Pathway to Japanese Literature

A bona fide blind stamping

The president, having lost his wife, was utterly crushed.
Since she was his wife who had shared his hardships, it must have been a tremendous blow, but it was surprising that such a reckless man had taken to the Buddhist path.
Even when coming to the company, he never let go of his prayer beads.
While meditating and chanting [Namu Amida Butsu], he would stamp the documents.

"[Namu Amida Butsu], [Namu Amida Butsu]"

As the president’s secretary—for whom getting scolded was half my job—even I, setting aside my usual grievances, couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity.

“Your grief is only natural, but dwelling on it too much will harm your health.”

“Thank you.”
“Everyone says that, but I can’t help thinking about it.”
“The reason is that I didn’t cherish my wife while she was alive.”
“I imposed more hardship on her than others did.”

“There is no such thing. My wife always says there’s no husband as kind at home as you, President.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you, Naoko. I’m sorry to have her come every day.”

“Not at all.
I’ll have her commute for the time being.”

Let me explain here—through my wife, I am connected to the president in some way.
My wife Naoko is the daughter of the president’s wife’s cousin.
After graduating from her hometown girls’ school, she had come to the president’s household to learn etiquette, and I took her as my wife.
Now, if I put it this way, it might sound like the company’s performance was good and I was considered promising—but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
It was because I had lived in the president’s residence as a tutor during my student days and thus understood people.
Nor was my becoming the president’s secretary a promotion based on merit.
When my predecessor fell ill with a chest condition and took leave, I—being a known quantity—was entrusted as a temporary bag carrier and have remained so to this day.
That’s why my title remains Acting President’s Secretary to this day.

“When’s that tadpole’s tail of yours coming off?”

A close colleague asked.
When I wondered what they were talking about, it turned out the issue was with the "acting" in Acting President’s Secretary.

But getting back to the President.

“Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!”

As usual， he was attending to his duties while chanting Namu Amida Butsu.

“President.”
“What is it?”

“Now this is what I’d call a bona fide blind stamping, wouldn’t you agree? You don’t look at anything, close your eyes, and just stamp them—after all.”

I ventured a joke.

“Hmm.”
“Namu Amida Butsu.”
“What about this one?”

“I humbly request your attention to this one as well.”

“Namu Amida Butsu.”
“Does this mean the blind stamping is finished now?”

And the President acknowledged this.
Normally, if you were to mention something like the President’s blind stamping, it would mean serious trouble.
You’d get yelled at.
However, for now, the lion was weakened and lacked the energy to roar.

It was the morning after the 49th-day memorial service.

“President, I must apologize for intruding last night.”
“You must be exhausted.”

Since the president’s wife had passed away, we—my wife and I—along with the household staff and family members—were unusually busy.
My wife commuted to the president’s residence and wielded the baton there.

“Thank you for staying late.
After the priest left, I did it again.
I did it all by myself.
Chanting the nembutsu is soothing and pleasant.”

“The priest also praised it as a pious act.”

“The priest, in any case, was praised by the pond frogs.
When I chant the nembutsu, the pond frogs get so delighted they start croaking ‘Gyaa! Gyaa!’”

“Hmm.
How curious.”

“In my hometown, we have this saying about ‘croaking Buddhist prayers,’ so maybe the frogs are actually chanting them too.”

“President.”

I remembered because of the frog.

“What is it?”

“Would the frogs around here happen to be new frogs?”

“New frogs?”

“Hmm.”
“Could they be frogs born this year?”

“I suppose they are.”
“Because the pond’s full of them.”

“So, do they still have tails?”

“If they have tails, they’re tadpoles.
“Once they start croaking, they become full-fledged lordly frogs.”

“I see.
So that’s the logic behind it, I suppose.”

“You’re marveling at such trifles.”

Normally, the President showed no such composure.
Mentioning trivial matters would make him erupt.
Even minor slips of the tongue darkened his mood.
Yet these days, his ascetic nembutsu practice appeared to have tempered his spirit.

“President, there exists here a frog that’s been croaking for three full years without losing its tail.”

“What was that?”

“I am such a one.
“I humbly request that you kindly keep me in mind.”

With that, I took out my business card and showed it.
Truth be told, my heart was pounding, but I told myself there was nothing to fear and mustered my courage.

“What’s this imitation? This...”

