Is it truly that effective?”

And Mr.Hoshino was drawn in. “Absolutely! It’s worth recommending widely as a form of health regimen! Who knows how many people catch colds or suffer from sleep deprivation from getting up to use the bathroom at night? Since they’re all capable people above middle age—when you tally it up—it has quite an impact on the national economy.” “Ah…” “Moreover—that serves as a form of spiritual cultivation! There’s nothing as comfortable as that! Truly—one can savor the sensation of nobility! I find spiritual composure in knowing that no matter how many failures I suffer or how low I may fall—this one luxury will always remain within my grasp!”

And once again, the President launched into a lengthy lecture.

I assumed the position of the President’s secretary at New Year. Then spring passed and summer came.

In the meantime, I had heard the President’s—

“I have an interesting story about that.” I had long since lost count of how many times I’d been subjected to his “I have an interesting story about that.” I regarded it all as training. Yet truth be told—a testament to his years—even amidst that deluge were gems not easily dismissed.

Having presented one such example, I introduced in due order an anecdote about Mr. Tsukamoto and laid down my pen.

Mr. Hoshino, who had lost his wise wife a year prior, had now found a favorable match and taken a new wife. Since she was also a widow, it was stated that the ceremony would be conducted with utmost simplicity, so from the company, only the President and Mr. Tsukamoto attended.

It was the day after.

“Mr. Tsukamoto, even a second or third wedding—the whole business—is still better than a funeral, eh?”

Needless to say, it was the President who initiated the conversation. “It seems rather cruel to equate them with funerals.” And Mr. Tsukamoto, too, did not hesitate to engage when it came to current affairs. “But she’s quite the belle.” “She’s beautiful.” “And she’s young.” “The only drawback is the stepchildren.” “If there were no children, he could’ve gone somewhere with far less hassle.” “That’s certainly true.” “If she’s young and pretty, two or three stepchildren are worth enduring.” “Compared to his late wise wife, she’s as different as night and day.” “Admittedly, the wise wife was never a beauty to begin with.” “Mr. Hoshino’s about to have his moment in the sun, I suppose.”

“My wife sympathizes, saying how pitiable it was that his late wife died poor.” “That may be so, but with five children already, he still had to take a new wife to manage.” “It can’t be helped.” “With the new wife’s two stepchildren, that makes seven in total.”

“That’s quite a handful.”

“Moreover, Mr. Hoshino—well, given how young the new wife is, they’ll undoubtedly have more children.”

“Of course they will. “I guarantee two or three more.” “If three more come along, that’ll make ten.” “Since each one comes from different parentage and different households, it’s rather peculiar, don’t you think?” “It’s rather like a kindergarten, don’t you think?” “Since I have doubts about whether such a blended family will actually work out, I did in fact warn Mr.Hoshino.” “But they’d already gone through with the matchmaking by then.” “I suppose the Commander fell head over heels right away.”

“That’s right.” “I said, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained—you can’t just keep fixating on the outcomes.’” “I have an interesting story about this sort of marriage.”

And the President immediately remembered. “Ah,” “I hear a widower with three children married a widow with three children and they ended up having three more.” “That makes nine in total.” “That’s one fewer than Mr. Hoshino’s household.” One day, the wife rushed to her husband with a panicked expression and said, “You! You! It’s terrible!” “What is it?” he asked, to which she replied, “Your child and my child have conspired together to bully our child.” “Since I’ve gone and scolded my child, you should go and scold your child as well,” came the directive. “What do you think?” “That really cuts to the heart of human nature’s subtleties, don’t you think?”

“Ah.” “Those who leave grow more distant with each passing day. The most cherished will always be the child born of the current union. Next comes one’s own flesh and blood. But when it comes to children connected only by obligation—well, you feel no real responsibility toward them.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting with academic delight. “The brilliance lies in how your wife’s offhand remark lays bare these human intricacies.” “I see.”

And Mr. Tsukamoto was uncharacteristically impressed. “Since there are those who take new wives, we all need to rejuvenate ourselves considerably.”

And the President endeavored to continue his discourse.

“That’s quite enough now.” “If you’re going to be this spineless, you’ll be outdone by Mr. Hoshino.” “No matter how much you thrash about, you’re nobility now, after all.”

“Still keeping at it?” “I am.” “Sleeping well now?” “I can sleep. By the way, President—regarding that noble chamber pot—I made a terrible blunder the other day.”

And now it was Mr. Tsukamoto’s turn to remember.

“You spilled it, didn’t you? I often spill too.” “No, that’s not it. I got burned.” “Burned? A nobility-sized one?”

“That’s correct.” “Due to my sensitive nerves, I find it quite difficult to sleep.” “What’s particularly troublesome is that I can’t sleep when I hang up the mosquito net.” “So lately, I’ve been resting in the quietest room on the second floor with mosquito repellent incense burning.”

“Ah,” And for the first time, the President became the listener. “The other night, after briefly dozing off and waking up, I groped through pitch darkness trying to employ that ‘noble chamber pot.’” “Then I leapt up immediately.” “When I hurriedly switched on the light, what I’d taken for nobility turned out to be a swine-shaped mosquito smoker.” “I use an oversized one so it lasts till morning.” “They’re similar in both size and shape, and with my wretched sleeping posture throwing off my bearings, I ended up mistakenly dragging it toward me.”

“Ha ha ha...”

“I was truly astonished. “If I’d known it was fire, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but at first I thought a centipede had crawled into the chamber pot. “I remember being bitten by a centipede as a child—this felt exactly the same.”

Because Mr. Tsukamoto had explained with such seriousness, the President and I doubled over laughing.

(August 1926 [Taisho 15], Omoshiro Club)