“There’s such a thing as keeping snakes half-alive, but I’ve never heard of keeping frogs half-alive.”

“What’s all this about a half-alive frog?”

“It’s me.”
“My position still has this provisional tail attached.”
“I humbly apologize for lodging this complaint, but...”

“You bastard! You think I’m weakened and look down on me!”

With that, the President seized the prayer beads like an eagle grasping prey.
I flinched back a step.
There’d been that time I talked back and got shoved.
Yet this was merely a glimpse of the President’s usual self—nothing serious.
If anything, his mood brightened,

“You must’ve run out of patience.”
“There, there.”
Provisional President’s Secretary Onodera Saburō.
Appoint President’s Secretary.
Date: Today shall suffice.

He dictated to me the draft of the appointment.
When I wrote it exactly as instructed,

*Namu Amida Butsu*, *Namu Amida Butsu*

Chanting these prayers，he stamped his seal.
I rushed to the General Affairs Section and had them remove my tail.

The President’s Buddhist devotion lasted about half a year.
The chanting had somewhat subsided, but he absolutely would not let go of his prayer beads.
At this rate, it seemed as though it would last forever.

“President, you’ve completely transformed.”
“You’re just like a monk.”

And I was genuinely impressed and showed my respect.

“I am Kumagai now.”
“With a heavy sigh, I’ve come to understand this fleeting world’s cruelty—this morning coat is my ink-dyed monk’s robe.”

“I must say, a morning coat paired with prayer beads makes for a rather mismatched ensemble.”

“The form is what it is. Though I deliberately keep my hair unshaven, my spiritual state differs not from monastic life.”

“Deliberately, you say? Ha ha ha...”

“What’s so funny?”

“Ha ha ha...”

“Hey!”

This won't do.
The lion was regaining some vigor.

"Oh, it's nothing."

"It's no use trying to deceive me."
"You mean you don't even have enough hair left to bother shaving?"

"Your keen insight leaves me in awe."

"Do you think you can lead this company without even understanding something that basic?"

"I'm no match for you."
"Because it's like an X-ray—you can see straight through to a frog's intestines."

And I promptly surrendered.
If he had returned to his normal self, then there was nothing left for us but to resign ourselves to his unreasonable demands.

“I’m a bit different from other presidents.”
“Even if I stay silent and watch, I’ve got your motives for coming to work hatless all figured out.”

The President believed he possessed a special insight for discerning people’s hearts and analyzing character.
There was also a method to gauge his mood by playing into that very vanity.

“Hah. And what kind of motive would that be?”

“The hatless policy exists because they take pride in their hair—flaunting how much they have—so isn’t this a provocation against us old folks with thinning hair?”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Then what kind of sarcasm is it?”

“It’s neither sarcasm nor anything of the sort. It’s likely a trend prioritizing simplicity and hygiene. If you don’t wear a hat, it seems you won’t go bald when you get old.”

“Isn’t the sarcasm right there? Because you old folks are bald and unsightly, we young ones carry this provocative undertone of showing we won’t go bald in the future.”

“President, that might be overthinking things a bit.”

“No—it’s not merely about simplicity and hygiene.
“At the same time, they’re being driven by impure motives to flaunt their youth.”

“Well...”

“Whether it’s Japanese clothes or Western clothes, one’s appearance only becomes proper when wearing a hat.”
“Look at military men.”
“There are neither officers nor soldiers who walk around without hats just because they might go bald.”
“You’re all being selfish.”
“There’s something impure in that.”

“I see.
“If you put it that way, it does seem rather unpresentable, doesn’t it?”

“It’s unsightly.”
“Employees are violating the regulation that requires them to maintain a dignified appearance.”
“Mr. Aoyama, perhaps because he’s bald, has flown into a rage and is saying we shouldn’t give raises to those who don’t wear hats.”

“That would be disastrous.”
“I suppose I’ll wear one too, but only when accompanying you.”

“Ah, I don’t mind.”
“I’m already an old man, and a widower at that.”
“I’ll serve as the foil to make your hair stand out.”

“Are you really not going to give raises to those who don’t wear hats?”

“Just kidding.”
“This conversation proves I can discern societal trends and understand where people’s hearts are headed.”
“Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu.”

And the President bowed to me while rubbing his prayer beads.
It felt unsettling, like being tickled by King Enma himself.

Change of Heart

“Mr. Onodera—a moment.”

Then one day, Managing Director Aoyama pulled me to a corner of the cafeteria,

"I have something I want to ask you."

he said.

“What would that be?”

“Do you know if the President has any intention of remarrying?”

“He doesn’t.”
“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think there’s any chance either, but my wife won’t have it.
There’s a good candidate.”

“That won’t do.”

“I thought about confronting him directly, but with all that ‘Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu,’ there’s no opening.”
“He’s steadfast in his religious devotion.”

“But continuing like this will put the household in difficulty.”
“He himself must find it quite inconvenient.”

“The former head maid named Kiyoshi has come back and is managing everything.”
“Since she’s the President’s favorite, it works out well.”
“My wife also goes to check on things occasionally.”

“Anyway, since this will take time, why don’t you try suggesting it to him?”

“Goodness gracious. I’ll get scolded.”

I firmly refused.

And not long after that, Section Chief Hirose of General Affairs remarried.
He had been living as a widower for over a year.
Being a Christian, he had never resolved to take monastic vows like the president.
His wife had suffered from illness for three years before passing away.
He had made his peace with it.
This time, it was rumored he had married a young and beautiful woman.
Remarriages were usually settled within close circles.
Mr. Hirose came to the president’s office and submitted an after-the-fact report.

“Hmm.
“Mr. Hirose has changed beyond recognition.”
“Is he really the kind of man to forget the wife who shared his hardships in just a year?”

And the President tilted his head afterward.

“It should be fine.”
“Since Mr. Hirose is a Christian.”

I took on the task of defending him with genuine interest.

“If he’s a Christian, then all the more reason, no?”
“Christians are supposed to be monogamous!”

“That’s correct.”
“In that regard, unlike Buddhism or anything like that, it’s far more strict.”

“What do you mean ‘Buddhism or anything like that’?”

The President struck the table with prayer beads.
Thud, thud—Buddhism was turning violent.

“I meant that it’s different from other religions.”

“Buddhism is monogamous too, you know. Aren’t you confusing it with something like Mohammedanism?”

“Mohammedanism does officially permit polygamy, though.”

“Christian monogamy can’t be relied on either. If you take another wife after losing one, no matter how you calculate it, it becomes one husband with two wives.”

“That may be true mathematically, but temporally, it’s monogamy.”

“No—even temporally, it’s polygamy.”
“Christians believe in the afterlife, don’t they?”

“Of course.”
“Because when they die, they go to heaven.”

“The afterlife is an extension of this world.”
“The wife is already waiting in heaven.”
“If you take another wife on top of that, in the end, when you go to heaven, you’ll end up with one husband and two wives.”

“That may be logically sound, but…”

“The facts back that up too. One plus one equals two.”

“I see.”

I thought I shouldn't argue anymore.
There was no need to argue and risk displeasing the President.
It would suffice to understand the President’s intentions regarding the remarriage issue.

“So here’s the thing. If something were to happen to Ms. Naoko, you’d remarry, wouldn’t you?”

“No—I’ll follow the President’s example and stay single.”

“There’s no example to speak of. That’s the truth!”

“Ah.”

“Go home and swear to Ms. Naoko: ‘Even if you were at fault,I’d remain single my whole life.’”

“I will say so. Naoko will surely take my hand and rejoice.”

“Your home may resemble an idyllic spring breeze, but having no children remains a flaw in the jewel.”

“It’s probably because we get along too well.”

“Hey! You always get so carried away!”

The President stretched out his simian arm.
I was just about to be hit with prayer beads.
I couldn’t help but think Buddhism was turning into some kind of violent asceticism.

Managing Director Aoyama refused to abandon his aspirations of becoming a matchmaker.
Given that he went as far as saying not to promote anyone who didn’t wear a hat, once he got an idea into his head, his persistence must have run deep.
Again, in the cafeteria, he caught me,

“Mr. Onodera, how’s the state of affairs progressing since then?”

he asked.

“There are no prospects whatsoever.”
“Because remarriage is considered polygamy, I hear.”

And I talked about Mr. Hirose’s case and explained the President’s argument.

“Isn’t there some value in seriously addressing such issues?”
“This calls for provoking more debate to investigate further.”

“That won’t do.
If I’m not careful, I’ll get pummeled.”

“In any case, if you notice even the slightest change in his mindset, please inform me.”

I was extremely close with Section Chief Hirose.
From a work perspective as well, we needed to maintain constant contact.

With the new year just begun, Mr. Hirose invited me over to his house to introduce his new wife. When I told him about the President’s Buddhist devotion, he said—being the devout man he was—that it was a commendable thing. He made no reference to the President’s arguments against remarriage. I found myself thinking even so: if I were to repeat everything the President said like this to others, the company would be torn apart. It was because I kept a firm grip on the mouth of the President’s alms bag that the company maintained its cohesion.

“Mr. Onodera, where is the President?”

As he said this, Mr. Hirose immediately entered the secretary's office.

"The President hasn't arrived yet."

“Perfect timing.”
“There’s something amusing.”
“The slapdash grand temple’s begun to crumble.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, the President’s religious devotion.”
A call came in from a restaurant called Gin Tombo in Tsukiji.
“They said there’s someone who left prayer beads behind the other day, and asked if it might be Mr. President.”

“Ha ha ha!”

“They say they’re made of amethyst.”
“How’s the President doing?”
“Does he have his prayer beads?”

“Hmm.
I hadn’t noticed, but now that you mention it, he might not have had them for the past two or three days.”

“They said to tell him, ‘We’ll keep them safe here.’”
“It must be the President, no doubt.”
“Since it seems he’s been having meetings there since the other day.”

“It must be the President.”
“He was drunk, wasn’t he?”

“So he’s still drinking?”

“As for Buddhist alcohol—since even monks drink it, he doesn’t impose restrictions.”
“Ha ha ha!”
“That ‘slapdash grand temple’ comment shows your ironic side, Mr. Hirose.”

“Ha ha ha!”
“It’s taking effect.”
“This stays between us, I tell ya.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, please inform him about the prayer beads from your side.”

“I can’t do it. Given my Christian credentials, asking a renowned Buddhist monk ‘Did you forget your prayer beads at the restaurant?’ would be dripping with irony.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem—it’s strictly work-related.”
“No, too dangerous.”
“I must respectfully decline.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get scolded.
Chief, unlike before, he’s gotten rather short-tempered lately, you see.”

“Then I’ll have my responsibility lifted by having informed the president’s secretary.”

“Certainly.
The President won’t be the one to ask.”
“If he does ask, I’ll say, ‘Ah, that’s right,’ as if I just remembered.”

I had been eagerly awaiting the President’s arrival that day.
He came in the afternoon, but true to expectation, he did not have his prayer beads.
Not only that—he was frantically searching through desk drawers and document boxes.

“President, can you see anything?”
“No, nothing.”

The President denied this and turned to the documents. Upon closer observation, the Namu Amida Butsu accompanying his blind stamping was being chanted intermittently. Then days without prayer beads continued, and the Buddhist invocations naturally vanished.

Now opening his eyes wide like a hawk, he pressed the blind stamp.

“Mr. Aoyama, a slight change in mindset seems to have been observed.”

As promised, I reported this to Managing Director Aoyama.

“Slight? You’re rather slow on the uptake. In fact, it’s already begun.”

“What do you mean?”
“Marriage talks.”

“Ah…”

“I’m shocked.”
“This isn’t some minor epiphany—it’s a full-blown transformation!”
“He took a fifty-two-year-old widow from among my wife’s classmates.”
“She’s one year younger than his previous wife, and since she never had children, when she puts on thick makeup, she looks like she’s in her forties.”
“However, the President snorted dismissively.”
“saying ‘What good is some old hag like this?’ and dismisses her outright.”

“Does he have the intention to remarry?”

“You’re hopeless.”
“Even though you’re constantly at his side…”

Mr. Aoyama was being unreasonable.
I had been playing it safe by delaying my report.

"I was waiting until I had solid confirmation."

“It’s not about whether he has the intention or not. The specifications are that she must be in her thirties, never been married, and beautiful—otherwise it won’t do.”

“Huh?”

“He’s completely regressed to youth.”
“However, those who meet all three conditions—being in their thirties, never married, and beautiful—are quite rare.”
“If she’s a beauty, they’ll snatch her up before she even hits thirty.”

“There must be some in their twenties.”

“There are, but they won’t come. He’s a sixty-year-old geezer.”

“It’s a full-blown enlightenment, I tell you. He’s broken through to sheer audacity. I’m so appalled I can’t even speak.”

I was beginning to feel a bit irritated.
In the entire company, I had been made to listen to the most empty Buddhist chants.

“In fact, my wife was also indignant,”
“If someone her own age gets called an old hag, she’s not going to feel good about it.”
“Saying it would amount to insulting the previous wife, she immediately went out to retaliate.”

“I see.”
“My wife mentioned once meeting the previous wife at the President’s residence.”

“That must’ve been the time—no doubt about it.”
“It was Sunday.”
“The President claims he wouldn’t mind someone fifty-two or three—even older than himself—if they’ve been with him for years.”
“Since he knew them young, they get bonus points even as old ladies now.”
“And she sniped, ‘I bet your place works the same way.’”

“Ha ha ha.”

“However, he says if he marries some old hag he’s just met, there’s absolutely no way to factor in that premium, so he can’t get into a romantic mood.”
“Since he insists on going for romance, the old man’s downright extravagant.”
“Where did he research this? He insists that in the West, when taking a bride, the proper age is calculated by dividing your age by two and adding seven—so even those in their thirties must be thirty-seven or younger, or he won’t have any of it.”

“It’s twenty-three off.”
“Chief, aren’t you being a bit unreasonable here?”

“No—he’s dead serious.”
“This formula of dividing by two and adding seven seems wildly off because the President is sixty, but just imagine him as a thirty-year-old young man.”
“Divide by two and you get fifteen.”
“Add seven to that, and you get twenty-two.”
“Thirty and twenty-two balance out.”

“How curious.”
“In my case too, originally I was thirty and my wife was twenty-two.”

“Look.”
“He’s arrived at it.”

“It’s not quite like that, but…”

“If it’s a twenty-four-year-old young man, then twelve plus seven makes his bride nineteen.”
“When I agreed this had solid reasoning behind it, my wife immediately grabbed me by the collar. Ha ha ha!”

And with that, Mr. Aoyama burst into uproarious laughter and left.

The Enlightenment of Proactiveness

“Ah, President, I had forgotten. The other day, we received a call from the proprietress at the Tsukiji establishment. It seems they’re keeping your prayer beads there.”

I suddenly spoke up. Even an inchworm has its pride. Here he was advocating remarriage and polygamy while secretly putting in orders for marriage arrangements behind the scenes. The President’s double-dealing had thoroughly irritated me.

“Hmm?”

“Shall I go retrieve them?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“So has Mr. Kumagai already retired from the business?”

“What?”

“Kumagai Naozane.”

“Never mind that—the phone’s ringing.”
“Hurry up and answer it!”

The President, with the timely phone call proving a godsend, authoritatively cut me off.
I too was just as well not having to continue pressing the matter.
Even if I were to confront the President, there’d be no winning anyway.
The phone call eased my tense state of mind.

Of course, prior to that, there had been the following exchange.

“You turned them down so quickly—who was it from?”

“It was for me.”

“Even for you—”
“Who was it from?”

“It was from Ms. Yoshiko Ōno.”
“It’s a pushy sales pitch.”
“She’s also asking me to buy concert tickets again.”

“Why don’t you just buy them for her?”

“I turned them down.”

“Why?”

“It’s too much trouble.”

“There’s no call for being that unhelpful.”
“She comes to teach at the house.”
“Didn’t she say she wanted me to buy them?”

“I did mention about five tickets to you as well, Mr. President, but you refused.”
“Because we’re in mourning.”

“I don’t care if we’re in mourning. Whether you go or not is beside the point—buy ten tickets for her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call immediately.”

“I don’t know where it was from.”
“It must be from the school.”

Ms. Yoshiko Ōno was my cousin. In addition to working as a piano teacher at two girls' schools, she also came to the president's residence once a week to teach the young lady. I was the one who recommended her. She had started with the eldest young lady, and nearly five years had passed since then. She was the president's wife's favorite.

I called the two schools where Ms. Yoshiko worked and was able to reach her at the second one.
When I said I’d buy ten tickets, she was overjoyed.

“Mr. Onodera, let’s continue with the rest of what we were discussing earlier.”

the President said.

“It really doesn’t matter anymore.”

I’m simple-minded. Simply because my cousin had been shown kindness, I came to sense the President’s sincerity.

“That was a phase, and this is a phase.”
“The version of me fumbling prayer beads while chanting Namu Amida Butsu; and now here I am, throwing myself into company work fierce as Ashura—that’s also the version of me.”
“To you, which version seems more like the real me?”

“Of course, it’s the current you, Mr. President.”

“My late wife wouldn’t have been pleased to see me become an amateur monk either. Because she played a supportive role and brought me to where I am today, I believe she would want today’s me to thrive even more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve awakened from passive enlightenment to proactive enlightenment. Kumagai and Saigyō felt the fleeting world’s cruelty and withdrew from life—but if everyone imitated them, what would become of society! Even if there’s a fire, you mustn’t flee. I’ll remain a full life member to the bitter end.”

“I’ve been against your Buddhist chanting from the very beginning, Mr. President.”
“However, I thought it wasn’t the place for someone as junior as myself to meddle, so I refrained from doing so.”

“Well—”
“I should’ve told you sooner, but since I’ve been making you listen to more Buddhist chants than anyone else, I kept missing my chance to say it.”

“Understood.”

“That was a phase, and this is a phase.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Full life member—this is ultimately the enlightenment I’ve reached.”
“Those who abandon the world for the mountains—when even there they find sorrow, where else could they flee?”
“Running away is cowardice.”
“Everyone must become full life members and charge ahead.”
“I’ve been rather thickheaded myself.”
“Butting against this and that, I’ve finally rowed my way to the truth of things—”

Thus the President explained the change in his state of mind.

I was entirely convinced. At the same time, the term "full life member" remained lodged in my mind. Because I still respected the President, his suggestions took hold of me powerfully.

“What?”
“You—this ‘full life member’ business—”

At this, my wife expressed doubt.
I had been constantly blabbering about it even at home.

"As I mentioned before, the President already stopped chanting Buddhist prayers."
"He says from now on he'll return to how he was before and go forth as a 'full life member'."

“What’s this ‘full life member’?”

“A real member.”
“He says he’ll become a ‘full life member’ and go all out.”

“Of course that’s the case.
“Because he wants a thirty-seven-year-old bride.”

“I see.
“So that’s the premise, then?”

“He’s such a fox.
“As for Uncle—”

“Is he being flexible, or just jumping from one thing to another while inventing these absurd rationalizations?”

“He must be omnipotent.”
“You could never possibly compete with him.”

The President was indeed fired up with business ambition.
He had likely gotten back into the swing of work for the first time in a year.
However, in every corner of the company, remnants of his reputation from half a year prior still lingered.
They said the President was so obsessed with Buddhist chants that he’d forgotten to raise employees’ salaries; others claimed he would quit the company to embark on a Saigoku pilgrimage.

“President.”

“What is it?”

“Since there’s a school alumni meeting coming up soon, may I speak about the full life membership? Since your Buddhist chanting has become an issue and outlandish rumors are spreading, now would be the time to dispel these delusions once and for all.”

“What’re you going on about?”

“There are all sorts. There’s one about him quitting the company to enter Eiheiji Temple for ascetic training, and another about him going to veterinary school to get himself castrated.”

“What did you say?”

“Ha ha…”
“Those guys don’t say a damn thing worth hearing.”

“I resonate with the ideal of full life membership.”
“By talking about that, I want to make the President’s true intentions clear.”

“That’s all well and good—but do you actually understand what being a Full Life Member entails?”

“I do understand, certainly.”

“However, someone like you remains merely an associate member of life.”

“Why is that?”

“You don’t have any children, do you?”
“If every household in the neighborhood were like you and your wife, what do you think would happen to Japan?”
“Of course it’ll perish—there’s no next generation.”

“We’ll have one or two soon enough.”
“We’ve only been married for five years.”

“Even two isn’t enough.”
“If every couple only produces two children, they’ve just made replacements—back to square one.”
“No surplus reserves.”
“Watch—gnawed away by wars, plagues, and disasters, humanity will meet its demise.”

“Would three make me a full member?”

“That’s roughly the threshold.”
“The more the better—that’s my doctrine!”
“There was an intriguing story in my high school English textbook.”
“A certain Count of Gottenburg supposedly presented thirty-six sons and daughters during a royal tour and declared, ‘This is my contribution to the nation.’”
“Deeply symbolic, wouldn’t you say?”

“Speaking of thirty-six children—they couldn’t all be from the same mother, could they?”

“It doesn’t matter how many mothers they had.”

“So…”

“What is it?”

“No, that’s quite all right.”

“Are you balancing karmic ledgers for the afterlife now? That’s a matter for when we go to the afterlife. Those who are alive have no choice but to live proactively.”

A few days after the first anniversary memorial service had concluded, my wife and I were invited to dinner at the President’s residence.
I had assumed there would be other guests, but it turned out to be just us along with his sons and daughters.
The President was a splendid full life member.
There were four sons and two daughters, not a single one missing.
The eldest and second sons had graduated from university and were each employed.
The eldest daughter had married and already had a child.

“I was greatly helped by you taking care of various matters during the year of mourning.”

After dinner, the President invited us to a separate room and, while expressing his gratitude, slid an envelope of money toward Naoko.
“It’s for your transportation expenses from coming here so often,” he said.

“Just take it.
If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

I joked to make her accept it.

“Along with my thanks, I have a request.
I need you to help me figure out how to live my life.
With children involved, I can’t stay alone forever.”

“Wouldn’t there have been a proposal from someone like Mr. Aoyama?”

“There was one, but that household’s wife has misunderstood.”
“When I refused the fifty-two-year-old she recommended, she brought forty-seven and forty-three-year-olds instead and began pressuring me to settle for someone in that range.”

“Wouldn’t forty-three be perfectly suitable?”

“That won’t do.”
“In the West, it’s established that dividing one’s age by two and adding seven makes it just right.”
“In my case, a thirty-seven-year-old person would be ideal.”

“Thirty-seven. Hah-ah.”

And I, pretending it was the first time I’d heard this, counted the age difference on my fingers.

“There may seem to be a gap, but you’ll see this principle holds true if you apply it to younger examples.”
“For a thirty-year-old—fifteen plus seven makes twenty-two.”

“Oh, we were thirty and twenty-two too, weren’t we?”

Even though Naoko knew this perfectly well, she chimed in as if it were a new revelation.

“Exactly right.
“That’s why I’ve made thirty-seven my golden rule.
“Even though I made it clear that eight years older would be problematic, Mr. Aoyama’s wife had to go and bring some forty-three-year-old fatty.”

“Would thirty-seven or younger be acceptable?”

“I don’t mind if she’s younger, but given my rather advanced years, it would be pitiful.”
“I’ll set it at thirty-seven.”
“No more and no less.”
“Don’t you think there’s someone like that out there?”

“The world is vast, after all—there must be a beautiful widow without children.”

“Beauty is a necessary condition, but a widow won’t do.”
“Single—no, unmarried—no, wait—she must be never married.”

“So she must be never-married, beautiful, and thirty-seven?”

“Hmm.”
“Please find one.”
“Work together with Mr. Onodera.”

“I’ll do my best, though I may be of little help.”

It was a hazy moonlit evening in late spring.
After leaving the President’s residence and heading toward the tram stop,

“Beautiful, never-married, thirty-seven.”
“I’ve taken on quite the tall order.”

I muttered.

“Might I ask what led him to settle on thirty-seven?”

And my wife was piqued by inquisitive interest.

“That’s the Western formula. Divide your age by two and add seven.”

“It seems like being one year higher or lower should be acceptable, but there must be some reasoning behind it.”

“He’s oddly meticulous about that sort of thing, you know.”
“You…”
“What is it?”

“How old is Ms. Ōno Yoshiko?”

“Ms. Yoshiko? She’s probably three years older than me.”
“No—two years older.”
“Same as the sister in Kobe.”
“Thirty-seven. Well, well.”

“There you go.”

“Unmarried, huh? She was so devoted to her piano studies that she turned down every marriage proposal.”

“And she’s beautiful too.”

“I’m surprised. To think someone with all three qualifications is right here.”

“It’s Ms. Yoshiko, without a doubt.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s right. Since he comes on Sundays, we must see him occasionally.”

“So is the riddle that he’s asking us to hand over Ms. Yoshiko?”

“Since there’s a twenty-three-year difference, he surely can’t propose it outright.”

“I wonder… Would Ms. Yoshiko go?”

“Well… She’s doing splendidly as a teacher, after all.”

"But if she stays a teacher, she'll remain an associate member forever."

"Shall we ask?"

"Hmm."
"Still, the President is a man of such cunning and calculation, I must say."
"He might have come up with that formula himself."

"But since it's been imposed on us."

And we came to a stop on the hazy moonlit street, tilting our heads.

(June 1941 [Shōwa 16], Kōdan Club)